CHAPTER XVI.
The hardships and dangers attendant on King Robert's progress southward,mingled as they were with the very spirit of romance, are so well knownto every reader of Scottish history that they must be excluded from ourpages, although a tale of chivalry would seem the very place for theirinsertion.
The life of no hero, no sovereign, no general, presents us with aparallel to the lone and dreary passage of Loch Lomond. We hear of anancient and a modern Hannibal crossing the snowy Alps, but it was at thehead of triumphant armies; it was carrying war and victory into anenemy's land, and there was glory in the danger--the glory and pride ofsuccessful ambition. But there was greater and truer heroism in thespirit which struggled on when the broad, deep waters of Loch Lomond laybetween them and comparative safety; when 'mid falling snow and howlingwinds he cheered his drooping and exhausted followers by reading aloud aspirit-stirring romance, to which they listened enwrapt and charmed,little imagining their own situation was one of far greater peril, ofmore exciting romance than any which the volume so vividly described. Aleaky boat, which scarcely allowed three men to cross in safety, wastheir only means of conveyance, and a day and night passed ere the twohundred followers of the Bruce assembled on the opposite side. Thecheerful blast of his bugle, which sounded to form them in bands beforehim on the beach, was answered by one whose unexpected appearanceoccasioned such joy to the heart of the king, that the exertions both ofbody and mind of the last few hours were forgotten. It was the Earl ofLennox, who since the fatal battle of Methven had been numbered amongstthe dead, and lamented by his royal master with grief as deep as the joywas exceeding which greeted him again. Mutual was the tale of sufferingeach had to relate, few and faint the hopes and prospects tocommunicate, but so many were the friends the patriots had lost, thatthe reappearance of the venerable nobleman infused a new and brighterspirit amid the almost despairing men.
That the Earl of Lennox had found a kind and hospitable home in thedominions of the Lord of the Isles, and received welcome and favor fromthe chieftain himself, was justly a subject of rejoicing to the fugitiveking. Guided by him, the intricacies of their path were smoothed, andthey reached their destination in a much shorter time than wouldotherwise have been the case. Sir Niel Campbell had performed hismission well, and kindness and truth so long unknown, now eagerlyopened their hearths and hearts to the patriot king. Scorning alike theScottish and English authority, Angus, Lord of the Isles, had formed anindependent sovereignty, and now felt pride in receiving in histerritories the only sovereign he had felt inclination to revere. Thedaring heroism, the unshaken spirit of the Bruce, were akin to his ownwild, and reckless courage, and had there been no actual claim and rightin Robert's pretensions to the crown, Angus would still have declaredthat he, and he alone, was the sovereign worthy to assume it. All, then,of state and dignity which he could assemble round him were proffered tothe king, and had there been less generosity, less chivalric honor inhis character King Robert might have passed the winter months incomparative security and comfort.
Angus indeed spoke daringly and slightly of the English force, and hadhis inmost soul been read, would have joyed had they ventured to attackhim, that he might show his skill and bravery in resisting and defendingagainst their united force the sovereign who had confided in hisgallantry and honor; but Robert knew better than the rude chieftain thedevastating warfare which characterized Edward's efforts at subjection,and his whole soul shrunk from exposing Angus and his true-heartedfollowers to the utter ruin which, if he were once known to be amongstthem, would inevitably ensue. At once to secure his personalconcealment, and yet to withdraw from Cantire without in any wayoffending the high spirit of the island chieftain, Bruce resolved onmaking the little island of Rathlin the winter refuge of himself and histwo hundred followers.
Inhabited by the MacDonalds, who were of course subject to their generalchief, though divided from him by the channel, Bruce was still under thegenerous protection of his friend, and therefore Angus could bringforward no objection to the proposal, save the miserable poverty, themany discomforts of the barren islet, and entreat with all his naturaleloquence that King Robert would still remain in the peninsula. Thearguments of the king, however, prevailed. A small fleet, better mannedthan built, was instantly made ready for his service, and Angus himselfconveyed the king in his own galley to his destined residence. Theaspect of the island, the savage appearance and manner of itsinhabitants were indeed such as to strike despondingly and painfully onthe hearts of any less inured to suffering than King Robert and hisdevoted adherents. To them it was welcome, for they justly felt the eyeof Edward could scarcely reach them there. It was a painful alternativeto warrior spirits such as theirs that the safety of their countrydepended on their inaction and concealment; yet as their king, theirpatriot king, was still amongst them, there was much, much to hope andcherish still. That their gentler friends and relatives were, they hopedand believed, in a place of safety, was a matter of rejoicing, thoughneither entreaty nor command could persuade the Lady Campbell and herdaughter Isoline to accept the proffered hospitality of the islandchieftain. It was nothing to them that they were the only females 'midthat warrior train, that many hardships were around them still. NeitherSir Kiel nor the king could resist their pleadings, and ere the sun ofspring had shed its influence on the heart of man as well as thehardened earth, there were many who mourned that a separation had takenplace, who wished that fatigue and anxiety had still been met together.
Many weeks before King Robert retreated to the island of Rathlin, SirNigel Bruce had conducted his precious charge in safety to the castle ofKildrummie, whose feeble garrison gladly flung open their gates toreceive them.
