"That, my friends, your magistrates will determine for you, as we
shall instantly meet together when Sir Patrick Charteris cometh
here, which must be anon. Meanwhile, let the chirurgeon Dwining
examine that poor piece of clay, that he may tell us how he came by
his fatal death; and then let the corpse be decently swathed in a
clean shroud, as becomes an honest citizen, and placed before the
high altar in the church of St. John, the patron of the Fair City.
Cease all clamour and noise, and every defensible man of you, as
you would wish well to the Fair Town, keep his weapons in readiness,
and be prepared to assemble on the High Street at the tolling of
the common bell from the townhouse, and we will either revenge the
death of our fellow citizen, or else we shall take such fortune
as Heaven will send us. Meanwhile avoid all quarrelling With the
knights and their followers till we know the innocent from the
guilty. But wherefore tarries this knave Smith? He is ready enough
in tumults when his presence is not wanted, and lags he now when
his presence may serve the Fair City? What ails him, doth any one
know? Hath he been upon the frolic last Fastern's Even?"

"Rather he is sick or sullen, Master Bailie," said one of the city's
mairs, or sergeants; "for though he is within door, as his knaves
report, yet he will neither answer to us nor admit us."

"So please your worship, Master Bailie," said Simon Glover, "I will
go myself to fetch Henry Smith. I have some little difference to
make up with him. And blessed be Our Lady, who hath so ordered it
that I find him alive, as a quarter of an hour since I could never
have expected!"

"Bring the stout smith to the council house," said the bailie, as
a mounted yeoman pressed through the crowd and whispered in his ear,
"Here is a good fellow who says the Knight of Kinfauns is entering
the port."

Such was the occasion of Simon Glover presenting himself at the
house of Henry Gow at the period already noticed.

Unrestrained by the considerations of doubt and hesitation which
influenced others, he repaired to the parlour; and having overheard
the bustling of Dame Shoolbred, he took the privilege of intimacy
to ascend to the bedroom, and, with the slight apology of "I
crave your pardon, good neighbour," he opened the door and entered
the apartment, where a singular and unexpected sight awaited him.
At the sound of his voice, May Catharine experienced a revival
much speedier than Dame Shoolbred's restoratives had been able to
produce, and the paleness of her complexion changed into a deep
glow of the most lovely red. She pushed her lover from her with
both her hands, which, until this minute, her want of consciousness,
or her affection, awakened by the events of the morning, had well
nigh abandoned to his caresses. Henry Smith, bashful as we know
him, stumbled as he rose up; and none of the party were without a
share of confusion, excepting Dame Shoolbred, who was glad to make
some pretext to turn her back to the others, in order that she
might enjoy a laugh at their expense, which she felt herself utterly
unable to restrain, and in which the glover, whose surprise, though
great, was of short duration, and of a joyful character, sincerely
joined.

"Now, by good St. John," he said, "I thought I had seen a sight
this morning that would cure me of laughter, at least till Lent was
over; but this would make me curl my cheek if I were dying. Why,
here stands honest Henry Smith, who was lamented as dead, and toll'd
out for from every steeple in town, alive, merry, and, as it seems
from his ruddy complexion, as like to live as any man in Perth.
And here is my precious daughter, that yesterday would speak of
nothing but the wickedness of the wights that haunt profane sports
and protect glee maidens. Ay, she who set St. Valentine and St.
Cupid both at defiance--here she is, turned a glee maiden herself,
for what I can see! Truly, I am glad to see that you, my good Dame
Shoolbred, who give way to no disorder, have been of this loving
party."

"You do me wrong, my dearest father," said Catharine, as if about
to weep. "I came here with far different expectations than you
suppose. I only came because--because--"

"Because you expected to find a dead lover," said her father, and
you have found a living one, who can receive the tokens of your
regard, and return them. Now, were it not a sin, I could find in my
heart to thank Heaven that thou hast been surprised at last into
owning thyself a woman. Simon Glover is not worthy to have an
absolute saint for his daughter. Nay, look not so piteously, nor
expect condolence from me! Only I will try not to look merry, if
you will be pleased to stop your tears, or confess them to be tears
of joy."

"If I were to die for such a confession," said poor Catharine, "I
could not tell what to call them. Only believe, dear father, and
let Henry believe, that I would never have come hither; unless--
unless--"

"Unless you had thought that Henry could not come to you," said
her father. "And now, shake hands in peace and concord, and agree
as Valentines should. Yesterday was Shrovetide, Henry; We will hold
that thou hast confessed thy follies, hast obtained absolution,
and art relieved of all the guilt thou stoodest charged with."

"Nay touching that, father Simon," said the smith, "now that you
are cool enough to hear me, I can swear on the Gospels, and I can
call my nurse, Dame Shoolbred, to witness--"

"Nay--nay," said the glover, "but wherefore rake up differences
which should all be forgotten?"

"Hark ye, Simon!--Simon Glover!" This was now echoed from beneath.

"True, son Smith," said the glover, seriously, "we have other work
in hand. You and I must to the council instantly. Catharine shall
remain here with Dame Shoolbred, who will take charge of her till
we return; and then, as the town is in misrule, we two, Harry, will
carry her home, and they will be bold men that cross us."

"Nay, my dear father," said Catharine, with a smile, "now you are
taking Oliver Proudfute's office. That doughty burgher is Henry's
brother at arms."

Her father's countenance grew dark.

