Hero-Myths & Legends of the British Race
door, and humbly craved food and shelter, as a beggar. "Come in, good
man," quoth the mistress of the house; "sit down in the
chimney-corner, and you shall have your fill of oatcake and milk."
Colin sat down heavily, as if he were overwearied, and the farmer's
wife moved about slowly, putting before him what she had; and the
Knight saw that she did not recognise him, and that she had been
weeping quite recently. "You are sad, I can see," he said. "What is
the cause of your grief?" "I am not minded to tell that to a wandering
stranger," she replied. "Perhaps I can guess what it is," he
continued; "you have lost some dear friend, I think." "My loss is
great enough to give me grief," she answered, weeping. "I had a dear
foster-son, who went oversea to fight the heathen. He was dearer to me
than my own sons, and now news has come that he is dead in that
foreign land. And the Lady of Loch Awe, who was his wife, is to wed
another husband to-morrow. Long she waited for him, past the seven
years he was to be away, and now she would not marry again, but that a
letter has come to assure her of his death. Even yet she is fretting
because she has not had the token he promised to send her; and she
will only marry because she dare no longer delay."
"What is this token?" asked Colin. "That I know not: she has never
told," replied the foster-mother; "but oh! if he were now here
Glenurchy would never fall under the power of Baron MacCorquodale."
"Would you know Black Colin if you were to see him?" the beggar asked
meaningly; and she replied: "I think I should, for though he has been
away for years, I nursed him, and he is my own dear fosterling." "Look
well at me, then, good mother of mine, for I am Colin of Loch Awe."
The mistress of the farm seized the beggar-man by the arm, drew him
out into the light, and looked earnestly into his face; then, with a
scream of joy, she flung her arms around him, and cried: "O Colin!
Colin! my dear son, home again at last! Glad and glad I am to see you
here in time! Weary have the years been since my nursling went away,
but now you are home all will be well." And she embraced him and
kissed him and stroked his hair, and exclaimed at his bronzed hue and
his ragged attire.
The Foster-Mother's Plan
At last Colin stopped her raptures. "Tell me, mother, does my wife
seem to wish for this marriage?" he asked; and his foster-mother
answered: "Nay, my son, she would not wed now but that, thinking you
are dead, she fears the Baron's anger if she continues to refuse him.
But if you doubt her heart, follow my counsel, and you shall be
assured of her will in this matter." "What do you advise?" asked he.
She answered: "Stay this night with me here, and to-morrow go in your
beggar's dress to the castle on the Islet. Stand with other beggars at
the door, and refuse to go until the bride herself shall bring you
food and drink. Then you can put your token in the cup the Lady of
Loch Awe will hand you, and by her behaviour you shall learn if her
heart is in this marriage or not." "Dear mother, your plan is good,
and I will follow it," quoth Colin. "This night I will rest here, and
on the morrow I will seek my wife."
The Beggar at the Wedding
Early next day Colin arose, clad himself in the disguise of a sturdy
beggar, took a kindly farewell of his foster-mother, and made his way
to the castle. Early as it was, all the servants were astir, and the
whole place was in a bustle of preparation, while vagabonds of every
description hung round the doors, begging for food and money in honour
of the day. The new-comer acted much more boldly: he planted himself
right in the open doorway and begged for food and drink in such a
lordly tone that the servants were impressed by it, and one of them
brought him what he asked--oatcake and buttermilk--and gave it to him,
saying, "Take this and begone." Colin took the alms and drank the
buttermilk, but put the cake into his wallet, and stood sturdily right
in the doorway, so that the servants found it difficult to enter.
Another servant came to him with more food and a horn of ale, saying,
"Now take this second gift of food and begone, for you are in our way
here, and hinder us in our work."
The Beggar's Demand
But he stood more firmly still, with his stout travelling-staff
planted on the threshold, and said: "I will not go." Then a third
servant approached, who said: "Go at once, or it will be the worse for
you. We have given you quite enough for one beggar. Leave quickly now,
or you will get us and yourself into trouble." The disguised Knight
only replied: "I will not go until the bride herself comes out to give
me a drink of wine," and he would not move, for all they could say.
The servants at last grew so perplexed that they went to tell their
mistress about this importunate beggar. She laughed as she said: "It
is not much for me to do on my last day in the old house," and she
bade a servant attend her to the door, bringing a large jug full of
wine.
The Token
As the unhappy bride came out to the beggar-man he bent his head in
greeting, and she noticed his travel-stained dress and said: "You have
come from far, good man"; and he replied: "Yes, lady, I have seen many
distant lands." "Alas! others have gone to see distant lands and have
not returned," said she. "If you would have a drink from the hands of
the bride herself, I am she, and you may take your wine now"; and,
holding a bowl in her hands, she bade the servant fill it with wine,
and then gave it to Colin. "I drink to your happiness," said he, and
drained the bowl. As he gave it back to the lady he placed within it
the token, the half of the engraved ring. "I return it richer than I
took it, lady," said he, and his wife looked within and saw the token.
