CHAPTER XI
Fair is the damsel, passing fair; Sunny at distance gleams her smile; Approach--the cloud of woful care Hangs trembling in her eye the while.
Lucinda, a Ballad.
We must here trace a little more correctly the events which had beenindistinctly seen from the window of the royal apartments, and yet moreindistinctly reported by those who witnessed them. The glee maiden,already mentioned, had planted herself where a rise of two large broadsteps, giving access to the main gateway of the royal apartments, gainedher an advantage of a foot and a half in height over those in thecourt, of whom she hoped to form an audience. She wore the dress of hercalling, which was more gaudy than rich, and showed the person more thandid the garb of other females. She had laid aside an upper mantle, anda small basket which contained her slender stock of necessaries; and alittle French spaniel dog sat beside them, as their protector. An azureblue jacket, embroidered with silver, and sitting close to the person,was open in front, and showed several waistcoats of different colouredsilks, calculated to set off the symmetry of the shoulders and bosom,and remaining open at the throat. A small silver chain worn around herneck involved itself amongst these brilliant coloured waistcoats, andwas again produced from them; to display a medal of the same metal,which intimated, in the name of some court or guild of minstrels,the degree she had taken in the gay or joyous science. A small scrip,suspended over her shoulders by a blue silk riband; hung on her leftside.
Her sunny complexion, snow white teeth, brilliant black eyes, and ravenlocks marked her country lying far in the south of France, and the archsmile and dimpled chin bore the same character. Her luxuriant ravenlocks, twisted around a small gold bodkin, were kept in their positionby a net of silk and gold. Short petticoats, deep laced with silver, tocorrespond with the jacket, red stockings which were visible so high asnear the calf of the leg, and buskins of Spanish leather, completed heradjustment, which, though far from new, had been saved as an untarnishedholiday suit, which much care had kept in good order. She seemed abouttwenty-five years old; but perhaps fatigue and wandering had anticipatedthe touch of time in obliterating the freshness of early youth.
We have said the glee maiden's manner was lively, and we may add thather smile and repartee were ready. But her gaiety was assumed, as aquality essentially necessary to her trade, of which it was one of themiseries, that the professors were obliged frequently to cover an achingheart with a compelled smile. This seemed to be the case with Louise,who, whether she was actually the heroine of her own song, or whateverother cause she might have for sadness, showed at times a strain of deepmelancholy thought, which interfered with and controlled the naturalflow of lively spirits which the practice of the joyous scienceespecially required. She lacked also, even in her gayest sallies, thedecided boldness and effrontery of her sisterhood, who were seldom ata loss to retort a saucy jest, or turn the laugh against any whointerrupted or interfered with them.
It may be here remarked, that it was impossible that this class ofwomen, very numerous in that age, could bear a character generallyrespectable. They were, however, protected by the manners of the time;and such were the immunities they possessed by the rights of chivalry,that nothing was more rare than to hear of such errant damselssustaining injury or wrong, and they passed and repassed safely, wherearmed travellers would probably have encountered a bloody opposition.But though licensed and protected in honour of their tuneful art, thewandering minstrels, male or female, like similar ministers to thepublic amusement, the itinerant musicians, for instance, and strollingcomedians of our own day, led a life too irregular and precarious tobe accounted a creditable part of society. Indeed, among the stricterCatholics, the profession was considered as unlawful.
Such was the damsel who, with viol in hand, and stationed on the slightelevation we have mentioned, stepped forward to the bystanders andannounced herself as a mistress of the gay science, duly qualified by abrief from a Court of Love and Music held at Aix, in Provence, under thecountenance of the flower of chivalry, the gallant Count Aymer; who nowprayed that the cavaliers of merry Scotland, who were known over thewide world for bravery and courtesy, would permit a poor stranger to trywhether she could afford them any amusement by her art. The love of songwas like the love of fight, a common passion of the age, which allat least affected, whether they were actually possessed by it or no;therefore the acquiescence in Louise's proposal was universal. Atthe same time, an aged, dark browed monk who was among the bystandersthought it necessary to remind the glee maiden that, since she wastolerated within these precincts, which was an unusual grace, he trustednothing would be sung or said inconsistent with the holy character ofthe place.
The glee maiden bent her head low, shook her sable locks, and crossedherself reverentially, as if she disclaimed the possibility of such atransgression, and then began the song of "Poor Louise." which we gaveat length in the last chapter.
Just as she commenced, she was stopped by a cry of "Room--room--placefor the Duke of Rothsay!"