"You have spoke a stinging word, daughter; but you know not what
has happened. Kiss him, Catharine, in token of forgiveness."

"Not so," said Catharine; "I have done him too much grace already.
When he has seen the errant damsel safe home, it will be time enough
to claim his reward."

"Meantime," said Henry, "I will claim, as your host, what you will
not allow me on other terms."

He folded the fair maiden in his arms, and was permitted to take
the salute which she had refused to bestow.

As they descended the stair together, the old man laid his hand
on the smith's shoulder, and said: "Henry, my dearest wishes are
fulfilled; but it is the pleasure of the saints that it should be
in an hour of difficulty and terror."

"True," said the smith; "but thou knowest, father, if our riots be
frequent at Perth, at least they seldom last long."

Then, opening a door which led from the house into the smithy,
"here, comrades," he cried, "Anton, Cuthbert, Dingwell, and Ringen!
Let none of you stir from the place till I return. Be as true as
the weapons I have taught you to forge: a French crown and a Scotch
merrymaking for you, if you obey my command. I leave a mighty
treasure in your charge. Watch the doors well, let little Jannekin
scout up and down the wynd, and have your arms ready if any one
approaches the house. Open the doors to no man till father Glover
or I return: it concerns my life and happiness."

The strong, swarthy giants to whom he spoke answered: "Death to
him who attempts it!"

"My Catharine is now as safe," said he to her father, "as if twenty
men garrisoned a royal castle in her cause. We shall pass most
quietly to the council house by walking through the garden."

He led the way through a little orchard accordingly, where the
birds, which had been sheltered and fed during the winter by the
good natured artisan, early in the season as it was, were saluting
the precarious smiles of a February sun with a few faint and
interrupted attempts at melody.

"Hear these minstrels, father," said the smith; "I laughed at them
this morning in the bitterness of my heart, because the little
wretches sung, with so much of winter before them. But now, methinks,
I could bear a blythe chorus, for I have my Valentine as they have
theirs; and whatever ill may lie before me for tomorrow, I am today
the happiest man in Perth, city or county, burgh or landward."

"Yet I must allay your joy," said the old glover, "though, Heaven
knows, I share it. Poor Oliver Proudfute, the inoffensive fool
that you and I knew so well, has been found this morning dead in
the streets."

"Only dead drunk, I trust?" said the smith; "nay, a candle and a
dose of matrimonial advice will bring him to life again."

"No, Henry--no. He is slain--slain with a battle axe or some
such weapon."

"Impossible!" replied the smith; "he was light footed enough, and
would not for all Perth have trusted to his hands, when be could
extricate himself by his heels."

"No choice was allowed him. The blow was dealt in the very back of
his head; he who struck must have been a shorter man than himself,
and used a horseman's battle axe, or some such weapon, for a Lochaber
axe must have struck the upper part of his head. But there he lies
dead, brained, I may say, by a most frightful wound."

"This is inconceivable," said Henry Wynd. "He was in my house
at midnight, in a morricer's habit; seemed to have been drinking,
though not to excess. He told me a tale of having been beset by
revellers, and being in danger; but, alas! you know the man--I
deemed it was a swaggering fit, as he sometimes took when he was
in liquor; and, may the Merciful Virgin forgive me! I let him go
without company, in which I did him inhuman wrong. Holy St. John
be my witness! I would have gone with any helpless creature; and
far more with him, with whom I have so often sat at the same board
and drunken of the same cup. Who, of the race of man, could have
thought of harming a creature so simple and so unoffending, excepting
by his idle vaunts?"

"Henry, he wore thy head piece, thy buff coat; thy target. How came
he by these?"

"Why, he demanded the use of them for the night, and I was ill
at ease, and well pleased to be rid of his company, having kept
no holiday, and being determined to keep none, in respect of our
misunderstanding."

"It is the opinion of Bailie Craigdallie and all our sagest
counsellors that the blow was intended for yourself, and that it
becomes you to prosecute the due vengeance of our fellow citizen,
who received the death which was meant for you."

The smith was for some time silent. They had now left the garden,
and were walking in a lonely lane, by which they meant to approach
the council house of the burgh without being exposed to observation
or idle inquiry.

"You are silent, my son, yet we two have much to speak of," said
Simon Glover. "Bethink thee that this widowed woman, Maudlin,
if she should see cause to bring a charge against any one for the
wrong done to her and her orphan children, must support it by a
champion, according to law and custom; for, be the murderer who he
may, we know enough of these followers of the nobles to be assured
that the party suspected will appeal to the combat, in derision,
perhaps, of we whom they will call the cowardly burghers. While we
are men with blood in our veins, this must not be, Henry Wynd."

"I see where you would draw me, father," answered Henry, dejectedly,
"and St. John knows I have heard a summons to battle as willingly
as war horse ever heard the trumpet. But bethink you, father, how
I have lost Catharine's favour repeatedly, and have been driven
well nigh to despair of ever regaining it, for being, if I may say
so, even too ready a man of my hands. And here are all our quarrels
made up, and the hopes that seemed this morning removed beyond
earthly prospect have become nearer and brighter than ever; and
must I with the dear one's kiss of forgiveness on my lips, engage
in a new scene of violence, which you are well aware will give her
the deepest offence?"

"It is hard for me to advise you, Henry," said Simon; "but this I
must ask you: Have you, or have you not, reason to think that this
poor unfortunate Oliver has been mistaken for you?"

