CHAPTER XV.
While these fearful scenes were passing in the hunting-lodge, Malcolm,the young page already mentioned, had contrived to elude the vigilanceof the earl's numerous followers, and reach the brow of the hollow inperfect safety. Endowed with a sense and spirit above his years, andinspired by his devoted attachment to the countess and Sir Alan, the boydid not merely think of his own personal security, and of the simple actof warning the king against the treachery which awaited his return, but,with an eye and mind well practised in intelligent observation, hescanned the numbers, character, and peculiar situation of the foes whichhad so unexpectedly come upon them. Being peculiarly small and light infigure, and completely clothed in a dark green tunic and hose, which wasscarcely discernible from the trees and shrubs around, he stole, in andout every brake and hollow, clambering lightly and noiselessly overcrags, hanging like a broken branch from stunted trees, leaping with theelasticity of a youthful fawn over stream and shrub, and thus obtained atrue and exact idea of the matter he desired. The boy's heart did indeedsink as he felt rescue would be utterly impossible; that in onedirection the English force extended nearly a mile, guarding everyavenue, every hollow in the forest, till it seemed next to impossibleKing Robert could escape, even if forewarned. Wherever he turned hissteps the enemy appeared to lurk, but he wavered not in his purpose.Aware of the direction which the king would take in returning, Malcolmslackened not his speed until some three hours after he had quitted thehollow, and he stood before his sovereign well-nigh too exhausted forthe utterance of his tale.
The first impulse of the king and his true-hearted followers was to dareall danger, and rescue the countess and her brave son at the expense oftheir lives; but Malcolm, flinging himself at the feet of Robert,adjured him, in the name of the countess, to remember and act upon thevow he had so solemnly pledged at parting. He earnestly and emphaticallyrepeated the last injunctions of his lady, her deep anguish that theking, the savior of Scotland, should hazard all for her and herchild--better they should die than Robert; but these entreaties were butanguish to the noble spirit who heard, aye, and felt their truth, thoughabide by them he could not. Again and again he questioned andcross-questioned as to their numbers and their strength, but Malcolmnever wavered from his first account; clearly and concisely he gaveevery required information, and with bleeding hearts that little band ofpatriots felt they dared not hope to rescue and to conquer. Yet tacitlyto assent to necessity, to retreat without one blow, to leave theirfaithful companions to death, without one stroke for vengeance at least,if not for relief, this should not be.
"We will see with our own eyes, hear with our own ears, at least, myfriends," King Robert said. "Is there one among ye would retreat, from,the narrative of a child, true as it may be? Remember the pass inArgyle; if necessary, your sovereign can protect your retreat now asthen, and we shall at least feel we have struggled to rescue, strivenfor the mastery, even if it be in vain. Were my death, aye, the death ofScotland the forfeit, I could not so stain my knightly fame by suchretreat. Let but the morning dawn, and we will ourselves mark thestrength of our foes."
There was not one dissenting voice, rash as his determination mightappear. The extraordinary skill and courage of their sovereign,displayed in so many instances during their perilous wanderings, weretoo fresh in their memories to permit of one doubt, one fear, even hadhe led them on to certain death. To throw themselves from their tiredchargers, to give them food, to lie down themselves for a brief reposeon the turf, that they might be strengthened and cheered for the work ofthe morning, all this did not occupy much time; and if their slumberswere brief and troubled, it did not prevent their rising with, alacrityat the first peep of day to polish their arms, look to the sharpening oftheir swords and spears, share the rude huntsman's meal, and mount andride with the first signal of their king.
But bold and brave as were these true-hearted men, successful as,comparatively speaking, they were in the numberless skirmishes whichtook place that day, darkness overtook them, with increase of gloryindeed, but no nearer the accomplishment of their object than they hadbeen in the morning.
