"Andyou, sir?" asked Albany, loftily.
"I am your grace's most humble servant," replied Gray pausing, as he dreaded to tell his name before Achanna, lest it might reveal to the Douglases his royal mission, and blight his hope of meeting Murielle.
"But your name, sir," said the duke, with growing displeasure; "your name?"
"Yes," added Achanna, imitating him, "we must have your name."
"I am the laird of Luaig," replied Gray, with ready wit, taking the name of a little obscure loch, which lies in a narrow glen near his father's castle of Foulis.
Many have ruined their fortunes; many have escaped ruin by want of fortune. To obtain it the great have become little, and the little great.—Zimmerman.
"Luaig, laird of Luaig," said Albany, ponderingly; "I do not recognize the name."
"Lairds are plenty as heather hills in the far north country," said Achanna, sneeringly.
"And I have been long enough in France and elsewhere to forget even my mother tongue, as well as my dear mother's face; yet she was Isabel of Lennox," said Albany, sadly; "but lairds in the north are plenty, I know."
"And poor as plenty," added Achanna.
"True, sir," said Gray, "and hence my mission here in Flanders."
"How; I was just about to inquire," observed the duke; "seek you knight's service?"
"Yes; fortune has made me a free lance."
"And ready to follow any banner?"
"Yes; provided it find me in food, horse, and armour."
"Then followme," said Albany, "and ere long, my friend, I may find work for your sword at home."
"Athome; do you mean in Scotland?"
"Aye, in Scotland; how now, Achanna, why the devil dost twitch my sleeve?"
"As a warning that your grace should be wary."
"Here thought and speech are free. True, we have not eaten a peck of salt with our new friend, the laird of Luaig, but at this distance from that bloody rock which lies before Stirling gate, we may trust him nevertheless," said the reckless Albany, draining his wine cup at a draught; "wilt follow me, Luaig—is it a bargain?" he added, holding out his hand.
"But whither goes your grace?"
"To tread the same path my hapless father trod," replied the duke, with something of dignity and pathos in his manner.
"It may lead, alas!—--"
"To the same bloody doom, you would say?"
"Yes; I would pray your grace to be wary."
"I care not; I shall live and die, Robert Stewart, duke of Albany and earl of Rosse, if I die not something better."
A cunning smile twinkled in the hawk-like eyes of the unfathomable Achanna.
"Sit with us, Luaig," said Albany; "my heart ever warms to my countrymen, though cold as ice to my little cousin their king; and there are times when I hope to close my eyes peacefully in the same place where they first saw the light, the old castle of Rothesay by the sea—the waves that flow through the bonnie kyles of Bute, and past the hills of Cowal; but of all that more anon. Sit with us, sir, the more the merrier."
"With this poor stoup of wine?" said the prosaic Achanna, peering into the tankard with one of his cunning eyes.
"True, the old saw did not add that," said Albany, rattling the purse at his girdle; "but gibe me not about it. What can be worse than having too much liquor?"
"Having none at all," returned the thirsty parasite.
"Laus Deo!you are right, Achanna. Hallo, tapster! more wine, and quickly too. Think of Robert of Albany having for a server that slipshod varlet, who is all breeches and horn buttons! But you seem to have been severely wounded, laird of Luaig?"
"Almost to death," said Gray, and while Achanna, as if inspired by some undefinable suspicion, surveyed him keenly, he writhed at having to falsify so much, and trembled for the next question; but, on the wine being placed on the table, the careless Albany filled their cups to the brim, saying, "Drink, my friend, drink of this, it comes from the land of old Duke Philip the Good, and you will find it better than arquebusade," he added, referring to a medicinal lotion then famous for gun-shot wounds.
"May I ask in what direction your grace is travelling?" inquired Gray, who had some anxiety in the matter.
"The direction that suits our fancy," replied Achanna.
"I spoke to the duke of Albany," said Gray, with a flash in his eye, and a gush of fury through his heart.
"True, and Albany can answer for himself," said the duke; "we are travelling with all speed to overtake the earl of Douglas and his friends."
"Who are now at Breda?" said Gray, eagerly.
