The Abbot

“We must have met in our dreams then” said the youth; “and my days are too busy to remember what I think on at nights.”

“Or apparently to remember upon one day those whom you may have seen on the preceding eve” said Roland Graeme.

The youth in his turn cast on him a look of some surprise, as he replied, “I know no more of what you mean than does the horse I ride on – if there be offence in your words, you shall find me ready to take it as any lad in Lothian.”

“You know well,” said Roland, “though it pleases you to use the language of a stranger, that with you I have no purpose to quarrel.”

“Let me do mine errand, then, and be rid of you,” said the page. “Step hither this way, out of that old leathern fist’s hearing.”

They walked into the recess of the window, which Roland had left upon the youth’s entrance into the apartment. The messenger then turned his back on the company, after casting a hasty and sharp glance around to see if they were observed. Roland did the same, and the page in the purple mantle thus addressed him, taking at the same time from under his cloak a short but beautifully wrought sword, with the hilt and ornaments upon the sheath of silver, massively chased and over-gilded – “I bring you this weapon from a friend, who gives it you under the solemn condition, that you will not unsheath it until you are commanded by your rightful Sovereign. For your warmth of temper is known, and the presumption with which you intrude yourself into the quarrels of others; and, therefore, this is laid upon you as a penance by those who wish you well, and whose hand will influence your destiny for good or for evil. This is what I was charged to tell you. So if you will give a fair word for a fair sword, and pledge your promise, with hand and glove, good and well; and if not, I will carry back Caliburn to those who sent it.”

“And may I not ask who these are?” said Roland Graeme, admiring at the same time the beauty of the weapon thus offered him.

“My commission in no way leads me to answer such a question,” said he of the purple mantle.

“But if I am offended” said Roland, “may I not draw to defend myself?”

“Not this weapon,” answered the sword-bearer; “but you have your own at command, and, besides, for what do you wear your poniard?”

“For no good,” said Adam Woodcock, who had now approached close to them, “and that I can witness as well as any one.”

“Stand back, fellow,” said the messenger, “thou hast an intrusive curious face, that will come by a buffet if it is found where it has no concern.”

“A buffet, my young Master Malapert?” said Adam, drawing back, however; “best keep down fist, or, by Our Lady, buffet will beget buffet!”

“Be patient, Adam Woodcock,” said Roland Graeme; “and let me pray you, fair sir, since by such addition you choose for the present to be addressed, may I not barely unsheathe this fair weapon, in pure simplicity of desire to know whether so fair a hilt and scabbard are matched with a befitting blade?”

“By no manner of means,” said the messenger; “at a word, you must take it under the promise that you never draw it until you receive the commands of your lawful Sovereign, or you must leave it alone.”

“Under that condition, and coming from your friendly hand, I accept of the sword,” said Roland, taking it from his hand; “but credit me, if we are to work together in any weighty emprise, as I am induced to believe, some confidence and openness on your part will be necessary to give the right impulse to my zeal – I press for no more at present, it is enough that you understand me.”

“I understand you!” said the page, exhibiting the appearance of unfeigned surprise in his turn, – “Renounce me if I do! – here you stand jiggeting, and sniggling, and looking cunning, as if there were some mighty matter of intrigue and common understanding betwixt you and me, whom you never set your eyes on before!”

“What!” said Roland Graeme, “will you deny that we have met before?”

“Marry that I will, in any Christian court,” said the other page.

“And will you also deny,” said Roland, “that it was recommended to us to study each other’s features well, that in whatever disguise the time might impose upon us, each should recognize in the other the secret agent of a mighty work? Do not you remember, that Sister Magdalen and Dame Bridget – ”

The messenger here interrupted him, shrugging up his shoulders, with a look of compassion, “Bridget and Magdalen! why, this is madness and dreaming! Hark ye, Master Holly-top, your wits are gone on wool-gathering; comfort yourself with a caudle, and thatch your brain-sick noddle with a woollen night-cap, and so God be with you!”

As he concluded this polite parting address, Adam Woodcock, who was again seated by the table on which stood the now empty can, said to him, “Will you drink a cup, young man, in the way of courtesy, now you have done your errand, and listen to a good song?” and without waiting for an answer, he commenced his ditty, —

  “The Pope, that pagan full of pride,  Hath blinded us full lang – ”

It is probable that the good wine had made some innovation in the falconer’s brain, otherwise he would have recollected the danger of introducing any thing like political or polemical pleasantry into a public assemblage at a time when men’s minds were in a state of great irritability. To do him justice, he perceived his error, and stopped short so soon as he saw that the word Pope had at once interrupted the separate conversations of the various parties which were assembled in the apartment; and that many began to draw themselves up, bridle, look big, and prepare to take part in the impending brawl; while others, more decent and cautious persons, hastily paid down their lawing, and prepared to leave the place ere bad should come to worse.

