LIBRARY UN/vEnsrrr of CALIFORNIA A' THE CAGED LION First Edition. February, 1ST0. Reprinted, May 1570. 1873. 1876. 1S7S. with Illustrations added. 1880, 1382. 1S85. Second Edition. 1889. Reprinted, 1S92. Lruthcr and sister set forth on their vanderin THE CAGED LION CHARLOTTE M. YONGE ILLUSTRATED LY W. J. HENNESS1 ?i onto on MACMILLAN AND CO. A N 1> N E W V tj B K L892 The Bight of Translation it /.'< N rvt d iOAH STACK 9s5 PREFACE When the venture lias been made of dealing with historical events and characters, it always seems fair towards the reader to avow what liberties have been taken, and how much of the sketch is founded on his- tory. In the present ease, ii is scarcely necessary to do more than refer to the almost unique relations that subsisted between Henry V. and his prisoner, James I. of Scotland ; who lived with him throughout his reign on the terms of friend rather than of captive, and was absolutely sheltered by this imprisonment throughout his nonage and early youth from the frightful violence and presumption of the nobles of his kingdom. James's expedition to Scotland is wholly imaginary, though there appears to have been space for it during Henry's progress to the North to pay his devotions ; ; ; Beverley Minster. The hero of the story is like- wise invention, though, as Froissart ascribes to King Robert II. 'eleven sons who loved arms," Malcolm may well be supposed to be the son of one of those unaccounted for in the pedigrees of Stewart. The same may be said of Esclairmonde. There were plenty of Luxemburgs in the Low Countries, but the indi- vidual is not to be identified. Readers of Tyler's 'Henry V.,' of Agnes Strickland's 'Queens, 1 Tytler's ' Scotland,' and Barante's 'Histoire de Bourgogne' will be at no loss for the origin of ; * 1 1 I have ventured to 381 viii PREFACE say of the really historical personages. Mr. Fox Bourne's 'English Merchants' furnished the tradition respecting Whittington. I am afraid the knighthood was really conferred on Henry's first return to England, after the battle of Agincourt : but human— or at least story-telling — nature could not resist an anachronism of a feAV years for such a story. The only other wilful alteration of a matter of time is with regard to the Duke of Burgundy's interview with Henry. At the time of Henry's last stay at Paris the Duke was attend- ing the death-bed of his wife, Michelle of France, but he had been several times in the King's camp at the siege of Meaux. Another alteration of fact is that Ralf Percy, instead of being second son of Hotspur, should have been Henry Percy, son of Hotspur's brother Ralf ; but the name would have been so confusing that it was thought better to set Dugdale at defiance and consider the reader's convenience. Alice Montagu, though her name sounds as if it came out of the most commonplace novelist's repertory, was a veritable personage— the heiress of the brave line of Montacute, or Montagu ; daughter to the Earl of Salisbury who was killed at the siege of Orleans ; Avife to the Earl of the same title (in her right) who won the battle of Blore Heath and was beheaded at Wakefield ; and mother to Earl Warwick the King-maker, the Marquis of Montagu, and George Xevil, Archbishop of York. As nothing is known of her but her name, I have ventured to make use of the blank. For Jaqueline of Hainault, and her pranks, they are to be found in Monstrelet of old, and now in Barante ; though justice to her and Queen Isabeau compels me to state that the incident of the ring is wholly fictitious. Of the trial of Walter Stewart no record is preserved save that he was accused of ' roboria? James Kennedy PREFA4 E was the I - e enefactor to learning in Scotland, and founder of her earliest University, having been himself educated at Paris. The Abbey of Coldingham is described from a local compilation of the early part of the centnry, with an account of the history of that grand old foundation, and the struggle for appointments between the parent house at Durham and the Scottish Government Priors Akefield and Drax are historical, and as the latter really did commission a body of moss-troopers to divert an instalment of King James's ransom into his own private coffers, 1 do not think 1 ran have done him much injustice. As the nunnery of St. Abbs lias gone bodily into the sea, 1 have been the less constrained by the inconvenient action of fact upon fiction. Ami for the Hospital of St. Katharine's-by-the-Tower, its history l.e found in Si 'a 'Survey of London,' and like- wise in the evidence before the Parliamentary Commis- sion, which shows what it was intended by Queen Philippa to have been to the river-side population, and what it might have been had such intentions I understood and acted on — nay. what it may yet be- come, since the foundation remains intact, although the building has been removed. C. M. Y'»v . .. : - . CONTENTS CHAPTER I. PAGE THE GUEST OF GLEXUSKIE 1 CHAPTER II. THE RESCUE OP COLDINGHAM . . . CHAPTEB III. CHAPTER IV. THE TIDINGS OF BEAUGE CHAPTER V. WHI! a FEAST .... CHAPTER VI. M ILCOLlf's BUTE xii CONTENTS CHAPTER VII. PAGF. THE SIEGE OF MEAUX 98 CHAPTER VIII. THE CAPTURE 117 CHAPTER IX. THE DANCE OP DEATH , 128 CHAPTER X. THE WHITSUNTIDE FESTIVAL 141 CHAPTER XI. THE TWO PROMISES ..... ........ 161 CHAPTER XII. THE EAST PILGRIMAGE Li Q CHAPTER XIII. THE RING AND THE EMPTY THRONE 1?2 CHAPTER XIV. THE TROTH PLIGHT 197 CHAPTER XV. THE TRUST . CONTENTS xm CHAPTER XVI. PAUK THE I AGE OPEN ... 225 < HAl'TKK XVII THE BEGGING W BOLAB • - . 244 CHAPTER XVIII. I LERE DAVIE 259 « HAPTEB XIX. THE LION'S WKATH 274 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. Brothel and sister set forth on their wandering, and truly it was a happy journey " Front. / ■_■ \4 The knight raised the visor of his helmet " 28 He could but hover on the outskirts, conscious that he must cut a ridiculous figure, but unable to detach himself from the neighbourhood of the magnet " ,,97 THE CAGED LION CHAPTER I THE GUEST OF GLBNUSKIE A master hand has so often described the glens and ravines of Scotland, that it seems vain and presumptuous to meddle with them ; and yet we must ask our readers to figure to themselves a sharp clefl Bloping downwards to a brawling mountain stream, the sides scattered with gray rocks of every imaginable Bize, interspersed here and there with heather, gorse, or furze. Just in the widest part of the valley, a sort of platform of rock jutted out from the hill-side, and afforded a station for one of those tall, narrow, grim-looking fastnesses that were the strength of Scotland, as well as her bane. Either by nature or art, the rock had been scarped away on three Bides, so that the walls of the castle rose Bheer from the steep descent, except where the platform was connected with the mountain Bide by, as it were, an isthmus joining the peninsula to the main rock ; and even this isthmus, a narrowridge of rock just wide enough forthe passage of a single horse, had been cut through, no doubt with great labour, and rendered impassable, except by the lowering of a drawbridge. Glenuskie Castle was thus nearly impregnable, so long as it was supplied with water, and for this all possible provision had been mad., by guiding a stream into the court The castle was necessarily narrow and confined ; its wive walls took up much even of the narrow- space £ B 2 THE (AGED LION that the rock afforded ; but it had been so piled up that it seemed as though the builders wished to make height compensate for straitness. There was, too, an unusual amount of grace, both in the outline of the gateway with its mighty flanking towers, and of the lofty don- jon tower, that shot up like a great finger above the Massy More, as the main building was commonly called by the inhabitants of Glenuskie. Wondrous as were the walls, and deep-set as were the arches, they had all that peculiar slenderness of contour that Scottish taste seemed to have learnt from France ; and a little more space was gained at the top, both of the gateway towers and the donjon, by a pro- jecting cornice of beautifully vaulted arches supporting a battlement, that gave the building a crowned look. On the topmost tower was of course planted the ensign of the owner, and that ensign was no other than the regal ruddy Lion of Scotland, ramping on his gold field within his tressure flory and counter flory, but surmounted by a label divided into twelve, and placed upon a pen- noncel, or triangular piece of silk. The eyes of the early fifteenth century easily deciphered such hiero- glyphics as these, which to every one with, the least tincture of ' the noble science ' indicated that the owner of the castle was of royal Stewart blood, but of a younger branch, and not yet admitted to the rank of knighthood. The early spring of the year 1421 was bleak and dreary in that wild lonely vale, and large was the fire burning on the hearth in the castle hall, in the full warmth of which there sat, with a light blue cloth cloak drawn tightly round him, a tall old man, of the giant mould of Scotland, and with a massive thoughtful brow, whose grand form was rendered visible by the absence of hair, only a few remnants of yellow locks mixed with silver floating from his temples to mingle with his magnificent white beard. A small blue bonnet, with a short eagle feather, fastened with a brooch of river pearl, was held in the hands that were clasped over his face, as, bending down in his chair, he mur- mured through his white beard, 'Have mercy, good Lord, have mercy on the land. Have mercy on my I'HK GUEST OF GLENUSKIE :i son. and guard him when he goes out and when he (•(nuts in. Have mercy on the children I have toiled for, and teach me to judge and ad for them aright in these sort' Btraits; and above all. have mercy <>n our Bang, break his fetters, and Bend him home to be the healer of his land, the avenger of her cruel wrongs.' So absorbed was the old man thai he never heard the step that came across the hall. It was a slightly unequal Btep, but was carefully hushed at entrance, as if supposing the old man asleep; and at a slow pace the new-comer crossed the hall to the chimney, where he stood by the fire, warming himself and looking wistfully at the old knight. He was wrapped in a plaid, Mack and white which in- creased the gray appearance of the pale sallow face and sad expression of the wearer, a boy of about seventeen, with soft pensive dark eyes and a sickly complexion, with that peculiar wistful cast of countenance that is apt t<. accompany deformity, though there was no actual mal- formation apparent, unless such might be reckoned the slight halt in the gait, and the small stature of the lad, who was no taller than many boys of twelve or fourteen. But there was a depth of melancholy in those dark brown eyes, that went far into the heart of any one who had the power t<> be touched with their yearning, appeal- ing, almost piteous gaze, as though their owner had come into a world that was much too hard for him, and were lookingout in bewilderment and entreaty for some haven ef peace. He had stood for some minutes looking thoughtfully into the lire, and the sadness of his expression ever deepening, before the old man rais< d his face, and said. • Yon here, Malcolm ? where are the others ? ' * Patie and Lily are Mill on the turret-top. fair Uncle, 1 returned the boy. *It was so cold ;' and he shivered again, and seemed as though he would creep into the tire - And the reck ? ' asked the uncle. 'There is another reek broken out farther west,' re- plied Malcolm. 'Patie is sure now that it is as yon deemed, Uncle ; thai it is a cattle-lifting from Badenoch. 1 'Heaven help them!' Btighed ilc old man. again B 2 4 THE CAGED LION folding his hands in prayer. * How long, Lord, how Ion? ? ' Malcolm took up the appeal of the Psalm, repeating it in Latin, but with none the less fervency ; that Psalm that has ever since David's time served as the agonized voice of hearts hot-burning at the sight of wrong. • Ah yes,' he ended. • there is nothing else for it ! Uncle, this was wherefore I came. It was to speak to vou of my purpose.' 'The old purpose. Malcolm? Nay, that hath been answered before.' ' But listen, listen, dear Uncle. I have not spoken of it for a full year now. So that you cannot say it is the caresses of the good monks. No, nor the rude sayings of the Master of Albany,' he added, colouring at a look of his uncle. ' You bade me say no more till I be of full age : nor would I. save that I were safe lodged in an abbey : then might Patrick and Lily be wedded, and he not have to leave us and seek his fortune far away in France ; and in Patie's hands and leading, my vassals might be safe; but Avhat could the doited helpless cripple do ? ' he added, the colour rising hotly to his cheek with pain and shame. k Oh, Sir, let me but save my soul, and find peace in Coldingham I ' '* My poor bairn.' said his uncle, laying a kind hand upon nim, as in his eagerness he knelt on one knee beside the chair, ' it must not be. It is true that the Regent and Ms sons would willingly see you in a cloister. Nay, that unmanly jeer of Walter Stewart's was. I verily* believe, meant to drive you thither. Bnt were vou there, then would poor Lilias become a prize worth having, and the only question would be, whether Walter of Albany, or Robert of Athole, or any of the rest of them, Bhould tear her away to be the lady of their fierce ungodly households.' 'You could give her to Patrick, Uncle.' 'No, Malcolm, that were not consistent with mine honour, or oaths to the King and State. You living, and Laird of GlenusMe, Lilias is a mere younger sister. whom you may give in marriage as you will ; but were you dead to the world, under a cowl, then the Lady of illi; UUEST 01 GLENUSKIE Glenuskie, a king's grandchild, may not be disposed of, save by her royal kinsman, or by those who, woe worth ilif day ! stand in his place. I were no better than yon Wolf of Badenoch or the Master of Albany, did I steal a march on the Regent, and give the poor lassie to my <>\vn s<>n ! ' 'And s<> Lilias must pine, and Patrick wander off t«» the weary French war." sighed Malcolm; -and I must I).- Bcorned by my cousins whenever the House of St.-w;ir: ■ ta together; and must strive with these fierce crnel men, that will ever he too hard for me when Patie is gone.' His eyes Idled with tears as he continued, -Ah ! that Mr chapel, with the sweet chant of the choir, the green smooth-shaven quadrangle, the calm cloister walk ; there, there alone is rest. There, 3es to I..- a ]>rey and a laughing-stock ; there, on.- sees no more bloodshed and spulzie ; there, one I not he forced to treachery or violence. Oh, Uncle ! my very soul is sick for Coldingham. How many years will it be ere I can myself bestow my sister on Patie, and hide my head in peace! 1 Before his uncle had done more than answer, -Nay. nay. Malcolm, these are no words for the oe of Bruce ; you are born to dare a- well as to suffer,' there was an approach of footsteps, and two young people entered the hall : the first a girl, with a family liken - Malcolm, hut tall, upright, beautiful, and with the rich colouring of perfect health, her plaid still hanging in a loose swelling hood round her brilliant face and dark hair, sn led with a crimson ribbon and diamond clasp ; the other, a knightly young man, of stately height and robust limbs, keen bright blue eyes and amber hair and beard, moving with the ease and grace that showed his training in the highest school of chivalry. 'Good Uncle,' cried the maiden in eager excitement, 'there is a guest coming. He has just turned over the Side, and can be coming nowhere hut here.' •A _■• est '.' cried both -Malcolm and the elder knight, 'of what kind. Lily ? ' •A knight— a knight in bright steel, and with three attendants." said Lilias ; ' one of Patrick's French com- rades, say [, by the grace of his riding. 1 15 THE CAGED LION •Not a message from the Regent, I trust,' sighed Malcolm. k Patie, oh do not lower the drawbridge, till we hear whether it be friend or foe.' 'Nay, Malcolm, 'tis well none save friends heard that,' said Patrick. -When shall we make a brave man of you ? ' 'Nevertheless, Patie, 1 said the old gentleman, 'though I had rather the caution had come from the eldest rather than the youngest head among us, parley as much as may serve with honour and courtesy ere opening the gate to the stranger. Hark, there is his bugle.' A certain look of nervous terror passed over young Malcolm's face, while his sister watched full of anima- tion and curiosity, as one to whom excitement of any kind could hardly come amiss, exclaiming, as she looked from the window, 'Fear not, most prudent Malcolm: Father Ninian is with him : Father Ninian must have invited him.' 'Strange,' muttered Patrick, 'that Father Ninian should be picking up and bringing home stray wander- ing land-loupers ; ' and with an anxious glance at Lilias, he went forward unwillingly to perform those duties of hospitality which had become necessary, since the presence of the castle chaplain was a voucher for the guest. The drawbridge had already been lowered, and the new-comer was crossing it upon a powerful black steed, guided by Father Ninian upon his rough mountain pony, on which he had shortly before left the castle, to attend at a Church festival held at Coldingham. The chaplain was a wise, prudent, and much-respected man ; nevertheless, young Sir Patrick Drummond felt little esteem for his prudence in displaying one at hast of the treasures of the castle to the knight on the black horse. The stranger was a very tall man, of robust and stalwari make, apparently aged about sewn or eight and twenty years, clad in steel armour, enamelled so as to have a burnished blue appearance ; but the vizor of the helmel was raised, and the face beneath it was a manly open fare, thoroughly Scottish in its forms, but very handsome, and with short dark auburn hair, and eyes of thesame peculiar tint, glancing with a light that once THE GUEST OF GLENUSKIE 7 seen could never be forgotten ; and the bearing was such, that Patrick at once growled to himself, * One of our haughty loons, brimful of outre Guidance; and yet how coolly he bears it off. If he looks to find as his humble servants, he will find himself mistaken, I trow.' •sir Patrick,' said Father Ninian, who was by this time close to him, 'let me present to yon Sir Janus Stewart, a captive knight wh<> is come to collect his ransom. 1 fell in with him on the road, and as his road lay with mine, I made hold to assure him of a welcome from your honoured father and Lord Malcolm.' Patrick's face cleared. It was no grace or beauty that he feared in any Btranger, hut th<- sheer might and unright that their Regency enabled the House of Albany t" ex it ver the orphans of the royal family, whose head was absent ; and a captive knight-could be no mis- chievous person. Still this might be only a specious pretence to impose on the chaplain, and gain admittance to the castle ; and Patrick was resolved to be well on his guard, though he replied courteously to the grace- ful bow with which the stranger greeted him. Baying in a manly mellow voice and southern accent. *I have been bold enough to presume on the good father's offer of hospitality, Sir.' •You are welcome, Sir/ returned Patrick, taking the stranger's bridle that he might dismount; 'my father and my cousin will gladly further on his way a prisoner s.-t'kinu r freedom.' * A captive may well he welcome, for the sake of <>,,■ prisoner, 1 said his lather, who had in the meantime com,, forward, and extended his hand to the knight. who took it, and uncovering his bright looks, res] fully said, 'I am in the presence of the noble Tutor of Grlenuskie. 1 • Even so, Sir,' returned Sir David Drummond, who was. in fact, as his nephew's guardian, usually known by this curious title ; *and you here Bee my wards, the Lord Malcolm and Lady Lilias. Your knighthood will make allowances for the lad, he is hut home-bred. 1 while Lilias with stately grace responded to sir James Stewart's courtly greeting, Malcolm bashfully made an 8 THE CAGED LION awkward bow, and seemed ready to shrink within him- self, as, indeed, the brutal jests of his rude cousins had made him dread and hate the eye of a stranger ; and ■while the knight was led forward to the hall fire, he merely pressed up to the priest, and eagerly demanded under his breath, ' Have you brought me the book ? ' but Father Ninian had only time to nod, and sign that a volume was in his bosom, before old Sir David called out, * What now, Malcolm, forgetting that your part is to come and disarm the knight who does you the honour to be your guest ? ' And Sir Patrick rather roughly pushed him forward, gruffly whispering, 'Leave not Lily to supply your lack of courtesy.' Malcolm shambled forward, bewildered, as the keen auburn eye fell on him, and the cheery kindly voice said, ' Ha ! a new book — a romance ? Well may that drive out other thoughts.' ' Had he ears to hear such a whisper ? ' thought Malcolm, as he mumbled in the hoarse voice of bashful boyhood, *Xot a romance, Sir, but whatever the good fathers at Coldingham would lend me.' ' It is the " Itinerarium " of the blessed Adamnanus,' replied Father Ninian, producing from his bosom a parcel, apparently done up in many wrappers, a seal- skin above all. ' The "Itinerarium"!' exclaimed Sir James, 'me- thought I had heard of such a book. I have a friend in England who would give many a fair rose noble for a sight of it.' * A friend in England ! '—the words had a sinister- sound to the audience, and while Malcolm jealously gathered up the book into his arms, the priest made cold answer, that the book was the property of the Monastery at Coldingham, and had only been lent to Lord Malcolm Stewart by special favour. The guest could not help smiling, and saying he was glad books were thus prized in Scotland ; but at that moment, as the sunny look shone on his face, and he stood before the fire in the close suit of chamois leather which he wore under his armour, old Sir David exclaimed, ' Ha ! never did I see such a likeness. Patie, you should be old enough to remember ; do you not see it ? ' THE GUEST OF GLENUSKIE 9 'Whatshould Isee? Who is lie like P'asked Patrick, surprised at his father's manner. •Win.;-' whispered Sir David in a lowered voice; 'do you not Bee it ? to the unhappy lad, the Dnke of Rothsay. 1 Patrick couldnot help smiling, for he had been scarcely ; years old at the time of the murder of the unfor- tunate Prince of Scotland; but a flush of colour rose into the nice of the guest, and he shortly answered, 'Sol have been told ; ' and theu assuming seat near Sir l)avi.l. he entered into conversation with him upon the condition of Scotland at the period, inquiring int.. the state <>1" many of the families and districts by nam.'. Aim.. st always there was but one answer — murder — harrying — foray; and when the question followed. •What had the Regent don.-:'" there was a Bhrug of the Bhoulders, and as often Sir James's far.- flushed with a dark red lire, and his hand clenched at the hilt of the Bwbrd by his side. 'And is there not a man in Scotland left to strike for the right ?' he demanded at last ; • cannot nobles, clergy, and burghers, hand themselves in parliament to put down Albany and his bloody house, and recall their true head ? ' 'They love to have it so,' returned Sir David sadly. 'United, they might be strong enough ; but each knows that his fellow, Douglas, Lennox, March, or Mar. would be ready to play the same game as Albany ■ and to raise a rival none will stir.' 'And so,' proceeded Sir James, bitterly, • the manhood of Scotland goes forth to waste itself in an empty foreign war, merely to keep France in as wretched a state of misrule as itself.' • Nay, nay. Sir.' cried Patrick angrily, -it is to save an ancient ally from the tyranny of our foulest foe. It is the only place where a Scotsman can seek his fortune with honour, and without staining his soul with foul deeds. Bring our King home, and every sword shall be at his service.' 'What, when they have all been lavished on the crazy Frenchman ? ' said Sir James. 'No, Sir.' said Patrick, rising in his vehemence; 10 THE CAGED LION 1 when they have been brightened there by honourable warfare, not tarnished by home barbarities.' 'He speaks truly.' said Sir David: 'and though it will go to my heart to part with the lad, yet may I not say a word to detain him in a land where the contagion of violence can scarce be escaped by a brave man.' Sir James gave a deep sigh as of pain, but as if to hinder its being remarked, promptly answered, ' That may be ; but what is to be the lot of a land whose honest men desert her cause as too evil for them, and seek out another, that when seen closer is scarce less evil ? ' w How. Sir ! ' cried Patrick : * yon a prisoner of Eng- land, yet speaking against our noble French allies, so foully trampled on ? ' * I have lived long enough in England.' returned Sir James, "to think that land happiest where law is strong enough to enforce peace and order.' * The coward loons ! ' muttered Patrick, chiefly out of the spirit of opposition. * You have been long in England, Sir ? ' said Lilias. hoping to direct the conversation into a more peaceful current. * Many years, fair lady,' he replied, turning cour- teously to her ; • I was taken when I was a mere lad, but I have had gentle captors, and no over harsh prison.' * And has no one ransomed you ? ' she asked pitifully, as one much moved by a certain patience on his brow, and in his sweet full voice. * Xo one. lady. My uncle was but too willing that the heir should be kept aloof ; and it is only now he is dead, that I have obtained leave from my friendly captor to come in search of my ransom.' Lilias would have liked to know the amount, but it was not manners to ask, since the rate of ransom was the personal value of the knight ; and her uncle put in the question, who was his keeper. 'The Earl of Somerset." rather hastily answered Sir James ; ami then at once Lilias exclaimed. • Ah, Uncle, is not the KiiiLr. too, in his charger' And then ques- tions crowded on. 'What like is the King? How brooks he bis durance ? What freedom hath he ? What THE GUEST OF GLENUSKIE 11 hope is there of his return ? Can he brook to hear of his people's wretchedness ? ' This was the first question at which sir James at- tempted to unclose his hitherto smiling and amused lip. Then it quivered, and the dew glittered in hi£ he answered, 'Brook it! No indeed, lady. His heart burns within him at every cry that comes over the Border, and will well-nigh burst at what 1 have Been and heard ! King Harry it lis him that to Bend him home were but tossing him on the swords of the Albany. •• r. better bo, to <>d poet in England, called Chaucer. Verily there had been, said the knight ; and on a little solicit- ation, so soon as Bupper was over, he recited to the eager and delighted auditors the tale of patient Grisel, as rendered by ( Jhaucer, calling forth eager comments from both Patrick and Lily, on the unknightliness of the Marquis. Malcolm, however, added, ' Set, after all, she was but a mere peasant wench.' 'What makes that, young Sir?' replied Sir James gravely. ' I would have yon to know that the husband's rank is the wife's, and the more unequal were their lot before, tin- more is he bound to respect her, and to make her be respected.' 'That may be, after the deed is done,' said Sir David, in a warning voice ; 'but it is not well that like should not match with like. Many an evil have L seen in my Time, from unequal mating.' •And. Sir." eagerly exclaimed Patrick, 'no donbt yon can gainsay the slander, that our noble King has been caught in the toils of an artful English woman, and been drawn in to promise her a share in his crown.' A Hush of crimson flamed forth on Sir .lames Stewart's cheeks, and his tawny rye glanced with a fire like red lightning, but he seemed, as it were, to be holding hhn- Belf in, and answered with a voice forcibly kept low and calm, and therefore the more terribly stern, ' Young Sir. 1 warn you to honour your future queen.' Sir David made a gesture with his hand, enforcing restraint upon his son, and turning to Sir James, said. * Our queen will we honour, when such she is, Sir ■ but if you are returning to the King, it were well that he should know that our hot Scottish bloods, here, could ce brook an English alliance, and certainly nor one :h his birth/ 'The King would answer. Sir, 1 returned Sir Jan haughtily, but with recovered command over himself, •that it is for him to judge whom his subjects shall U THE CAGED LION brook as their queen, Moreover,' he added, in a differ- ent and more conciliatory voice, ' Scotsmen must be proud indeed who disdain the late King's niece, the great-grand-daughter of King Edward III., and as noble and queenly a demoiselle as ever was born in a palace.' 