“In truth,” said the king, “I would rather lead an army against England, with England in the right, than against my own countrymen, even if they were in the wrong.”
This remark seemed to encourage certain gentlemen there present, who up to that moment had not spoken. The Earl of Bothwell, as the highest in rank among the silent phalanx, stepped forward and said,—
“Your majesty, there are always two sides to a question, and, with your permission, I should be glad to put in a word for those Border riders who have been so ruthlessly condemned by men who know nothing of them.”
“It is for the purpose of hearing all there is to say that I called you together,” rejoined the king. “Speak, my Lord of Bothwell.”
“In the first place, your majesty, these Border men have had to stand the first brunt of all invasions into our country for centuries past. It is, therefore, little to be wondered at that they have small liking for the English. We are at peace with those to the south of us now, it is true; but how long that peace will remain unbroken, no man can say. There is, however, one thing certain, that if the King of Scotland exercises the power he undoubtedly possesses, and crushes the Border forces, he will have destroyed a staunch bulwark of his realm, and I quite agree with those gentlemen who have spoken so eloquently against the Borderers, that the King of England, and the people of England, will be well pleased.”
This statement had a marked effect on King James, and it would have been well if those who agreed with the Earl of Bothwell had been as moderate in their denunciation. But some of them, apparently, could not forget the youth of the king, and, not having the sense to see that his majesty’s desire was to render a just decision, thought he might be frightened by strong language.
“It is easy for those to speak well of the pike, who have not felt the prod of its point,” cried Lord Maxwell angrily. “Few English invasions have reached Stirling, but every one of them have crossed the Border. What matters the lifting of some English cattle? The Southerners never scrupled to eat good Scottish beef whenever they set foot on Scottish soil. I would hang the English envoy for daring to come to a Scottish king with complaints of cattle lifting.”
The king frowned slightly but said nothing, and then Adam Scott of Tushielaw had to thrust his bull neck into the noose.
“I give you fair warning,” he cried, “that if the king’s forces are turned against the Borderers, my sword helps my neighbours.”
“And I say the same,” shouted Cockburn of Henderland.