Part 7

Then Musselburgh, the chapel of Loretto, with its demolished tombs and desecrated shrines, old Pinkiecleugh, with its woods and tower, where Abbot Durie dwelt, were left behind, and once more the train was sweeping along the echoing shore, by the margin of the midnight sea--with the thunder rumbling among the hills, and the rain and the storm adding spurs to their headlong speed. By midnight they reined up before the castle of Dunbar, where broad and vast, in all their ancient strength and feudal pride, the strong round towers of Bothwell's princely dwelling stood in clusters on the sea-beaten rocks.

Despite the darkness of the night, and the fury of the storm, which was pouring the German sea in waves of snow-white foam against the castle cliffs, the roar of three salvoes of brass culverins from the lower battlements, burst like peals of thunder on the air; while, red and forky, the flashes shot forth between the strong embrasures and deep-mouthed gun-ports of curtain-wall and flanking tower, as the drawbridge fell, the portcullis ascended, and the glare of twenty blazing torches flashed under its iron teeth, displaying a court-yard crowded with the Earl's retainers in jack and morion, his servitors in livery, and pages glittering in lace and embroidery, grouped beneath the strong-ribbed archway to receive the queen.

Somewhat assured by this display of loyalty, respect, and security, the queen permitted Bothwell to kiss her hand as he assisted her to alight, and led her half sinking from fatigue to the hall, where every thing appeared as if prepared for her reception; for, thanks to the forethought of Hob of Ormiston, nothing was ever wanting to complete those dangerous dramas in which the Earl was now the leading actor; and, by his contrivance, while the Earl led Mary up the great staircase, French Paris conducted Sir James Melville and the other gentlemen of her retinue to a detached tower, where some of his vassals guarded them till daybreak, when they were expelled from the castle, the gates closed, and they were left (as Sir James tells us in his memoirs) somewhat unceremoniously to shift for themselves, and to bear to Edinburgh and its astonished citizens, the tidings of Bothwell's daring and the queen's captivity.

*CHAPTER XII.*

*LOVE AND SCORN.*

This gushing life Is all that I can give in reparation Of all the wrongs I have done thee. We shall lie down together in the grave; And, when the sound of Heaven shall rouse the dead, We shall awake in one another's arms. _Shiels' Apostate._

Though the ardour of Bothwell's daring and ambitious passion for Mary was increased almost to a frenzy, on finding her completely in his power, within the strong gates and stronger walls of that magnificent fortress, of which, in an unfortunate moment of liberality, she had made him governor; he felt his courage sink when the moment came for revealing the bond of the nobles, the hopes he had cherished, and the deed of which he had been guilty.

Three great chandeliers of wax candles, which hung from the arched roof of the lofty hall, shed a blaze of light upon the gobeline tapestry that covered its walls, from the base to the spring of the vault, which was profusely decorated with the richest fresco work, where the royal cipher and the _fleur-de-lys_ were prominently seen. Four gothic pillars sustained the carved arch of the fireplace, where an enormous grate, standing on four knobs of brass, was filled with blazing coal. The floor was covered with thick rush matting; and a magnificent collation of fruit, confections, and dainties, in baskets of chased silver, flasks of crystal, and jasper vases, were laid upon the tables by French Paris, little Calder, and other attendants.

Meanwhile the storm continued with unabated fury without; with the noise of thunder the ocean dashed against the bluffs on which the castle stood, and roared in the far recesses of those deep caverns that perforate its cliffs of dark red basalt. The rain poured like a cataract against the barred windows, and hissed in the wide chimney; the mournful cry of the solan goose, and the shriek of the seamew, were heard on the passing wind, as it dashed them with the surf against the castle walls; and the streaming of the wax lights, and undulations of the tapestry within, increased the dreary effect of the tempest without; and its fury seemed the greater, from very contrast with the beautiful evening which had preceded it.

The Earl, like other men of his time, was not without a tinge of superstition; and the storm contributed greatly to increase his irresolution.

"Being at Dunbar," says Mary in one of her letters, "we reproached him with the favour we had always shewn him--his ingratitude, and all other remonstrances that might serve to release us out of his hands; albeit we found his doings rude, yet his words and answers were gentle, that he would honour and serve us. He asked pardon for the boldness of conveying us to one of our own houses, constrained by love, the vehemence of which made him set apart the reverence which naturally he bore us as our subject, as also the safety of his own life."