"No; they are at—how name you the place, Achanna?"
"Where?" asked Gray, as the latter hesitated.
"At Bommel."
"Is it distant?"
"Nay, 'tis thirty miles nearer than Breda, and we shall reach it to-morrow."
"And to-morrow, perhaps, I may seeher," thought the lover in his heart.
"To the great Earl James of Douglas, Abercorn, and Avondale, and to our happy meeting," exclaimed Albany, draining another large cup of wine.
Rendered reckless by years of disappointment, by dissipation, and the mortifications incident to exile and dependence, the unfortunate young duke, the victim of circumstances and the treasons of his father, drank, as seemed to be his wont, deeply; and, as he did so, unfolded unwittingly no doubt to Gray (and to the great discomposure of Achanna), the extent and daring of the designs entertained by the Douglases; and he continued to do so, regardless of their more wary and more subtle follower, who, with one eye glistening apparently on each, listened impatiently, and seemed to scrutinize Gray as if he would have read his soul.
That Albany should be plotting with Douglas to subvert the king's power, or to usurp his crown, did not excite Gray's wonder; but his heart almost died within him, when the duke, in a half-serious and half-bantering way, mentioned incidentally, the proposed firmer and more lasting alliance between the great earl and himself, by marriage with Murielle Douglas; and had it not happened that the worthy master James Achanna's dagger fell from its sheath upon the floor, and that he had to stoop beneath the table to pick it up, keen and sharp as he was, he could not have failed to remark the pallor which overspread the lover's face, and the wild light that flashed in his eyes, at this crushing information. However, rallying all his energies to seem collected and cool, after a pause, Gray said,
"But, under favour, is not your grace contracted to a daughter of Charles VII. of France."
"Yes; I believe my father, poor duke Murdoch, made some such arrangement ere his head was cut off—when I was a child, and his captive nephew, James I., was twangling on his ghittern to Jane Beaufort in the gardens of Windsor."
"Believe! are you not certain?" said Gray earnestly.
"Since I have been among Hussites, Parisians, Bohemians, and Germans, I have been certain of nothing my friend—not even of my own existence—for this is a land of fog and philosophy; but I would have been much more certain of that spousal contract, had Monseigneur Charles the Victorious been a little more liberal with his French crowns, and a little less so with his French compliments, as I could live on the first, but not on the second. Moreover, I think my little princess Radegonde is not quite pleased with me, since my affair with Madame d'Armagnac."
"Who is she?"
"A woman more beautiful than Agnes Sorel—the lady of beauty. I have seen them both together. And then, as the devil would have it, I got embroiled with Madame la Marchale de Loheac, while her patriotic husband was fighting those insolent English last year in Bretagne and Anjou."
"But—but, your grace," stammered Gray, who felt as if he was on the eve of losing his Murielle for ever, "you are solemnly betrothed to Mademoiselle of France."
"I am—and what then?"
"Such a contract cannot be broken."
"Save by the pope, so the earl of Douglas is now on his way to Rome with Dame Murielle; I mean to accompany them, and so may you, if you care for attaching yourself to my fortunes, or misfortunes rather. That contract, moreover, was made when my father was regent of Scotland, and the king was a prisoner of war in England—and Mademoiselle of France considers me but as an outlaw now." Then after humming a lively French air, Albany said, "'tis said Murielle Douglas sings like a throstle, when winging its way aloft on a beltane morning. The throstle!" he added, letting his chin drop on his breast with an air of tipsy sadness, "Ah! that makes me think of poor old Scotland, which, despite these desperate plots, I may never see again, and my heart is wrung within me, when I think of the bonnie birken woods that shed their autumn leaves upon my mother's grave."
After a pause Albany suddenly raised his head, and Gray was moved to perceive that his fine dark eyes were full of tears; but he again filled and drained his cup of wine, and it had the effect of completely intoxicating him.
"It has been arranged that your grace was to meet the earl on his travel?" asked Gray.
"Yes; and he sent our good friend Achanna, with a message inviting me to join him and my intended little duchess at Bommel," replied Albany, laughing; "and so I have been travelling so fast, that my horses must have discovered an impatient lover was in the saddle; but what the devil dost think was master Achanna's first information for me?"
