Sir Walter’s heart was torn by a thousand afflictions. He felt that he would be better any where else than at Drummin. Having now no reliance in the fidelity of his wife, he resolved to leave her behind him, and having hastily packed up the important charters of his lands, and some other valuables, he added them to his other baggage. The time now left was just sufficient to enable him to obey the King’s command, to present himself before him on a certain day. His people were all waiting in readiness in the court-yard. Without more thought he flung himself into the saddle, with a bleeding heart. He was distracted by his feelings, but giving the word “forward!” he dashed through the gateway at a furious pace, and his troop of men-at-arms and attendants went thundering after him.
Sir Walter Stewart was received in the kindest manner by both the King and Queen. He was earnestly asked, especially by James, why he had not brought his lady with him. As he could not tell the whole truth, without making a deadly accusation against her, which he had no means of proving, he was compelled to say that he had left her somewhat indisposed, an answer that produced some good humoured raillery from James, delivered in his wonted familiar manner, and left him, for the time at least, sufficiently well satisfied.
The tournament took place in that beautiful tilting-ground, in the rocky valley, close under the south-eastern side of the crag upon which Stirling Castle stands, and which is still pointed out by the citizens of the ancient town, as the place which was so used in those old times. Though few or none of the discontented nobles appeared, it was yet a very glorious spectacle. The singularity and grandeur of Sir Walter Stewart’s retinue, and their whole appearance, mounted as they were upon the piebald horses, so richly caparisoned, presented by far the finest feature of the royal procession, and swallowed up every other theme of conversation. He was now perhaps the only one to whom it gave but little pleasure, heavy as his heart then was.
“We would know from our Queen, who, in her mind, was the prettiest gentleman that appeared at the show to-day,” said the King, after all was over, and that he was in private with her.
“How can your Majesty hesitate one moment in coming to a judgment upon so plain and palpable a question?” demanded the Queen, with great animation. “The ornament of the procession and pageant was undoubtedly Sir Walter Stewart. Who was there who came within an hundred degrees of him? The number of his attendants—the beauty of the animals on which they were mounted—creatures that would seem to have been conjured forth out of the land of faery itself—creatures that moved as if formed out of the rarer elements of nature—and then the splendour of their housings—and, above all, the rich and tasteful dress of the handsome and elegant owner of so much bravery, who is so full of grace and skill in the management of his steed, that he bore off the applause of all eyes and the love of all hearts! But what moves you, my sovereign Lord? Methinks that something hath displeased you?”
“Your praises of Sir Walter Stewart would seem to us to be something extravagant,” said the King, considerably disturbed. “Was there no one else there who might have demanded a like portion of your approbation?”
“If your Majesty would have an honest answer from me, I must reply,—no one,” said the Queen. “Even the gorgeous and glittering retinue of Cochran, the budding Earl of Mar, who takes upon him as if your Majesty had already dubbed him by that title, was but as gilded clay compared to the well conceived arrangements of the accomplished Sir Walter Stewart, who outshone all others.”
“All others saidst thou, Margaret? Didst thou not think that we ourselves were of as fair a presence and appearance as thy minion Sir Walter Stewart?” demanded the King, with a pettish and perturbed air and manner.
“Nay, my liege Lord,” replied the Queen, very much distressed to discover that she had thus so innocently offended her husband. “In speaking thus of Sir Walter Stewart, I never dreamed of bringing your royal person, or your royal retinue, into comparison with those of any subject, even with those of Sir Walter Stewart himself, whose individual splendour, was but as a part of that glorious magnificence which was all thine own. Do me not the injustice to judge me so harshly, or so hardly. Could you for one moment suppose that I could compare Sir Walter Stewart to thee, my royal liege and husband? Believe me, that although Sir Walter Stewart is much esteemed by me for his numerous merits, yet he is no minion of mine, and it were equally cruel and unjust in any one to call him so.”
“’Tis at least well to hear thee say so,” replied the King, in a sort of half satisfied tone,—and then turning coldly away, he left the apartment, with such an air and manner, that Queen Margaret burst into tears, which it required some thinking and reasoning within herself to enable her to dry up.