The Days of Bruce Vol 1

by Grace Aguilar

  CHAPTER XIII.

  It was already two hours after midnight when a hurried tread, distinctfrom Alan's restless pacing, disturbed the watchers, and occasioned manyto raise themselves on their elbows and listen.

  It came nearer and nearer, and very soon a young lad, recognized as SirAlan's page, was discerned, springing from crag to crag in breathlesshaste, and finally threw himself at his sovereign's feet.

  "It is not too late--up, up, and save her!" were the only words he hadpower to gasp, panting painfully for the breath of which speed haddeprived him. His hair and dress were heavy with the damp occasioned bythe fog, and his whole appearance denoting no common agitation.

  "Where?" "How?" "What knowest thou?" "Speak out." "What ailest thee,boy?" were the eager words uttered at once by all, and the king andothers sprung to their feet, while Alan laid a heavy hand on the boy'sshoulder, and glared on him in silence; the lad's glance fell beneathhis, and he sobbed forth--

  "Mercy, mercy! my thoughtlessness has done this, yet I guessed not,dreamed not this ill would follow. But oh, do not wait for my tale now;up, up, and save her ere it be too late!"

  "And how may we trust thee now, an this is the effect of formertreachery?" demanded Robert, with a sternness that seemed to awe theterrified boy into composure.

  "I am not treacherous, sire. No, no! I would have exposed my throat toyour grace's sword rather than do a traitor's deed: trust me, oh, trustme, and follow without delay!"

  "Speak first, and clearly," answered Alan, fiercely; "even for mymother's sake the sacred person of the King of Scotland shall not berisked by a craven's word. Speak, an thou wouldst bid me trustthee--speak, I charge thee."

  "He is right--he is right; let him explain this mystery ere we follow,"echoed round; and thus urged, the boy's tale was hurriedly told.

  It was simply this. Some days previous, when wandering alone about therocks, he had met a woodman, whom he recognized as one of the retainersof Buchan, and, as such, believed him as loyal and faithful to KingRobert's interest as himself and others in the countess's train. The manhad artfully evaded all young Malcolm's expression of astonishment andinquiries as to why Donald MacAlpine, whom he well knew to be one of thestoutest and most sturdy men-at-arms which the clan possessed, shouldhave taken to so peaceful an employment as cutting wood, and skilfullydrew from the boy much information concerning the movements of the partyto whom he belonged. Malcolm freely spoke of Sir Alan and the Countessof Buchan, dilating with no little pleasure on his young master havingreceived knighthood at the hand of his king, and all the honors anddelights which accompanied it. Aware, however, of the dangers whichenvironed the Bruce, he spoke of him more cautiously, and the moreDonald sought to discover if the king were near at hand, the morecarefully did Malcolm conceal that he was, telling the woodman if hewished to know all particulars, he had better turn his sickle into aspear, his cap into a helmet, and strike a good blow for Scotland andKing Robert. This the man refused to do, alleging he loved his ownsturdy person and independent freedom too well to run his neck into sucha noose; that King Robert might do very well for a while, but eventuallyhe must fall into King Edward's hands. Malcolm angrily denied this, andthey parted, not the best friends imaginable. On reviewing all that hadpassed, the boy reproached himself incessantly for having said too much,and was continually tormented by an indefinable fear that some evilwould follow. This fear kept him by the side of the countess, insteadof, as was his wont, following Sir Alan to the chase. The increasingdarkness had concealed her from him, but he was the first to distinguishher whistle. He had reached the spot time enough to recognize thesupposed woodman in the second speaker, and to feel with painfulacuteness his boyish thoughtlessness had brought this evil on amistress, to serve whom he would willingly have laid down his life.Resistance he knew, on his part, was utterly useless, and therefore hedetermined to follow their track, and thus bring accurate intelligenceto the king. The minds of the men preoccupied by the thought of theirdistinguished prisoner, and the thickening gloom, aided his resolution.Happening to have a quantity of thick flax in his pocket, the boy, withadmirable foresight, fastened it to different shrubs and stones as hepassed, and thus secured his safe return; a precaution very necessary,as from the windings and declivities, and in parts well-nigh impregnablehollows, into which he followed the men, his return in time would havebeen utterly frustrated.

