Part 5

"I for one," said the youth, "receive nothing by these terms but the mighty boon of forgiveness, which will neither add to my honours nor contribute to my ambition. By being the friend of my royal father, I may be gratified by getting a view of Venus through his astrolabe; but I would rather, upon the honour of a knight, be his lieutenant in the government of this part of the planet Earth called Scotland. It is clear that my father is as unfit to rule the kingdom as was the father of the former holder of my title of Duke of Rothsay, Robert III, who made his son lieutenant-general--and why should I be debarred from what is my natural and legitimate right? It will be for the good of you all that I am appointed to that office, insomuch as the friendship of a ruler invested with all the power is better than the pardon of a king who has none."

These sentiments were opposed by many of the lords, and in particular by the Earl of Argyle.

"By these terms of accommodation," said he, "we get all we have been fighting for, or can expect from a victory gained through the blood of our countrymen and kinsmen--a free pardon for the execution of the favourites at the Bridge of Lauder, and a restoration to the favour and confidence of the king. We cannot force a lieutenantcy in favour of the prince who is at present our king, otherwise than by committing his royal father to close confinement--for what self-denying ordinance could prevent a sane and free king, not deposed by his subjects, from exercising his authority in opposition to that of a lieutenant forced upon him against his will, and acting against his wishes? The crown, as surely as a coffin, will come to one prince by the course of nature, and better wait for a regular inheritance, than anticipate a right by rebellion, spoliation, and force."

Other arguments were used by other nobles, and the convention retired to their tents without coming to any determination. The night was clear and beautiful; the sky shone with cerulean brightness; a clear full moon shot her silvery rays "over tower and tree;" and every twinkling star in the blue firmament seemed to rejoice in the opportunity of getting its weak beam thrown upon the green earth, and adding its small mite to the general exuberance of the smiles of the whole heavenly host. The noise of the convention of angry nobles having ceased, and the men, wearied by bearing arms all day, having retired to rest, there was nothing to disturb the silence which reigned coordinately with the serene light, and made the scene more impressively beautiful. When left to himself, the young prince felt the contrast between the appearance of nature, thus arrayed in her fairest smiles, and beautified by calmness and composure, and the position of a father and a son, lying in wait for an opportunity of engaging in the strife of war, and of even shedding each other's blood, by the vicarious hands of those they were leading on to the fight of kindred against kindred. His heart softened; the feelings of nature returned for a time, and vindicated the authority they should never have lost. His versatility was exclusive of a permanent establishment in his bosom of affection and duty, but it was, as it generally is, a pledge of the strength of the reigning emotion, for the time, which, in proportion to the shortness of its duration, was intense in its action, and engrossing in its extent. Having thrown himself on his couch, he resigned himself to the influence of these feelings; the poetical enthusiasm which is generated by a contemplation of nature in her beautiful moods, and, in his instance, called forth by a survey (through the opening of his tent) of the shining heavens and the sleeping earth, came in aid of the instinctive emotions which occupied his bosom; and he could not restrain the expression of what he felt.

"I have sat on the knee of him against whom I am arrayed in preparation for mortal fight, and I have seen the tear rise in his eye, as, looking first at me, and then at my departed mother (bless her pure spirit, which dwelleth in that ether!), he felt proud of the pledge of their loves, and hopeful of the virtues of a good king, to succeed him when he died. What would have been his emotions, if he had been told by some of his occult divinations that the boy he cherished and wept over would lift his hand against his life, and endeavour to pluck the crown from his living head? How dreadful, at this moment, appears to me my position and my conduct! Almost in my view, my parent lays his head on the pillow of a field-tent, uncertain whether his son and his son's friends may permit him to awake again, to view the beauties of that moon, and all that she discovers to the eye of man! Heavens! and I, conscious of my ingratitude, know its baneful effects on a parent's mind, and yet do not rise instantly and throw myself at his feet! Cruel versatility of nature under which I stand accursed! Where shall I find the elements of consistency, the true parent of happiness? Alas! I obey only the impulses of constitution. Would that, at this auspicious moment, I had an opportunity of acquiring again the matter of these terms of peace! The feelings of a son, roused by conscience, would suggest an eloquence before which all the specious views and paradoxes of Gray and Hume would disappear, like vapours before the light of that shining queen of the heavens."

He lifted his eyes as he spoke, to look again at the bright moon, and saw before him, palpable to his waking intelligence, the identical figure which had appeared to him in the Castle of Stirling. The light brought out his form in full perfection, and a long shadow thrown upon the floor of the tent gave an additional evidence of his presence; the scar upon his cheek and the staphylomatic orb were apparent, and proved his identity; and his look and manner indicated a purpose similar to that he had announced on the occasion of his prior appearance.

