Chapter LXXXVIII.
Stirling.
The word of Bruce was as irreversible as his spirit was determined. Notemptation of indulgence could seduce him from the one, no mischance ofadversity could subdue the other. The standard of liberty had beenraised by him on the Carse of Gowrie, and he carried it in hisvictorious arm from east to west, from the most northern point ofSutherland to the walls of Stirling; but there, the garrison which thetreason of the late regent had admitted into the citadel gave amomentary check to his career. The English governor hesitated tosurrender on the terms proposed, and while his first flag of truce wasyet in the tent of the Scottish monarch, a second arrived to break offthe negotiation. Whatever were the reasons for this abruptdetermination, Bruce paid him not the compliment of asking a wherefore,but advancing his troops to the Southron outposts, drove them in withgreat loss; and, approaching the lower works of the town by the road ofBallochgeich, so alarmed the governor as to induce him to send forthseveral squadrons of horse to stop his progress.
Vain was the attempt. They shrunk before the resolute prince and hisenthusiastic followers. The governor dispatched others, and at lastmarched himself out to their support. No force seemed able towithstand the pressing valor of the Scots. The Southron saw himself inthe midst of his slain, and deserted by half of his surviving troops.A surrender, both of himself and his fainting companions, was now hisonly recourse. His herald sounded a parley. The generous victor, inthe midst of triumph, listened to the offered capitulation. It was notto include the citadel of Stirling.
Bruce stopped the herald at this clause, and at once demanded theunconditional surrender of both the town and citadel. The governor,being aware that in his present state there was no alternative, andknowing the noble nature of the prince who made the requisition,yielded to necessity, and resigned the whole into his hands.
Next morning Bruce entered Stirling as a conqueror, with the whole ofhis kingdom at his feet; for, from the Solway Frith to the NorthernOcean, no Scottish town or castle owned a foreign master. Theacclamations of a rescued people rent the skies; and, while prayers andblessings poured on him from above, below, and around, he did indeedfeel himself a king, and that he had returned to the land of hisforefathers. While he sat on his proud war-horse, in front of thegreat gates of the citadel, now thrown wide asunder to admit itsrightful sovereign, his noble prisoners came forward. They bent theirknees before him; and delivering their swords, received in return, hisgracious assurance of mercy. At this moment all Scottish hearts andwishes seemed riveted on their youthful monarch. Dismounting from hissteed, he raised his helmet from his head, as the souls of his enemies,he raised his helmet from his head, as the Bishop of Dunkeld, followedby all the ecclesiastics in the town, came forward to wait upon thetriumph of their king.
The beautiful anthem of the virgins of Israel on the conquests ofDavid, was chanted forth by the nuns who in this heaven-hallowed hour,like the spirits of the blest, revisited the world to give the chosenof their land, "All hail."
The words, the scene, smote the heart of Bothwell; he turned aside andwept. Where were now the buoyant feelings with which he had followedthe similar triumph of Wallace into these gates? "Buried, thoumartyred hero, in thy bloody grave!" New men and new services seemedto have worn out remembrance of the past; but in the memories of eventhis joyous crowd, Wallace lived, though like a bright light which hadpassed through their path, and was gone never more to return.
On entering the citadel, Bruce was informed by Mowbray, the Englishgovernor, that he would find a lady there in a frightful state ofmental derangement, and who might need his protection. A question ortwo from the victorious monarch told him that this was the Countess ofStrathearn. On the revolted abthanes having betrayed Wallace and hiscountry to England, the joy and ambition of the countess knew nobounds; and hoping to eventually persuade Edward to adjudge to her thecrown, she made it apparent to the English king how useful would be herservices to Scotland; while with a plenary though secret mission, shetook her course through her native land, to discover who were inimicalto the foreign interest, and who, likely to promote her own; after thiscircuit, she fixed her mimic court at Stirling, and living there inreal magnificence, exercised the functions of a vice-queen. At thisperiod intelligence arrived, which the governor thought would fill herwith exultation; and hastening to declare it, he proclaimed to her,that the King of England's authority was now firmly established inScotland, for that on the twenty-third of August Sir William Wallacehad been executed in London, according to all the forms of law, uponthe Tower Hill!
On the full declaration of this event, she fell senseless on the floor.It was not until the next morning that she recovered to perfectanimation, and then her ravings were horrible and violent. She accusedherself of the murder of Sir William Wallace. She seemed to hear himupbraid her with his fate: and her shrieks and tremendous ejaculationsso fearfully presented the scene of his death before the eyes of herattendants, that her women fled and none others of that sex wouldafterward venture to approach her. In these fearful moments thedreadful confession of all her premeditated guilt, of her infuriate anddisappointed passion for Wallace, and her vowed revenge, were revealed,under circumstances so shocking, that the English governor declared tothe King of Scots, while he conducted him toward her apartment, that hewould rather wear out his life in a rayless dungeon, then endure onehour of her agonies.
There was a dead silence in her chamber as they approached the door.Mowbray cautiously opened it, and discovered the object of their visit.She was seated at the further end of the room on the floor, envelopedin a mass of scarlet velvet she had drawn off her bed; her handsclasped her knees, and she bent forward, with her eyes fixed on thedoor at which they entered. Her once dazzling beauty was nowtransformed to a haggard glare--the terrible lightning which gleamed onthe face of Satan, when he sat brooding on the burning marl of Tartarus.
She remained motionless as they advanced. But when Bruce stoppeddirectly before her, contemplating with horror the woman whom heregarded as one of the murderers of his most beloved friend, she sprungat once upon him, and clinging to him, with shrieks buried her head inhis bosom. "Save me! save me!" cried she. "Mar drags me down to hell;I burn there, and yet I die not!" Then bursting from Bruce, with animprecation that froze his blood, she flew to the other side of thechamber, crying aloud, "Thou hast torn out my heart! Fiend, I tookthee for Wallace--but I murdered him!" Her agonies, her yells, herattempts at self-violence, were now so dreadful, that Bruce, raisingher bleeding from the hearth on which she had furiously dashed herhead, put her into the arms of the men who attended her, and then, withan awful sense of Divine retribution, left the apartment.