4 She is so very fair, then ? ' said Lilias, who was of course on the side of true love. 'You have seen her, gentle Sir ? Oh, tell us what are her beauties ? ' ' Fair damsel,' said Sir James, in a much more gentle tone, ' you forget that I am only a poor prisoner, who have only now and then viewed the lady Joan Beaufort with distant reverence, as destined to be my queen. All I can tell is, that her walk and bearing mark her out for a throne." 1 And oh ! ' cried Malcolm, ' is it not true that the King hath composed songs and poems in her honour ? ' 1 Pah ! ' muttered Patrick ; ' as though the King would be no better than a wandering minstrel rhymester ! ' ' Or than King David ! ' dryly said Sir James. 4 It is true, then, Shy exclaimed Lilias. ' He doth verily add minstrelsy to his other graces ? Know you the lines, Sir ? Can you sing them to us ? Oh, I pray you.' ' Nay, fair maid,' returned Sir James, ' methinks I might but add to the scorn wherewith Sir Patrick is but too much inclined to regard the captive King.' 4 A captive, a captive — ay, minstrelsy is the right solace for a captive," said Patrick ; i at least, so they say and sing. Our king will have better work when he gains his freedom. Only there will come before me a subtilty I once saw in jelly and blanc-mange. at a banquet in France, where a lion fell in love with a hunter's daughter, and let her, for love's sake, draw his teeth and clip his claws, whereupon lie found himself made a Bport for her father's hounds.' i I promise you, Sir Patrick,' replied the guest, 'that the Lady Joan is more like to send her Lion forth from the hunter's toils, with claws and teeth fresh-whetted by the desire of honour.' 4 But the lay — the lay, Sir,' entreated Lilias ; 4 who knows that it may not win Patrick to be the Lady Joan's devoted servant ? Malcolm, your harp ! ' THE GUEST OF GLENUSKIE 15 Malcolm had already gone in quest of the harp he Loved all the better for the discouragement thrown on his gentle tastes. The knight Leant back, with a pensive Look softening his features as he Baid, after a Little consideration, l Then, fair Lady, I will sing you the song made by King James, when he had first seen the fair mistress of his heart, on the slopes of Windsor, Looking from his chamber window, lit- feigns her to be a nightingale. 1 •And what is that. Sir ? ' demanded Lilias. -I have heard the word in romances, and deemed it a kind of angel that sings by night. 1 1 It is a bird, sister, 1 replied Malcolm ; • Philomel, that pierces her breast with a thorn, and sings sweetly even to her death. 1 1 That's mere minstrel leasing Malcolm, 1 said Patrick. 4 1 have both seen and heard the bird in France — Ros- signol, as Ave call it there : and were I a lady, I should deem it small compliment to be Likened toa little rasa - backed, homely fowl such as that.' 'While I,' replied the prisoner, 'feel so much with your fair sister, that nightingales are a sort of angels that sin«: by night, that it pains me, Avhen I think of winning my freedom, to remember that I shall never again hear their som:s answering one another through the forest of Windsor.' Patrick shrugged his shoulders, but Lilias was anxious to hear the lay. that she entreated him to be silent : and Sir James, with a manly mellow voice, with an exceedingly sweet strain in it. and a skill. Loth of modulation and finger, sueh as showed admirable I and instruction, poured forth that beautiful song of the nightingale at Windsor, which commences King Jam s'e story of his love, in his poem of the King's Quhair. There was an eager pressing round to hear, and not only were Lilias and Malcolm, but old Sir David him- self , much affected by the strain, which the Latter said put him in mind of the days of Kin- Robert 1 1 1., which, sad as they were, now seemed Like good old timet much worse was the present state of affairs. Sir James, however, seemed anxious to prevent discussion of tie- verses he had BUng, and applied to Malcolm to give a THE CAGED LION and thus, with music, ballad, and : 'I away, till the parting cnp ound, and tl and Malcolm shalled t! at where he waa . and his two atten great iron-gray Scot and a rosy hon< - - glianman, on pallets <»n the floor. In the morning he went on his jonrney, bnl not with- out an invitati in on his way back, ther with or without ] tn. He promised to bear to the King fh»- i.: I as the Tutor of Glenm 3, Malcolm ai 9 I tavid -.» do rl. . •' should in rai ■' plenty, and I all tl. cle could Buppl; him r<» th here he I r renown and fortune. • •\ il u hen James I. - • Mill a capti cruel 3 i delaj h m the King, !• hould bi 1 d R< 3 • Murdoch waa King I. infinitely increased by the \ iol< M nrdoch'a II. had - arful a u h<» loi ( >t' these, Robert III. of Albany • pre- . the other by the Regent, D rdoch of Albany, and his brother John, Ear] of Buchan, now about to lead b whom Patrick Drummond intended rich. ( others of the • of Athol, Menteitb, survived; but the youngest of the brotherhood, bj name Malcolm, who had married the heiress of Glen- oskie, had been killed a( Homildon Hill, when he had solemnly cha 3 nephews and brothers to iw<> orphan children to the sole charge of their AM ■ : - - . *LmarteiI anl- bare - - - _ - _ asi' : — - - - - - a i - - - - 18 THE CAGED LION with passionate weeping. ' I — I to flee and leave my sister — my uncle ! Oh, where are they ? Haibert, let me go ; I'll never pardon thee.' k Hoot, my lord ! would I let you gang, when the Tutor spak to me as plain as I hear you now ? " Take off Lord Malcolm," says he ; " save him, and you save the rest. See him safe to the Earl of Mar." Those were his words, my lord ; and if you wilna heed them, 1 will.' 1 What, and leave my sister to the reivers ? Oh, what may not they be doing to her ? Let us go back and fall on them, Haibert ; better die saving her than know her in Walter Stewart's hands. Then were I the wretched craven he calls me.' ' Look you, Lord Malcolm,' said Haibert, laying his finger on his nose, with a knowing expression, 'my young lady is safe from harm so long as you are out of the Master of Albany's reach. Had you come by a canny thrust in the fray, as no doubt was his purpose, or were you in his hands to be mewed in a convent, then were your sister worth the wedding ; but the Master will never wed her while you live and have friends to back you, and his father, the Regent, will see she has no ill- usage. You'll do best for yourself and her too, as well as Sir David, if you make for Dunbar, and call ben your uncles of Athole and Strathern. — How now, Rab ? are the loons making this way ? ' k Na, na ! ' said Rab, descending ; ' 'tis from the other gate ; 'tis a knight in blue damasked steel : he, me- thinks, that harboured in our castle some weeks syne.' ' Hin ! ' said Haibert, considering ; ' he looked like a trusty cheild : maybe he'd guide my lord here to a wiser wit, and a good lance on the way to Dunbar is not to be scorned.' In fact, there would have been no time for one party to conceal themselves from the other ; for, hidden by the copsewood, and unheeded by the watchers who were gazing in the opposite direction, Sir James Stewart and his two attendants suddenly came round the foot of Jill's Knowe upon the fugitives, who were profiting by tin- interval to loosen the girths of their horses, and water I hem ai the pool under the thicket, whilst Haibert THE RE8 IK OF COLDINGHAM 19 in vain tried to pacify and reason with the young master, who had thrown himself on the grass in an agony of grief and despair. Sir James, after the first momentary start, recognized the party in an instant, and at once leapt from his horse, exclaiming — •How n<»\v, my bonnie man — my kind host — what is it ? what makes this grief ? ' 'Do not speak to me, sir," muttered the unhappy boy. 'They have been reft — reft from me, and 1 have done nothing for them. Walter of Albany has them, and I am h And he gave way to another paroxysm of grief, while Hall >ert explained to Sir James Stewart that when Sir Patrick Drummond had gone to embark for France, with the army led to the aid of Charles VI. by the Karl of Buchan, his father and cousins, with a large escort, had accompanied him to Eyemouth ; whence, after taking leave of him, they had Bet out to spend Passion- tide and Easter at Coldingham Abbey, after the frequent fashion of the devoutly inclined among the Scottish nobility, in whose castles there was often little com- modity for religious observances. Short, however, as was tlif distance, they had in the midst of it been sud- denly assailed by a band of armed men, among whom might easily be recognized the giant form of young Walter Stewart, the Master of Albany, the Regent Duke Murdoch's eld si s , who was well known for his lawless as - and violence. His father's silky sayings, and his own ruder speeches, had long made it known to the House of Glenuskie that the family policy was to cajole or to drive the sickly heir into a convent, and. rendering Lilias the possessor of the broad lands inherited from both parents, unite her and them to tin- Albany family. The almost barbarous fierceness and wild licentious- 38 of Walter would have made the arrangement abhorrent to Lilias, even had not love passages already een her and her cousin, Patrick Drummond, and Sir David had hitherto protected her by keeping Malcolm in the secular life : but Walter, it » emed, had grown impatient, and had made this treacherous attack, evidently hoping to rid himself of the brother, and secure the sister. No sooner had the Tutor of Glenuskie 20 THE CAGED LION perceived that his own party were overmatched, than he had bidden his faithful squire to secure the bairns — ■ if not both, at least the boy ; and Halbert, perceiving that Lilias had already been pounced upon by Sir Walter himself and several more, seized the bridle of the bewildered Malcolm, who was still trying to draw his sword, and had absolutely swept him away from the scene of action before he had well realized what was passing ; and now that the poor lad understood the whole, Iris horror, grief, and shame were unspeakable. Before Sir James had done more than hear the outline of Halbert's tale, however, the watchers on the mound gave the signal that the reivers were coming that way — a matter hitherto doubtful, since no one could guess whether Walter Stewart would make for Edinburgh or for Doune . AYith the utmost agility Sir James sprang up the side of the mound, reconnoitred, and returned again just as Halbert was trying to stir his master from the ground, and Malcolm answering sullenly that he would not move — he would be taken and die with the rest. ' You may save them instead, if you will attend to me,' said Sir James ; and at his words the boy suddenly started up with a look of hope. • How many fell upon you ? ' demanded Sir James. 1 Full a hundred lances,' replied Halbert (and a lance meant at least three men). ( It wad be a fule's wark to withstand them. Best bide fast in the covert, for our horses are sair forfaughten.' 4 If there are now more than twenty lances, I am greatly mistaken,' returned Sir James. ' They must have broken up after striking their blow, or have sent to secure Glenuskie ; and we, falling on them from this thicket ' 'I see, I see,' cried Halbert. 'Back, ye loons ; back among the hazels. Hold every one his horse ready to mount' 'With your favour. Sir Squire, 1 say, bind each man his horse to a tree. The skene and broadsword, which I see you all wear, will be ten times as effective on foot.' 1 Do as the knight bids,' said Malcolm, starting forth With colour on his cheek, light in his eye. that made him another being. *In him there is help.' THE RESCUE OF COLDINGHAM •Ay. ay, Lord Malcolm, 1 muttered Balbert; \ q< i 'I not tell me that : I know my duty betti r than to do thf bidding of a belted knight, and pretty man too of his im: The two attendants of Sir James were meantime apparently uttering some remonstrance, to which he lightly replied, * Tut, Nigel ; it will <1<> thine heart good to hew down a minion of Albany. What were I worth could I not Btrike a Mow against so foul a wrong to my own orphan kindred ? Brewsto r, I'll answer it to thy master. These are his foes, as well as those of all honest men; Ha ! thou art as glad to be at them as I myself.' By this time he had exchanged his cap for a ste I helmet, and was assuming the command as his natural light, as In' placed the men in their ambush behind the knoll, received reports from those he had set to watch, and concerted the signal with Halbert and his own followers. Malcolm kept by him. shivering with intense excitement and eagerness ; and thus they waited till the horses* hoofs and clank of armour were distinctly audible. But even then Sir James, with outstretched hand, signed his followers hack, and kept them in the leash, aa it were, until the troop was fairly in the valley. those in front beginning to halt to give their horses water. They were, in effect, riding somewhat carelessly, and with the ease of men whose feat was performed, and who expected no more opposition. Full in the midst was Lilias, entirely muffled and pinioned bya large plaid drawn closely round her, and held upon the front <»f tht- saddle of a large tall horse, ridden by a slender, Light-limbed, wiry groom, whom Malcolm knew at Christopher Hall, a retainer of the Duke of Albany; and beside him rode her captor. Sir Walter Stewart, a man littl*- above twenty, hut with a bronzed, hardened, reckless expression that made him look much older, and of huge height and giant build. Malcolm knew him well, and regarded him with unmitigated horror and dread, both from the- knowledge of his ruffianly violence even towards his father, from fear of his intentions, and from the misery that his brutal jests, scoffs, Mid practical jokes had often personally inflicted; and the sight of his sister in the power of this wicked man was the- 22 THE CAGED LION realization of all his worst fears. But ere there was; time for more than one strong pang of consternation and constitutional terror, Sir James's shout of ' St. Andrew for the right ! ' was ringing out, echoed by all the fifteen in ambush with him, as simultaneously they leapt for- ward. Malcolm, among the first, darting with one spring, as it were, to the horse where his sister was carried, seized the bridle with his left hand, and flash- ing his sword upon the ruffian with the other, shouted, ' Let go, villain ; give me my sister ! ' Hall's first impulse was to push his horse forward so as to trample the boy down, but Malcolm's hold rendered this impos- sible ; besides, there was the shouting, the clang, the confusion of the outburst of an ambush all around and on every side, and before the man could free his hand to draw his weapon he necessarily loosed his grasp of Lilias, who, half springing, half falling, came to the ground, almost overthrowing her brother in her descent, but just saved by him from coming down prostrate. The horse, suddenly released, started forward with its rider ; and at the same moment Malcolm, recovering himself, stood with his sword in his hand, his arm round his sister's waist, assuring her that she was safe, and him- self glowing for the first time with manly exultation. Had he not saved and rescued her himself ? It was as well, however, that the rescue did not depend on his sole prowess. Indeed, by the time the brother and sister were clinging together and turning to look round, the first shock was over, and the retainers of Albany, probably fancying the attack made by a much larger troop, were either in full flight, or getting decidedly the worst in their encounters with their assailants. Sir James Stewart had at the first onset sprung like a lion upon the Master of Albany, and without draw- ing his sword had grappled with him. ' In the name of St. Andrew and the King, yield thy prey, thou dastard,' were his words as he threw his arms round the body of Sir Walter, and exerted his full strength to drag him from his horse. The young giant writhed, struggled, cursed, raged ; lie had not space to draw sword or even dagger, but he struck furiously with his gauntleted hand, The knight raj '■"— rr -? r 25. THE RESCUE OF COLDINGHAM and strove to drive his horse forward. The struggle was like that of Hercules and Antaeus, so desperate and bo mighty was the strength pnt forth on either Bide, but nothing could unclasp the iron grip of those Binewy arms, and almost as soon as Malcolm and Lilias had eyes to Bee what was passing, Walter Stewart was being dragged oil* his horse by that tremendous grapple, and the next moment his armour rung as he lay prostrate on his hack upon the ground. His conqueror set his mailed foot upon his neck lightly, but so as to prevent any attempt to rise, and after one moment's pause to gather breath, said in a clear deep trumpet voice, * Walter Stewart of Albany, on one condition I grant thee thy Ufa It is that thou take the most solemn oath on the spot that no spulzie or private brawl shall henceforth stain that hand of thine while thy father holds the power in Scotland. Take that oath, thou li vest : refuse it, and ' He held up the deadly little dagger called the misericorde. 'And who art thou, caitiff land-louper,' muttered Walter, 'to put to oath knights and princes ? ' The knight raised the visor of his helmet. The even- ing sun shone resplendently on his damasked blue armour and the St. Andrew's cross on his breast, and lighted up that red fire that lurked in his eyes, and withal the calm power and righteous indignation on his features might have befitted an avenging angel wielding the lightning. 'Thou wilt know me when we meet again," was all he said ; and for the very calmness of the voice the Master of Albany, who was hut a mere commonplace insolent ruffian, quailed with awe and terrorto the very backbone. 'Loose me, and I will swear," he faintly murmured. Sir James, before removing his foot, unclasped his gorget, and undoing a chain, held up a jewel shaped like a St. Andrew's cross, with a diamond in the midst, covering a fragmentary relic. At the sight Walter Stewart's eyes, large pale ones, dilated as if with in- creased consternation, the sweat started ou his forehead, and his breath cam.- in Bhorter gasps. Malcolm and Lilias, standing near, likewise felt a sense of strange 24 THE CAGED LION awe, for they too had heard of this relic, a supposed fragment of St. Andrew's own instrument of martyrdom, which had belonged to St. Margaret, and had been thought a palladium to the royal family and House of Stewart. k Rise on thy knees,' said Sir James, now taking away his foot, ' and swear upon this." Walter, completely cowed and overawed, rose to his knees at his victor's command, laid his hand on the relic, and in a shaken, almost tremulous voice, repeated the words of the oath after his dictation : ' I, Walter Stewart, Master of Albany, hereby swear to God and St. Andrew, to fight in no private brawl, to spoil no man nor woman, to oppress no poor man, clerk, widow, maid. or orphan, to abstain from all wrong or spulzie from this hour until the King shall come again in peace.' He uttered the words, and kissed the jewel that was tendered to him : and then Sir James said, in the same cold and dignified tone, 'Let thine oath be sacred, or beware. Now, mount and go thy way, but take heed how I meet thee again.' Sir Walter's horse was held for him by Brewster, the knight's English attendant, and without another word he flung himself into the saddle, and rode away to join such of his followers as were waiting dispersed at a safe distance to mark his fate, but without attempting anything for his assistance. ••Oh, Sir !' burst forth Malcolm; but then, even as he was about to utter his thanks, his eye sought for the guardian who had ever been his mouthpiece, and, with a sudden shriek of dismay, he cried, ' My uncle ! where is he ? where is Sir David ? ' 'Alack! alack!' cried Lilias. 'Oh, brother, I saw him on the ground ; he fell before my horse. I saw no more, for the Master held me, and muffled my face. Oh, let us back, he may yet live.' k Yea, let us back,' said Sir James, 'if we may yet save the good old man. Those villains will not dare to follow ; or if they do, Nigel — Brew^t i\ you understand guard- ing the rear. 1 'Sir,' began Lilias, k how can we thank ' •Not at all, lady.* replied Sir James, smiling; 'you THE RE» IK OF < OLDENGB \M will do better to take yourseat ; 1 fear it must be et\ croupe^ for we can scarce dismount one of yonr guards. 1 • She shall ride behind me, 1 said Malcolm, in a more alert and confident voice than bad ever been heard from him before. •Ay. right, 1 said Sir James, placing a kind hand on his shoulder ; 'thou hast won ber hark by thine own exploit, and mayst well have the keeping of her. That rush on the caitiff gi m was well and shrewdly done. 1 And for all Malcolm's anxiety for his ancle, his heart had never given snch a leap as at finding himself sud- denly raised from the depressed down-trodden coward into something like manhood and self-respect. Lilias, who, like most damsels of her time, was hardy and active, saw no difficulties in the mode of conveyance, and. s<> soon as Malcolm had seated himself on h back, she placed one foot upon his toe, and with a spring of her «»wn. assisted by Sir James's well-practised hand. was instantly perched on the crupper, clasping her brother round the waist with her arms, and laying her head on his shoulder in loving pride at his exploit, while for her further security Sir James threw round them both the long plaid that had so lately bound her. 'Dear Malcolm!' — and her whisper fell sweetly on his ear — A it will be bonnie tidings for Patie that thou didst loos.- me all thyself. The false tyrant, to fall on us the very hour Patie was on the salt - But they were riding so fast that there was scant possibility for words; and. 1- - 3, Sir James kept ton close to them for private whispers. In about an hour's time they had crossed the bit of table-land that formed the moor, and descended into another little l'hi'lv. which wits the place where the attack had been mad..- upon the travellers. This was where it was possible that they might find Sir David ; but no trace Avas to be Been, except that the lm-u>s was trampled and stained with blood. Perhaps, both Lilias and old Halbert suggested, some of their people had returned and taken him to the Abbey of Coldingham, and as this was by far tb s si lodging and refuge for her and her brother, the horses 1 heads were at once turned thitherwards. 26 THE CAGED LION The grand old Priory of Coldingham, founded by King Edgar, son of Margaret the Saint, and of Malcolm Ceanmohr, in testimony of his gratitude for his recovery of his father's throne from the usurper Donaldbane, was a Benedictine monastery under the dominion of the great central Abbey of Durham. It had been a great favourite with the Scottish kings of that glorious dynasty which sprung from Margaret of Wessex, and had ample estates, which, when it was in good hands, enabled it to supply the manifold pur- poses of an ecclesiastical school, a model farm, a harbour for travellers, and a fortified castle. At this period, the Prior, John de Akecliff, or Oakcliff, was an excellent man, a great friend of Sir David Drummond, and much disliked and persecuted by the House of Albany, so that there was little doubt that this would be the first refuge thought of by Sir David's followers. Accordingly Malcolm and his companions rode up to the chief gateway, a grand circular archway, with all the noble though grotesque mouldings, zigzag and cable, dog-tooth and parrot-beak, visages human and diabolic, wherewith the Norman builders loved to surround their doorways. The doors were of solid oak, heavily guarded with iron, and from a little wicket in the midst peered out a cowled head, and instantly ensued the exclamation — 'Benedicite! Welcome, my Lord Malcolm! Ah! but this will ease the heart of the Tutor of Glenuskie ! ' k Ah ! then he is here ? ' cried Malcolm. ' Here, Sir, but in woful plight ; borne in an hour syne by four carles who said you had been set upon by the Master of Albany, and sair harried, and they say the Tutor doth nought but wail for his bairns. How won ye out of his hands, my Lord ? * ' Thanks to this good knight,' said Malcolm ; and the gate was opened, and the new-comers dismounted to pass under the archway, which taught humility. A number of the brethren met them as they came forth into the first quadrangle, surrounded by a beautiful cloister, and containing what was called Edgar's Walls, a house raised by the good founder, for his own lodging and that of visitors, within the monastery. It was a THE RESCUE OF COLDINGHAM 27 long narrow building, abort thirty feel from the church, and was perfectly familiar to Malcolm, who bent his steps at once thither, among the congratulations of the monks ; and Lilias was not prevented from accompany- ing him thus far within the convent, bul all beyond the nave of the church was forbidden ground to her sex, though the original monastery uns, woe is me ! — Sir," recovering himself, * pardon the error <>t' an old dying man. who owes you mon- than he ran express.' 'Then, Sir,* said James Stewart, 'grant me the favour of a few moments' private speech with you. 1 will not keep you long from him." he added t<. Malcolm and Lilia>. 28 THE CAGED LION His manner was never one to be disputed, there was an atmosphere of obedience about the whole monastery, and the Prior added — ' Yes, my children, it is but fitting that you should give thanks in the church for your unlooked-for deliverance.' Malcolm was forced to lead Lilias away into the exquisite cross church, built in the loveliest Early English style, of which a few graceful remnants still exist. The two young things knelt together h and in hand in the lornness of their approaching desolation, neither of them having dared to utter the foreboding upon their hearts, but feeling it all the more surely ; and while the sister's spirit longed fervently after him whose pro- tection had been only just removed, the brother looked up to the sheltering vaults, lost in the tranquil twilight, and felt that here alono was his haven of peace, the refuge for the feeble and the fatherless. Their devotions performed, they ventured back to the outer hall, and on their return being notified, they were again admitted. Sir James, who had been seated on a stool by the sick man's head, immediately rose and resigned his place to Lilias, but did not leave the room ; and Sir David thus spoke : * Bairns, God in His mercy hath raised you up the best of guardians in the stead of your ain poor Tutor. Malcolm, laddie, you will ride the morn with this gentleman to the true head of your name, your ain King, whom God for ever bless ! ' His voice quivered. 'And be it your study so to profit by his example and nurture, as to do your devoir by him for ever.' ' Nav, father,' cried Malcolm, ' I cannot leave you and Lily. 1 " ' If you call me father, do my bidding,' said Sir David. ' Lily can be safely bestowed with the good Sisters of St. Abbs, nor while you are out of Albany's reach is the poor lassie worth his molesting ; but when I am gone, your uncles of Albany and Athole become your tutors, and the Prior has no power to save you. Only over the Border with the King is there safety from them, and your ruin is the ruin of your sister.' 'And,' added Sir James, 'when the King is at liberty, Till: RESCUE OF COLD INGHAM or when you yourself are of age, yon will return to re- Bume the charge of your fair Bister, unless Borne nearer protector be found. Meantime, 1 he laid one hand on Malcolm's head, and with the other took out the relic which had had bo great an effect upon Walter Stewart. * 1 swear on this holy Rood of St. Andrew, that Malcolm Stewart of Glenuskie shall be my charge, not merely as my kinsman, but as my young brother.' • You hear, Malcolm, 1 said sir David. • You will strive to merit such goodness. 1 'Father, 1 broke out the poor boy again, 'you cannot mean to part us : Let us abide as we have been till I am oi - take my vows ! I am not lit to serve the King.' ' He La the best judge of that, 1 returned Sir James. 