"Nay, hurry no man on my score," said a gallant young cavalier, whoentered on a noble Arabian horse, which he managed with exquisite grace,though by such slight handling of the reins, such imperceptible pressureof the limbs and sway of the body, that to any eye save that of anexperienced horseman the animal seemed to be putting forth his paces forhis own amusement, and thus gracefully bearing forward a rider who wastoo indolent to give himself any trouble about the matter.
The Prince's apparel, which was very rich, was put on with slovenlycarelessness. His form, though his stature was low, and his limbsextremely slight, was elegant in the extreme; and his features no lesshandsome. But there was on his brow a haggard paleness, which seemedthe effect of care or of dissipation, or of both these wasting causescombined. His eyes were sunk and dim, as from late indulgence in revelryon the preceding evening, while his cheek was inflamed with unnaturalred, as if either the effect of the Bacchanalian orgies had not passedaway from the constitution, or a morning draught had been resorted to,in order to remove the effects of the night's debauchery.
Such was the Duke of Rothsay, and heir of the Scottish crown, a sightat once of interest and compassion. All unbonneted and made way for him,while he kept repeating carelessly, "No haste--no haste: I shall arrivesoon enough at the place I am bound for. How's this--a damsel of thejoyous science? Ay, by St. Giles! and a comely wench to boot. Standstill, my merry men; never was minstrelsy marred for me. A good voice,by the mass! Begin me that lay again, sweetheart."
Louise did not know the person who addressed her; but the generalrespect paid by all around, and the easy and indifferent manner in whichit was received, showed her she was addressed by a man of the highestquality. She recommenced her lay, and sung her best accordingly; whilethe young duke seemed thoughtful and rather affected towards the closeof the ditty. But it was not his habit to cherish such melancholyaffections.
"This is a plaintive ditty, my nut brown maid," said he, chucking theretreating glee maiden under the chin, and detaining her by the collarof her dress, which was not difficult, as he sat on horseback so closeto the steps on which she stood. "But I warrant me you have liveliernotes at will, ma bella tenebrosa; ay, and canst sing in bower as wellas wold, and by night as well as day."
"I am no nightingale, my lord," said Louise, endeavouring to escape aspecies of gallantry which ill suited the place and circumstances--adiscrepancy to which he who addressed it to her seemed contemptuouslyindifferent.
"What hast thou there, darling?" he added, removing his hold from hercollar to the scrip which she carried.
Glad was Louise to escape his grasp, by slipping the knot of the riband,and leaving the little bag in the Prince's hand, as, retiring backbeyond his reach, she answered, "Nuts, my lord, of the last season."
The Prince pulled out a handful of nuts accordingly. "Nuts, child! theywill break thine ivory teeth, hurt thy pretty voice," said Rothsay,cracking one with his teeth, like a village schoolboy.
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nbsp; "They are not the walnuts of my own sunny clime, my lord," said Louise;"but they hang low, and are within the reach of the poor."
"You shall have something to afford you better fare, poor wanderingape," said the Duke, in a tone in which feeling predominated more thanin the affected and contemptuous gallantry of his first address to theglee maiden.
At this moment, as he turned to ask an attendant for his purse, thePrince encountered the stern and piercing look of a tall black man,seated on a powerful iron grey horse, who had entered the court withattendants while the Duke of Rothsay was engaged with Louise, and nowremained stupefied and almost turned to stone by his surprise and angerat this unseemly spectacle. Even one who had never seen ArchibaldEarl of Douglas, called the Grim, must have known him by his swartcomplexion, his gigantic frame, his buff coat of bull's hide, and hisair of courage, firmness, and sagacity, mixed with indomitable pride.The loss of an eye in battle, though not perceptible at first sight, asthe ball of the injured organ remained similar to the other, gave yet astern, immovable glare to the whole aspect.
The meeting of the royal son in law with his terrible stepfather[father in law] was in circumstances which arrested the attention of allpresent; and the bystanders waited the issue with silence and suppressedbreath, lest they should lose any part of what was to ensue.
When the Duke of Rothsay saw the expression which occupied the sternfeatures of Douglas, and remarked that the Earl did not make theleast motion towards respectful, or even civil, salutation, he seemeddetermined to show him how little respect he was disposed to pay to hisdispleased looks. He took his purse from his chamberlain.
"Here, pretty one," he said, "I give thee one gold piece for the songthou hast sung me, another for the nuts I have stolen from thee, and athird for the kiss thou art about to give me. For know, my pretty one,that when fair lips, and thine for fault of better may be called so,make sweet music for my pleasure, I am sworn to St. Valentine to pressthem to mine."
