CHAPTER XLIII.
The court-yard of Gowrie palace--that large court-yard which I have before described, of ninety feet in length by sixty in width--was filled with men and horses from a little after one till a late hour in the afternoon. Gowrie's own attendants had more than they could well manage to do--the domestic servants in waiting upon the king and the courtiers, and his grooms and stable-boys in taking care of the horses. The granaries were thrown open. The servants of the strangers helped themselves to what they needed; and men who had never been seen in the place before, were running over the whole building. In vain Mr. Cranston remonstrated, and endeavoured to preserve a little order; and while he himself was obliged to be absent from the scene of confusion, besought Donald Macduff, the earl's baron bailie of Strathbraan, who had come down with his lord from Trochrie, to stop the people from entering the palace and swilling the wine and ale at their discretion. Christie, the porter, seemed to rejoice in the tumult, giving admission to all who wanted it, to every part of the house, except the two upper floors.
"There'll be nothing done," said Macduff, "unless one of them has his head broke. It's all Christie's fault. He knows that he's to go to-morrow, and cares not what he does. I'll split his weasand in a minute with my whinger, if you'll but say I may, Mr. Cranston."
"No, no--no violence, Macduff," said Mr. Cranston; "especially not to the king's people;" and he turned away into the house again.
Macduff stood sullenly on the steps of the hall, gazing with a bitter heart on the scene before him, till Mr. Alexander Ruthven, of Freeland, came up and spoke to him in a low tone, saying, "This is really too bad, Macduff; some order ought to be taken with these people."
"The king alone can do it, sir," replied the baron bailie; "and I doubt that he chooses to do so, otherwise he would have taken better care at first. I suppose he calls this spoiling the Egyptians."
"That scoundrel Christie has left all the doors open," said Mr. Ruthven.
"Ay, sir, I dare say he knows well what he's about; but I'll go and speak to him;" and walking up to the porter, followed closely by Mr. Ruthven, he said, "Hold your laughing, stupid tongue, and turn all those people out of the house, except the gentlemen. Then lock the doors, and keep them out."
"Deed, I shall do no such thing," answered Christie, turning from him with a dogged look. "I'm no to take my orders from you, I'se warrant, no better than a highland cateran."
Macduff laid his hand upon his dagger, and drew it half out of the sheath; but Mr. Ruthven caught his arm, exclaiming, "For God's sake, Macduff, keep peace! There's no telling where a broil would end if begun in such a scene as this. Come away, man--come away;" and he pulled the highlander by the arm to the other side of the court. "Watch his movements," he continued, when they were at some distance. "I doubt that man, Macduff, and it may be well to mark him."
"Ay, I'll mark him if I get hold of him," replied the other. "He's gone into his den now; and see, there are three or four others gone in after him."
"That's great Jimmy Bog, the king's porter at Falkland," said Mr. Ruthven.
"And that broad-shouldered fellow is Galbraith, one of the door-keepers at Holyrood," said Macduff. "What the de'il does the king do bringing such folk here? If they had been his grooms, or his huntsmen, one could understand it. I saw his cellarer about not long since--I'll tell you what, Mr. Ruthven, I don't like this at all. How it'll end I can't say, but ill I'm thinking. Here's my lord's house is not so much his own as that of every loon about the court."
Mr. Ruthven shrugged his shoulders, and walked away; and Macduff continued to stand upon the steps with his eyes fixed upon the lodge or room of the porter. From the back of that room a long and narrow passage, with windows looking into the court, ran along the western mass of building till it reached a staircase in the corner, by which access might be obtained to all the rooms on the first and second floors. Neither Christie himself, nor those who had followed him into his room, came out again while Macduff remained watching; but he saw the head and shoulders of more than one man pass along the range of windows I have mentioned, and then disappear. All this took place some quarter of an hour before the king left the table; and shortly after that, the baron bailie saw the porter coming from the very opposite side of the building, showing that he must have passed round more than one half of the house.
A minute or two after the voice of the earl was heard saying, "Macduff--Donald, get me the keys of the garden from the porter."
The officer obeyed, and carrying the keys into the hall, he found Gowrie himself standing with the Duke of Lennox, the Earl of Mar, Lord Lindores, and some other gentlemen, while Sir Hugh Herries stood alone at a little distance. Macduff would have given much to speak a few words to his lord; but he did not venture to do so in the presence of such a number of courtiers, and gave the keys of the garden in silence.
"Now, my lord duke, and gentlemen," said Gowrie, "I will lead the way;" and proceeding through a small door which opened directly into the garden, he held it open while the others passed, saying to Cranston, who stood near, "Let us know the moment his majesty comes down. Come, Ramsay of the Hawk, will you not walk with us?"
