"Sir prior," said the monarch, bearing himself in a manner not
unbecoming his lofty rank, "we may well dispense with answering
you upon this subject, being a matter which concerns us and the
estates of our kingdom, but does not affect our private conscience."

"Alas," said the prior, "and whose conscience will it concern at
the last day? Which of your belted lords or wealthy burgesses will
then step between their king and the penalty which he has incurred
by following of their secular policy in matters ecclesiastical?
Know, mighty king, that, were all the chivalry of thy realm drawn
up to shield thee from the red levin bolt, they would be consumed
like scorched parchment before the blaze of a furnace."

"Good father prior," said the King, on whose timorous conscience this
kind of language seldom failed to make an impression, "you surely
argue over rigidly in this matter. It was during my last indisposition,
while the Earl of Douglas held, as lieutenant general, the regal
authority in Scotland, that the obstruction to the reception of
the Primate unhappily arose. Do not, therefore, tax me with what
happened when I was unable to conduct the affairs of the kingdom,
and compelled to delegate my power to another."

"To your subject, sire, you have said enough," replied the prior.
"But, if the impediment arose during the lieutenancy of the Earl
of Douglas, the legate of his Holiness will demand wherefore it
has not been instantly removed, when the King resumed in his royal
hands the reins of authority? The Black Douglas can do much--
more perhaps than a subject should have power to do in the kingdom
of his sovereign; but he cannot stand betwixt your Grace and your
own conscience, or release you from the duties to the Holy Church
which your situation as a king imposes upon you."

"Father," said Robert, somewhat impatiently, "you are over peremptory
in this matter, and ought at least to wait a reasonable season,
until we have time to consider of some remedy. Such disputes have
happened repeatedly in the reigns of our predecessors; and our royal
and blessed ancestor, St. David, did not resign his privileges as
a monarch without making a stand in their defence, even though he
was involved in arguments with the Holy Father himself."

"And therein was that great and good king neither holy nor saintly,"
said the prior "and therefore was he given to be a rout and a spoil
to his enemies, when he raised his sword against the banners of
St. Peter, and St. Paul, and St. John of Beverley, in the war, as
it is still called, of the Standard. Well was it for him that, like
his namesake, the son of Jesse, his sin was punished upon earth,
and not entered against him at the long and dire day of accounting."

"Well, good prior--well--enough of this for the present. The
Holy See shall, God willing, have no reason to complain of me.
I take Our Lady to witness, I would not for the crown I wear take
the burden of wronging our Mother Church. We have ever feared that
the Earl of Douglas kept his eyes too much fixed on the fame and
the temporalities of this frail and passing life to feel altogether
as he ought the claims that refer to a future world."

"It is but lately," said the prior, "that he hath taken up forcible
quarters in the monastery of Aberbrothock, with his retinue of a
thousand followers; and the abbot is compelled to furnish him with
all he needs for horse and man, which the Earl calls exercising the
hospitality which he hath a right to expect from the foundation to
which his ancestors were contributors. Certain, it were better to
return to the Douglas his lands than to submit to such exaction,
which more resembles the masterful license of Highland thiggers and
sorners [sturdy beggars], than the demeanour of a Christian baron."

"The Black Douglasses," said the King, with a sigh, "are a race
which will not be said nay. But, father prior, I am myself, it
may be, an intruder of this kind; for my sojourning hath been long
among you, and my retinue, though far fewer than the Douglas's,
are nevertheless enough to cumber you for their daily maintenance;
and though our order is to send out purveyors to lessen your charge
as much as may be, yet if there be inconvenience, it were fitting
we should remove in time."

"Now, Our Lady forbid!" said the prior, who, if desirous of power,
had nothing meanly covetous in his temper, but was even magnificent
in his generous kindness; "certainly the Dominican convent can
afford to her sovereign the hospitality which the house offers to
every wanderer of whatever condition who will receive it at the
hands of the poor servants of our patron. No, my royal liege; come
with ten times your present train, they shall neither want a grain
of oats, a pile of straw, a morsel of bread, nor an ounce of food
which our convent can supply them. It is one thing to employ the
revenues of the church, which are so much larger than monks ought
to need or wish for, in the suitable and dutiful reception of your
royal Majesty, and another to have it wrenched from us by the hands
of rude and violent men, whose love of rapine is only limited by
the extent of their power."

"It is well, good prior," said the King; "and now to turn our
thoughts for an instant from state affairs, can thy reverence inform
us how the good citizens of Perth have begun their Valentine's Day?
Gallantly, and merrily, and peacefully; I hope."

"For gallantly, my liege, I know little of such qualities. For
peacefully, there were three or four men, two cruelly wounded,
came this morning before daylight to ask the privilege of girth and
sanctuary, pursued by a hue and cry of citizens in their shirts,
with clubs, bills, Lochaber axes, and two handed swords, crying 'Kill
and slay,' each louder than another. Nay, they were not satisfied
when our porter and watch told them that those they pursued had
taken refuge in the galilee of the church, but continued for some
minutes clamouring and striking upon the postern door, demanding
that the men who had offended should be delivered up to them. I
was afraid their rude noise might have broken your Majesty's rest,
and raised some surprise."

"My rest might have been broken," said the monarch; "but that
sounds of violence should have occasioned surprise--Alas! reverend
father, there is in Scotland only one place where the shriek of
the victim and threats of the oppressor are not heard, and that,
father, is--the grave."

