CHAPTER LIV.

THE KING'S HORN.

"Be yet advised, nor urge me to an outrage; Thy power is lost--unhand me." _Edward the Black Prince._

The clock of St. Leonard's tower struck three as Leslie entered the old burgh of Kinghorn, and rode through its steep and straggling, narrow and deserted wynds, to the hostelry with which the reader is already acquainted. Though a vast sheet of pale light was spread across the east, sunrise was nearly an hour distant, and the whole town was silent as some ruined city in a desert; every door was closed, and not a single face appeared at the rusty gratings of the street windows.

It was not until after much noise and vociferation with the drowsy peddies and stable-boys that Leslie gained admittance to the inn-yard, and from the yard obtained ingress to the mansion, where his whole aspect excited fear and suspicion. His armour was dimmed by water and rusted with dew, cut, hacked, and bloody; the straps were loose and torn; he was feverish and excited; and there was a stern determination in his bearing, as he carefully took his petronels from his saddle-bow, and, ordering the attendants to look well to his horse against the time of the ferry-boat sailing, entered the first empty chamber that offered itself.

He looked first to the pardon, which, notwithstanding his frequent immersions, was dry and secure; he looked next to the wheel-locks of his fire-arms, which he laid on his pillow ready for immediate service. Thereafter, he examined his apartment. The window was two stories from the ground, and a harrow-grating amply secured it. Like all others in that age, the door was secured by a multiplicity of bars, all of which he shot into their sockets; and thereafter piled behind them all the available furniture--a great oak almrie, a meal-girnel, four chairs, and, lastly, the table.

He then took off his armour, and found that his clothing was almost dry.

"Come, 'tis well," thought he; "save three pricks and four scratches, I am not a whit the worse, and have still six hours for sleeping and dreaming of merry Marion."

And after assuring himself that he could not be taken in flank either by trap-door or sliding-panels, this brave and wary soldier threw himself on the bed, and behind his barricades slept soundly and securely.

The ferry-boat was to sail at ten in the forenoon.

Half-an-hour before that time Leslie awoke, and sprang up quite refreshed. His first glance was at his barricade.

"Oho! I have been beset even here!" said he, on perceiving that the door had been forced, and the heavy almrie and girnel pushed about three inches inwards, by which the chairs had been overturned, thus baffling the assault, as their fall had scared the intruders.

The sun was shining brightly on the river, and the merchants were opening their booths and displaying their goods under the stone arcades of the principal wynd.

"This devilish piece of paper is likely to cost me dear. I find I must still be guarded," thought Leslie, as he minutely examined his iron trappings, stuck his petronels in his belt, and, with his sheathed sword under his arm, descended to the hall of the hostel and ordered breakfast, but without mentioning the attempt which had too evidently been made to disturb his privacy. Looking sharply around, he seated himself at the arched ingle, where a comfortable fire was blazing, and above which appeared a rude fresco painting, which represented St. Leonard, the patron of Kinghorn, surrounded by a swarm of churubs in the forest of Limoges.

"Quick, old hag--my breakfast," said the traveller to the landlady; "let your rascals look well to my horse, or look well to themselves if they fail."

The gudewife--a slipshod and sullen-looking crone, with a nose and chin that were nearly meeting, a coif of the time of James III., and an enormous bunch of keys--being a little scared by the stern and distrustful aspect of Leslie, who sat down by the table with his helmet on, left a buxom damsel to attend on him, and retired. The young soldier found that his indignation could no way extend to her substitute; for her cheeks were blooming and her eyes sparkling with health and good-humour; she wore a very piquant, short linen jacket, short petticoat, and her brown hair tied up in a blue silk snood, after the fashion of unmarried girls in Scotland.

A fowl, from among several that were roasting on the spit, cheese, cakes, and honey, cold beef, eggs and bacon, with the addition of ale, formed then, as now, the staples for breakfast, and while it was preparing, Leslie solaced himself by whistling the _March to Harlow_, and by means of a piece of half-burned wood, decorating with an enormous pair of moustaches each of the fat little cherubim which surrounded the figure of St. Leonard; an amusement which neither the gudewife nor the diminutive gudeman, whom she seemed to rule with "a rod of iron," dared to interrupt.