The young gentleman followed in silence; and the earl rejoining his brother-in-law, the Duke of Lennox, said, in a grave and quiet tone, "It is long since you have been here, Duke. I trust Gowrie House will have you more often for a guest."
"The oftener I am here the more beautiful I think these gardens," replied the duke. "The scene itself is fine; but I think if you were to raise a terrace there to the east, you would catch more of the windings of the Tay, and could extend your view all round the basin through which it flows."
"The town would still shut out much," answered Gowrie, "unless I were to build the terrace as high as the top of the monk's tower. Thence we catch the prospect all round, or very nearly so."
"You are making some alterations I see, my lord," said the Earl of Mar.
"Oh, they are very trifling," answered Gowrie; "merely some devices of which I got the thought in Italy, which I am trying to adapt to this place. It is somewhat difficult, indeed; for that which suits very well with Italian skies and Italian architecture, would be out of place in our northern land, and with that old house frowning over it."
Thus conversing in a quiet and peaceful tone they walked on quite to the other side of the garden, and stood for a moment or two under the tall old tower called the Monk's tower, which rose at the south-eastern corner. While there, the town clock struck three; and Sir Hugh Herries, with a sudden start, exclaimed, "There is three o'clock! We had better go back, my lord. I know the king intended to ride away at three."
Herries' face was somewhat pale when he spoke; but Gowrie did not remark it, and replied, "That clock is ten minutes fast by all the others in the town; but still we can walk back and prepare, for I hope to give his majesty a few miles convoy on his road."
Thus saying, they all turned, and returned towards the house, while Herries, seeming impatient of their slowness, got a step or two in advance. A moment after they saw Mr. Cranston coming hastily from the house towards them; and Gowrie hurried his pace at the sight, seeing that his retainer had something to tell.
"A report has got abroad in the house, my lord," said Cranston, "that the king has mounted his horse and ridden away privately with one or two of the servants."
"That is just like him," exclaimed the Duke of Lennox. "He served us so this morning at Falkland."
"Who told you so, Cranston?" demanded the earl, eagerly.
"It is in every one's mouth, my lord," replied Cranston; "but I believe it came first from Christie."
"Quick, quick! see for my horse, Cranston," cried the earl. "I wished to escort the king part of the way to Falkland."
"I bethought me of that, sir," replied the other; "but your horse I find is in the town."
"In the town!" exclaimed Gowrie. "What does my horse in the town? See for another quickly, Cranston. After such poor entertainment as I have given his majesty, I would not for much show him such an act of neglect as not to ride with him."
"Perhaps he's not gone after all," observed John Ramsay. "Which way did he go? I'll go and see."
"Ay, do, Ramsay," said the Duke of Lennox; "you can do anything with him."
"He went up the broad staircase to the picture gallery and to the rooms to the west," said Cranston.
Still holding the hawk, Ramsay ran on before, appearing not to attend to some words addressed to him in a low tone by Sir Hugh Herries; and mounting the staircase with a light step, he entered the picture gallery, the door of which was open. The sight of so many splendid paintings, of grace, beauty, and colouring, such as he had never seen before, according to his own account, struck the young man with amazement; and, forgetting his errand for a moment, he stood and gazed round with admiration. Then advancing to the western door, which led into the gallery chamber, he tried it with his hand, but found it locked. He then listened a moment for any sounds which might indicate the king's presence in the room beyond--but all was silent; and descending the stairs again to the court-yard, he said, in an indifferent tone, "The king is not there."
"Ramsay--Sir John Ramsay, come hither!" said Herries, calling him to a corner of the court just under the western tower. "I wish to speak with you;" and Ramsay, approaching him, seemed to inquire what he wanted.
In the meantime Gowrie, with the Duke of Lennox, the Earl of Mar, and one or two other gentlemen, passed through the house, and crossed the court to the great gates, near which the porter was standing.
"Come, my man," said Mar, addressing the porter, "what is this story of the king being away? Tell us the truth."
"The truth is, the king is still in the house," replied the porter. "He could not have gone by the back gate without my knowing it, for I have the keys of all the gates."
The man's colour varied very much while he spoke; and Gowrie at once concluded he was telling a falsehood.
"I believe you lie, knave," he said, fixing his eyes sternly upon the man. "His majesty is always the first to mount his horse. But stay, my lord duke, and I will go up and see."
He accordingly turned and left the party, taking his way to the great staircase; and Lennox, looking after him, said, in a low voice, to the Earl of Mar, "There is something strange here, my lord. Know you what it is?"
