Some of the opposition were about to speak, but the king held up his hand for silence.
“That is treason,” he said quietly. “Adam Scott, I have heard that you are called King of the Border. Scotland is blessed with a number of men who are king of this, or king of that, and I am sure I make no objection, as long as they do not forget the difference that exists between a king in name and a king in reality. I asked for advice, but not for threats.”
Then to the whole assemblage he went on—
“Gentlemen, I thank you for your counsel. I shall give a soothing reply to my uncle’s ambassador, keeping in mind the peace that exists between the two countries, and then I shall take what has been said on each side into consideration and let you know the result.”
Accepting this as dismissal, those there congregated withdrew, save only Sir David Lyndsay, the king having made a sign for him to remain. “Well, Davie,” he said, when they were alone, “what do you think of it all?”
“To tell truth, your majesty,” answered the poet, “it’s a knotty problem, not to be solved by rhyming brain. When the first spokesman finished I was entirely of his opinion, but, after that, the Earl of Bothwell’s plea seemed equally weighty, and between the two I don’t know what to think.”
“That is the disadvantage of an unbiased mind, Davie. Now, with good, strong prejudices, one side or the other, the way would be clear, and yet I despise a man who doesn’t know his own mind.”
“Scott and Cockburn seemed to know their minds very well,” ventured the poet, with a smile.
“Yes, and if one or two more of them had spoken as decidedly, I would have been off to the Border to-night at the head of my troops. It is a weakness of mine, but I can’t put up with a threat very well.”
“Kings are rarely called upon to thole a threat,” said Sir David, with a laugh.