"I fear it too much," said Henry. "He was thought something like
me, and the poor fool had studied to ape my gestures and manner
of walking, nay the very airs which I have the trick of whistling,
that he might increase a resemblance which has cost him dear. I
have ill willers enough, both in burgh and landward, to owe me a
shrewd turn; and he, I think, could have none such."

"Well, Henry, I cannot say but my daughter will be offended. She
has been much with Father Clement, and has received notions about
peace and forgiveness which methinks suit ill with a country
where the laws cannot protect us, unless we have spirit to protect
ourselves. If you determine for the combat, I will do my best to
persuade her to look on the matter as the other good womanhood in
the burgh will do; and if you resolve to let the matter rest--
the man who has lost his life for yours remaining unavenged, the
widow and the orphans without any reparation for the loss of a
husband and father--I will then do you the justice to think that
I, at least, ought not to think the worse of you for your patience,
since it was adopted for love of my child. But, Henry, we must in
that case remove ourselves from bonny St. Johnston, for here we
will be but a disgraced family."

Henry groaned deeply, and was silent for an instant, then replied:
"I would rather be dead than dishonoured, though I should never see
her again! Had it been yester evening, I would have met the best
blade among these men at arms as blythely as ever I danced at
a maypole. But today, when she had first as good as said, 'Henry
Smith, I love thee!' Father Glover; it is very hard. Yet it is all
my own fault. This poor unhappy Oliver! I ought to have allowed
him the shelter of my roof, when he prayed me in his agony of fear;
or; had I gone with him, I should then have prevented or shared his
fate. But I taunted him, ridiculed him, loaded him with maledictions,
though the saints know they were uttered in idle peevishness of
impatience. I drove him out from my doors, whom I knew so helpless,
to take the fate which was perhaps intended for me. I must avenge
him, or be dishonoured for ever. See, father, I have been called
a man hard as the steel I work in. Does burnished steel ever drop
tears like these? Shame on me that I should shed them!"

"It is no shame, my dearest son," said Simon; "thou art as kind as
brave, and I have always known it. There is yet a chance for us.
No one may be discovered to whom suspicion attaches, and where none
such is found, the combat cannot take place. It is a hard thing
to wish that the innocent blood may not be avenged. But if the
perpetrator of this foul murder be hidden for the present, thou
wilt be saved from the task of seeking that vengeance which Heaven
doubtless will take at its own proper time."

As they spoke thus, they arrived at the point of the High Street
where the council house was situated. As they reached the door,
and made their way through the multitude who thronged the street,
they found the avenues guarded by a select party of armed burghers,
and about fifty spears belonging to the Knight of Kinfauns, who,
with his allies the Grays, Blairs, Moncrieffs, and others, had
brought to Perth a considerable body of horse, of which these were
a part. So soon as the glover and smith presented themselves, they
were admitted to the chamber in which the magistrates were assembled.



CHAPTER XX.

A woman wails for justice at the gate,
A widow'd woman, wan and desolate.

Bertha.


The council room of Perth presented a singular spectacle. In a
gloomy apartment, ill and inconveniently lighted by two windows of
different form and of unequal size, were assembled, around a large
oaken table, a group of men, of whom those who occupied the higher
seats were merchants, that is, guild brethren, or shopkeepers,
arrayed in decent dresses becoming their station, but most of them
bearing, like, the Regent York, "signs of war around their aged
necks"--gorgets, namely, and baldricks, which sustained their
weapons. The lower places around the table were occupied by mechanics
and artisans, the presidents, or deacons, as they were termed, of
the working classes, in their ordinary clothes, somewhat better
arranged than usual. These, too, wore pieces of armour of various
descriptions. Some had the blackjack, or doublets covered with
small plates of iron of a lozenge shape, which, secured through the
upper angle, hung in rows above each [other], and which, swaying
with the motion of the wearer's person, formed a secure defence
to the body. Others had buff coats, which, as already mentioned,
could resist the blow of a sword, and even a lance's point, unless
propelled with great force. At the bottom of the table, surrounded
as it was with this varied assembly, sat Sir Louis Lundin; no
military man, but a priest and parson of St. John's, arrayed in
his canonical dress, and having his pen and ink before him. He was
town clerk of the burgh, and, like all the priests of the period (who
were called from that circumstance the Pope's knights), received
the honourable title of Dominus, contracted into Dom, or Dan,
or translated into Sir, the title of reverence due to the secular
chivalry.

On an elevated seat at the head of the council board was placed
Sir Patrick Charteris, in complete armour brightly burnished--
a singular contrast to the motley mixture of warlike and peaceful
attire exhibited by the burghers, who were only called to arms
occasionally. The bearing of the provost, while it completely
admitted the intimate connexion which mutual interests had created
betwixt himself, the burgh, and the magistracy, was at the same
time calculated to assert the superiority which, in virtue of gentle
blood and chivalrous rank, the opinions of the age assigned to him
over the members of the assembly in which he presided. Two squires
stood behind him, one of them holding the knight's pennon, and
another his shield, bearing his armorial distinctions, being a
hand holding a dagger, or short sword, with the proud motto, "This
is my charter." A handsome page displayed the long sword of his
master, and another bore his lance; all which chivalrous emblems
and appurtenances were the more scrupulously exhibited, that the
dignitary to whom they belonged was engaged in discharging the office
of a burgh magistrate. In his own person the Knight of Kinfauns
appeared to affect something of state and stiffness which did not
naturally pertain to his frank and jovial character.