"He whom the gods wish to destroy," said the figure, "is first by them deprived of reason; and thy disregard of my counsel showeth that thou art bent on thine own ruin. Thy father lieth there" (pointing his finger)--"I will lead thee to his tent; and, see! there lieth beside thee on that couch a sword. What need of more? Why not in pity end his woes and life together? That bright moon will glory in the sight of a son imbruing his hand in the blood of a parent--her light will be incarnadined by the running stream of life--but water will wash the hands of the parricide. Come, follow! Dost thou hesitate? Why, then, this warlike array?"

"Fiend or angel," cried the prince, "which art thou? Are the counsels of heaven couched in irony, or am I advised by a messenger of hell? Give thy thoughts another and a clearer form, and satisfy me that thou art well commissioned for the counsel of youth, and I will hail thee friend. Of sage advisers, with hair as white as thine, and speech as strange, circuitous, and wild, I have enough--my soul is torn by their contests for the mastership of my royal will. I'd give an earldom of ten thousand acres for ten words winged with the wisdom of above. Speak!--what art thou?"

"All that is good comes from the skies," replied the man; "and mortals, to attain it, are not required to trust alone to the vicarious powers which live in that blue light of the moon's silver glory. The triumph of God's wisdom soundeth through man's heart. Thou hast heard it, and heeded it not. The soft and solemn notes of goodness, suited to the gravity of knowledge that tendeth to salvation, have not awakened thee; and the harsh tones of stimulating irony have, as a last resource, been tried on the obdurate heart of filial disobedience. Why more? Hast thou forgot our meeting in the Castle of Stirling? Renounce thy vain speculations on the origin of my mission and the nature of this form, which, thou seest, casteth a shadow on the ground, and listen to the counsel which is independent of the tongue of man or angel that pronounceth it. Agree to thy father's terms; hasten to his bosom, fall on it, weep away the dregs of thy disobedience, and rejoice in the composing and healing virtues of the fatted calf."

Having said these words, the figure glided quickly out of the tent; and, though James immediately rose and followed, he could see no trace of the extraordinary being who thus haunted him, and counselled him, apparently for his good. He called some of his attendants, and asked of them if they had seen any person leave his tent; but they answered in the negative; and, though he personally searched among the tents, and even visited the camp of the sutlers, he could find no trace of the mysterious counsellor. He returned to his tent, and again threw himself on his couch. This vision was at least no dream. All the powers of Shaw, and all the sceptical raillery of those who laughed his father's credulous belief in dreams and divinations to scorn, could not, he was satisfied, drive from his mind the effects produced by the appearance and language of this extraordinary visiter. He began to think that the wisdom of his father, whose maxim was, that there is more in nature than man's shallow philosophy can fathom, was truer and better lore than the self-sufficient and profane knowledge of his noble advisers; and, though he had no evidence that the figure was an unincorporated essence, but rather suspected that it was made of flesh and blood like himself, there was an impressiveness and solemnity in his thoughts and manner of delivering them, which justified the maxim he had himself delivered, that wisdom may come from heaven by other means than the mediation of celestial messengers. The train of reflections which followed were grave and sage; the feelings of a son who had injured his father, and wished to make amends, acquired an ascendency where they should never have lost their power, and a resolution to agree on the morn to the terms of accommodation offered, and thus obey the counsel of the mysterious visiter, was formed before slumber overtook his distracted mind.

Early in the morning, the council of nobles again met, and the discussions were resumed as to the expediency of accepting the offers of peace. The prince sat listening to the arguments in a mood of gloomy abstraction, from which he appeared to struggle to get free, and, at last starting up, he put an end to the strife of contending tongues by delivering solemnly his changed opinion.

"We have all heard," he said, "that there is great wisdom in night counsel (_consilium in nocte_)--forgive me--I do not say in dreams, or visions, or consultations of the heavens, but in the weighing of rational arguments in the balance of the judgment, when there is no disturbing cause to shake the scales, and no prejudice to add a false weight to the deductions of a biassed reasoning. I stand in a position different from you all. You are fighting against your king, I against my father. You are seeking what is offered to you by the terms in question; I am fighting for what death or superannuation alone can bestow--a king's crown or a vice-regent's tiara; and I am offered what I scarcely deserve--an indulgent father's forgiveness and affection. Why should I hesitate, when, by standing out, I may lose the crown and my father's love, while, by acquiescing, I insure the one at present, and retain the other by a sure expectancy? The words of Argyle have sat on my heart all night. If I live till my father die, a crown and a coffin are equally certain to me; and I shall put on the one and lie down in the other with feelings better befitting the heir of a kingdom on earth, and one in heaven, by acting as becometh a good son, than those that can result from a consciousness of disobedience. Our commissioners, therefore, have my authority for agreeing to the terms of peace."