The Recognition
Trembling violently, she snatched the tiny bit of gold from the bottom
of the bowl, which fell to the ground and broke at her feet, and then
she saw her own name engraved upon it. She looked long and long at the
token, and then, pulling a chain at her neck, drew out her half of the
ring with Colin's name engraved on it. "O stranger, tell me, is my
husband dead?" she asked, grasping the beggar's arm. "Dead?" he
questioned, gazing tenderly at her; and at his tone she looked
straight into his eyes and knew him. "My husband!" was all that she
could say, but she flung her arms around his neck and was clasped
close to his heart. The servants stood bewildered, but in a moment
their mistress had turned to them, saying, "Run, summon all the
household, bring them all, for this is my husband, Black Colin of Loch
Awe, come home to me again." When all in the castle knew it there was
great excitement and rejoicing, and they feasted bountifully, for the
wedding banquet had been prepared.
The Baron's Flight
While the feast was in progress, and the happy wife sat by her
long-lost husband and held his hand, as though she feared to let him
leave her, a distant sound of bagpipes was heard, and the lady
remembered that the Baron MacCorquodale would be coming for his
wedding, which she had entirely forgotten in her joy. She laughed
lightly to herself, and, beckoning a clansman, bade him go and tell
the Baron that she would take no new husband, since her old one had
come back to her, and that there would be questions to be answered
when time served. The Baron MacCorquodale, in his wedding finery, with
a great party of henchmen and vassals and pipers blowing a wedding
march, had reached the mouth of the river which enters the side of
Loch Awe; the party had crossed the river, and were ready to take boat
across to the Islet, when they saw a solitary man rowing towards them
with all speed. "It is some messenger from my lady," said the Baron,
and he waited eagerly to hear the message. With dreadful consternation
he listened to the unexpected words as the clansman delivered them,
and then bade the pipers cease their music. "We must return; there
will be no wedding to-day, since Black Colin is home again," quoth he;
and the crestfallen party retraced their steps, quickening them more
and more as they thought of the vengeance of the long-lost chieftain;
but they reached their home in safety.
Castle Kilchurn
In the meantime Colin had much to tell his wife of his adventures, and
to ask her of her life all these years. They told each other all, and
Colin saw the false letter that had been sent to the Lady of Loch Awe,
and guessed who had plotted this deceit. His anger grew against the
bad man who had wrought this wrong and had so nearly gained his end,
and he vowed that he would make the Baron dearly abide it. His wife
calmed his fury somewhat by telling him how she had waited even
beyond the seven years, and what stratagem she had used, and at last
he promised not to make war on the Baron, but to punish him in other
ways.
"Tell me what you have done with the rents of Glenurchy these seven
years," said he. Then the happy wife replied: "With part I have lived,
with part I have guarded the glen, and with part have I made a cairn
of stones at the head of Loch Awe. Will you come with me and see it?"
And Colin went, deeply puzzled. When they came to the head of Loch
Awe, there stood the new castle, on the site of the old house of the
MacGregors; and the proud wife laughed as she said: "Do you like my
cairn of stones? It has taken long to build." Black Colin was much
pleased with the beautiful castle she had raised for him, and renamed
it Kilchurn Castle, which title it still keeps. True to his vow, he
took no bloody vengeance on the Baron MacCorquodale, but when a few
years after he fell into his power the Knight of Loch Awe forced him
to resign a great part of his lands to be united with those of
Glenurchy.
CHAPTER XIII: THE MARRIAGE OF SIR GAWAYNE
Introduction
The heroes of chivalry, from Roland the noble paladin to Spenser's
Red-Cross Knight, have many virtues to uphold, and their
characteristics are as varied as are the races which adopted chivalry
and embodied it in their hero-myths. It is a far cry from the loyalty
of Roland, in which love for his emperor is the predominant
characteristic, to the tender and graceful reverence of Sir Calidore;
but mediaeval Wales, which has preserved the Arthurian legend most free
from alien admixture, had a knight of courtesy quite equal to Sir
Calidore. Courage was one quality on the possession of which these
mediaeval knights never prided themselves, because they could not
imagine life without courage, but gentle courtesy was, unhappily,
rare, and many a heroic legend is spoilt by the insolence of the hero
to people of lower rank. Again, the legends often look lightly on the
ill-treatment of maidens; yet the true hero is one who is never
tempted to injure a defenceless woman. Similarly, a broken oath to a
heathen or mere churl is excused as a trifling matter, but the ideal
hero sweareth and breaketh not, though it be to his own hindrance.
Sir Gawayne
The true Knight of Courtesy is Sir Gawayne, King Arthur's nephew, who
in many ways overshadows his more illustrious uncle. It is remarkable
that the King Arthur of the mediaeval romances is either a mere
ordinary conqueror or a secondary figure set in the background to
heighten the achievements of his more warlike followers. The latter is
the conception of Arthur which we find in this legend of the gentle
and courteous Sir Gawayne.
King Arthur Keeps Christmas
One year the noble King Arthur was keeping his Christmas at Carlisle
with great pomp and state. By his side sat his lovely Queen Guenever,
the brightest and most beauteous bride that a king ever wedded, and
about him were gathered the Knights of the Round Table. Never had a
king assembled so goodly a company of valiant warriors as now sat in