Jane Seton; or, The King's Advocate: A Scottish Historical Romance
a confessor, had seen the battles of Sauchie, of Flodden, and
Linlithgow.
On this day he had elaborately decorated and lighted the shrine of
St. Giles, and his statue, the same which the reformers threw into
the North Loch, was encircled by a wreath of roses, made by Jane
Seton and her companions; around it was hung a piece of red cloth,
then known as "Sanct Geiles' coat," and before it, in a casket of
chased silver, lay his skeleton arm--a relique which the Knight of
Gourtoun had received from Louis XI. of France, and bequeathed to the
church.
Oblivious of the oration he had come to hear, of the magnificent
manner in which the church was decorated, and of the attentive crowds
that filled it, Redhall leaned against a column not far from the
king's, and watched attentively the group which knelt beside the
countess. When Father St. Bernard prayed, Jane and Vipont read from
the same missal, and their heads were so close that her forehead
touched his ear. Redhall ground his teeth; and when they turned to
each other and smiled (for they could sympathize without speaking),
he felt his heart swell with suppressed passion. His attention,
however, soon became divided between Jane and her lover's attendant,
who had placed his long sword against the king's pillar, and while
affecting to be listening to the panegyric on St. Giles, was in
reality studying intently the vast assemblage, and dealing covert
glances of hostility, for everywhere he recognised the colours, the
crests, and badges of the Hamiltons.
"Despite that voluminous beard, and these painted eyebrows, yonder
fellow is either the Earl of Ashkirk or the devil!" thought Redhall;
"but let me be wary, for he is slippery as an eel. So, so! our good
Sir Roland Vipont, the king's favourite minion, is a resetter of
rebels--hah! I have it now."
He almost said this aloud, so bright, or rather so dark and so
devilish, was the thought that flashed upon his mind. Beckoning to
his henchman and factotum--
"Nichol," said he, "thou seest that valet in the livery of Sir Roland
Vipont?"
"He wi' that beard like a colt's tail?"
"The same. I would fain have him committed to sure ward--privately
though; not in the castle, for there every one would hear of it an
hour after, but quietly, in the vault of my own house here. Dost
thou understand me?"
"Wi' ease can we do so, my lord," replied Nichol, with a grin on his
mastiff mouth, "for by the use o' my long lugs I have just learned
that he is to attend the Lady Seton on a visit to St. Katherine's
convent to-night."
"'Slife! dost thou say so? And that captain of the ordnance, doth he
go too?"
"No."
"Ah! and wherefore?"
"Because it seems that the captain of the king's guard and that gay
buckie, Leslie of Balquhan, are to sup with him to-night."
"Thou art sure of this?" said Redhall, whose heart glowed, and whose
eyes sparkled.
"Sure as I am a born man."
"Watch well, then, and learn more, if you can. Oh, Nichol Birrel,
thou art worth thy weight in gold to me--yea, gold trebly refined!
Continue to watch them strictly while I go to his eminence the
cardinal concerning a raid against the Douglases; for, mark me, both
the Lady Seton and yonder valet of her squire must be safe within our
bolts and bars to-night. I have suspected that long beard concealed
something for these some days past."
"And so have I, your lordship."
"Indeed--remarkable! and you think----"
"As your lordship doth."
"That he is no other than the Earl of Ashkirk?"
The brodder--who, in fact, had never bestowed a thought upon the
matter--now opened his eyes wide with astonishment.
"Deil gae owre us! _he_ is worth a bushel o' silver merks."
"Which I will pay thee privately, for thy secrecy and assistance."
"And by-and-bye, I may get the other thousand from the council--eh?"
"Of course."
"And Sir Roland?"
"Is about to be sent on a fool's errand into Douglasdale."
"Disguised as a black friar, I sought admittance to his lodging at
St. Anne's-yard while he was yet a-bed; for I was bent on probing his
wound anew," whispered this bloodhound, with a terrible smile; "but
his servitor, a wary auld birkie, that hath served in the border
wars, said, 'Na, na, my master needs na ghostly counsel, gude father;
indeed he seldom confesses, save now and then to Father St. Bernard.'
'But I am a notable apothgar,' said I, under my cowl, 'and cure a'
manner o' sword wounds, forbye and attour shot-holes.' 'Ouaye,' he
replied, 'but my master hath got from the Lady Ashkirk a notable red
salve, that cures a' thing, frae a prick wi' a pin to a slash wi' a
Jethart axe. He had but a clean stab frae a poniard, and the salve
hath made him whole:' and so, my lord, I came away like a hound that
loses the scent."
"Good!" muttered the advocate, opening his note-book. "Vipont seldom
goes to confession (that will be information for the cardinal and
Fynnard the grand inquisitor), save to the Father St. Bernard (_that_
looketh like conspiracy); and he hath actually received a pot of
salve from the Countess of Ashkirk, which savoureth of sorcery and
working by damnable charms. By my soul, Nichol Birrel," said he,
closing his tablets, "thou art an invaluable fellow. The cardinal
would give his best benefice for such a spy. I will find military
service for the master of the ordnance, and can also dispose of the
countess. I have them all in my grasp! Oh, how subtly the web is
weaving, and how tangled are the meshes of the plot that will lay
them all at my mercy!"
