‘Thomas, I am the Queen o Elfland an I have come a long way. I would deem it a great favour if ye would play me some tunes, for sweet music an the coolness o the woods go weel together.’
Thomas had tae tear his eyes away frae her canny face as hae took up his lute. An so hae played. His fingers skipped aboot the fretboard mair deftly than they ever had before. After hae had played some half a dozen tunes hae drew tae a finish.
‘Thomas, thanks for playing so finely for me. If I can grant ye any favour that’s in ma power tae grant, ye only have tae name it.’
Thomas, barefaced as ye like, took her fair hands in his, ‘There’s only yin thing I want frae ye, ma dear, a kiss frae yer bonnie lips.’
The queen drew back a bit, ‘Thomas, if I granted that wish ye do realise I’d have tae take ye back tae Elfland an ye’d be in thrall tae me for seven long years.’
That made nae odds tae Thomas because hae was fair smitten by her loveliness. An so they kissed.
It was the sort o kiss that makes the lips fizz with wonderful possibilities never realised before. It was the sort o kiss that leaves yin full o air an breathless at the same time; the sort o kiss that leaves yin feeling drunk an in need o mair, an yet at the same time mair powerful an alive than ye’ve ever felt. Such a kiss is like nae other an has been said tae have the merest hint o peppermint aboot its taste, if such an elusive taste can ever be described at aw. Such a kiss has the power tae haunt ye for a lifetime, if ye doesnae watch yersel.
After they’d finished nae other word was said. The Queen o Elfland got up an sclimmed back on tae her horse whilst Thomas untangled the reins frae the bush. The queen left a trailing hand, which Thomas took a hold o an lowped on behind her. The horse set off at a canter through the woods that after a matter o yards led doon hill towards what became kent as the Boglie Burn. When the horse approached the burn, Thomas thought the beast would just lowp across. However, the horse stamped through the middle instead. Some o the water flew oot, catching Thomas in the eyes. Although hae knew this woodland like the back o his hand an though it only took a few seconds tae wipe the water frae his eyes, hae nae longer recognised the woods when hae looked again. Something had subtly altered, the woods were slightly derker, as if the shadows were colluding differently with the light, as if the horse had somehow run intae the reflection o the burn. The horse was picking up pace now an soon it was galloping faster than the four winds, through meadows, glens, hills an woods, an aw the time Thomas could hear the breathing o the far-off ocean thundering in his ears.
Eventually the queen brought the horse tae a stop in a lush green meadow. She sclimmed doon an knelt in the grass. ‘Come doon Thomas an rest yer heid in ma lap.’
Thomas fair liked the sound o that an swiftly slid doon off the horse an did as hae was bid. She could toosle his hair an stroke the stubble on his cheeks as much as she liked as far as hae was concerned.
Nae sooner had hae laid his heid on her lap than the horizon started shimmering like a heat-haze for a few moments before clearing again. There appeared three roads before them, replacing the grassy plain that had been there previously. It is said that when ye touch the hem o a seer ye are able tae see through their eyes, seeing anything they can see. ‘Ye see that high an rocky road?’ the queen asked, ‘weel that is the road tae righteousness. For some it is the road tae Heaven, for maist it’s the road tae Hell. Ye see that broad straight road in the middle? Weel that is the road tae wickedness, for maist it is the road tae Hell but for a few folk it is the road tae Heaven. Ye see that winding road with a hedge either side? That is the road in-atween, that is the road we’re going tae take for it is the road tae Elfland.’
The Queen o Elfland an Thomas got back on the horse’s back an set off along that road like the hooves o the very wind. On an on they rode through queer an wondrous landscapes. At times the sky was full o gold-laced cloud, at other times the sky was as black as night. Then they stopped at the edge o a muckle flat grey landscape. A broad red river ran through this bleak place. ‘That is aw the blood that humankind has ever shed, an aw the tears they’ve ever cried. Thomas, if ye ever let on aboot anything ye see or hear in Elfland tae anybody whilst ye’re there, ye’ll be banished tae this place forever. The fairy folk must never ken ye’re human. So ye need tae keep yer mooth shut.’
‘I promise ye I’ll nae say a word.’