It was a strong fortress situated on a circular mount, overhanging theriver Don, which at that point ever rushed darkly and stormily along;the mount, though not steep, was full two miles in circumference, frombase to brow occupied by the castle, which was erected in that massiveyet irregular form peculiar to the architecture of the middle ages. Adeep, broad moat or fosse, constantly supplied by the river, defendedthe castle wall, which ran round the mound, irregularly indeed, forthere were indentations and sharp angles, occasioned by the unevenground, each of which was guarded by a strong turret or tower, risingfrom the wall. The wall itself was some four-and-twenty feet in height,and nine in thickness, consequently the spaces between the turrets onthe top of the wall formed broad level platforms, which in case of asiege were generally kept strongly guarded. Facing the east, andcommanding a view of the river and adjacent country, stood the barbacangate and drawbridge, which latter was further defended by strong oakendoors and an iron portcullis, forming the great gate of the castlewall, and the principal entrance into the fortress. Two towers ofimmense strength, united by a narrow, dimly-lighted passage, guardedthis gate, and on these depended the grate or portcullis, which waslowered or raised by internal machinery. Within the castle wall was theouter ballium or court, containing some small, low-roofed dwellings, theresidence of many feudal retainers of the baron. A rude church or chapelwas also within this court, holding a communication with the keep orprincipal part of the castle by means of a passage in the third wall,which divided the ballium from the inner court. In very large castlesthere were in general a second fosse, wall, gate, and towers guardingthe keep, and thus making a complete division between it and theballium; but the original owners of Kildrummie, less rich and powerfulsuzerains than their equals in South Britain, were probably contentedwith merely a stout wall to divide their own sovereign residence fromtheir more plebeian followers. The keep itself, constructed like allother similar buildings of the age, was a massive tower, covering but asmall square, and four or five stories high. There were attempts atluxury in the chambers within, but to modern taste the Norman luxury waslittle better than rudeness; and certainly though the cushions were softand richly embroidered, the arras in some of the apartments splendidspecimens of needlework, and the beautifully carved and often inlaidoaken walls of others, gave evid
ence of both taste and talent, yet thedim light seemed to shed a gloom and heaviness over the whole range ofrooms and passages, which no skill of workmanship or richness ofmaterial could remove. The windows were invariably small, and very longand narrow, and set in walls of such huge thickness, that the sun hadbarely power even in his summer splendor, to penetrate the dusky panes.In this keep was the great hall of audience, and for the banquet, at theupper end of which the dais was invariably found, and dark and loathsomedungeons formed its basement.
The roof of Kildrummie keep was flatter than the generality of Normancastles, its four angles being surmounted more by the appearance thanthe reality of turrets; but one rose from the centre, round, and piercedby loopholes, turreted at the top, and commanding an extensive view ofthe adjoining country: from this tower the banner of the baron alwayswaved, and its non-appearance excited some indignation in the breast ofNigel Bruce, for his warrior spirit had no sympathy with that timorousexcuse, that did it wave at such a time it might excite the attention ofthe English, whereas did it elevate no symbol of defiance its garrisonmight pass unquestioned.
"Up with the banner of Scotland and the Bruce!" were the first commandsof Sir Nigel, as he stood within the ballium, surrounded by his chargeand followers. "Shall we, pledged as we are to our country and king,even seem to stand neutral and conceal our colors, as ashamed of them?Shall this be?"
He was answered by a simultaneous rush towards the keep, and at his wordthe folds of the broad banner waved exultingly from the tower, itsappearance hailed by a loud shout from those beneath, and by a brightand momentary gleam of sunshine flashing through the heavy clouds.
"Ha! see ye, my friends, even heaven smiles on us," exclaimed the youngknight triumphantly, and smiling cheerily on his fair friends, as withgay words and graceful action he marshalled them into the keep. It waswhile doing so, that Agnes marked the figure of an old yetmajestic-looking man, whose eyes, still bright and flashing, though hiswhite hair denoted extreme old age, were fixed immovably on the face andform of Nigel. It was a peculiar glance, strained, eager, and yetmournful, holding her attention so fascinated that she paused in heronward way, and pointed him out to Nigel.
"I know him not, love," he said, in, answer to her inquiry. "I shoulddeem him minstrel by his garb, or seer, or both perchance, as issometimes the case, conjoined. I will speak with him when my presentgrateful task is done."
But it was the next morning ere he had the opportunity of doing so, formuch devolved on the young seneschal. He had to visit the outworks, thestores, the offices, to give multitudinous orders, and receive variousintelligences, to review the present garrison and his own followers, andassign to each his post; and though ably aided by Sir Christopher Seatonand other of his officers, all this occupied much time. The outworks hefound in excellent condition; the barbacan, of massive stone, seemedwell enabled to resist attack, should it be made; the machinery of thedrawbridge was in good order, and enabled to be drawn up or let down ata moment's warning. The stores and granaries, which were contained inthe towers on the castle wall, were very amply provided, though Nigel,taking advantage of the present peaceful temper of the country,dispatched trusty messengers without delay for further supplies. Thatthis fortress, almost the only one remaining to his brother, wouldremain unmolested, Nigel did not for one moment believe, but he did hopethat, in case of a siege, if amply provided with stores, it might holdout till the intense cold of the season and climate would turn thebesiegers from their purpose; at all events, the advancing winter wouldbe more favorable to the besieged than the besiegers, and though thegarrison was comparatively small, the place itself was of such greatstrength as to guarantee the indulgence of his hopes. That the originalgarrison were too timorous and wavering for him to place much dependenceon them he readily perceived, but he trusted much to the beneficialinfluence which his own steady, true-hearted followers might be enabledto infuse.
