Chapter 24

"Yes, like Æneas, leaving my Dido behind me."

With a pretence of the love he felt no longer, Bothwell bade Anna farewell, and left her to doubts which, as the months went on and his promise to return was not fulfilled, gradually rose to despair.

During the decline of a spring evening, as Anna wandered dejectedly on the battlements, Konrad stood before her for the first time since her arrival at Noltland.

"Konrad," she faltered, "thou here!"

"Anna--dear Anna!" exclaimed the unhappy young man. "I have tidings to tell thee. The false lord of Bothwell hath been espoused to the sister of Huntly!"

"And I--" gasped Anna.

"Thou art a captive for life in this island castle!"

Anna would have fallen backwards had Konrad not sprung to her assistance.

"Listen," he said, in a low voice. "If thou wouldst escape, an hour will set thee free."

"Yes, land me once in Scotland, and I will make my way to Bothwell."

That night Anna was on a Norwegian vessel bound for Glasgow, and Konrad was with her. She could not, he knew, be his bride, but he could at least protect and cherish her, and strive to redress the wrongs she had suffered.

A storm was gathering above the lovely valley of the Clyde one June evening as two strangers--a man and a woman--plodded wearily towards Bothwell Castle. The woman became wholly exhausted; the man laid her gently down in shelter among the ruins of Blantyre Priory, and went on his errand alone. The storm had now burst, and the river was rising rapidly; but Konrad--for it was he--plunged into the raging waters, and strove to swim across. The current was too strong for him; he clung to an ash tree that projected over the stream, and was nearly exhausted when a man on the bank flung down his mantle and poniard, plunged in, and dragged him to the shore.

Konrad, almost senseless, was carried within the castle. When he had revived and was dressed in dry garments, he was brought before his rescuer--it was Bothwell himself.

"I thank thee," said Konrad proudly, "for saving my life."

"Thou didst save mine. We are now equal," replied the earl.

"'Tis well! I would not be _thy_ debtor for all the silver in the mines of Bergen! Lord of Bothwell, I tell thee in thine own hall that thou art a dishonoured villain!"

"Thou art stark mad!" cried the earl. Then he went on, "Konrad, I have wronged thee deeply. In my youth I loved one who neglected me as cruelly as thou hast been neglected, and since then a mischievous spirit of vengeance, as it were, has led me to make women my playthings, to be won and thrown aside. I love thy spirit, Konrad. If I could be thy friend----"

"Never!" cried Konrad. "I come not for friendship, but for justice to Anna! Hast thou not wedded another after thine espousal of her?"

"Dost thou deem the mock blessing of yon mad hermit a spousal rite?" exclaimed the earl, laughing.

Konrad repressed his passion.

"I go to push my fortune with your turbulent border chiefs; and if, in the strife that will soon convulse this land, thou meetest Konrad of Salzberg, look well to thyself!"

"Go thy way, and God be with thee!" replied the earl. "Thou art the first who hath bent a dark brow on a lord of Bothwell under his own roof-tree."

Konrad returned to Anna, and in the ruined priory told her how Bothwell was false to her. Anna's grief was dreadful to behold.

"Anna," said Konrad, after a pause, "Scotland hath a queen whose goodness of heart is revered in every land save her own."

"True; and at her feet will I pour forth my sorrow and my tears together."

So the two traversed the thickets around the priory, and reached the broad highway, which was to lead them at length to Edinburgh.

_III.--Mary Queen of Scots_

But it was long ere Anna looked upon the face of the queen. At the Red Lion Inn in Edinburgh her beauty struck the eye of the Earl of Morton, the factious, proud, and ferocious associate of Moray in all the dark intrigues of that craftiest of Scottish statesmen. Morton promised that Anna should be entrusted to a lady of fair repute, and soon presented to the queen. Konrad trusted him, little knowing that the repute of Dame Alison Craig, Anna's new guardian, was anything but fair, and set forth for the Border.