With bitter sorrow King Robert had perceived the full confirmation ofthe page's words. The early close of the night attendant on the autumnseason was also unfavorable to his views; the events of the day hadfully convinced him that many an ambush was set in his path, that hispersonal safety was wholly incompatible with a night attack, andtherefore he was compelled to remain on the defensive in one spot, whichwas fortunately barricaded and concealed by Nature, during the many longand weary hours forming an October night. Yet still the following daybeheld him struggling on, in the face alike of disappointment, defeat,and danger the most imminent; still seeking the same object, stillhoping against hope, and retreating only because the welfare of hiscountry, of her unfortunate children, depended upon him; bands more andmore numerous pressed upon him, coming from every side, that scarcelywas one skilfully eluded ere he had to struggle against another. Nothingbut the most consummate skill, the most patient courage, and coolestaddress could have extricated him from the fearful dangers whichencompassed him. Again did his followers believe he bore a charmed life,for not only did he deal destruction, unhurt himself, but after threedays almost incessant fighting and fatigue, he had brought them to aplace of safety, with but the loss of five-and-twenty men.
But though painfully conscious that further efforts for the rescue ofhis friends were completely useless, King Robert could not restsatisfied without some more accurate knowledge of their fate, and aftersome hurried yet anxious consultation. Sir James Douglas, with thatdaring which so marked his simplest action, declared that at all riskshe would seek some tidings that would end their anxiety. In the disguiseof a peasant he would be secure from all discovery, he said; and he hadnot the slightest fear as to the success of the adventure. Five othersstarted up as he spoke entreating permission to take the same disguiseand accompany him. It was granted; King Robert advising them, however,to adopt a diversity of costume, and keep each one apart as theyapproached inhabited districts, as their numbers might excite suspicion,even though the actual disguise was complete. With arms concealedbeneath their various disguises, they departed that same evening,engaging to meet the king at the base of Ben-Cruchan, some miles moresouth than their present trysting. It was an anxious parting, and yetmore when they were actually gone; for the high spirit and vein of humorwhich characterized the young Lord Douglas had power to cheer hisfriends even in the most painful moments. King Robert, indeed, exertedhimself, but this last stroke had been a heavy one; knowing so well thecharacter of Edward, he trembled both for the countess and her nobleson, perhaps less for the latter than the former, for he hoped andbelieved the Earl of Buchan, if indeed he were their captor, would atleast have some mercy on his son, but for the countess he knew thatthere was no hope. The character, the sentiments of the earl had beennoticed by the Bruce when both were at the court of Edward, and he feltand knew that any excuse to rid him of a wife whose virtues wereobnoxious to him would be acted on with joy. And here, perhaps, it maybe well to say a few words as to the real nature of King Robert'ssentiments towards Isabella of Buchan, as from the anxiety her detentionoccasioned they may be so easily misunderstood.
We have performed our task but ill if our readers have imagined aughtbut the most purely noble, most chivalric sentiments actuated the heartof the king. Whatever might have been the nature of those sentiments inearlier days, since his marriage with the daughter of the Earl of Marthey had never entered his soul.
He had always believed the Lady Isabella's union with Lord John Comynwas one of choice, not of necessity, nor did his visit to her after thebattle of Falkirk recall any former feeling. His mind had been under theheavy pressure of that self-reproach which the impressive words ofWallace had first awakened; the wretched state of his country, thetyranny of Edward, occupied the mind of the man in which the emotions ofthe boy had merged. He was, too, a husband and a father; and he was, ashis fond wife so trust
ingly believed, too nobly honorable to entertainone thought to her dishonor. He looked on Isabella of Buchan as oneindeed demanding his utmost esteem and gratitude, his most faithfulfriendship, and he secretly vowed that she should have it; but theseemotions took not their coloring from the past, they were excited simplyby her high-minded devotion to the cause of her country, her unshrinkingpatriotism, her noble qualities, alike as a mother, subject, friend. Hefelt but as one noble spirit ever feels for a kindred essence,heightened perhaps by the dissimilarity of sex, but aught of love, evenin its faintest shadow, aught of dishonorable feelings towards her orhis own wife never entered his wildest dream. It was the recollection ofher unwavering loyalty, of the supporting kindness she had ever shownhis queen, which occasioned his bitter sorrow at her detention by thefoe; it was the dread that the cruel wrath of Edward would indeedcondemn her to death for the active part she had taken in hiscoronation; the conviction, so agonizing to a mind like his, that he hadno power to rescue and avenge; the fearful foreboding that thus wouldall his faithful friends fall from him--this, only this, would be thereward of all who served and loved him; and even while still, withundaunted firmness, cheering the spirits of his adherents, speaking hopeto them, his own inward soul was tortured with doubts as to the wisdomof his resistance, lingering regrets for the fate of those of hisfriends already lost to him, and painful fears for the final doom ofthose who yet remained.