And to worse it was soon likely to come; for no sooner did Woodcock’s ditty reach the ear of the stranger page, than, uplifting his riding-rod, he exclaimed, “He who speaks irreverently of the Holy Father of the church in my presence, is the cub of a heretic wolf-bitch, and I will switch him as I would a mongrel-cur.”

“And I will break thy young pate,” said Adam, “if thou darest to lift a finger to me.” And then, in defiance of the young Drawcansir’s threats, with a stout heart and dauntless accent, he again uplifted the stave.

  “The Pope, that pagan full of pride.  Hath blinded – ”

But Adam was able to proceed no farther, being himself unfortunately blinded by a stroke of the impatient youth’s switch across his eyes. Enraged at once by the smart and the indignity, the falconer started up, and darkling as he was, for his eyes watered too fast to permit his seeing any thing, he would soon have been at close grips with his insolent adversary, had not Roland Graeme, contrary to his nature, played for once the prudent man and the peacemaker, and thrown himself betwixt them, imploring Woodcock’s patience. “You know not,” he said, “with whom you have to do. – And thou,” addressing the messenger, who stood scornfully laughing at Adam’s rage, “get thee gone, whoever thou art; if thou be’st what I guess thee, thou well knowest there are earnest reasons why thou shouldst.”

“Thou hast hit it right for once, Holly-top,” said the gallant, “though I guess you drew your bow at a venture. – Here, host, let this yeoman have a bottle of wine to wash the smart out of his eyes – and there is a French crown for him.” So saying, he threw the piece of money on the table, and left the apartment, with a quick yet steady pace, looking firmly at right and left, as if to defy interruption: and snapping his fingers at two or three respectable burghers, who, declaring it was a shame that any one should be suffered to rant and ruffle in defence of the Pope, were labouring to find the hilts of their swords, which had got for the present unhappily entangled in the folds of their cloaks. But, as the adversary was gone ere any of them had reached his weapon, they did not think it necessary to unsheath cold iron, but merely observed to each other, “This is more than masterful violence, to see a poor man stricken in the face just for singing a ballad against the whore of Babylon! If the Pope’s champions are to be bangsters in our very change-houses, we shall soon have the old shavelings back again.”

“The provost should look to it,” said another, “and have some five or six armed with partisans, to come in upon the first whistle, to teach these gallants their lesson. For, look you, neighbour Lugleather, it is not for decent householders like ourselves to be brawling with the godless grooms and pert pages of the nobles, that are bred up to little else save bloodshed and blasphemy.”

“For all that, neighbour,” said Lugleather, “I would have curried that youngster as properly as ever I curried a lamb’s hide, had not the hilt of my bilbo been for the instant beyond my grasp; and before I could turn my girdle, gone was my master!”

“Ay,” said the others, “the devil go with him, and peace abide with us – I give my rede, neighbours, that we pay the lawing, and be stepping homeward, like brother and brother; for old Saint Giles’s is tolling curfew, and the street grows dangerous at night.”

With that the good burghers adjusted their cloaks, and prepared for their departure, while he that seemed the briskest of the three, laying his hand on his Andrea Ferrara, observed, “that they that spoke in the praise of the Pope on the High-gate of Edinburgh, had best bring the sword of Saint Peter to defend them.”

While the ill-humour excited by the insolence of the young aristocrat was thus evaporating in empty menace, Roland Graeme had to control the far more serious indignation of Adam Woodcock. “Why, man, it was but a switch across the mazzard – blow your nose, dry your eyes, and you will see all the better for it.”

“By this light, which I cannot see,” said Adam Woodcock, “thou hast been a false friend to me, young man – neither taking up my rightful quarrel, nor letting me fight it out myself.”

“Fy for shame, Adam Woodcock,” replied the youth, determined to turn the tables on him, and become in turn the counsellor of good order and peaceable demeanour – “I say, fy for shame! – Alas, that you will speak thus! Here are you sent with me, to prevent my innocent youth getting into snares – ”

“I wish your innocent youth were cut short with a halter, with all my heart,” said Adam, who began to see which way the admonition tended. – “And instead of setting before me,” continued Roland, “an example of patience and sobriety becoming the falconer of Sir Halbert Glendinning, you quaff me off I know not how many flagons of ale, besides a gallon of wine, and a full measure of strong waters.”