  The gathering mist had occasioned a halt, and a consultation as towhether they could reach the encampment to which they belonged, orwhether it would not be better to halt till dawn. They had decided infavor of the latter, fearing, did they continue marching, they mightlose their track, and perhaps fall in with the foe. He had waited, hesaid, till he saw them making such evident preparations for a halt ofsome hours, that he felt certain they would not remove till daylight. Itwas a difficult and precarious path, he said, yet he was quite sure hecould lead fifteen or twenty men easily to the spot, and, taken bysurprise, nothing would prevent the recovery of the countess: less thantwo hours would take them there.

  This tale was told in less time than we have taken to transcribe it, andnot twenty minutes after Malcolm's first appearance, the king and SirAlan, with fifteen tried followers, departed on their expedition. Therehad been some attempt to dissuade the king from venturing his own personwhere further treachery might yet lurk, but the attempt was vain.

  "She has perilled her life for me," was his sole answer, "and were thereany real peril, mine would be hazarded for her; but there is none--'tisbut a child's work we are about to do, not even glory enough to call forenvy."

  The fog had sufficiently cleared to permit of their distinguishing theroute marked out by Malcolm, but not enough to betray their advance,even had there been scouts set to watch the pass. Not a word passedbetween them. Rapidly, stealthily they advanced, and about three in themorning stood within sight of their foes, though still unseenthemselves. There was little appearance of caution: two large fires hadbeen kindled, round one of which ten or twelve men were stretched theirfull length, still armed indeed, and their hands clasping theirunsheathed swords, but their senses fast locked in slumber. Near theother, her arms and feet pinioned, Alan, with a heart beating almostaudibly with indignation, recognized his mother. Two men, armed withclubs, walked up and down beside her, and seven others were grouped invarious attitudes at her feet, most of them fast asleep. It was evidentthat they had no idea of surprise, and that their only fear wasassociated with the escape of their prisoner.

  "They are little more than man to man," said the Bruce; "therefore isthere no need for further surprise than will attend the blast of yourbugle, Sir Alan. Sound the reveille, and on to the rescue."

  He was obeyed, and the slumberers, with suppressed oaths, started totheir feet, glancing around them a brief minute in inquiringastonishment as to whence the sound came. It was speedily explained: manafter man sprang through the thicket, and rushed upon the foes, severalof whom, gathering themselves around their prisoner, seemed determinedthat her liberty should not be attained with her life, more than oncecausing the swords of the Bruce's followers to turn aside in their rapiddescent, less they should injure her they sought to save. Like a younglion Alan fought, ably seconded by the king, whose gigantic effortsclearing his path, at length enabled himself and Alan to stand uninjuredbeside the countess, and thus obtain possession of her person, and guardher from the injury to which her captors voluntarily exposed her. Therewas at first no attempt at flight, although the Bruce's men carried allbefore them; the men fell where they stood, till only five remained,and these, after a moment's hesitation, turned and fled. A shrill cryfrom Malcolm had turned the king's and Alan's attention in anotherdirection, and it was well they did so. Determined on foiling theefforts of his foes, Donald MacAlpine, who was supposed to be among thefallen, had stealthily approached the spot where the countess, overcomewith excessive faintness, still reclined, then noiselessly rising, hissword was descending on her unguarded head, when Alan, aroused byMalcolm's voice, turned upon him an
d dashed his weapon from his grasp,at the same minute that the Bruce's sword pierced the traitor's heart:he sprung in the air with a loud yell of agony, and fell, nearlycrushing the countess with his weight.

  It was the voice of Alan which aroused that fainting heart. It was inthe bosom of her son those tearful eyes were hid, after one startled andbewildered gaze on the countenance of her sovereign, who had beenleaning over her in unfeigned anxiety. A thicket of thorn, mingled withcrags, divided her from the unseemly signs of the late affray; butthough there was naught to renew alarm, it was with a cold shudder shehad clung to her son, as if even her firm, bold spirit had given way.Gently, cheeringly the king addressed her, and she evidently struggledto regain composure; but her powers of body were evidently soprostrated, that her friends felt rest of some kind she must have, ereshe could regain sufficient strength to accompany them on theirwanderings. She had received three or four wounds in the melee, whichthough slight, the loss of blood that had followed materially increasedher weakness, and the king anxiously summoned his friends around him todeliberate on the best measures to pursue.