Nigel was young, brave, and animated by every feeling which inspirescourage and hope in the buoyant heart of youth. The gloom which hadoppressed him in parting with his brother, and indeed had partiallyclouded his spirit during their rapid journey, vanished before theduties and responsibilities which thronged round him, now that he felthimself the guard and seneschal of the castle intrusted to his charge;now that new duties devolved on him, duties particularly dear to a youngand gallant spirit like his own; duties, too, that bound him closer andcloser with the gentle being in whose welfare and happiness his own wereshrined. It was with a bright smile, then, and animated brow he joinedhis Agnes early the following morning, in a stroll through a small woodyinclosure dignified by the name of garden, which occupied part of theinner court. The old minstrel who had so attracted the attention ofAgnes was there before them. He stood against a projecting buttress, hisarms folded, his eyes fixed, it seemed on vacancy, and evidently notaware he was approached till Nigel spoke.
"Good morrow, father. I thought we had been the earliest to greet thisfresh and frosty air, save those on guard, yet you are before us. Nay,wherefore doff thy cap, good father? The air is somewhat too frosty forthy silvered head."
"I cannot doff it to a nobler, gentle youth," answered the old man,courteously, "save to my sovereign's self; and as his representative, Ipay willing homage to his brother."
"Ha! dost thou know me, father? And was it because I am King Robert'sbrother thine eyes so rested on me yester morn, mournfully, methought,as if the joy with which I hailed the gleam of sunshine smiling on ourbanner had little echo in thy breast?"
"Not that, not that," answered the old man, tremulous; "I scarceremarked it, for my thoughts were in that future which is sometimesgiven me to read. I saw thee, noble youth, but 'twas not here. Dimvisions come across my waking hours; it is not well to note them," andhe turned away as if he might not meet those eager eyes.
"Not here! yet I was at his side, good father," and Agnes laid her fairhand on the old man's arm.
"Thou wert, thou wert, my child. Beautiful, beautiful!" he halfwhispered, as he laid his hand dreamily on those golden curls, andlooked on her face; "yet hath sorrow touched thee, maiden. Thy morn oflife hath been o'erclouded; its shadow lingers yet."
"Too truly speakest thou, father," replied Nigel, drawing Agnes closerto his heart, for tears were starting in her eyes; "yet will not lovesoon chase that sorrow? Thou who canst penetrate the future, seer of theBruce's line, tell me, shall she not be mine?"
The old man looked on them both, and then his eyes became fixed onvacancy; long and painfully once or twice he passed his hand across hishigh, pale brow.
"Vain, vain," he said, sadly; "but one vision comes to mine achingsight, and there she seems thine own. She is thine own--but I know nothow that will be. Ask me no more; the dream is passing. 'Tis a sad andfearful gift. Others may triumph in the power, but for me 'tis sad, 'tisvery sad."
"Sad! nay, is it not joy, the anticipating joy," answered Nigel, withanimation, "to look on a beloved one, and mark, amid the clouds ofdistance, glory, and honor, and love entwining on, his path? to lookthrough shades of present sorrow, and discern the sunbeam afar off--isthere not joy in this?"
"Aye, gentle youth; but now, oh, now is there aught in Scotland towhisper these bright things? There was rejoicing, find glory, andtriumph around the patriot Wallace. Scotland sprung from her sluggishsleep, and gave back her echo to his inspiring call. I looked upon thehero's beaming brow, I met the sparkle of his brilliant eye, I bowedbefore the native majesty of his god-like form, but there was no joyfor me. Dark masses of clouds closed round the present sunshine; thepresent fled like a mist before them, and they oped, and then--there wasstill Wallace; but oh! how did I see him? the scaffold, the cord, themocking crowds, the steel-clad guards--all, all, even as he fell. Mychildren! my children! was there joy in this?"
There was a thrilling pathos in the old man's voice that touched thevery heart of his listeners. Agnes clung closer to the arm of herbetrothed, and looked up tearfully in his face; his cheek was very pale,and his lip slightly
quivered. There was evidently a desire to speak, toutter some inquiry, but he looked on that sweet face upturned to his,and the unspoken words died in an inarticulate murmur on his lips.
"My brother," he said, at length, and with some difficulty, though itwas evident from the expression of his countenance this was not thequestion he had meant to ask, "my noble brother, will thy gloriousstruggles, thy persevering valor, end in this? No, no, it cannot be.Prophet and seer, hast thou e'er gazed on him--him, the hope, the joy,the glory of the line of Bruce? Hast thou gazed on him, and was there nojoy there?"
"Yes!" answered the old man, starting from his posture of despondency,and raising his hands with animated fervor, while his cheek flushed, andhis eyes, fixed on distance, sparkled with all the fire of youth. "Yes!I have gazed upon that face, and in present and in future it is gloriousstill. Thick mists have risen round him, well-nigh concealing him withintheir murky folds, but still, still as a star penetrating through cloud,and mist, and space, till it sees its own bright semblance in the oceandepths, so has that brow, circled by its diadem of freedom, gleamed backupon mine aching sight, and I have seen and known there is joy for Bruceand Scotland yet!"
