CHAPTER XLIX.

THE KING'S WARK.

"Virtue!--to be good and just--- Every heart when sifted well, Is a clot of warmer dust, Mixed with cunning sparks of hell!"

The bell in the tower of St. Anthony's preceptory--a tower demolished by the English cannon in 1559--was just tolling eleven, when Hew Borthwick blew the copper horn which hung by a chain at the outer gate of the King's Wark, and hastily inquired for the Laird of Blackcastle, or for the Lords Home or Hailes. These names secured to him an immediate passage among the Douglases, Homes, and Hepburns who loitered about or slept on the floor or benches of the passages, hall, and vestibule, and two pages, having the Hepburn arms--two Scottish lions rending an English rose--ushered the bravo at once into a chamber, the walls of which were hung with old amber-coloured arras, sewn over with red stars and green thistles, the work, it was said, of Elizabeth, Duchess of Brittany, daughter of James I.

This apartment was encumbered by arms and armour; halberts and lances were piled against the walls; two large sconces of tin, having in each four candles, gave sufficient light to the two reckless young lords, who were playing at chess, and sipping wine from silver cups, while the pages were conveying away the remains of the baked chicken and pie of plumdames on which they had just made their rere-supper.

Their daggers, belts, and cuirasses were flung aside, and they wore loose ample gowns of dark woollen cloth, lined with brightly coloured silk, and edged with stripes of fine sable.

"Thou hast come betimes, sir," said Hailes; "and doubtless hast succeeded, too."

"I seldom fail in aught I undertake, my lord. A ready wit, a clear head, a bold heart, and nimble hands, are ever required by those who have light purses and high ambition," was the confident reply.

"Thou hast rather an active tongue too, sirrah," said Lord Home, frowning.

"'Tis the only inheritance my good mother left me," said the unabashed Borthwick.

"Enough of this--the letter, if thou hast it!"

Borthwick still lingered, till Hailes scornfully tossed to him a fleur-de-lys, and then he received the letter at once. He untied the ribbons, opened and scrutinized it with stern and curious eyes. He then counted the lines repeatedly, and looked at the address--but of that and the contents neither he nor Hailes could decypher one word.

"Curse on this conjuror's art!" said he; "'tis the Dean of Dunblane hath taught dame Euphemia and her sisters this clerkly craft. Had they learned how to make hippocras, to knead a pasty, to collar a pig, or to throw a hawk well off, it had been wiser! Canst thou make out this devilish scrawl, my lord?"

"Nay, not I, thank God! If I can mumble _Kyrie Eleison_, or _Christi Eleison_, at Mass, 'tis all my book lear."

"Ouf! for a fair dame's epistle, what an odour it hath of herrings and tar!"

And now there was a pause. Home thrust aside the chessmen; Hailes took a sip at his wine-cup, and curled up his moustachios, while Borthwick stood by with a sneer on his face, and watched them, smiling in his heart at their absurd perplexity.

Now, although so early as the year 1173 the towns of Perth and Stirling, Aberdeen and Ayr, had their seminaries under the monks, and others were established in Roxburgh, St. Andrews, and Montrose during the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries, the Scottish nobles were so ignorant, that a law was passed at a period subsequent to the reign of James III. that every peer should send his eldest son to school. Thus, to the Scots, all of whom--even the lowest and poorest classes--are now so well educated, the ignorance of the good folks, their ancestors, must seem extraordinary, if not incredible.

Impatient that Borthwick did not offer to read it, and yet half ashamed of what the contents might be, Home turned to him with reluctance, saying,--

"Master Borthwick, wert thou not somewhat of a monk in thy younger days?"

Borthwick started, and his countenance flushed, as he replied, "To my shame I acknowledge that I was; I am now a more useful man--but what of that, my lord?"

"You can read, of course?" said Hailes, a little more gently, and with a bitter expression of eye, for he felt that he and his friend were at the mercy of a man whom they disliked and despised.

"Read, if it please you," said Lord Home, and he whispered, while Borthwick took up the letter, "Fear not its contents, Hailes; if it contains aught unpleasant, we can stop this fellow's tongue by a gag of steel, and there are vaults in Home Castle where the light of day hath never entered: read on."

"'_For Robert Barton of that Ilk--Captain to the Laird of Largo--be these delivered--_,'" began Borthwick.

"Of that Ilk!" exclaimed the two lords, together, with fierce, and unutterable scorn; and then they burst into a fit of laughter.

"By St. Anne, this amuses me!" said Hailes, "Read on, good fellow; of that Ilk--read on."

The noble lord was not so much amused by what followed, for Euphemia expressed in strong language the horror she and her sister Sybilla entertained of the two suitors whom their impetuous and ambitious father had thrust upon them; the letter expressed their double dread of him and of their uncle, the dean; it detailed the persecution they were subjected to, and the surveillance with which they were annoyed; and ended by stating that their marriage days were fixed, but that they were resolved not to be wedded, at the sword's point, like two brides among the wild Redshanks who dwelt beyond the Grampians; and so they begged that Barton and Falconer, if they loved them, would take measures to save them from such a fate, and become their protectors.

"'Tis madness--'tis infatuation!" said Home, with something of pity; "and but for the honour of Lord Drummond's house, and the necessity for killing these scurvy companions, and preventing the daughters of our nobles from making alliances so degrading, on my soul I would leave Lady Euphemia to her lover, Master Robert Barton of--_that Ilk_."

"And had I not a slender fancy for the pretty Sybilla, and a greater one for that slice of Strathearn which the old lord promised me, I would rest contented with the black-eyed dame to whom I am hand-fasted already; but we must punish their contumacy; and I doubt not they will become loving wives enough, after we have given their gallants to feed the gleds."