'And, 1 added Sir David. -I tell you, lad, that I shall n^ver be as 1 was before, and that were I a whole man and sain, riding hack to Glenuskie the morn, 1 should still bless the saints and hid you gang.' Rarely did the youth of the fifteenth century venture to question the authority of an elder, but Malcolm was only silenced for a moment, and though by no means understanding that his guardian believed his injuries mortal, he threw himself upon the advice of the Prior. whom he entreated to allow him to jud,L r e for himself, and to remain to protect his sisn-r — he talked boldly of protecting her after this day's exploit But Prior Ake- cliff gave him no more encouragement than did his uncle. The Benedictine vowb were out of the question till he should be eighteen, and the renunciation of the world they involved would he ruinous to Lilias, e would become his heiress. Moreover, the Prior himself was almost in as; ge,forthe Regent was endeavouring to intrude on the convent one Brother William Drake, or Drax, by his own nomination, Instead of the canonical appointment emanating from Durham, and as national feeling went with the 1. nominee, it was by no means certain that the present Prior would he able to maintain his position. 'Oh, go ! yes, go, dear brother, 1 entreated Lilias. k I should be far happier t<> know you in safety. They cannot hurt me while you are safe. 1 30 THE CAGED LION ' But you, Lily ! What if this villain Drax have his way ? ' ' He could not harm her in St. Ebba's fold,' returned the Prior. ' The Abbess herself could not yield her ; and, as you have so often been told, my young Lord, your absence is a far greater protection to your sister than your presence. Moreover, were the Tutor's mind at rest, there would be far better hope of his recovery.' There was no alternative, and Malcolm could not but submit. Lilias was to be conducted before daybreak to the monastery of St. Abbs, about six miles off, whence she could be summoned at any time to be with her uncle in Coldingham ; and Malcolm was to set off at daybreak with the captive knight, whose return to England could no longer be delayed. Poor children ! while Sir James Stewart was in the Prior's chamber, they sat silent and mournful by the bedside where their guardian lay dozing, even till the bell for Matins summoned them in common with all the other inmates of the convent ; they knelt on the floor of the candle-lit church, and held each other's hands as they prayed ; Lilias still the stronger and more hopeful, while Malcolm, as he looked up at those dear familiar vaultings, felt as if he were a bird driven from its calm peaceful nest to battle with the tossing winds and storms of ocean, without one near him whom he had learnt to love. It was still dark when the service had ended, and Prior Akecliff came towards them. ' Daughter,' he said to Lilias, 'we deem it safer that you should ride to St. Abbs ere daylight. Your palfrey is ready, the Mother Abbess is warned, and I will myself conduct you thither.' Priors were not people to be kept waiting, and as it was reported that the Tutor of Glenuskie was still asleep, Lilias had to depart without taking leave of him. With Malcolm the last words were spoken while crossing the court. 'Fear not, Lily ; my heart will only weary till the Church owns me, and Patie has you.' k Nay, my Malcolm ; mayhap, as the Prior tells me, your strength and manhood will come in the south country.' THE RESCUE OF « OLDINGH \M :;i 'Let tli. -in." said Malcolm; -I will neither cheat the Church nor Pati< k It were no cheat. There never was any compact. Patie is winning his fortune by his own sword ; he would scorn ' 'Hush. Lily ! When the King Bees what a weakling Sir James has brought him, he will be but too glad to exchange Patie for me, and leave me safe in these blessed walls. 1 But here they were under the archway, and the con- voy of armed men, whom the exigencies of the time forced the convent to maintain, were already moui: sir James stood ready t<> assist the lady to her saddle, and with one long earnest embrace the brother and Bister were parted, and Lilias rode away with the Prior by her si< I.-, letting the tears flow quietly down her cheeks in the darkness, and but half hearing the long arguments by which good Father Akecliff was proving to her that the decision was the best for both Malcolm and herself. By and by the dawn began to appear, the air of the March night became sharper, and in the distance the murmur and plash of the tide was heard. Then, stand- ing heavy and dark against the clear pale eastern sky. there arose the dark mass of St. Ebba's monastery, the parent of Coldingham, standing on the very verge of the clifi" t<» which it has left the nam.- of St. Abb's Head, upon ground which has since been undermined by the waves, and has been devoured by them. The sea, far below, calmly brightened with the brightening sky. and reflected the morning stars in a lucid track of light, strom: enough to make the lights glisten red in the convent windows. Lilias was expected, was a frequent guest, and had many friends there, and as the .-•. sound of the Lauds cam.- from the chapel, and while she dismounted in the court the concluding 'Amen 1 swelled and died away. she. though no convent bird, felt herself in a safe home and shelter tinder the wing of kind Abb.--, Annabel Drummond, and only mourned that Malcolm, so much tenderer and more shrinking than herself, Bhould be driven into tin- unknown world that he dreaded .-<> much more than she did. 32 THE CAGED LION CHAPTER III HAL The sun had not long been shining on the dark walls of St. Ebba's monastery, before the low-browed gate of Coldingham Priory opened to let pass the guests of the previous night. Malcolm had been kissed and blessed by his guardian, and bidden to transfer his dutiful obedience to his new protector ; and somewhat com- forted by believing Sir David to be mending since last night, he had rent himself away, and was riding in the frosty morning air beside the kinsman who had so strangely taken charge of him, and accompanied by Sir James's tall old Scottish squire, by the English groom, and by Malcolm's own servant, Halbert. For a long space there was perfect silence : and as Malcolm began to detach his thoughts from all that he had left behind, he could not help being struck with the expressions that flitted over his companion's counte- nance. For a time he would seem lost in some deep mournful reverie, and his head drooped as if in sadness or perplexity ; then a sudden gleam would light up his face, as if a brilliant project had occurred to him, his lips would part, his eyes flash, he would impel his horse forward as though leading a charge, or lift up his head with kindling looks, like one rehearsing a speech ; but ever a check would come on him in the midst, his mouth closed in dejection, his brow drew together in an anguish of impatience, his eyelids drooped in weariness, and he would ride on in deep reflection, till roused perhaps by the flight of a moor-fowl, or the rush of a startled roe, he would hum some gay French hunting-song or plaintive Scottish ballad. Scarcely a word had been uttered, until towards noon, on the borders of a little narrow valley, the merry sound of bells clashed up to their ears, and therewith sounds of music. "Tis the toon of Christ's Kirk on the Green,' said the squire, as Sir James looked at him for information, ■' where we were to bait. Methought in Lent we had been spared this gallimawfrey.' ' Tis Midlent week, you pagan,' replied Sir James. HAL 'These good folk have come a-mothering, and a share of their simnels we'll hai • Sir,' entreated the Eqoire, ' were it not more prudent for you to tarry without, ami lei me fetch provision 'Hoot, man, a throng is our best friend! Besides, tli»- horses must r< 9I .' S ■ saying, Sir James rode eagerly forward ; Malcolm following, not without wonder at not having been con- Bulted, for though kept in strict discipline by his ui it had always been with ♦•very courtesy due to his rank as a king's grandson ; and the cousins, from whom In- had Buffered, were of the same rank with himself. I>id this wandering landless knight, now he had him in his power, mean to disregard all that was his due ? But when Sir James turned round his face sparkling with good-humour and amusement, and laughed as he said, - Now then for the humours of a Scottish fair ! * all his offended dignity was forgotten. Tlit greensward was surrounded by small huts and hovels; a little old stone church on one side, and a hostel near it, shadowed by a single tall elm, beneath which was the very centre of the village wake. Not only was it Midlent,but the day was i\ of a local saint, in whose honour Lenten requirements wen taxed. Monks and priests were there in plenty, and ><» were jugglers and maskers, Robin Hood and Marion, glee-men and harpers, merchants and hucksters, master- ful beggars and sorners, shepherds in gray mantis with collies at their feet, shrewd old carlines with their winter's spinning of yarn, lean wolf-like borderers peaceable for the nonce, merry lasses with tow-like locks floating from their snoods, all seen by the in- ly glittering sun of a clear March day, dry and not old for these hardy northern folk. Nigel, the squire, sighed in despondency ; and Malcolm, who hated crowds, and knew himself a mark for th< rude observations of a free-spoken populace, shrank up t<> him, when Sir James, nodding in time t<> the tones of a bagpipe that was playing at the hostel dour, flung his bridle to Brewster the groom, laughed at his glum and contemptuous looks, merrily hailed the gudewife with her brown face and big silver ear-rings, seated 34 THE CAGED LION himself on the bench at the long wooden table under the great garland of fir-boughs, willow catkins, and prim- roses, hung over the boughs of the tree, crossed himself, murmured his Benedict", s benedicat, drew his dagger, carved a slice of the haunch of ox on the table, offered it to the reluctant Malcolm, then helping himself, entered into conversation with the lean friar on one side of him. and the stalwart man-at-arms opposite, ap- parently as indifferent as the rest of the company to the fact that the uncovered boards of the table were the only trenchers, and the salt and mustard were taken 1 >y the point of each man's dagger from common receptacles dispersed along the board. Probably the only person really disgusted or amazed was the English Brewster, who, though too cautious to express a word of his feel- ings, preserved the most complete silence, and could scarcely persuade himself to taste the rude fare. Xor when the meal was over was Sir James disposed to heed the wistful looks of his attendants, but wandered off to watch the contest in archery at the butts, where arrow after arrow flew wide of the clout, for the strength of Scotland did not lie in the long-bow, and Albany's edict that shooting should be practised on Sundays and holidays had not produced as yet any great dexterity. Sir James at first laughed merrily at the extraordinary sere wings of visage and contortions of attitude, and the useless demonstration of effort with which the clowns aimed their shafts and drew their bow, some- times to find the arrow on the grass at their feet, some- times to see it producing consternation among the by- standers ; but when he saw Brewster standing silently apart, viewing their efforts with a scorn visible enough in the dead stolidity of his countenance, he murmured a bitter interjection, and turned away with folded arms and frowning brow. Xigel again urged their departure, but at that moment the sweet notes of a long narrative ballad began to sound to the accompaniment of a harp, and he stood motionless while the wild mournful ditty told of the cruelty of the Lady of Fren draught, and how ' Morning sun ne'er shone upon Lord John and Rothiemay. ' HAL 35 Large tears were dropping From under the hand with which he veiled his emotion ; and when Nigel touched his cloak to remind him that the horses were ready, he pressed the old man's hand, Baying, with a sigh, ' 1 heard that last at my father's knee ! It rang in my ears for many a year! Hnv, hull* and dropping a gold coin into the wooden bowl carried round by the blind minstrel's attendant, he was turning away, when the glee-man, detecting perhaps the ring of tin* coin, broke forth in stirring tones — '• It fell about the Lammas-tide, When mnonnen win their hay, The doughty Earl of Donglas i Into England to catch a prey." Again he stood transfixed, beating time with his hand. his eyes beaming, his lips moving as he followed the spirit-stirring ballad: and then, as Douglas falls, and is laid beneath the bracken bush, unseen by his men, and Montgomery forces Hotspur to yield, not to him, but ' to the bracken bush That grows upon the lily lea,' ho sobbed without disguise : and no sooner was the ballad ended than he Bprang forward to the harper, cry- Lng, • Again, again ; another gold crown to hoar it again !' • Sir. 1 entreated Nigel, 'remember how much hangs «.n your Bpeed. 1 •The ballad I must have,* exclaimed Sir James, try- ing to Bhake him oil'. 'It moves the heart more than aught I ever heard ! How runs it P 1 • I know the ballad," said Malcolm, half in impatience, half in contempt *I could sing every word of it. Ev< ry glee-man has it.' •Nay hear you, Sir — the lad can Bing it,' reiterated Nigel ; and Sir James, throwing tin- promised guerdon to the minstrel, lot himself be led away to tin- front of the inn : but there Avas a piper, playing t<> a group of dancers, and as if his feet could not resist the fascination, Sir Janes held out his hand to the first comely lass he saw disengaged, and in spite of the steel-guarded boots that he wore, answered foot for foot, Bpring for s] rim;, to the d<-ft manoeuvres of her sho< k, with equal 36 THE CAGED LION agility and greater grace. Nigel frowned more than ever at this exhibition, and when the knight had led his panting partner to a seat, and called for a tankard of ale for her refreshment, he remonstrated more seriously still. 'Sir, the gates of Berwick will be shut.' 'The days lengthen, man/ •And who knows if some of yon land-loupers be not of Walter Stewart's meine ? Granted that they ken not yourself, that lad is only too ken-speckle. Moreover, you've made free enough with your siller to set the haill crew of moss-troopers on our track.' 'Twenty mile to Berwick-gate,' said Sir James, care- lessly; 'nor need you ever look behind you at jades like theirs. Nay, friend, 1 come, since you grudge me for once the sight of a little wholesome glee among my own people. My holiday is dropping from me like sands in an hour-glass ! ' He mounted, however, and put his horse t<» as round a pace as could be maintained by the whole party with- out distress ; nor did he again break silence for many miles. At the gates of Berwick, then in English hands, he gave a pass-word, and was admitted. He bade Nigel conduct Lord Malcolm to an inn, explaining that it was his duty to present himself to the governor ; and, being detained to sup with him, was seen no more till they started the next morning. The governor rode out with them some ten miles, with a strong guard of spearmen ; and after parting with him they pushed on to the south. After the first day's journey, Malcolm was amazed to see Sir James mount without any of his defensive armour, which was piled on the spare horse ; his head was covered by a chaperon, or flat cap with a short curtain to it, and his sword was the only weapon he retained. Nigel was also nearly unarmed, and Sir James advised Malcolm himself to lay aside the light hawberk he wore ; then, at his amazed look, said. '• Poor lad ! he never saw the day when he could ride abroad scathless. When will the breadth of Scotland be as safe as these English hills? 1 He was very kind to his young companion, treating HAL 37 him in all things like a guest, pointing out whal was worthy of note, and explaining what was new and sur- prising. Malcolm would have asked much concerning the King, to w1k.hi he was bound, but these questions were the only ones Sir .James pul aside, Baying that his kinsman would one day learn that it ill beseemed those who were about a king's person to speak of him freely. One night was spent at Durham, the parent of Cold- ingham, and here Malcolm felt at home, far more grand as was that mighty cathedral institution. There it stood, with the Weir encircling it, on its own fair though mighty hill, with all the glory of its Norman minster and lovely Lady-chapel ; yel it seemed to the hoy more like a glorified Coldingham than like a strange region. 1 The peace of God rests on the place,' he said, when Sir James asked his thoughts as ho looked back at the grand mass of buildings. "These are the only spots where the holy and tender can grow, like the Palestine lilies sheltered from the blast in the Abbot's garden at Coldingham.' • Nay, huh it were an ill world did lilies only grow in abbots' gardens. 1 • It is an ill world.' said Malcolm. 1 Let us hear what you say in a month's time,' replied the knight, lightly : then dreaming over the words. A few days more, and they were riding among the lovely rock and woodland scenery of Yorkshire, when suddenly there leaped from behind a bush three or four young men, with a loud Bhoul of - Stand. 1 'Reivers ! ' thought Malcolm, sick with dismay, as the foremost grasped Sir James's bridle ; but the latter merelv laughed, saying, -How now, Hal ! be these your old trick- : ' 'Ay, when such prizes are errant,' said the assailant ; and Sir James, springing from his horse, embraced him and his companion with a cordiality thai made Malcolm not a little uneasy. Could he have been kidnapped by a false Englishman into a den of robbers for the sake of his ransom ? 'You are strict t«> your time, 1 Baid the chief robber. • I knew you would be. So, when Ned Marmion came to Beverley, and would have us to see his hunting at 38 THE CAGED LION Tanfield, we came on thinking to meet you. Marmion here lias a nooning Bpread in the forest ; ere we go on to Thirsk, where 1 have a matter to settle between two wrong-headed churls. How has it been with you, Jamie ? yon have added to your meine.' * Ah, Hal ! never in all your cut-purse days did you fall on such an emprise as I have achieved.' ' Let us hear,' said Hal, linking his arm in Sir James's, who turned for a moment to say. ' Take care of the lad. J<»hn : he is a young kinsman of mine.' ' Kinsman ! ' thought Malcolm ; ' do all wandering Stewarts claim kin to the blood royal ? ' but then, as he looked at Sir James's stately head, he felt that no assumption could be unbecoming in one of such a pre- sence, and so kind to himself ; and, ashamed of the moment's petulance, dismounted, and. as John said. • This is the way to our noon meat," he let himself be conducted through the trees to a glade, sheltered from the wind, where a Lenten though not unsavoury meal of bread, dried fish, and egg> was laid out on the grass, in a bright warm sunshine ; and Hal. declaring himself to have a hunter's appetite, and that he knew Jamie had 1 teen starved in Scotland, and was as lean as a grey- hound, seated himself on the grass, and to Malcolm's extreme surprise, not to say disgust, was served by Lord Marmion on the knee and with doffed cap. While the meal was being eaten, Malcolm studied the strangers. Lord Marmion was a good-humoured, hearty- 1< >oking young Yorkshireman. but the other two attracted his attention far more. They were evidently brothers, one perhaps just above, the other just below, thirty: both of the most perfect mould of symmetry, activity, and strength, though perhaps more inclining to agility than robustness. Both were fair-eomplexioned. and wore no beard ; but John was the paler, graver, and more sedate, and his aquiline profile had an older look than that borne by Hal's perfectly regular features. It would have been hard to define what instantly showed the s.-niority of his brother, for the clearness of his colouring — bright red and white like a lady's — his short, well-moulded chin, and the fresh earnestness and anima- tion of his countenance, gave an air of perpetual youth, in HAL of the Bear of an arrow on the cheek which told of at least one battle ; bnt there were those manifestations of l»»-iiiL r used to be the first which are the evident tokens of elder sonship, an«l the lordly manner more and more impressed Malcolm. He was glad that his own Sir James was equal in dignity, as well as Buperior in height, and he thought the terrible red lightning of those auburn a would I*.- impossible to the sparkling azure eyes of the Englishman, steadfast, keen, and brilliant unspeak- ably though they were ; but so Boon as Sir James seemed to have made his explanation, the look was most win- ningly turned on him, a hand held out, and he was thus ted : 'Welcome, my young Prince Malcolm: I am happy that your cousin thinks so well of our cheer, that he has brought you to partake it.' 4 His keeper, Somerset,' thought Malcolm, as he bowed stiffly : 'he seems to treat me coolly enough. I come to serve my King, 1 he said, but he was scarcely heard ; for as Hal unbuckled his sword before sitting down on the LTass. he thrust into his bosom a small black volume, with which beseemed to have been beguiling the time ; and John exclaimed — • There goes Godfrey de Bulloin. I tell you, Jamie, "tis well you are come ! Now have I some one i<> Bpeak with. Ever since Harry borrowed my Lady of West- moreland's book of the Holy War, he has not had a word to ilincr at me.' • Ah ! ' said Sir James, 'I saw a book, indeed, of the Holy Land ! It would tempt him too much to hear how near the Border it dwells ! What was it named, Malcolm ? * • The" Itinerarium of Adamnanus," ' replied Malcolm, blushing at the sudden appeal. 'Ha! I've heard of it,' cried the English knight * I sent to half the convent libraries to beg the loan when Gilbert de Lannoy set forth for the survey of Palestine. Does the Monk of Iona tell what commodity of landing there may be on the c-oai Scots, that terrified him all the more, because he knew that Sir James and Nigel would both hold it unworthy of him to have spoken freely of his own reign with an Englishman. Would James be another Walter? and.it' s<>. would Sir James Stewart protect him ? He had acquired much affection for, and strong reliance on, the knight : Inn there was something unexplained, and his heart sank. The smooth line of Watling Street at length opened into the old town of Thirsk, and here bells were ringing, flags flying from the Bteeple, music Bounded, a mayor and his corporation in their robes rode Blowly forth, crowds lined the road-side, caps were flung up. and a tremendous shout arose, 'God save Kim: Han;. I Malcoli _ 1 about more utterly discomfited. There was * Harry,' upright on his horse, listening with _ icious Bmile, while the mayor rehearsed a speech about welcome and victories, and the hopeful queen, and. what was still more to the purpose, tendered a huge pair of gauntlets, each filled to the brim, on.- with gold, :md the other with silver pie© 3. 'Eh ! Thanks. Master Mayor, but th»-s»- gloves must 44 THE CAGED LION be cleared, ere there is room for me to use them in battle ! ' And handing the gold glove to his brother, he scat- tered the contents of the silver one far and wide among the populace, who shouted their blessings louder than ever, and thus he reached the market-place. There all was set forth as for the lists, a horseman in armour on either side. ' Heigh now, Sirs,' said Harry, ' have we not wars enough toward without these mummings of vanity ? ' ' This is no show, my Lord King,' returned the mayor, abashed. ' This is deadly earnest. These are two honourable gentlemen of Yorkshire, who are come hither to fight out their quarrel before your Grace.' * Two honourable f oolsheads ! ' muttered Harry ; then, raising his voice, ' Come hither, gentlemen, let us hear your quarrel.' The two gentlemen were big Yorkshiremen, heavy- browed, and their native shrewdness packed far away behind a bumpkin stolidity and surliness that barely allowed them to show respect to the King. ' So please you, Sir,' growled the first in his throat, ' here stands Christopher Kitson of Barrowbridge, ready to avouch himself a true man, and prove in yonder fellow's teeth that it was not a broken-kneed beast that I sent up for a heriard to my Lord Archbishop when my father died ; but that he of Easingwold is a black slanderer and backbiter.' ' And here,' shouted the other, ' stands honest William Trenton of Easingwold, ready to thrust his lies down his throat, and prove on his body that the heriard he sent to my Lord Archbishop was a sorry jade.' ' That were best proved by the beast's body,' interposed the King. 'And,' proceeded the doughty Kitson, as though re- peating a lesson, 'having vainly pleaded the matter these nine years, we are come to demand licence t<» fight it out, with lance, sword, and dagger, in your royal presence, to set the matter at rest for ever.' ' Breaking a man's head to prove the soundness of a horse !' ejaculated Harry. k Your licence is given. Sir King ? * demanded Kitson. HAL r. •My licence is given for a combat a VoutranceJ said Henry ; but, as they were about to flounder back on their 1 > i «_r farm-horses, he raised his voice to a thunder- ing Bound : • Solely on this condition, that he who slays his neighbour, be he Trenton or Kitson, shall hang for the murder ere I leave Thirsk. 1 There was a recoil, and the mayor himself ventured to observe something about the judgment of God, and 1 never bo seen. 1 'And I say,' thundered Henry, and his blue eyes Beemed to flame with vehement indignation, ' 1 say that the ordeal of battle is Bhamefully abused, and that it is a taking of <;<>d's name — ay, and man's life — in vain. to appeal thereto on every coxcomb's quarrel, risking the life that was given him to serve God's ends, not his own sullen fancy. I will have an end of such things ! — And you, gentlemen, since the heriard is dead, or too old to settle the question, shake hands, and if you must let blood, come to France with me next month, and flesh your knives on French and Scots. 1 •So please you, Sir,' grumbled Kitson. -there's Mis- tress Agnes of Mineshull ; she's been in doubt between the two of us these five years, and she'd promised to wed whichever of us got the better.' • I'll settle her mind for her ! Whichever I find fore- most among the French, I'll send home to hera knight, and with better sense to boot than to squabble for nine years as to an old horse.' He then dismounted, and was conducted into the town- hall, where a banquet was prepared, taking by the hand Sir James Stewart, and followed by his brother John, and by Malcolm, who felt as though his brain were turn- ing, partly with amazement, partly with confusion at his own dulness, as he perceived that not only was the free-spoken Hal, Henry of Monmouth, King of England, bui that his wandering benefactor, the captive knight, whose claim of kindred he had almost spurned, was his native sovereign, Jam-s the First of Scotland. 