It was in such moments of despondency that remorse, too, ever gaineddominion, and heightened his inward struggles. Robert's hand was notframed for blood; his whole soul revolted from the bitter remembrance ofthat fatal act of passion which had stained his first rising. He wouldhave given worlds, if he had had them, to have recalled that deed. Busyfancy represented a hundred ways of punishing treachery other than thatwhich his fury had adopted; and this remembrance ever increased theanguish with which he regarded the fate of his friends. His lot wasindeed as yet one of unexampled suffering, borne by heroism as great asunequalled but the lustre of the latter too frequently dazzles the mind,and prevents the full meed of glory being obtained. His heroism is knownto all, his sufferings to but a few; but perhaps it was the latter yetmore than the former which gave to Scotland the glory and honor sheacquired in his reign. Heroism is scarce separable from ambition, but tomere ambition, the voice of suffering is seldom heard. Heroism dazzlesthe crowd, suffering purifies the man. If Robert the Bruce wereambitious, the passion in him assumed a nobler and better form; yet wecan scarcely call that ambition which sought but the delivery ofScotland from chains, but the regaining an ancient heritage, and soughtno more. It was patriotism hallowed by suffering, purified by adversity;patriotism the noblest, purest which ever entered the heart of man.
King Robert and his handful of followers not only reached theirtrysting-place themselves, but were joined by the queen, and many of herfemale companions and their attendant warriors, ere Lord James ofDouglas returned; three of his companions had straggled in, one by one,with various accounts, but none so satisfactory as the king desired, andhe believed with justice, that Douglas lingered to bring, if notsatisfactory (for that, alas! could not be) yet accurate intelligence.If aught could have comforted Agnes in these moments of agonizedsuspense, it would have been not alone the redoubled affection of herNigel, but the soothing kindness, the love and sympathy of a father,which was lavished on her by King Robert; nay, each of those rudewarriors softened in address and tone, as they looked on and spoke tothat fair, fragile being, whom they feared now stood alone. She did notweep when other eyes than those of Nigel, or the Lady Campbell, or thegentle Isoline were on her, but that deadly pallor, that quivering lip,and heavy eye spoke all that she endured.
A large cavern, divided by Nature into many compartments, was now thetemporary shelter of the king and his friends. It was situated at thebase of Ben-Cruchan, which, though at the entrance of the territories ofLorn, was now comparatively secure, the foe imagining the Bruce stillamidst the mountains of Aberdeenshire.
The evening meal was spread; a huge fire blazing in the stony cavityremoved all appearance of damp or discomfort, and shed a warm, ruddylight on the groups within. It was a rude home for the King of Scotlandand his court, yet neither murmuring nor despondency was marked on thebold brows of the warriors, or the gentler and paler features of theirfaithful companions; their frames, indeed, showed the effect ofwandering and anxiety; many an eye which had been bright was sunken,many a blooming cheek was paled; but the lip yet smiled, the voice hadyet its gleesome tones to soothe and cheer their warrior friends; theeager wish to prepare the couch and dress the simple meal, to performthose many little offices of love and kindness so peculiarly a woman's,and engaged in with a zest, a skill which was intuitive, for there hadbeen a time, and one not far distant, when those high-born femaleslittle dreamed such household deeds would be their occupation.
Brightly and beautifully shone forth conjugal and filial love in thosewandering hours; the wife, the child, the sister bound themselves yetcloser to the warrior husband, father, brother, which claimed them his.Yet sweet, most sweet as were those acts of love, there were anxious andloving hearts which felt that soon, too soon, they must part from them,they must persuade those gentle ones to accede to a temporaryseparation--they could not, they would not expose them to the snows andkilling frosts of a Scottish winter.