“It was but one small pottle,” said poor Adam, whom consciousness of his own indiscretion now reduced to a merely defensive warfare.

“It was enough to pottle you handsomely, however,” said the page – “And then, instead of going to bed to sleep off your liquor, must you sit singing your roistering songs about popes and pagans, till you have got your eyes almost switched out of your head; and but for my interference, whom your drunken ingratitude accuses of deserting you, yon galliard would have cut your throat, for he was whipping out a whinger as broad as my hand, and as sharp as a razor – And these are lessons for an inexperienced youth! – Oh, Adam! out upon you! out upon you!”

“Marry, amen, and with all my heart,” said Adam; “out upon my folly for expecting any thing but impertinent raillery from a page like thee, that if he saw his father in a scrape, would laugh at him, instead of lending him aid.

“Nay, but I will lend you aid,” said the page, still laughing, “that is, I will lend thee aid to thy chamber, good Adam, where thou shalt sleep off wine and ale, ire and indignation, and awake the next morning with as much fair wit as nature has blessed thee withal. Only one thing I will warn thee, good Adam, that henceforth and for ever, when thou railest at me for being somewhat hot at hand, and rather too prompt to out with poniard or so, thy admonition shall serve as a prologue to the memorable adventure of the switching of Saint Michael’s.”

With such condoling expressions he got the crest-fallen falconer to his bed, and then retired to his own pallet, where it was some time ere he could fall asleep. If the messenger whom he had seen were really Catherine Seyton, what a masculine virago and termagant must she be! and stored with what an inimitable command of insolence and assurance! – The brass on her brow would furbish the front of twenty pages; “and I should know,” thought Roland, “what that amounts to – And yet, her features, her look, her light gait, her laughing eye, the art with which she disposed the mantle to show no more of her limbs than needs must be seen – I am glad she had at least that grace left – the voice, the smile – it must have been Catherine Seyton, or the devil in her likeness! One thing is good, I have silenced the eternal predications of that ass, Adam Woodcock, who has set up for being a preacher and a governor, over me, so soon as he has left the hawks’ mew behind him.”

And with this comfortable reflection, joined to the happy indifference which youth hath for the events of the morrow, Roland Graeme fell fast asleep.

Chapter the Twentieth

  Now have you reft me from my staff, my guide,  Who taught my youth, as men teach untamed falcons,  To use my strength discreetly – I am reft  Of comrade and of counsel.OLD PLAY.

In the gray of the next morning’s dawn, there was a loud knocking at the gate of the hostelrie; and those without, proclaiming that they came in the name of the Regent, were instantly admitted. A moment or two afterwards, Michael Wing-the-wind stood by the bedside of our travellers.

“Up! up!” he said, “there is no slumber where Murray hath work ado.”

Both sleepers sprung up, and began to dress themselves.

“You, old friend,” said Wing-the-wind to Adam Woodcock, “must to horse instantly, with this packet to the Monks of Kennaquhair; and with this,” delivering them as he spoke, “to the Knight of Avenel.”

“As much as commanding the monks to annul their election, I’ll warrant me, of an Abbot,” quoth Adam Woodcock, as he put the packets into his bag, “and charging my master to see it done – To hawk at one brother with another, is less than fair play, methinks.”

“Fash not thy beard about it, old boy,” said Michael, “but betake thee to the saddle presently; for if these orders are not obeyed, there will be bare walls at the Kirk of Saint Mary’s, and it may be at the Castle of Avenel to boot; for I heard my Lord of Morton loud with the Regent, and we are at a pass that we cannot stand with him anent trifles.”

“But,” said Adam, “touching the Abbot of Unreason – what say they to that outbreak – An they be shrewishly disposed, I were better pitch the packets to Satan, and take the other side of the Border for my bield.”

“Oh, that was passed over as a jest, since there was little harm done. – But, hark thee, Adam,” continued his comrade, “if there was a dozen vacant abbacies in your road, whether of jest or earnest, reason or unreason, draw thou never one of their mitres over thy brows. – The time is not fitting, man! – besides, our Maiden longs to clip the neck of a fat churchman.”

“She shall never sheer mine in that capacity,” said the falconer, while he knotted the kerchief in two or three double folds around his sunburnt bull-neck, calling out at the same time, “Master Roland, Master Roland, make haste! we must back to perch and mew, and, thank Heaven, more than our own wit, with our bones whole, and without a stab in the stomach.”