This speech, so different from the one of the previous day, was received with loud murmurs of dissatisfaction from the leading rebels, who calculated with certainty on the steadiness of a youth, who, having been untrue to his father, might safely have been suspected of a tendency to a dangerous vacillation as regarded his new colleagues. The numbers on the side of the prince were, however, great--perhaps amounting to a majority--so that the discontented nobles were obliged to suppress their chagrin, and permit the commissioners to go through the ceremony of accepting the terms of accommodation. The treaty was therefore concluded in the course of the day.

The monarch, acting upon the supposition that everything was amicably settled, withdrew his army, and retired back upon Edinburgh, where, in the excess of his gratitude to those who had brought about a result so beneficial to the kingdom, and so gratifying to the feelings of a father, he bestowed upon several of the nobles and knights substantial marks of his royal favour. The Earl of Crawford was created Duke of Montrose, Lord Kilmaurs was raised to the rank of Earl Glencairn, and the Lairds of Balnamoon, Lag, Balyard, and others, received grants of land. All was settled, as the weak, but good, monarch thought, amicably and lastingly. Yet how vain are the anticipations of mortals! At the very time when a species of jubilee was celebrating in Edinburgh, on the re-organisation of the court and the restoration of peace and tranquillity, the uncompromising rebel lords were triumphing in another victory over the mind and sentiments of the prince. The versatile youth having survived the solemn impression made on his mind by his nocturnal counsellor, was as ready as ever to listen to the rebellious advice of the nobles, who, trusting to their power over him, had secretly kept together the army, which they had merely cantoned in various parts of the south. The monarch had scarcely rested himself in the Castle of Edinburgh, when he was informed that the same fierce faction had resumed their ambitious schemes, and were again assembled, with the prince at their head, in more formidable array than before.

The instant this intelligence reached Edinburgh, the king's friends who had remained in the city urged him to re-assemble his army without delay, and put a total end to the insurrection, by a quick and decisive blow. The loyal nobles were active in their measures, and collected, in a very short time, their retainers; while summonses were issued to all those who had returned home, and especially the lords of the north, to assemble their clans, and meet the king's troops at Stirling, whither his majesty intended to repair in person. The commands were most readily obeyed; the popularity of the cause of the father against the son was very great, and had considerably increased since the breach of faith which the latter and his rebel colleagues had displayed in not adhering to the late solemn treaty; and in a very short time the royal army exhibited an enlargement of its ranks, which justified expectations of a speedy settlement of this unnatural strife. Abandoning the Castle of Edinburgh, the monarch approached Stirling, where, having placed himself at the head of his army, he met and attacked with considerable spirit the forces of his son, which having dispersed, he forced them across the Forth, and immediately after demanded admittance into his Castle of Stirling. This request was refused by Shaw, the governor; and before preparations could be made for forcing a surrender, or, indeed, before a decision was come to whether an attack should, in the circumstances, be resorted to, intelligence was brought that the antagonist forces had re-assembled, and were encamped in strong array on the level plain above the bridge of the Torwood.

Upon hearing this intelligence, the monarch immediately advanced against the insurgents; and having no longer any faith in the breakers of solemn covenants, encountered them on a track of ground known at present by the name of Little Canglar, situated upon the east side of a small brook called Sauchie Burn, about two miles from Stirling, and one from the field of Bannockburn. The royal army was drawn up in three divisions, under the advice of Lord Lindsay--the first composed of the northern clans, under Athole and Huntly, forming an advance of Highlandmen, armed with bows, daggers, swords, and targets; the rear division, consisting of Westland and Stirling men, under Menteith, Erskine, and Graham; and the main battle, composed of burghers and commons, being led by the king himself. On the right of the king, who was splendidly armed, and rode a tall grey horse, presented to him by Lord Lindsay, was that venerable warrior and the Earl of Crawford, commanding a noble body of cavalry, consisting of the chivalry of Fife and Angus; while on his left Lord Ruthven, with the men of Strathearn and Stormont, formed a body of nearly five thousand spearmen. On the other hand, the rebel lords formed themselves also into three battles: the first division, composed of the hardy spearmen of East Lothian and Merse, being led by Lord Hailes and the Master of Hume; the second, formed of Galwegians and the hardy Borderers of Liddesdale and Annandale, being led by Lord Gray; while the middle, composed of the rebel lords, was led by the prince, whose mind, recurring again to the vision of Stirling and Blackness, was torn with remorse, and compelled him to seek some relief--alas! how small could the means afford!--by issuing an order that no one should dare, in the ensuing conflict, to lay violent hands on his father.