Anxiety, deep anxiety was on the heart of King Robert, becoming morepainful with each glance he fixed on Agnes, who was sitting apart withNigel, her aching head resting on his shoulder, but he strove to returnthe caresses of his daughter, to repay with fond smiles the exertions ofhis wife. Sir Niel Campbell (who, after many painful trials, hadrejoined the king) and others strove to disperse the silently gatheringgloom by jest and song, till the cavern walls re-echoed with theirsoldier mirth. Harshly and mournfully it fell on the ear and heart ofthe maiden of Buchan, but she would not have it stilled.
"No, no; do thou speak to me, Nigel, and I shall only list to thee. Whyshould the noble efforts of these brave men--for I know even to themmirth is now an effort--be chilled and checked, because my sick heartbeats not in unison? Oh, when will Lord James return?"
Nigel sought to soothe, to speak hope, but though his words fell likebalm on the bleeding heart he held to his, it was the rich melody oftheir voice, not the matter of their meaning.
The hour of rest was fast approaching, when the well-known signal washeard without, and the young Lord Douglas, with his two companions, werehastily and eagerly admitted within the cave. Their looks denoted greatfatigue, and the eager eyes which scanned their countenances read littleto hope, yet much, much, alas! to fear.
"Thou hast so far succeeded as to obtain the intelligence we need," wasthe king's instant greeting, as he released his favorite young followerfrom his embrace; "that I can read, but further, I fear me, thou hastlittle to communicate which we shall love to hear."
"My tidings are ill indeed, your highness; aggravated and mostundreamed-of ill. But, perchance," and the young man hesitated, for hiseye caught the pallid face of Agnes, who had irresistibly drawn closerto the circle about the king, and fixed her eyes on him with anexpression almost wild in its agony, "perchance they had better firstmeet your grace's private ear."
"No, no!" reiterated Agnes, springing forward, and clinging convulsivelyto his arm. "It is only me thou fearest, I know; I know thou wouldstspare me, but do not, do not. I can bear all, every thing, save thishorrible suspense; speak out, let me but know all, and then I can teachmy soul to bear it. Oh, do not hesitate, do not pause; in mercy, tellme--oh, tell me all!"
Thus adjured, but feeling most painfully the suffering his tale wouldproduce, Douglas struggled with his own emotion, and repeated all theinformation he had obtained. Guardedly as he spoke, evidently as heendeavored to prepare the mind of Agnes, and thus soften its woe, histale was yet such as to harrow up the hearts of all his hearers, howmuch more the frail and gentle being to whom it more immediatelyrelated; yet she stood calm, pale, indeed, and quivering, but with adespe
rate effort conquering the weakness of her nature, and bearing thatdeep woe as the daughter of her mother, the betrothed of Nigel Bruce.
The young lord's information was simply this. On nearing thehunting-lodge, which was his first object, he found it very nearlydeserted, but a few stragglers, amounting perhaps to fifty in number ofthe followers of Buchan, remaining behind, with orders to follow theirmaster to Dunkeld without delay. Mingling with these as a countryman ofthe more northern counties, eager to obtain every species ofintelligence respecting the movements of the English and the huntedBruce, whom he pretended to condemn and vilify after the fashion of theAnglo-Scots, and feeling perfectly secure not only in the disguise hehad assumed, but in the peculiar accent and intonation of thenorth-country peasant, which he could assume at pleasure, he madehimself a welcome guest, and with scarcely any trouble received much ofthe information he desired. He was told of the first capture and rescueof the Countess of Buchan; that it was through one of the men left fordead on the scene of the skirmish the earl had received such exactinformation concerning the movements and intended destination of theBruce; that immediately on receiving this intelligence he had gatheredall his force, amounting to five hundred men, and dividing them intodifferent bands, sent skilful guides with each, and was thus enabled tosurround the lodge, and command five different avenues of the forest,without interruption or discovery. He learned, too, that a stormyinterview had taken place between the earl, his wife, and son, theparticulars of which, however, had not transpired; that the earl's ragehad been terrific when he found the night passed, and the Bruce had notfallen into the snare laid for him; and he had sworn a fearful oath,that if the countess would not betray him into his power, her son shoulddie; that both mother and son had stood this awful trial withoutshrinking; that no word either to betray their king or implore life andmercy had been wrung from them. Incensed beyond all measure, Buchan hadsent on the countess with a numerous guard, his men believed, either toDunkeld or Perth, in both of which towns there was a strong garrison ofEnglish, and lingered yet another day and night in the hope of draggingsome intelligence from the lips of Alan, or persuading him into actingthe spy upon the actions and movements of the Bruce. He succeeded inneither; and the men continued to state, with shuddering horror, whicheven their rude natures could not suppress, that they believed the sonhad actually fallen a victim to his father's rage--that he had actuallybeen murdered. Numerous reports to that effect had been circulated onall sides, and though they had watched narrowly, they had seen nothingto contradict it. The body of the unfortunate boy had been cast into adeep well, heaps of rubbish flung over it, and the well built up. Thisthey knew as a positive certainty, for they had seen it.