46 THE CAGED LION CHAPTER IV THE TIDINGS OF BEAUGE Malcolm understood it at last. In the great chamber where he was bidden to wait with ' Nigel' till ' Sir James' came from a private conference with ' Harry,' he had all explained to him, but with a curtness and brevity that must not be imitated in the present narrative. The squire Nigel was in fact Sir Nigel Baird, Baron of Bairdsbrae, the gentleman to whom poor King Robert II. had committed the charge of his young son James, when at fourteen he had been sent to France, nominally for education, but in reality to secure him from the fate of his brother Rothsay. Captured by English vessels on the way, the heir of Scotland had been too valuable a prize to be resigned by the politic Henry IV., who had lodged him at Windsor Castle, together with Edmund Mortimer, earl of March, and placed both under the nominal charge of the Prince of Wales, a youth of a few years older. Un- just as was the detention, it had been far from severe ; the boys had as much liberty as their age and recreation required, and received the choicest training both in the arts of war and peace. They were bred up in close intercourse with the King's own four sons, and were united with them by the warmest sympathy. In fact, since usurpation had filled Henry of Lancaster's mind with distrust and jealousy, his eldest son had been in no such enviable position as to be beyond the capacity of fellow-feeling for the royal prisoner. Of a peculiarly frank, open, and affectionate nature, young Henry had so warmly loved the gentle and fascin- ating Richard II., that his trust in the father, of whom he had seen little in his boyhood, had received a severe shock through Richard's fate. Under the influence of a new, suspicious, and avaricious wife, the King kept his son as much at a distance as possible, chiefly on the Welsh marches, learning the art of war under Hotspur and Oldcastle ; and when the father and son were brought together again, the bold, free bearing and extraordinary ability of the Prince filled the suspicious mind of the THE TIDINGS OF B£AUG£ l " KiiiLT with alarm and jealousy. To keep him down. give him no money, and let him gain no influence, was the narrow policy of tin- King: and Henry, chafing, dreaming, feeling the injustice, and pining for occupa- tion, shared his complaints with James, and in many a day-dream restored him freely to his throne, and together redressed the wrongs of the world. Meantime, James studied deep in preparation, and recreated himself with try, inspired by the charms of Joan Beaufort, the lovely daughter of the King's legitimatized brother, the Karl of Somerset ; while Henry persisted in a boy's . asionate love to King Richard's maiden widow. Isabel of France. Entirely unrequited as his affection was, it had a beneficial effect. Next after his deep sense of religion, it kept his life pure and chivalrous. He was for ever faithful to his future wife, even when Isabel had been returned to France, and his romantic passion had iixed itself on her younger sister Catherine, whom he endowed in imagination with all he had seen or Bupposed in her. Credited with every excess by the tongue of his step- mother, too active-minded not to indulge in freakish sports and experiments in life very astounding to commonplace minds, sometimes when in dire distress even helping himself to his unpaid allowance from his father's mails, and always with buoyant high spirits and unfailing drollery that scandalized the grave seniors of the Court, there is full proof that Prince Hal kept free from the gross vices which a later age has fancied inseparably connected with his frolics ; and though always in disgrace, the vexation of the Court, and a by-word i''»r mirth, he was true to the grand ideal he was waiting to accomplish, and never dimmed the purity and loftiness of his aim. That little band of princely youths, who sported, Btudied, laughed, san^. and schemed in the glades of Windsor, were strangely brought together — the captive exiled Bang, the dis- inherited heir of the realm, and the sons of the monarch who held the one in durance and occupied the throne of the other; and yet their affection had all the frank delight of youthful friendship. The younger lads were in more favour with their father than was the elder. 48 THE CAGED LION Thomas was sometimes preferred to him in a mortify- ing manner, John's grave, quiet nature prevented him from ever incurring displeasure, and Humfrey was the spoilt pet of the family : but nothing could lessen Harry's large-minded love of his brothers ; and he was the idol and hero of the whole young party, who implicitly believed in his mighty destinies as a renovator of the world, the deliverer of Jerusalem, and restore 1 ' of the unity and purity of the Church. k Harry the Fifth was crowned,' and with the full intention of carrying out his great dream. But his promise of releasing James became matter of question. The House of Albany, who held the chief power in Scotland, had bound Henry IV. over not to free their master ; and it was plain that to send him home before his welcome was ensured would be but tossing him on then spears. In vain James pleaded that he was no boy, and was able to protect himself; and vowed that when the faithful should rally round his standard, he would be more than a match for his enemies ; or that if not, he would rather die free than live in bondage. Henry would not listen, and insisted upon retaining him until he should himself be at leisure to bring him home with a high hand, utterly disregarding his as- surance that this would only be rendering him in the eyes of his subjects another despised and hated Balliol. Deeming himself a divinely-appointed redresser of wrongs, Henry was already beginning on his great work of purifying Europe in preparation for his mighty Crusade : and having won that splendid victory which laid distracted France at his feet, he only waited to complete the conquest as thoroughly and rapidly as might be ; and, lest his grand purpose should be ob- structed, this great practical visionary, though full of kindness and generosity, kept in thraldom a whole troop of royal and noble captives. He had, however, been so far moved by James's en- treaties, as to consent that when he himself offered his devotions at the shrine of St. John of Beverley, the native saint who shared with the two cordwainers his gratitude for the glories of 'Crispin Crispian's day,' his prisoner should, unknown to any save the few who THE TIDINGS OF BEAUGE 4'J Bhared the pilgrimage, push on to reconnoitre his own country, and jndge for himself, having first sworn to reveal himself to no one, and to avoid all who could recognize him. James had visited Glenuskie with a Bpecial view to profiting by the wisdom of Sir David Drnmmond, and had then been at Stirling, Edinburgh, and Perth. On Ms way back, foiling in with Malcolm in his distress, he had conceived the project of fairing him to England ; and finding himself already more than half recognized by Sir David, had obtained his most grateful and joyous consent. In truth, James's heart had yearned to his young cousin. His own situation had become much more lonely of late; for Henry was no Longer the comrade he had once been, since he had become a keeper instead of a fellow-sufferer. It was true that he did his best to forget this by lavishing indulgences on his captive, and insisting on being ted on terms of brotherly familiarity; but though his transcendent qualities commanded love, the inti- macy could be but a semblance of the once equal friend- ship. Moreover, that conspiracy which cost the life of the Earl of Cambridge had taught James that cautious rve was needed in dealing with even his old friends the princes, so easily might he be accused of plotting either with Henry's immediate heir or with the Mor- timers; and, in this guarded life, he had hailed with delight the opportunity of taking to himself the young orphan cousin of kindred blood, of congenial tastes, and home-like speech, whom he might treat at oner as a younger brother and friend, and mould by ami by into a trusty counsellor and assistant. That peculiar wist- ful ness and gentleness of Malcolm's look and manner, together with the refinement and intellect apparent to all who conversed with him without alarming him, had won the King's heart, ami made him long to keep the boy with him. As to Malcolm's longing for the cloister, he deemed it the result of the weakly health and refined nature which shrank from the barbarism of the outer world, and he thought it would pass away under Bhelter from the rude taunts of tin- fierce cousins, at a distance from the well-meaning exhortations ot' the monks, and at the spectacle of bravo and active men who could also 50 THE CAGED LION be pious, conscientious, and cultivated. In the renewed sojourn at Windsor which James apprehended, the train- ing of such a youth as Malcolm of Glenuskie would be no small solace. By the time Malcolm had learnt as much of all this as Sir Nigel Baird knew, or chose to communicate, the King entered the room. He flung himself on his knees, exclaiming, with warm gratitude, as he kissed the King's hand, ' My liege, I little kenned — ' ' I meant thee to ken little,' said James, smiling. 1 Well, laddie, wilt thou share the prisoner's cell ? — Ay, Bairdsbrae, you were a true prophet. Harry will do all himself, and will not hear of losing me to deal with my own people at my own gate. Xo, no, he'll have me back with Southron bows and bills, so soon as this small trifle of France lies quiet in his grasp ! I had nearly flung back my parole in his face, and told him that no English sword should set me on the Bruce 's throne ; but there is something in Harry of Monmouth that one must love, and there are moments when to see and hear him one would as soon doubt the commission of an angel with a flaming sword.' ' A black angel ! ' growled Sir Nigel. ' Scoff and chafe, Baird, but look at his work. Look at Normandy, freed from misrule and exaction, in peace and order. Look at this land. Was ever king so loved ? Or how durst he act as he did this day ? ' ' Nay, an it were so at home,' said Baird, ' I had as lief stay here as where a man is not free to fight out his own feud. Even this sackless callant thought it shame to see two honest men baulked.' fc Poor Scotland ! ' sighed James. ' Woe is the land where such thoughts come readiest to gray-haired men and innocent boys. I tell you, cousin, this precious right is the very cause that our poor country is so lawless and bloody, that yon poor silly sparrow would fain be caged for fear of the kites and carrion-crows.' ' Alack, my Lord, let me but have my way. I cannot light ! Let Patrick Drummond have my sister and my lands, and your service will be far better done,' said Malcolm. 'I know all that,' said the King, kindly. 'There is THE TIDINGS OF BEAUGE 51 time enough for settling thai question ; and meantime you will not be spoilt i'<»r monk or priest by cheering me awhile in my captivity. 1 need you, laddie,' he added, laying his hand on the boy's shoulder, with all the instinctive fascination of a Si. -wan. ■ I lack a com- rade of my own blood, for I am all alone ! ' • < >h, Sir!' and Malcolm, looking into his face, saw it full of tenderness. - Books and masters you shall have/ continued James, 'such as fur church or state, cathedral, cloister, or camp, shall render yon the meeter prince ; and 1 pass yon my ]<>yal word, that if at full age the cowl be your choice, 1 will not gainsay you. Meantime, abide with me, and be the young brother I have yearned for.' The King threw his arms round Malcolm, who felt, ami unconsciously manifested, a strange bliss in thai embrace, even while fixed in his determination that nothing should make him swerve from his chosen path, nor render him false to his promise to Patrick and Li lias. It was a strange change, from being despised and down- trodden by fierce cousins, or only fondled, pitied, and treated with consideration by his own nearest and dearest friends, to be the chosen companion of a king, and such a king. Xor could it be a wile of Satan, thought Malcolm, since James still promised him liberty of choice. He would ask counsel of a priest next time he went to con- fession ; and in the meantime, in the full tide of grati- tude, admiration, and affection, he gave himself up to the enjoyment of his new situation, and of the King's kindness and solicitude. This was indeed absolutely that of an elder brother ; for, observing that Malcolm's dress and equipments, the work of Glenuskie looms, sup- plemented by a few Edinburgh purchases, was uncouth enough to attract some scornful glances from the crowd who came out to welcome the royal entrance into York the next day, he instantly sent Brewster in search of the best tailor and lorimer in the city, and provided bo handsomely for the appearance of young Glenuskie, his horse, and his attendants, that the whole Hour of their quarters was strewn with doublets, boots, chaperons, and gloves, saddles, bridles, and spurs, when the Duke of Bedford loitered into the room, and began to banter 52 THE CAGED LION James for thus (as he supposed) pranking himself out to meet the lady of his love ; and then bemoaned the fripperies that had become the rage in their once bachelor court, vowing, between sport and earnest, that Hal was so enamoured of his fair bride, that anon the conquest of France would be left to himself and his brother, Tom of Clarence ; while James retorted by thrusts at Bedford's own rusticity of garb, and by endeavouring to force on him a pair of shoes with points like ram's horns, as a special passport to the favour of Dame Jac — a lady who seemed to be the object of Duke John's great distaste. Suddenly a voice was heard in the gallery of the great old mansion where they were lodged. ' John ! John ! Here ! — W nere is the Duke, I say ? ' It was thick and husky, as with some terrible emotion ; and the King and Duke had already started in dismay before the door was thrown open, and King Henry stood among them, his face of a burning red. ' See here, John ! ' he said, holding out a letter ; and then, with an accent of wrathful anguish, and a terrible frown, he turned on James, exclaiming, ' I would send you to the Tower, Sir, did I think you had a hand in this ! ' Malcolm trembled, and sidled nearer his prince ; while James, with an equally fierce look, replied, ' Hold, Sir ! Send me where you will, but dare not dishonour my name ! ' Then changing, as he saw the exceeding grief on Henry's brow, and heard John's smothered cry of dismay, ' For Heaven's sake, Harry, what is it ? ' ' This ! ' said Henry, less loudly, less hotly, but still with an agony of indignation : * Thomas is dead — and by the hand of two of your traitor Scots ! ' ' Murdered ! ' cried James, aghast. ' Murdered by all honest laws of war, but on the battle- field,' said Henry. ' Your cousin of Buchan and old Douglas fell on my brave fellows at Beauge, when they were spent with travel to stop the robberies in Anjou. They closed in with their pikes on my brave fellows, took Somerset prisoner, and for Thomas, while he was dealing with a knight named Swinton in front, the villain Buchan comes behind and cleaves his head in twain ; and that is what you Scots call fighting ! ' THE TIDINGS OF BE IUGE 'It was worthy of a Bon of Albany! 1 said Jai 'Would that vengeance were in my power :' •Ay. you Loved him! 1 Baid Henry, grasping Jan hand, his passion softened into a burst of tears, as he wrung his prisoner's band. -Nay. who did not love him, my brave, free-hearted brother? And that I — I should have dallied here and left him to bear the brunt, and be cut off by yon felon S< ts! 1 And he hid hia . struggling with an agony of heart-rending grief, which seemed to Bway his whole tall, powerful frame as he leant against the high back of a chair ; while John, • _ ther with James, was imploring him not to ao a himself, for his presence had been needful at home; and, to Turn the tenor of his thought, James inquire* I whether there were any further disaster. • Not as yet,' said Henry ; 'there is not a man left in that heaven-abandoned crew who knows how i<» profit by what they have got ! but 1 must back again ere the devil stir them up a man of wit ! — And you, Sir. can you take order with these heady Scots ':' - Prom Windsor ? no,' said James ; 'but set me in the saddle, let me learn war under such a captain as yourself, and maybe they will not take the field against me; or if they do, the slayer of Clarence shall rue it.' • Be it bo, 1 said Henry, wringing his hand. * You shall with me to France, Jamie, and see war. The S te should flock to the Lion rampant, and without them the French are no better than deer, under the fo< 1 and murderer they call Dauphin. Yet, alas ! will any buc- ae _ • me back my brother— my brother, the brave and true V he added, weeping again with the abandoti of an open nature and simple age. ' It was for my sins. my forgetfulness of my great work, that this has come on me. — Ho, Marmion ! carry these tidings from me to the Dean; pray him that the knell be tolled at the Minster, and a requiem Bung for my brother and all who fell with him. We will be there ourselves, and the mayor must hold afi sed from his banquet ; tl a men are too loyal not to grieve for their King. 1 And, with his arm round the nock of his brother John, Henry left the i m; and before another word could a lid, Sir Nigel was there, having only retired on the 54 THE CAGED LION King's entrance. The news was of course all over the hoiise, and with an old attendant's freedom he exclaimed, • S. -. Sir. the English have found tough cummers at last ! ' • Not too honourably, 1 said James, sadly. 1 Hout, would not the puir loons be glad enow of any gate of coming by a clout at the man's brother that keeps you captive ! ' ' They have taken away one of those I loved best ! ' said James. 1 I'm no speaking ill of the lad Clarence himself,' said Nigel ; * he was a braw youth, leal and bold, and he has died in his helm and spurs, as a good knight should. I'd wish none of these princes a waur ending. More- over, could Swinton have had the wit to keep him living, he'd have been a bonnie barter for you. my Lord ; but ony way the fight was a gallant one, and the very squire that brought the tidings cannot deny that our Scots fought like lions." • Would Douglas but so fight in any good quarrel ! ' sighed the King. ' But what are you longing to ask, Malcolm ? Is it for your kinsman Patrick ? I fear me that there is little chance of your hearing by name of him.' •I wot not, 1 said Sir Nigel; 'I did but ask for that hare-brained young cousin of mine, Davie Baird, that must needs be off on this journey to France ; and the squire tells me he was no herald, to be answerable for the rogues that fought on the other side.' ' We shall soon see for ourselves/ said James ; * I am to make this campaign.' 'You! you, my liege! Against your own ally, and under the standard of England ! Woe's me, how could ye be so lost ! ' James argued on his own conviction that the true France was with poor Charles YE, and that it was doing the country no service to prolong the resistance of the Armagnacs and the Dauphin, who then appeared mere ] »artisans instead of patriots. As to fighting under the English banner, no subjection was involved in an adven- turer king so doing : had not the King of Bohemia thus fought at Crecy ? and was not the King of Sicily with the French army ? Moreover, James himself felt the rill. I LDINGS l '1 BEA1 GE ssity of gaining some experience in the art of war. Theoretically he had studied it with all his might, from r, Quintus Cnrtins, and that favourite modern authority, the learned ecclesiastic, Jean Pave, who war, the Vauban of the fifteenth century; and he had like- wise obtained greedily all the information he could Erom Henry himself and his warriors; but all this had convinced him that if war was to 1"' more than a mere raid, conducted by mere spirit and instinct, some actual apprenticeship was necessary. Even for such a tough old seasoned warriors. And. prudence apart, James, at live-and-tweiity. absolutely glowed with shame at the thought that every one of his companions had borne arms for at least ten years] - , while his arrows had no mark hut the target, his lance.- had all been broken in the tilt-yard. It was this argu- ment that above all served to pacify old Bairdsbrae; though he confessed himself very uneasy as to the prejudice it would create in Scotland, and so evidently Loathed the expedition, that James urged on him to return to Scotland, instead of continuing his attendance. There was no fear but that his ransom would be ace and he had been absent twelve years from his home. 'No, no, my Lord: I sware to your father that I'd r quit you till I brought you safe home again, and. God willing, I'll keep my oath. But what's this puir callant to do, that you were set upon rearing upon your books at Windsor !'' • lb- shall choose,' said James. ' Either he shall study at the learned university at Oxford or at Paris, or he shall ride with me, and see how cities and battles are won. Speak nol rosin; it takes many months to shake out the royal banner, and you shall look about you ere deciding. Now give me yonder black cloak: they arc assembling for the requiem. 1 Malcolm, as he followed his kin::, was not a little amazed to see that Henry, the magnificent victor, was wrapped in a plain black b - garment, his Bhort dark hair uncovered, his feet bar.-; and that on arriving at 56 THE CAGED LION the Minster lie threw himself on his knees, almost on his face, before the choir steps, there remaining while the De profundis and the like solemn and mournful strains floated through the dark vaultings above him, perhaps soothing while giving expression to the agony of his affliction, and self -accusation, not for the devasta- tion of the turbulent country of an insane sovereign. but for his having relaxed in the mighty work of reno- vation that he had imposed on himself. Even when the service was ended, the King would not leave the Minster. He lifted himself up to bid Bedford and his companions return ; but for himself, he intended to remain and confess, in preparation for being ' houselled ' at the Mass for the dead early the next morning, before hastening on the southern journey. Was this, thought the bewildered Malcolm as he fell asleep, the godless atmosphere he had been used to think all that was not Glenuskie or Coldingham — England above all ? Indeed, in the frosty twilight of the spring morning, though Henry was now clad in his usual garb, sleep- lessness, sorrow, and fasting made him as wan and haggard as any ascetic monk ; his eyes were sunken, and his closed lips bore a stern fixed expression, which scarcely softened even when the sacrificial rite struck the notes of praise ; and though a light came into his eye, it was rather the devotion of one who had offered him- self, than the gleam of hopeful exultation. The horses stood saddled at the west door, for Henry was feverishly eager to reach Pontefract, where he had left his queen, and wished to avoid the delay of breaking his fast at York, but only to snatch a meal at- some country hostel on his way. Round the horses, however, a crowd of the citizens were collected to gaze ; and two or three women with children in their arms made piteous entreaties for the King's healing touch for their little ones. The kind Henry waited, ungloved his hand, asked his treasurer for the gold pieces that were a much-esteemed part of the cure, and signed to his attendant chaplain to say the Collect appointed for the rite. Fervent blessings were meantime murmured through THE TIDINGS OF BEA1 GE 57 the crowd, which broke out into loud shouts of 'God King Harry ! ' as he at length leapt into the Baddle ; but at that moment, a feeble, withered old man, leaning on ff, and wearing a bedesman's gown, peered up, and muttered to a comrade — 'Fair-faced, quotha — fair, maybe, but not long for this world! One is gone already, and the rest will not l>e long after: the holy man's words Avill have their way — the death mark is on him. 1 The words caught James's ear, and he angrily turned round: 'Foul-mouthed raven, peace with thy traitor cr<>ak ! " but Bedford caught his arm, crying — ■ Hush : *iis a mere bedesman ; * and bending forward ►ura handful of silver into the beggar's cap, he said. ' l'r fer, pray — pray for the dead and living, both. 1 1 So,' said James, as both mounted, ' then for a boding traitor. 1 • I knew his nice, 1 said Bedford, with a shudder; 'he belonged to Archbishop Scroj •A traitor, too, 1 said James. * Nay, there was too much cause for his words. Never shall I forget the- day when Scrope was put to death ; on this very moor on which we are entering. Then s I my father on his horse, with us four boys around him, when the old man passed in front of us. and looked at him with a face pitiful and terrible. " Harry of Boling- broke," he said, ''because thou hast done these thi _-. therefore shall thy foes be of thine own household ; the sword shall never depart therefrom, but all the men - of thy house shall die in the flower of their age, and in the fourth generation shall their name be clean cut off.' 1 The commons will have it that at that moment my father was struck with leprosy ; and struck to the heart assuredly he was. nor was he ever the same man again. 1 always believed that those words made him harder apon every prank of poor Hal's, till any e a Hal would have become his foe ! And see now. the old -man may be in the right ; j « or pretty Blanche lias long been in her grave, Thomas is with her now. and Jamie, 1 — he lowered hi- 'when men Bay that Harry hath more of Alexander in him than t: 58 THE CAGED LION is in other men, it strikes to my heart to think of the ring lying on the empty throne.' 'Now,' said James, 'what strikes me is, what doleful bodings can come into a brave man's head on a chill morning before he has broken his fast. A tankard of hot ale will chase away omens, whether of bishop or bedesman.' k It may chase them from the mind, but will not make away with them,' said John. ' But I might have known better than to speak to you of such things — you who are well-nigh a Lollard in disbelief of all beyond nature/ • Xo Lollard am I,' said James. 'What Holy Church tells me, I believe devoutly ; but not in that which she bids me loathe as either craft of devils or of men.' ' Ay, of which ? There lies the question,' said John. k Of men,' said the Scottish king ; ' of men who have wit enough to lay hold of the weaker side even of a sober youth such as Lord John of Lancaster ! Your proneness to believe in sayings and prophecies, in sor- ceries and magic, is the weakest point of all of you.' ' And it is the weakest point in you, James, that you will not credit upon proof, such proof as was the fulfil- ment of the prophecy of the place of my father's death." 'One such saying as that, fulfilled to the ear, though not in truth, is made the plea for all this heart-sinking — ay, and what is worse, for the durance of your father's widow as a witch, and of her brave young son. because forsooth his name is Arthur of Richemont, and some old "Welsh rhymester hath whispered to Harry that Richmond shall come out of Brittany, and be king of England.' 'Arthur is no worse <>H" than any other captive of Agincourt,' said Bedford: 'and I tell you, James, the day may come when you will rue your want of heed to timely warnings.' * Better rue once than pine under them all my life, and far better than let them betray me into deeming some grewsome crime an act of justice, as you may yet let them do,' said James. Such converse passed between the two princes, while King Henry rode in advance, for the most part silent, and only desirous of reaching Pontefract Castle, where THE TIDINGS OF BEA1 Gl he had left the young wife whose presence he Longed for the more in his trouble. The afternoon set in with heavy rain, but he would not halt, although he _ free permission to any of his Buite to do so; and James recommended Malcolm to remain, and come on the next • lay with Brewster. The boy, however, disclaimed all weariness, partly because bashfulness made him un- willing to venture from under his royal kinsman's wing, and partly because he could not bear to let the English suppose that a Scotsman and a Stewart could be afraid <»f weather. As the rain became harder with the evem ing twilight, silence >ank upon the whole troop, and they went splashing on through the deep lanes, in mud and mire, until the lights of Pontefract < 'astle shimmer* d on high from its hill. The irat'-s were opened, the horses clattered in. torches came forth, flickering and hissing in the darkness. The travellers went through what ■ d t«> Malcolm an interminable number of courts and gateways, and at length flung themselves off their horses, when Henry, striding on, mounted the steps. entered the building, and. turning the corner of a greal carved screen, he and his brother, with James and Mal- colm, found themselves in the midst of a blaze of cressi a and tapers, which lighted up the wainscoted part of the hall. Tlie whole scene was dazzling t<> eyes coming in from th»' dark, and only after a moment or two could Malcolm perceive that, close to the great fire, sat a party of four. playing at what he supposed to be that French game with painted cards of which Patrick Drummond had told him. and that the rest seemed to be in attendance upon them. Dark eyed and haired, with a creamy ivory Bkin, and faultless form and feature, the fair Catherine would have been unmistakable, save that as Henry hurried forward, the lights glancing on his jaded face, matted hair, and soaked dress, the first t<> >priiiL r forward t<> meet him was a handsome young man, who wrung his hand, crying, *Ah. Harry. Harry, then "t is too true!' while the lady mad'- scarcely a Btep forwards: ii<> shade of colour tinged her delicate cheek : and though she did not resist his fervent embrace, it was with a sort of recoil, 60 THE CAGED LION and all she was heard to say was, ' Eh, Messire, vos bottes sont crottees!' 