"I cannot guess," said Gray, not much interested in the matter.
"That she has a lover already."
"A lover!" exclaimed Gray, in a very different tone.
"Aye, a lover here in Flanders," hiccuped Albany, while Gray sat breathless, and toyed with his dagger in the shade.
"His name?" said he.
"Sir Patrick Gray, captain of my dear cousin's royal guard.Laus Deo!if I discover him, he is extremely likely to rot in Flemish earth, while his papers may be of service to us."
"How so?"
"Because he is on a mission from the earl's three enemies—my cousin, his regent Livingstone, and the chancellor Crichton—aid me to discover—to kill him, and in Lennox, I will more than double your lands of Luaig."
"And object of this mission—"
"Ah! that is just what we want to know, though many say, 'tis but to Arnold d'Egmont of Gueldres, anent a royal marriage. But I'll brook no lovers, no rivals, near my throne—Laus Deo, no! and I would give all I have—not much certainly—to be as near this Sir Patrick Gray as I am toyouat this moment. But a friend of mine is on his track already, I believe—one whom he cannot hope to escape."
"A friend?" said Gray.
"An unfortunate and valiant Count of Flanders."
"Who?"
"Ludwig of Endhoven, a captain of Brabanciones; by St. Christopher our lover is not likely to escapehim—eh, Achanna! but now let us to bed—to bed; for we must be in our saddles by cockcrow to-morrow. Achanna, your arm," said the poor young duke, staggering up; "Lua-Luaig—fare, sir—fare you well."
"Good night to your grace, and God be wi' you!" said Gray, opening and closing the door as they separated.
After the duke and Achanna were gone, he sat long and late, full of anxious and bitter thoughts that came thick and fast upon him. He felt agony at the idea of Murielle being about to be sacrificed to the wild, ambitious, and revengeful schemes of the earl of Douglas and the duke of Albany; and he actually trembled lest her heart might have changed or her fancy have been dazzled, for he now remembered with pain the banter of his comrade and kinsman, MacLellan. He pitied and despised the outlawed duke, yet he trembled for the trouble, which he, with the earl, when combined, might give the young king James, their master. He was filled with wrath at the resolution, so fully expressed, to destroy himself, and starting to his feet, he was about to get his sword from the tapster, and summon Achanna forth into the moonlight, which shone brightly, to upbraid him with his villany, and then kill him on the spot; and in doing so, he would not have committed a crime, but have acted simply in the spirit of the age. However, cooler reflection showed that he might serve Murielle, the king, and himself better, by preserving his incognito. So master Achanna, that utilitarian Scot, who would have sold his own father and his mother to boot, without compunction, slept that night without a yard of cold iron in his body.
Yet, as it was impossible for Gray to travel with Duke Robert and this scurvy companion to Bommel, he resolved to set forward alone. Thus, after a restless night, he was up and mounted an hour before sunrise, and while the frowsy haze hung thick and yellow over the pale-green willow-copse of the Maese, veiling all Grave and the quaint old castle of Otho, lord of Cuick and Haverale, he was far on his journey to Bommel.
What mad jest is this, my masters?I know not where the damsel lives, not I;But see to it, that ye molest her not!—Old Play.
After passing Alphen, Sir Patrick crossed an old stone bridge, and found himself in the Bommelerwaard, a fertile island, formed by the Waal and the Maese; and about noon, he reached the object of his destination, the quaint and ancient town of Zalt-Bommel, which stands upon the left bank of the former river.
The ducal banner of Arnold d'Egmont was waving on the castle built by Otho III. of Nassau, count of Gueldres, who walled the city in 1299, and therein dwelt Jacques de Lalain, the governor, then named the Dyck Graf, who kept the town in awe with his cannon, but more by his sluices, by opening which, he could lay the whole district under water, and drown every citizen in five minutes.