Douglas heard this tale with an intensity of horror, of loathing, whichat first deprived him almost of every other feeling; but when he couldwithdraw himself from the horrible idea, a species of disbelief tookpossession of him. It was impossible such utter depravity, such fearfulinsensibility to the claims of nature could exist in the breast of anyman; it was a tale forged to inflict fresh agony on the mother's heart,and he determined on discovering, if possible, the truth. He pretendedentirely to disbelieve it; declared it was not possible; that the earlhad practised on their credulity, and would laugh at them afterwards;and contrived so well, that three or four declared he should beconvinced with his own eyes, and set about pulling down the slightbrickwork which covered the well. This was what Douglas wanted, and heeagerly lent them a helping hand.
A body there was indeed, in form and in clothing so exactly that of theunhappy Alan, that, even though the face was so marred it could not berecognized, the young earl could doubt no longer; the young, the brave,the beautiful, and true, had fallen a victim to his own patriot loyalty,and by a father's hand. The deep suffering this certainly occasioned wasregarded by his companions as sulkiness for having been proved wrong inhis judgment; they jeered and laughed at him accordingly, and harshly asthese sounds reverberated in his heart, they were welcome, as enablinghim still more easily to continue his disguise.
He accompanied them to Dunkeld, and found the earl had proceeded withhis wife as prisoner to the castle of Stirling, there to deliver herover to the Earl of Hereford, through whom to be sent on to Edward.Determined on seeing her, if possible, Douglas resolved on daring thedanger, and venturing even to the very stronghold of his foes. Thehorror which this unnatural act of the earl had excited in the minds ofhis men, he found had extended even over those in Dunkeld, and throughthem he learned that, directly on reaching the town, the earl had soughtthe countess, brutally communicated the death of her son, and placed inher hands the raven curls as all which remained of him, some of whichwere dabbled in blood; that she had remained apparently unmoved while inhis presence, but the moment he left her had sunk into a succession ofthe most fearful fainting fits, in one of which she had been removed toStirling.
Withdrawing himself from his companions, under pretence of returning tohis home in the north, having, he said, loitered too long, Douglasconcealed himself for some days in the abbey of Scone, the holy inmatesof which still retained their loyalty and patriotism, notwithstandingtheir revered abbot, unable to remain longer inactive, had donned thewarrior's dress, and departed to join and fight with his king. Assumingthe cowl and robes of one of the lay brothers, and removing the red wigand beard he had adopted with his former costume, the young lord tookthe staff in his hand, and with difficulty bringing his hasty pace to alevel with the sober step and grave demeanor of a reverend monk, reachedStirling just as the cavalcade, with the litter intended for the captivecountess, had assembled before the castle gate. Agitated almost beyondthe power of control, Douglas made his way through the gathering crowds,and stood unquestioned close beside the litter. He did not wait long.Respectfully supported by the Earl of Hereford himself, the Countess ofBuchan, with a firm, unfaltering step, approached the litter. The hoodwas thrown back, and Douglas could read the effects of withering agonyon the marble stillness of those beautiful features, though to all elsethey spoke but firm and calm resolve; there was not a vestige of coloron cheek or lip or brow; and though her figure was as commanding, asmajestic as heretofore, there was a fearful attenuation about it,speaking volumes to Lord James's heart. Hereford placed her in thelitter, and with a respectful salutation turned away to give somenecessary orders to his men. Bold in his disguise, Douglas bent over thecountess, and spoke in a low, feigned voice those words of comfort andof peace suited to his assumed character; but feigned as it was, thecountess recognized him on that instant; a convulsive shudder passedthrough her every limb, contracting her features with very agony.
