Jane Seton; or, The King's Advocate: A Scottish Historical Romance
but a single light, we have said, was burning on the upper pinnacle,
like a large red star, and to this every face was turned.
The stone crown of the cathedral was all in dark outline; a faint
light shone through the large stained window at the east end, and the
tapers flickered at the shrine of Our Lady that stood close by. Save
these, all the vast church, with its rows of massive buttresses and
pointed windows, was immersed in gloom, though the moonlight silvered
the edges of the crocketed pinnacles. Suddenly a volume of light
burst over the whole; the ball of fire which had been burning
steadily, threw out a million of sparkles which fell like a haze of
brilliance over the arches of the spire, lighting up the diminutive
lamps in rapid succession, until the whole structure seemed bathed in
one broad sheet of coloured flame. The groined arches, the carved
pinnacles, and all the airy tracery of the spire, were as plainly
visible in their beautiful and grotesque detail as if the beholders
had been close to them, instead of being a hundred and sixty feet
below; while the lamps of variegated glass produced the most
extraordinary variety of light and shadow.
The devils, dragons, and other stone chimeras that projected from the
battlements of the clerestory were all tipped with fiery red or
ghastly blue light, and seemed to be vomiting flames; every pinnacle
and tower of the cathedral stood forth in strong outline, one half
being bathed in brilliant light, and the other sunk in black shadow,
while a myriad prismatic hues were thrown upon the upturned and
countless faces of the gaping crowds who occupied the streets below
and the windows around. Into the far depths of many a close and
wynd, on the square tower of St. Mary-in-the-Field, on the clustered
Bastelhouses of the castle, on the spire of the Netherbow, and square
belfreys of the Holy Cross, on all the countless roofs and chimneys
of the town, the light fell full and redly, scaring even the coot and
the swan among the sedges of the Burghloch, and the eagle and the
osprey on the lofty craigs of Salisbury.
Cries of astonishment and delight were heard from time to time,
mingled with the murmurs of the wondering and the fearful, who, in
accordance with the taste and superstition of the age, were, as
usual, inclined to attribute the taste and skill which dictated this
illumination to sorcery, simply because it was beyond their
comprehension.
"Ye say true, my lord abbot," said a voice near Roland; "I have had
mine own suspicions anent the fact."
"I have always secretly suspected this Father St. Bernard was a
sorcerer; he studied at Padua and Salamanca, where there is more
kenned of develrie than theologie."
"He is confessor of the Countess of Ashkirk."
"Who hath a familiar, in the shape of a black page, anent whilk my
lord advocate and I have had several conferences--but hush!"
Roland did not hear these last observations, which passed between the
Abbot of Kinloss and one of the ten advocates of the new court.
Intent on the beauty of the illumination, Roland Vipont saw not the
three muffled men who still dogged him, and from behind the grotesque
columns of a stone arcade, which still stands opposite the old church
(but is completely obscured by modern shops), were intently observing
his motions while keeping their own concealed in shadow.
Having been long absent from his native capital, he gazed with
admiration on the beautiful effect produced upon its picturesque and
fantastic architecture, and he was just wishing that the ladies he
had left were with him, to see this new and magnificent spectacle
(which in their happiness he and Jane had completely forgotten), when
several strong hands were laid violently upon his cloak and belt; he
was suddenly dragged from the street, and hurried backwards nearly to
the foot of one of those dark, narrow, and then solitary closes that
descended abruptly towards the artificial lake, enclosing the city on
the north.
So steep was the descent, and so sudden the impetus he received, that
before Sir Roland could offer the least resistance, he was beaten to
the earth, and the blow of more than one poniard struck sparks of
fire from his tempered corslet.
Now deadly was the struggle that ensued; but the three ruffians, in
their very eagerness to destroy him, impeded and wounded each other;
and though prostrate on the pavement, with his poniard under him, the
knees of one bent on his breast, and the hands of another pressing on
his throat, which, happily, was encircled with a thick ruff, Roland
resisted manfully, his great natural strength and activity being
increased by despair and rage. Grasping one by the ruff, he twisted
it so as nearly to strangle him, and paralyze the efforts of his
right hand, which brandished a long and double-edged poniard, that
gleamed ominously in the dim light of the alley.
"God defend me!" he panted; "must I perish here like a child, or a
woman? Release me, villains, or I will spit you all like rabbits.
Ho, armour! armour! treason and rescue!"
"No help is nigh thee!" answered Nichol Birrel, with his hyæna-like
laugh; "but curses choke thee, take thy hand from my throat!" and he
raised his arm for the death-stroke, but Roland caught his descending
hand by the wrist, while with a blow of his foot he hurled the third
assailant, Sanders Screw, to the very bottom of the close. A howl
from Birrel, at the same moment, announced that his companion had
wounded him again, a mistake which raised his demon-spirit to a
frightful pitch; and furiously he strove to free his wrist, and stab
Roland between the joint of his corslet and gorget. His eyes filled
with a yellow light; he panted rather than breathed; he seemed no
longer a man, but a devil!
Suddenly Roland found this maddened assailant had become too strong
for him; and once again, but more feebly (for he had received a wound
in the shoulder), he cried--
"Armour and rescue!"
