Jane Seton; or, The King's Advocate: A Scottish Historical Romance
An anapest is all their music's song,
Whose first two feet are short, and third is long."
_Orchestra_, by Sir J. DAVIES, 1596.
"May I present to your majesty," said Roland, "the Lady Jane Seton,
the only daughter of brave Earl John of Ashkirk----"
"Who thrice saved my father's banner at Flodden--a right royal
welcome to Holyrood, madame," said James, bowing gracefully and low,
while all his hostility vanished as he gazed on the pure open brow
and clear eyes of Jane; "but how is this, Sir Roland? thou oughtest
to have introduced me to the lady, not the lady to _me_--the knight
to the dame--the inferior to the superior. But hark! the music is
striking 'Kinge Willyiam's Notte;' 'tis a _round_ we are to
dance--Lady Jane, wilt favour me--your hand for this measure; see, my
Lord Arran is leading forth the queen."
And thus, almost before she had time for reflection, Jane found
herself led to the head of that shining hall, the partner of King
James, who had seen the hostile eyes that were bent upon her, had
seen how their cold glances thawed into smiles at his approach, and
resolved, by a striking example, to rebuke the malicious spirit he
despised.
Roland finding himself anticipated, had now no desire to dance, and
wishing to follow Jane with his eyes, retired among the spectators,
whose hostile remarks more than once made him bite his glove and
grasp the pommel of his poniard.
The dancers were performing the round, a species of country-dance,
which continued in fashion while quadrilles were in futurity, and
until the time of Charles I.
The king's principal favourite, James Hamilton, Earl of Arran
(afterwards the Regent Duke of Chatelherault, knight of St. Michael),
a stately noble, arrayed in dark violet-coloured velvet, becoming his
years and grave diplomatic character, led forth the bright young
queen. There were about thirty couples on the floor, all the
gentlemen wearing high ruffs, short mantles, and immense long swords.
The captain of the guards, and Leslie, his lieutenant, were with
Alison Hume and Marion Logan. At a given signal, a burst of music
came from the balcony, and the dancers began with that spirit and
grace which belonged to the olden time, and then the whole hall
vibrated with joy and happiness, brilliancy and praise; for if the
king was the most finished cavalier in Scotland, Magdalene was
assuredly the fairest young being that had ever worn its diadem.
The great Earl of Arran acquitted himself, however, very much to the
queen's dissatisfaction; for this thoughtful statesman and favourite
minister was confounded to find Lady Seton dancing with the king, and
knew not what to think of this sudden and dangerous change in his
sentiments towards the Douglas party.
Above the well-bred hum of modulated voices in the hall, a loud
uproar of tongues in one of the courts below drew Roland to the
windows more than once.
"By Heaven, they have discovered Ashkirk!" was his first thought.
But the noise was occasioned by the king's jester, Jock Macilree,
frolicking among the pages, lacqueys, and yeomen of the guard, with
his cap-and-bells, bladder, and fantastic dress, exercising on the
poor black page, Sabrino, that wit which, for the present, was
excluded from the royal circle, as his rough jests, boisterous
laughter, and grotesque aspect terrified and agitated the timid young
queen.
"God keep you, Sir Roland Vipont," said a flute-like voice (with the
usual greeting for which our more homely "How are you?" is now
substituted). Roland turned, and bowed on encountering the grave
face and keen dark eyes of the lord advocate.
"God keep you, Sir Adam," he replied, rather coldly, as may be easily
supposed. "Understanding that you laboured under a severe illness, I
did not expect the pleasure of meeting you here."
"As little did I expect the honour of meeting _you_, having heard
that you had received an unfortunate wound."
"Ah! a scratch, as your lordship heard me tell the king," replied
Roland, colouring with indignation; but the face of Redhall was
impassible as that of a statue.
"Courtiers must expect such scratches at times."
"Under favour, my lord, I am no courtier."
"No, excuse me--better than a thousand courtiers--thou art a brave
soldier."
Roland bowed.
"He flatters me for some end," thought he. There was a mixture of
politeness and disdain in the manner of Redhall that was fast
provoking Roland, for they had never spoken before, save once, more
than a year ago, on the king's service. "Can this really be the
villain who attempted to slay me," he reflected, "or hath the
hostility of Ashkirk led his ears into error? I think not; for,
strange to say, my wound _smarted_ the moment he addressed me.
Doubtless, had I been dead, it would have bled at his touch."
"You know, Sir Roland, 'tis my peculiar province to have the laws
enforced. Have you any suspicions of who your assailant was?"
"Yes, the instigator of the assault is here to-night--yea, in this
very hall!"
"His name?"
"Is written on the blade of my sword, where I am wont to keep such
memorandums," replied Roland, with a glance which made the official
start, change colour, and raise his eyebrows with an expression of
surprise, as he turned away; for at that moment the king came up, the
dance having ended, and the blood mounted to the temples of Redhall,
for Lady Jane Seton was leaning on his arm.
"How now, lord advocate?" said the frank monarch, "why so grave and
so grim? Thou art a sorely changed man now! Dost thou remember when
we two were but halfling callants at our tasks together, in the
barred chambers of David's tower, trembling under terror of old
Gavin's ferrule--Gavin Dunbar; the poor prisoner of my uncle Albany?"
"And how oft we played truanderie together," replied the advocate,
with a faint smile.
