‘And better for me to have made my bed
Under the yews where my fathers sleep,
Calm and quiet, at rest with the dead,
Than have given my heart to fair Alice to keep.’
So Bothwell was committed to ward in Edinburgh Castle, yet was his durance but of a temporary nature, and devoid of the customary rigours that accompany imprisonment. The warden made no effort to escape, although he had a strong party of friends about the Court, and might at any time have created considerable disturbance had he chosen to resist the royal authority; but he bowed his head to the blast with unexpected humility, and a submission, the result of mixed motives. He lived in daily expectation of release by the Queen’s own authority. His appointment on the border had not yet been filled up, and Hermitage was still occupied by a staunch garrison who acknowledged no law but their chief’s behests. Day by day did the warlike earl, pining, as well he might, for the free breeze on his brow and the swinging gallop of his steed, reflect on the effect which such devotion as his could not fail to produce on the Queen. Danger he had always faced readily for her sake; fatigue he had cheerfully endured; and now he submitted patiently to captivity, because it was Mary Stuart’s will. Day by day he expected a pardon, a release, an acknowledgment, a communication, and day by day he was disappointed. ‘Hope deferred maketh the heart sick;’ but this proverb applies rather to weak natures; in strong, it is apt to make the heart savage. Stung by what he conceived to be ingratitude, irritated by neglect, sore from conflicting feelings, such as rend an ill-disciplined character with pangs to which mere physical suffering is comparative relief, those weeks spent in Edinburgh Castle produced an effect on Bothwell’s disposition that after years could never eradicate. Even ‘Dick-o’-the-Cleugh,’ who remained in attendance on his master, and who was free to come and go at his pleasure, shook his head gravely, and averred that ‘confinement was just destruction baith to man an’ beast! He would like fine to see the warden ridin’ the Marches again wi’ the Liddesdale lads at his back.’
But though Dick thus expressed himself, and doubtless meant what he said, he was conscious in his heart that the banks of the Esk and the braes of Teviotdale would never be the same to him again. The brawny borderer had a new interest in life now, strange to say, unconnected with hawk or hound, with morning chase or midnight foray, with axe or lance, or mighty stoups of ale.
Once in the week it was Mary Seton’s custom to visit the town of Edinburgh on foot, to make purchases for her mistress and her comrades, of those odds and ends which ladies consume in such wonderful quantities. The wilful little damsel had taken a great fancy to the borderer, as you may see a child sometimes pleased with a huge Newfoundland dog. Such attachments are not remarkable for reciprocity. The biped, half-pitiful, half-amused, entertains a feeble liking for so faithful an attendant; the quadruped wishes no better lot than to serve its little idol slavishly all its life, and die licking its hand. How the child cuffs it and teases it, and makes the noble animal ridiculous, pulling its ears and tail!
‘Dick-o’-the-Cleugh’ had but one day now in his week instead of seven. He observed, not without inward gratulation, that his attendance on these saints’ days, so to speak, was by no means unwelcome; and Mary Seton, on her return to the palace, never omitted to inform the Queen that she had seen Earl Bothwell’s henchman, neither did her mistress take her to task herself, nor suffer Mary Beton to do so, for these interviews.
So the strangely matched pair moved along the High Street, and the lady, who, in addition to his other good qualities, had discovered the borderer to be a capital listener, told him the Court news, for the edification of his chief, with considerable volubility.
‘We’re all in confusion now,’ said she, one bright winter’s day, as she tripped along the cleaner portion of the pavement with a light basket in her hand, which sometimes as a great favour she permitted her Newfoundland to carry, while that faithful animal stamped contentedly alongside in the gutter. ‘The palace is turned inside out. We have got the “new acquaintance” at Holyrood.’