"So you are come at length, Henry Smith and Simon Glover," said the
provost. "Know that you have kept us waiting for your attendance.
Should it so chance again while we occupy this place, we will lay
such a fine on you as you will have small pleasure in paying. Enough
--make no excuses. They are not asked now, and another time they
will not be admitted. Know, sirs, that our reverend clerk hath
taken down in writing, and at full length, what I will tell you in
brief, that you may see what is to be required of you, Henry Smith,
in particular. Our late fellow citizen, Oliver Proudfute, hath
been found dead in the High Street, close by the entrance into the
wynd. It seemeth he was slain by a heavy blow with a short axe,
dealt from behind and at unawares; and the act by which he fell
can only be termed a deed of foul and forethought murder. So much
for the crime. The criminal can only be indicated by circumstances.
It is recorded in the protocol of the Reverend Sir Louis Lundin,
that divers well reported witnesses saw our deceased citizen,
Oliver Proudfute, till a late period accompanying the entry of the
morrice dancers, of whom he was one, as far as the house of Simon
Glover, in Curfew Street, where they again played their pageant.
It is also manifested that at this place he separated from the rest
of the band, after some discourse with Simon Glover, and made an
appointment to meet with the others of his company at the sign of
the Griffin, there to conclude the holiday. Now, Simon, I demand of
you whether this be truly stated, so far as you know? and further,
what was the purport of the defunct Oliver Proudfute's discourse
with you?"

"My Lord Provost and very worshipful Sir Patrick," answered Simon
Glover, "you and this honourable council shall know that, touching
certain reports which had been made of the conduct of Henry Smith,
some quarrel had arisen between myself and another of my family
and the said Smith here present. Now, this our poor fellow citizen,
Oliver Proudfute, having been active in spreading these reports,
as indeed his element lay in such gossipred, some words passed
betwixt him and me on the subject; and, as I think, he left me
with the purpose of visiting Henry Smith, for he broke off from
the morrice dancers, promising, as it seems, to meet them, as your
honour has said, at the sign of the Griffin, in order to conclude
the evening. But what he actually did, I know not, as I never again
saw him in life."

"It is enough," said Sir Patrick, "and agrees with all that we
have heard. Now, worthy sirs, we next find our poor fellow citizen
environed by a set of revellers and maskers who had assembled
in the High Street, by whom he was shamefully ill treated, being
compelled to kneel down in the street, and there to quaff huge
quantities of liquor against his inclination, until at length he
escaped from them by flight. This violence was accomplished with
drawn swords, loud shouts, and imprecations, so as to attract the
attention of several persons, who, alarmed by the tumult, looked
out from their windows, as well as of one or two passengers, who,
keeping aloof from the light of the torches, lest they also had been
maltreated, beheld the usage which our fellow citizen received in
the High Street of the burgh. And although these revellers were
disguised, and used vizards, yet their disguises were well known,
being a set of quaint masking habits prepared some weeks ago
by command of Sir John Ramorny, Master of the Horse to his Royal
Highness the Duke of Rothsay, Prince Royal of Scotland."

A low groan went through the assembly.

"Yes, so it is, brave burghers," continued Sir Patrick; "our inquiries
have led us into conclusions both melancholy and terrible. But as
no one can regret the point at which they seem likely to arrive
more than I do, so no man living can dread its consequences less.
It is even so, various artisans employed upon the articles have
described the dresses prepared for Sir John Ramorny's mask as being
exactly similar to those of the men by whom Oliver Proudfute was
observed to be maltreated. And one mechanic, being Wingfield the
feather dresser, who saw the revellers when they had our fellow
citizen within their hands, remarked that they wore the cinctures
and coronals of painted feathers which he himself had made by the
order of the Prince's master of horse.

"After the moment of his escape from these revellers, we lose all
trace of Oliver' but we can prove that the maskers went to Sir
John Ramorny's, where they were admitted, after some show of delay.
It is rumoured that thou, Henry Smith, sawest our unhappy fellow
citizen after he had been in the hands of these revellers. What is
the truth of the matter?"

"He came to my house in the wynd," said Henry, "about half an hour
before midnight; and I admitted him, something unwillingly, as he
had been keeping carnival while I remained at home; and 'There is
ill talk,' says the proverb, 'betwixt a full man and a fasting.'"

"And in which plight seemed he when thou didst admit him?" said
the provost.

"He seemed," answered the smith, "out of breath, and talked repeatedly
of having been endangered by revellers. I paid but small regard,
for he was ever a timorous, chicken spirited, though well meaning,
man, and I held that he was speaking more from fancy than reality.
But I shall always account it for foul offence in myself that I
did not give him my company, which he requested; and if I live, I
will found masses for his soul, in expiation of my guilt."

"Did he describe those from whom he received the injury?" said the
provost.

"Revellers in masking habits," replied Henry.

"And did he intimate his fear of having to do with them on his
return?" again demanded Sir Patrick.

"He alluded particularly to his being waylaid, which I treated as
visionary, having been able to see no one in the lane."

"Had he then no help from thee of any kind whatsoever?" said the
provost.