"Then is there joy for all true Scottish men, good father, and so willwe chase all sadness from our brows and hearts," replied Nigel, lightly."Come, tell us of the past, and not the future, while we stroll; thouhast traditions, hast thou not, to while away an hour?"
"Nay, my young lord," replied the seer, "hast thou not enough in thepresent, embodied as it is in this fair maiden's dreaming eye and lovingheart? The minstrel's harp and ancient lore are for the evening hour,not for a time and companion such as this," and with an audible blessinghe turned away, leaving them to their stroll together.
It was not, however, without an effort Nigel could take advantage of hisabsence, and make good use of moments so blissful to hearts that love.There was something in the old man's mournful tone and glance when itrested upon him, that answered strangely and sadly to the spirit-voicebreathing in his own bold breast. It seemed to touch that chordindefinably, yet felt by the vibration of every nerve which followed. Heroused himself, however, and ere they joined the morning meal, there wasa brighter smile on the lip and heart of Agnes than had rested there formany a long day.
For a few weeks there was peace both within and without the castle ofKildrummie. The relief, the shelter which its walls afforded to thewearied and exhausted wanderers was at first felt and enjoyed alone.Many of the frailer sex were far too exhausted and disabled by a varietyof sufferings, to be sensible of any thing but that greater comfortsthan had been theirs for many painful months were now possessed; butwhen their strength became partially restored, when these comfortsbecame sufficiently familiar to admit of other thoughts, the queen'sfortitude began to waver. It was not the mere impulse of the momentwhich caused her to urge her accompanying her husband, on the plea ofbecoming more and more unworthy of his love if separated from him.Margaret of Mar was not born for a heroine; more especially to act onsuch a stormy stage as Scotland. Full of kindly feeling, of affection,confidence, gentleness, one that would have drooped and died had herdoom been to pass through life unloved, her yielding mind took its toneand coloring from those with whom she most intimately associated; notindeed from the rude and evil, for from those she intuitively shrunk.Beneath her husband's influence, cradled in his love, her spiritreceived and cherished the _reflection_ of his strength; of itself, shetoo truly felt it had none; and consequently when that beloved one wasfar away, the reflection passed from her mind even as the gleam of hisarmor from the mirror on which it glanced, and Margaret was weak andtimorous again. She had thought, and hoped, and prayed, her unfeignedadmiration of Isabella of Buchan, her meek and beautiful appreciation ofthose qualities and candid acknowledgment that such was the charactermost adapted to her warrior husband, would bring more steadiness andcourage to her own woman breast. Alas! the fearful fate which hadovertaken the heroic countess came with such a shock to the weaker soulof Margaret, that if she had obtained any increase of courage, it was atonce annihilated, and the desponding fancy entered her mind that if evilreached one so noble, so steadfast in thought and in action, how mightshe hope to escape; and now, when weakened and depressed alike by bodilyand mental suffering, such fancies obtained so much possession of herthat she became more and more restless. The exertions of Sir Nigel andhis companions, even of her own friends, failed in rousing or infusingstrength. Sometimes it was vague conjectures as to the fate of herhusband, the dread that he had fallen into the hands of his foes--acatastrophe which not only herself but many stronger minds imaginedcould scarcely be avoided. She would dwell on these fancies tillsuspense became intolerable; and then, if these were partially calmed,came personal fears: the belief that if attacked the castle could notmuster force enough for defence; suspicions of treachery in thegarrison, and other symptoms of the wavering nature of her mind, tillSir Nigel felt too truly that if danger did come she would not stay tomeet it. Her wishes ever turned to the sanctuary of St. Duthac in thedomains of the Earl of Ross, believing the sanctity of the place wouldbe more effectual protection than the strongest castle and bravestforce. In vain Sir Nigel remonstrated, nay, assured her that thefidelity of the Lord of Ross was impugned; that he doubted hisflattering overtures; that he was known to be in correspondence withEngland. But he spoke in vain--the queen persisted in trusting him; thathe had ever been a friend of her father and brother the Earls of Mar,and he would be faithful to her interests now. Her opinion weighed withmany of the ladies of her court, even amongst those who were notaffected with her fears. At such times Agnes never spoke, but there wasa calm, quiet determination in her expression that convinced the LadySeaton, who alone had leisure to observe her, that her resolution wasalready taken and unalterable.
All that could be done to calm, the queen's perturbed spirits by way ofamusement Sir Nigel did; but his task was not an easy one, and the rumorwhich about this time reached him that the Earls of Hereford andLancaster, with a very large force, were rapidly advancing towardsAberdeenshire, did not lessen its difficulties. He sought to keep theinformation as long as possible from all his female charge, although theappearance of many terrified villagers flying from their homes to theprotection of the castle hardly enabled him to do so, and confirmedwithout doubt the truth of what he had heard. Nigel felt the moment ofperil was approaching, and he nerved both mind and frame to meet it. Theweak terrors of the queen and some of her train increased with everyrumor, and, despite every persuasion of Sir Nigel, Seaton, and otherbrave and well-tried warriors, she rested not till a negotiation wasentered into with the Earl of Ross to grant them a safe conduct throughhis lands, and permission to enter the sanctuary of St. Duthac.
