“Come, then, Alexander, let’s to Spynie,” cried the Wolfe; and then turning again to the esquire—“But take care of my boys, and see that they be gently borne.”
“On, brave spears,” cried Sir Alexander; “ye shall have work peraunter to do anon.”
Out dashed the Wolfe of Badenoch, gnashing his teeth, as if to wind himself up to desperation, yet rather led than followed by Sir Alexander Stewart, and away rattled about two hundred well-armed and well-mounted men-at-arms at their backs, leaving behind them a sufficient force to escort the wounded youths homeward in safety. There were but few among the troops that would not have willingly stayed behind. They liked not this ungodly warfare, and although they witnessed the execution of the Wolfe of Badenoch’s fell fury on the holy edifices, done by a few of the less scrupulous ministers of his vengeance, they felt conscience-stricken at the sight, and this feeling had not been diminished by the denunciations of the Franciscan, the direful fate of the boy Duncan Stewart, and of his brother Sir Andrew, and that which had befallen the youths Walter and James, of whose recovery there seemed to be but little hope.
The Palace of Spynie offered them but a wretched defence against any assailant who might choose to attack it, for it was not till the following century that it was so strengthened as to enable Bishop David Stuart[1] to defy the proud Earl of Huntly. The buildings, indeed, were surrounded by a wall; but, trusting to that awe which the sacred dignity of the possessor was calculated to inspire, the wooden gate was left unprotected by any portcullis of iron. It therefore promised to be easily assailable by the sledge-hammers which had been found so useful in furthering the work of destruction they had already accomplished.
The Wolfe of Badenoch, hurried on by his son, swept over [[550]]the gentle eminence lying between the town and the palace, and as the distance was but a mile, his excitement had had hardly time to expend itself ere he found himself approaching the walls. The lurid red vault of the sky reflected a dim light, which might have been sufficient to enable them to discover the building before them. But, independently of this, the summit of the outer walls was lined by a number of torches, which began to flit about hastily, as soon as the thundering sound of the horses’ feet reached those who carried them.
“The place doth seem to be already alarmed,” cried the Wolfe of Badenoch, as they advanced, his resolute soul shaken by his recent calamities. “These lights are not wont to appear on the grass-grown walls of these mass-ensconced priests. Thou shalt halt here, son Alexander, and let me advance alone to reconnoitre. I cannot, I wis, afford to peril the life of thee, whom my fears do tell me I may now call mine only son.”
“Peril my life?” cried Sir Alexander indignantly; “what, talkest thou of peril, when we have but these carrion crows to deal with? I trow there be garrison enow of them, sith that all their rookeries, grey, black, and hooded, have doubtless gathered there to-night. By my knighthood, but it doth almost shame me to attack them with harness on my back, or men-at-arms at my heels. And see, the lights have disappeared. Never trust me, but those who did flourish them have fled into the deepest cellar of the place, at the very tramp of our war-steeds.”
“Nay, but, son Alexander,” repeated the Wolfe, “I do command thee to halt; thou shalt not advance until I shall have first——Where hath he vanished?” cried the Wolfe, losing sight of him for a moment in the dark. “Ha! there he speeds him to the gate,” and, leaping from his saddle, he launched himself after his son. Sir Alexander had snatched a sledge-hammer from some one near him, and was already raising it to strike the first blow at the gate, when his right arm fell shattered and nerveless by his side, and he was crushed to the earth by some unseen power. The Wolfe of Badenoch reached his son but to raise him up in his arms. At that moment a broad blaze arose on the top of the wall, immediately over the gateway, in front of which the Wolfe of Badenoch stood appalled by the apparition it illumined, and he grew deadly pale when he beheld the figure of the Franciscan, of that very friar whom he believed nothing but superhuman power could have saved from the flames of the Maison Dieu, again presented before his eyes. The attitude of the monk was fearfully [[551]]commanding. He reared a large crucifix in his left hand, whilst the other was stretched out before him. The light by which he was encircled shot around him to a great distance, showing the walls thickly manned with crossbow-men prepared to shoot upon the assailants, and exhibiting these assailants themselves with their faces turned to what they believed to be a miraculous vision, which filled them with a terror that no merely human array could have awakened.
“Alexander Stewart, Earl of Buchan, and Lord of Badenoch,” cried the Franciscan, in his wonted clear but solemn voice, “have I not told thee that the Omnipotent hath resigned thee and thine into my grasp for penance or for punishment? Go, take thy wounded son with thee, sith that thou hast sought this fresh affliction. His life and the lives of those who are now borne to thy den hang on thy repentance.”
A hissing sound was heard—a dense vapour arose—and all was again dark as before. Some of the Wolfe of Badenoch’s terrified attendants ventured to approach the gate to assist him. They carried Sir Alexander away; and the ferocious Earl, again subdued from the high wrath to which his son’s sudden excitation had for a moment raised his native temper, relapsed into that apathetical stupor from which he had been roused. He seemed to know not what he was doing, or where he was; but, mechanically mounting his horse, he retired from the walls of Spynie, and took his way slowly homewards. As the distant conflagration flashed from time to time on his face, he started and looked towards it with wild expression—and then elevated his eye towards his son, who was carried on a bier formed of crossed lances, by some men on foot; but excepting when he was so moved, his features were like those of the stone effigy which now lies stretched upon his tomb.