They rode on again an finally they saw a pale yellow glow in the distance. Soon after they heard a thousand fairy trumpeters heralding the return o the Queen o Elfland.
Just ootside the gates, Thomas noticed unicorns grazing on the grass below the apple trees.
Now what goes on in Elfland an how Thomas spent his time there nobody rightly kens. Some say it was yin muckle long ceilidh dance the whole time, with endless amounts tae eat an drink o aw description. Others reckon that the fairy folk live on a milky concoction the full time. It is said that Thomas was taken intae seven different rooms tae gie him knowledge an wisdom, the room o colours, the room o mirrors an such like, but little is now kent.
What is generally agreed though is that time passes much quicker in Elfland, so that in hardly a blink in Elfland, folk back in Ercildoune were wondering, what ever happened tae Thomas Learmonth who walked oot yin summer’s day twae years ago, an there’s been not a trace o him since?
So time passed in Elfland an Thomas served the queen weel, an not a word fell frae his lips tae be caught by those sharp-eared beings. Very soon the seven years had passed, an the queen herself came tae fetch Thomas. She led him oot o the gates o Elfland an the twae were walking through the orchard as unicorns grazed peaceably on the lawns. ‘Thomas, I’m grateful tae ye for serving me so loyally these past seven years an nae saying a word. Before ye leave I’d like tae gie ye a present.’ She reached up an pulled an apple frae an overhanging branch an handed it tae Thomas. ‘This is the apple o truth, take it for yerself.’
‘I’m nae so sure I want it,’ said Thomas uncertainly. Thomas was thinking that tae get a decent price for cattle or tae win favour with the lasses ye have tae sometimes exaggerate a bit.
‘Thomas, ye’d be wrong tae turn doon this gift. Accept it an ye’ll be famous for as long as there is a Scotland, with fine wealth tae match.’
As Thomas dreamed intae her shining eyes, hae found hae could refuse her nothing, so hae slipped the apple intae his jacket pocket.
‘Thomas, ye must away now, but I will caw for ye again some day. I’ll send twae messengers that ye’ll recognise when ye see them.’ She then kissed him lightly on the cheek. The scene before him smudged away like a heat-haze. Hae felt his heid spin an the only thing tae hang on tae was the coolness o that kiss.
Hae awoke under the hawthorn tree, with the cauld grass on his cheek in place o the queen’s kiss. Lying next tae him was his lute. Hae thought it must have been some fantastic dream till hae rolled ower an felt the lump o the apple in his jacket pocket. Hae got himself up an set off back tae Ercildoune.
As hae walked intae the south o the village a fella saw him an started roaring that Thomas was back frae the deid. Despite seven years passing, Thomas didnae notice a lot o change. The folk that hae kent were a wee bit greyer aboot the temples an parts o his roof needed re-thatching, but that was aboot it. For Thomas life went back tae how it was before. Hae was very popular with the bairns now; they were forever sclimming on tae his knee after mair stories o his ootlandish adventures. As for the apple that hae’d eaten on the way back frae Ercildoune, Thomas never noticed any difference tae the way hae went aboot his business. It seemed that truth was having nae effect, at least not at first.
There came a time when the folk in the village had a meeting, for they were very worried aboot the fact that there were a lot o cattle dying roond aboot. As the meeting went on folk were getting mair an mair agitated, until in the thick o the row, Thomas lowped tae his feet, as if his body were nae longer his ain, an his mooth said that not yin coo would die within Ercildoune. Hae had spoken in such a calm steady
voice that everyone heeded him. An so it came tae pass that not yin coo perished.
After that Thomas got himself a reputation, an before very long folk frae aw ower came tae get advice on aw sorts o things, frae what crops tae plant, the weather, an suitable young men an suitable young women for prospective marriage partners. Soon hae was famous far an wide with money tae match, because lairds an the like would value his wisdom an his insight. Hae became kent as Thomas the Rhymer, or True Thomas. Hae made many prophesies, an they always came oot in rhyme. Many o which, in the fullness o time, turned oot tae be true.
Hae prophesied that there would come a time when Scotland would be cut in twae. An folk thought how could such a thing be possible, but it came tae pass when the Caledonian Canal was built, stretching frae Loch Ness tae Crinan in the west.