  Amongst them were two of Sir Alan's retainers, old and faithful Scottishmen, coeval with his grandfather, the late Earl of Buchan. Devoted aliketo the countess, the king, and their country, they eagerly listened toall that was passing, declaring that rather than leave the Lady Isabellain a situation of such danger as the present, they would take it byturns to carry her in their arms to the encampment. The king listenedwith a benevolent smile.

  "Is there no hut or house, or hunting-lodge to which we could conveyyour lady," he asked, "where she might find quieter shelter and greaterrest than hitherto? An ye knew of such, it would be the wiser plan toseek it at break of day."

  A hunting-lodge, belonging to the Earls of Buchan, there was, or oughtto be, the old men said, near the head of the Tay, just at the entranceof Athol Forest. It had not been used since their old master's days; hehad been very partial to it when a boy, and was continually there; ithad most likely fallen into decay from disuse, as they believed thepresent earl did not even know of its existence, but that was all thebetter, as it would be a still more safe and secure retreat for thecountess, and they were sure, when once out of the hollows andintricacies of their present halting-place, they could easily discoverthe path to it.

  And how long did they think it would be, the king inquired, before theirlady could be taken to it? the sooner, they must perceive as well ashimself, the better for her comfort. He was relieved when they declaredthat two days, or at the very utmost three, would bring them there, if,as the old men earnestly entreated he would, they retraced their stepsto the encampment as soon as daylight was sufficiently strong for themclearly to distinguish their path. This was unanimously resolved on, andthe few intervening hours were spent by the countess in calm repose.

  Conscious that filial affection watched over her, the sleep of thecountess tranquillized her sufficiently to commence the return to theencampment with less painful evidences of exhaustion. A rude litterwaited for her, in which she could recline when the pass allowed itssafe passage, and which could be easily borne by the bearers when theintricacies of the path prevented all egress save by pedestrianism. Ithad been hurriedly made by her devoted adherents, and soothed andgratified, her usual energy seemed for the moment to return. By nineo'clock forenoon all traces of the Bruce and his party had departed fromthe glen, the last gleam of their armor was lost in the winding path,and then it was that a man, who had lain concealed in a thicket from themoment of the affray, hearing all that had passed, unseen himself, nowslowly, cautiously raised himself on his knees, gazed carefully roundhim, then with a quicker but as silent motion sprung to his feet, andraised his hands in an action of triumph.

  "_He is_ amongst them, then," he muttered, "the traitor Bruce himself.This is well. The countess, her son, find the would-be king--ha! ha! Myfortune's made!" and he bounded away in quite a contrary direction tothat taken by the Bruce.

  The old retainers of Buchan were correct in their surmises. The eveningof the second day succeeding the event we have narrated brought them tothe hunting-lodge. It was indeed very old, and parts had fallen almostto ruins, but there were still three or four rooms remaining, whosecompact walls and well-closed roofs rendered them a warm and welcomerefuge for the Countess of Buchan, whose strenuous exertions the twopreceding days had ended, as was expected, by exhaustion more painfuland overpowering than before.

  The exertions of her friends--for the Bruce and his followers with oneconsent had permitted their wanderings to be guided by the oldmen--speedily rendered the apartments habitable. Large fires were soonblazing on the spacious hearths, and ere night fell, all appearance ofdamp and discomfort had vanished. The frugal supper was that night ajovial meal; the very look of a cheerful blaze beneath a walled roof wasreviving to the wanderers; the jest passed round, the wine-cup sparkledto the health of the countess, and many a fervent aspiration echoedround for the speedy restoration of her strength; for truly she was thebeloved, the venerated of all, alike from her sovereign to his lowestfollower.