1 You know all, Kate ! ' he asked, still holding her hand, and looking afraid of inflicting a blow. ' The battle ? Is it then so great a disaster ? ' and, seeing his amazed glance, ' The poor Messire de Clarence ! it was pity of him ; he was a handsome prince.' * Ah, sweet, he held thee dear,' said Henry, catching at the crumb of sympathy. "But yes,' said Catherine, evidently perplexed by the strength of his feeling, and repeating, ' He was a beau sieur courtois. But surely it will not give the Armagnacs the advantage ? ' ' With Heaven's aid, no ! But how fares it with poor Madge — his wife, I mean ? ' ' She is away to her estates. She went this morn, and wished to have taken with her the Demoiselle de Beaufort ; but I forbade that — I could not be left without one lady of the blood.' ' Alack, Joan — ' and Henry was turning, but Catherine interrupted him. 'You have not spoken to Madame of Hainault, nor to the Duke of Orleans. Nay, you are in no guise to speak to any one,' she added, looking with repugnance at the splashes of mud that reached even to his waist. • I will don a fresh doublet, sweetheart/ said Henry, more rebuked than seemed fitting, ' and be ready to sup anon.' ' Supper ! We supped long ago.' ' That may be ; but we have ridden long since we snatched our meal, that I might be with thee the sooner, my Kate.' 1 That was not well in you, my Lord, to come in thus dishevelled, steaming with wet — not like a king. You will be sick, my Lord.' The little word of solicitude recalled his sweet tender smile of gratitude. 'No fear, ma belle; sickness dares not touch me.' 4 Then,' said the Queen, 'you will be served in your chamber, and we will finish our game.' Henry turned submissively away ; but Bedford tarried an instant to say, ' Fair sister, he is sore distressed. It THE TIDINGS OF BE \l GE 61 would comfort him to have von with him. He has l«»nL r *''l for you.' Catherine opened her beautiful brown eyes in a stare of surprise and reproof at tin* infraction of the rales of ceremony which she had brought with her. John of Bedford bad never seemed to her either beau orcourtois, and Bhe looked unutterable things, to which he replied by an elevation of his marked eyebrows. She sat down to her game, utterly ignoring the other princes in their weather-beaten condition ; and they were forced to follow the King, and make their way to their several chambers, for Queen Catherine's will was law in matters of etiquette. 1 The proud peat ! She is jealous of every word Harry tt to his cousin,' muttered James, as he reached his own room. 'You saw her, though, — you sawherl'he added, smiling, as he laid his hand on Malcolm's shoulder. The boy coloured like a poppy, and answered awk- wardly enough, 'The Lady Joan. Sir ? ' * Who but the Lady Joan, thou silly lad ? How say'st thou ': Will not Scotland forget in the sight of that fair all those fule phantasies — the only folly I heard at GrlenusMe ? ' * Methinks, 1 said Malcolm, looking down in sheer awkwardness. * it were easier to bow to her than to King Harry's dam*'. She hath more of stateliness 'Humph!' said James, "dost so serve thy courtly 'pivnticeship ? Nay, but in a sort 1 see thy meaning. Tho royal blood of England shows itself to one who hath an eye for princeliness of nature.' * Nay, 1 said Malcolm, gratified, 'those dark eyes and swart Licks ' * Dark eyes -swart locks! 1 interrupted the King. * His wits have ir Joan, had entirely for- nsin; and Malcolm, doubtful and diffident, was looking hesitatingly at the gateway, when Ralf y called out, * Ha ! you there, this is our way. That is only for the royal folk; but there's good sack and r sport down hen-! I'll show you the way, 1 he 64 THE CAGED LION added, good-naturedly, softened, as most were, by the startled, wistful, timid look. Malcolm, ashamed to say he was royal, but surprised at the patronage, was gratefully following, when old Bairdsbrae indignantly laid his hand on the rein. ' Not so, Sir ; this is no place for you ! ' k Let me alone ! ' entreated Malcolm, as he saw Percy's amazed look and whistle of scorn. k They don't want me.' ' You will never have your place if you do not take it,' said the old gentleman ; and leading the trembling, shrinking boy up to the door, he continued, ' For the honour of Scotland, Sir ! ' and then announcing Malcolm by his rank and title, he almost thrust him in. Fancying he detected a laugh on Ealf Percy's face, and a sneer on that of the stout English porter, Malcolm felt doubly wretched as he was ushered into the hall amid the buzz of talk and the confusion made by the attendance of the worthy knight and his many sons, one of whom, waiting with better will than skill, had nearly run down the shy limping Scotsman, who looked wildly for refuge at some table. In his height of distress, a kindly gesture of invitation beckoned to him, and he found himself seated and addressed, first in French, and then in careful foreign English, by the same lady whom he had yesterday taken for Joan of Somerset, namely, Esclairmonde de Luxemburg. He was too much confused to look up till the piece of pasty and the wine with which the lady had caused him to be supplied were almost consumed, and it was not till she had made some observations on the journey that he became at ease enough to hazard any sort of answer, and then it was in his sweet low Scottish voice, with that irresistibly attractive look of shy wistful gratitude in his great soft brown eyes, while his un- English accent caused her to say, ' I am a stranger here, like yourself, my Lord ;' and at the same moment he Oral raised his eyes to behold what seemed to him perfect beauty and dignity, an oval face, richly -tinted olive complexion, dark pensive eyes, a sweet grave mouth smiling with encouraging kindness, and a lofty brow that gave the whole face a magnificent air, not so WHITTINGTON S FEAST much stately as above and beyond this world. It might have befitted St. Barbara or St. Katherine, ; intellectual virgin visions of purity and holiness of the middle ages ; hut the kindness of the smile went to Malcolm's heart, and emboldened him t<> answer in his best French, * You are from Holland, lady ?' 'Not from til.- fens,' she answered. "My home lies in the borders of tin.- forest of Ardenn And then they found that they understood each other best when she spoke French, and Malcolm English, or rather Scotch ; and their acquaintance made so much progress, that when the signal was again L r iven to mount, the Lady Bsclairmonde permitted Malcolm to assist her t<» her saddle : and as he rode beside her he felt pleased with himself, and as if Ralf Percy were welcome t o look at him now. On Esclairmonde's other hand there rode a small. Blight girl, whom Malcolm took for quite a child, and paid ik' attention to : Inn presently old Sir Lewis Rol rode back with a message that my Lady of Westmore- land wished to know where the Lady Alice Montagu was. A gentle, timid voice answered. • Sir, I am well here with Lady Esclairmonde. Pray tell my good lady BO.' And therewith Sir Lewis smiled, and said. * You could scarcely lit- in better hands, fair damsel, 1 and rode back again ; while Alice was still entreating. * May 1 Btay with you, dear lady ': It is all so strange and new ! ' •lairmonde smiled, and said. * You make me at home here, Mademoiselle. It is I who am t: - _r!" •Ah! hut you have been in Courts before. I never lived anywhere hut at Middleham Castle till they fetched me away to meet the Queen.' 1". •!■ the gentle little maiden, a slender, fair-haired, childish-faced creature, in her sixteenth year, was the motherless child and h«'iivss of the stout Bar] of Salis- bury, the last of the Montacutes, or Montagues, who esent fighting the King's battles in France, but had Bent his commands that Bhe should be brought I krart, in preparation for fulfilling the Long-arrang contract between her and Sir Richard Nevil, on the twenty-two children of the Kail of Westmoreland. v 66 THE CAGED LION She was under the charge of the Countess — a stately dame, with all the Beaufort pride ; and much afraid of her she was, as everything that was shy or forlorn seemed to turn towards the maiden whose countenance not only promised kindness but protection. Presently the cavalcade passed a gray building in the midst of green fields and orchards, where, under the trees, some black-veiled figures sat spinning. ' A nunnery ! ' quoth Esclairmonde, looking eagerly after it as she rode past. 4 A nunnery ! ' said Malcolm, encouraged into the simple confidingness of a young boy. ' How unlike the one where my sister is ! Not a tree is near it ; it is perched upon a wild crag overhanging the angry sea, and the winds roar, and the gulls and eagles scream, and the waves thunder round it ! ' 'Yet it is not the less a haven of peace,' replied Esclairmonde. 4 Verily,' said Malcolm, k one knows what peace is under that cloister, where all is calm while the winds rave without.' 'You know how to love a cloister,' said the lady, as she heard his soft, sad tones. 4 1 had promised myself to make my home in one,' said Malcolm ; ' but my King will have me make trial of the world first. And so please you,' he added, recollect- ing himself, ' he forbade me to make my purpose known ; so pray, lady, be so good as to forget what I have said.' 4 I will be silent,' said Esclairmonde ; i but I will not forget, for I look on you as one like myself, my young lord. I too am dedicated, and only longing to reach my cloistered haven.' She spoke it out with the ease of those days when the monastic was as recognized a profession as any other calling, and yet with something of the desire to make it evident on what ground she stood. Lady Alice uttered an exclamation of surprise. ' Yes,' said Esclairmonde, ' I was dedicated in my infancy, and promised myself in the nunnery at Dijon when 1 was seven years old.' Then, as if to turn the conversation from herself, she asked of Malcolm if he too had made any vow. WHITTINGTON S FEAST 87 'Only to myself,' Baid Malcolm. 'Neither my Tutor nor the Prior of Coldingham wonld hear my vows.' And he was soon drawn into telling his whole story, to which the ladies both listened with great interest and kindness, Esclairmonde commending his resolution to leave the care of his km. Is and vassals to one whom he represented as so much better fitted to bear them as Patrick Drnmmond, and only regretting the silence King Jameshad enjoined, saying she feltthal there was safety and protection in being avowed as a destined religions. -And yon are one, 1 Baid Lady Alice, looking at her in wonder. 'And yet ^on are with that lady——. 1 And ill.' girl's innocent face expressed a certain wonder and disgust that no one could marvel at who had heard the Flemish Countess talk in the loudest, broadest, most hoydenish style. 'She has been my very good lady, 1 said Esclairmonde ; 'she lias, under the saints, saved me from much. 1 • < >h. 1 entreat you, tell us. dear lady ! ' entreated Alice. It was not a reticent age. Malcolm Stewart had already avowed himself in his <>wn estimation pledged monastic life, and Esclairmonde of Luxemburg had reasons for wishing her position and intentions to be distinctly understood by all with whom she came in ict; moreover, there was a certain congeniality in both her companions, their innocence and simplicity, drew out confidence, and impelled her to defend her lady. 'My poor Countess, 1 she said, -she has been sorely used, and has suffered much. It is a piteous thing when our little imperial fiefs go to the spindle Bide I * 'What are her lands ? * asked Malcolm. 'Hainault, Holland, and Zealand,' replied the lady. 'Her father was Count of Hainault, her mother the sister of the last Duke of Burgundy— him that was slain on the bridge of Montereau. She was married as a mere babe to the Duke of Touraine, who was for a brief time Dauphin, but he died ere she was sixteen, and her father died at the same time. Some Bay they both were poisoned. The saints forfend it should be true; but thus it was my poor Countess was left desolate, and her uncle, the Bishop of Liege — lean Sans Pitie, as they call SS THE CAGED LION him — claimed her inheritance. You should have seen how undaunted she was ! ' k Were you with her then ? ' asked Alice Montagu. * Yes. I had been taken from our convent at Dijon, when my dear brothers, to whom Heaven be merciful ! died at Azincourt. My oncles d la much de Bretagne — how call you it in English ? ' * Welsh uncles,' said Alice. 1 They are the Count de St. Pol and the Bishop of Therouenne. They came to Dijon. In another month I should have been seventeen, and been admitted as a novice ; but, alack ! there were all the lands that came through my grandmother, in Holland and in Flanders, all falling to me, and Monseigneur of Therouenne. like almost all secular clergy, cannot endure the religious orders, and would not hear of my becoming a Sister. They took me away, and the Bishop declared my dedi- cation null, and they would have bestowed me in mar- riage at once. I believe, if Heaven had not aided me, and they could not agree on the person. And then my dear Countess promised me that she would never let me be given without my free will. 1 k Then,' said Alice, ' the Bishop did cancel your dedication ? ' * Yes,' said Esclairmonde ; ' but none can cancel the dedication of my heart. 80 said the holy man at Zwoll.' * How, lady ? ' anxiously inquired Malcolm ; ' has not a bishop power to bind and unloose ? ' * Yea,' said Esclairmonde, ' such power that if my childish promise had been made without purpose or conscience thereof, or indeed if my will were not with it, it would bind me no more, there were no sin in wed- lock for me, no broken vow. But my own conscience of my vow, and my sense that I belong to my Heavenly Spouse, proved, he said, that it was not my duty to give myself to another, and that whereas none have a parent's right over me, if I have indeed chosen the better part, He to whom I have promised myself will not let it be taken from me, though I might have to bear much for His sake. And when 1 said in presumption that such would lie light on me, he bade me speak less and pray more, for I knew not the cost.' WHITTINGTOH - FE 1ST fiS •Ilf must have been a very holy man.' said Alice, •and strict withal. Who was he V 1 On.- Father Thomas, a Canon Regular of the chapter of St. Agnes, a very saint, who Bpends his life In copy- ing and illuminating the Holy Scripture, and in writing holy thoughts that verily seem to have been breathed into him by special inspiration of God. It was a Bermon of his in Lent, upon chastening and perplexity, thai I heard when first I was snatched from Dijon, that made me never rest till I had obtained his ghostly counsel. If I never meet him again, 1 shall thank Heaven for those months at Zwoll all my lit'. — .•!•.- the Duke of Burgundy made my Counl am Holland for twelve years to her uncle, and we hit the place. Then, well- nigh against her will, tiny forced her into a marriage with the Duke of Brabant, though he be her first cousin. her godson, and a mere rude hoy. I cannot t.-ll yon how evil were tin- days we often had then. If he had been left to himself, -Madam.' might have guided him; but ill men cam.- ahuiu him: they maddened him with win.' and beer; they excited him to show that he feared her not ; ho struck her, and more than once almost ]>m her in danger of her lit'.'. Then, too, his mother married tlio Bishop of Li. -Lie. her enemy ' 'Tli.- Bishop :' 'He had never been consecrated, and had a dispen- sation. That marriage deprived my poor lady of even her m. .ther's help. All were against her then; and for m.' too it went ill, f.»r the Duke of Burgundy insisted on my being given to a half-brother <>f his, one they call sir Boemond of Burgundy— a hard man of blood and revelry. The Duke of Brabant was all fur him, and so - the Duchess-mother; and though my uncles would not have chosen him. yet they durst nut withstand the Duke of Burgundy. 1 tried to appeal to the Emperor Sigismund, the head <>r our house, but I know nut if he ever heard of my petition. I was in an exceeding >rrait, and had only one trust, namely, that Father Thomas had told me that the more I threw m\ self upon God, the more He would Bave me from man. Hut oh ! all closing in on me, and I knew that Sir mond had swum that 1 should paj h< savily for my 70 THE CAGED LION resistance. Then one night my Countess came to me. She showed me the bruises her lord had left on her arms, and told me that, he was about to banish all of us, her ladies, into Holland, and to keep her alone to bear his fury, and she was resolved to escape, and would I come with her ? It seemed to me the message of deliver- ance. Her nurse brought us peasant dresses, high stiff caps, black boddices, petticoats of many colours, and therein we dressed ourselves, and stole out, ere dawn, to a church, where we knelt till the Sieur d'Escaillon- — ■ the gentleman who attends Madame still — drove up in a farmer's garb, with a market cart, and so forth from Bruges we drove. We came to Valenciennes, to her mother; but we found that she, by persuasion of the Duke, would give us both up ; so the Sieur d'Escaillon got together sixty lances, and therewith Ave rode to Calais, where never were w T eary travellers more courte- ously received than we by Lord Northumberland, the captain of Calais.' ' Oh, I am glad you came to us English ! ' cried Alice. ' Only I would it had been my father who welcomed you. And now ? ' ' Now I remain with my lady, as the only demoiselle she has from her country ; and, moreover, I am waiting in the trust that my kinsmen will give up their purpose of bestowing me in marriage, now that I am beyond their reach ; and in time I hope to obtain sufficient of my own goods for a dowry for whatever convent I may enter.' ' Oh, let it be an English one ! ' cried Alice. ' 1 have learnt to breathe freer since I have been on English soil,' said Esclairmonde, smiling; 'but where I may rest at last, Heaven only knows ! ' 'This is a strange country,' said Malcolm. 'No one seems afraid of violence and wrong here.' ' Is that so strange ? ' asked Alice, amazed. ' Why, men would be hanged if they did violence ! ' ' 1 would we were as sure of justice at my home,' sighed Esclairmonde. ' King Henry will bring about a better rule.' ' Never doubt,' cried Salisbury's daughter. ' When France is once subdued, there will be no more trouble. WHITTINGTON'S FE Wl 71 He will make your kinsmen do yon right, dear demoi- selle, and oh ! will you not found a beauteous convenl ? ' • Kin u r Henry lias not conquered Prance yet,' was all Esclairmonde Baid. 'Ha!' cried the buxom Countess Jaqueline, as the ladies dismounted, ' never speak to me more, our solemn •. When haw 1 done worse than lure a young cavalier, and chain him all day with my tongue ? ' • 1 !-• is a gentle boy ! * said Esclairmonde, smiliiiLr. 'Truly he looked like a calf turned loose among strange cattle ! ll«»w gat he into the hall ? ' •II.' is of royal Scottish blood,' said Esclairmonde; • cousin-german t<> King Jam* s. 1 'And our grave nun has a fancy to tame the wild Scots, like a second St. Margaret ! A king's grandson ! ti»;. ti«- ! what, become ambitions, Clairette ? Eh ? yon were so occupied, that I should have been left to no one but Monseigneur of Gloucester, hut that 1 was discreet, and rode with my Lord Bishop of Winchester. How he chafed ! hut I know better than to have tete-d-tetes with young Bprigs of the blood royal !* Esclairmonde laughed good-humonredly, partly in courtesy to her hoyden mistress, hut partly at the burn- ing, blushing indignation Bhe beheld in the artless face of Alice Montagu. Tin' girl was as shy as a fawn, frightened at every word from knight or lady, and much in awe of her future mother-in-law, a stiff and stately dame, with all the Beaufort haughtiness; so that Lady Westmoreland gladly and graciously consented to the offer of the 1 demoiselle de Luxemburg t<> attend to the little maiden, and let her share her chamber and her bed. And indeed Alice Montagu, bred up in strictness and in both piety and Learning, as was sometimes the case with the daughters of the nobility, had in all her simplicity and bashfulnesa a purity and depth that made her a congenial spirit with the grave votaress, whom she regarded on her side with a young girl's enthusiastic admiration for a grown woman, although in point of foct the years between them were few. The other ladies of the Court were a little in awe of the Demoiselle de Luxemburg, and did not seek her 72 THE CAGED LION when they wished to indulge in the gossip whose malice and coarseness she kept in check ; but if they were anxious, or in trouble, they always came to her as their natural consoler ; and the Countess Jaqueline, bold and hoydenish as she was, kept the license of her tongue and manners under some shadow of restraint before her, and though sometimes bantering her, often neglect- ing her counsel, evidently felt her attendance a sort of safeguard and protection. The gentlemen were mostly of the opinion of the Duke of Gloucester, who said that the Lady Esclairmonde was so like Deborah, come out of a Mystery, that it seemed to be always Passion-tide where she was ; and she, moreover, was always guarded in her manner towards them, keeping her vocation in the recollection of all by her gravely and coldly courteous demeanour, and the sober hues and fashion of her dress ; but being- aware of Malcolm's destination, perceiving his loneliness, and really attracted by his pensive gentleness, she admitted him to far more friendly intercourse than any other young noble, while he revered and clung to her much as Lady Alice did, as protector and friend. King James was indeed so much absorbed in his own lady-love as to have little attention to bestow on his young cousin, and he knew, moreover, that to be left to such womanly training as ladies were bound to bestow on young squires and pages was the best treatment for the youth, who was really thriving and growing happier every day, as he lost his awkwardness and acquired a freedom and self-confidence such as he could never have imagined possible in his original brow-beaten state, though without losing the gentle modesty and refine- ment that gave him such a charm. A great sorrow awaited him, however, at Leicester, where Easter was to be spent. A messenger came from Durham, bringing letters from Coldingham to announce the death of good Sir David Drummond, which had taken place two days after Malcolm had left him, all but the youth himself having well known that his state was hopeless. In his grief, Malcolm found his chief comforter in Ksclairmonde, who Jdndlv listened when he talked of WHITTINGTON'S FEAST the happy old times at Glenuskie, and of the kind) and piety of his guardian ; while si)*- lifted his mind to dwell on the company of the saints ; and when he knew that her thoughts went, like his, to his fatherly friend in the solemn - - connected with the departed, he _ r desolate, and there was almost a sweet- of which his fair saint had taken up a part. She showed him likewifi a vellum pagi - which her ghostly rather, the Canon of St Agn< a, had written certain dialog - between the Divine Mae and I - - iple, which seemed indeed t<. have been whispered by heavenly inspiration, and which soothed and hallowed his mourning for the guide and protector of his youth. He Loved to dwell on her very name. irmonde — 'light of the world.' The * Ed the day hung many a pun and conceit upon names, and to Malcolm this — which had. in fact, been culled out of romance — seemed meetly to express the pure radiance of consolation and encouragement that seemed to him aine from her, and brighten the life that had hitherto been dull and gloomy — nay. even to give him light and joy in the midst of hie - At that period Courts were not much burdened with etiquette. No feudal monarch was more than the first .-man. and there was no rigid line of separation of a, specially where, as among the kinir- of tin- Red . the boundaries were >«> faint between the and the nobility ; and as Catherine of Valoia was fond of company, and indolently 1. - of all that did not - her own dignity or ease, the whole Court, includ- ing some of the princely captives, lived a large family, meeting at morning Mass in church or chapel, taking their meals in common, riding, hunting, hawk- ing, playing at h<>wls. tennis, or .-tool-hall, or any other pastime, in such parties - suited their inclinations: and spending the *'VeiiiiiL r in the great hall, in conver- 38, dice, and cards, r f romance, and music, sometimes performed by the choristei the Royal chapel, or sometimes by the com] -any them- selves, and often by one or other of tin- two kimrs, who were both proficients as well with tie- - with the lute and orsran. 74 THE CAGED LION Thus Malcolm had many opportunities of being with the Demoiselle of Luxemburg : and almost a right wag established, that when she sat in the deep embrasure of a window with her spinning, he should be on the cushioned step beneath; when she mounted, he held the stirrup ; and when the church bells were ringing, he led her by her fair fingers to her place in the nave, and back again to the hall ; and when the manchet and rere supper were brought into the hall, he mixed her wine and water, and held the silver basin and napkin to her on bended knee, and had become her recognized cavalier. He was really thriving. Even the high- spirited son of Hotspur could not help loving and protecting him. 1 Have a care.' said Ralf to a lad of ruder mould ; Til no more see that lame young Scut maltreated than a girl.' ' He is no better than a girl." growled his comrade ; ' my little brother Dick would be more than a match for him ! ' 4 1 wot not that.' said Percy ; 'there's a drop of life and spirit at the bottom; and for the rest, when la- looks up with those eyes of his. and smiles his smile, it is somehow as if it were beneath a man to vex him wilfully. And he sees so much meaning in everything, too. that it is a dozen times better sport to hear him talk than one of you fellows, who have only wit enough to know a hawk from a heron-schaw.' After a grave Easter-tide spent at Leicester, the Court moved to Westminster, where Henry had to meet his parliament, and obtain supplies for the campaign which was to revenge the death of Clarence. There was no great increase of gaiety even here, for Henry was extremely occupied, both with regulating matters for government during his absence, and in training the troops who began to flock to his standard ; so that the Queen complained that his presence in England was of little service to her, since he never had any leisure, and there were no pastimes. 'Well, Dame.' said Henry, gaily, 'there is one revel for you. I have promised to knight the Lord Mayor, honest Whittington, and I hear he is preparing a notable banquet in the Guild Hall.' * A city mayor ! ' exclaimed Queen Catherine, with WHITTINGTON S FEAS1 75 ineffable disgust. 'My brothers would sooner cut off his roturier head than dnb him knighi ! ' • Belike,' said Henry,dryly ; 'bul what kind of friends have thy brothers found al Paris? Moreover, this Whittington may content the >asto blood. Rougedragon hath been unfolding to me his Lineage of a good house in Gloucestershire. 1 'More Bhame thai he should soil his hands with trade ! ' said the Queen. • See what you say when he lias cased those fair hands in Spanish gloves. You ladies should know better than i<» fall out with a mercer.' •Ah!" said Duke Humfrey, 'they never saw the silks and samites wherewith he fitted oul my sister Philippa for the Swedes! Lucky the bride whose wardrobe is purveyed by honesl Dick !' 'Is it not honour enough for the mechanical hinds that we w.-ar their stall's." said Countess Jaqueline, •without demeaning ourselves to eat at their boards? The outrecuidance of the rogues in the Netherlands would 1"' surpassing, did we feed it in that sort. 1 "Tis y<>u that will he fod, Dame Jac,'laughed Henry. ■ I ran tell you, their sack and their pasties, their march- pane and blanc-manger, far exceed audit that a poor soldier can set before you.' 'Moreover,' observed Humfrey, 'the ladies ought to the pomaunt of the Cat complete.' 'Howl' cried Jaqueline, k is it, then, true that this Vittentone is the miller's Bon whose cat wore hoots and math' his fortune ? ' • I have hoard my aunt of Orleans diverl my father with that Btory,' murmured Catherine. 'How wenl the tale ? 