"There's a divinity that shapes our ends,
Rough-hew them how we will."
We can only resolve, or rather endeavour, to act our parts well, such as they are allotted to us. Little choice have we to seek or to eschew our several destinations.
With Monina at his side, and his own restless ambition as a spur, it may be easily imagined what Lord Audley's projects were in joining the Cornish insurgents. He led them from the western extremity of the island towards Kent, where he hoped to find the seeds of rebellion to Lancaster, which he had sown the year before, ripened into harvest. News of the unimpeded march of the insurgents from Cornwall to the neighbourhood of London was brought to Edinburgh, freshening the zeal and animating the preparations for war.
Already the Scottish army was encamped south of Edinburgh. The English troops set up their tents among them. The day was fixed for the departure of the king, the prince, and the noble leaders. They quitted Edinburgh in all the pompous array of men assured of victory. James loved the hopes and stirring delights of war: Richard saw his every good in life dependent on this expedition, and fostered sanguine expectation of triumph. The burning desire of asserting himself, of rewarding his faithful friends, of decorating Katherine with the rank and honours due to her—the belief that he should achieve all this—gave dignity and even gladness, to his last adieu to his lovely wife. Her heart mirrored his hopes; not that she entertained them for her own, but for his sake: yet the quicker sensibilities of a woman imparted fears unknown to him. She concealed them, till when, as her last office and duty, she had fastened an embroidered scarf around him. Softly, whisperingly, as fearful of paining him, she said, "You will return—you have a kingdom here: though England prove false, you must not disdain to be sole monarch of Katherine."
These words had been spoken—earl, baron, and gallant knight thronged the courts of Holyrood. There was the sound of warlike trump and the streaming of painted banners, among which, that of the White Rose waved conspicuous. The king vaulted on his saddle; the prince of England rode at his side. He was surrounded by the rude northern warlike chiefs, ancient enemies of his native land, whose fierce eyes were lighted up by the expectation of meeting their old adversaries in the field. Could he fancy that, through such aid, he might win back the crown usurped from him?
King James and Richard rode side by side. At this moment, when the one was spending the riches of his kingdom and the lives of his subjects for the other's sake, while the hearts of both were softened by regret for their abandoned home, and both anticipated the joys of victory or perils of defeat to be shared between them, the sentiment of friendship was rekindled. Never had they been more cordial, more confidential, more happy in each other's society. After several hours' ride, the short spring day declined to evening, which was accompanied by a drizzling rain: the bad roads and the darkness impeded their progress; and it was night before the twinkling camp-lights appeared in the distance and the hum of men was heard. To the right of the camp, surrounded by the tents of his nobles, the royal pavilion was pitched. On their arrival, the earl of Buchan was in readiness to hold the king's stirrup. "Nay," said James, "first we will see our royal guest lodged; where is the tent of his grace of England? we commanded it to be pitched in close neighbourhood to our own?"
"Please you, my liege," said Buchan, "Lord Moray, gave direction it should be placed out of our line; it is set up a mile eastward of us."
"My uncle forgot himself; and you also, sir earl, were bound rather to obey our order," said the king.
"There were reasons," returned Buchan: "your majesty, I dare aver, will approve the change, and his highness of England also. There was a brawl between the Scottish borderers and the English; blood has been shed. We feared that the peace of the encampment, not to say the life of his highness, would be endangered if he were in the midst of our savage Southrons."
"I like not this," said James, moodily, "but it is too late to change to-night. The rain-drops begin to freeze upon my hair; your highness would rather be in year tent, far though it be from mine, than quarrel about its position at this inclement hour. Lord Buchan, you will attend him thither. Prince, goodnight; to-morrow we will be more brotherly in our fashion; now the fiat of my lord of Moray must be obeyed."