The prior stood in respectful silence, sympathising with the
feelings of a monarch whose tenderness of heart suited so ill with
the condition and manners of his people.

"And what became of the fugitives?" asked Robert, after a minute's
pause.

"Surely, sire," said the prior, "they were dismissed, as they
desired to be, before daylight; and after we had sent out to be
assured that no ambush of their enemies watched them in the vicinity,
they went their way in peace."

"You know nothing," inquired the King, "who the men were, or the
cause of their taking refuge with you?"

"The cause," said the prior, "was a riot with the townsmen; but how
arising is not known to us. The custom of our house is to afford
twenty-four hours of uninterrupted refuge in the sanctuary of St.
Dominic, without asking any question at the poor unfortunates who
have sought relief there. If they desire to remain for a longer
space, the cause of their resorting to sanctuary must be put upon
the register of the convent; and, praised be our holy saint, many
persons escape the weight of the law by this temporary protection,
whom, did we know the character of their crimes, we might have found
ourselves obliged to render up to their pursuers and persecutors."

As the prior spoke, a dim idea occurred to the monarch, that
the privilege of sanctuary thus peremptorily executed must prove
a severe interruption to the course of justice through his realm.
But he repelled the feeling, as if it had been a suggestion of
Satan, and took care that not a single word should escape to betray
to the churchman that such a profane thought had ever occupied his
bosom; on the contrary, he hasted to change the subject.

"The sun," he said, "moves slowly on the index. After the painful
information you have given me, I expected the Lords of my Council
ere now, to take order with the ravelled affairs of this unhappy
riot. Evil was the fortune which gave me rule over a people among
whom it seems to me I am in my own person the only man who desires
rest and tranquillity!"

"The church always desires peace and tranquillity," added the
prior, not suffering even so general a proposition to escape the
poor king's oppressed mind without insisting on a saving clause
for the church's honour.

"We meant nothing else," said Robert. "But, father prior, you will
allow that the church, in quelling strife, as is doubtless her
purpose, resembles the busy housewife, who puts in motion the dust
which she means to sweep away."

To this remark the prior would have made some reply, but the door
of the apartment was opened, and a gentleman usher announced the
Duke of Albany.



CHAPTER X.

Gentle friend,
Chide not her mirth, who was sad yesterday,
And may be so tomorrow.

JOANNA BAILLIE.


The Duke of Albany was, like his royal brother, named Robert. The
Christian name of the latter had been John until he was called to
the throne; when the superstition of the times observed that the
name had been connected with misfortune in the lives and reigns
of John of England, John of France, and John Baliol of Scotland.
It was therefore agreed that, to elude the bad omen, the new king
should assume the name of Robert, rendered dear to Scotland by
the recollections of Robert Bruce. We mention this to account for
the existence of two brothers of the same Christian name in one
family, which was not certainly an usual occurrence, more than at
the present day.

Albany, also an aged man, was not supposed to be much more disposed
for warlike enterprise than the King himself. But if he had not
courage, he had wisdom to conceal and cloak over his want of that
quality, which, once suspected, would have ruined all the plans
which his ambition had formed. He had also pride enough to supply,
in extremity, the want of real valour, and command enough over
his nerves to conceal their agitation. In other respects, he was
experienced in the ways of courts, calm, cool, and crafty, fixing
upon the points which he desired to attain, while they were yet far
removed, and never losing sight of them, though the winding paths
in which he trode might occasionally seem to point to a different
direction. In his person he resembled the King, for he was noble and
majestic both in stature and countenance. But he had the advantage
of his elder brother, in being unencumbered with any infirmity,
and in every respect lighter and more active. His dress was rich
and grave, as became his age and rank, and, like his royal brother,
he wore no arms of any kind, a case of small knives supplying at
his girdle the place usually occupied by a dagger in absence of a
sword.

At the Duke's entrance the prior, after making an obeisance,
respectfully withdrew to a recess in the apartment, at some distance
from the royal seat, in order to leave the conversation of the
brothers uncontrolled by the presence of a third person. It is
necessary to mention, that the recess was formed by a window; placed
in the inner front of the monastic buildings, called the palace,
from its being the frequent residence of the Kings of Scotland,
but which was, unless on such occasions, the residence of the prior
or abbot. The window was placed over the principal entrance to the
royal apartments, and commanded a view of the internal quadrangle
of the convent, formed on the right hand by the length of the
magnificent church, on the left by a building containing the range
of cellars, with the refectory, chapter house, and other conventual
apartments rising above them, for such existed altogether independent
of the space occupied by King Robert and his attendants; while
a fourth row of buildings, showing a noble outward front to the
rising sun, consisted of a large hospitium, for the reception of
strangers and pilgrims, and many subordinate offices, warehouses,
and places of accommodation, for the ample stores which supplied the
magnificent hospitality of the Dominican fathers. A lofty vaulted
entrance led through this eastern front into the quadrangle, and
was precisely opposite to the window at which Prior Anselm stood,
so that he could see underneath the dark arch, and observe the
light which gleamed beneath it from the eastern and open portal;
but, owing to the height to which he was raised, and the depth of
the vaulted archway, his eye could but indistinctly reach the opposite
and extended portal. It is necessary to notice these localities.

We return to the conversation between the princely relatives.