"This is for thee, my rosy belle," said Leslie, kissing the plump cheek of the waiting-maid, after breakfast, "together with this French crown; as for the rascal, thy master, and the hag, thy mistress, let them rejoice that I have not burned the house about their ears, were it but to smoke out certain Hamiltons, who, I am assured, are within it. Thou hearest me, fellow?" added Leslie, as he passed the landlord, who, sheepishly, and bonnet in hand, was standing at the door of the house.

"I do, gude sir, but understand ye nocht."

"Nor do I you; but wherefore was my door forced last night--this morning, I should say--eh, thou rascally Fifer?"

"I swear to ye, noble sir, that, under God, I ken nocht o't," replied the poor man, with the utmost earnestness.

"It may be so, for I see that, in thine own house, thou art but Joan Tamson's man, as the saw has it."

The landlord gave a sickly smile.

"Harkee, gudeman, is thy better-half a Hamilton?"

"To my sorrow, I ken she is, sir," sighed the hosteller, in a whisper; "for never one of her name enters Fife, between the East and West Neuk, without lying a week and mair at the _King's Horn_, and never a bodle will she take for the lawing, for they are a' her cousins to the hundredth degree, and will scarcely let me call my soul my ain."

"Then, which of her worthy cousins are here now?"

"Sir John Hamilton of Kincavil," replied the gudeman, setting his teeth on edge.

"And his room?--"

"Was the next to yours."

"Hum! indeed; and this Sir John extends his patronage to you, gudeman--eh?"

"He pays like a prince, to be sure; for he had a fancy for my gudewife in her young days."

"He is a man of taste, Kincavil!" said Leslie, smiling; "but where is my horse?"

"My son holds it at the gate."

"How, the devil! is that tall fellow thy son?"

"No," replied the little man, with a grin of bitterness; "he is the son of my wife."

As Leslie slipped another crown into the hand of the host, and was turning away, a tall, swaggering cavalier--the same whom Roland Vipont had fought with and wounded near the Water Gate, as related in a preceding chapter of this history--brushed past him somewhat unceremoniously.

"Sir John of Kincavil!" said Leslie, with angry surprise.

"Well, sir! at your service," replied the other, swelling up his rose-coloured doublet, and resting his left hand in the bowl-hilt of his long rapier, as he assumed a lofty attitude.

"Is this to be taken as an insult?"

"It is to be taken just as you please," replied the other, twirling his moustache.

"Take care, sir. I am on the king's service."

"Does that entitle you to occupy the whole doorway of the _King's Horn_?"

"We are not equally armed--you see my coat of mail."

"Oh, that matters little--behold!" said Kincavil, as he opened the collar of his doublet, and displayed below it a mail shirt of exquisite workmanship. "We are quite equal, my friend," he added, clapping Leslie with easy familiarity on the shoulder, while a number of armed men, who, by their badges, seemed to be his followers, crowded ominously round them.

"Kincavil!" said Leslie, scornfully, "the next time thou touchest me, pray do so with a hand that is gloved."

"A thousand pardons," sneered Kincavil, whose insolence was as proverbial as his deadly skill and admirable swordmanship, "I forgot thou wert _Falkland bred_."

This was a phrase of the time to signify foppery, affectation, and refined manner. Leslie's eyes flashed with rage, but he leaped on his horse, saying--

"I know your object well, villain, to involve me in a brawl; but you will fail. Taunt me as you please, I will not draw my sword unless I am molested; and woe unto them who do so. To-morrow I will be a free man, and at noon will await you, braggart, on the sands of Leith, near the chapel of St. Nicholas, where seek me if you dare."

A shout of derisive laughter followed him; but, stifling his rage, he heard without heeding it, and in ten minutes more was on board the ferry-boat, which he endeavoured to beat across the river against a strong head-wind.