“Nay, but,” said Wing-the-wind, “the page goes not back with you; the Regent has other employment for him.”

“Saints and sorrows!” exclaimed the falconer – “Master Roland Graeme to remain here, and I to return to Avenel! – Why, it cannot be – the child cannot manage himself in this wide world without me, and I question if he will stoop to any other whistle than mine own; there are times I myself can hardly bring him to my lure.”

It was at Roland’s tongue’s end to say something concerning the occasion they had for using mutually each other’s prudence, but the real anxiety which Adam evinced at parting with him, took away his disposition to such ungracious raillery. The falconer did not altogether escape, however, for, in turning his face towards the lattice, his friend Michael caught a glimpse of it, and exclaimed, “I prithee, Adam Woodcock, what hast thou been doing with these eyes of thine? They are swelled to the starting from the socket!”

“Nought in the world,” said he, after casting a deprecating glance at Roland Graeme, “but the effect of sleeping in this d – ned truckle without a pillow.”

“Why, Adam Woodcock, thou must be grown strangely dainty,” said his old companion; “I have known thee sleep all night with no better pillow than a bush of ling, and start up with the sun, as glegg as a falcon; and now thine eyes resemble – ”

“Tush, man, what signifies how mine eyes look now?” said Adam – “let us but roast a crab-apple, pour a pottle of ale on it, and bathe our throats withal, thou shalt see a change in me.”

“And thou wilt be in heart to sing thy jolly ballad about the Pope,” said his comrade.

“Ay, that I will,” replied the falconer, “that is, when we have left this quiet town five miles behind us, if you will take your hobby and ride so far on my way.”

“Nay, that I may not,” said Michael – “I can but stop to partake your morning draught, and see you fairly to horse – I will see that they saddle them, and toast the crab for thee, without loss of time.”

During his absence the falconer took the page by the hand – “May I never hood hawk again,” said the good-natured fellow, “if I am not as sorry to part with you as if you were a child of mine own, craving pardon for the freedom – I cannot tell what makes me love you so much, unless it be for the reason that I loved the vicious devil of a brown galloway nag whom my master the Knight called Satan, till Master Warden changed his name to Seyton; for he said it was over boldness to call a beast after the King of Darkness – ”

“And,” said the page, “it was over boldness in him, I trow, to call a vicious brute after a noble family.”

“Well,” proceeded Adam, “Seyton or Satan, I loved that nag over every other horse in the stable – There was no sleeping on his back – he was for ever fidgeting, bolting, rearing, biting, kicking, and giving you work to do, and maybe the measure of your back on the heather to the boot of it all. And I think I love you better than any lad in the castle, for the self-same qualities.”

“Thanks, thanks, kind Adam. I regard myself bound to you for the good estimation in which you hold me.”

“Nay, interrupt me not,” said the falconer – “Satan was a good nag – But I say I think I shall call the two eyases after you, the one Roland, and the other Graeme; and while Adam Woodcock lives, be sure you have a friend – Here is to thee, my dear son.”

Roland most heartily returned the grasp of the hand, and Woodcock, having taken a deep draught, continued his farewell speech.

“There are three things I warn you against, Roland, now that you art to tread this weary world without my experience to assist you. In the first place, never draw dagger on slight occasion – every man’s doublet is not so well stuffed as a certain abbot’s that you wot of. Secondly, fly not at every pretty girl, like a merlin at a thrush – you will not always win a gold chain for your labour – and, by the way, here I return to you your fanfarona – keep it close, it is weighty, and may benefit you at a pinch more ways than one. Thirdly, and to conclude, as our worthy preacher says, beware of the pottle-pot – it has drenched the judgment of wiser men than you. I could bring some instances of it, but I dare say it needeth not; for if you should forget your own mishaps, you will scarce fail to remember mine – And so farewell, my dear son.”

Roland returned his good wishes, and failed not to send his humble duty to his kind Lady, charging the falconer, at the same time, to express his regret that he should have offended her, and his determination so to bear him in the world that she would not be ashamed of the generous protection she had afforded him.

The falconer embraced his young friend, mounted his stout, round-made, trotting-nag, which the serving-man, who had attended him, held ready at the door, and took the road to the southward. A sullen and heavy sound echoed from the horse’s feet, as if indicating the sorrow of the good-natured rider. Every hoof-tread seemed to tap upon Roland’s heart as he heard his comrade withdraw with so little of his usual alert activity, and felt that he was once more alone in the world.