"My dear brother," said the King, raising the Duke of Albany, as
he stooped to kiss his hand--"my dear, dear brother, wherefore
this ceremonial? Are we not both sons of the same Stuart of Scotland
and of the same Elizabeth More?"

"I have not forgot that it is so," said Albany, arising; "but I
must not omit, in the familiarity of the brother, the respect that
is due to the king."

"Oh, true--most true, Robin," answered the King. "The throne is
like a lofty and barren rock, upon which flower or shrub can never
take root. All kindly feelings, all tender affections, are denied
to a monarch. A king must not fold a brother to his heart--he
dare not give way to fondness for a son."

"Such, in some respects, is the doom of greatness, sire," answered
Albany; "but Heaven, who removed to some distance from your Majesty's
sphere the members of your own family, has given you a whole people
to be your children."

"Alas! Robert," answered the monarch, "your heart is better framed
for the duties of a sovereign than mine. I see from the height at
which fate has placed me that multitude whom you call my children.
I love them, I wish them well; but they are many, and they are
distant from me. Alas! even the meanest of them has some beloved
being whom he can clasp to his heart, and upon whom he can lavish
the fondness of a father. But all that a king can give to a people
is a smile, such as the sun bestows on the snowy peaks of the Grampian
mountains, as distant and as ineffectual. Alas, Robin! our father
used to caress us, and if he chid us it was with a tone of kindness;
yet he was a monarch as well as I, and wherefore should not I be
permitted, like him, to reclaim my poor prodigal by affection as
well as severity?"

"Had affection never been tried, my liege," replied Albany, in
the tone of one who delivers sentiments which he grieves to utter,
"means of gentleness ought assuredly to be first made use of. Your
Grace is best judge whether they have been long enough persevered
in, and whether those of discouragement and restraint may not prove
a more effectual corrective. It is exclusively in your royal power
to take what measures with the Duke of Rothsay you think will be
most available to his ultimate benefit, and that of the kingdom."

"This is unkind, brother," said the King: "you indicate the painful
path which you would have me pursue, yet you offer me not your
support in treading it."

"My support your Grace may ever command," replied Albany; "but would
it become me, of all men on earth, to prompt to your Grace severe
measures against your son and heir? Me, on whom, in case of failure
--which Heaven forefend!--of your Grace's family, this fatal
crown might descend? Would it not be thought and said by the fiery
March and the haughty Douglas, that Albany had sown dissension between
his royal brother and the heir to the Scottish throne, perhaps to
clear the way for the succession of his own family? No, my liege,
I can sacrifice my life to your service, but I must not place my
honour in danger."

"You say true, Robin.--you say very true," replied the King,
hastening to put his own interpretation upon his brother's words.
"We must not suffer these powerful and dangerous lords to perceive
that there is aught like discord in the royal family. That must be
avoided of all things: and therefore we will still try indulgent
measures, in hopes of correcting the follies of Rothsay. I behold
sparks of hope in him, Robin, from time to time, that are well
worth cherishing. He is young--very young--a prince, and in the
heyday of his blood. We will have patience with him, like a good
rider with a hot tempered horse. Let him exhaust this idle humor,
and no one will be better pleased with him than yourself. You have
censured me in your kindness for being too gentle, too retired;
Rothsay has no such defects."

"I will pawn my life he has not," replied Albany, drily.

"And he wants not reflection as well as spirit," continued the poor
king, pleading the cause of his son to his brother. "I have sent
for him to attend council today, and we shall see how he acquits
himself of his devoir. You yourself allow, Robin, that the Prince
wants neither shrewdness nor capacity for affairs, when he is in
the humor to consider them."

"Doubtless, he wants neither, my liege," replied Albany, "when he
is in the humor to consider them."

"I say so," answered the King; "and am heartily glad that you agree
with me, Robin, in giving this poor hapless young man another trial.
He has no mother now to plead his cause with an incensed father.
That must be remembered, Albany."

"I trust," said Albany, "the course which is most agreeable to your
Grace's feelings will also prove the wisest and the best."

The Duke well saw the simple stratagem by which the King was
endeavouring to escape from the conclusions of his reasoning, and
to adopt, under pretence of his sanction, a course of proceeding
the reverse of what it best suited him to recommend. But though
he saw he could not guide his brother to the line of conduct he
desired, he would not abandon the reins, but resolved to watch for
a fitter opportunity of obtaining the sinister advantages to which
new quarrels betwixt the King and Prince were soon, he thought,
likely to give rise.

In the mean time, King Robert, afraid lest his brother should
resume the painful subject from which he had just escaped, called
aloud to the prior of the Dominicans, "I hear the trampling of
horse. Your station commands the courtyard, reverend father. Look
from the window, and tell us who alights. Rothsay, is it not?"

"The noble Earl of March, with his followers," said the prior.

"Is he strongly accompanied?" said the King. "Do his people enter
the inner gate?"

At the same moment, Albany whispered the King, "Fear nothing, the
Brandanes of your household are under arms."

The King nodded thanks, while the prior from the window answered
the question he had put. "The Earl is attended by two pages,
two gentlemen, and four grooms. One page follows him up the main
staircase, bearing his lordship's sword. The others halt in the
court, and--Benedicite, how is this? Here is a strolling glee
woman, with her viol, preparing to sing beneath the royal windows,
and in the cloister of the Dominicans, as she might in the yard of
an hostelrie! I will have her presently thrust forth."