With Thomas’ growing wealth hae built himself a muckle hoose cawed Rhymer’s Tower at the south end o Ercildoune. Every year hae would have the grandest celebration there. Everybody would be invited, rich an poor alike. This particular year the dancers had just finished dancing an Thomas was playing a few tunes on his lute when a servant charged in saying there was the strangest sight oot on the road. For there was a milk-white hart an a milk-white hind just standing there, tame as ye like. Everybody made their way oot with Thomas at the heid o them. Everyone just stood as if in a dream as Thomas sauntered ower tae the twae deer. Then Thomas an the twae deer aboot turned an sauntered away frae Ercildoune. Thomas the Rhymer was never seen again. Hae’d gone back tae Elfland tae be with his queen again.
NOTE – ye can still see the ruins o Rhymer’s Tower tae this very day, behind the petrol garage at the south end o Earlston.
THE GHOST THAT DANCED AT JETHART
It was tae be a great occasion at Jethart Abbey. In the October o 1285, King Alexander III was tae marry the French woman Yolande, daughter o the Comte de Dreux. The ceremony was presided ower by an abbot cawed John Morel.
After the ceremony was concluded a grand banquet was held. An whilst the banquet took place a masque was enacted, that was written, it was said, by the great Thomas the Rhymer himself. As actors an actresses capered aroond tae the delight o the wedding guests, an uninvited guest joined in with the players o the masque. The warm light fell frae the eyes o the audience, tae be replaced by stricken stares o anguish; wide contented smiles dropped frae faces as mooths fell open in astonishment; the gentle murmur o conversation an soft laughter became horrified screams, as a spectral skeleton wrapped in a shroud appeared in their midst, an preceded tae thread its way through the dancers. Then, tae challenge the nature an possibilities o reality even further, it disappeared intae thin air, as quickly as it had appeared. However, before the skeleton did so it pointed a beckoning finger at the king an his new bride. Folk took it as an evil omen.
On the 19th o March the following year, the Earl of March at Dunbar had wanted tae ken what the weather was going tae be, so hae sent a servant tae ask True Thomas. The servant came back saying that Thomas said that before midday ‘a blast so vehement that it shall exceed all those that have been heard in Scotland’ would occur. Well the Earl of March waited and waited and, when hae could see nae sign of this predicted gale, hae sent some men tae fetch Thomas tae him.
‘Where is this terrible wind ye were on aboot?’
‘It’s nae noon yet.’
Just then a servant barged in, ‘There’s been a terrible accident, the king was oot riding on the cliffs o Kinghorn, an hae got blown off his horse an killed.’ King Alexander III had been cast frae his horse, an had plunged ower the cliffs at Pettycur Bay in Fife. Hae had been killed ootright while riding through a storm on his way tae Yolande at the court o Kinghorn Castle. An so the evil omen was felt by the folk o Scotland. Little did they realise that the ill would not end there. In 1290 Alexander’s heir, his eight-year-old granddaughter Margaret, drowned on her way frae Norway tae her coronation. Now there was nae obvious heir, because all o Alexander’s children had died before him. Thereafter Scotland saw all sorts o schemes an treacheries tae gain the royal crown, which served only tae blight the nation wi misrule, slaughter an poverty. What perhaps makes this tragedy even more poignant is that it is commonly believed that Alexander III was yin o the wisest an best kings that Scotland ever had.
11
WHAT’S YOURS IS MINES
THE DOOM O LORD DE SOULIS
Lord William de Soulis was considered a wizard o the Black Arts. Way back in the thirteenth century hae lived at Hermitage Castle just south o Hawick. The castle keep was considered almost impregnable. The Lord de Soulis was feared an loathed in equal measure far beyond the imposing shadow o Hermitage Castle as it stood on that isolated windswept moor. William de Soulis ranged atween Jed Water as far as Edinburgh, an his reputation spread even further with tales o his terrible deeds. His retainers would have hated him mair than maist, but did not dare show it. If they allowed themselves a single thought against their evil master hae would surely see such hatred exposed in their eyes. The Lord de Soulis was every bit as powerful in his mind as hae was in his impressive frame. As weel as being naturally strong, it was said that nae mortal weapon could harm him, as hae was protected by an evil charm. Hae was a man that did an said whatever hae liked, regardless o the consequences tae himself or anybody else. Indeed hae entertained thoughts an even claimed tae have mair right tae the Scottish throne than King Robert the Bruce himself.