Perplexed with many sad thoughts, Nigel Bruce was one day slowlytraversing a long gallery leading to some uninhabited chambers in thewest wing of the building; it was of different architecture, and ruder,heavier aspect than the remainder of the castle. Tradition said thatthose rooms had been the original building inhabited by an ancestor ofthe line of Bruce, and the remainder had been gradually added to them;that some dark deed of blood had been there committed, and consequentlythey were generally kept locked, none of the vassals in the castlechoosing to run the risk of meeting the spirits which they declaredabode there. We have before said that Nigel was not superstitious,though his mind being of a cast which, adopting and embodying the ideal,he was likely to be supposed such. The particulars of the tradition hehad never heard, and consequently it was always with a smile ofdisbelief he listened to the oft-repeated injunction not to walk at duskin the western turret. This warning came across him now, but his mindwas far otherwise engrossed, too much so indeed for him even to givemore than a casual glance to the rude portraits which hung on eitherside the gallery.
He mistrusted the Earl of Ross, and there came a fear upon his noblespirit that, in permitting the departure of the queen and herattendants, he might be liable to the censure of his sovereign, that hewas failing in his trust;
yet how was he to act, how put a restraintupon his charge? Had he indeed believed that the defence of the castlewould be successful, that he should be enabled to force the besiegersto raise the siege, he might perhaps have felt justified in restrainingthe queen--but he did not feel this. He had observed there were manydiscontented and seditious spirits in the castle, not indeed in thethree hundred of his immediate followers; but what were they compared tothe immense force now pouring over the country, and whose goal he knewwas Kildrummie? The increase of inmates also, from the number of smallvillages which had emptied their inhabitants into his walls till he wascompelled to prevent further ingress, must inevitably diminish hisstores, and when once blockaded, to replenish them would be impossible.No personal fears, no weakness of purpose entered the high soul of NigelBruce amid these painful cogitations. He well knew no shade of dishonor_could_ fall on him; he thought not one moment of his own fate, althoughif the castle were taken he knew death awaited him, either by thebesieger's sword or the hangman's cord, for he would make no condition;he thought only that this was well-nigh the last castle in his brother'skeeping, which, if lost, would in the present depressed state of hisaffairs be indeed a fatal blow, and a still greater triumph to England.
These thoughts naturally engrossed his mind to the exclusion of allimaginative whisperings, and therefore was it that he drew back the boltof a door which closed the passage, without any of those peculiarfeelings that at a less anxious time might have possessed him; for soulsless gifted than that of Nigel Bruce can seldom enter a spot hallowed bytradition without the electric thrill which so strangely unites thepresent with the past.
It was a chamber of moderate dimensions to which the oaken door admittedhim, hung with coarse and faded tapestry, which, disturbed by the wind,disclosed an opening into another passage, through which he pursued hisway. In the apartment on which the dark and narrow passage ended,however, his steps were irresistibly arrested. It was panelled withblack-oak, of which the floor also was composed, giving the whole anaspect calculated to infect the most thoughtless spirit with gloom. Twohigh and very narrow windows, the small panes of which were quiteincrusted with dust, were the only conductors of light, with theexception of a loophole--for it could scarcely be dignified by the nameof casement--on the western side. Through this loophole the red lightof a declining winter sun sent its rays, which were caught and stayed onwhat seemed at the distance an antique picture-frame. Wondering toperceive a picture out of its place in the gallery, Nigel hastilyadvanced towards it, pausing, however, on his way to examine, with somesurprise, one of the planks in the floor, which, instead of thebeautiful black polish which age had rather heightened than marred inthe rest, was rough and white, with all the appearance of having beenhewn and scraped by some sharp instrument.
It is curious to mark how trifling a thing will sometimes connect,arrange, and render clear as day to the mind all that has before beenvague, imperfect, and indistinct. It is like the touch of lightning onan electric chain, link after link starts up till we see the illuminedwhole. We have said Nigel had never heard the particulars of thetradition; but he looked on that misshapen plank, and in an instant atale of blood and terror weaved itself in his mind; in that room thedeed, whatever it was, had been done, and from that plank the sanguineevidence of murder had been with difficulty erased. A cold shudderingpassed over him, and he turned instinctively away, and strode hastily toexamine the frame which had attracted him. It did contain a picture--weshould rather say a portrait--for it comprised but one figure, thehalf-length of a youthful warrior, clad in steel, save thebeautifully-formed head, which was covered only by his own luxuriantraven curls. In a better light it could not have been placed,particularly in the evening; the rays, condensed and softened, seemed togather up their power into one focus, and throw such an almostsupernatural glow on the half face, give such an extraordinaryappearance of life to the whole figure, that a casual visitant to thatchamber might well fancy it was no picture but reality on which hegazed. But no such emotion was at work in the bosom of Nigel Bruce,though his first glance upon that face occasioned an almost convulsivestart, and then a gaze of such intense, such almost fearful interest,that he stood as if fascinated by some overpowering spell. His features,worked with internal emotions, flushed and paled alternately. It was noweak-minded terror which bound him there, no mood in which a step orsound could chill and startle, for so wrapt was he in his own strangedreams that he heard not a slow and measured step approach him; he didnot even start when he felt a hand on his shoulder, and the melodiousvoice of the seer caused him to turn slowly around.
"The warnings thou hast heard have no power on thee, young lord," hesaid, slightly smiling, "or I should not see thee here at this houralone. Yet thou wert strangely wrapt."