"Not so, father," said the King. "Let me implore grace for the poor
wanderer. The joyous science, as they call it, which they profess,
mingles sadly with the distresses to which want and calamity condemn
a strolling race; and in that they resemble a king, to whom all men
cry, 'All hail!' while he lacks the homage and obedient affection
which the poorest yeoman receives from his family. Let the wanderer
remain undisturbed, father; and let her sing if she will to the
yeomen and troopers in the court; it will keep them from quarrelling
with each other, belonging, as they do, to such unruly and hostile
masters."

So spoke the well meaning and feeble minded prince, and the prior
bowed in acquiescence. As he spoke, the Earl of March entered the
hall of audience, dressed in the ordinary riding garb of the time,
and wearing his poniard. He had left in the anteroom the page of
honour who carried his sword. The Earl was a well built, handsome
man, fair complexioned, with a considerable profusion of light
coloured hair, and bright blue eyes, which gleamed like those of
a falcon. He exhibited in his countenance, otherwise pleasing, the
marks of a hasty and irritable temper, which his situation as a high
and powerful feudal lord had given him but too many opportunities
of indulging.

"I am glad to see you, my Lord of March," said the King, with a
gracious inclination of his person. "You have been long absent from
our councils."

"My liege," answered March with a deep reverence to the King, and
a haughty and formal inclination to the Duke of Albany, "if I have
been absent from your Grace's councils, it is because my place
has been supplied by more acceptable, and, I doubt not, abler,
counsellors. And now I come but to say to your Highness, that the
news from the English frontier make it necessary that I should
return without delay to my own estates. Your Grace has your wise
and politic brother, my Lord of Albany, with whom to consult, and
the mighty and warlike Earl of Douglas to carry your counsels into
effect. I am of no use save in my own country; and thither, with
your Highness's permission, I am purposed instantly to return, to
attend my charge, as Warden of the Eastern Marches."

"You will not deal so unkindly with us, cousin," replied the gentle
monarch. "Here are evil tidings on the wind. These unhappy Highland
clans are again breaking into general commotion, and the tranquillity
even of our own court requires the wisest of our council to advise,
and the bravest of our barons to execute, what may be resolved
upon. The descendant of Thomas Randolph will not surely abandon
the grandson of Robert Bruce at such a period as this?"

"I leave with him the descendant of the far famed James of Douglas,"
answered March. "It is his lordship's boast that he never puts
foot in stirrup but a thousand horse mount with him as his daily
lifeguard, and I believe the monks of Aberbrothock will swear to
the fact. Surely, with all the Douglas's chivalry, they are fitter
to restrain a disorderly swarm of Highland kerne than I can be to
withstand the archery of England and power of Henry Hotspur? And
then, here is his Grace of Albany, so jealous in his care of your
Highness's person, that he calls your Brandanes to take arms when a
dutiful subject like myself approaches the court with a poor half
score of horse, the retinue of the meanest of the petty barons
who own a tower and a thousand acres of barren heath. When such
precautions are taken where there is not the slightest chance of
peril--since I trust none was to be apprehended from me--your
royal person will surely be suitably guarded in real danger."

"My Lord of March," said the Duke of Albany, "the meanest of the
barons of whom you speak put their followers in arms even when they
receive their dearest and nearest friends within the iron gate of
their castle; and, if it please Our Lady, I will not care less for
the King's person than they do for their own. The Brandanes are the
King's immediate retainers and household servants, and an hundred
of them is but a small guard round his Grace, when yourself, my
lord, as well as the Earl of Douglas, often ride with ten times
the number."

"My Lord Duke," replied March, "when the service of the King
requires it, I can ride with ten times as many horse as your Grace
has named; but I have never done so either traitorously to entrap
the King nor boastfully to overawe other nobles."

"Brother Robert," said the King, ever anxious to be a peacemaker,
"you do wrong even to intimate a suspicion of my Lord of March. And
you, cousin of March, misconstrue my brother's caution. But hark
--to divert this angry parley--I hear no unpleasing touch of
minstrelsy. You know the gay science, my Lord of March, and love
it well. Step to yonder window, beside the holy prior, at whom we
make no question touching secular pleasures, and you will tell us
if the music and play be worth listening to. The notes are of France,
I think. My brother of Albany's judgment is not worth a cockle shell
in such matters, so you, cousin, must report your opinion whether
the poor glee maiden deserves recompense. Our son and the Douglas
will presently be here, and then, when our council is assembled,
we will treat of graver matters."

With something like a smile on his proud brow, March withdrew into
the recess of the window, and stood there in silence beside the
prior, like one who, while he obeyed the King's command, saw through
and despised the timid precaution which it implied, as an attempt
to prevent the dispute betwixt Albany and himself. The tune, which
was played upon a viol, was gay and sprightly in the commencement,
with a touch of the wildness of the troubadour music. But, as it
proceeded, the faltering tones of the instrument, and of the female
voice which accompanied it, became plaintive and interrupted, as
if choked by the painful feelings of the minstrel.