1 thoughl it folly, and marked it not. What became of the cat ': ' 'The cat desired to test his master's gratitude, so tells Straparola,' said the Duke of Orleans, hi his dry satirical tone; 'and whereas he had been wont to promise his benefactor a golden coffin and Btate funeral, Puss feigned ii. and thereby hoard the lady inform her husband that the old cat was dead. "A la bonne heure!" said the Marquis. "Take him by the tail, and fling him on the muck-heap beneath the window I " 76 THE CAGED LION ' Thereof I acquit Whittington, who never was thank- less to man or brute,' said King Henry. ' Moreover, his cat, or her grandchildren, must be now in high prefer- ment at the King of Barbary's Court.' ' A marvellous beast is that cat,' said James. '"When I was a child in Scotland, we used to tell the story of her exchange for a freight of gold and spices, only the ship sailed from Denmark.' ' Maybe,' said Henry ; ' but I would maintain the truth of Whittington's cat with my lance, and would gladly have no worse cause ! You'll see his cat painted beside him in the Guild Hall, and may hear the tale from him, as I loved to hear him when I was a lad. "Turn again, Whittington, Thrice Lord Mayor of London town ! " I told my good old friend I must have come over from France on purpose to keep his Third mayoralty. So 1 am for the City on Thursday ; and whoever loves good wine, good sturgeon, good gold, or good men, had best come with me.' Such inducements were not to be neglected, and though Queen Catherine minced and bridled, and apo- logized to Duchess Jaqueline for her husband's taste for low company, neither princess wished to forego the chance of amusement ; and a brilliant cavalcade set forth in full order of precedence. The King and Queen were first ; then, to his great disgust, the King of Scots, with Duchess Jaqueline ; Bedford, with Lady Somerset ; Gloucester, with the Countess of March ; the Duke of Orleans, with the Countess of Exeter ; and Malcolm of Glenuskie found himself paired off with his sovereign's lady-love, Joan Beaufort, and a good deal overawed by the tall horned tower that crowned her flaxen locks, as well as by knowing that her uncle, the Bishop of Winchester, the stateliest, stiffest, and most unapproach- able person in all the Court, was riding just behind him, beside the Demoiselle de Luxemburg. Temple Bar was closed, and there was a flourish of trumpets and a parley ere the gate was flung open to admit the royal guests ; but Malcolm, in his place, could not see the aldermen on horseback, in their robes of WHITTINGTOH S FEAST 77 scarlet and white, drawn up to receive the King. All the way up Holborn, every house was hung with tapestry, and the citizens formed a gorgeously-apparelled Lane, shouting in unison, their greetings attuned to bursts of music from trumpets and nakers. Beautiful old St. Paul's, with the exquisite cross for open-air preaching in front, rose on their viewj and before the lofty west door the princely guests dismounted, each gentleman leading his lady up the nave to the seat prepared in such manner that he might be opposite to her. The clergy lined the stalls, and a magnificent mass was sung, and ^as concluded by tin- advance of the King to the altar step, followed by a fine old man - arlct robes bordered with white fur, the collar of SS. round his neck, and his silvery hair and lofty brow crowning a face as sagacious as it was dignified and benevolent. It seemed a reversal of the ordinary ceremonial when the slender agile young man took in hand the sword, and laid the honour of knighthood on the gray-headed substantial senior, whom he bade to arise Sir Richard Whittington. Jaqueline of Hainault had the bad I to glance across to Humfivy and titter, hut the Duke valued popularity among the citizens, and would not b her eye: and in the line behind the royal ladies there was a sweet elderly face, beautiful, though time- worn, with blue eyes misty with proud glad tears, and a mouth trembling with tender exultation. After the ceremonywas concluded, King Henry offered his hand to the Lady Mayoress, Dame Alice Whittington, making her bright tears drop in glad confusion at his frank, hearty congratulation and warm praise of her husband; and though the fair Catherine could have shuddered when Sir Richard advanced to lead her, she was too royal to compromise her dignity by \ isible scorn, and >he Boon found that the merchant could speak much better French than most of the nobles. Malcolm felt as averse as did the French princi to burgher wealth and Bplendour, and his mind had not opened to understand burgher worth and weight; and when he saw the princes John and Hunifivy, and even his own king, seeking out city dames and accosting 78 THE CAGED LION them with friendly looks, it seemed to him a degrading truckling to riches, from which he was anxious to save his future queen ; but when he would have offered his arm to Lady Joan, he saw her already being led away by an alderman measuring at least a yard across the shoulders ; and the good-natured Earl of March, seeing him at a loss, presented him to a round merry wife in a scarlet petticoat and black boddice, its plurnp curves wreathed with gold chains, who began pitying him for having been sent to the wars so young, being, as usual, charmed into pity by his soft appealing eyes and uncon- scious grace : would not believe his assertions that he was neither a captive nor a Frenchman ; — ; don't tell her, when he spoke like a stranger, and halted from a wound,' Colouring to the ears, he explained that he had never walked otherwise : whereupon her pity redoubled, and she by turns advised him to consult Master Doctor Caius, and to obtain a recipe from Mistress — she meant Dame — Alice Whittington, the kindest soul living, and, Lady Mayoress as she was, with no more pride than the meanest scullion. Pity she had no child — yet scarce pity either. since she and the good Lord Mayor were father and mother to all orphans and destitute — nay, to all who had any care on their minds. Malcolm was in extreme alarm lest he should be walked up to the Lady Mayoress for inspection before all the world when they entered the Guild Hall, a building of grand proportions, which, as good Mistress Bolt informed him, had lately been paved and glazed at Sir Richard Whittington's own expense. The bright new red and yellow tiles, and the stained glass of the tall windows high up. as well as the panels of the wainscot, were embellished with trade-marks and the armorial bearings of the guilds ; and the long tables, hung with snowy napery, groaned with gold and silver plate, such as, the Duke of Orleans observed to Catherine, no citizens would dare exhibit in France to any prince or noble, at peril of being mulcted of all, with or without excuse. On an open hearth beneath the louvre, or opening for smoke, burnt a fire diffusing all around an incense-like fragrance, from the logs, composed of cinnamon and other choice wuods and spices, that fed the flame. The WHITTINGTON'S FEAST 79 odour and the warmth on a bleak day of May were alike delicious; and Bang Henry, after Leading Dame Alice up to it. Btood warming his hands and extolling the choice scent, adding : " You Bpoil us, Sir Richard. How are we to - r <> back to the smoke of wood and peat, and fires puffed with our own mouths, after such pamper- ing as this — the costliest lire 1 have seen in the two realms r % It shall be choicer yet. Sir,' said Sir Richard Whit- tington, who had just handed the Queen to her seat. 'Scarce possible, 1 replied Henry, 'unless 1 threw in my crown, and that I cannot afford. 1 shall be pawning it ere 1< >ng.' Instead of answering, the Lord Mayor quietly put his hand into his furred pouch, and drawing out a bundle of parchments tied with a ribbon, held them towards the King, with a grave smile. *Lo y<>u now, Sir Richard,' said Henry, with a playful face of disgust; 'this is t<> save your dainty meats, by spoiling my appetite by that unwelcome sight. What, man ! have you bought up all the bonds I gave in my need to a whole synagogue of Jews and bench of Lom- bards ? I .-hall have I - for my crown before you let m _ though verily.* he added, with frank, open . • I'm better off with a good friend like you for my creditor — only I'm sorry for you, Sir Richard. I fear it will be long «■: - it good gold in the stead of your dirty paper, even though 1 gave you an order on the tolls. How now! What, man, Dick Whittington ! Art raving r Here, the tongs ! For Sir Richard, gently smiling, had placed the bundle of bonds on the glowing bed of embers. Henry, even while calling for the tongs, was raking them out with his sword, and would have L r ra-}>»d them in his hand in a moment, but the Lord Mayor caught his arm. • Pardon, my lord, and grant your new knight's boon.' 'When ho is not moon-struck:* said Henry, still guarding the documents. 'Why, my Lady May. know you what ifi • Sixty thousand, my li. •_;.•." composedly answered Dame Alice. • My husband hath hi.- whims, and 1 pray SO THE CAGED LION your Grace not to hinder what he hath so long been preparing.' 'Yea, Sir,' added Whittington, earnestly. 'You wot that God hath prospered us richly. We have no child, and our nephews are Avell endowed. How, then, can our goods belong to any save God, our king, and the poor ? ' Henry drew one hand over his eyes, and with the other wrung that of Whittington. ' Had ever king such a subject ? ' he mur mured. k Had ever subject such a king ? ' was Whittington 's return. 'Thou hast conquered. Whittington, 1 said the King, presently looking up with a sunny smile. ' To send me over the seas a free man, beholden to you in heart though not by purse, is, as I well believe, worth all that sum to thy loyal heart. Thou art setting me far on my way to Jerusalem, my dear friend ! Thank him, Kate — he hath done much for thine husband ! ' Catherine looked amiable, and held out a white hand to be kissed, aware that the King was pleased, though hardly understanding why he should be glad that an odour of singed parchment should overpower the gums and cinnamon. This was soon remedied by the fresh handful of spices that were cast into the flame, and the banquet began, magnificent with peacocks, cranes, and swans in full plumage ; the tusky boar crunched his apple, deer's antlers adorned the haunch, the royal sturgeon floated in wine, fountains of perfumed waters sprang up from shells, towers of pastry and of jelly pre- sented the endless allegorical devices of mediaeval fancy, and, pre-eminent over all, a figure of the cat, with emerald eyes, fulfilled, as Henry said, the proverb, 'A cat might look at a king ; ' and truly the cat and her master had earned the right; therefore his first toast was, ' To the Cat ! ' Each guest found at his or her place a beautiful fragrant pair of gloves, in Spanish leather, on the back of which was once more embroidered, in all her tabby charms, the cat's face. Therewith began a lengthy meal ; and Malcolm Stewart rejoiced at finding himself seated next to the Lady Esclairmonde, but he grudged WHITTINGTON'S FEAST Bl ittentioD to her companion, a Blender, dark, thought- ful representative of the GtoldBmiths* Company, to whom she talked with courtesy such as Malcolm had Bcorned t<» show his city dame. 'Who,' said Esclairmonde, presently, 'was a dame in a religions garb whom 1 marked near the door h< she looked like one of the Beguines of my own country. 1 'We have no such order here, lady,' said the gold- smith. puzzled. 'Hey, Master Price,' cried Mistress Bolt, speaking across Malcolm, • I can tell the lady who it was. Twas good Sister Avioe Rodney, to whom the Lady Mayoress promiE Lg of thefi curious cooling drinks for the poor shipwright who hath well-nigh cloven off his own foot with his axe.' -Yea, truly." returned the goldsmith; 'it must have been one of the bedeswomen of St. Katharine's whom the lady lias b • What i >rder may that be ? ' asked Esclairmonde. * I have . nothing so like my own country since I came hither.' •That may well be, madam/ said Mistress Bolt, ing that these bedeswomen were first instituted by a countrywoman of your own — Queen Philippa, of ased memory.' 'By your leave. Mistress Bolt, 1 interposed Master Price, 'the hospital of St. Katharine by the Tower is of far older foundation.' • By your leave, sir, I know what I say. The hospital was founded I know nut when, hut these bedeswomen were especially added by the good Queen, by the same ;i that mine aunt Cis, who was tirewoman to the blessed Lady Joan, was one of the first.' •How was it? What is their office?' eagerly in- quired Esclairmonde. And Mistress Bolt arranged herself for a long discor. • WV11. fair sirs and sweet lady, though you be younger than I, you have surely heard of the Black Death. Well named was it, lor never was p.-tilence more .lire ; and the venom was s<> strong, that the very lips and eyelids grew livid 1. lack, and then there was no hope. Little thought of such - se was there, 1 trow, in kimrs' houses, and all the fail- young lords and ladies, the 82 THE CAGED ETON children of King Edward, as then was, were full of sport and gamesomeness as you see these dukes be now. And never a one was blither than the Lady Joan — she they called Joan of the Tower, being a true Londoner born — bless her ! My aunt Cis would talk by the hour of her pretty ways and kindly mirth. But 'twas even as the children have the game in the streets — " There come three knights all out of Spain, Are come to fetch your daughter Jane. " 'Twas for the King of Castille, that same Peter for whom the Black Prince of Wales fought, and of whom such grewsome tales were told. The pretty princess might almost have had a boding what sort of husband they had for her, for she begged and prayed, even on her knees, that her father would leave her ; but her sisters were all espoused, and there was no help for it. But, as one comfort to her, my aunt Cis, who had been about her from her cradle, was to go with her ; and oft she would tell of the long journey in litters through France, and how welcome were the English tongues they heard again at Bordeaux, and how when poor Lady Joan saw her brother, the Prince, she clung about his neck and sobbed, and how T he soothed her, and said she would soon laugh at her own unwillingness to go to her husband. But even then the Black Death was in Bordeaux, and being low and mournful at heart, the sweet maid contracted it, and lay down to die ere she had made two days' journey, and her last words were, " My God hath shown me more pity than father or brother ; " and so she died like a lamb, and mine aunt was sent by the Prince to bear home the tidings to the good Queen, who was a woeful woman. And therewith, here was the pestilence in London, raging among the poor creatures that lived in the wharves and on the river bank, in damp and filth, so that whole house- holds lay dead at once, and the contagion, gathering force, spread into the city, and even to the nobles and their ladies. Then my good aunt, having some know- ledge of the sickness already, and being without fear, went among the sick, and by her care, and the food, wine, and clothing she brought, saved a many lives. And from whom should the bounties come, save from WHITTINGTON'S 11. 1ST 33 the good Queen, who ever had a great pity for those touched like her own fair child ? Moreover, when she I from my aunt how the poor things lived in un- cleanness and filth, and how, what with many being strangers coming by Bea, and others being serfs fled from home, they were a nameless, masterless sort, who knew not wh< * ek a parish priest, and whom the friars Bhnnned for their poverty, she devised a fresh foundation to be added to the hospital of St. Katharine's in the Docks, providing for a chapter of ten bedeswomen, gentle and well-nurtured, who should both sing in choir, and likewise go forth constantly among the poor, to seek out the children, see that they learn their Credo, Ay.-, and Pater Noster, bring the more toward to be further taught in St. Katharine's school, and likewise to stir poor folk up to go to mass and lead a godly life ; to visit the sick, feed and tend them, and so instruct them, that they may desire the Sacraments of the Church.' • Ah ! good Flemish Queen ! ' cried Esclairmonde. • She learnt that of our Beguini •If your ladyship will have it so,' said Mrs. Bolt; -but my aunt Cicely began ! ' • Who nominates these bedeswomen ? asked Esclair- monde. .... • That does the Queen,' said Mistress Bolt. 'Not this young Queen, as yet, for Queen Joan, the late King's widow, holds the hospital till her death, unless it should be taken from her for her sorceries, from which Heaven defend us ! " 'Can it be visited ? ' said Esclairmonde. ' I feel much drawn thither, as I ever did to the Beguines.' • A\. marry may it !' cried delighted Mrs. Bolt. ' 1 have more than one gossip there, foreby Sister Avice, who was godchild to Aunt ('is: and if the g 1 lady would wish to see the hospital, I would bear her company with all my heart. 1 To Malcolm's disgust, Esclairmonde caught at the proposal, which the Scottish haughtiness that lay under all his gentleness held somewhat degrading to the cousin of the Emperor. He fell into a state of gloom, which lasted till the loving-cup had gone round and been partaken of in pairs. 84 THE CAGED LION After hands had been washed in rose-water, the royal party took their seats in barges to return to Westminster by the broad and beautiful highway of the Thames. Here at once Alice Montagu nestled to Esclairmonde's side, delighted with her cat gloves, and further delighted with an old captain of trained bands, to whose lot she had fallen, and who, on finding that she was the daughter of the Earl of Salisbury, under whom he had served, had launched forth by the hour into the praises of that brave nobleman, both for his courage and his kindness to his troops. ' No wonder King Henry loves his citizens so well ! ' cried Esclairmonde. 'Would that our Netherlandish princes and burghers could take pride and pleasure in one another's wealth and prowess, instead of grudging and fearing thereat ! ' ' To my mind,' said Malcolm, ' they were a forward generation. That city dame will burst with pride, if you, lady, go with her to see those bedeswomen.' ' 1 trust not,' laughed Esclairmonde, 'for I mean to try.' ' Nay, but,' said Malcolm, ' what should a mere matter of old rockers and worn-out tirewomen concern a demoi- selle of birth ? ' k I honour them for doing their Master's work,' said Esclairmonde, ' and would fain be worthy to follow in their steps.' 1 Surely,' said Malcolm, ' there are houses fit for per- sons of high and princely birth to live apart from gross contact with the world.' ' There are,' said Esclairmonde ; ' but I trust I may be pardoned for saying that such often seem to me to play at humility when they stickle for birth and dower with the haughtiest. I never honoured any nuns so much as the humble Sisters of St. Begga, who never ask for sixteen quarterings, but only for a tender hand, soft step, pure life, and pious heart.' ' I deemed,' said Malcolm, ' that heavenly contempla- tion was the purpose of convents.' 4 Even so, for such as can contemplate like the holy man 1 have told you of,' said Esclairmonde ; ' but labour hath been greatly laid aside in convents of late, and 1 WHITTINGTON'S FEAST S5 doubt me if it be well, or if their prayers be the better for it. 1 'And bo,' said Alice, * I heard my Lord of Winchester saying how it were well to suppress the alien priories, and give their wealth to found colleges like that founded by Bishop Wykeham. 1 For in truth the spirit of the age was beginning to set against monasticism. It was the period when perha | >s there was more of license and less of saintliness than at any other, and when the long continuance of the Great Schism had so injured Church discipline that the clergy and ecclesiastics were in the worst state of all, especially the monastic orders, who owned no superior but the Pope, and between the two rivals could avoid supervision altogether. Such men as Thomas a Kempis, or the great Jean Gei son, were rare indeed ; and the monas- teries had let themselves lose their missionary character, and become mere large farms, inhabited by celibate gentlemen and their attendants, or by the superfluous daughters of the nobles and gentry. Such devotion as led Esclairmonde to the pure atmosphere of prayer and self-sacrifice had well-nigh died out, and almost every other lady of the time would have regarded' her release from the vows made for her in her baity hood a happy ■ scape. Still less, at a time when no active order of Sisters, save that of the Heguines in Holland, had been invented, and when no nun ever dreamt of carrying her charity beyond the quadrangle of her own convent, could any one be expected to enter into Esclairmonde 's admiration and longing for out-of-door works ; but the person whom she had chiefly made her friend was the King's almoner and chaplain, sometimes called Sir Martin Bennet, at others Dr. Bennet, a great Oxford scholar, bred up among AVilliam of Wykeham's original seventy at Winchester and New Colli ge, and now much trusted and favoured by the King, whom he everywhere accom- panied. That Sir Martin was a pluralist must be con- fessed, bnt he was most conscientious in providing substitutes, and was a man of much thought and of greal piety, in whom the fair pupil of the Canon of St. Agnes found a congenial spirit. 86 THE CAGED LION CHAPTER VI MALCOLM'S SUIT 1 That is a gentle and gracious slip of the Stewart. What shall you do with him ? ' asked King Henry of James, as they stood together at one end of the tilt-yard at Westminster, watching Malcolm Stewart and Ralf Percy, who were playing at closhey, the early form of nine -pins. k I know what I should like to do,' said James. ' What may that he ? ' k To marry him to the Lady Esclairmonde de Luxem- burg.' Henry gave a long whistle. ' Have you other views for her ? ' * Not I ! Am I to have designs on every poor dove who flies into my tent from the hawk ? Besides, are not they both of them vowed to a religious life ? ' ' Neither vow is valid,' replied James. ' To meddle with such things is what I should not dare,' said Henry. 4 Monks and friars are no such holy beings, that I should greatly concern me about keeping an innocent lad out of their company,' said James. ' Nor do I say they are,' said Henry ; ' but it is ill to cross a vow of devotion, and to bring a man back to the world is apt to render him not worth the having. You may perchance get him down lower than you intended.' ' This boy never had any real vocation at all,' said James ; ' it was only the timidity born of ill-health, and the longing for food for the mind.' 'Maybe so,' replied the English king, 'and you may be in the right ; but why fix on that grand Luxemburg wench, who ought to be a Lady Abbess of Fontainebleau at least, or a very St. Hilda, to rule monks and nuns alike ? ' 'Because they have fixed on each other. Malcolm needs a woman like her to make a man of him ; and with her spirit and fervent charity, w T e should have them working a mighty change in Scotland.' k If you get her there ! ' M \U <>I.M g SUIT 87 'Have 1 your consent, Harry ': ' • Min*' ? It's n" affair of mine ! Yon must settle it with Madame of Hainault ; but you had best take c Yon are more like to make your tame lambkin into a ravening wolf, than to get that Deborah the prophet - to herd him.' James in sooth viewed this warning as another touch of Lancastrian superstition, and only considered how to broach the question. Malcolm, meantime, was balanc- ing between the now approaching decision between Oxford and France. He certainly telt something of his old horror of warlike scenes; but even this was lessen- ing; he was aware that battles were not every-day occurrences, and that often there was no danger at all. II.' would not willingly be separated from his king; and if the female part of the Court were to accompany the campaign, it would be losing sight of all he cared for, if he were left among a set of stranger shavelings al Oxford. Yet he was reluctant to break with the old habits that had hitherto been part of his nature : he felt, after every word of Esclairmonde — nay, after every glance towards her — as though it were a blessed thing to have, like her, chosen the better part ; he knew Bhe would approve his resort to the home of piety and learn- ing; he was aware that when with Ralf Percy and the other youths of the Court he was ashamed of his own scrupulousness, and tempted to neglect observances that they might call monkish and unmanly ; and he was not at all sure that in face of the enemy a panic might not >.-i/..- him and disgrace him for ever ! In effect he did not know what he wished, even when he found that the Queen had decided against u r <>ing across the sea, and that therefore all the ladies would remain with her at Shene or Windsor. He should probably never again see Esclairmonde, the guiding star of his recent life, the embodiment of all that he had imagined when conning the quaint old English poems that told the Legend of Seynct Katharine ; and as he leant musingly against a lattice, feeling as if ill.* brightness of his lib- was going out, Bang James merrily addressed him : — • Eh ! the lit is on yon too, boy ! ' 88 THE CAGED LION ' What fit, Sir ? ' Malcolm opened his eyes. • The pleasing madness.' Malcolm uttered a cry like horror, and reddened crimson. * Sir ! Sir ! Sir ! ' he stammered. 'A well-known token of the disease is raving.' ' Sir, Sir ! I implore you to speak of nothing so profane.' ' I am not given to profanity,' said James, endeavour- ing to look severe, but with laughter in his voice. ' Methought you were not yet so sacred a personage.' ' Myself ! No ; but that I— I should dare to have such thoughts of— oh, Sir ! ' and Malcolm covered his face with his hands. 