"My song is recompensed nobly," said Louise, shrinking back; "my nutsare sold to a good market; farther traffic, my lord, were neitherbefitting you nor beseeming me."
"What! you coy it, my nymph of the highway?" said the Prince,contemptuously. "Know damsel, that one asks you a grace who is unused todenial."
"It is the Prince of Scotland--the Duke of Rothsay," said the courtiersaround, to the terrified Louise, pressing forward the trembling youngwoman; "you must not thwart his humor."
"But I cannot reach your lordship," she said, timidly, "you sit so highon horseback."
"If I must alight," said Rothsay, "there shall be the heavier penalty.What does the wench tremble for? Place thy foot on the toe of my boot,give me hold of thy hand. Gallantly done!" He kissed her as she stoodthus suspended in the air, perched upon his foot and supported by hishand; saying, "There is thy kiss, and there is my purse to pay it; andto grace thee farther, Rothsay will wear thy scrip for the day."
He suffered the frightened girl to spring to the ground, and turned hislooks from her to bend them contemptuously on the Earl of Douglas, asif he had said, "All this I do in despite of you and of your daughter'sclaims."
"By St. Bride of Douglas!" said the Earl, pressing towards the Prince,"this is too much, unmannered boy, as void of sense as honour! You knowwhat considerations restrain the hand of Douglas, else had you neverdared--"
"Can you play at spang cockle, my lord?" said the Prince, placing a nuton the second joint of his forefinger, and spinning it off by a smartapplication of the thumb. The nut struck on Douglas's broad breast,who burst out into a dreadful exclamation of wrath, inarticulate, butresembling the growl of a lion in depth and sternness of expression.
"I cry your pardon, most mighty lord," said the Duke of Rothsay,scornfully, while all around trembled; "I did not conceive my pelletcould have wounded you, seeing you wear a buff coat. Surely, I trust, itdid not hit your eye?"
The prior, despatched by the King, as we have seen in the last chapter,had by this time made way through the crowd, and laying hold onDouglas's rein, in a manner that made it impossible for him to advance,reminded him that the Prince was the son of his sovereign; and thehusband of his daughter.
"Fear not, sir prior," said Douglas. "I despise the childish boy toomuch to raise a finger against him. But I will return insult for insult.Here, any of you who love the Douglas, spurn me this quean from themonastery gates; and let her be so scourged that she may bitterlyremember to the last day of her life how she gave means to anunrespective boy to affront the Douglas."
Four or five retainers instantly stepped forth to execute commands whichwere seldom uttered in vain, and heavily would Louise have atoned for anoffence of which she was alike the innocent, unconscious, and unwillinginstrument, had not the Duke of Rothsay interfered.
"Spurn the poor glee woman!" he said, in high indignation; "scourgeher for obeying my commands! Spurn thine own oppressed vassals, rudeearl--scourge thine own faulty hounds; but beware how you touch so muchas a dog that Rothsay hath patted on the head, far less a female whoselips he hath kissed!"
Before Douglas could give an answer, which would certainly have beenin defiance, there arose that great tumult at the outward gate of themonastery, already noticed, and men both on horseback and on footbegan to rush headlong in, not actually fighting with each other, butcertainly in no peaceable manner.
One of the contending parties, seemingly, were partizans of Douglas,known by the cognizance of the bloody heart; the other were composed ofcitizens of the town of Perth. It appeared they had been skirmishing inearnest when without the gates, but, out of respect to the sanctifiedground, they lowered their weapons when they entered, and confined theirstrife to a war of words and mutual abuse.
The tumult had this good effect, that it forced asunder, by the weightand press of numbers, the Prince and Douglas, at a moment when thelevity of the former and the pride of the latter were urging both to theutmost extremity. But now peacemakers interfered on all sides. The priorand the monks threw themselves among the multitude, and commandedpeace in the name of Heaven, and reverence to their sacred walls,under penalty of excommunication; and their expostulations began tobe listened to. Albany, who was despatched by his royal brother at thebeginning of the fray, had not arrived till now on the scene of action.He instantly applied himself to Douglas, and in his ear conjured him totemper his passion.
"By St. Bride of Douglas, I will be avenged!" said the Earl. "No manshall brook life after he has passed an affront on Douglas."
"Why, so you may be avenged in fitting time," said Albany; "but let itnot be said that, like a peevish woman, the Great Douglas could chooseneither time nor place for his vengeance. Bethink you, all that we havelaboured at is like to be upset by an accident. George of Dunbar hathhad the advantage of an audience with the old man; and though it lastedbut five minutes, I fear it may endanger the dissolution of your familymatch, which we brought about with so much difficulty. The authorityfrom Rome has not yet been obtained."