"Knowest thou aught of _him_, good father?" answered Nigel, in a voicethat to his own ears sounded hoarse and unnatural, and turning hisglance once again to the portrait. "My thoughts are busy with that faceand yon tale-telling plank; there are wild, feverish, incongruous dreamswithin me, and I would have them solved. Thou of all others art bestfitted to the task, for amid the records of the past, where thou hastloved to linger, thou hast surely found the tradition of this tower. Ishame not to confess there is in my heart a deep yearning to learn thetruth. Wherefore, when thy harp and song have so pleasantly whiled theevening hours, did not this tale find voice, good father?"
"Alas! my son, 'tis too fraught with horror, too sad for gentle ears. Afew stern, rugged words will best repeat it. I love not to linger on thetheme; listen then now, and it shall be told thee."
"In the reign of Malcolm the Second, the districts now called Aberdeenand Forfar were possessed, and had been so, so tradition saith, sinceKenneth MacAlpine, by the Lords of Brus or Bris, a family originallyfrom the North. They were largely and nobly connected, particularly withNorway and Gaul. It is generally supposed the first possessions inScotland held in fief by the line of Bruce can be traced back only tothe time of David I., in the person of Robert de Bruce, an Anglo-Normanbaron, whose father came over to England with the Conqueror. The causeof this supposition my tale will presently explain.
"Haco Brus or Bris was the Lord of Aberdeen in the reign of Malcolm theSecond. He spent many years abroad; indeed, was supposed to have marriedand settled there, when, to the surprise of his vassals, he suddenlyreturned unmarried, and soon after uniting himself with a beautiful andaccomplished girl, nearly related to the blood-royal of Scotland,settled quietly in this tower, which was the stronghold of hispossessions. Years passed; the only child of the baron, a son, born inthe first year of his marriage, grew up in strength and beauty, the idolnot only of his mother, but of his father, a man stern and cold inseeming, even morose, but with passions fearful alike in their influenceand extent. Your eye glances to that pictured face, he was not thebaron's son of whom I speak. The affections, nay, the very passions ofthe baron were centered in this boy. It is supposed pride and ambitionwere their origin, for he looked, through his near connection with thesovereign, for further aggrandizement for himself. There were some whodeclared ambition was not the master-passion, that a deeper, sterner,fiercer emotion dwelt within. Whether they spoke thus from the sequel, Iknow not, but that sequel proved their truth.
"There was a gathering of all the knightly and noble in King Malcolm'scourt, not perchance for trials at arms resembling the tournays of thepresent day, but very similar in their motive and bearing, though ruderand more dangerous. Tho wreath of glory and victory was ever given bythe gentle hand of beauty. Bright eyes and lovely forms presided at thesports even as now, and the king and his highest nobles joined in therevels.
"The wife of the Baron of Brus and his son, now a fine boy of thirteen,were of course amongst the royal guests. Though matron grace anddignified demeanor had taken the place of the blushing charms of earlygirlhood, the Lady Helen Brus was still very beautiful, and as the nieceof the king and wife of such a distinguished baron, commanded andreceived universal homage. Among the combatants was a you
thful knight,of an exterior and bearing so much more polished and graceful than thesons of the soil or their more northern visitors, that he was instantlyrecognized as coming from Gaul, then as now the most polished kingdom ofthe south. Delighted with his bravery, his modesty, and most chivalricbearing, the king treated him with most distinguished honor, invited himto his palace, spoke with him as friend with friend on the kingdoms ofNormandy and France, to the former of which he was subject. There was amystery, too, about the young knight, which heightened the interest heexcited; he bore no device on his shield, no cognizance whatever to markhis name and birth and his countenance, beautiful as it was, often whenin repose expressed sadness and care unusual to his years, for he wasstill very young, though in reply to the king's solicitations that hewould choose one of Scotland's fairest maidens (her dower should beprincely), and make the Scottish court his home, he had smilingly avowedthat he was already a husband and father.
"The notice of the king, of course, inspired the nobles with similarfeelings of hospitality. Attention and kindness were lavished on thestranger from all, and nothing was talked of but the nameless knight.The Lord of Brus, who had been absent on a mission to a distant courtduring the continuance of the martial games, was on his return presentedby the king himself to the young warrior. It is said that both were somuch moved by this meeting, that all present were mystified still more.The baron, with that deep subtlety for which he was remarkable,recovered himself the first, and accounted for his emotion to thesatisfaction of his hearers, though not apparently to that of thestranger, who, though his cheek was blanched, still kept his brightsearching eyes upon him, till the baron's quailed 'neath his gaze. Thehundred tongues of rumor chose to speak of relationship, that there wasa likeness between them, yet I know not how that could be. There is noimpress of the fiendish passion at work in the baron's soul on thosebright, beautiful features."
"Ha! Is it of him you speak?" involuntarily escaped from Nigel, as theold man for a moment paused; "of him? Methought yon portrait was of anancestor of Bruce, or wherefore is it here?"