"Not I," answered Mar, in an indifferent tone, but adding, immediately afterwards, "The king is quite safe, wherever he is. The earl is unarmed, without sword or dagger."
"What may that mean?" said Lennox.
But at that moment some one else came up, and Mar made no answer. In little more than a minute after, Gowrie came down again in haste, saying, "The gallery door is locked. The king cannot be there. Let us to horse and after him. Where can he have gone?"
And passing through the gates into the street, followed by the other noblemen, he turned to Sir Thomas Erskine, who was standing with some of his relations and servants under the windows, and inquired if he knew which way the king had gone.
All was now bustle, and confusion ten times more confused than ever, in the court and round Gowrie Place. Lords and gentlemen were calling loudly for their horses. Grooms and servants were running hither and thither. Horses were prancing, neighing, and kicking; and Bailie Roy, who had lingered about the Great House ever since the king's arrival, was putting everybody to rights, and drawing down many a hearty imprecation upon his head for his pains. Ramsay and Herries remained quietly in the corner of the court; and the two earls, with the Duke of Lennox, Sir Thomas Erskine, Alexander Ruthven of Freeland, and several others, were conversing over the king's strange departure, and considering in what direction they should seek him.
Suddenly a noise was heard above, proceeding from the south-west tower. The long window was east furiously open, and the head and shoulders of the king protruded.
"Help, help!" cried the king. "Help! Murder! Treason! Help! Earl of Mar!"
Lennox, Mar, Lindores, and a number of others instantly rushed through the gates, across the court to the great staircase, and mounted it as fast as they could go; but they found the door of the gallery locked, and could not force it open.
"Up the black turnpike, Ramsay," said Herries, in a low voice. "Up, and save the king!--Here, man--here! Up this stairs to the very top, then through the door to the left."
Without an instant's pause, even to cast away the hawk, Ramsay, with his blood boiling at the idea of danger to the king, darted past Herries up the narrow staircase, three or four steps at a time, till he came to the very top; and there finding a door, without trying whether it was locked or not, he set his stout shoulder against it, and burst it open. He instantly had a scene before him, which I must pause for a moment to describe.
James was at the window still shouting forth for help, and at some little distance behind him, taking no part whatever in that which was going on, appeared a tall, powerful, black looking man in armour, but with his head bare. Kneeling at the king's feet, with his head held tight under James's arm, in the posture of supplication, and with his hands stretched up towards the king's mouth, as if to stop his vociferous cries, was the graceful but powerful form of Alexander Ruthven, who could, if he had pleased, by a small exertion of his strength, have cast the feeble monarch from the window headlong down into the street below. He made no effort to do so, or even to free himself, however; and his sword remained undrawn in the sheath.
Such was the sight presented to John Ramsay when he entered the room in fiery haste; and casting the falcon from his hand, he drew his dagger.
James instantly loosed his hold of the young man at his feet, and exclaimed, with an impatient gesture to Ramsay, "Strike him low--strike him low! He has got on a pyne doublet!"
He gave no order to apprehend an unresisting man. His command was to slay him; and Ramsay, starting forward at the king's words, struck the unhappy youth two blows in the neck and throat, while James, with admirable coolness, put his foot upon the jesses of the falcon, to prevent its flying through the open window.
Ruthven made not an effort to draw his sword, but fell partly back; and James, then seizing him by the neck, dragged him to the head of the narrow stairs, and cast him part of the way down, while Ramsay, rushing to the window, shouted to Sir Thomas Erskine, "Come up, Sir Thomas--come up these stairs to the very head!"
Wounded, but not slain, Alexander Ruthven, stunned and bleeding, regained his feet, and ran down towards the court. Before he reached it, however, he was encountered by Herries, Erskine, and another of the king's bloodhounds, and without inquiry or knowledge of what had taken place, Herries exclaimed, "This is the traitor!" and stabbed him to the heart. Another blow was struck almost at the same time by George Wilson; and the poor lad fell to rise no more, with his sword still undrawn, exclaiming, with his last breath, "Alas! I am not guilty!"
* * * * * * * * *
A dead and mournful silence fell upon all. A terrible deed had been done. A young fresh life had been taken. A kindred spirit had been sent to its last account. Even Herries paused, and revolved thoughtfully the act which he had just performed. Even he for one brief moment, however transitory was the impression, however brief the sensation, asked himself, as others have asked themselves before and since, "What is this I have done?--Is there an Almighty God, to whom the spirits of the departed go to testify not only of all they have done, but all they have suffered--and must I meet that God face to face with the spirit of this youth to bear witness against me?--What sweet relationships, what dear domestic ties have I snapped asunder, what warm hopes, what good resolutions, what generous feelings, what noble purposes, put out for ever!"