"A toy!" answered Douglas, haughtily; "they dare not dissolve it."
"Not while Douglas is at large, and in possession of his power,"answered Albany. "But, noble earl, come with me, and I will show you atwhat disadvantage you stand."
Douglas dismounted, and followed his wily accomplice in silence. In alower hall they saw the ranks of the Brandanes drawn up, well armed incaps of steel and shirts of mail. Their captain, making an obeisance toAlbany, seemed to desire to address him.
"What now, MacLouis?" said the Duke.
"We are informed the Duke of Rothsay has been insulted, and I can scarcekeep the Brandanes within door."
"Gallant MacLouis," said Albany, "and you, my trusty Brandanes, the Dukeof Rothsay, my princely nephew, is as well as a hopeful gentleman canbe. Some scuffle there has been, but all is appeased."
He continued to draw the Earl of Douglas forward. "You see, my lord," hesaid in his ear, "that, if the word 'arrest' was to be once spoken,it would be soon obeyed, and you are aware your attendant
s are few forresistance."
Douglas seemed to acquiesce in the necessity of patience for the time."If my teeth," he said, "should bite through my lips, I will be silenttill it is the hour to speak out."
George of March, in the meanwhile, had a more easy task of pacifyingthe Prince. "My Lord of Rothsay," he said, approaching him with graveceremony, "I need not tell you that you owe me something for reparationof honour, though I blame not you personally for the breach of contractwhich has destroyed the peace of my family. Let me conjure you, bywhat observance your Highness may owe an injured man, to forego for thepresent this scandalous dispute."
"My lord, I owe you much," replied Rothsay; "but this haughty and allcontrolling lord has wounded mine honour."
"My lord, I can but add, your royal father is ill--hath swooned withterror for your Highness's safety."
"Ill!" replied the Prince--"the kind, good old man swooned, said you, myLord of March? I am with him in an instant."
The Duke of Rothsay sprung from his saddle to the ground, and wasdashing into the palace like a greyhound, when a feeble grasp waslaid on his cloak, and the faint voice of a kneeling female exclaimed,"Protection, my noble prince!--protection for a helpless stranger!"
"Hands off, stroller!" said the Earl of March, thrusting the suppliantglee maiden aside.
But the gentler prince paused. "It is true," he said, "I have broughtthe vengeance of an unforgiving devil upon this helpless creature. OHeaven! what a life, is mine, so fatal to all who approach me! What todo in the hurry? She must not go to my apartments. And all my men aresuch born reprobates. Ha! thou at mine elbow, honest Harry Smith? Whatdost thou here?"
"There has been something of a fight, my lord," answered ouracquaintance the smith, "between the townsmen and the Southland loonswho ride with the Douglas; and we have swinged them as far as the abbeygate."
"I am glad of it--I am glad of it. And you beat the knaves fairly?"
"Fairly, does your Highness ask?" said Henry. "Why, ay! We were strongerin numbers, to be sure; but no men ride better armed than those whofollow the Bloody Heart. And so in a sense we beat them fairly; for, asyour Highness knows, it is the smith who makes the man at arms, and menwith good weapons are a match for great odds."
While they thus talked, the Earl of March, who had spoken with some onenear the palace gate, returned in anxious haste. "My Lord Duke!--my LordDuke! your father is recovered, and if you haste not speedily, my Lordof Albany and the Douglas will have possession of his royal ear."
"And if my royal father is recovered," said the thoughtless Prince, "andis holding, or about to hold, counsel with my gracious uncle and theEarl of Douglas, it befits neither your lordship nor me to intrude tillwe are summoned. So there is time for me to speak of my little businesswith mine honest armourer here."
"Does your Highness take it so?" said the Earl, whose sanguine hopes ofa change of favour at court had been too hastily excited, and were asspeedily checked. "Then so let it be for George of Dunbar."
He glided away with a gloomy and displeased aspect; and thus out of thetwo most powerful noblemen in Scotland, at a time when the aristocracyso closely controlled the throne, the reckless heir apparent had madetwo enemies--the one by scornful defiance and the other by carelessneglect. He heeded not the Earl of March's departure, however, or ratherhe felt relieved from his importunity.
The Prince went on in indolent conversation with our armourer, whoseskill in his art had made him personally known to many of the greatlords about the court.
"I had something to say to thee, Smith. Canst thou take up a fallen linkin my Milan hauberk?"
