Part 59 (1/2)
The wife, and the children who clung around their melodious visitant, joined in this request. Wallace rose with a saddened smile, and replied:
”I cannot do what you require; but I can yield you an opportunity to oblige Sir William Wallace. Will you take a letter from him, of which I am the bearer, to Lord Dundaf at Berwick? I have been seeking, what I have now found, a faithful Scot, with whom I could confide this trust. It is to reveal to a father's heart the death of a son, for whom Scotland must mourn to her latest generations.”
The honest shepherd respectfully accepted this mission; and his wife, loading her guest's scrip with her choicest fruits and cakes, accompanied him, followed by the children, to the bottom of the hill.
In this manner, sitting at the board of the lowly, and sleeping beneath the thatched roof, did Wallace pursue his way through Tweedale and Ettrick Forest, till he reached the Cheviots. From every lip he heard his own praises, heard them with redoubled satisfaction, for he could have no suspicion of their sincerity, as they were uttered without expectation of their ever reaching the regent's ear.
It was the Sabbath day when he mounted the Cheviots. He stood on one of their summits, and leaning on his harp, contemplated the fertile dales he left behind. The gay villagers, in their best attires, were thronging to their churches; while the aged, too infirm for the walk, were sitting in the sun at their cottage doors, adoring the Almighty Benefactor in his sublimer temple of the universe. All spoke of security and happiness. ”Thus I leave thee, beloved Scotland! And on revisiting these hills, may I still behold thy sons and daughters rejoicing in the heaven-bestowed peace of their land!”
Having descended into Northumberland, his well-replenished script was his provider; and when it was exhausted, he purchased food from the peasantry; he would not accept the hospitality of a country he had so lately trodden as an enemy. Here he heard his name mentioned with terror as well as admiration. While many related circ.u.mstances of misery to which the ravaging of their lands had reduced them, all concurred in praising the moderation with which the Scottish leader treated his conquests.
Late in the evening, he arrived on the banks of the river that surrounds the episcopal city of Durham. He crossed Framlinggate Bridge. His mistrel garb prevented his being stopped by the guard at the gate; but as he entered its porch, a horse that was going through started at his abrupt appearance. Its rider suddenly exclaimed, ”Fool, thou dost not see Sir William Wallace!” Then turning to the disguised knight, ”Harper,” cried he, ”you frighten my steed; draw back till I pa.s.s.” Not displeased to find the terror him so great amongst the enemies of Scotland, that they even addressed their animals as sharers in the dread, Wallace stood out of the way, and saw the speaker to be a young Southron knight, who with difficulty kept his seat on the restive horse. Rearing and plunging, it would have thrown its rider, had not Wallace put forth his hand and seized the bridle. By his a.s.sistance, the animal was soothed; and the young lord thanking him for his service, told him that, as a reward, he would introduce him to play before the queen, who that day held a feast at the bishop's palace.
Wallace thought it probable he might see or hear of Lady Helen in this a.s.sembly, or find access to Bruce, and he gladly accepted the offer.
The knight, who was Sir Piers Gaveston, ordering him to follow, turned his horse toward the city, and conducted Wallace through the gates of the citadel, to the palace within its walls.
On entering the banqueting-hall, he was placed by the knight in the musicians' gallery, there to await his summons to her majesty. This entertainment being spread, and the room full of guests, the queen was led in by the haughty bishop of the see, the king being too ill of his wounds to allow his joining so large a company. The beauty of the lovely sister of Philip le Bel seemed to fill the gaze and hearts of all bystanders, and none appeared to remember that Edward was absent.
Wallace hardly glanced on her youthful charms; his eyes roamed from side to side in quest of a fairer, a dearer object--the captive daughter of his dead friend! She was not there; neither was De Valence; but Buchan, Athol, and Soulis, were near the royal Margaret; in all the pomp of feudal grandeur. In vain waived the trophied banners over their heads; they sat sullen and revengeful, for the defeat on the Carron had obscured the treacherous victory of Falkirk; and instead of having presented Edward to his young queen as the conqueror of Scotland; she had found him, and them fugitives in the castle of Durham!
Immediately on the royal band ceasing to play, Gaveston pressed toward the queen, and told her he had presumed to introduce a traveling minstrel into the gallery; hoping that she would order him to perform for her amus.e.m.e.nt, as he could sing legends from the descent of the Romans to the victories of her royal Edward. With all her age's eagerness in quest of novelties, she commanded him to be brought to her.
Gaveston having presented him, Wallace bowed with the respect due to her s.e.x and dignity, and to the esteem in which he held the character of her royal brother. Margaret desired him to place his harp before her, and begin to sing. As he knelt on one knee, and struck its sounding chords, she stopped him by the inquiry, of whence he came?
”From the north country,” was his reply.
”Were you ever in Scotland?” asked she.
”Many times.”
The young lords crowded round to hear this dialogue between majesty and lowliness. She smiled, and turned toward them.
”Do not accuse me of disloyalty, but I have a curiosity to ask another question.”
”Nothing your majesty wishes to know,” said Bishop Beck, ”can be amiss.”
”Then tell me,” cried she--”for you wandering minstrels see all great people, good or bad, else how could you make songs about them!--did you ever see Sir William Wallace in your travels?”
”Often, madam.”
”Pray tell me what he is like! you probably will be unprejudiced, and that is what I can hardly expect in this case from any of these brave lords.”
Wis.h.i.+ng to avoid further questioning on this subject, Wallace replied:
”I have never seen him so distinctly as to be enabled to prove any right to your majesty's opinion of my judgment.”
”Cannot you sing me some ballad about him?” inquired she, laughing; ”and if you are a little poetical in your praise, I can excuse you; for my royal brother thinks this bold Scot would have shone brightly in a fairer cause.”
”My songs are dedicated to glory set in the grave,” returned Wallace, ”therefore Sir William Wallace's faults or virtues will not be sung by me.”
”Then he is a very young man, I suppose? for you are not old, and yet you speak of not surviving him. I was in hopes,” cried she, addressing Beck, ”that my lord the king would have brought this Wallace to have supped with me here; but for once rebellion overcame its master.”