Thus far the artless Mary; but the papers of the worthy Magister Absalom Beyer are more full in their details.

Pale, from the hurry of the journey, and the current of her own thoughts, Mary stood in the centre of the hall, divested of her hat and riding-habit, which had been drenched by rain. Her plain but rich dress of black satin fell in deep and shining folds around her figure, but presented nothing to indicate her rank; for, save her amber beads, her gold crucifix, and celebrated diamond ring, she was without other ornament than her own bright auburn hair. In some degree damp and disordered, it fell in heavy braids upon her neck, which, on her ruff being removed, contrasted by its delicate whiteness with her black satin dress.

Bothwell had hurriedly thrown aside his wet armour, and assumed a manteau, or robe of scarlet, which was trimmed with ermine, and usually worn by knights upon state occasions; and it lent additional dignity to his towering figure, as, with a beating heart, he approached Mary, and welcomed her to the castle of Dunbar.

Her eyes were full of enquiry, and her mouth, half-opened, displayed all her beautiful teeth; and Bothwell, dazzled and intoxicated, dreaded only that his own eyes might too soon reveal the passion which now, when he gazed upon its object, made every scruple to vanish.

"And now, Lord Earl," said the Queen gravely, but with a slight tinge of her usual playfulness, "for what have we had this terrible ride to Dunbar, passing in our hurry even the gates of our own palace and capital? Now, say--for what didst thou bring me here?"

"To say, madam, that I love you with other sentiments than those a subject bears a sovereign," replied the Earl, as he pressed her hand to his heart, for at the end of that vast hall they were almost alone. "Oh! thou too winning Mary," he added, in his low and most persuasive tones; "I have long adored thee, and with a love surpassing that of men."

Starting back a pace, the queen withdrew her hand; her brow crimsoned, and her flashing eyes were firmly bent on Bothwell.

"Lord Earl," she replied, in a voice that trembled between anger and dread, "what is this thou hast dared to do?"

"To love thee--is it a crime?"

"No, if it be such love as I may receive; but such is not thine, Lord Earl."

"Oh! visionary that I have been!" exclaimed the astonished noble, as he clasped his hands; "and to a dream have I given up my soul, my peace, my honour! Oh, madam! shew me some way in which I may yet farther prove the ardour of this passion, of which thou art the idol! Give me sufferings to be borne--difficulties to surmount--dangers to encounter; shew me battles to fight and fortresses to storm. Didst thou wish it, I would invade England to-morrow, and carry fire and sword even to the gates of York; for five hundred knights and ten thousand horsemen follow my banner."

"_Je vous remercie!_" exclaimed Mary, with irony, as she turned away--"I thank thee, Lord Earl; but ere I go to war with my good cousin Elizabeth, I must punish my rebels at home."

"Oh, madam! thou, to win whose love I have dared so much--thou, the object of my boyish dreams and manhood's bold ambition--towards whom I have ever been borne by an irresistible and inevitable tide--the sure, dark current of fatality--hear me? But look not upon me thus, for an aspect so stony will wither my heart."

"Lord Bothwell," replied the Queen gravely; "thou deceivest thyself with a volume of sounding words, but seek not to delude me, too. Till morning, I will rest me in this, my castle of Dunbar; and to-morrow in Holyrood will seek a sure vengeance for the raid of to-night."

"Sayest thou so, madam?" replied the Earl, whose proud heart fired for a moment at her scorn; "then thine will be the greater remorse."

"Remorse? _mon Dieu!_" said Mary, laughing.

"Ah, madam! why didst thou encourage me to love thee?"

"I encourage you!" reiterated the Queen with astonishment. "Mother Mary! thou ravest. Never! never! I needed not to encourage men to love me."

"Thou didst so to me, madam. By God's death! thou didst; and it was cruel to inspire me with a passion which thou couldst not return."

"Thou hast mistaken my too affable manner," replied the Queen; "but I will not stoop to defend myself before thee, presumptuous vassal!"

Bothwell's spirit now fell as the queen's rose; for he felt certain that, should she continue in this mood, he was lost.