'Oh, that you should have so mistaken me ! ' * I have not mistaken you,' said James, fixing his keen eyes on him. ' Oh, Sir ! ' cried Malcolm, like one freshly stung, ' you have ! Never, never dreamt I of aught but worshipping as a living saint, as I would entreat St. Margaret or ' There was still the King's steady look and the sup- pressed smile. Malcolm broke off, and with a sudden agony wrung his hands together. The King still smiled. ' Ay, Malcolm, it will not do ; you are man, not monk.' ' But why be so cruel as to make me vile in my own eyes ? ' almost sobbed Malcolm. ' Because,' said the King, ' she is not a saint in heaven, nor a nun in a convent, but a free woman, to be won by the youth she has marked out.' ' Marked ! Oh, Sir, she only condescended because she knew my destination.' ' That is well,' said King James. ' Thus sparks kindle at unawares.' Malcolm's groan and murmur of ' Never ! ' made James almost laugh at the evidence that on one side at least the touch-wood was ready. ' Oh, Sir,' he sighed, l why put the thought before me, to make me wretched ! Even were she for the world, she would never be for me. I — doited — hirpling ' 4 Peace, silly lad ; all that is past and gone. You are quite another now, and a year or two of Harry's school MAU IOLM S SUIT so of chivalry will send you home a gallant knight and minstrel, such as no maiden will despie The King went, and Malcolm fell into a silent state of musing. He was entirely overpowered, both by the consciousness awakened within himself, by the doubt whether it were not a great sin. and by the strangeness that the King, hitherto his oracle, should infuse such a hope. What King James deemed possible could never be bo incredible, or even sacrilegious, as he deemed it. Restless, ashamed, rent by a thousand conflicting feelings, Malcolm roamed up and down his chamber, writhed, tried t<> Bit and think, then, finding his thoughts in a whirl, renewed his frantic pacings. And when dire necessity brought him again into the ladies' chamber, he was silent, blushing, ungainly, abstracted, and re- treated into the farthest possible corner from the uncon- sci< >us Esclairmonde. Then, when again alone with the King, he began with the assertion, 'It is utterly impossible, Sir: ' and James smiled to see his poison working. Not that he viewed it as poison. Monasticism was at a discount, and the ranks of the religious orders were chiefly filled, the old Benedictine and Augustinian foundations by gentlemen of good family who wanted the easy life of a Bort of bachelor squire, and the friaries were recruited by the sort of men who would in modern times be dissenting teachers of the lower stamp. James was persuaded that Malcolm was fit for better things than were usually to be seen in a convent, and that it was a real kindness not to let him merely retire thither out of faintness of heart, mistaken for devotion; and he also felt as if he should be doing good service, not only to Malcolm, but io Scotland, if he could obtain for him a wife of the grand character of Esclairmonde de Luxemburg. He even risked the mention of the project to the Countess of Hainault, without whose consent nothing could be effected. Jaqueline laughed long and loud at the notion of her stately Esclairmonde being the lady- love of King James's little white-visage 1 cousin; but if he could bring it about she had no objection, she should py glad that the demoiselle should come down from the height and be like other people; but she would 90 THE CAGED LION wager the King of Scots her emerald carcanet against his heron's plume, that Esclairmonde would never marry unless her hands were held for her. Was she not at that very moment visiting some foundation of bedes- women that was all she heard of at yonder feast of cats ! In fact, under Dr. Bennet's escort, Esclairmonde and Alice were in a barge dropping down the Thames to the neighbourhood of the frowning fortress of the Tower — as yet unstained ; and at the steps leading to the Hospitium of St. Katharine the ladies were met, not only by their friend Mrs. Bolt, but by Sir Richard Whittington, his kindly dame, and by ' Master William Kedbesby,' a grave and gentle-looking old man, who had been Master of St. Katharine's ever since the first year of King Richard II. , and delighted to tell of the visits 'Good Queen Anne' of Bohemia had made to her hospital, and the kind words she had said to the old alms-folk arid the children of the schools : and when he heard that the Lady Esclairmonde was of the same princely house of Luxemburg, he seemed to think no honour sufficient for her. They visited the two houses, one for old men, the other for old women, each with a common apartment, with a fire, and a dining-table in the midst, and sleeping cells screened off round it, and with a paved terrace walk overhanging the river, where the old people could sit and sun themselves, and be amused by the gay barges and the swans that expatiated there. The bedes women, ten in number, had a house arranged like an ordinary nunnery, except that they were not in seclusion, had no grating, and shared the quadrangle with the alms-folk and children. They were gentle and well-nurtured women, chiefly belonging to the city and country families that furnished servants to the queens : and they applied themselves to various offices of charity, going forth into the city to tend the poor, and to teach the women and children. The ap- pointments of alms-folk and admissions to the school were chiefly made at their recommendation ; and though a master taught all the book-learning in the busy hive of scholars — eighty in number — one or more of them instructed the little girls in spinning and in stitchery, MALCOLM'S sriT 91 y nothing of gentle and mod< -: demeanour. There was a great look of happiness and good order about all; and the church, fair and graceful, seemed well to com- plete and rule the institution. Esclairmonde could but sigh with a sort of regret as she left it, and let herself be conducted by Sir Richard Whittington to a refection at his beautiful house in Crutched Friars, built round a square, combining warehouse and manor-house ; richly- carved shields, with the arms of the companies of London, supporting the tier of first-floor windows, and another r«»w of brackets above supporting another overhanging story. A fountain was in the centre of a beautiful Qsward, with beds of roses, pansies, pinks, stars of Bethlehem, and other good old flowers, among which a monkey was chained to a tree, while a cat roamed about at a safe distance from him. Alice Montagu raised a laugh by asking if it were fhr eat : to which her city namesake replied that *1i»t master * never could abide to be without a cat in memory of his first friend, and marshalled them into the beautiful hall, with wainscot lining below, surmounted by an arcade containing statues, and above a beautiful carved ceiling. Here a meal was served to them, and the Lady talked with Whittington of the grand town-halls and other buildings of the merchants of the Low Countries, with whom he was a trader for their rich stuffs ; and the visit 1 off with no small satisfaction to both parties. Esclairmonde sat in the barge on her return, looking out on tlie gray clear water, and on the bright gardens that sloped down to it. gay with roses and" fruitful with mulberries, apples, and strawberries, and the mansions and churches that were never quite out of sight, though there were some open fields and wild country ere com- ing to Westminster, all as if she did not see them, but was wrapped in deep contemplation. Alice at last, weary of Bilence, stole her arm round her waist, and peeped up into her lac-. -May 1 guess thy thoughts, Bweet Clairette ? Thou wilt found Mich a hospice thyself ? ' ■ Say not I will, child, 1 .-aid Esclairmonde, with a crystal drop Btarting in each dark eye. *1 would strive and hope, but ' 92 THE CAGED LION ' Ah ! thou wilt, thou wilt,' cried Alice ; ' and since there are Beguines enough for their own Netherlands, thou wilt come to England and be our foundress here.' ' Nay, little one ; here are the bedeswomen of St. Katharine's in London.' ' Ah ! but we have other cities. Good Father, have Ave not ? Hull — Southampton — oh ! so many, where poor strangers come that need ghostly tendance as Avell as bodily. Esclairmonde — Light of the World — oh ! it Avas not for nothing that they gaA'e thee that goodly name. The hospice shall bear it ! ' ' Hush, hush ! SAveet pyet ; mine own name is what they must not bear.' ' Ah ! but the people will giA~e it ; and our Holy Father the Pope, he will put thee into the canon of saints. Only pity that I cannot liA'e to hear of Ste. Esclairmonde — nay, but then I must OA'erlive thee, and I should not love that.' k Oh, silence, silence, child ; these are no thoughts to begin a Avork with. Little flatterer, it may be Avell for me that our lives must needs lie so far apart that I shall not oft hear that fond silly tongue.' ' Nay,' said Alice, in the luxury, not of castle-building but of convent -building ; ' it may be that when that knight OA'er there sees me so small and ill-faA*oured he will none of me, and then I'll thank him so, and pray my father to let him have all my lands and houses ex- cept just enough to doAver me to folloAV thee with, dear Lady Prioress.' But here Alice Avas summarily silenced. Such talk, both priest and Aotaress told her, Avas not meet for dutiful daughter or betrothed maiden. Her lot Avas fixed, and she must do her duty therein as the good wife and lady of the castle, the noble English matron ; and as she looked half disposed to pout, Esclairmonde dreAv such a picture of the beneficent influence of the good baronial dame, ruling her castle, bringing up her children and the daughters of her A^assals in good and pious nurture, making ' the heart of her husband safely trust in her,' benefiting the poor, and fostering holy men, Avayfarers, and pilgrims, that the girl's eyes filled with tears as she looked up and said, ' Ah ! lady, this MALCOLM'S SUIT 93 is the life fitted for thee, who can paint it so well. Why have I not a brother, that you might be Countess of Salisbury, and I a poor little sister in a nunnery ? ' Esclairmonde shook her head. 'Silly child, petite niaise, our lots were fixed by other hands than ours. WewUl strive each to serve our God, in the coif or in the veil, in samite or in serge, and He will only ask which of us has been most faithful, not whether we have lived in castle or in cloister.' Little had Esclairmonde expected to hear the greeting with which the Countess received her, breaking out into peals of merriment as she told her of the choice destiny in st<»re for her, to be wedded to the little lame Scot, pretending to read her a grave lecture on the conse- quences of the advances she had made to him. Esclairmonde was not put out of countenance ; in fact, she did not think the Countess in earnest, and merely replied with a smile that at least there was less harm in Lord Malcolm than in the suitors at home. Jaqueline clapped her hands and cried, ' Good tidings, Clairette. I'll never forgive you if you make me lose my emerald carcanet ! So the arrow was winged, after all. She prefers him — her heart is touched by the dainty step.' k Madame ! ' entreated Esclairmonde, with agitation ; 'at least, infirmity should be spared.' ' It touches her deeply ! ' exclaimed the Duchess. *Ah! to see her in the mountains teaching the wild men to say their Ave, and to wear culottes, the little prince interpreting for her, as King James told us in his story of the saint his ancestor.' Raillery about Malcolm had been attempted before, but never so pertinaciously ; and Esclairmonde heeded it not at all, till James himself sought her out, and, with all his own persuasive grace, told her that he was re- joiced to hear from Madame of Hainault that she had spoken kindly of his youthful kinsman, for whose im- provement he was sure he had in great measure to thank her. Esclairmonde replied composedly, but as one on her guard, that the Sieur de Glenuskie was a gentle and a holy youth, of a good and toward wit. 94 THE CAGED LION k As I saw from the first,' said James, ' when I brought him away from being crushed among our rude cousins ; but. lady, I knew not how the task of training the boy would be taken out of my hands by your kindness ; and now, pardon me, lady, only one thing is wanting to complete your work, and that is hope.' ' Hope is always before a holy man, Sir.' ' 0, madame ! but we poor earthly beings require an earthly hope, nearer home, to brace our hearts, and nerve our arms.' ' 1 thought the Sieur de Glenuskie was destined to a religious life.' ' Never by any save his enemies, lady. The Regent Albany and his fierce sons have striven to scare Malcolm into a cloister, that his sister and his lands may be their prey ; and they would have succeeded had not I come to Scotland in time. The lad never had any true vocation.' ' That may be,' said Esclairmonde, somewhat sorrow- fully. ' Still,' added James, ' he is of a thoughtful and some- what tender mould, and the rudeness of life will try him sorely unless he have some cheering star, some light of love, to bear him up and guide him on his way.' 'If so, may he find a worthy one.' 1 Lady, it is too late to talk of what he may find. The brightness that has done so much for him already will hinder him from turning his eyes elsewhere.' 'You are a minstrel, Sir King, and therefore these words of light romance fall from your lips.' ' Nay, lady, hitherto my romance has been earnest. It rests with you to make Malcolm's the same.' fc Not so, Sir. That has long been out of my hands.' 'Madame, you might well shrink from what it was as insult to you to propose ; but have you never thought of the blessings you might confer in the secular life, with one who would be no hindrance, but a help ? " k Xo, Sir, for no blessings, but curses, would follow a breach of dedication.' 'Lady, I will not press you with what divines have decided respecting such dedication. Any scruples could be removed by the Holy Father at Rome, and, though MALCOLMS SLIT 95 I will Bpeak no further, I Avill trust to your considering the matter. You have never viewed it in any li^-i, t Bave that of a refuge from wedlock with one to whom I trust yon would prefer my gentle cousin.' ' It were a poor compliment to Lord Malcolm to name him in the same day with Sir BoSmond of Burgundy, 1 Baid Esclairmonde ; 'but, as 1 said, it is not the person thai withholds me, hut the fact that I am not free.' '1 do not ask you to love or accept the poor boy as yet, 1 said James; 'I leave that for the time when 1 shall bring him Lack to you. with the qualities grown which you have awakened. At least, I can bear him the tidings that it is not your feelings, hut your scruples that art* against him.' 'Sir King,' said Esclairmonde. gravely, 'I question not your judgment in turning your kinsman and subject to the secular life ; but if you lead him by false hopes, of which I am the object, I tell you plainly that you are deluding him ; and if any evil come thereof, be it on your own head. 1 She moved away, with a bend of her graceful neck, and James stood with a slight smile curving his lip. 4 By my troth,' he said to himself, 'a lordly lady ! She knows her own vocation. She is one to command scores of holy maids, and have all the abbots and priors round at her beck, instead of one poor man. Rather Malcolm than I ! But he is the very stuff that loves to have such a woman to rule him ; and if she wed at all, he is the very man for her ! I'll not give it up ! Love is the way to make a man of him, whether successful or not, and she may change her mind, since Bhe is not yet on the roll of saints. If I could get a word with her father confessor, and show him how much it would be for the interest of the Church in Scotland to get such :i woman there, it would be the surest way of coming at her. Were she once in Scotland, my pretty one would have a stay and helper! Bui all must rest till after the campaign. 1 Jam«s therefore told Malcolm so much as that ho had spoken to his lady-love for him. and that sin- had avowed that it was not himself, but her own VOWS, that was the obstacle. 96 THE CAGED LION Malcolm crimsoned with joy as well as confusion ; and the King proceeded : ' For the vows ' — he shrugged his shoulders — ' we know there is a remedy ! Meantime, Malcolm, be you a man, win your spurs, and show your- self worth overcoming something for ! ' Malcolm smiled and brightened, holding his head high and joyously, and handling his sword. Then came the misgiving — 'But Lilias, Sir, and Patrick Drummond.' 'We will provide for them, boy. You know Drum- mond is bent on carving his own fortune rather than taking yours, and that your sister only longs to see you a gallant knight.' It was true, but Malcolm sighed. ' You have not spoken to the lady yourself ? ' asked the King. ' Xo, Sir. Oh, how can I ? ' faltered Malcolm, shame- faced and frightened. James laughed. ' Let that be as the mood takes you, or occasion serves,' he said, wondering whether the lad's almost abject awkwardness and shame would be likely to create the pity akin to love or to contempt, and deciding that it must be left to chance. Nor did Malcolm find boldness enough to do more than haunt Esclairmonde's steps, trembling if she glanced towards him, and almost shrinking from her gaze. He had now no doubts about going on the campaign, and was in full course of being prepared with equipments, horses, armour, and attendants, as became a young prince attending on his sovereign as an adventurer in the camp. It was not even worth while to name such scruples to the English friar who shrived him on the last day before the departure, and who knew nothing of his past history. He knew all priests would say the same things, and as he had never made a binding vow, he saw no need of consulting any one on the subject ; it would only vex him again, and fill him with doubts. The suspicion that Dr. Bennet was aware of his previous intention made him shrink from him. So the last day had come, and all was farewell. King Henry had per- suaded the Queen to seclude herself for one evening from Madame of Hainault, for his sake. King James 2 I e5 S -I? MALCOLMS SUIT 97 was pacing tli«' gardens on the Thames banks, with Joan Beaufort's hand for once allowed to repose in his ; many a noble gentleman was exchanging lasl words with his wife — many a young squire whispering what he had never ventured to say before — many a (diver mark was cloven — many a bright tress was exchanged. Even Half Percy was in the midst of something very like a rump with the handsome Bessie Nevil for a knot of ribbon to carry to the wars. Malcolm hit a certain exaltation in being enough like other people t<> have a lady-love, but there was not much comfort otherwise; indeed, he could so little have addressed Esclairmonde that it was almost a satisfaction that she was the centre of a group of maidens whose lovers or brothers either had been sent off beforehand, or who saw their attentions paid elsewhere, and who all alike gravitated towards the Demoiselle de Luxemburg for sympathy. He could but hover on the outskirts, conscious that he must cut a ridiculous figure, hut un- able t<> detach himself from the neighbourhood of the magnet. As he looked back on the happy weeks of mio distrained intercourse, when he came to her as freely as did these young girls with all his troubles, he fell as if the King had destroyed all his joy and peace, and yel that these flutterings of heart and agonies of shame and iits of despair were worth all that childish calm. He durst say nothing, only now and then to gaze on her with his great brown wistful eyes, which he dropped whenever she looked towards him ; until at last, when the summer evening was closing in, and the last signal was given for the break-up of the party, Malcolm ven- tured on one faltering murmur, 'Lady, lady, you are not offended with me ?' * Nay." said Esclairmonde, kindly ; ' nothing has passed between us that should offend me.' His eye lighted. ' May 1 still be remembered in your prayers, lady ? ' 'As i shall remember all who have been my friends h.-r ,' she G lid. 'And oh, lady, if 1 should — should win honour, may I lay it at your feet ? ' • Whatever you achieve as a good man and true will B 98 THE CAGED LION gladden me,' said Esclairmonde, 'as it will all others that wish you well. Both you and your sister in her loneliness shall have my best prayers. Farewell, Lord Malcolm ; may the Saints bless and guard you, whether in the world or the Church.' Malcolm knew why she spoke of his sister, and felt as if there were no hope for him. Esclairmonde's grave kindness was a far worse sign than would have been any attempt to evade him ; but at any rate she had spoken with him, and his heart could not but be cheered. What might he not do in the glorious future ? As the fore- most champion of a crusading king, bearing St. Andrew's cross through the very gates of Jerusalem, what maiden, however saintly, could refuse him his guerdon ? And he knew that, for the present, Esclairmonde Avas safe from retiring into any convent, since her high birth and great possessions would make any such establish- ment expect a large dower with her as a right, and few abbesses would have ventured to receive a runaway foreigner, especially as one of her guardians was the Bishop of Therouenne. CHAPTER VII THE SIEGE OF MEAUX WINTRY winds and rains were sweeping over the English tents on the banks of the Marne, where Henry Y. was besieging Meaux, then the stronghold of one of those terrible freebooters who were always the offspring of a lengthened war. Jean de Gast, usually known as the Bastard de Yaurus, nominally was of the Armagnac or patriotic party, but, in fact, pillaged indiscriminately, especially capturing travellers on their way to Paris, and setting on their heads a heavy price, failing which he hung them upon the great elm-tree in the market-place. The very suburbs of Paris were infested by the forays of this desperate routier, as such highway robbers were called ; the supplies of provisions were cut off, and the citizens had petitioned King Henry that he would relieve them from so intolerable an enemy. The King intended to spend the winter months with THE SIEGE OF MKAI'X his queen in England, and at once attacked the place in October, hoping to carry ir by a coupde main. He took the lower city, containing the market-place and several convents, with no great difficulty; bnt the u] city, on a rising ground above the riv< - strongly fortified, well victualled, and bravely defended, and he found himself forced to invest it, and make a regular - s . though at the expense of severe t«»il and much Bickness and Buffering. Both his own prestige in France and the welfare of the capital depended on his sue and he had therefore fixed himself before Means to take it at whatever cost. The greater part of the army were here encamp -d. together with the chief nobles, March, Somerset. Salis- bury, Warwick, and likewise the King < S ts. had for a time had the command of the army which besieged and took Dreux while Henry was elsewhere _ ged, but in general he acted as a sort of volunteer aide-de-camp to his brother king, and Malcolm Stewart of Glenuskie was always with him as his squire. A great change had com*' over Malcolm in these last few months. His feeble, sickly boyhood seemed v> have been entirely cast off. and the warm genial summer sun of France to have strengthened his frame and devel his powers. He had shot up suddenly to a fair height, had almost lost his lameness, and gained much more appearance of health and power of enduring fatigue. His nerves had become less painfully sensitive, and when after his tirst skirmish, during which he had k>-pr i t«» Kim: James, far too much terrified to stir an inch fmm him, he had not only found himself perfectly - hut had been much ] r r his valour, he had ich pleased with himself that he quite wished for another occasion of displaying his bravery; and. what with use. and what with the i 1 1 < - : - g spirit of pug- nacity, he was as sincere is B If Percy in abusing the French for never coming to a pitched battle. Perhaps, indeed, Malcolm spoil gerly than Half, in own surprise and gratification at finding himself no coward, and his fear lest Percy should detect that he ever had been supposed t<> be such. So far the King of Scots had succeeded in awakening II 2 100 THE CAGED LION martial fire in the boy, but he found him less the com- panion in other matters than he had intended, When at Paris, James would have taken him to explore the learned hoards of the already venerable University of Paris, where young James Kennedy — son to Sir James Kennedy of Dunure, and to Mary, an elder sister of the King — was studying with exceeding zeal. Both James and Dr. Bennet were greatly interested in this famous abode of learning — the King, indeed, was already sketch- ing out designs in his own mind for a similar institution in Scotland, designs that were destined to be carried out after his death by Kennedy ; and Malcolm perforce heard many inquiries and replies, but he held aloof from friendship with his clerkly cousin Kennedy, and closed his ears as much as might be, hanging back as if afraid of returning to his books. There was in this some real dread of Ralf Percy's mockery of his clerk- liness, but there was more real distaste for all that appertained to the past days that he now despised. The tide of vitality and physical vigour, so long deficient, had, when it had fairly set in, carried him away with it ; and in the activity of body newly ac- quired, mental activity had well-nigh ceased. And therewith went much of the tenderness of conscience and devout habits of old. They dropped from him, sometimes for lack of time, sometimes from false shame, and by and by from very weariness and distaste. He was soldier now, and not monk — ay, and even the observances that such soldiers as Henry and James never failed in, and always enforced, were becoming a burthen to him. They wakened misgivings that he did not like, and that must wait till his next general shrift. And Esclairmonde ? Out of her sight, Malcolm dreamt a good deal about her, but more as the woman, less as the saint ; and the hopes, so low in her presence, burnt brighter in her absence as Malcolm grew in self- confidence and in knowledge of the world. He knew that when he parted with her he had been a miserable little wretch whom any woman would despise, yet she had shown him a sort of preference ; how would it be when he returned to her, perhaps a knight, certainly a brave man like other men ! THE SIEGE OF Mi:. MX 101 Of Patrick Drummond he had as yet heard nothing, and only believed him to be among the Scots who fought on the French Bide under the Earls of Buchan and Douglas. Indeed, .lames especially avoided places where In- knew these Scots to be engaged, as Henry persisted in regarding them as rebels against him. ami in hanging all who were made prisoners ; nor had .Malcolm, during the courtesies thai always pass between the outposts of civilized armies, made much attempt to have any communication with his cousin, lor though his own abnegation of his rights had never been per- mitted by his guardian, or reckoned on by his sister oi- lier lover, still he had been so much in earnest about it himself, as, while regarding it as a childish folly, to feel ill at ease in the remembrance, and, though defiant. willing to avoid all that could recall it. Meantime he, with his kin.-:, was lodged in a large old convent, as part of the immediate following of King Henry. Others of the princes and m »1 fles were quarter* ■« I in the market hall and low T er town, but great part of the troops were in tents, and in a state of much discomfort, owing to the overflowings of the Marne. Fighting was the least of their dangers, though their skirmishes were often fought ankle-deep in mu 1 and mire ; fever and ague were among them, and many a sick man was sent away to recover or die at Paris. The long dark evenings were a new trial to men used to summer campaigning, ami nothing but Henry's wonderful personal influence and perpetual vigilance kept up discipline. At any hour of the day or night, at Liny place in the cam]), the King might be at hand, with a cheery word of sympathy or encouragement, or with the most unflinching stern- ness towards any disobedience or debauchery — ever a presence to be either loved or dreaded. An engineer in advance of his time, he was persuaded that much of the discomfort might be remedied by trenching the ground around the cam]); but this measure proved wonderfully distasteful to the Boldiery. How hard they laboured in the direct siege operations they cared not, but to be set to drain French fields seemed to them absurd ami unreasonable, and the work would not have pro- ceeded at all without constant superintendence from one 102 THE CAGED LION of the chiefs of the army, since the ordinary knights and squires were as obstinately prejudiced as were the men. Thus it was that, on a cold sleety December day, James of Scotland rode along the meadows, splashing through thin ice into muddy water, and attended by his small personal suite, excepting Sir Nigel Baird, who was gone on a special commission to Paris. Both he and Malcolm were plainly and lightly armed, and wore long blue cloaks with the St. Andrew's cross on the shoulder, steel caps without visors, and the King's merely distinguished by a thread-like circlet of gold. They had breastplates, swords, and daggers, but they were not going to a quarter where lighting was to be expected, and bright armour was not to be exposed to rust without need. A visit of inspection to the delvers was not a congenial occupation, for though the men-at-arms had obeyed James fairly well when he was in sole command at Dreux, yet whenever he was obliged to enforce anything unpopular, the national dislike to the Scot was apt to show itself, and the whole army was at present in a depressed condition which made such manifestations the more probable. But King Henry was not half recovered from a heavy feverish cold, which he had not confessed or attended to, and he had also of late been troubled with a swelling of the neck. This morning, too, much to his incon- venience and dismay, he had missed his signet-ring. The private seal on such a ring was of more importance than the autograph at that time, and it would never have left the King's hand ; but no doubt, in consequence of his indisposition, his finger, always small-boned, had become thin enough to allow the signet to escape un- awares. He was unwilling to publish the loss, as it might cast doubt on the papers he despatched, and he, with his chamberlain Fitzhugh, King James, Malcolm, Percy, and a few more, had spent half the morning in the vain search, ending by the King sending his chamber- lain, Lord Fitzhugh, to carry to Paris a seal already bearing his shield, but lacking the small private mark that authenticated it as his signet. Fitzhugh would stand over the lapidary and see this added, and bring it back. Ralf Percy had meantime been sent to bring a report of THE SIEGE OF MKAT'X the diggers, bui he was l<>nL r in returning; and when Henry became uneasy, .lames had volunteered to L r <> himself, and Henry bad consented, nol because the air was full of Bleety ruin or snow, bui because his hands were full of letters needing to l"- despatched to all quarters. The air was so thick that it was not i -. » e where were the Bullen group of diggers presided over by the quondam duellists of Thirst, Kitson and Trenton, now ill.