"Yes, worshipful," replied the smith; "he exchanged his morrice
dress for my head piece, buff coat, and target, which I hear were
found upon his body; and I have at home his morrice cap and bells,
with the jerkin and other things pertaining. He was to return my
garb of fence, and get back his own masking suit this day, had the
saints so permitted."

"You saw him not then afterwards?"

"Never, my lord."

"One word more," said the provost. "Have you any reason to think
that the blow which slew Oliver Proudfute was meant for another
man?"

"I have," answered the smith; "but it is doubtful, and may be dangerous
to add such a conjecture, which is besides only a supposition."

"Speak it out, on your burgher faith and oath. For whom, think you,
was the blow meant?"

"If I must speak," replied Henry, "I believe Oliver Proudfute
received the fate which was designed for myself; the rather that,
in his folly, Oliver spoke of trying to assume my manner of walking,
as well as my dress."

"Have you feud with any one, that you form such an idea?" said Sir
Patrick Charteris.

"To my shame and sin be it spoken, I have feud with Highland and
Lowland, English and Scot, Perth and Angus. I do not believe poor
Oliver had feud with a new hatched chicken. Alas! he was the more
fully prepared for a sudden call!"

"Hark ye, smith," said the provost, "answer me distinctly: Is there
cause of feud between the household of Sir John Ramorny and yourself?"

"To a certainty, my lord, there is. It is now generally said that
Black Quentin, who went over Tay to Fife some days since, was the
owner of the hand which was found in Couvrefew Street upon the eve
of St. Valentine. It was I who struck off that hand with a blow
of my broadsword. As this Black Quentin was a chamberlain of Sir
John, and much trusted, it is like there must be feud between me
and his master's dependants."

"It bears a likely front, smith," said Sir Patrick Charteris. "And
now, good brothers and wise magistrates, there are two suppositions,
each of which leads to the same conclusion. The maskers who seized
our fellow citizen, and misused him in a manner of which his body
retains some slight marks, may have met with their former prisoner
as he returned homewards, and finished their ill usage by taking
his life. He himself expressed to Henry Gow fears that this would
be the case. If this be really true, one or more of Sir John
Ramorny's attendants must have been the assassins. But I think it
more likely that one or two of the revellers may have remained on
the field, or returned to it, having changed perhaps their disguise,
and that to those men (for Oliver Proudfute, in his own personal
appearance, would only have been a subject of sport) his apparition
in the dress, and assuming, as he proposed to do, the manner, of
Henry Smith, was matter of deep hatred; and that, seeing him alone,
they had taken, as they thought, a certain and safe mode to rid
themselves of an enemy so dangerous as all men know Henry Wynd
is accounted by those that are his unfriends. The same train of
reasoning, again, rests the guilt with the household of Sir John
Ramorny. How think you, sirs? Are we not free to charge the crime
upon them?"

The magistrates whispered together for several minutes, and then
replied by the voice of Bailie Craigdallie: "Noble knight, and our
worthy provost, we agree entirely in what your wisdom has spoken
concerning this dark and bloody matter; nor do we doubt your sagacity
in tracing to the fellowship and the company of John Ramorny of
that ilk the villainy which hath been done to our deceased fellow
citizen, whether in his own character and capacity or as mistaking
him for our brave townsman, Henry of the Wynd. But Sir John, in his
own behalf, and as the Prince's master of the horse, maintains an
extensive household; and as, of course, the charge will be rebutted
by a denial, we would ask how we shall proceed in that case.
It is true, could we find law for firing the lodging, and putting
all within it to the sword; the old proverb of 'Short rede, good
rede,' might here apply; for a fouler household of defiers of God,
destroyers of men, and debauchers of women are nowhere sheltered
than are in Ramorny's band. But I doubt that this summary mode of
execution would scarce be borne out by the laws; and no tittle of
evidence which I have heard will tend to fix the crime on any single
individual or individuals."

Before the provost could reply, the town clerk arose, and, stroking
his venerable beard, craved permission to speak, which was instantly
granted.

"Brethren," he said, "as well in our fathers' time as ours; hath
God, on being rightly appealed to, condescended to make manifest
the crimes of the guilty and the innocence of those who may have
been rashly accused. Let us demand from our sovereign lord, King
Robert, who, when the wicked do not interfere to pervert his good
intentions, is as just and clement a prince as our annals can show
in their long line, in the name of the Fair City, and of all the
commons in Scotland, that he give us, after the fashion of our
ancestors, the means of appealing to Heaven for light upon this
dark murder, we will demand the proof by 'bier right,' often granted
in the days of our sovereign's ancestors, approved of by bulls and
decretals, and administered by the great Emperor Charlemagne in
France, by King Arthur in Britain, and by Gregory the Great, and
the mighty Achaius, in this our land of Scotland."

"I have heard of the bier right, Sir Louis," quoth the provost,
"and I know we have it in our charters of the Fair City; but I am
something ill learned in the ancient laws, and would pray you to
inform us more distinctly of its nature."

