CHAPTER XLVII

"A DOUGLAS!"

At the castle of Roxburgh, situated hard by the confluence of the Tweed and the Teviot, and the scene of many a royal festival in the days of William the Lion and the Alexanders, the King of England remained for some time, revolving his plans for the settlement of Scotland; and there Baliol, now an old man and childless, and unprepared to assert his hereditary right to the crown and kingdom, made it over to Edward by formally delivering the crown which had been placed on his head at Scone, and some of the soil of the kingdom which his ancestors had enjoyed, and, at the same time, declared him heir to all the estates of the house of Baliol on both sides of the Tweed.

This ceremony, which was not destined to have much influence on the course of events, took place in the presence of the Bishop of Durham and the Abbots of Melrose and Dryburgh; and the king, learning that the Scots had assembled to oppose his progress, prepared to raise the banner of Scotland and march against them.

But it was generally the habit of the warriors of Scotland to conceal their movements; and Edward, having on this occasion only a vague idea in what direction the Scots were to be found, and becoming eager for intelligence, ordered that two squires should ride forth and reconnoitre. Accordingly I was sent, in company with Robert Salle, the youth of whom I have spoken as attached to Aymery de Pavie when Governor of Calais, with instructions to discover, if possible, at all risks, where the Scots were to be found.

Between Salle and myself a close friendship had sprung into existence during Edward's expedition to Calais; and as both of us had emerged from obscurity, and as we both owed to our skill and courage what reputation we enjoyed, we naturally sympathised on many points. But I did not fully share the antipathy which, in his more dreary moods, he, as the son of a mason, felt for men who had inherited high names and great possessions; and as I sometimes, under the influence of imagination, talked as if there was a gulf between us, we could not always avoid discussions of a more warm kind than was agreeable. On the present occasion our tendency in this respect was destined to lead us into an awkward predicament.

As may be supposed, our mission was not without perils, which only the utmost vigilance could guard against; and, considering how little we knew of the country, we certainly should have remembered our danger. But, young and adventurous, we thought lightly of the hazard as we rode on through mud and mire. At first we examined every hill and dale with searching eyes. But, when no human being appeared, we became more careless, and it was not till after pursuing our way for hours, and as we were skirting an extensive wood, that I instinctively felt that danger might be nigh.

"Beshrew me if I like the aspect of this place!" exclaimed I suddenly. "I would that Copeland, our northern hero, or some man familiar with the country, were here to guide us safely!"

"By St. George!" replied Salle, "I confess I begin to be somewhat alarmed; but, be the peril what it may, we hazard nothing but our lives."

"True," said I; "but life has its sweets, and I am not yet so weary of mine as to feel indifferent to the possibility of losing it--least of all, needlessly; for, as the Orientals say, there is no hope of living again, seeing that man is not a water-melon, and that, when once in the ground, he cannot grow again."

"And yet," remarked Salle, "I have heard that ancient sages were wont to say, 'Let no man be envied till his death;' and, for my own part, I see not how a warrior could better die than for his king and country."

"A noble sentiment, doubtless," said I, "and one to be carefully cherished; but methinks it is better to live to serve one's king and country in manhood and age than to die uselessly for them in youth. Moreover, you know, I have still to penetrate the mystery of my birth, and that is a motive for wishing to live."

"Tush!" exclaimed Salle querulously; "why harp for ever on that string? What matters it what has been a man's birth, if his heart is noble and his hand strong?"

"Little, mayhap," I replied; "still, I would fain have the consciousness of an interest in the past, and be at the bottom of the mystery, the solution of which might give me such an interest."

"You never will penetrate your mystery," said he in a conclusive tone.

"Now," replied I, repressing an angry feeling that stirred in my breast, "I hold not with you; for few secrets can escape an investigator who pursues the inquiry with determination; and it ever seems to me that there is a voice telling me that the truth which I pant to learn will one day be revealed; and, therefore, I continue the search after it with the ardour of a Knight of the Round Table in quest of the Sangreal."

"And what, I pray you, was the Sangreal?" asked Salle with a sneer.

"Nothing less than the sacred vessel from which the Redeemer of Mankind and his disciples ate the last supper," replied I, crossing myself devoutly; "and which Joseph of Arimathea brought, with the spear used at the crucifixion, when he came to England to convert the inhabitants to Christianity, and planted, near the abbey of Glastonbury, the miraculous thorn which blossoms every year at Christmas."