While riding forward, Gray had revolved in his mind, a hundred plans for making himself known to Murielle, but none seemed practicable; and then, with no other conviction, than the double necessity for being wary, and procuring a disguise, with a heart that beat lightly though anxiously, he passed through the wide and busy streets of Bommel, along the quays of its now choked-up harbour, and found quarters at an hostelry, that stood near the gardens of the ancient college of Canons, which was founded in 1303, by Reinold the warlike count of Gueldres.
Here he sent for the keeper of a frippery, as a clothing establishment was then named, and obtained the dress of a Muscovite merchant, a long gown of brown cloth trimmed with red braid and sables, a cap of black wolf's skin, and a short crooked sword, which he slung in front by a brass chain, in the oriental fashion. He laid aside all his military trappings, save his chain shirt, which the disguise he had adopted completely concealed, and after dinner he sallied forth into the city in quest of adventure and of Murielle.
It was fortunate that he had obtained so complete a disguise and so readily, for at the corner of a street he was overtaken by three reckless horsemen, who passed at a hard gallop, and so closely, that he was nearly ridden down.
They were the very persons he wished to avoid—the duke of Albany, count Ludwig of Endhoven, and James Achanna. He endeavoured to follow, and see whither they went; but they rode rapidly, and were soon out of sight.
The masses of the population, their bustle, and the business they seemed to transact, with the wealth and luxury he saw on every hand, excited the astonishment of Gray, who had come from a land that was simply warlike and pastoral; for in that age Flanders was the central point of European commerce—the market of all the products of the south, the north, and the Levant.
"As in the course of human affairs," says Schiller, "here a licentious luxury followed prosperity. The seductive example of Philip the Good could not but accelerate its approach. The court of the Burgundian dukes was the most voluptuous and magnificent in Europe, Italy itself not accepted. The costly dress of the higher classes, which afterwards served as patterns to the Spaniards, and eventually with the Burgundian customs, passed over to the court of Austria, soon descended to the lower orders, and the humblest citizen nursed his person in velvet and silk. The pomp and vanity of dress were carried by both sexes to extravagance. The luxury of the table had never reached so great a height among any other people. The immoral assemblage of both sexes at bathing-places, and others of reunion for pleasure and enjoyment, had banished all shame."
This state of society was new and bewildering to the plain soldier, who had come from the hardy and frugal land of the "rough-footed Scots," as he strolled along the thoroughfares of Bommel, disguised as a merchant from Muscovy, without a word of the Muscovite language, and as ignorant of whether he should pretend to import tallow, tar, hogsbristles, iron and flax, or the preserved fruits and luscious wines of the sunny Levant. Thus fearing that his disguise might lead him into a scrape or predicament, he avoided the harbour and mercantile portions of the city, and sought those in which he was most likely to meet some of the earl's train, or discover his locality.
After two days of hopeless inquiry, as the most prudent people are at times the most rash, he conceived the idea of relinquishing his disguise, of resuming his former attire, and applying to the Dyck Graf, who was a Gueldrian noble, and by birth a Burgundian of high rank, when luckily chance threw in his way the most fortunate person he could have met.
He had visited all the churches in time of mass and vespers, hoping to see the earl, or some of his numerous retinue, and on the third day, just as he was leaving, with a heavy heart, the gorgeously-carved porch of St. Genevieve, he heard a familiar voice say—
"Yes, yes, it is all very bad and wicked of the Burgundians no doubt; but are not all the world so? When, through my humble efforts and the agency of our Holy Father, the great master of evil is purified and restored to the place he fell from, such things shall be no more.Veritas mea et misericordia mea cum ipso; et in nomine meo exaltabitur cornuejus!"
"Oh, by good St. Genevieve, this can be no other than my worthy friend and kinsman, the abbot of Tongland!" said Gray, joyously, as he pressed through a crowd of bubous-shaped Flemings, towards where the old abbot, who wore a travelling cassock and calotte cap, with long flaps, stood near a pillar conversing with one whom he knew to be the chaunter of the abbey, an official who conducted the choir and had charge of the library, to increase the MS. stores of which, he had accompanied the earl to the Continent.
"Oh that I were now at Rome, instead of loitering here in Flanders," resumed the abbot; "how many souls might yet be saved!"