"My child--my Alan!" she whispered, harrowing his very soul beneath thatvoice's thrilling woe. "Douglas, hast thou heard?--yes, yes; I can readit in thine awe-struck face. This, this is all I have left of him," andshe partly drew from her bosom the clustering ringlets he recognized atonce; "yet, wherefore should I mourn him: he is happy. Bid his memory behonored among ye; and oh, tell the sovereign for whom he fell, better adeath like this than treachery and shame."
She had paused as fearing observation, but perceiving the attention ofall more fixed on the glittering cavalcade than on herself, she placedone of those glossy curls in the young earl's hand, and continued--
"Give this to my poor Agnes, with her mother's blessing, and bid hertake comfort, bid her not weep and mourn for me. A prison, even death ispreferable now to life, for she is cared for. I trust her to Sir Nigel'slove; I know that he will tend her as a brother till a happier hourmakes her all his own. Commend me to my sovereign, and tell him, might Ichoose my path again, despite its anguish, 'twould be that which I havetrod. And now farewell, young lord, I bless thee for this meeting."
"Dominus vobiscum mea filia, et vale," responded the supposed monk, in aloud voice, for he had only time to assure the countess by a look ofdeep sympathy of his willingness to execute her simplest wish, and hidethe ringlet in his bosom, ere Hereford turned towards him, with a gazeof stern inquiry. Ably concealin
g alike his emotion and the expressionof his countenance, Douglas evaded discovery, and even obtainedpermission to follow the litter to the environs of the town. He did so,but the countess addressed him not again; and it was with aheart-sinking despondency he had turned to the mountains, when thecavalcade disappeared from his view. He retained his monkish garb tillhe entered the mountain district, where he fell in with his twocompanions, and they proceeded, as we have seen, to the quarters oftheir king.
A pause of horror followed his narrative, told more forcibly and brieflyby the lips of Douglas than through the cooler medium of the historian'spen. Stunned, overwhelmed, as if incapable of movement or speech, thoughsense remained, Agnes stood insensible, even to the voice of Nigel,whose soothing accents strove to whisper peace; but when Douglas placedin her cold hand the raven curls she knew so well, when tenderly yetearnestly he repeated her mother's words, the poor girl repeatedlypressed the hair to her parched lips, and laid it in her bosom; and thenperceiving the sad and anxious face of her beloved, she passed her handhurriedly over her brow, and burying her head on his breast, sense waspreserved by an agony of tears.
It was long, long ere this aggravated wretchedness was calmed, thoughthe love of many, the devotion of one were ever round her to strengthenand console. Sympathy, the most heartfelt, reigned in every bosom. Ofthe many misfortunes which had befallen this patriot band, this seemed,if not really the severest, more fraught with horror than any which hadcome before; the youth, the gallant bearing, the endearing qualities ofthe heir of Buchan stood forth with vivid clearness in the memories ofall, and there were times when they felt it could not be, it was toofearful; and then again, the too certain evidence of the fact, witnessedas it had been by one of such tried truth as James of Douglas, broughtconviction too clearly home, and the sternest warrior, who would havefaced his own captivity and death unmoved, felt no shame in the dimnesswhich gathered in his eye for the fearful fate of the murdered boy.
