The multitude soon after beheld the survivors of the desperate conflict drawing together to renew the exterminating feud on the banks of the river, as the spot least slippery with blood, and less encumbered with the bodies of the slain.
“For God’s sake—for the sake of the mercy which we daily pray for,” said the kind hearted old King to the Duke of Albany, “let this be ended! Wherefore should these wretched rags and remnants of humanity be suffered to complete their butchery? Surely they will now be ruled, and accept of peace on moderate terms?”
“Compose yourself, my liege,” said his brother. “These men are the pest of the Lowlands. Both chiefs are still living; if they go back unharmed, the whole day’s work is cast away. Remember your promise to the council, that you would not cry ‘hold.’”
“You compel me to a great crime, Albany, both as a king, who should protect his subjects, and as a Christian man, who respects the brother of his faith.”
“You judge wrong, my lord,” said the Duke: “these are not loving subjects, but disobedient rebels, as my Lord of Crawford can bear witness; and they are still less Christian men, for the prior of the Dominicans will vouch for me that they are more than half heathen.”
The King sighed deeply. “You must work your pleasure, and are too wise for me to contend with. I can but turn away and shut my eyes from the sights and sounds of a carnage which makes me sicken. But well I know that God will punish me even for witnessing this waste of human life.”
“Sound, trumpets,” said Albany; “their wounds will stiffen if they dally longer.”
While this was passing, Torquil was embracing and encouraging his young chief.
“Resist the witchcraft but a few minutes longer! Be of good cheer, you will come off without either scar or scratch, wem or wound. Be of good cheer!”
“How can I be of good cheer,” said Eachin, “while my brave kinsmen have one by one died at my feet—died all for me, who could never deserve the least of their kindness?”