A shower of arrows (as usual) began the battle, and did little execution on either side; and it was not till the Borderers, with that steady and determined valour which practice in war from their infancy enabled them to turn to so good account, advanced, and attacked the royal army, that the serious work of the engagement could be said to have begun. But the beginning was more like an ending than the incipient skirmishing of men not yet warmed into the heat of strife. The onset was terrible, and the slaughter so great, that the Earls of Huntly and Menteith retreated in confusion upon the main body, commanded by the king, and threw it into an alarm from which it did not recover. After making a desperate stand, the royal forces began to waver; and the tumult having reached the spot where the king was stationed, he was implored by his attendant lords not to run the risk of death, which would bring ruin on their cause, but to leave the field while yet he had any chance of doing so with safety. The monarch consented reluctantly, and, while his nobles continued the battle, put spurs to his horse, and fled at full speed through the village of Bannockburn. On crossing the Bannock, at a hamlet called Milltown, he came suddenly upon a woman drawing water, who, surprised and terrified by the sight of an armed horseman, threw down her pitcher, and flew into her house. The noise terrified the noble steed, which, flying off and swerving to a side, cast his rider. The king fell heavily, with his armour bearing him to the ground, and being much bruised by the concussion, swooned, and lay senseless on the earth. He was instantly carried into a miller's cottage by people who knew nothing of his rank, but, compassionating his distress, treated him with great humanity.

Having put the unfortunate monarch to bed, the inmates of the house brought him such cordials as their poverty could command. In a short time he opened his eyes, and earnestly requested the presence of a priest.

"Who are you?" inquired the good woman who attended him, "that we may tell who it is that requires the assistance of the holy man."

"Alas! I was your sovereign this morning," replied he.

On this the poor woman ran out of the cottage, wringing her hands, and calling aloud for some one to come and confess the king.

"I will confess him," answered an old man in a grey cloak, tied round the waist with a blue sash. "Where is his majesty?"

The woman led him to the house, where the monarch was found lying on a flock-bed, with a coarse cloth thrown over him, in an obscure corner of the room. The old man knelt down, and asked him tenderly what ailed him, and whether he thought that, by the aid of medical remedies, he might recover? The king assured him there was no hope, and begged the supposed priest to receive his confession; whereupon the old man, bending over him, under pretence of discharging his holy office, drew a dagger, and stabbed the unresisting victim to the heart; repeating deliberately his thrusts, till he thought life was extinct.

On hearing of the death of his father, James was inconsolable. He ordered all search to be made for the murderer. No trace of him could be found--the only evidence that could be procured against him was the description of his person by the old woman of the cottage, and the dagger with which the deed had been committed. The woman was taken before James, that he might receive the evidence with his own ears. The room in which he led the evidence was purposely darkened. The dreadful state of mind into which the _quasi_ parricide was cast, exhibiting alternately remorse, terror, grief, and shame, would have consigned him to absolute seclusion, had he not thought that he would make some amends for his crime, by endeavouring to discover the murderer of his parent. He threatened the most exemplary vengeance; and, while he sat wrapped in gloom, in an apartment darkened almost to night, his emissaries were active on every hand, in endeavouring to find some clue to the murder. The old woman was placed before the king, and the dagger put into his hands.

"What is this?" he exclaimed, as he looked at the instrument, which still retained upon its blade the blood of his father's heart. "God's mercy! It is my own dagger!--ay, that very dagger I wore and lost upon that dreadful day!"

The words were uttered in a low tone, and rendered, by the king's dreadful excitement, unintelligible. Partly recovering himself, he cast his eyes on the woman and the two courtiers that sat beside, and seeing them occupied in arranging the materials for taking down the precognition, he thrust the dagger among the folds of his robes, and sat and trembled, as if the finger of an avenging God was pointing him out to the world as the murderer of his father. He was several times on the point of swooning, as he thought he observed Lord Gray, who was present, following with his eye his extraordinary motions, and searching with a keen look for the dagger.

"We had better have the dagger for the woman to speak to," said Gray. "Your majesty hath examined it, I opine."

"Proceed with the precognition, my lord," said James, hesitatingly. "I shall retain the dagger, and examine it in private. My grief chokes me. I cannot put the questions. Proceed, my lord."

The king trembled as he uttered these words, and Gray and the other courtier looked at each other, as if they held a mental colloquy as to his strange conduct. They proceeded in the examination of the woman, in which they went over several incidents already communicated.

"Are you sure the dagger was that carried by the old priest who stabbed the king?" said Gray.

"I'm sure it is," answered the woman. "It fell frae him as he hastened out o' the cottage. It was the bluid on't that first tauld me o' his cruel act; for I thought the king's granes cam frae the pains o' his distress."

"You got a good sight of the old man, then, I presume?" continued Gray.

"A far better sight than thae closed shutters will allow me to hae o' his majesty, wha sits there," replied she.

James started, and looked fearfully at the witness.

"Describe the man," said Gray.

"He was a tall man," replied she, "dressed in a lang grey cloak, which was bound round the middle by a blue belt. I observed a deep scar on his right cheek, and his left ee was like a white grape."