“Nay, thou needst hardly fear that, if thou rememberest what thy son Sir Andrew did say of the unarmed state of his small escort,” replied the Franciscan; “and, in truth, meseems that if the peaceful Bishop doth adventure so far as to entrust himself and his people unarmed in thy stronghold, it would speak but little for the bold heart of the Earl of Buchan to go armed, and attended by armed men. Nay, nay, my Lord; of a truth, this is a bold act of the Bishop of Moray, when all that hath passed is well considered. He hath indeed been generous, and now he doth prove himself to be dauntless. Let him not have to boast, then, that he hath outdone thee either in generosity or fearlessness. I need not call upon thee to remember thee of thy vow, the which I did witness, and which is now registered in heaven. Show that thou art truly penitent and humble, and remember that thine abasement before God’s minister is but thine abasement before God, who hath already shown thee such tender mercy, and who will yet show thee more.”
After listening to this exhortation, the Wolfe of Badenoch became thoughtful, and the Franciscan gradually ventured to propose to him the manner in which it would best become him [[572]]to receive the Bishop. The countenance of the ferocious warrior showed sufficiently how painful the humiliation was to his feelings; but he submitted patiently, if not cheerfully, and the necessary preparations were accordingly made.
The warder who was stationed in the barbican blew his horn to announce the first appearance of the Bishop’s party, who were seen winding like black specks through the scattered greenwood at the farther end of the lake. The colony of herons were scarcely disturbed by their slow and silent march. The little fleet of boats clustered under the Castle walls was manned, and the Wolfe of Badenoch and his whole garrison were rowed across to the land-sconce, where they immediately formed themselves into a procession, and walked onwards to meet those who were coming.
First went fifty warriors, unarmed and with their heads bare. Then followed the Wolfe of Badenoch himself, also unarmed, and wearing a black hood and surcoat. At his side was the Franciscan, and behind him were his sons Andrew and Duncan, after whom came fifty more of his people. The Bishop approached, mounted on his palfrey, surrounded by some of the dignitaries of his diocese, and followed by a few monks and a small train of attendants. The Wolfe of Badenoch’s men halted, and, dividing themselves into two lines, formed a lane for the Bishop and his party to advance. The Wolfe moved forward to meet the prelate; but though his garb was that of a humble penitent, his eye and his bearing were those of a proud Prince.
“Ah, there is the good Bishop, who was so kind to me at Spynie,” cried little Duncan, clapping his hands with joy; “he did teach me to play bowls, father, and he gave me so many nice sweetmeats. Let me run to him, I beseech thee.”
The boy’s innocent speech was enough; it brought a grappling about the heart of the Wolfe of Badenoch; he hastened forward to the end of the lane of men, and made an effort to reach the Bishop’s stirrup, that he might hold it for him to dismount.
“Nay, nay,” said the good man, preventing his intention by quitting his saddle ere he could reach him; “I may not allow the son of my King so to debase himself.”
“My Lord Bishop,” said the Wolfe, prompted by the Franciscan, “behold one who doth humbly throw himself on the mercy and forgiveness of God and thee.”
“The mercy of God was never refused to a repentant sinner,” replied the Bishop; “and as for the forgiveness of a fallible being like me, I wot I do myself lack too much of God’s pardon [[573]]to dare refuse it to a fellow-sinner. May God, then, in his mercy, pardon thee on thy present submission, and on the score of that penance to which thou art prepared to submit.”
“My Lord Bishop,” replied the Wolfe, “I am ready to submit to whatsoever penance it may please thee to enjoin me. Thy mercy to my sons, and in especial that to my boy Duncan, hath subdued me to thy will. But let me entreat of thee that, sinner though I be, thou wilt honour my Castle of Lochyndorbe with thy sacred presence. There shall I learn thy volunde, the which I do here solemnly vow, before the blessed Virgin and the Holy Trinity, whom I have offended, to perform to the veriest tittle, were it to be a pilgrimage to the Holy Sepulchre itself. Trust me, thy tender mercy towards me and mine hath wrought more with me than all that thy power or thy threats could have done.”