Ambition and policy supplied him with that eloquence, of which, perhaps, the excess of his romantic passion might have deprived him; and his voice, ever persuasive and seductive, poured all his practised blandishments like a flood upon her ear. Borne away by the tide of feeling, he painted his torments, his ardour, his long-treasured love, his stifled despair; and Mary listened with pity and interest, for her heart was the gentlest of the gentle; and she saw in him a handsome and gallant noble, who had drawn his sword in her service when a whole peerage held aloof--who had shed his blood to uphold her authority--and who had lately suffered deeply (so she thought) by the mere malevolence of his enemies; but not one glance even of kindness would she bestow upon him.

Even the bond signed by those reverend prelates, whom she almost worshipped--those powerful peers, whom she sometimes respected, but more often feared--and that politic brother, whom she had ever loved better than herself--even that document was urged upon her in vain. It served but to increase her anger, and she told Bothwell she "could never, never, love him!"

"Madam, madam, repulse me not! Oh, thou knowest not how long, how deeply, I have loved thee!"

"Summon my attendants! This night I will rest me here; but," she added threateningly, "to-morrow is a new day; and thou, Lord Earl, mayest tremble when I leave Dunbar!"

"Madam," replied the Earl proudly, but sadly, "from the hour my eyes first opened on the light, I have never trembled; and now I swear to thee, by the joys of heaven and the terrors of hell, thou shalt NEVER leave Dunbar but as the bride of Bothwell!"

And turning, he retired abruptly.

*CHAPTER XIII.*

*THE CRY.*

She is a woman, therefore may be woo'd; She is a woman, therefore may be won. _Titus Andronicus._

That night, in his private apartment, Bothwell drank deeply with Ormiston and Bolton.

The storm still raged without; the dash of the waves on the bluffs, their clangour in the caverns below, and the mournful moaning of the wind as it swept round the battlements above, were heard incessantly; but the fire burned merrily on the broad flagged hearth; the hounds yawned lazily as they stretched themselves before it; a supper of mutton sottens, broiled capon, a solan goose, and pout-pie, lay untouched on a buffet, which two oak wyverns upheld on their outspread wings.

The bright wines of Rochelle and Bordeaux sparkled as they were poured from great Flemish jugs into the elaborately chased silver maizers, from which the Earl and his friends were drinking--and drinking, as we have said, deeply; Bolton, to drown the memory of a deed that was likely to drive him distracted; Bothwell, to obtain nerve for whatever might ensue; and Hob Ormiston, to please himself, and keep them company. After a pause--

"Courage, brave Bothwell!" he exclaimed, striking the Earl on the shoulder; "for thou seemest the chosen son of the fickle little goddess."

"Fortune has been smiling on me of late; but, as I have told thee, I begin to scorn her favour since the rejection of my suit by Mary."

"All coy reluctance. By St. Anthony's pig! were I thou"----

"Nay, Nay! Mary is above acting so childishly. But wert thou me, what then?"

"By cock and pie! I would make her mine ere the sun rises from the sea to-morrow."

"Peace!" said the Earl, through whose heart there thrilled a fierce and sudden joy as Ormiston spoke.

"Take courage; for the same day that sees thee Duke of Orkney and Regent of Scotland, beholds me Earl of Ormiston and Marquis of Teviotdale; and by Tantony's bell and bones, and pig to boot, the sooner the better say I, for every rood of my barony, main and milne, holm and haugh, are mortgaged to the chin among the rascally notaries and usurers of Edinburgh, whom the devil confound! What sayest thou, Bolton? Sorrow take him! he is drunk and asleep. Poor fool! he hath never been himself since that night. Hearken," continued this ruffian, approaching the Earl, whom it was his interest to urge yet further on that desperate course in which they had embarked together; "doth not the queen and her sister, the Lady Argyle, sleep in the chambers of the Agnes tower?"

"Yes; so sayeth Sandy of Whitelaw, my seneschal. The queen is in the vaulted chamber on the first floor; Jane of Argyle above."

"Well!" said Ormiston, fixing his keen dark eyes on those of the Earl.

"Well?" reiterated the Earl.