- most inseparable and impracticable of men; but James and his companions had ridden about two miles from the market-place, when Half Percy came out of the mist, exclaiming, 'Is it you, Sir King? Maybe you can do something with those rascals ! I've talked myself blue with cold to make them slope the Bides of their dyke, but the owl Kitson says no Torkshireman ditcher ever went but by one fashion, and none ever shall : and when I lifted my riding-rod at the most insolent of the rogues, what must Trenton do but tell me the lot were free yeomen, and I'd best look out, or they'd roll me in the mire if I meddled with a soul of them. 1 1 You didn't threaten to strike Trenton ? ' * Xo, no; the sullen cur is a gentleman. 'Twas one ( >f those lubberly men-at-arms ! I told them they should hear what King Harry would say to their mood. 1 would it were he ! ' • 3o would I,' said James. 'Little chance that they will hearken to a Scot when you have put them in Mich a mood. Hold, Half, do not go for the King; he has rs for the Emperor mattering more than this dyke. 1 He rode on, and did his best by leaping into the ditch, taking the spade, and showing the superior security of the angle of inclination traced by the King, but all in vain; both Trenton and Kitson silently but obstinately scouted the notion that any king should know more about ditches than thems. . 'See, 1 cried Percy, starting up, 'here's other work! The fellows, whence came they ? ' Favoured by the fog and the soft soil of the meadows, a considerable body of the enemy were stealing on the del vers with the manifest purpose of cutting them off 104 THE CAGED LION from the camp. They were all mounted, but the only horses in the English party were those of James, Percy, Malcolm, and the half-dozen men of his escort. James, assuming the command at once, bade these to be all released ; they would be sure to find their way to the camp, and that would bring succour. Meantime he drew the whole of the men, about thirty in number, into a compact body. They were, properly, archers, but their bows had been left behind, and they had only their pikes and bills, which were, however, very formidable weapons against cavalry as long as they continued in an unbroken rank ; and though the bogs, pools, sunken hedges, and submerged stumps made it difficult to keep close together as they made their way slowly with one flank to the river, these obstacles were no small protection against a charge of horsemen. For a quarter of a mile these tactics kept them un- harmed, but at length they reached a wide smooth meadow, and the enemy seemed preparing to charge. James gave orders to close up and stand firm, pikes outwards. Malcolm's heart beat fast ; it was the most real peril he had yet seen ; and yet he was cheered by the King's ringing voice, i Stand firm, ye merry men. They must soon be with us from the camp.' Suddenly a voice shouted, ' The Scots ! the Scots ! 'Tis the Scots ! Treachery ! we are betrayed. Come, Sir' (to Percy), ' they'll be on you. Treason ! ' ' An' it were, you fool, would a Percy turn his back ? ' cried Ralf, striking at the man ; but the panic had seized the whole body ; all were shouting that the false Scots king had brought his countrymen down on them ; they scattered hither and thither, and would have fallen an easy prey if they had been pursued. But this did not seem to be the purpose of the enemy, who merely ex- tended themselves so as to form a hedge around the few who stood, sword in hand, disdaining to fly. These were, James, somewhat in advance, with his head high, and a lion look on his brow ; Malcolm, white with dis- may ; Ralf, restless with fury ; Kitson and Trenton, ap- parently as unmoved as ever ; Brewster, equally steady ; and Malcolm's follower, Halbert, in a glow of hopeful excitement. THE SIEGE OF MKAl \ 105 'Never fear, friends, 1 said James, kindly; 'to you this can only be matter of ransom. 1 'I fear nothing, 1 sharply answered Ralf. 'We'll stand by yon, Sir, 1 said Kitson to Ralf; 'but p there were foul treason ' 'Pshaw! you ass, 1 were all Percy's thanks; for at that momenta horseman came forward from among the enemy, a gigantic form on a tall white horse, altogether a 'dark -ray man.' the open visor revealing an elderly face, hard-featured and grim, and the shield on his arm so dinted, faded, and battered, as scarce to Bhow the blue chief and the bleeding crowned heart; but it was no unfamiliar sight to Malcolm's eyes, and with a Blight shudder he bent his head in answer to the fierce whisper, 'Old Deu-las himself I 1 with which Hotspur's son cer- tified himself that he had the foe of his house before him. Kin- James, resting the point of his sword on his mailed foot, stood erect and gravely expectant ; and the Scot, springing to the ground, advanced with the words, ^Ve greet you well, my liege, and hereby ' lie was bending his knee as he spoke, and removing his gauntlet in preparation for the act of homage. ' Hold, Earl Douglas,' said James, ' homage is vain to a captive.' ' You are captive no longer, Sir King/ said Earl Archi- bald. ' We have long awaited this occasion, and will at once return to Scotland with you, with the arms and treasure we have gained here, and will bear down the craven Albany.' Kitson and Trenton looked at one another and grasped their swords, as though doubting whether they ought not to cut down their king's prisoner rather than let him be rescued; and meanwhile the cry. 'Save Kin- Janes :' broke out on all sides, knights leapt down to tender their homage, and among the foremost Malcolm knew Sir Patrick Drummond, crying aloud. -My lord, my lord, we have waited Ion- for you. Be a free king in free Scotland ! Trust us, my liege. 1 'Trustyou,my friend^:' said James, deeply touched ; • 1 trust you with all my heart ; but how could you trust me if I began with a breach of faith to the Kin- of England ? ' 106 THE CAGED LION Ralf Percy held up his finger and nodded his head to the Yorkshire squires, "who stood open-mouthed, still believing that a Scot must be false. There was an angry murmur among the Scots, but James gazed at them undauntedly, as though to look it down. ' Yes, to King Harry ! ' he said, in his trumpet voice. ' I belong to him, and he has trusted me as never prisoner was trusted before, nor will I betray that trust.' ' The foul fiend take such niceties,' muttered old Douglas ; but, checking himself, he said, ' Then, Sir, give me your sword, and we'll have you home as my prisoner, to save this your honour ! ' ' Yea,' said James, ' that is mine own, though my body be yours, and till England put me to ransom you would have but a useless captive.' 'Sir,' said Sir John Swinton, pressing forward, 'if my Lord of Douglas be plain-spoken, bethink you that it is no cause for casting aside this one hope of freedom that we have sought so long. If you have the heart to strike for Scotland, this is the time.' 'It is not the time,' said James, ' nor will I do Scot- land the wrong of striking for her with a dishonoured hand.' * That will we see when we have him at Hermitage Castle,' quoth Douglas to his followers. ' Now, Sir King, best give your sword without more grimace. Living or dead you are ours.' ' I yield not,' said James. ' Dead you may take me — alive, never.' Then turning his eyes to the faces that gazed on him so earnestly in disappointment, in affec- tion, or in scorn, he spoke : ; Brave friends, who may perchance love me the better that I have been a captive half my life and all my reign, you can believe how sair my heart burns for my bonnie land's sake, and how little I'd reck of my life for her weal. But broken oaths are ill beginnings. For me, so notably trusted by King Henry, to break my bonds, would shame both Scots and kings ; and it were yet more paltry to feign to yield to my Lord of Douglas. Rescue or no rescue, I am England's captive. Gentles, kindly brother Scots, in one way alone can you free me. Give up this wretched land of France, whose troubles are but lengthened by THE SIEGE OF MEAUX 107 your valour. Let me gang to King Harry and tell him your Bwords are at his service, bo soon aa I am free. Then am 1 your King indeed; we return together, staunch hearts and strong hands, and the key shall keep the castle, and the bracken bush keep the cow, though 1 1- ad the life of a dog to bring it about 1 His tawny eye flashed with falcon light ; and as he >i 1 towering above all the tall men around, there were few who did not in heart own him indeed their king. But his picture of royal power accorded ill with the notions of a Black Douglas, in the most masterful days of that family ; and Earl Archibald, who had come to re- gard kings as beings meant to be hectored by Douglases, B Ltfully exclaimed, "Hear him, comrades; he has avouched himself a Southron at heart. Has he reckoned how little it would cost to give a thrust to the caitiff who has lost heart in his prison, and clear the way for Albany, who is at least a true Scot ? ' 4 Do* so, Lord Earl," said James, 'and end a long captivity. But let these go scathe! as.' With one voice, Percy, Eitson, Trenton, and Brewster, shouted their resolve to defend him to the last ; and Malcolm, flinging himself on Patrick Drummond, adjured him to save the King. ' Thou here, laddie ! ' said Patrick, amazed ; and while several more knights exclaimed, ' Sir. Sir. we'll see no hand laid on you ! ' he thrust forward. * Take my horse, Sir. ride on, and I'll see no scathe befall you.' •Thanks.' said James; "hut my feet will serve me best : we will keep together.' The Scottish force seemed dividing into two : Douglas and his friends and retainers, mounted and holding ther, as though still undecided whether to grapple with the King and his half-dozen companions; while Drummond and about ten more lances were disposed to guard him at all risk-. • Now,' said James to his English friends ; and there- with, sword in hand, he moved with a steady but swift stride towards the camp, nor did Douglas attempt pursuit : some of the other horsemen hovered between, and Patrick Drummond. with a puzzled race, kept near on foot. So they proceeded till they reached a hank and 108 THE CAGED LION willow hedge, through which horses could hardly have pursued them. On the other side of this, James turned round and said, ' Thanks, Sir Knight ; I suppose I may not hope that you will become a follower of the knight adventurer.' ' I cannot fight under the English banner, my liege. Elsewhere I would follow you to the death.' ' This is no time to show your error,' said James ; 'and I therefore counsel you to come no farther. The English will be pricking forth in search of us : so I will but thank you for your loyal aid.' ' I entreat you, Sir,' cried Patrick, ' not to believe that we meant this matter to go as it has done ! It had long been our desire — of all of us, that is, save my Lord Buchan's retainers — to find you and release you ; but never did we deem that Lord Douglas would have dared to conduct matters thus.' 'You would be little the better for me did Lord Douglas bring me back on his own terms,' said James, smiling. ' No, no ; when I go home, it shall be as a free king, able to do justice to all alike ; and for that I am content to bide my time, and trust to such as you to back me when it comes.' ' And with all my heart, Sir,' said Patrick. ' Would that you were where I could do so now. Ah ! laddie,' to Malcolm ; ' ye're in good hands. My certie, I kenned ye but by your voice ! Ye're verily grown into a goodly slip after all, and ye stood as brave as the rest. My poor father would have been fain to see this day ! ' Malcolm flushed to the ears ; somehow Patrick's praise was not as pleasant to him as he would have expected, and he only faltered, ' You know ' ' I ken but what Johnnie Swinton brought me in a letter frae the Abbot of Coldingham, that my father — the saints be with him ! — had been set on and slain by yon accursed Master of Albany — would that his thrapple were in my grip ! — that he had sent you south- wards to the King, and that your sister was in St. Abbs. Is it so ? ' Malcolm had barely time to make a sign of affirmation, when the King hurried him on. 'I grieve to balk you of your family tidings, but delay will be ill for one or THE SIEGE OF Ml.AI \ LOO other of us ; -<> fare thee well, Sir Patrick, till better times. 1 He shook the knight's hand as he spoke, em short his protestations, and leapt down the hank, saying in a low voice, a- he Btretched <>m his hand and helped Malcolm down after him, * He wonld have known me again for your guest it* we had stood many moments Longer; he looked hard at me as it was; and neither in England nor Scotland may that journey of min< blazed al road. 1 Malcolm was on the whole rather relieved ; he could not help feeling guilty towards Patrick, and unless he could have full time for explanation, he preferred not falling in Avith him. And at the same moment Kitson stepped towards tin- King. 'Sir, yon are an honest man. an d we crave your pardon if we said aught that seemed in doubt thereof. 1 James laughed, shaking each honest hand, and say- ing, * At least, L r ""d sirs, do not always think Scot and traitor the sane- word ; and thank yon for backing me bo gallantly. 1 'I'd wish no better than to hack such as yon, Sir." said Kitson heartily ; and James then turned to Ralf Percy, and asked him what he thought of the Douglas face to face. •A dour old block!" said Ralf. "If those runaways had but stayed with us. the hoary ruffian should have had his lesson from a Percy." James smiled, for the grim giant was still a good deal more than a match for the slim, rosy-faced stripling the house of Percy, who nevertheless simply deemed his nation and family made him invincible by either Sco< or Frenchman. The difficulties of their progress, however, entirely occupied them. Having diverged from the regular track, they had to make their way through the inundated meadows: sometimes among deep pools, sometimes in quagmires, or over hedges; while the water that drenched them was fast freezing, and darkness came down on them. All stumbled or were bogged at different times ; and Malcolm, shorter and weaker than 110 THE CAGED LION the rest, and his lameness becoming more felt than usual, could not help impeding their progress, and at last was so spent that but for the King's strong arm he would have spent the night in a bog-hole. At last the lights were near, the outskirts were gained, the pass-word given to the watch, and the rough but welcome greeting was heard — ' That's well ! More of you come in ! How got you off ? ' ' The rogues got back, then ? ' said Kitson. ' Some score of them,' was the answer ; ' but 'tis thought most are drowned or stuck by the French. The King is in a proper rage, as well he may be : but what else could come of a false Scot in the camp ? ' ' Have a care, you foul tongue ! ' Percy was the first to cry ; and as torches were now brought out and cast their light on the well-known faces, the soldiers stood abashed; but James tarried not for their excuses; his heart was hot at the words which implied that Henry suspected him, and he strode hastily on to the con vent, where the quadrangle was full of horses and men, and the windows shone with lights. At the door of the refectory stood a figure whose armour flashed with light, and his voice sounded through the closed visor — ' I tell you, March, I cannot rest till I know what his hap has been. If he have done this thing ' ' What then ? ' answered James out of the darkness, in a voice deep with wrath ; but Henry started. ' You there ! you safe ! Speak again ! Come here that I may see. Where is he ? ' k Here, Sir King,' said James, gravely. 1 Xow the saints be thanked ! ' cried Henry, joyously. • Where be the caitiffs that brought me their false tale ? They shall hang for it at once.' ' It was the less wonder,' said James, still coldly, 'that they should have thought themselves betrayed, since their king believed it of me.' k Xay, 'twas but for a hot moment — ay, and the bitterest I ever spent. What could I do when the villains swore that there were signals and I know not what devices passing ? I hoped yet 'twas but a plea for their own cowardice, and was mounting to come and see for you. Come, I should have known you better; I'd rather the nil. SIEGE OF mi-: \ r\ 111 whole world deceived me khan have distrusted yon, Jamie. 1 There was thai in his tone which ended all resent- ment, and James's hand was at once clasped in his, while Henry added, 'Ho, Provost-mar s hal 1 to the gallows with those knaves!' 'Nay, Harry, 1 said James, 'let me plead for them. There was more than ordinary to dismay them.' 'Dismay I ay, the more cause they should have stood like honest men. If a rogue be not to hang for desert- ing his captain and then maligning him, soon would knavery he master of all." - Hear me first, Hal. 1 'I'll hear when I return and you are dried. Why, man, thon art an icicle errant; change thy garments while I go round the posts, or I shall hear nought for the chattering of thy teeth.' 'Nor 1 for your cough, if you go, Harry. Surely, 'tis Salisbury's night ! ' 'The more cause that I be on the alert ! Could I be everywhere, mayhap a few winter blasts would not have chilled and frozen all the manhood out of the host,' He spoke very sharply as he threw him on his horse, and wrapped his cloak about him— a poor defence, spite of the ermine lining, against the frost of the December night for a man whose mother, the fair and wise Mary de Bohun, had died in early youth from disease of the lumrs. James and the two youmr partners of his adventure had long been clad in their gowns of peace, and seated by the fire in the refectory, James with his harp in his hand, from time to time dreamily calling forth a few plaintive notes, such as he said always rang in his ears after hearing a Scottish voice, when they again heard Henry's voice in hot displeasure with the provost- marshal for having deferred the execution of the run- aways till after the hearing of the story of the King of Scots. 'His commands were not to be transgressed for the king of anything: and he only reprieved the wretches till morning that their fate might be more Bignal. He spoke with the peremptory fierceness that had of late 112 THE CAGED LION almost obscured his natural good-humour and kindli- ness ; and when he entered the refectory and threw himself into a chair by the fire, he looked wearied out in body and mind, shivered and coughed, and said with unwonted depression that the sullen fellows would make a quagmire of their camp after all, since a French reinforcement had come up, and the vigilance that would be needed would occupy the whole army. At supper he ate little and spoke less ; and when James would have related his encounter with the Scots, he cut him short, saying, ' Let that rest till morning ; I am sick of hearing of it ! An air upon thy harp would be more to the purpose.' Nor would James have been unwilling to be silent on old Douglas's conduct if he had not been anxious to plead for the panic-stricken archers, as well as to extol the conduct of the two youths, and of the Yorkshire squires ; but, as he divined that the young Hotspur would regard praise from him as an insult, he deferred the subject for his absence, and launched into a plaintive narrative ballad, to which Henry listened, leaning back in his chair, often dozing, but without relaxation of the anxiety that sat on his pale face, and ever and anon wakening with a heavy sigh, as though his buoyant spirits were giving way under the weight of care he had brought on himself. James was just singing of one of the many knightly orphans of romance, exposed in woods to the nurture of bears, his father slain, his mother dead of grief — a ditty he had perhaps chosen for its soporific powers — when a gay bugle blast rang through the court of the convent. * The French would scarce send to parley thus late,' exclaimed James ; but the next moment a joyful clamour arose without, and Henry, springing to his feet, spoke not, but stood awaiting the tidings with the colour burning on cheek and brow in suppressed excitement. An esquire, splashed to the ears, hurried into the room, and falling on his knees, cried aloud, 'God save King Harry ! News, news, my lord ! The Queen has safely borne you a fair son at Windsor Castle, five days since.' Henry did not speak, but took the messenger's hand, THE SIEGE OF MEAT \ 113 wrung it, and left a costly ring there. Then, taking off his cap, lit- put his hands over his face, ottering a few words of fervent thanksgiving almost within himself, and then turning to the esquire, made further inquiries after his wife's welfare, took from him the Letter that Archbishop Chicheley had Bent, poured out ;i cup of wine for him, hade the lords around make him good cheer, but craved license for himself to retire. It was bo unlike his usual hilarious manner that all Looked at one another in anxiety, and spoke of his un- usual Busceptibility to fatigue and care ; while the squi re, Looking at the rich jewel in his hand, declared with disappointment in his tone, that he would rather have had a mere Hint stone so he had heard King Harry's own cheery voice. James was not the least anxious of them, but long ere Light the next morning Henry stood at his bedside, Baying, *I must go round the posts before mass, Jamie. Will you face the matin frost ? ' 'I am litter to face it than thou,' said James, rising. k Is there need for this ? ' 1 Great need,' said Henry. ' Here are these fresh forces all aglow with their first zeal, and unless they are worse captains than I suppose them, they will at- tempt some mischief ere long — nor is any time so slack as cock-crow. 1 James was speedily ready, and, with some suppressed Bighs, so was Malcolm, who knew himself in duty bound to attend his master, and was kept on the alert by Bee- ing Ralf Percy also on foot. But it was a great relief to him that the young gentleman murmured in no measured terms against the intolerable activity of their kings. No other attendants went with them, since Henry was wont to patrol his camp with as little demon- stration as possible. • I would scarcely ask a dog to come out with me this wintry morn,' said he, as he waved hack his sleepy chamberlain, Fitzhugh, and took his brother king's arm ; 'but I could not but crave a turn with thee, Jamie, ere the hue and cry of rejoicing begins. 1 •That is poor welcome for your heir,' said James. • poor child ! * said Henry ; then, after they had walked i 114 THE CAGED LION some space in silence, lie added. ' You'll mock me, but I would that this had not befallen at Windsor. I had laid my plans that it should be otherwise ; but ladies are ill to guide.* ' And wherefore should it not have been at fair Wind- sor ? If I can love it as a prison, sure your son niay well love it as a cradle.' 1 No dishonour to Windsor.' said Henry ; ' but, sleep- ing or waking, this whole night hath this adage rung in my ears — " Harry, bom at Monmouth, snail short time live and all get ; Harry, born at Windsor, shall long time live and lose ail." ' • A most choice piece of royal poesy and prophecy.' laughed James. • Xay. do not charge me with it, thou dainty minstrel. It was suns' to me by mine old Herefordshire nurse. when Windsor seemed as little within my reach as Meaux, and I never thought of it again till I looked to have a son.' • Then balk the prophecy,' said James : ' Edward born at Windsor got enough, and lived long enough to boot ! ' 1 Too late ! ' was the answer. • The Archbishop chris- tened the poor child Harry in the very horn- of his birth.' • Poor child ! ' echoed James, rather sarcastically. • Nay. 'tis not solely the rhyme.* said Henry ; • but this has been a wakeful night, and not without mis- givings whether I am one who ought to look for joy in his children.' ' What is past was not such that you alone should cry mea culpa,' said Jam--. k I never thought so till now,' said Henry. 'Yet who know- ? My father was a Avinsome young man ere his exile, full of tenderness to us all, at the rare times he was with us. Who knows what cares may make of me ere my boy learns to know me ? ' ' You will not hold him aloof, and give him no chance of loving you ? ' ' I trow not ! I'll have him with me in the camp, and he and my brave men shall be one another's pride. THE SIEGE OF MKAl'X 115 Which Roman emperor is it that bears the nickname his father's & Idiers gave him as a child ? Nay — ( 'aligula was it ? Omens are against me ibis morning. 1 ■Then laugh them to scorn, and 1"- yourself, 1 Baid James. 'Bless God for the g lly child, who is born to two kingdoms, won by his father's and his grandsire's Bwords. 1 •Ah!' Baid Henry, depr — d by failing health, a sleepless night, and hungry morning, 'maybe it were better for him, bouI and body both, did 1 stand here Duke of Lancaster, and good Edmund of March yonder were head of realm and army/ 'Never would he be head of tins army.' said James. 'He would be Bnoring at Shene ; that is, if he could Bleep for the trouble the Duke of Lancaster would be giving him. 1 Henry laughed at last. 'Good King Edmund, he would assuredly never try to set the world right on its hinges. Honest fellow, soon he will be as hearty in his congratulations as though he did not lie under a great wrong. Heigh-ho ! such as he may be in the right on't. I've marvelled of late, whether any priest or hermit could bring back my old assurance, that all this is my work on earth, or tell me if it be all one grand error. Men there have been like Caesar, Alexander, or Charlemagne, who thought my thoughts and worked them out ; and surely Church and nations cry aloud for purifying. Jerusalem, and a general council — I saw them once clear and bright before me ; but now a mist a to rise up from Richard's blood, and hide them from me ; and there comes from it my father's voice, when he asked on his deathbed what right I had to the «-rown. What would it be if I had to leave this work half done? 1 He was interrupted by the Bight of a young knight stealing into the earn}), after a furtive expedition to Paris. It was enough to rouse him from his despondent stat»- : and the severity of his wrath was in full propor- tion to the offence. Nor did he again utter his misL r i\- ingS, but was full of his usual alacrity and lit'.-, as though daylight had restored his buoyancy. James, on the way back to the thanksgiving mass, I 2 116 THE CAGED LION interceded for last night's offenders, as an act of grace suitable to the occasion ; but Henry was inexorable. 1 Had they stood to die like Englishmen, they had not lied like dogs ! ' he said ; ' and as dogs they shall hang ! ' Iii fact, in the critical state of his army, he knew that the only safety lay in the promptest and sternest justice ; and therefore the three foremost in accusing King James of treachery were hung long before noon. However, he called for the two Yorkshiremen, and thus addressed them : ' Well done, my masters ! Thanks for showing Scots and Frenchmen what stuff Englishmen are made of ! I keep my word, good fellows. Kneel down, and 1*11 dub each a knight. How now ! what are you blundering and whispering for ? ' ' So please you, Sir,' said Kitson, ' this is no matter to win one's spurs for — mere standing still without a blow.' 4 1 would all had that same gift of standing still,' returned Henry. k What is it sticks in your gizzard, friend ? If 'tis the fees, I take them on myself.' ' No, Sir,' hoarsely cried both. And Kitson explained : ' Sir, you said you'd knight the one of us that was foremost. Now, the two being dubbed, we shall be but where we were before as to Mistress Agnes of Mineshull, unless of your good-will you would be pleased to let us fight out the wager of the heriard in all peace and amity.' Henry burst out laughing, with all his old merriment, as he said, ' For no Mistress Agnes living can I have honest men's lives wasted, specially of such as have that gift of standing still. If she does not know her own mind, one of you must get himself killed by the Frenchmen, not by one another. So kneel down, and we'll make your knighthood's feast fall in with that of my son.' Thus Sir Christopher Kitson and Sir ^Yilliam Trenton rose up knights ; and bore their honours with a certain bluntness that made them butts, even while they were the heroes of the day ; and Henry, who had resumed his gay temper, made much diversion out of their mingled shrewdness and gruffness. ' So,' muttered Malcolm to Ralf Percy, k we are passed THE CAPTURE 117 over in tlie self -same matter forwhich these fellows are knighted. 1 • Tosh ! ' answered Percy ; * EM scorn to be confounded with a couple of clowns Like them ! Moreover,' he added, with better reason, 'their valour was more ex- ercised than ours, inasmuch as they thought there was treachery, ami we * 1 i* I not. No, no : when my spurs an* won, it shall be for some prowess, better than standing stock-still.' Malcolm held his tongue, unwilling that Percy should see that he «li