The offended earl, whatever might be his judgment in such matters
on which the King had complimented him, paid, it may be supposed,
little attention to the music of the female minstrel. His proud
heart was struggling between the allegiance he owed his sovereign,
as well as the love he still found lurking in his bosom for the
person of his well natured king, and a desire of vengeance arising
out of his disappointed ambition, and the disgrace done to him by
the substitution of Marjory Douglas to be bride of the heir apparent,
instead of his betrothed daughter. March had the vices and virtues
of a hasty and uncertain character, and even now, when he came to
bid the King adieu, with the purpose of renouncing his allegiance
as soon as he reached his own feudal territories, he felt unwilling,
and almost unable, to resolve upon a step so criminal and so full
of peril. It was with such dangerous cogitations that he was occupied
during the beginning of the glee maiden's lay; but objects which
called his attention powerfully, as the songstress proceeded, affected
the current of his thoughts, and riveted them on what was passing
in the courtyard of the monastery. The song was in the Provencal
dialect, well understood as the language of poetry in all the
courts of Europe, and particularly in Scotland. It was more simply
turned, however, than was the general cast of the sirventes, and
rather resembled the lai of a Norman minstrel. It may be translated
thus:

The Lay of Poor Louise.

Ah, poor Louise!  The livelong day
She roams from cot to castle gay;
And still her voice and viol say,
Ah, maids, beware the woodland way;
Think on Louise.

Ah, poor Louise!  The sun was high;
It smirch'd her cheek, it dimm'd her eye.
The woodland walk was cool and nigh,
Where birds with chiming streamlets vie
To cheer Louise.

Ah, poor Louise!  The savage bear
Made ne'er that lovely grove his lair;
The wolves molest not paths so fair.
But better far had such been there
For poor Louise.

Ah, poor Louise!  In woody wold
She met a huntsman fair and bold;
His baldrick was of silk and gold,
And many a witching tale he told
To poor Louise.

Ah, poor Louise!  Small cause to pine
Hadst thou for treasures of the mine;
For peace of mind, that gift divine,
And spotless innocence, were thine.
Ah, poor Louise!

Ah, poor Louise!  Thy treasure's reft.
I know not if by force or theft,
Or part by violence, part by gift;
But misery is all that's left
To poor Louise,

Let poor Louise some succour have!
She will not long your bounty crave,
Or tire the gay with warning stave;
For Heaven has grace, and earth a grave
For poor Louise.

The song was no sooner finished than, anxious lest the dispute
should be revived betwixt his brother and the Earl of March, King
Robert called to the latter, "What think you of the minstrelsy, my
lord? Methinks, as I heard it even at this distance, it was a wild
and pleasing lay."

"My judgment is not deep my lord; but the singer may dispense with
my approbation, since she seems to have received that of his Grace
of Rothsay, the best judge in Scotland."

"How!" said the King in alarm; "is my son below?"

"He is sitting on horseback by the glee maiden," said March, with
a malicious smile on his cheek, "apparently as much interested by
her conversation as her music."

"How is this, father prior?" said the King.

But the prior drew back from the lattice. "I have no will to see,
my lord, things which it would pain me to repeat."

"How is all this?" said the King, who coloured deeply, and seemed
about to rise from his chair; but changed his mind, as if unwilling,
perhaps, to look upon some unbecoming prank of the wild young
prince, which he might not have had heart to punish with necessary
severity. The Earl of March seemed to have a pleasure in informing
him of that of which doubtless he desired to remain ignorant.

"My liege," he cried, "this is better and better. The glee maiden
has not only engaged the ear of the Prince of Scotland, as well as
of every groom and trooper in the courtyard, but she has riveted
the attention of the Black Douglas, whom we have not known as a
passionate admirer of the gay science. But truly, I do not wonder
at his astonishment, for the Prince has honoured the fair professor
of song and viol with a kiss of approbation."

"How!" cried the King, "is David of Rothsay trifling with a glee
maiden, and his wife's father in presence? Go, my good father
abbot, call the Prince here instantly. Go, my dearest brother--"
And when they had both left the room, the King continued, "Go,
good cousin of March; there will be mischief, I am assured of it.
I pray you go, cousin, and second my lord prior's prayers with my
commands."

"You forget, my liege," said March, with the voice of a deeply
offended person, "the father of Elizabeth of Dunbar were but an
unfit intercessor between the Douglas and his royal son in law."

"I crave your pardon, cousin," said the gentle old man. "I own you
have had some wrong; but my Rothsay will be murdered--I must go
myself."

But, as he arose precipitately from his chair, the poor king missed
a footstep, stumbled, and fell heavily to the ground, in such a
manner that, his head striking the corner of the seat from which
he had risen, he became for a minute insensible. The sight of the
accident at once overcame March's resentment and melted his heart.
He ran to the fallen monarch, and replaced him in his seat, using,
in the tenderest and most respectful manner, such means as seemed
most fit to recall animation.

Robert opened his eyes, and gazed around with uncertainty. "What
has happened?--are we alone?--who is with us?"

"Your dutiful subject, March," replied the Earl.

"Alone with the Earl of March!" repeated the King, his still disturbed
intellect receiving some alarm from the name of a powerful chief
whom he had reason to believe he had mortally offended.

"Yes, my gracious liege, with poor George of Dunbar, of whom many
have wished your Majesty to think ill, though he will be found
truer to your royal person at the last than they will."

