CHAPTER XLVII.

BORTHWICK'S NEW MISSION.

"Your pardon, sir, But sure this lack of Christian charity Looks not like Christian truth."

"I would give ten of my best horses, if by so doing I could find this stunted vagabond in the grey gaberdine!" said Hailes to Home, as they met in the Broad Wynd; "and so he has escaped your lordship too?"

"Yes, but we shall find him yet. Canst think of any one to employ, Blackcastle?" asked Home of a Hepburn who attended them.

"Nay, not I, my lords," replied Hepburn; "I am but little used to the dirty work which seems the sole occupation of those who hover about the court of this poor prince; and it would ill beseem a gentleman of name to be hunting for a seaman among yonder tarry wilderness of boats and booms, casks and anchors."

Lord Hailes frowned at his retainer.

"Lady Euphemia Drummond gave this man a letter, and this letter we must have, should we burn Leith for it!" said Home.

"Whom shall we employ?" asked Blackcastle; "there are rascals and pimps in plenty about the prince's court, for the news of our rising seems to have gathered all the roguery in Scotland from the four winds of Heaven."

His lord and chief frowned again, and said, "You are over free with your tongue, Adam, and at this juncture I like it not. Art thou a king's man, eh?"

"Though a landed gentleman, I am your lordship's vassal and near kinsman," replied the laird, evasively; "but there is a fellow named Borthwick, a follower of Sir Patrick Gray of Kyneff, who is the best man to assist you in this matter, I think."

"And where may he be found?" asked Home.

"At the _Tantony Bell_ in the Kirkgate."

"Let us seek him. Get us a room, Blackcastle, and see if this fellow be about the tavern."

Thus it was that _Sir_ Hew was accosted in the stair by the haughty lesser baron, who despised both him and his lord for the plots they had in hand; and thus it was that the avaricious regicide found himself ushered suddenly into the presence of the two greatest military chiefs in the South Lowlands; for Hailes was a warden of the Marches, and Home was steward of Dunbar.

The landlord in person brought them a supply of wine in a large Delft jug, with four silver-rimmed stoups of horn. The chamber was wainscoted, and its windows faced, on one side, the quaint and narrow Kirkgate, which became gloomy as the dusk deepened, and on the other, overlooked a narrow pathway called the Cotefield-loan.

"Fill thy stoup, my friend--'tis East-sea wine, this," said the Laird of Blackcastle to Borthwick, who, he rightly conjectured, would be more likely to do his lord's behest if his heart were first warmed by wine.

"Thou art a gaily-dressed carle, on my faith!" said Hailes, who had not recovered his temper since Lady Euphemia's ill-disguised contempt had ruffled it, and he lacked an object on which to vent his spleen. "Scarlet cloth and seed-pearls, velvet and passments," he continued, coolly surveying the gay attire of Borthwick; "though I have two thousand mailed horse in my train, and twice that number of spearmen on foot, I doubt mickle whether I can afford to win the service of a gallant so dainty!"

"Tush!" said Lord Home, more warily; "why should not an honest man dress him as he pleases?"

"Well, sirs," said the plain Laird of Blackcastle, "to cross the Lammermuirs, or ride through the Merse, I would rather have my steel cap and rusty jack, with its plate sleeves, or it might be, a good coat of wambesan, than all this finery. But was it to appraise his attire, and to comment on the fashion of his cloak or the trimming of his doublet, you sent me for this person, my lords?"

"Thou art the plainest of all plain-spoken fellows, Blackcastle," said his chief; "but thou art the best lance that rides on the land of the Hepburns. Nay, we sent for him to have a pot of wine together, and a little conversation."

"I shall be glad to talk of anything your lordships please," said Borthwick, rather impatiently; "that is, anything except the battle off the May, anent which all men now speak, till I have sickened of it."

"Well, then, canst thou----"

"Nay," whispered the politic Home, "do not _thou_ him, lest we mar our purpose."

"Can you keep a secret?"

"Yes--if I am paid for it," was the unhesitating reply.

"Can you also be sincere and of service?"

"Yes--if I am very well paid for it."

"Hech!" said Hepburn, "I would take thee to be one of that English faction who have been Scotland's curse since the days of Alexander III., and will be so till we have a broader barrier than the Tweed."

Borthwick gave him one of his sour and sinister smiles. "Men must live," said he; "but what do your lordships desire?"

"Simply this. Within the last hour a seaman landed from the ship of Admiral Wood, and he hath in his gaberdine----"

"Nay," said Blackcastle, "you said before, his pouch."

"Well, well, his pouch--a letter addressed we know not to whom; but this letter we must have, and if you will procure it by fair means or foul, we shall pay you bravely."

"You will easily discover him, for all in Leith know and love the shipmates of Wood; we had made short work with him else," said Home, haughtily, "for we have lances enough to level the burgh, but seek not a feud with the Logans of Restalrig; thus I was half forced by Angus to hang a pikeman yesterday, in defiance of the law of _Burdingseck_ which sayeth that no man shall be 'hanged for stealing so much as he can bear on his bark in a poke.'"

"The devil seize all laws!" said Blackcastle.

"So say I," added Borthwick. "But what manner of man is this sailor?"

"Short and square set," said Home.

"With thick mustachios, a beard, and grey gaberdine?"

"The same--a calfskin girdle and long boots like a horseman's gambadoes."

"I have him--I know him! 'Tis Wad, the gunner of the _Yellow Frigate_, one of Sir Andrew's prime seamen."

"I would they were hung together over yonder steeple!"

"I know his howff, and before midnight will undertake to have this letter, even should I use my poniard for it."

"Use it freely, fellow," said Hailes, putting a hand into the velvet purse which hung at his glittering girdle. "My Castle of Hailes, near Linn-Tyne, is a sure hiding-place, and such as thee need not fear a feud with the overlord of this regality. We lodge with the Lord Angus in the King's Wark; bring us there this looked-for letter as soon as you find it, and heed not the hour of night."

"We who bide upon the Borders are used to have our rest broken at all hours," added the other peer.

"Blackcastle, hand these coins to our new ally; and now let us begone, for there is here that horrid odour of sawdust and stale liquors which I never knew an hostel to be without."

"Fare-you-well, Master Borthwick," said Lord Home.

"God keep you, sir," added Hailes, turning away.

Borthwick found himself mechanically counting the money as he descended the stair. He had received twenty half-lyons, or five-shilling pieces.

"St. Nicholas, patron of thieves, I honour thee!" thought he. "What with the fleurs-de-lys of Sir Patrick Gray, the half-lyons of Lord Hailes, the rents of my three tenements in Stirling; and the rose-nobles of King Henry, which are ever descending on me in a golden shower, I shall die a rich man! Die--ugh!" he added, with something between a sneer and a shudder, while he shut his eyes like one who sees a horror; "why should people die at all, especially when they have plenty of money?"

"When thou comest to the King's Wark, ask first for the Laird of Blackcastle," said that personage, who had taken upon himself the task of seeing this pitiful swashbuckler clear of the tavern. "And I pray to St. Anne," thought he, "that this poor mariner may steer clear of thee, and deliver the fair lady's letter to her lover--Robert Barton, if all tales be true--for he is a brave good fellow, and hath fought well for old Scotland, like his father before him; and God bless all who do so, say I!"