It was to Sir John Elliot of Park that he offered the service of his sword, for it was against this turbulent borderer, who had just raided Northumberland, and threatened the peace of the two kingdoms, that Bothwell was advancing with the army of Queen Mary. Now garrisoning some solitary peel-tower, now hiding in some unfathomed cavern, now issuing with uplifted lance from the haggs of some deep moss, Konrad engaged with ardour in every desperate foray, and his daring made him the idol of the wild spirits around him. In every deed of arms one thought was in his mind--to come within a lance-length of Bothwell.

Long and fierce was the struggle, but it ended as a fight so unequal was bound to end. John of Park was slain, refusing with his dying breath to surrender, and Konrad was carried, a half-senseless captive to Bothwell's castle of Hermitage. Even then the earl spared his life. He lay in a hideous den, in pitch darkness and dead silence broken only by the splash of drops of fetid water that fell from the slimy arch of the vault.

No token reached him of what was happening above; and an event happened there that had vast influence on Bothwell's future. Across the hills to Hermitage rode the Queen of Scots herself. The sight of her stirred in Bothwell's heart an emotion he had never wholly conquered, for she, Mary herself, was his first love of the bygone days in France. He had begun to realise that he loved her still; he knew the coldness of her relations with the dissolute and unfaithful Darnley, her husband; now she had come to Hermitage.

"Jesu Maria!" cried the queen, as Bothwell, with beating heart, paused in the conversation. "Have you lost your tongue?"

"Nay, madame--my heart."

"That is very serious; but search for another."

"I want no other," replied the earl, in a trembling voice, "but _thine_!"

"Lord Bothwell," she said, with a hauteur that froze her admirer, "thou art in a dream."

"Pardon me, I pray you--"

"I do pardon thee," replied the queen, with a calm smile; but added, significantly, "I think 'tis time I was riding from Hermitage."

So ended the famous visit to Hermitage, which was interpreted throughout Scotland as a token of Mary's love for her favourite earl.

Konrad, a month afterwards, was sent to Edinburgh and confined in the old tower of Holyrood, awaiting trial as a Border outlaw. Bothwell himself soon followed, and celebrated his return by a wild revel in company with Hob of Ormiston and other choice spirits.

As the revellers wandered through the narrow streets at midnight, seeking a quarrel, they passed the house of Dame Alison Craig.

"My page tells me," said Bothwell, "there is a famous foreign beauty concealed there. Ho! within!"

A stoup of water, poured on them from an upper window, was the answer. They broke open the door, and forced the shrieking dame to lead them to the apartment where the foreign beauty was hidden.

"Death and confusion!" muttered the earl when he saw who was within.

"Cock and pie!" said Ormiston. "We have started the wrong game."

Hastily they thrust back their companions. But Anna had recognised him. When Morton had made advances towards her, she had repulsed him scornfully, telling him she was the Countess of Bothwell. Morton had seized on this opportunity of injuring a man he hated, and resolved to bring Anna before the queen. Bothwell now knew the danger before him, and prepared for it.

Next day, as the queen sat with her grim lords in council, Morton led in Anna.

"I have the pleasure," said he, "to present a lady who accuseth the Earl of Bothwell of wedding and ignobly deserting her."

"'Tis false, Lord Earl!" cried Bothwell.

"Oh, madam, hear my story, and condemn me not unheard," pleaded Anna.

"Let her speak for herself," said Mary.

Thus encouraged, Anna, in moving accents, told her story.

"A meloncholy tale, in sooth," said Mary; "but what proof is there?"

"Your majesty," said Bothwell, "this is the invention of some unknown enemy"--he glanced at Morton--"to deprive me of your royal favour. Let this frantic damsel be removed to a Danish vessel now at Leith, and conveyed to her home."

"Well, so be it!" replied the facile queen.

Anna drew herself up to her full height.