"Indeed, cousin, you have had too much wrong; and believe me, we
shall strive to redress--"

"If your Grace thinks so, it may yet be righted," interrupted the
Earl, catching at the hopes which his ambition suggested: "the
Prince and Marjory Douglas are nearly related--the dispensation
from Rome was informally granted--their marriage cannot be lawful
--the Pope, who will do much for so godly a prince, can set aside
this unchristian union, in respect of the pre-contract. Bethink you
well, my liege," continued the Earl, kindling with a new train of
ambitious thoughts, to which the unexpected opportunity of pleading
his cause personally had given rise--"bethink you how you choose
betwixt the Douglas and me. He is powerful and mighty, I grant.
But George of Dunbar wears the keys of Scotland at his belt, and
could bring an English army to the gates of Edinburgh ere Douglas
could leave the skirts of Carintable to oppose them. Your royal
son loves my poor deserted girl, and hates the haughty Marjory of
Douglas. Your Grace may judge the small account in which he holds
her by his toying with a common glee maiden even in the presence
of her father."

The King had hitherto listened to the Earl's argument with the
bewildered feelings of a timid horseman, borne away by an impetuous
steed, whose course he can neither arrest nor direct. But the last
words awakened in his recollection the sense of his son's immediate
danger.

"Oh, ay, most true--my son--the Douglas! Oh, my dear cousin,
prevent blood, and all shall be as you will. Hark, there is a tumult
--that was the clash of arms!"

"By my coronet, by my knightly faith, it is true!" said the Earl,
looking from the window upon the inner square of the convent, now
filled with armed men and brandished weapons, and resounding with
the clash of armour. The deep vaulted entrance was crowded with
warriors at its farthest extremity, and blows seemed to be in the
act of being exchanged betwixt some who were endeavouring to shut
the gate and others who contended to press in.

"I will go instantly," said the Earl of March, "and soon quell this
sudden broil. Humbly I pray your Majesty to think on what I have
had the boldness to propose."

"I will--I will, fair cousin," said the King, scarce knowing to
what he pledged himself; "do but prevent tumult and bloodshed!"



CHAPTER XI

Fair is the damsel, passing fair;
Sunny at distance gleams her smile;
Approach--the cloud of woful care
Hangs trembling in her eye the while.

Lucinda, a Ballad.


We must here trace a little more correctly the events which had
been indistinctly seen from the window of the royal apartments,
and yet more indistinctly reported by those who witnessed them. The
glee maiden, already mentioned, had planted herself where a rise
of two large broad steps, giving access to the main gateway of
the royal apartments, gained her an advantage of a foot and a half
in height over those in the court, of whom she hoped to form an
audience. She wore the dress of her calling, which was more gaudy
than rich, and showed the person more than did the garb of other
females. She had laid aside an upper mantle, and a small basket
which contained her slender stock of necessaries; and a little
French spaniel dog sat beside them, as their protector. An azure
blue jacket, embroidered with silver, and sitting close to the
person, was open in front, and showed several waistcoats of different
coloured silks, calculated to set off the symmetry of the shoulders
and bosom, and remaining open at the throat. A small silver chain
worn around her neck involved itself amongst these brilliant
coloured waistcoats, and was again produced from them; to display
a medal of the same metal, which intimated, in the name of some
court or guild of minstrels, the degree she had taken in the gay
or joyous science. A cmall scrip, suspended over her shoulders by
a blue silk riband; hung on her left side.

Her sunny complexion, snow white teeth, brilliant black eyes, and
raven locks marked her country lying far in the south of France,
and the arch smile and dimpled chin bore the same character. Her
luxuriant raven locks, twisted around a small gold bodkin, were
kept in their position by a net of silk and gold. Short petticoats,
deep laced with silver, to correspond with the jacket, red stockings
which were visible so high as near the calf of the leg, and buskins
of Spanish leather, completed her adjustment, which, though far
from new, had been saved as an untarnished holiday suit, which much
care had kept in good order. She seemed about twenty-five years
old; but perhaps fatigue and wandering had anticipated the touch
of time in obliterating the freshness of early youth.

We have said the glee maiden's manner was lively, and we may add
that her smile and repartee were ready. But her gaiety was assumed,
as a quality essentially necessary to her trade, of which it was
one of the miseries, that the professors were obliged frequently
to cover an aching heart with a compelled smile. This seemed to be
the case with Louise, who, whether she was actually the heroine of
her own song, or whatever other cause she might have for sadness,
showed at times a strain of deep melancholy thought, which interfered
with and controlled the natural flow of lively spirits which the
practice of the joyous science especially required. She lacked also,
even in her gayest sallies, the decided boldness and effrontery of
her sisterhood, who were seldom at a loss to retort a saucy jest,
or turn the laugh against any who interrupted or interfered with
them.

It may be here remarked, that it was impossible that this class of
women, very numerous in that age, could bear a character generally
respectable. They were, however, protected by the manners of the
time; and such were the immunities they possessed by the rights of
chivalry, that nothing was more rare than to hear of such errant
damsels sustaining injury or wrong, and they passed and repassed
safely, where armed travellers would probably have encountered a
bloody opposition. But though licensed and protected in honour of
their tuneful art, the wandering minstrels, male or female, like
similar ministers to the public amusement, the itinerant musicians,
for instance, and strolling comedians of our own day, led a life
too irregular and precarious to be accounted a creditable part of
society. Indeed, among the stricter Catholics, the profession was
considered as unlawful.