"We will demand of the King," said Sir Louis Lundin, "my advice being
taken, that the body of our murdered fellow citizen be transported
into the High Church of St. John, and suitable masses said for
the benefit of his soul and for the discovery of his foul murder.
Meantime, we shall obtain an order that Sir John Ramorny give up
a list of such of his household as were in Perth in the course of
the night between Fastern's Even and this Ash Wednesday, and become
bound to present them on a certain day and hour, to be early named,
in the High Church of St. John, there one by one to pass before the
bier of our murdered fellow citizen, and in the form prescribed to
call upon God and His saints to bear witness that he is innocent
of the acting, art or part, of the murder. And credit me, as has
been indeed proved by numerous instances, that, if the murderer
shall endeavour to shroud himself by making such an appeal, the
antipathy which subsists between the dead body and the hand which
dealt the fatal blow that divorced it from the soul will awaken
some imperfect life, under the influence of which the veins of the
dead man will pour forth at the fatal wounds the blood which has
been so long stagnant in the veins. Or, to speak more certainly,
it is the pleasure of Heaven, by some hidden agency which we cannot
comprehend, to leave open this mode of discovering the wickedness
of him who has defaced the image of his Creator."

"I have heard this law talked of," said Sir Patrick, "and it was
enforced in the Bruce's time. This surely is no unfit period to seek,
by such a mystic mode of inquiry, the truth to which no ordinary
means can give us access, seeing that a general accusation of Sir
John's household would full surely be met by a general denial. Yet
I must crave farther of Sir Louis, our reverend town clerk, how we
shall prevent the guilty person from escaping in the interim?"

"The burghers will maintain a strict watch upon the wall, drawbridges
shall be raised and portcullises lowered, from sunset to sunrise,
and strong patrols maintained through the night. This guard the
burghers will willingly maintain, to secure against the escape of
the murderer of their townsman."

The rest of the counsellors acquiesced, by word, sign, and look,
in this proposal.

"Again," said the provost, "what if any one of the suspected
household refuse to submit to the ordeal of bier right?"

"He may appeal to that of combat," said the reverend city scribe,
"with an opponent of equal rank; because the accused person must
have his choice, in the appeal to the judgment of God, by what
ordeal he will be tried. But if he refuses both, he must be held
as guilty, and so punished."

The sages of the council unanimously agreed with the opinion of
their provost and town clerk, and resolved, in all formality, to
petition the King, as a matter of right, that the murder of their
fellow citizen should be inquired into according to this ancient
form, which was held to manifest the truth, and received as matter
of evidence in case of murder so late as towards the end of the
17th century. But before the meeting dissolved, Bailie Craigdallie
thought it meet to inquire who was to be the champion of Maudie,
or Magdalen, Proudfute and her two children.

"There need be little inquiry about that," said Sir Patrick Charteris;
"we are men, and wear swords, which should be broken over the head
of any one amongst us who will not draw it in behalf of the widow
and orphans of our murdered fellow citizen, and in brave revenge
of his death. If Sir John Ramorny shall personally resent the
inquiry, Patrick Charteris of Kinfauns will do battle with him to
the outrance, whilst horse and man may stand, or spear and blade
hold together. But in case the challenger be of yeomanly degree,
well wot I that Magdalen Proudfute may choose her own champion
among the bravest burghers of Perth, and shame and dishonour were
it to the Fair City for ever could she light upon one who were
traitor and coward enough to say her nay! Bring her hither, that
she may make her election."

Henry Smith heard this with a melancholy anticipation that
the poor woman's choice would light upon him, and that his recent
reconciliation with his mistress would be again dissolved, by his
being engaged in a fresh quarrel, from which there lay no honourable
means of escape, and which, in any other circumstances, he would
have welcomed as a glorious opportunity of distinguishing himself,
both in sight of the court and of the city. He was aware that,
under the tuition of Father Clement, Catharine viewed the ordeal
of battle rather as an insult to religion than an appeal to the
Deity, and did not consider it as reasonable that superior strength
of arm or skill of weapon should be resorted to as the proof of
moral guilt or innocence. He had, therefore, much to fear from her
peculiar opinions in this particular, refined as they were beyond
those of the age she lived in.

While he thus suffered under these contending feelings, Magdalen,
the widow of the slaughtered man, entered the court, wrapt in a deep
mourning veil, and followed and supported by five or six women of
good (that is, of respectability) dressed in the same melancholy
attire. One of her attendants held an infant in her arms, the last
pledge of poor Oliver's nuptial affections. Another led a little
tottering creature of two years, or thereabouts, which looked with
wonder and fear, sometimes on the black dress in which they had
muffled him, and sometimes on the scene around him.

The assembly rose to receive the melancholy group, and saluted them
with an expression of the deepest sympathy, which Magdalen, though
the mate of poor Oliver, returned with an air of dignity, which she
borrowed, perhaps, from the extremity of her distress. Sir Patrick
Charteris then stepped forward, and with the courtesy of a knight
to a female, and of a protector to an oppressed and injured widow,
took the poor woman's hand, and explained to her briefly by what
course the city had resolved to follow out the vengeance due for
her husband's slaughter.

Having, with a softness and gentleness which did not belong to his
general manner, ascertained that the unfortunate woman perfectly
understood what was meant, he said aloud to the assembly: "Good
citizens of Perth, and freeborn men of guild and craft, attend to
what is about to pass, for it concerns your rights and privileges.
Here stands Magdalen Proudfute, desirous to follow forth the revenge
due for the death of her husband, foully murdered, as she sayeth,
by Sir John Ramorny, Knight, of that Ilk, and which she offers
to prove, by the evidence of bier right, or by the body of a man.
Therefore, I, Patrick Charteris, being a belted knight and freeborn
gentleman, offer myself to do battle in her just quarrel, whilst
man and horse may endure, if any one of my degree shall lift my
glove. How say you, Magdalen Proudfute, will you accept me for your
champion?"

