The Captain of the Guard

"Came not, because there were none here whom she cared to meet," said the spiteful little lord, with a grimace.

The abbot of Tongland invoked a blessing; and after they had all discussed platters of good Scottish broth, which they supped with massive old spoons, that might have served at the spousal feast of King Robert and Marjorie Bruce, and very probably did so, the clatter of knives began, as the servers, pages, and pantrymen sliced down the chines of beef, the roasted pigs and brawns, or unroofed the huge pasties of pigeons and venison, and rushed here and there with trenchers of stewed hares, roasted ducks, buttered crabs, salads and salmon, manchets of flour, and confections of honey and sweetmeats, all of which were eaten pellmell, without order or course.

Meanwhile the wines of France and Spain flowed freely, and brown ale frothed up in tankards and flagons, in which the long moustaches of the guests floated, as they quaffed to each other's health, and a long continuance of this sudden good fellowship, at which, in many instances, by their eyes and whispers, they seemed to scoff in secret.

Then a band of bearded minstrels and musicians, with harp and pipe, tabor, flute, and trumpet, in the gallery, played "Pastance with Gude Companie," and other old airs, which have been long since forgotten; or, if extant, are now known under new names.

Amid all this the pale chancellor, and the grave, but soldier-like regent, were abstracted and nervous; and the emotion of the former increased as the banquet proceeded, and the fatal moment drew near: yet, animated by a sentiment of duty to be performed to their king and country, no thought of pity or remorse found admission in the bosoms of either.

The young king and his young noble spoke of dogs, of hawks, of horses; and archery; of hunting and tilting; but the earl seemed to disdain the puerile conversation of the yet-secluded sovereign, treating him coldly, and with an air of lofty patronage, amusing enough in one of his junior years, but sufficiently apparent to all.

Sir Patrick Gray felt that on this day the kinsmen of Murielle Douglas treated him more coldly than ever, as they deemed themselves in the zenith of their power and fantastic pride, lording it alike over the king and all his court.

"You see there my Captain of the Guard?" he heard the king say, with a kind smile, to the earl, who knit his brows, and contemptuously asked: —

"Who is he?"

"Sir Patrick Gray," replied the little monarch, whose eyes dilated with surprise.

"Of what – or where?"

"Of Foulis."

"Indeed!"

"A brave and noble gentleman," said James II., with an enthusiasm that made the poor soldier's heart expand with the purest joy; "lord earl, do you not know him?"

"Yes," said Douglas, frigidly; "but what of him?"

"He gave me a goshawk as a gift last New Year's-day, and I have killed with it every corbie in the woods of Bristo."

"Indeed!"

"And then at Lady-day he gave me two such noble hounds of St. Hubert's breed!"

"St. Bryde! how came such as he by dogs so rare?"

Sir Patrick bit his nether lip with suppressed passion at this continued insolence of tone, while the young king replied: —

"We sent him with a message to Jacqueline of Hainault – at least the Regent Livingstone did so, last year, – an errand of courtesy, for the countess was my father's friend. In passing through the forest of Ardennes, he tarried for a night at the Benedictine abbey of St. Hubert, and bought from the monks these two black hounds, the lineal descendants of those which accompanied the saint when he hunted with St. Eustace. They have silver collars, and despite my lady Glammis, sleep every night at the foot of my bed!"

"Laus Deo!" said the earl, shrugging his shoulders; "doubtless they must have somewhat of the odour of sanctity about them."

At this remark Sir Thomas MacLellan laughed, and the petulant earl turned almost fiercely to him, saying: —

"Sirrah, dare you laugh?"

"Saints and devils, my lord," retorted the Lieutenant of the Guard, "may not a man laugh?"

"No!"

"And why not, my lord earl?"

"Because to laugh is at times to assume a superiority, or a bearing of approval, which I would not permit even in our liege lord the king!"

The eyes of the chancellor met those of the regent, whose pale forehead flushed with anger at this insulting remark, though it illustrated how dangerous was the spirit they were about to crush.

"By St. Jude, Douglas, I laughed not at thee, but at thy saying," exclaimed MacLellan, breaking the momentary silence which had ensued.

"Then beware, lordling," said Douglas, who knew there was an old jealousy between the MacLellans and his people.

"I am no lord or earl either," replied MacLellan, flushing with anger in turn.

"What then?"

"One whom you know well to be a gentleman of Galloway, my lord. The king may gift coronets or titles, and attaint them, too; but God alone can make or unmake a loyal Scottish gentleman!"

The little king seemed almost scared by this angry outburst; but the regent and his adherents exchanged glances of approval, and they started involuntarily, for at that instant the great bell of David Tower announced the hour of three.

The fatal time had come!

Then the king's master-butcher entered, bearing aloft a vast covered platter, which, by its size, attracted the attention and excited the surprise of all; and passing deliberately round the great apartment, while many jests were made as to what new fare it contained, he placed it before the young earl of Douglas.

"Remove the cover!" said the regent, whose voice was hollow, as if it came from a coffin.

The master-butcher did so, and there was grimly revealed the old Celtic symbol of death, a black bull's head of great size, with its square nostrils, its grey polished horns, and curly forehead.

CHAPTER XIII

THE BLOCK

I must have

A more potential draught of guilt than this,

With more of wormwood in it. —

    Firmilian.

A simultaneous cry burst from all on seeing this sure and terrible forerunner of a sudden death; all sprang from the table, and instinctively did so, sword in hand; for at the same moment the door of the 'tiring room was thrown violently open, and a chosen party of Crichton's vassals, led by Romanno of that ilk, constable of the castle, Andrew Gray of Balgarno, and others, rushed forward, and with levelled partisans, separated the earl of Douglas and his brother David from their more immediate friends.

"To your swords and defend yourselves, my brother and friends; we are lured – tricked to death!" cried the young earl, with prompt bravery, hewing right and left at the partisans; "A Douglas! a Douglas! cut me a passage to the king – to the throne – it is at least a sanctuary!"

"Hold, my lord!" exclaimed the chancellor, in a voice of thunder, as he stood with one foot on the lower step of the king's chair, and firmly interposed his drawn sword, "it is no sanctuary for thee or thine! and dare you – "

"Slay a chancellor? Yes, if I can, and this dog regent, too, like false hounds and fell traitors as ye are!" replied the brave youth, with a scornful but heartrending smile; while, by the press of partisans levelled in a dense rank, he and his brother, with Sir Malcolm Fleming, Sir Alan Lauder, and all others disposed to resistance, were thrust close to the wall, yet they shouted resolutely, "a Douglas! a Douglas!" The chairs and banquet-tables were overthrown, and all became a scene of confusion, destruction, and dismay, from which many fled by the doors, not knowing how the brawl would end.

"Guards and gentlemen!" exclaimed the tall grim regent, as he towered above the armed throng, and roughly but firmly grasped the left arm of the bewildered king, who thought he was about to perish, like his father, by the hands of regicides, yet, like a brave boy as he was, had rushed forward to save Douglas; "guards and gentlemen, disarm this traitorous peer and all who have drawn their swords by his side in the royal presence. Put up your blade, I command you, William, earl of Douglas – the king is here, and this is his royal castle!"