In King Robert's breast these emotions obtained yet more powerfuldominion; again did remorse distract him, and there were moments ofdarkness, when his spirit questioned the justice of the Creator. Why wasnot his crime visited on his own head? Why did the guiltless andunstained fall thus around him, and he remain unharmed? and it neededall the eloquence of Nigel, the pious reasonings of the Abbot of Scone,to convince him that, dark and inscrutable as the decrees of Omnipotencesometimes seemed, in his case they were as clear as the wisdom fromwhich they sprung. By chastisement he was purified; he was not yet fitto receive the reward of the righteous waiting on death. Destined to bethe savior of his unhappy country, the remorse which bowed down hisnaturally haughty spirit was more acceptable in the sight of his God,more beneficial to his own soul, than the one act of devotednessincluded in a brave man's death. Robert struggled with his despondency,with his soul's deep grief, known as it was but to himself, hisconfessor, and his young brother; he felt its encouragement wouldunnerve him for his destined task. Other imperative matters now pressedround him, and by presenting fresh and increased danger, roused hisenergies once more to their wonted action.
The winter had set in with unexampled severity, overwhelming snow-stormsfilled up the rude paths of the mountains, till egress and ingressappeared impossible. The Earl of Athol himself, who had been theinseparable companion of the Bruce in all his wanderings, now spoke ofretiring, and passing the winter within stone walls, urging hissovereign with earnest eloquence to take refuge in Ireland till thespring, when they would reassemble under arms, and perhaps take thetyrant Edward once more by surprise.
Bruce knew the veteran nobleman too well to attribute this advice to anymotive save deep interest in his safety. He saw, too, that it wasutterly impossible for them to remain as they then were, without seriousevils alike to his female and male companions; the common soldiers,steady and firm as they still continued in loyalty, yet were continuallydispersing, promising to reassemble in the spring, but declaring that itwas useless to think of struggling against the English, when the veryelements were at war against them. With a sad foreboding, Robert saw,and communicated to his devoted wife the necessity of their separation.He felt that it was right and best, and therefore he resisted all hertearful entreaties still to linger by his side; her child was suffering,for her tender years could not bear up against the cold and the want ofproper nourishment, and yet even that claim seemed less to the mother'sheart than the vision of her husband enduring increase of hardshipalone. Her acquiescence was indeed at length obtained, but dimmed bymany very bitter tears.
A hasty consultation with his few remaining friends speedily decided theBruce's plans. The castle of Kildrummie, a strong fortress situated atthe head of the Don, in Aberdeenshire, yet remained to him, and thither,under the escort of his brother Nigel and three hundred men, the kingdetermined to send his wife and child, and the other ladies of hiscourt. Himself, his three brothers, Edward, Alexander, and Thomas,Douglas, Sir Niel Campbell, and his remaining two hundred followers,resolved on cautiously making their way southward across Loch Lomond,and proceed thence to the coast of Ireland, there to await the spring.In pursuance of this plan, Sir Niel Campbell was dispatched withoutdelay to conciliate Angus, Lord of the Isles, to whom Cantire thenbelonged. Knowing he was unfriendly to his near neighbors, the Lords ofLorn, the king trusted he should find in him a powerful ally. To appealyet more strongly to the chivalric hospitality which characterized thechieftain, Sir Niel consented that his wife and daughter Isoline shouldaccompany him. Lady Campbell had too lately undergone the grief andanxiety attendant on the supposed loss of her husband to consent toanother parting. Even the king, her brother, sought not to dissuade her;but all persuasions to induce Agnes to accompany them were vain; bitteras the pang of separation was to her already aching heart--for LadyCampbell and Isoline were both most dear to her--she steadily resolvedto remain with the queen and her attendants, and thus share the fate ofher betrothed.
"Did not my mother commend me to thy care? Did she not bid thee tend meas a brother until happier hours, and shall I seek other guardianshipthan thine, my Nigel?" were her whispered words, and Nigel could notanswer them. So pure, so unselfish was her love, that though he felt hishappiness would have departed with her presence, could he have commandedwords he would have implored her to seek the hospitality of the Lord ofthe Isles as a securer home than Kildrummie. Those forebodings alreadyalluded to had returned with darker weight from the hour his separationfrom his brother was resolved on. He evinced no sign of his inwardthoughts, he uttered no word of dissent, for the trust reposed in him byhis sovereign was indeed as precious as it was honorable; but there wasa mournful expression on his beautiful countenance--when unobserved, itwould rest upon his brother--that Agnes could not define, although itfilled her spirit with incomprehensible alarm, and urged her yet more toabide by his side.