  "Trust my experience, my young knight," had been the Bruce's address toAlan ere they parted for the night. "A few days' complete repose willquite restore your valued parent and my most honored friend. Thishunting-lodge shall be our place of rendezvous for a time, till she issufficiently restored to accompany us southward. You are satisfied, areyou not, with the diligence of our scouts?"

  "Perfectly, your highness," was Alan's reply; for well-tried andintelligent men had been sent in every direction to discover, ifpossible, to what party of the enemy the captors of the Lady Isabellabelonged, and to note well the movements and appearance, not only of anymartial force, but of the country people themselves. They had executedtheir mission as well as the intricate passes and concealed hollows ofthe mountains permitted, and brought back the welcome intelligence, thatfor miles round the country was perfectly clear, and to all appearancepeaceful. The hunting-lodge, too, was so completely hidden by dark woodsof pine and overhanging crags, that even had there been foes prowlingabout the mountains, they might pass within twenty yards of its vicinityand yet fail to discover it. The very path leading to the bottom of thehollow in which it stood was concealed at the entrance by thick shrubsand an arch of rock, which had either fallen naturally into that shape,or been formed by the architects of the lodge. It seemed barely possiblethat the retreat could be discovered, except by the basest treachery,and therefore the king and Sir Alan felt perfectly at rest regarding thesafety of the countess, even though they could only leave with her aguard of some twenty or thirty men.

  So much was she refreshed the following morning, that the hopes of herson brightened, and with that filial devotion so peculiarly hischaracteristic, he easily obtained leave of absence from his sovereign,to remain by the couch of his mother for at least that day, instead ofaccompanying him, as was his wont, in the expeditions of the day. Thecountess combated this decision, but in vain. Alan was resolved. He wasconvinced, he said, her former capture, and all its ill consequences,would not have taken place had he been by her side; and even were shenot now exposed to such indignity, she would be lonely and sad withouthim, and stay, in consequence, he would. The king and his officersapproved of the youth's resolution, and reluctantly Isabella yielded.

  About two hours before noon the Bruce and his companions departed,desiring Sir Alan not to expect their return till near midnight, as theyintended penetrating a part of the country which had not yet beenexplored; they might be a few hours sooner, but they scarcely expectedit. It was afterwards remembered that a peculiar expression of sadnessoverclouded the countenance of the countess, as for a moment she fixedher speaking eyes on the king's face when he cheerfully bade herfarewell, and said, in a low emphatic voice--

  "Farewell, sire! It may be the hour of meeting is longer deferred thanwe either of us now believe. Fain would I beseech your grace to grant meone boon, make me but one promise ere you depart."

  "Any boon, any promi
se that our faithful friend and subject can demand,is granted ere 'tis asked," answered the king, without a moment's pause,though startled alike at the expression of her features and the sadnessof her voice. "Gladly would we give any pledge that could in any waybespeak our warm sense of thy true merit, lady, therefore speak, andfear not."

  "'Tis simply this, sire," she said, and her voice was still mournful,despite her every effort to prevent its being so. "Should unforeseenevil befall me, captivity, danger of death, or aught undreamed of now,give me your royal word as a knight and king, that you will not perilyour sacred person, and with it the weal and liberty of our unhappycountry, for my sake, but leave me to my fate; 'tis a strange andfanciful boon, yet, gracious sovereign, refuse it not. I mean nottreachery such as we have encountered, where your grace's noblegallantry rescued me with little peril to yourself. No; I mean other andgreater danger; where I well know that rather than leave me exposed tothe wrath of my husband and Edward of England, you would risk your ownprecious life, and with it the liberty of Scotland. Grant me this boon,my liege, and perchance this heavy weight upon my spirit will pass andleave me free."

  "Nay, 'tis such a strange and unknightly promise, lady, how may I pledgemy word to its fulfilment?" answered Robert, gravely and sadly. "You bidme pledge mine honor to a deed that will stain my name with aneverlasting infamy, that even the liberty of Scotland will not washaway. How may I do this thing? You press me sorely, lady. Even for thee,good and faithful as thou art, how may I hurt my knightly fame?"