"Be patient, good my son. My narrative wanders, for my lips shrink fromits tale. That the baron and the knight met, not in warlike joust but inpeaceful converse, and at the request of the latter, is known, but onwhat passed in that interview even tradition is silent, it can only beimagined by the sequel; they appeared, however, less reserved than atfirst. The baron treated him with the same distinction as hisfellow-nobles, and the stranger's manner towards him was even morerespectful than the mere difference of age appeared to demand. Importantbusiness with the Lord of Brus was alleged as the cause of his acceptingthat nobleman's invitation to the tower of Kildrummie, in preference toothers earlier given and more eagerly enforced. They departed together,the knight accompanied but by two of his followers, and the baronleaving the greater number of his in attendance on his wife and child,who, for some frivolous reason, he left with the court. It was a strangething for him to do, men said, as he had never before been known to losesight of his boy even for a day. For some days all seemed peace andhospitality within the tower. The stranger was too noble himself, andtoo kindly disposed towards all his fellow-creatures, to suspect aughtof treachery, or he might have remarked the retainers of the baron werechanged; that ruder forms and darker visages than at first weregathering around him. How the baron might have intended to make use ofthem--almost all robbers and murderers by trade--cannot be known, thoughit may be suspected. In this room the last interview between them tookplace, and here, on this silent witness of the deed, the hand of thefather was bathed in the blood of the son!"
"God in heaven!" burst from Nigel's parched lips, as he sprang up. "Theson--how could that be? how known?"
"Fearfully, most fearfully!" shudderingly answered the old man; "throughthe dying ravings of the maniac Lord of Brus himself. Had not heaven, inits all-seeing justice, thus revealed it, the crime would ever haveremained concealed. His bandit hirelings were at hand to remove andbury, many fathoms deep in moat and earth, all traces of the deed. Oneof the unfortunate knight's followers was supposed to have shared thefate of his master, and to the other, who escaped almost miraculously,you owe the preservation of your royal line.
"But there was one witness of the deed neither time nor the most cunningart could efface. The blood lay in a pool on the oaken floor, and thevoice of tradition whispers that day after day it was supernaturallyrenewed; that vain were the efforts to absorb it, it ever seemed moistand red; and that to remove the plank and re-floor the apartment wasattempted again and again in vain. However this may be, it is evidentthat _erasing it_ was attended with extreme difficulty; that the bloodhad penetrated well-nigh through the immense thickness of the wood."
Nigel stooped down over the crumbling fragment; years, aye, centurieshad rolled away, yet there it still stood, arrested it seemed even inits decay, not permitted to crumble into dust, but to remain aneverlasting monument of crime and its retribution. After a brief pauseNigel resumed his seat, and pushing the hair from his brow, which wasdamp with some untold emotion, signed to the old man to proceed.
"That the stranger warrior returned not to Malcolm's court, and hadfailed in his promises to various friends, was a matter ofdisappointment, and for a time, of conjecture to the king and his court.That his followers, in obedience, it was said, to their master's signet,set off instantly to join him either in England or Normandy, for both ofwhich places they had received directions, satisfied the greater number.If others suspected foul play, it was speedily hushed up; for the baronwas too powerful, too closely related to the throne, and justice thentoo weak in Scotland to permit accusation or hope for conviction. Timepassed, and the only change observable in the baron was, that he becamemore gloomy, more abstracted, wrapt up, as it were, in one darkremembrance, one all-engrossing thought. Towards his wife he waschanged--harsh, cold, bitterly sarcastic; as if her caresses had turnedto gall. Her gentle spirit sunk beneath the withering blight, and he washeard to laugh, the mocking laugh of a fiend, as he followed her to thegrave; her child, indeed, he still idolized, but it was a fearfulaffection, and a just heaven permitted not its continuance. The child,to whom many had looked as likely to ascend the Scottish throne, fromthe failure of all direct heirs, the beautiful and innocent child of amost guilty father, faded like a lovely flower before him, so softly, sogradually, that there came no suspicion of death till the cold hand wason his heart, and he lay lifeless before him who had plunged his soul indeadliest crime through that child to aggrandize himself. Then was itthat remorse, torturing before, took the form of partial madness, andthere was not one who had power to restrain, or guide, or soothe.
"Then it was the fearful tale was told, freezing the blood, not so muchwith the wild madness of the tone, but that the words were toocollected, too stamped with truth, to admit of aught like doubt. Thecouch of the baron was, at his own command, placed here, where we nowstand, covering the spot where his first-born fell, and that portrait,obtained from Normandy, hung where it now is, ever in his sight. Thedark tale which those wild ravings revealed was simply this:
"He had married, as was suspected, during his wanderings, but soon tiredof the yoke, more particularly as his wife possessed a spirit proud andhaughty as his own, and all efforts to mould her to his will wereuseless, he plunged anew into his reckless career. He had never lovedhis wife, marrying her simply because it suited his convenience, andbrought him increase of wealth and station; and her ill-disguisedabhorrence of many of his actions, her beautiful adherence to virtue,however tempted, occasioned all former feelings to concentrate in hatredthe most deadly. More than one attempt to rid himself of her by poisonshe had discovered and frustrated, and at last removed herself and herchild, under a feigned name, to Normandy, and ably eluded all pursuitand inquiry.