Redhall unwittingly thought aloud, and his fierce whisper was heard
by Birrel. Under the tufted masses of his shock-head, the ruffian
gave a leer of delight and intelligence, at least so much as his
yellow bilious visage could express, and drew nearer the countess,
while Redhall, softly and on tiptoe, lest the jingle of his silver
spurs might be heard, hastened from the church, to seek the lord
chancellor (to whom James intrusted everything) concerning the
proposed raid to Douglasdale and other projects, of which the reader
will soon learn more.
During this conversation, Father St. Bernard had proceeded far with
his oration on St. Giles, the abbot and confessor, with a pathos and
power of oratory that enchained the attention of his hearers while it
fired and enchanted them. Unacquainted with care, and long separated
from the world, the aspect of this venerable prebendary was
singularly saintly and winning; his eye was alternately mild and
penetrating, and his voice was soft and persuasive. All were
irresistibly drawn towards him; and while he spoke, the most profound
silence reigned throughout the long dim aisles and misty perspective
of that vast and crowded church. With all that filial love and
respect which of old a Catholic girl felt for her confessor, Lady
Jane Seton kept her bright eyes fixed on St. Bernard's face. She was
proud of his oratory, his clear and beautiful language, his fervid
enthusiasm, and deep research into abstruse writing and the lore of
ancient days.
We can give but an outline of how the good father traced the earthly
pilgrimage of the city's patron saint, from the day when his eyes
first opened to the light in ancient Athens. "It was towards the
close of the seventh century," he continued, "and his birth was noble
as any in old Cecropia. The dwelling of his father stood near the
temple of the Eumenides, and under the brow of that very platform
from whence the blessed apostle Paul had preached to the Athenians."
He described his extraordinary learning, his deep and solemn piety,
which won for him the admiration of Greece, and other countries far
beyond his native province of Achaia; so much so that it soon became
impossible for him to enjoy in his splendid home the retirement and
meditation for which he longed. Shrinking alike from the applause of
men and the dangerous temptations of wealth and prosperity, he gave
all he possessed to the poor, and bade farewell for ever to Athens
and Achaia the beautiful. Sailing towards France, he landed on the
open and desert shore near the Rhone, from whence, with a cross on
his staff, he travelled into wild places, teaching the blessed
gospels to the pagan Gauls, until he reached a forest in the district
of Nismes, where then stood a city built by the Roman warriors of
Augustus; and there still men and beasts fought like demons in the
amphitheatre of Arennes, and the poor pagans worshipped their graven
idols in the temple of Diana--for the savage Goths then held the city
and all the land around it.
"There, in the vast forest which had been growing since the deluge,
St. Giles built him a hermitage, and there," continued the preacher,
"subsisting on the berries and other wild fruits of the desert, with
water only for his drink, he passed many years in the voiceless
solitude, till, purified by prayer, disengaged from earth, and filled
with the ardour of his holy meditations, he became as an angel rather
than a man." He related, too, how the saint planted his cross-staff
before the door of his hermitage, and watered it daily, until it took
root, sprouted, and grew into a stately orange-tree; and how (like
the holy St. Aicard), having once in forgetfulness shaved his bald
crown so late on a Saturday night that he encroached on the Sunday
morning, when turning about he saw the devil--and here every one
crossed themselves--yea, the devil, busily picking up every atom of
hair, to produce the whole against him at the divine tribunal: and
how severely he was punished thereafter; for a savage Gothic chief
had him seized, scourged, and thrown into one of the Roman towers of
Nismes, where he prayed to his Maker in great agony of spirit.
Lo! in the night a halo shone around him, his fetters fell off, the
doors of his dungeon revolved, and the clear light of the stars
beamed upon him. A deep slumber fell upon his guards, and St. Giles
walked forth in peace, to seek once more the shade of his miraculous
orange-tree and his beloved hermitage near the dark green woods and
bright blue waters of the Rhone.
Now, spreading fast in Gaul, the Goths had made themselves lords of
the two Narbonensis and the three Acquitani: in their wild ravages
they destroyed even the forests, and by these and their cruelty
brought so sore a famine upon the land, that even the saint, in his
extreme old age, would have perished, but for the fruit of his
orange-tree, and the milk of a doe, which visited him daily, sent
doubtless by the Lord, and which became his sole companion and
sustenance; and it chanced that when Wamba, king of the Goths, was
hunting one day in the forest of Nismes, he was about to slay the
doe, but spared her at the saint's intercession; upon which Ionie,
his queen, who was almost dying of a grievous sickness, became
straightway restored to her former strength and beauty.
St. Giles outlived the famine, and by the miracles he wrought became
famous throughout all the land of Gaul, and died at a wondrous old
age in that year when the infidel Saracens sacked Nismes; the
recapture of which by Charles Martel, mayor of the palace, and the
great victory of the Christian knights between Tours and Poictiers,
in the year of our redemption 728, he foretold, with his last breath;
and so, in the full odour of sanctity, he passed away to heaven.
"The doe, the companion of his solitude, was found lying dead by his
side; but to this day," continued the venerable priest, in
conclusion, "in memory of the saint, we may yet see her retained in
the banner of this good city, upon which the blessed St. Giles is now
looking down, as upon that of his chosen children, through the dim
vista of eight long centuries!"*
* St. Giles was the crest of Edinburgh until 1560, when an anchor was