"Farewell, Bothwell," she cried. "In that dark time of ruin and regret that is coming upon thee, remember Anna!"

And as she spoke they hurried her away.

Bothwell henceforth was more than ever in the queen's favour. Only the life of Darnley intervened between him and the goal of his love and ambition; and the sinister promptings of Ormiston suggested that even that obstacle was not irremovable.

_IV.--The Kirk of Field_

On a dark winter night a conference of nobles was held at Whittinghame. Mary had been asked to divorce her husband, and had proudly and indignantly refused. Only one way remained. A solemn bond was drawn up among the assembled nobles, and the bond sealed the fate of Darnley. It was not without doubt and shrinking that Bothwell saw whither his schemes were leading him, but he would not, he could not, turn back.

It was at Ormiston's suggestion that Konrad was employed as an unconscious tool in the affair. Ormiston hinted that with a little adroitness the whole blame might be laid on the unhappy prisoner. Konrad accordingly, on the night when the deed was to be done, was awakened from a reverie in his cell at Holyrood by the entry of a tall, masked figure.

"If thou wouldst attain liberty, follow me!" said Ormiston, for it was he.

He put a sword in Konrad's hand. Konrad as he grasped the weapon, felt his spirits rise again, and he followed.

Presently they came to a group of masked men, and silently the party went through a private door in the city walls. Their destination, though Konrad knew it not, was the lonely house of the Kirk of Field, where Darnley was lying slowly recovering from small-pox--an illness through which the queen, forgetting her wrongs at his hands, had tenderly nursed him.

Konrad, arrived at the house, helped to unload a horse of heavy packages which he conjectured to contain plunder; but it was gunpowder that he unwittingly handled.

Suddenly a piercing cry came from above. A moment later the startled Konrad perceived Bothwell, his mask awry, his eyes glazed and haggard.

"Thou hast done well!" said Ormiston grimly.

"Well! My God!" groaned the earl.

"Away while I fire the train!" shouted Ormiston.

Like a fiery serpent the train glowed along the ground. Then, red and lurid in the shadowy night, there flashed a volume of dazzling light; then came a roar as if the earth was splitting.

Konrad fled in bewildered terror, and wandered about the outskirts of the city until, in a little ruined chapel on the verge of a moor, he lay down exhausted and fell asleep.

In the morning he was awakened by a rough grasp on his shoulder.

"We have meshed one of the knaves at least," said a stern voice. Konrad found himself amidst knights and men-at-arms, and he was led back to the city.

The citizens were in arms, furious at the outrage of the night before. The appearance of a suspected murderer aroused their passion to the utmost; Konrad's escort was overpowered and thrust aside. "Awa' wi' him to the Papist's pillar!" cried a voice. Down they went with him to the North Loch, and tied him there to an oaken stake about five feet deep in the water--a spot where many a luckless Catholic had perished. The mob retired, and Konrad was left alone, helpless, and to die.

Bothwell sat by the fire in his apartments at Holyrood, with knit brows and muttering lips; the word he muttered was, "Murderer." The shriek of the man whose death-blow he had struck still echoed in his ears.

Presently there entered the room one of his followers, Hepburn of Bolton.

"The Norwegian hath been bound to the Papist's pillar," said he; "and by this time he must be dead, for it rains heavily, and the loch fills fast."

"One other life!" said the earl gloomily. "By heaven, Bolton! if I can save him--come!"

In the darkness and the rain, with the water rising around him, Konrad waited for death. A sound of oars roused him from the stupefaction into which he had fallen. "Here, here! His head is above water still," said a voice. The bonds were cut, Konrad was dragged into the boat and taken to land, and offered a draught that revived him.

"Here we part," said the voice. "Give him dry garments, and take him to the Norwegian vessel, and bid him cross my path no more!"

"Who art thou?" asked Konrad feebly.

"Thy greatest enemy, James, Earl of Bothwell!"