"The baron's search continued some time, in the hope of silencing herforever, as he feared she might prove a dangerous enemy, but failing inhis wishes, he travelled some time over different countries, returned atlength to Scotland, an
d acted as we have seen. The young knight had beeninformed of his birthright by his mother, at her death, which took placetwo years before he made his appearance in Scotland; that she hadconcealed from him the fearful character of his father, being unable socompletely to divest herself of all feeling towards the father of herchild, as to make him an object of aversion to his son. She had longtold him his real name, and urged him to demand from his father anacknowledgment of his being heir to the proud barony of the Bruce. Hislikeness to herself was so strong, that she knew it must carryconviction to his father; but to make his identity still more certain,she furnished him with certain jewels and papers, none but herself couldproduce. She had done this in the presence of two faithful witnesses,the father and brother of her son's betrothed bride, high lords ofNormandy, the former of which made it a condition annexed to his consentto the marriage, that as soon as possible afterwards he should urge andclaim his rights. Sir Walter, of course, willingly complied; they weremarried by the name of Brus, and their child so baptized. A war, whichretained Sir Walter in arms with his sovereign, prevented his seekingScotland till his boy was a year old, and then for his sake, far morethan for his own, the young father determined on asserting hisbirthright, his child should not be nameless, as he had been; but tospare his unknown parent all public mortification, he joined the martialgames without any cognizance or bearing on his shield.
"Terrible were the ravings in which the baron alluded to the interviewhe had had with his murdered child; the angelic mildness and generosityof the youthful warrior; that, amid all his firmness never to departfrom his claim--as it was not alone himself but his child he wouldirreparably injure--he never wavered in his respectful deference to hisparent. He quitted the court in the belief that the baron soughtKildrummie to collect the necessary papers for substantiating his claim;but ere he died, it appeared his eyes were opened. The fierce passionsof the baron had been too long restrained in the last interview; theyburst even his politic control, and he had flung the papers receivedfrom, the hand of his too-confiding son on the blazing hearth, and withdreadful oaths swore that if he would not instantly retract his claim,and bind himself by the most sacred promise never to breathe the foultale again, death should be its silent keeper. He would not bring hisown head low, and avow that he had dishonored a scion of theblood-royal.
"Appalled far more at the dark, fiendish passions he beheld than thethreat held out to himself, Sir Walter stood silent a while, and thenmildly demanded to be heard; that if so much public mortification to hisparent would attend the pursuance of his claims at the present time, hewould consent to forego them, on condition of his father's solemnlypromising on his deathbed to reveal the truth, and do him tardy justicethen, but forego them altogether he would not, were his life theforfeit. The calm firmness of his tone, it is supposed, lashed hisfather into greater madness, and thus the dark deed was done.
"That the baron several times endeavored to possess himself of theinfant child of Sir Walter, also came to light in his dying moments;that he had determined to exterminate root and branch, fearful he shouldstill possess some clue to his birth; he had frantically avowed, but inhis last hour, he would have given all his amassed treasure, hisgreatness, his power, but for one little moment of assurance that hisgrandson lived. He left him all his possessions, his lordship, his name,but as there were none came forth to claim, they of necessity passed tothe crown."
"But the child, the son of Sir Walter--if from him our line descends, hemust have lived to manhood--why did not he demand his rights?"
"He lived, aye, and had a goodly progeny; but the fearful tale of hisfather's fate related to him again and again by the faithful Edric, whohad fled from his master's murdered corse to watch over the safety ofthat master's child, and warn all who had the charge of him of the fiendin human shape who would probably seek the boy's life as he had hisfather's, caused him to shun the idea of his Scottish possessions with aloathing horror which he could not conquer; they were associated withthe loss of both his parents, for his father's murder killed his devotedmother. He was contented to feel himself Norman in possessions as wellas in name. He received lands and honors from the Dukes of Normandy, andat the advanced age of seventy and five, accompanied Duke William toEngland. The third generation from him obtained anew Scottishpossessions, and gradually Kildrummie and its feudal tenures returned toits original lords; but the tower had been altered and enlarged, andexcept the tradition of these chambers, the fearful fate of the secondof the line has faded from the minds of his descendants, unless casuallyor supernaturally recalled."
"Ha! supernaturally, sayest thou?" interrupted Nigel, in a tone sopeculiar it almost startled his companion. "Are there those who assertthey have seen his semblance--good, gifted, beautiful as thou hastdescribed him? why not at once deem him the guardian spirit of ourhouse?"
"And there are those who deem him so, young lord," answered the seer."It is said that until the Lords of Bruce again obtained possession ofthese lands, in the visions of the night the form of the murderedwarrior, clad as in yon portrait, save with the addition of a scarfacross his breast bearing the crest and cognizance of the Bruce,appeared once in his lifetime to each lineal descendant. Suchvisitations are said to have ceased, and he is now only seen by thosedestined like himself to an early and bloody death, cut off in the primeof manhood, nobleness, and joy."
"And where--sleeping or waking?" demanded the young nobleman, in a low,deep tone, laying his hand on the minstrel's arm, and looking fixedly onhis now strangely agitated face.
"Sleeping or waking? it hath been both," he answered, and his voicefaltered. "If it be in the front of the war, amid the press, the crush,the glory of the battle, he hath come, circled with bright forms andbrighter dreams, to the sleeping warrior on the eve of his last fight;if"--and his voice grew lower and huskier yet--"if by the red hand ofthe foe, by the captive's chain and headsman's axe, as the nobleWallace, there have been those who say--I vouch not for its truth--hehath been seen in the vigils of the night on the eve of knighthood, whenthe young, aspiring warrior hath watched and prayed beside his arms.Boy! boy! why dost thou look upon me thus?"
"Because thine eye hath read my doom," he said, in a firm, sweet tone;"and if there be aught of truth in thy tale, thou knowest, feelest Ihave seen him. God of mercy, the captive's chain, the headsman's axe!Yet 'tis Thy will, and for my country--let it come."
The Days of Bruce Vol 1 Page 16