  "Sire, thou wilt not," she returned, still more entreatingly; "thybrilliant fame, thy noble name, will never--can never, receive a stain.I do but ask a promise whose fulfilment may never be demanded. I do butbid thee remember thou art not only a knight, a noble, a king, but oneby whom the preservation, the independence of our country can alone beachieved--one on whose safety and freedom depends the welfare of anation, the unchained glory of her sons. Were death thy portion,Scotland lies a slave forever at the feet of England, and therefore isit I do beseech thee, King of Scotland, make me this pledge. I know thynoble spirit well, and I know thy too chivalric honor would blind theeto a sense of danger, to a sense of country, duty, glory, of all savethe rescue of one who, though she be faithful to thee and to hercountry, is but as a drop of water in the ocean, compared to otherclaims. My liege, thy word is already in part pledged," she continued,more proudly. "Any pledge or promise I might demand is granted ere it isasked, your highness deigned to say; thou canst not retract it now."

  "And wherefore shouldst thou, royal brother?" cheeringly interruptedAlexander Bruce. "The Lady Isahella asks not unreasonably; she does butsuggest _what may be_, although that may be is, as we all know, next toimpossible, particularly now when nature has fortified this pleasantlodge even as would a garrison of some hundred men. Come, be not sochurlish in thy favors, good my liege; give her the pledge she demands,and be sure its fulfilment will never be required."

  "Could I but think so," he replied, still gravely. "Lady, I do entreatthee, tell me wherefore thou demandest this strange boon; fearest thouevil--dreamest thou aught of danger hovering near? If so, as there is aGod in heaven, I will not go forth to-day!"

  "Pardon me, gracious sovereign," answered Isabella, evasively; "I askit, because since the late adventure there has been a weight upon myspirit as if I, impotent, of little consequence as I am, yet even Imight be the means of hurling down evil on thy head, and through thee onScotland; and, therefore, until thy promise to the effect I havespecified is given, I cannot, I will not rest--even though, as LordAlexander justly believes, its fulfilment will never be required. Evilhere, my liege, trust me, cannot be; therefore go forth in confidence. Ifear not to await your return, e'en should I linger here alone. Grantbut my boon."

  "Nay, an it must be, lady, I promise all thou demandest," answeredBruce, more cheerfully, for her words reassured him; "but, by minehonor, thou hast asked neither well nor kindly. Remember, my pledge ispassed but for real danger, and that only for Scotland's sake, not formine own; and now farewell, lady. I trust, ere we meet again, thesedepressing fancies will have left thee."

  "They have well-nigh departed now, my liege; 'twas simply for thee andScotland these heavy bodings oppressed me. My son," she added, after abrief pause, "I would your highness could prevail on him to accompanyyou to-day. Wherefore should he stay with me?"

  "Wherefore not rather, lady?" replied the king, smiling. "I may notleave thee to thine own thoughts to weave fresh boons like to the last.No, no! our young knight must guard thee till we meet again," and withthese words he departed. They did not, however, deter the countess fromresuming her persuasions to Alan to accompany his sovereign, but withoutsuccess. Isabella of Buchan had, however, in this instance departed fromher usual strict adherence to the truth, she did not feel so secure thatno evil would befall her in the absence of the Bruce, as she hadendeavored to make him believe.

  Some words she had caught during her brief captivity caused her, shescarcely knew why, to believe that the Earl of Buchan himself was in theneighborhood; nay, that the very party which had captured her weremembers of the army under his command. She had gathered, too, that itwas a very much larger force than the king's, and therefore it was thatshe had made no objection to Robert's wish that she should rest some fewdays in the hunting-lodge. She knew that, however her failing strengthmight detain and harass their movements, Bruce and his followers wouldnever consent to leave her, unless, as in the present case, under acomparatively comfortable roof and well-concealed shelter; and she knew,too, that however she might struggle to accompany them in theirwanderings, the struggle in her present exhausted state would be utterlyin vain, and lingering for her might expose her sovereign to a renewalof the ills with which he had already striven so nobly, and perchance toyet more irreparable misfortune. The information of the scouts hadpartially reassured her, at least to the fact that no immediate dangerwas to be apprehended, and for a while she indulged the hope that safetymight be found in this hidden spot until the peril passed. She had fullconfidence in the fidelity of the old retainers who had guided them tothe spot, and sought to feel satisfied that its vicinity was unknown tothe earl, her husband; but, whether from the restlessness of a slightdegree of fever, or from that nervous state of mind attendant onworn-out strength, ere the Bruce departed the same foreboding came onher again, and all her desire was the absence of her sovereign and hisfollowers, to have some hold upon his almost too exalted sense ofchivalry, which would prevent any rash act of daring on his part; andthis, as we have seen, she obtained.