The widow answered with difficulty: "I can desire none nobler."

Sir Patrick then took her right hand in his, and, kissing her
forehead, for such was the ceremony, said solemnly: "So may God
and St. John prosper me at my need, as I will do my devoir as your
champion, knightly, truly, and manfully. Go now, Magdalen, and
choose at your will among the burgesses of the Fair City, present
or absent, any one upon whom you desire to rest your challenge,
if he against whom you bring plaint shall prove to be beneath my
degree."

All eyes were turned to Henry Smith, whom the general voice
had already pointed out as in every respect the fittest to act as
champion on the occasion. But the widow waited not for the general
prompting of their looks. As soon as Sir Patrick had spoken, she
crossed the floor to the place where, near the bottom of the table,
the armourer stood among the men of his degree, and took him by
the hand.

"Henry Gow, or Smith," she said, "good burgher and draftsman, my
--my--"

"Husband," she would have said, but the word would not come forth:
she was obliged to change the expression.

"He who is gone, loved and prized you over all men; therefore meet
it is that thou shouldst follow out the quarrel of his widow and
orphans."

If there had been a possibility, which in that age there was not,
of Henry's rejecting or escaping from a trust for which all men
seemed to destine him, every wish and idea of retreat was cut off
when the widow began to address him; and a command from Heaven could
hardly have made a stronger impression than did the appeal of the
unfortunate Magdalen. Her allusion to his intimacy with the deceased
moved him to the soul. During Oliver's life, doubtless, there had
been a strain of absurdity in his excessive predilection for Henry,
which, considering how very different they were in character, had
in it something ludicrous. But all this was now forgotten, and Henry,
giving way to his natural ardour, only remembered that Oliver had
been his friend and intimate--a man who had loved and honoured
him as much as he was capable of entertaining such sentiments for
any one, and, above all, that there was much reason to suspect that
the deceased had fallen victim to a blow meant for Henry himself.

It was, therefore, with an alacrity which, the minute before, he
could scarce have commanded, and which seemed to express a stern
pleasure, that, having pressed his lips to the cold brow of the
unhappy Magdalen, the armourer replied:

"I, Henry the Smith, dwelling in the Wynd of Perth, good man and
true, and freely born, accept the office of champion to this widow
Magdalen and these orphans, and will do battle in their quarrel to
the death, with any man whomsoever of my own degree, and that so
long as I shall draw breath. So help me at my need God and good
St. John!"

There arose from the audience a half suppressed cry, expressing
the interest which the persons present took in the prosecution of
the quarrel, and their confidence in the issue.

Sir Patrick Charteris then took measures for repairing to the
King's presence, and demanding leave to proceed with inquiry into
the murder of Oliver Proudfute, according to the custom of bier
right, and, if necessary, by combat.

He performed this duty after the town council had dissolved,
in a private interview between himself and the King, who heard of
this new trouble with much vexation, and appointed next morning,
after mass, for Sir Patrick and the parties interested to attend
his pleasure in council. In the mean time, a royal pursuivant was
despatched to the Constable's lodgings, to call over the roll of Sir
John Ramorny's attendants, and charge him, with his whole retinue,
under high penalties, to abide within Perth until the King's pleasure
should be farther known.



CHAPTER XXI.

In God's name, see the lists and all things fit;
There let them end it--God defend the right!

Henry IV. Part II.


In the same council room of the conventual palace of the Dominicans,
King Robert was seated with his brother Albany, whose affected
austerity of virtue, and real art and dissimulation, maintained
so high an influence over the feeble minded monarch. It was indeed
natural that one who seldom saw things according to their real forms
and outlines should view them according to the light in which they
were presented to him by a bold, astucious man, possessing the
claim of such near relationship.

Ever anxious on account of his misguided and unfortunate son,
the King was now endeavouring to make Albany coincide in opinion
with him in exculpating Rothsay from any part in the death of the
bonnet maker, the precognition concerning which had been left by
Sir Patrick Charteris for his Majesty's consideration.

"This is an unhappy matter, brother Robin," he said--"a most
unhappy occurrence, and goes nigh to put strife and quarrel betwixt
the nobility and the commons here, as they have been at war together
in so many distant lands. I see but one cause of comfort in the
matter, and that is, that Sir John Ramorny having received his
dismissal from the Duke of Rothsay's family, it cannot be said that
he or any of his people who may have done this bloody deed--if
it has truly been done by them--have been encouraged or hounded
out upon such an errand by my poor boy. I am sure, brother, you
and I can bear witness how readily, upon my entreaties, he agreed
to dismiss Ramorny from his service, on account of that brawl in
Curfew Street."

"I remember his doing so," said Albany; "and well do I hope that
the connexion betwixt the Prince and Ramorny has not been renewed
since he seemed to comply with your Grace's wishes."

"Seemed to comply! The connexion renewed!" said the King. "What mean
you by these expressions, brother? Surely, when David promised to
me that, if that unhappy matter of Curfew Street were but smothered
up and concealed, he would part with Ramorny, as he was a counsellor
thought capable of involving him in similar fooleries, and would
acquiesce in our inflicting on him either exile or such punishment
as it should please us to impose--surely you cannot doubt that he
was sincere in his professions, and would keep his word? Remember
you not that, when you advised that a heavy fine should be levied
upon his estate in Fife in lieu of banishment, the Prince himself
seemed to say that exile would be better for Ramorny, and even for
himself?"