"So, so; is that all, Master Borthwick?"

"There is a post scriptum, my lord."

"Post--what? is there more of this precious epistle?"

"But a line or two, my lord, hastily pencilled."

"'Tis what we saw her writing," said Home; "and faith, she did look beautiful as she bent over her tablets, and her heavy locks fell forward; well, and what saith the post scriptum?"

"'_We will meet you at the chapel of Loretto, beside the Links of Musselburgh, on Friday, in the evening, for there we mean to spend the whole night in vigil and in prayer, &c._--E.D."

"At our Lady of Loretto! what a place for an assignation with these skipper varlets," said Lord Hailes, "those cullionly mongrels!"

"Art sure of this, sirrah?" asked Lord Home, with a terrible frown.

"Sure as I now address your lordship--for I read word for word as it is written."

"At six in the evening?"

"Six, my lord."

"God's death!" said Hailes, with ferocious joy, "if this meeting take place, I would not wed the Lord Drummond's daughter had she the crown of Scotland on her head."

"Nor I her sister, with Brittany and Orkney to boot."

"What then shall we do?"

"Send their letter to its destination, my lords," said Borthwick, who ever loved to ferment and further mischief; "permit the ladies quietly to ride forth, but attend the tryst, too--and let them find their lovers there, but less their heads."

"It shall be so; we'll beset the place, Hailes, and cut them into gobbets, by my father's soul we will?"

"But Loretto is a holy place."

"What! art thou one of those who deem one place more holy than another because a shaveling mumbles Latin there? Well, we will drag them forth and hang them at the Musselburgh Cross, if you will. I'll take a hundred horse and hide them in the woods of Pinkey. Enough--enough, we'll see to it; and now to send this letter to the churls at Largo. The bearer--"

"I left him drunk as a Saxon, and snorting like a pig, in an alehouse near the Timber Bourse; day has not yet broken, so I may easily restore it to his pouch without his having missed it, perhaps."

"Good--excellent! away, it lacks but a short time of day-dawn; when all this matter is over and settled, when the rooks of Pinkey Wood have gorged them to their fill on those aspiring curs who cross our plans, I'll make thee, Borthwick--a rascal though thou art--the richest varlet in my new earldom--away, away!" and laughing and pushing, he almost put Borthwick out of the room. When he was gone,--

"Hailes, can we really trust this fellow?" asked Home.

"Trust him! For gold he would sell his father's bones, and his own slender chance of salvation; but I'll have him followed, and prove whether or not he plays us foul."

The messenger of Home was no other than the unwilling Laird of Blackcastle, who had been sleeping in his armour on a stone bench in the upper hall of the King's Wark, and who grumbled under his helmet as he followed Borthwick through the dark and narrow streets of Leith in the grey light of the morning.

Turning off towards the Timber Bourse he saw him enter the narrow alley which led to Tibby Tarvet's alehouse, and there he met Willie Wad in a high state of excitement.

"What ho, Master Wad," said he, "you are abroad betimes."

"Abroad betimes, thou dog-thief and loon; thou'st boarded me like a pirate in the night, and stolen a letter frae me."

"Beware ye, sirrah, of what you say," replied Borthwick, making a show of dignified indignation; "beware, for I am a man of a good repute, that must not be impugned; but if this be the letter you have lost--"

"It is--it is," said Wad, almost dancing with joy as the other displayed the missing article; "and where got ye it?"

"Lying at the close-head."

"Say you so? Could I have dropped it?"

"You know best."

"My deck was overstown wi' usquebaugh--donnart deil that I am, it must have been so!"

"This letter is of value then??

"I would rather lose my starboard fin than it."

"Then it is well worth a crown."

"To those wha hae crowns to spare," said the gunner.

Borthwick took a firmer grasp of the packet.

"What, will a gay gentleman in a scarlet cloak, chaffer thus wi' a puir mariner like me?" asked Wad, with astonishment mingled with contempt.

"I have said the letter is well worth a crown."

"Crowns hae I none--but I will gie what I have, and then let us part; sorrow be on the hour I met you."

As money poured upon this wretched bravo, avarice grew and strengthened in his heart; and he omitted no opportunity of gathering all he could win; knowing well that ere long Scotland would be too hot to hold him.

"A' I hae is here," said Wad, opening a secret nook in his pouch; "three rose-nobles, and welcome you are to them."

"Rose-nobles," said Borthwick, suspiciously, and pricking up his ears at the sound; "where got you them?"

"In the pouch of a dead Englishman. Take them; the letter, the letter!" said Willie, losing all patience, and beginning to grasp his knife with one hand, while by the other he angrily snatched away the billet. "You are I doubtna a thief and limmer to boot--despite your braw gear and laced mantle. But off! sheer off, I say, or may I drink bilge, if by one hearty kick I dinna double you up like a bolt of wet canvas!"

With these complimentary remarks Willie hastened down the Broad Wynd, crossed the ancient bridge of three arches, where a trifling toll was levied from every passenger, and reached the boat of Jamie Gair, who was just preparing to put off without him. A chill wind was blowing from the north-east and a white _harr_ was setting in from the German Sea, so they buttoned up their gaberdines, betook them to the oars, shot the boat out into the midstream, and in a short time the old wooden pier of Leith, the Beacon Rock and Partan Craig, were left astern. Then they set their lug-sail, and keeping the boat close-hauled, bore away as nearly as her head would lie to the wind, for the beautiful Bay of Largo.