"As well, please your Highness, as my mother could take up a stitch inthe nets she wove. The Milaner shall not know my work from his own."
"Well, but that was not what I wished of thee just now," said thePrince, recollecting himself: "this poor glee woman, good Smith,she must be placed in safety. Thou art man enough to be any woman'schampion, and thou must conduct her to some place of safety."
Henry Smith was, as we have seen, sufficiently rash and daring whenweapons were in question. But he had also the pride of a decent burgher,and was unwilling to place himself in what might be thought equivocalcircumstances by the sober part of his fellow citizens.
"May it please your Highness," he said, "I am but a poor craftsman. But,though my arm and sword are at the King's service and your Highness's,I am, with reverence, no squire of dames. Your Highness will find, amongyour own retinue, knights and lords willing enough to play Sir Pandarusof Troy; it is too knightly a part for poor Hal of the Wynd."
"Umph--hah!" said the Prince. "My purse, Edgar." (His attendantwhispered him.) "True--true, I gave it to the poor wench. I know enoughof your craft, sir smith, and of craftsmen in general, to be aware thatmen lure not hawks with empty hands; but I suppose my word may pass forthe price of a good armour, and I will pay it thee, with thanks to boot,for this slight service."
"Your Highness may know other craftsmen," said the smith; "but, withreverence, you know not Henry Gow. He will obey you in making a weapon,or in wielding one, but he knows nothing of this petticoat service."
"Hark thee, thou Perthshire mule," said the Prince, yet smiling, whilehe spoke, at the sturdy punctilio of the honest burgher; "the wench isas little to me as she is to thee. But in an idle moment, as you maylearn from those about thee, if thou sawest it not thyself, I did her apassing grace, which is likely to cost the poor wretch her life. Thereis no one here whom I can trust to protect her against the discipline ofbelt and bowstring, with which the Border brutes who follow Douglas willbeat her to death, since such is his pleasure."
"If such be the case, my liege, she has a right to every honest man'sprotection; and since she wears a petticoat--though I would it werelonger and of a less fanciful fashion--I will answer for her protectionas well as a single man may. But where am I to bestow her?"
"Good faith, I cannot tell," said the Prince. "Take her to Sir JohnRamorny's lodging. But, no--no--he is ill at ease, and besides, thereare reasons; take her to the devil if thou wilt, but place her insafety, and oblige David of Rothsay."
"My noble Prince," said the smith, "I think, always with reverence, thatI would rather give a defenceless woman to the care of the devil than ofSir John Ramorny. But though the devil be a worker in fire like myself,yet I know not his haunts, and with aid of Holy Church hope to keep himon terms of defiance. And, moreover, how I am to convey her out of thiscrowd, or through the streets, in such a mumming habit may be well madea question."
"For the leaving the convent," said the Prince, "this good monk"(seizing upon the nearest by his cowl)--"Father Nicholas or Boniface--"
"Poor brother Cyprian, at your Highness's command," said the father.
"Ay--ay, brother Cyprian," continued the Prince--"yes. Brother Cyprianshall let you out at some secret passage which he knows of, and I willsee him again to pay a prince's thanks for it."
The churchman bowed in acquiescence, and poor Louise, who, during thisdebate, had looked from the one speaker to the other, hastily said, "Iwill not scandalise this good man with my foolish garb: I have a mantlefor ordinary wear."
"Why, there, Smith, thou hast a friar's hood and a woman's mantle toshroud thee under. I would all my frailties were as well shrouded.Farewell, honest fellow; I will thank thee hereafter."
Then, as if afraid of farther objection on the smith's part, he hastenedinto the palace.
Henry Gow remained stupefied at what had passed, and at finding himselfinvolved in a charge at once inferring much danger and an equal riskof scandal, both which, joined to a principal share which he had taken,with his usual forwardness, in the fray, might, he saw, do him no smallinjury in the suit he pursued most anxiously. At the same time, to leavea defenceless creature to the ill usage of the barbarous Galwegians andlicentious followers of the Douglas was a thought which his manly heartcould not brook for an instant.
He was roused from his reverie by the voice of the monk, who, slidingout his words with
the indifference which the holy fathers entertained,or affected, towards all temporal matters, desired them to follow him.The smith put himself in motion, with a sigh much resembling a groan,and, without appearing exactly connected with the monk's motions, hefollowed him into a cloister, and through a postern door, which, afterlooking once behind him, the priest left ajar. Behind them followedLouise, who had hastily assumed her small bundle, and, calling herlittle four legged companion, had eagerly followed in the path whichopened an escape from what had shortly before seemed a great andinevitable danger.