"Knight and gentleman though ye be," panted Birrel--"by hell! I will
have thy blood for mine! Strike again, Dobbie, thou coward and dog!
Ho, my gay cannonier, ye are as a dead man now!"
"Thou liest, villain! take _that_!" cried a voice; and he received a
blow from a staff which hurled him to the earth. Roland sprang up
with a heart full of fury and his sword unsheathed; but his two
remaining assailants rushed down the close, and disappeared along the
rough bank of the loch before his confusion and giddiness would admit
of his following them.
"By St. John, my good friend," said he, adjusting his mantle and
ruff, "thou comest at a critical time; a moment later had seen my
corslet riddled."
"Ay, and your doublet slashed after the comely Douglas fashion,"
replied his preserver, whose plain coarse garb, as well as the knotty
cudgel he carried, announced him a countryman or peasant.
"Good fellow, I owe thee my life," said Roland, taking his purse from
his girdle, "and would gladly yield some adequate recompense. Here,
I fear me, there are but few Flemish ryders, and still fewer golden
lions."
"Tush!" replied the other with a laugh, as he drew himself haughtily
up; "dost offer money to me? Roland Vipont, hast thou quite
forgotten me? I am Archibald, Earl of Ashkirk."
"Ashkirk!" reiterated Roland, in a faint whisper, as if he feared the
very stones of the street would hear him. "My rash lord and friend,"
he added, taking the earl's hands within his own, "you know the risk
of entering the gates of Edinburgh?"
"Bah!--my head; but who will venture to take it?"
"There is a price set upon it, nevertheless."
"A thousand merks of Scottish money?"
"True: might I not be false enough to win this sum, so tempting to a
soldier?"
"Nay, friend Roland, for then thou wouldst lose my sister Jane."
"Lord earl, if discovered by any other than myself thou art lost."
"Perhaps so; but I shall take particular care to prevent all
discovery. In fact, I mean to live for awhile in King James's own
palace, where I do not think my enemies will ever dream of looking
for me. The king's lances, and the riders of the east, west, and
middle Marches, have scoured the whole land for me, from Tweedmouth
to Solway sands. Besides, I am resolved to see my mother the
countess, and my sister Jane, and endeavour to persuade my dear
little Sybil to sojourn with me awhile at the court of England; for
though it boasts of dames as fair as the world can show, I long ever
for the black eyes and gentle voice of my quiet little cousin. Dost
comprehend?"
"Rejoiced as I am to see you, Lord Ashkirk, for the memory of our old
friendship, I would rather you were a thousand miles hence than
standing to-night in the streets of Edinburgh."
The young noble laughed heartily.
"Methinks, Sir Captain of the Ordnance, it was fortunate for thee
that I was not even one mile from this when those ruffians had thee
at such vantage; but dost know wherefore they beset thee so?"
"Nay, not I; they were some villanous cutpurses, doubtless. Mass! I
gave one a rough kick in the belt that will cure him of
cloak-snatching for a time!"
"Nay, I opine more shrewdly thou art indebted to the third man in
Scotland for this affair."
"The third, say you? How?--the first is the king."
"The second?" said the earl.
"His eminence the cardinal; but the third--who is he?"
"Who but Redhall, whom I would have sworn I heard one of those rogues
cursing for sending them on such a devil's errand."
"Redhall!"
"Ay, doubtless; the great archpriest of judicial tyranny, the very
spirit of oppression, who sits brooding over the people and the peers
of Scotland--he whose villanous panders are gorged and overgorged
with gifts of escheat from our forfeited possessions, and are ever
needy and inexorable."
"Sayest thou so? then by Heavens I will have a sure assythement of
him for this."
"What other assythement is requisite than a sword-thrust?"
"But, 'fore God! I am in no way this man's enemy," replied Roland.
"All whom the king loves are his enemies."
"Still more so are those whom the king hates; witness his severe
prosecution of the Douglases. But we all know, my lord, that the
friendship of a Scottish king is too often a fatal gift to his
subjects."
"Redhall's ambition is inordinate as that of Beaton; blood-guilty as
that of Finnart; and his hatred is as that of the coiled-up snake.
By St. Bride! I know not which I hate most," exclaimed the
rebellious earl, "James Stuart or his minion advocate."
"Hush, hush! lord earl," said Roland, as they slowly ascended the
dark street, "for these words, if ever heard, would bring you to the
scaffold ere the sun sets to-morrow."
"I crave pardon," replied the earl, with angry scorn, "I forgot that
I spoke to a staunch adherent of this crowned oppressor of the
Douglases, and their ally, the house of Ashkirk."
"Noble earl, in this devotion to your mother's princely house you
wrong our generous king, who, on his happy return to the capital of
his ancestors, intended to have recalled all the lords now banished
for the rebellion of Angus, and would, ere this late hour, have done
so but for your recent inroad from the south, which has closed and
steeled his heart against you and against them; and I know well that
his able adviser, the stern Cardinal Beaton, devoted as he is to his
country, and ever hostile to the grasping and aggressive spirit of
England, will leave nothing unsaid to fan the king's vengeance and
prompt his retaliation."
"I need not to be told what all Europe says; that James of Scotland
allows himself to be led by the nose just as Redlegs and the old
ruffs of his council please."
"_Redlegs!_ soh! a ceremonious title for his eminence; I pray God,