"I remember it well, my royal brother. Nor, truly, could I have
suspected Ramorny of having so much influence over the Prince, after
having been accessory to placing him in a situation so perilous,
had it not been for my royal kinsman's own confession, alluded to
by your Grace, that, if suffered to remain at court, he might still
continue to influence his conduct. I then regretted I had advised
a fine in place of exile. But that time is passed, and now new
mischief has occurred, fraught with much peril to your Majesty, as
well as to your royal heir, and to the whole kingdom."

"What mean you, Robin?" said the weak minded King. "By the tomb of
our parents! by the soul of Bruce, our immortal ancestor! I entreat
thee, my dearest brother, to take compassion on me. Tell me what
evil threatens my son, or my kingdom?"

The features of the King, trembling with anxiety, and his eyes
brimful of tears, were bent upon his brother, who seemed to assume
time for consideration ere he replied.

"My lord, the danger lies here. Your Grace believed that the Prince
had no accession to this second aggression upon the citizens of
Perth--the slaughter of this bonnet making fellow, about whose
death they clamour, as a set of gulls about their comrade, when
one of the noisy brood is struck down by a boor's shaft."

"Their lives," said the King, "are dear to themselves and their
friends, Robin."

"Truly, ay, my liege; and they make them dear to us too, ere we
can settle with the knaves for the least blood wit. But, as I said,
your Majesty thinks the Prince had no share in this last slaughter;
I will not attempt to shake your belief in that delicate point, but
will endeavour to believe along with you. What you think is rule
for me, Robert of Albany will never think otherwise than Robert of
broad Scotland."

"Thank you, thank you," said the King, taking his brother's hand.
"I knew I might rely that your affection would do justice to poor
heedless Rothsay, who exposes himself to so much misconstruction
that he scarcely deserves the sentiments you feel for him."

Albany had such an immovable constancy of purpose, that he was able
to return the fraternal pressure of the King's hand, while tearing
up by the very roots the hopes of the indulgent, fond old man.

"But, alas!" the Duke continued, with a sigh, "this burly, intractable
Knight of Kinfauns, and his brawling herd of burghers, will not
view the matter as we do. They have the boldness to say that this
dead fellow had been misused by Rothsay and his fellows, who were
in the street in mask and revel, stopping men and women, compelling
them to dance, or to drink huge quantities of wine, with other
follies needless to recount; and they say that the whole party
repaired in Sir John Ramorny's, and broke their way into the house
in order to conclude their revel there, thus affording good reason
to judge that the dismissal of Sir John from the Prince's service
was but a feigned stratagem to deceive the public. And hence they
urge that, if ill were done that night by Sir John Ramorny or his
followers, much it is to be thought that the Duke of Rothsay must
have at least been privy to, if he did not authorise, it."

"Albany, this is dreadful!" said the King. "Would they make
a murderer of my boy? would they pretend my David would soil his
hands in Scottish blood without having either provocation or purpose?
No--no, they will not invent calumnies so broad as these, for
they are flagrant and incredible."

"Pardon, my liege," answered the Duke of Albany; "they say the
cause of quarrel which occasioned the riot in Curfew Street, and,
its consequences, were more proper to the Prince than to Sir John,
since none suspects, far less believes, that that hopeful enterprise
was conducted for the gratification of the knight of Ramorny."

"Thou drivest me mad, Robin!" said the King.

"I am dumb," answered his brother; "I did but speak my poor mind
according to your royal order."

"Thou meanest well, I know," said the King; "but, instead of tearing
me to pieces with the display of inevitable calamities, were it
not kinder, Robin, to point me out some mode to escape from them?"

"True, my liege; but as the only road of extrication is rough and
difficult, it is necessary your Grace should be first possessed with
the absolute necessity of using it, ere you hear it even described.
The chirurgeon must first convince his patient of the incurable
condition of a shattered member, ere he venture to name amputation,
though it be the only remedy."

The King at these words was roused to a degree of alarm and indignation
greater than his brother had deemed he could be awakened to.

"Shattered and mortified member, my Lord of Albany! amputation
the only remedy! These are unintelligible words, my lord. If thou
appliest them to our son Rothsay, thou must make them good to the
letter, else mayst thou have bitter cause to rue the consequence."

"You construe me too literally, my royal liege," said Albany. "I
spoke not of the Prince in such unbeseeming terms, for I call Heaven
to witness that he is dearer to me as the son of a well beloved
brother than had he been son of my own. But I spoke in regard to
separating him from the follies and vanities of life, which holy
men say are like to mortified members, and ought, like them, to be
cut off and thrown from us, as things which interrupt our progress
in better things."

"I understand--thou wouldst have this Ramorny, who hath been
thought the instrument of my son's follies, exiled from court," said
the relieved monarch, "until these unhappy scandals are forgotten,
and our subjects are disposed to look upon our son with different
and more confiding eyes."

"That were good counsel, my liege; but mine went a little--a very
little--farther. I would have the Prince himself removed for some
brief period from court."

"How, Albany! part with my child, my firstborn, the light of my
eyes, and--wilful as he is--the darling of my heart! Oh, Robin!
I cannot, and I will not."

"Nay, I did but suggest, my lord; I am sensible of the wound such
a proceeding must inflict on a parent's heart, for am I not myself
a father?" And he hung his head, as if in hopeless despondency.