His greatest desire though wasnae tae become king, but tae marry the bonnie an very wealthy young lass Marion, who lived nae far frae him. As it was, she was betrothed tae Sir Walter Scott, the young heir o Branxholm, who was surely the bravest an strongest young man in aw o the Borderlands. This didnae trauchle de Soulis any, who would let nothing stand in the way o his craving for Marion. Tae this end it is said that hae cawed upon unnatural help. Apparently yin night hae took a jet-black cat by the scruff o the neck, dragged a jet-black dog on a chain, an herded a young jet-black bull (yin that had never kent anything but its mother’s milk, an had never seen a blade o grass), doon intae his deepest derkest dungeon. There hae locked the muckle cell door behind them with the key frae his belt. Hae placed the lamp in the middle o the floor, then quickly dug a small hole, whilst the cat frantically tried tae scratch a way oot o the cell. The sorcerer grabbed the yowling cat by the scruff o the neck again an threw it intae the hole. Hae rapidly covered the cat ower with soil before it could escape. Then hae tramped the earth doon an the cat beneath. Whilst standing on the grave hae dragged the dog tae him, picked it up an flung it at the wall with aw his might, immediately breaking the poor creature’s back. Then hae drew a knife across the young bull’s thrapple. Hae then preceded tae wring the bull’s neck, spraying its blood aroond the dungeon in some desperate ritual. Hae furiously dug another grave beside the first, intae which hae pulled the dying dog an the dying bull, an quickly covering it ower an tramping doon their broken bodies with earth as hae did so. It was as if whatever hellish thing hae wished tae invoke would be brought aboot by the suffering o those poor creatures, an the mair they suffered the mair powerful the evocation. Next tae the twae graves was a stout iron-bound kist. Now de Soulis gave this his full attention. ‘Spirit o Derkness rise oot o yer slumber for I have come.’ Rummaging aboot in the far corner o the cell, hae found the horseshoe that was kent in his family as the spirit’s shoe an hae nailed it tae the door. As hae gave the nail a final dunt hae spoke oot again, ‘Spirit o Derkness, I’m here tae dae yer bidding. Now, come forth.’ As hae stood atween the twae graves hae scattered salt an ashes aroond the kist nine times. ‘Spirit, come tae me.’ Then hae dunted nine times on the lid o the kist with his mailed fist. Twenty-seven times later the lid o the kist slowly rose. As it did so the terrible smell o long-deid corpses heralded the emergence frae the depths o the kist a muckle great presence that was in a shape unkent by man.
It was as if the voice came frae the depths, an it had such a sense o foreboding aboot it. ‘What dae ye want de Soulis?’
‘I c
rave the power ower aw other men so that I can have aw that I desire. I ask that every weapon made by man be powerless against ma body as the pale light o the moon.’
‘Yer wish is granted.’
‘Swords?’
‘The steel o swords winna wound ye.’
‘Rope?’
‘Rope will neither bind nor hang ye. Tomorrow night Sir Walter’s young bride will sit at yer fireside instead o his, an should his sword come at yer hide it will buckle an bend as if ye were a stane. But now dinnae trauchle me again for seven long years. Only then can ye unsneck the door o this dungeon tae dunt the lid o ma kist. Only then will I answer ye if ye dunt three times. Away with ye now. Go yer ain way in sin an prosper in the doing so. But beware a coming wood.’
A sudden shriek frae the fiendish entity rattled roond the dungeon as it shrank back intae its kist, followed by a loud clatter as the heavy lid fell shut. Then the ground started tae shoogle as if the rocks deep doon in the earth were having a terrible row with each other. De Soulis grabbed the lamp an quickly ran oot the cell, snecking the door behind him with the heavy key frae his belt, entirely heedless tae the groans an whimpers o the buried animals.
Scottish Borders Folk Tales Page 12