He was roused from his reverie by Michael Wing-the-wind, who reminded him that it was necessary they should instantly return to the palace, as my Lord Regent went to the Sessions early in the morning. They went thither accordingly, and Wing-the-wind, a favourite old domestic, who was admitted nearer to the Regent’s person and privacy, than many whose posts were more ostensible, soon introduced Graeme into a small matted chamber, where he had an audience of the present head of the troubled State of Scotland. The Earl of Murray was clad in a sad-coloured morning-gown, with a cap and slippers of the same cloth, but, even in this easy deshabillé, held his sheathed rapier in his hand, a precaution which he adopted when receiving strangers, rather in compliance with the earnest remonstrances of his friends and partisans, than from any personal apprehensions of his own. He answered with a silent nod the respectful obeisance of the page, and took one or two turns through the small apartment in silence, fixing his keen eye on Roland, as if he wished to penetrate into his very soul. At length he broke silence.

“Your name is, I think, Julian Graeme?”

“Roland Graeme, my lord, not Julian,” replied the page.

“Right – I was misled by some trick of my memory – Roland Graeme, from the Debateable Land. – Roland, thou knowest the duties which belong to a lady’s service?”

“I should know them, my lord,” replied Roland, “having been bred so near the person of my Lady of Avenel; but I trust never more to practise them, as the Knight hath promised – ”

“Be silent, young man,” said the Regent, “I am to speak, and you to hear and obey. It is necessary that, for some space at least, you shall again enter into the service of a lady, who, in rank, hath no equal in Scotland; and this service accomplished, I give thee my word as Knight and Prince, that it shall open to you a course of ambition, such as may well gratify the aspiring wishes of one whom circumstances entitle to entertain much higher views than thou. I will take thee into my household and near to my person, or, at your own choice, I will give you the command of a foot-company – either is a preferment which the proudest laird in the land might be glad to ensure for a second son.”

“May I presume to ask, my lord,” said Roland, observing the Earl paused for a reply, “to whom my poor services are in the first place destined?”

“You will be told hereafter,” said the Regent; and then, as if overcoming some internal reluctance to speak farther himself, he added, “or why should I not myself tell you, that you are about to enter into the service of a most illustrious – most unhappy lady – into the service of Mary of Scotland.”

“Of the Queen, my lord!” said the page, unable to suppress his surprise.

“Of her who was the Queen!” said Murray, with a singular mixture of displeasure and embarrassment in his tone of voice. “You must be aware, young man, that her son reigns in her stead.”

He sighed from an emotion, partly natural, perhaps, and partly assumed.

“And am I to attend upon her Grace in her place of imprisonment, my lord?” again demanded the page, with a straightforward and hardy simplicity, which somewhat disconcerted the sage and powerful statesman.

“She is not imprisoned,” answered Murray, angrily; “God forbid she should – she is only sequestered from state affairs, and from the business of the public, until the world be so effectually settled, that she may enjoy her natural and uncontrolled freedom, without her royal disposition being exposed to the practices of wicked and designing men. It is for this purpose,” he added, “that while she is to be furnished, as right is, with such attendance as may befit her present secluded state, it becomes necessary that those placed around her, are persons on whose prudence I can have reliance. You see, therefore, you are at once called on to discharge an office most honourable in itself, and so to discharge it that you may make a friend of the Regent of Scotland. Thou art, I have been told, a singularly apprehensive youth; and I perceive by thy look, that thou dost already understand what I would say on this matter. In this schedule your particular points of duty are set down at length – but the sum required of you is fidelity – I mean fidelity to myself and to the state. You are, therefore, to watch every attempt which is made, or inclination displayed, to open any communication with any of the lords who have become banders in the west – with Hamilton, Seyton, with Fleming, or the like. It is true that my gracious sister, reflecting upon the ill chances that have happened to the state of this poor kingdom, from evil counsellors who have abused her royal nature in time past, hath determined to sequestrate herself from state affairs in future. But it is our duty, as acting for and in the name of our infant nephew, to guard against the evils which may arise from any mutation or vacillation in her royal resolutions. Wherefore, it will be thy duty to watch, and report to our lady mother, whose guest our sister is for the present, whatever may infer a disposition to withdraw her person from the place of security in which she is lodged, or to open communication with those without. If, however, your observation should detect any thing of weight, and which may exceed mere suspicion, fail not to send notice by an especial messenger to me directly, and this ring shall be thy warrant to order horse and men on such service. – And now begone. If there be half the wit in thy head that there is apprehension in thy look, thou fully comprehendest all that I would say – Serve me faithfully, and sure as I am belted earl, thy reward shall be great.”