But that was not all he felt. There is a natural repugnance in the mind of man to the shedding of man's blood, which nothing but the frequent habit of so doing can sweep away. There is a horror in the deed, which I feel sure the murderer shrinks from the instant the fatal deed is accomplished; and it was that, more than any reasoning on the subject, that Herries and his two comrades felt, as they stood in the semi-darkness, and gazed upon the corpse, so lately full of life, and health, and energy, and passion.
Sir Thomas Erskine had not struck him, it is true, and that seemed to him a consolation; but yet he felt that he had been art and part in the deed--that he had known what was meditated beforehand, and that, though his hand was not imbued in the youth's blood, he was as much a murderer as themselves.
With a strong mind, Herries made a strong effort to conquer the sensations which oppressed him; but it cost him several moments so to do; and moments, in such circumstances, are hours.
That which first roused him and the rest was the voice of the king, bringing back in an instant, by its very tone, all the worldly thoughts which had been scattered to the winds by the sight of the dead body and the perpetration of the deed.
"Hout, lad!" cried James, apparently addressing Ramsay, "dinna keep skirling in that way. He's dead enough by this time; but there are other traitors to be dealt with--traitors more dangerous and desperate than this misguided lad. Here, take the birdie, and keep quite still. We must not scare the quarry before the hounds are upon it. I must be King of Scotland now or never;" and, approaching the top of the stairs, he called out, bending somewhat forward, "Wha's doon there? Hae ye dispatched him?"
"He's gone, sire, never to return," replied the voice of Herries from the bottom.
"Then pu' him up here," cried James, "and come up yersels.--Wha the de'il's that knocking so hard at the door there?--Come up, come up! They may be Ruthven folk. We must have help at hand. Where the de'il's the fellow with the harness gaen?"
Sir Hugh Herries hurried up the stairs, leaving Sir Thomas Erskine and the servant of his brother James Erskine, to drag up the body of Alexander Ruthven; and a hurried consultation took place as to what was to be done next.
"Better, for Heaven's sake, sire, call up all the noblemen and gentlemen from the court," cried Ramsay, while the knocking at the gallery door still continued. "We are strong enough, when gathered together, to defend you against all the Ruthvens in Scotland."
"I ken that, ye fule guse," cried James, with a sinister leer; "four or five of ye are quite enough for that; but that's no the question, man. The greater traitor of the two is to be dealt with; and you must do it, Jock, unless you want a Gowrie for your king. He'll soon be here seeking his brother. He must not get away alive, or we've missed the whole day's work."
"I'll deal with the traitor," cried Ramsay, zealously. "Your majesty showed me such proofs of his guilt, 'tis a wonder you let him live so long."
"That's a good bairn--that's a good bairn," answered James. "Aye, defend your king.--Somebody look to the door there, that they dinna break in, but speak no word till you've done execution on the earl. 'Tis he set his brother on," he continued, addressing Ramsay. "The other had not spirit for it--Ay, here they bring him! There, throw him down there--The earl'll soon be here; and I'll just stay in the closet till it's all done.--Here, Geordie Wilson, take my cloak, and cast over the callant. Then, when his brother sees him, he'll get such a fright, thinking it's mine ainsel, yell can do with him what ye like."
Sir Hugh Herries looked almost aghast to hear the king so completely betray his own counsel; but the rest seemed to notice the matter but little--Ramsay, with all his fierce passions roused, taking everything for granted, and the rest ready to obey the king at his lightest word. George Wilson, the servant, took the king's cloak, and spread it over the dead body of Alexander Ruthven, from which a dark stream of gore was pouring forth upon the rushes which strewed the room; and when this was done, James took a look at the corpse, saying, "A wee bit more o'er the head, man. He'll see the bonny brown hair." Then, retreating into the earl's cabinet, he closed the door, calling to those without to lock it and take the key.
Sir Thomas Erskine sprang to obey, saying, "Stand on your guard, Ramsay. They are thundering at that door as if they would knock it down. It's well I bolted it as well as locked it before I came down." Then springing across the room to the entrance of the great gallery, he said, "Who's there, knocking so hard?"
"It's I, the Earl of Mar," cried a voice from without. "Open directly! The Duke of Lennox is here, the Lord Lindores, and others."
"All is right, all is right," said Erskine. "The king is safe; one traitor slain. Keep quiet, or you will scare the other from the trap. It is Sir Thomas Erskine speaks--keep quiet, as you wish for favour."
All was still immediately, and the moment after steps were heard upon the narrow staircase.