The dreaded day arrived at length, and agonized was indeed that parting.Cheerfully the king looked, and hopefully he spoke, but it had no powerto calm the whelming tide of sorrow in which his wife clung to hisembrace. Again and again she returned to that faithful heart which boreso fondly, so forbearingly, with all her faults and weaknesses; andMargory, although she could not comprehend the extent of sorrowexperienced by her mother, wept bitterly at her side. Nor were they theonly sufferers. Some indeed were fortunate enough to have relatives amidthe band which accompanied them to Kildrummie, but by far the greaternumber clung to the necks of brothers, fathers, husbands, whose faithfuland loving companions they had been so long--clung to them and wept, asif a long dim vista of sorrow and separation stretched before them.Danger, indeed, was around them, and the very fact of their being thuscompelled to divide, appeared to heighten the perils, and tacitlyacknowledge them as too great to be endured.
With pain and difficulty the iron-souled warriors at length torethemselves from the embrace of those they held most dear. The knightsand their followers had closed round the litters, and commenced theirmarch. No clarion sent its shrill blast on the mountain echoes, noinspiring d
rum reverberated through the glens--all was mournfully still;as the rudest soldier revered the grief he beheld, and shrunk fromdisturbing it by a sound.
King Robert stood alone, on the spot where Sir Christopher Seaton hadborne from him his wife and child. His eyes still watched their litter;his thoughts still lingered with them alone; full of affection, anxiety,sadness, they were engrossed, but not defined. He was aroused by thesudden appearance of his younger brother, who, bareheaded, threw himselfat his feet, and, in a voice strangely husky, murmured--
"My sovereign, my brother, bless me, oh, bless me, ere we part!"
"My blessing--the blessing of one they deem accursed; and to thee, good,noble, stainless as thou art! Nigel, Nigel, do not mock me thus,"answered the king, bitterness struggling with the deepest melancholy, ashe laid his hand, which strangely trembled, on the young man's loweredhead. "Alas! bring I not evil and misery and death on all who love me?What, what may my blessing bring to thee?"
"Joy, bright joy in the hour of mirth and comfort; oh, untold-of comfortin the time of sorrow, imprisonment, death! My brother, my brother, oh,refuse it not; thou knowest not, thou canst not know how Nigel lovesthee!"
Robert gazed at him till every thought, every feeling was lost in thesudden sensation of dread lest ill should come to him; it had overtakenone as fair in promise, as beloved, and yet younger; and oh, if deathselected the best, the loveliest, the dearest, would it next fall onhim? The thought was such absolute agony, that the previous sufferingof that hour was lost before it.
"Bless thee--oh, may God in heaven bless thee, my brave, my nobleNigel!" he exclaimed, with a burst of emotion, perfectly appalling inone generally so controlled, and raising him, he strained himconvulsively to his heart. "Yet why should we part?" he added, after along pause; "why did I fix on thee for this office--are there notothers? Nigel, Nigel, say but the word, and thou shalt rest with me:danger, privation, exile we have borne, and may still share together.Why should I send thee from me, dearest, most beloved of all who call mebrother?"
"Why?" answered Nigel, raising his glistening eyes from his brother'sshoulder, "why, dear Robert? because thine eye could read my heart andtrust it; because thou knewest I would watch over those who bear thyname, who are dear to thee, even as thy noble self. Oh, do not repentthee of thy choice; 'tis hard to bear alone danger, so long encounteredhand in hand, yet as thou hast decided let it be. Thy words have soothedmy yearning heart, which craved to list thy voice once more; and nowthen, my noble liege and brother, farewell. Think on thy Nigel's words;even when misery is round thee thou shalt, thou shalt be blessed. Thinkon them, my Robert, and then when joy and liberty and conquest crownthee, oh, forget not Nigel."
He threw his arms around him, imprinted a fervent kiss on his cheek, andwas out of sight ere the king by sign or word could arrest his progress.One hasty bound forward Robert indeed made, but a dimness stole over hissight, and for one brief minute he sunk down on the grass, and when helifted his head again, there were burning tears upon his cheek.
The Days of Bruce Vol 1 Page 15