Such was the damsel who, with viol in hand, and stationed on the slight
elevation we have mentioned, stepped forward to the bystanders and
announced herself as a mistress of the gay science, duly qualified
by a brief from a Court of Love and Music held at Aix, in Provence,
under the countenance of the flower of chivalry, the gallant Count
Aymer; who now prayed that the cavaliers of merry Scotland, who were
known over the wide world for bravery and courtesy, would permit
a poor stranger to try whether she could afford them any amusement
by her art. The love of song was like the love of fight, a common
passion of the age, which all at least affected, whether they
were actually possessed by it or no; therefore the acquiescence in
Louise's proposal was universal. At the same time, an aged, dark
browed monk who was among the bystanders thought it necessary to
remind the glee maiden that, since she was tolerated within these
precincts, which was an unusual grace, he trusted nothing would be
sung or said inconsistent with the holy character of the place.

The glee maiden bent her head low, shook her sable locks, and
crossed herself reverentially, as if she disclaimed the possibility
of such a transgression, and then began the song of "Poor Louise."
which we gave at length in the last chapter.

Just as she commenced, she was stopped by a cry of "Room--room
--place for the Duke of Rothsay!"

"Nay, hurry no man on my score," said a gallant young cavalier, who
entered on a noble Arabian horse, which he managed with exquisite
grace, though by such slight handling of the reins, such imperceptible
pressure of the limbs and sway of the body, that to any eye save
that of an experienced horseman the animal seemed to be putting
forth his paces for his own amusement, and thus gracefully bearing
forward a rider who was too indolent to give himself any trouble
about the matter.

The Prince's apparel, which was very rich, was put on with slovenly
carelessness. His form, though his stature was low, and his limbs
extremely slight, was elegant in the extreme; and his features no
less handsome. But there was on his brow a haggard paleness, which
seemed the effect of care or of dissipation, or of both these
wasting causes combined. His eyes were sunk and dim, as from late
indulgence in revelry on the preceding evening, while his cheek
was inflamed with unnatural red, as if either the effect of the
Bacchanalian orgies had not passed away from the constitution,
or a morning draught had been resorted to, in order to remove the
effects of the night's debauchery.

Such was the Duke of Rothsay, and heir of the Scottish crown, a
sight at once of interest and compassion. All unbonneted and made
way for him, while he kept repeating carelessly, "No haste--
no haste: I shall arrive soon enough at the place I am bound for.
How's this--a damsel of the joyous science? Ay, by St. Giles!
and a comely wench to boot. Stand still, my merry men; never was
minstrelsy marred for me. A good voice, by the mass! Begin me that
lay again, sweetheart."

Louise did not know the person who addressed her; but the general
respect paid by all around, and the easy and indifferent manner in
which it was received, showed her she was addressed by a man of
the highest quality. She recommenced her lay, and sung her best
accordingly; while the young duke seemed thoughtful and rather
affected towards the close of the ditty. But it was not his habit
to cherish such melancholy affections.

"This is a plaintive ditty, my nut brown maid," said he, chucking
the retreating glee maiden under the chin, and detaining her
by the collar of her dress, which was not difficult, as he sat on
horseback so close to the steps on which she stood. "But I warrant
me you have livelier notes at will, ma bella tenebrosa; ay, and
canst sing in bower as well as wold, and by night as well as day."

"I am no nightingale, my lord," said Louise, endeavouring to escape
a species of gallantry which ill suited the place and circumstances
--a discrepancy to which he who addressed it to her seemed
contemptuously indifferent.

"What hast thou there, darling?" he added, removing his hold from
her collar to the scrip which she carried.

Glad was Louise to escape his grasp, by slipping the knot of the
riband, and leaving the little bag in the Prince's hand, as, retiring
back beyond his reach, she answered, "Nuts, my lord, of the last
season."

The Prince pulled out a handful of nuts accordingly. "Nuts, child!
they will break thine ivory teeth, hurt thy pretty voice," said
Rothsay, cracking one with his teeth, like a village schoolboy.

"They are not the walnuts of my own sunny clime, my lord," said
Louise; "but they hang low, and are within the reach of the poor."

"You shall have something to afford you better fare, poor wandering
ape," said the Duke, in a tone in which feeling predominated more
than in the affected and contemptuous gallantry of his first address
to the glee maiden.

At this moment, as he turned to ask an attendant for his purse,
the Prince encountered the stern and piercing look of a tall black
man, seated on a powerful iron grey horse, who had entered the
court with attendants while the Duke of Rothsay was engaged with
Louise, and now remained stupefied and almost turned to stone by
his surprise and anger at this unseemly spectacle. Even one who had
never seen Archibald Earl of Douglas, called the Grim, must have
known him by his swart complexion, his gigantic frame, his buff
coat of bull's hide, and his air of courage, firmness, and sagacity,
mixed with indomitable pride. The loss of an eye in battle, though
not perceptible at first sight, as the ball of the injured organ
remained similar to the other, gave yet a stern, immovable glare
to the whole aspect.

The meeting of the royal son in law with his terrible stepfather
[father in law] was in circumstances which arrested the attention
of all present; and the bystanders waited the issue with silence
and suppressed breath, lest they should lose any part of what was
to ensue.

When the Duke of Rothsay saw the expression which occupied the
stern features of Douglas, and remarked that the Earl did not make
the least motion towards respectful, or even civil, salutation, he
seemed determined to show him how little respect he was disposed
to pay to his displeased looks. He took his purse from his chamberlain.