Slowly Konrad mounted the horse that had been brought for him, and with difficulty he rode; but the morning saw him on board a vessel of Bergen, in the hands of countrymen and friends.

Bothwell was tried for the murder of Darnley, and triumphantly acquitted. He procured the secret assent of the nobles to his marriage with Mary; he divorced the Countess Jane; one more vigorous action, and the goal would be attained.

On an April day, as Mary rode along the Stirling road towards Edinburgh, her way was barred by a thousand armed horsemen in close array; and Bothwell, riding up, requested that she should accompany him to his castle of Dunbar. It was useless to resist. Once in the castle, Bothwell offered her his hand, and was proudly refused.

"Lord Earl," cried Mary, "thou mayest tremble when I leave Dunbar!"

"Madame," he replied, "thou shalt never leave Dunbar but as the bride of Bothwell!"

In May, Mary and Bothwell were married. A month later Bothwell fled before the wrath of an outraged nation, never to see Mary again; and within a week of their parting he roamed a pirate on the northern seas.

_V.--Nemesis_

A large Danish war vessel approached the port of Bergen, with prisoners to hand over to the castellan--the new castellan, for old Erick Rosenkrantz was dead. Chief of the captives was Bothwell, nonchalant but melancholy, pale, and more thoughtful than formerly; still, in pleasure and in sorrow, was he haunted by the shriek of the dying Darnley.

Near him stood one who was not a captive, but a returning wanderer. Konrad had again crossed the path of the earl; his vessel, long detained in port, and afterwards delayed by storms, had been captured by the Scottish pirate ship, and he had been rescued from this new misfortune by the great Norwegian war vessel.

The prisoners were escorted to the hall of the castle, and Bothwell assumed his most defiant look. The arras that concealed the daïs was withdrawn, and Bothwell looked upon the face of the hereditary castellan of Bergen, Anna Rosenkrantz!

On seeing the earl, she turned pale as death. The earl recovered instantly from his surprise, and bowed smilingly.

"Well, madam," said he, "we foresaw not this meeting!"

"Dost thou know," replied Anna firmly, "that thy life and liberty are in my power?"

"I am assured," he answered, "that they could not be in safer keeping."

"Regicide and betrayer," return Anna, with flashing eyes, "from this hour thou shalt have meted out to thee the stern measures thou hast so ruthlessly dealt to others. This man," she went on, turning to the captain of the war ship, "is the king's prisoner; away with him to the Castle of Kiobenhafen--be under sail before sunset!"

Red-bearded Danish bowmen crowded round the earl, who thus passed away to the wretched captivity that ended only with his death, ten years afterwards.

Konrad, unnoticed and uncared for, stood alone in the hall where he had once been so welcome a guest. He had no intention of remaining in a place where all was so changed; but ere he turned to leave it for ever he paused a moment irresolutely. Once more the arras was withdrawn, and Anna stood before him.

"I heard thou wert here, Konrad," she said, with a blushing cheek. "Wouldst thou go without one word to me?"

She seated herself in the recess of a window. "I have long wished," she faltered, "to see thee once more. I have now seen the worth and faith of thy heart when contrasted with mine own, and I blush for my weakness--my wickedness--my folly. Thou mayest deem this unwomanly--indelicate; but in love we are equal, and why may not one make reparation as the other?"

"Anna," said Konrad, in a choking voice, "though my heart be soured and saddened, my first sentiment for thee hath never altered. For all thou hast made me endure I forgive thee, and I pray that thou mayest be happy. Anna--dearest Anna--I am going far away, for I have doomed myself to exile, but I still regard thee as a sister--as a friend. All is forgotten and forgiven. And now, farewell!"

He felt the hand of Anna in his; another moment, and she sank upon his breast.

"Oh, Konrad," she whispered, "if my heart is still prized by thee, it is thine, as in the days of our first love."

And, borne away by his passion, the forgiving Konrad pressed the woman he loved closer and closer to his breast.