"It is folly to pause midway in the career of ambition; and it lies with thyself to make this woman thine; for what is she but a pretty woman after all? It lieth with thyself, I say, to make her thine, to end her scruples, and to close for ever the web thou hast woven around her."

"Silence!" said the Earl, rising abruptly, but immediately reseating himself; "silence! thy villanous counsels will destroy me."

"Destroy thee!" reiterated Ormiston. "Nay; but thy faintness of heart will now, at the eleventh hour, destroy all those who follow thy banner by knight's service and captainrie; by fear of Chatelherault and hatred of Lennox. Let Mary once be thine, and she dare not punish, but rather, for the reparation of her own honour, will be compelled to wed thee. Think of her alluring loveliness; and to be so near thee--so completely in thy power. Hah! art thou a child--a love-sick frightened boy--to sit there with that lackadaisy visage, when the woman thou lovest so madly is almost within arm's length? Go to! What a miserable thing is this! to see a strong and proud man the slave of a passion such as thine--a love so wild, so daring, so misdirected; his heart and soul absorbed by a wayward woman, who perhaps secretly prizes, though she outwardly affects to despise, the acquisition."

"Silence, I tell thee!" replied the Earl through his clenched teeth; but Ormiston saw, by the deep flush in his cheek--by the light that sparkled in his eye, and the tremour that passed over his frame, how deep was the impression his words had made.

"Dost thou recoil? By St. Paul! the safety of thine own house, and that of many a gallant baron, depends on the measures of this night; for to-morrow she will leave Dunbar only to return with the royal banner and all the crown vassals at her back. Take another maizer of the Rochelle, while I leave thee to ponder over what I have said, for the night wears apace."

"Begone, in God's name! and take Bolton with thee, for I would be alone."

The powerful Ormiston bore away the lieutenant of the archers as if he had been a child, and the Earl was left to his own reflections.

"He is right--he is right! To hesitate is to fall--delay is fraught with danger; and to pause, is to be immediately overwhelmed by the recoil of that fatality of which I have taken the lead. But--but--curse thee, Ormiston! why did I listen to thee?"

He drank--again and again--to deaden alike the stings of conscience and the whispers of honour--to fire yet farther his insane passion, and to make, as it were, a tool of himself.

"Revenge!" he mused; "revenge and ambition spur me on, till the dread of death and the ties of honour are alike forgotten. How irresistible has been the fatality that has led me on, from what I was to what I am to-night--a regicide! a traitor! Let me not think of it; still--still, on this hand I glut my revenge on Morton and on Mar; on the other, I grasp love and power like a kingly orb. It shall be so!" he exclaimed, after a pause; "this night I am not myself--the hand of Destiny is upon me."

He leaped from his chair, and threw off his ermined manteau; exchanged his boots for soft taffeta slippers; he laid aside the sword and belt that girt his powerful figure; he took his sheathed poniard in one hand, a lighted cresset in the other, and, leaving his apartment by a private stair which the arras concealed, rapidly traversed the corridors and staircases that led to the queen's apartment.

His face was haggard--his hands trembled--his eyes were full of fire.

As he ascended softly, taking three steps at a time, he met Ormiston, who, being well aware of the train of thought he had fired, was loitering near to watch the explosion. He paused, and the blood rushed to his brow at meeting even him at such a moment.

"Ha--whither goest thou?" he asked.

"To the tower of Black Agnes," replied Bothwell in a husky voice, while he staggered from his emotions, and the effects of the wine.

"Thou darest then at last to act like a man."

"Like a fiend, if my fate wills it! What may I not dare now, after all I have dared and done? But hark!" said the Earl, as a ghastly pallor overspread his face; "didst thou hear?"

"What?"

"That mournful cry!"

"By the mass! I heard only the skirl of a wild sea-maw."

"Hah!" said the Earl, through his clenched teeth; "comest thou from thy grave in yonder abbey church, to scare me from my purpose? Avaunt! thou shalt see that I fear thee not, and thus will trample alike on the vengeance of heaven, the fears of hell, the stings of conscience, and the slavish laws of men!" and, brandishing his cresset, he sprang up the staircase and disappeared.