"And did the Knights of the Round Table succeed in their quest of this Sangreal?" inquired Salle.

"Yes, in truth did they," answered I, proud of my lore; "it was at length achieved by a knight named Galahad, aided by Sir Bors and Sir Percival, both champions of high renown in Christendom."

"On my faith," said Salle, almost contemptuously, "I never heard the names of these knights before, nor do I hold myself the less cheap that their names were unknown to me."

"And on my faith," exclaimed I, provoked to anger, "I did not deem that in England there existed a single aspirant to fame in arms who had not heard of the Sangreal."

"You forget that I was not reared daintily in kings' palaces," rejoined he, "but in a camp."

I bit my lip and refrained from replying to the taunt, but, as I thought of Cressy and Neville's Cross, my heart swelled with indignation.

It must by this time have been four o'clock, and we had been riding for hours without catching sight or hearing tidings of the enemy; when, just as this dialogue terminated, and we were turning a corner of the wood we had been skirting, we suddenly saw, before our eyes, an army marching northward. Reining instantly up, we drew back to escape observation, and as the winter sun, which was setting, flashed upon crested helms and rows of spears, the spectacle was inspiriting.

"Now," said I, pointing to the retreating host, "let him that is weary of life try a jeopardy."

"On my faith," replied Salle bluntly, "to me it seems that we are in sufficient jeopardy where we are;" and, pointing to a horseman who emerged from the wood, he added, "let us fly."

"It is too late," said I, looking round in alarm. "See you not that we are circumvented?" And as I spoke we were surrounded on all sides; for the horseman was a knight, and with him he had not fewer than thirty lances.

"Who are you?" asked the knight, riding forward and roughly seizing my rein; "speak, sirrah."

"Sir knight," answered I, endeavouring to be calm, "my comrade rejoices in the name of Robert Salle, and men call me Arthur Winram; and we are squires of England."

"On my troth," he exclaimed, eyeing me as if I had been an inferior being, "you speak boldly for one of your years and condition; and for your comrade, I trow that he is not dumb, that you, albeit the younger of the two, should answer so readily for him. But say at once what is your errand, and speak truly. Otherwise you will fare the worse; for trees are more plentiful here than carrion, and the Scottish ravens are not, for the time being, too well provided with food. Now I listen."

"In truth, then, sir knight," began I after a brief pause, "our errand is simple enough. We come from the camp of the English to look for the Scots."

"And you have found us," exclaimed the knight with a hoarse laugh; "and by St. Bride!" added he, "let me comfort you with the assurance that you shall not leave us at your pleasure."

"Gramercy for your courtesy, sir knight," replied I, my spirit rising. "And since you so relish our company, albeit our acquaintance is somewhat of the briefest, deign to say, I pray you, into whose hands we have had the fortune to fall."

"My name is Douglas," replied the knight sternly; "a name at which Englishmen are wont to tremble."

"Faith, sir knight," said I, with a smile which I doubt not was provoking, "if Englishmen ever were afflicted with that failing, they have had time to recover from it since Dupplin, and Halidon, and Neville's Cross."

"Varlet!" exclaimed the knight, his anger rising high, "bandy not such words with me, before whose father's sword Englishmen were wont to fly as deer before the hounds."

And in truth, as I afterwards learned, the knight was Archibald Douglas, the illegitimate son of him whom the Scots called "the good Sir James," and who, while on the way to Palestine with the heart of Bruce, was slain by the Saracens in Spain; and I, moreover, learned that the knight himself meditated an early pilgrimage to the Holy Land.

But at the moment I knew nothing of Archibald Douglas save the name, and that we were his prisoners. Giving us into the custody of his companions, he charged them to conduct us to a castle, the name of which I did not catch, to guard us well, and not, as they valued their lives, to allow us to escape.

"The varlets," he said, "have, if I mistake not, seen more than they would care to tell, and could give their king--upon whose head may my curse rest, now and for ever--such intelligence as would enable him to defeat all our plans." And as the knight spoke he rode off, with the greater part of his followers, towards the Scottish army, while we, under the escort of six of his men-at-arms, took our way towards the castle which was destined to be the scene of our captivity.