"Here, pretty one," he said, "I give thee one gold piece for the
song thou hast sung me, another for the nuts I have stolen from
thee, and a third for the kiss thou art about to give me. For know,
my pretty one, that when fair lips, and thine for fault of better
may be called so, make sweet music for my pleasure, I am sworn to
St. Valentine to press them to mine."

"My song is recompensed nobly," said Louise, shrinking back; "my
nuts are sold to a good market; farther traffic, my lord, were
neither befitting you nor beseeming me."

"What! you coy it, my nymph of the highway?" said the Prince,
contemptuously. "Know damsel, that one asks you a grace who is
unused to denial."

"It is the Prince of Scotland--the Duke of Rothsay," said the
courtiers around, to the terrified Louise, pressing forward the
trembling young woman; "you must not thwart his humor."

"But I cannot reach your lordship," she said, timidly, "you sit so
high on horseback."

"If I must alight," said Rothsay, "there shall be the heavier
penalty. What does the wench tremble for? Place thy foot on the toe
of my boot, give me hold of thy hand. Gallantly done!" He kissed
her as she stood thus suspended in the air, perched upon his foot
and supported by his hand; saying, "There is thy kiss, and there
is my purse to pay it; and to grace thee farther, Rothsay will wear
thy scrip for the day."

He suffered the frightened girl to spring to the ground, and
turned his looks from her to bend them contemptuously on the Earl
of Douglas, as if he had said, "All this I do in despite of you
and of your daughter's claims."

"By St. Bride of Douglas!" said the Earl, pressing towards the
Prince, "this is too much, unmannered boy, as void of sense as
honour! You know what considerations restrain the hand of Douglas,
else had you never dared--"

"Can you play at spang cockle, my lord?" said the Prince, placing
a nut on the second joint of his forefinger, and spinning it off
by a smart application of the thumb. The nut struck on Douglas's
broad breast, who burst out into a dreadful exclamation of wrath,
inarticulate, but resembling the growl of a lion in depth and
sternness of expression.

"I cry your pardon, most mighty lord," said the Duke of Rothsay,
scornfully, while all around trembled; "I did not conceive my
pellet could have wounded you, seeing you wear a buff coat. Surely,
I trust, it did not hit your eye?"

The prior, despatched by the King, as we have seen in the last
chapter, had by this time made way through the crowd, and laying
hold on Douglas's rein, in a manner that made it impossible for
him to advance, reminded him that the Prince was the son of his
sovereign; and the husband of his daughter.

"Fear not, sir prior," said Douglas. "I despise the childish boy
too much to raise a finger against him. But I will return insult
for insult. Here, any of you who love the Douglas, spurn me this
quean from the monastery gates; and let her be so scourged that
she may bitterly remember to the last day of her life how she gave
means to an unrespective boy to affront the Douglas."

Four or five retainers instantly stepped forth to execute commands
which were seldom uttered in vain, and heavily would Louise have
atoned for an offence of which she was alike the innocent, unconscious,
and unwilling instrument, had not the Duke of Rothsay interfered.

"Spurn the poor glee woman!" he said, in high indignation; "scourge
her for obeying my commands! Spurn thine own oppressed vassals,
rude earl--scourge thine own faulty hounds; but beware how you
touch so much as a dog that Rothsay hath patted on the head, far
less a female whose lips he hath kissed!"

Before Douglas could give an answer, which would certainly have been
in defiance, there arose that great tumult at the outward gate of
the monastery, already noticed, and men both on horseback and on
foot began to rush headlong in, not actually fighting with each
other, but certainly in no peaceable manner.

One of the contending parties, seemingly, were partizans of
Douglas, known by the cognizance of the bloody heart; the other
were composed of citizens of the town of Perth. It appeared they
had been skirmishing in earnest when without the gates, but, out of
respect to the sanctified ground, they lowered their weapons when
they entered, and confined their strife to a war of words and mutual
abuse.

The tumult had this good effect, that it forced asunder, by the
weight and press of numbers, the Prince and Douglas, at a moment
when the levity of the former and the pride of the latter were
urging both to the utmost extremity. But now peacemakers interfered
on all sides. The prior and the monks threw themselves among the
multitude, and commanded peace in the name of Heaven, and reverence
to their sacred walls, under penalty of excommunication; and their
expostulations began to be listened to. Albany, who was despatched
by his royal brother at the beginning of the fray, had not arrived
till now on the scene of action. He instantly applied himself to
Douglas, and in his ear conjured him to temper his passion.

"By St. Bride of Douglas, I will be avenged!" said the Earl. "No
man shall brook life after he has passed an affront on Douglas."

"Why, so you may be avenged in fitting time," said Albany; "but
let it not be said that, like a peevish woman, the Great Douglas
could choose neither time nor place for his vengeance. Bethink you,
all that we have laboured at is like to be upset by an accident.
George of Dunbar hath had the advantage of an audience with the old
man; and though it lasted but five minutes, I fear it may endanger
the dissolution of your family match, which we brought about with so
much difficulty. The authority from Rome has not yet been obtained."

"A toy!" answered Douglas, haughtily; "they dare not dissolve it."

"Not while Douglas is at large, and in possession of his power,"
answered Albany. "But, noble earl, come with me, and I will show
you at what disadvantage you stand."