  Could she but have prevailed on her son to accompany them, she wouldcalmly and resignedly have awaited her fate, whatever it might be; butthe horror of beholding him a prisoner in the hands of his father--thatfather perhaps so enraged at the boy's daring opposition to his will andpolitical opinions, that he would give him up at once to the wrath ofEdward--was a picture of anguish from which her mind revolted in suchintense suffering, she could not rest. She strove with the fancy; shesought to rouse every energy, to feel secure in her presentresting-place. But who can resist the influence of feelings such asthese? What mother's heart cannot enter into the emotions of Isabella ofBuchan, as she gazed on her noble boy, improved as he was in manlinessand beauty, and with the dread anticipation of evil, believing onlyabsence could protect him; that perchance the very love which kept himby her side would expose him to danger, imprisonment, and death? She didnot speak her fears, but Alan vainly sought to soothe that unwontedrestlessness. She had endeavored to secure the Bruce's safety by the aidof Malcolm, the young page, by whose instrumentality she had been bothcaptured and released. Taking advantage of Sir Alan's absence, she hadcalled the boy to her side, and made him promise that, at the firstmanifest sign of danger, he would make his escape, which, by his extremeagility and address, would easily be achieved, seek the king, and givehim exact information of the numbers, strength, and situation of thefoes, reminding him, at the same time, of his solemn pledge. She madehim promise the profoundest
secrecy, and adjured him at all hazards tosave the king.

  The boy, affected by the solemnity of her manner, promised faithfully toobserve her minutest sign, and on the re-entrance of Sir Alan departed,to marvel wherefore his lady should so have spoken, and examine thelocalities around, as to the best means of concealment and escape.

  The hours waned, and night fell, as is usual in October, some five hoursafter noon, the gloom perhaps greatly increased by the deep shades inwhich their place of concealment lay. Sir Alan roused the fire to acheerful blaze, and lighting a torch of pine-wood, placed it in an ironbracket projecting from the wall, and amused himself by polishing hisarms, and talking in that joyous tone his mother so loved, on everysubject that his affection fancied might interest and amuse her. He waswholly unarmed, except his sword, which, secured to his waist by acrimson sash, he never laid aside; and fair and graceful to his mother'seye did he look in his simple doublet of Lincoln-green, cut and slashedwith ruby velvet, his dark curls clustering round his bare throat, andhis bright face beaming in all the animation of youth and health,spiritualized by the deeper feelings of his soul; and she, too, wasstill beautiful, though her frame was slighter, her features moreattenuated than when we first beheld her. He had insisted on herreclining on the couch, and drawn from her otherwise painful thoughts byhis animated sallies, smiles circled her pale lip, and her sorrows werea while forgotten.

  An hour, perhaps rather more, elapsed, and found the mother and sonstill as we have described, There had been no sound without, but aboutthat period many heavy footsteps might have been distinguished,cautiously, it seemed, advancing. Alan started up and listened; theimpatient neigh of a charger was heard, and then voices suppressed, yet,as he fancied, familiar.

  "King Robert returned already!" he exclaimed; "they must have had anunusually successful chase. I must e'en seek them and inquire."

  "Alan! my child!" He started at the voice, it was so unlike hismother's. She had risen and flung her arm around him with a pressure soconvulsive, he looked at her with terror. There was no time to answer; asudden noise usurped the place of the previous stillness--a struggle--aheavy fall; the door was flung rudely open, and an armed man stood uponthe threshold, his vizor up, but even had it not been, the heart of thecountess too truly told her she gazed upon her husband!