"To seek birds'-nests in the woods of Coates, throw kail-castocks
down the wide lums of the Grassmarket, and fish for powowets in the
Nor'loch, By St. Paul! those were indeed the happy days of guileless
hearts; for, if we quarreled, we beat each other until we were weary,
and thenceforward became better friends than ever. But how cometh it
that thou, my gay cannonier, hast not had a measure to-night, and
when no dance seems perfect without thee? Madame de Montreuil and
some of our French demoiselles are anxious to dance _la volta_, which
was all the rage at the fêtes of King Francis; but not one of our
Scottish gallants knoweth the least about it save thyself."
"I am sure the Lady Jane does, and if she will favour me with her
hand, and your majesty will spare her----"
"To thee only will I, for I long now to speak with mine own true
love," and, with a graceful smile, James retired to the group that
remained around the young queen and her dames of the tabourette.
The feeble health of Magdalene was apparent to all by the languor and
alternate flushing and pallor of her face, after the trifling
exercise of _la ronde_.
As Vipont led away Lady Jane, Redhall turned to conceal his sudden
emotion. He faced a mirror and was startled at his own expression.
Swollen like cords, the veins rose on his forehead like lines painted
there. Jane had gone off without even bestowing on him a smile or a
bow. She had quite forgotten his presence. He felt painfully that
in her mind there would, doubtless, be a mighty gulf between himself
and this gay young soldier, whose light spirit and chivalric heart
were so entirely strangers to that burning jealousy and passionate
desire of vengeance that struggled for supremacy with love. He
passed a hand over his pale brow, as if to efface the emotion written
there, and turned again with his wonted smile of coldness and
placidity to address the person nearest him. This chanced to be no
other than his gossip, the abbot of Kinloss, a peep-eyed little
churchman, whose head and face, as they peered from his ample cope,
so strongly resembled those of a rat looking forth from a hole, that
no other description is required.
The ambassador of the great Charles V., a richly-dressed cavalier in
black, on whose breast shone the gold cross of Calatrava and the
silver dove of Castile, and whose scarf of scarlet and gold sustained
a long spada of the pure Toledo steel, now appeared on the
Persian-carpeted floor, leading Madame de Montreuil, a gay little
Frenchwoman in white brocade, which stuck out all round her nearly
six feet in diameter; Roland and Lady Seton were their _vis-à-vis_.
All eyes were upon them, for the dance was so completely new, that
none in Scotland had ever seen it, and the expectations were great as
the music which floated through the oak-carved screen of the gallery
seemed divine. The right arm of each cavalier was placed round the
waist of his lady, while her right hand rested in his left, and was
pressed against his heart; in short, _la volta_, which had thus made
its appearance in old Holyrood on the night of the 20th May, in the
year of grace 1537, was nothing more than the vault step, now known,
in modern times, as the waltz.
There was a pause; the music again burst forth, rising and falling in
regular time, and away went the dancers, round and round, in a
succession of whirls, the little red-heeled and white velvet shoes of
the ladies seeming to chase the buff boots and gold spurs of the
gentlemen; round and round they went, rapidly, lightly, and
gracefully. The tall Spanish ambassador and little Madame de
Montreuil acquitted themselves to perfection; but Roland and Jane, to
whom he had only given a few lessons during the preceding forenoon,
perhaps less so; but none there observed it, and a burst of
acclamation welcomed this graceful dance, which was now for the first
time seen in Scotland, but which the prejudices of after years
abolished till the beginning of the present century.
"What thinkest thou of this new spring, father abbot?" said Redhall,
with a cold smile in his keen eyes.
"There is sorcery in it, by my faith there is!" whispered the abbot,
lowering his voice and his bushy eyebrows; "there is sorcery in it,
my lord advocate, or my name is not Robin Reid, abbot of Kinloss."
"Ha! dost thou think so?"
"Think so? Ken ye not that it hath been partly condemned by the
parliament of Paris (whom we take for our model in all matters of
justiciary), for it originated in Italy, from whence it was taken
into France by the witches, who dance it with the devil on the
Sabbath. Ah, 'tis well worth making a memorandum of," continued this
meagre little senator, perceiving that Redhall was writing something
in his note-book or tablets, behind the shadow of a window-curtain.
"But the Spaniard is a knight of a religious order," urged Redhall,
pausing.
"A religious order!" repeated the testy abbot; "'tis such a cloister
of religieux as our knights of Torphichen, who spend night and day in
drinking and dicing, fighting anent their prerogatives, and
debauching the country maidens on their fiefs and baronies. Were he
not ambassador of Charles V., I would vote for having him under the
nippers of Nichol Birrel; for if ever a sorcerer trod on Scottish
ground, 'tis he. He dabbles in charms and philtres, and every night
'tis said his chimney in St. John's Close emitteth blue sparks, which
are those of hell, as sure as I am Robin Reid, abbot of Kinloss. He
and father St. Bernard are ever searching among the baser minerals
for the spirit of the gold; at least so say the prebendaries of St.
Giles's."
"Um! he is confessor of the Lady Ashkirk," muttered Redhall, making
another memorandum.
"As we were talking of sorcery, what hath the high sheriff of Lothian
done with your vassal, the forester of Kinleith, who buried a living
cat under his hearthstone, as a charm against evil?"