Black Ormiston, that colossal ruffian, drew his long sword, and retired into a shadowy part of the corridor to keep watch and ward. The storm still rang without, though its fury was lessened, and coldly the fitful moonlight gleamed upon the frothy waste of waters that boiled around the caverned rocks. It shone at times through the strong iron gratings of the staircase window, and glinted on the dark face, the keen eyes, and bushy mustaches of the watcher, who ever and anon put forth his head to listen.

Still the wind howled--the rain pattered and hissed at intervals, and the mews shrieked like evil spirits as they were swept away on the skirts of the hurrying blast; but, lo! there came a cry from the upper chambers of that strong Saxon tower, that gave the listening bravo a shock as of electricity.

A fainter succeeded, and a cold and sinister smile spread over the face of Ormiston. * * * * *

*CHAPTER XIV.*

*HANS' PATIENCE IS REWARDED.*

While shunn'd, obscured, or thwarted and exposed, By friends abandon'd and by foes enclosed; Thy guardian council softens every care, To ease soothes anguish, and to hope despair. _Richard Savage._

The English pirate still lay in the offing at the mouth of the estuary, and honest Hans Knuber, who, like all the skippers of that time, was his own merchant and supercargo, dared not put to sea; and each fine sunny day, while the fair wind blew down the river from St. Margaret's Hope, he trod his little deck to and fro, with his hands stuffed into the pockets of his chocolate-coloured small-clothes, his Elsinore cap pulled well over his red eyebrows, and consoling himself by praying to St. Mungo (who once had voyaged in these waters), and by swearing many a round oath in guttural Norse at the obnoxious Englishman, whose broad lateen sails, dark brown at sunrise, and snow-white at sunset, were always visible, as he cruised under the lee of the May, that beautiful isle of old Saint Adrian.

Meanwhile the sunny month of May approached, and when Hans thought of the good prices his cargo of wheat and malt would bring in the market of Kiobenhafen, his vexation increased hourly; and every morning he solemnly gave over the Englishman to the devil and the jormagundr, or great sea-snake, that lies coiled round the foot of the north pole, and makes the whirlpool of Lofoden by wagging its tail.

During this, by the strength of his constitution and the care of Martin Picauet, Konrad recovered strength daily. He shook off the torpor that weighed upon his spirit; and, while he endeavoured to efface the image of Anna from his memory, it was evident to Hans Knuber (and _he_ was no subtle love casuist), that the prospect of returning to Norway and meeting her again, contributed more than all the skill of the queen's apothegar to make him a new man.

And though, at times, when bluff Hans would thump him between the shoulders, and drink to Anna's health and his success, in their native dricka or brown Scottish beer, he was wont earnestly to assert, that were she queen of all Scandinavia, from the Naze of Norway to the Isles of Lofoden, he could not, and would not, wed her, after all that had passed; and he felt so: for now, deadened a little by absence, by bitter recollection, and the excess of his first despair, there was at times something of indignation mingled with his memory of her. At others, all his old tenderness would painfully revive, and come gushing back like a flood upon his heart; and she was then remembered only as the Anna of his boyhood's days--the Anna of that early love, which had first been told in whispers and confusion among the druid groves of Aggerhuis.

From time to time he heard tidings of Bothwell's daring deeds, but all, of course, distorted or discoloured by the malevolence of the narrators; for in that early age, when newspapers were unknown, the only means of intelligence were the "common bruit," as rumour was named; and the simple Norseman, who knew nothing of statecraft, of lawless ambition, the lust of power, and the boldness of such a spirit as Bothwell, heard with astonishment how he had slain the king of the land, by blowing his palace, with all his court and attendants, to the number of thousands, his guards, grooms, and horses, into the air; how he had seized the queen and crown; and how he had strangled the young prince before her eyes, because she had refused to marry him; and of how he had imprisoned her in chains in a dark dungeon, where her food was bread and black beer; and, assuming the sceptre, had seated himself on the throne. Poor Hans trembled for his cargo of malt when he heard of these terrible passages, prayed to St. Tradewell of Orkney, and wished himself safe at home.

He and Konrad knew not how common was the stratagem of seizing the Scottish sovereign in those days, and that the seizure of Mary had twice before been attempted--once by the old Earl of Huntly, and once by her brother Moray, on his rebellion in 1565; and consequently, had Mary viewed Bothwell with any favour, there had been no necessity for his wooing her at the head of a thousand horse.