"The devil hath been long at his work, father abbot, since that tempting day in the Garden of Eden," said Gray, laughing, as he took the abbot's hand in his.
"Good morrow, sir," said the churchman, coldly, as he scrutinized the strange costume and scarred face of the speaker.
"You do not know me?" exclaimed Sir Patrick.
"Nay, sir, not I."
"'Tis well," said Gray, with a bitter smile, as he remembered his wound, "I seem a Muscovite, but the cowl does not make the monk. I crave a word apart, lord abbot—I have that to say, which you must hear alone."
When they withdrew a pace or two back, Sir Patrick lifted his fur cap, and displayed his features more fully.
"Heaven grant us its peace," exclaimed the abbot, with astonishment; "'tis my kinsman, Gray of Foulis!"
"Hush," said Gray, placing a hand upon his mouth.
"Rash boy, and bold as rash, what seek you here in Flanders?" asked the abbot, with gloom, alarm, and almost anger expressed in his face.
"I came on the king's service; but now I seek Murielle Douglas—and Murielle I shall see, father!"
"Beware, lest you find death instead."
"I know the penalty, if discovered," said Gray carelessly; "but in this disguise, and with a face so altered, I may escape, as I have already eluded, the penetrating eyes of the villain Achanna."
"But the earl—he whose projects are so high—so deep—so terrible!" urged the priest in a whispered voice of agony.
"He will not dare to touch me here in a fortified town—"
"What! You expect Earl James to be a saint in Gueldreland, though he is a devil in Galloway? What saith Horace—that those who cross the seas change their climate butnottheir mind."
"I know with what intentionhehas crossed the seas, and for what object he will return."
"You do!" said the abbot, in a husky whisper.
"Aye, as well as you, father abbot, who are the keeper of that pretty burden, his conscience. I have seen, yea, and supped with, Robert, duke of Albany."
"Hush!" said the abbot, glancing at his chaunter.
"Ah—'tis your turn to sayhushnow."
"You have seen him—this poor outlawed prince?"
"Yes, and spent an evening with him—an interesting, if not a jovial one, certainly; and in his cups, he unfolded some very pretty schemes, concerning which, I shall be silent, until I tread again the streets of Edinburgh."
"Oh, be wary, kinsman—be wary!" said the abbot, in a voice that betrayed increasing alarm.
"The duke modestly asked me to aid in a little plot against myownlife, and made me several fair offers to lure me to his service against the king."
"Offers, of what?"
"Lands and titles."
"He is liberal, as that Fell Spirit, who took our Lord unto the mountain top, and offered Him cities and empires, when he had not an inch of land to give—not even the mud that adhered to his cloven hoof. Oh, that I were now at Rome!"
"But Murielle is to be made the tool—the victim of these desperate plotters—and you know it, father, you know it!"
"Ah," said the abbot, with a groan, "there you sting my inmost heart."
"Then how mustminebe stung? but you will enable me to meet—to console her?"
"I—impossible!"
"There is nothing impossible in it," continued Gray, with earnestness; "you must—you shall! Ah, I do not threaten you—I implore. Think of all we have suffered for each other; think of what we may yet be condemned to suffer, by those, whom Evil Fortune seems to have made the arbiters of our destiny."
"'Tis very sad, and very true," replied the abbot, slowly, "but Idarenot."
"You are a priest, and may dare anything," exclaimed
Gray, passionately, "and here I swear, that if you do not take me to Murielle, or bring her to me—in short, if you do not enable us to meet, by all that we revere in heaven and on earth, and by the bones of St. Genevieve, I will cast myself in the earl's path, and brave him and his followers to the last; and you know what is sure to ensuethen."
"Your instant destruction."
"Promise me—promise," urged Gray, in whose eyes the tears were starting as he pressed the hands of the old abbot.
The latter was kind and gentle hearted, and loved his young kinsman too well to withstand his entreaties long; he felt his resolution waver, and strangely enough became a little irritated.
"By St. Bryde, of Douglas, I would we had never met," he exclaimed; "although Sir Patrick, the sequel might have been the worse for you."
"Where does she reside?"
"With the earl and countess," replied the abbot, briefly.
"Of course," said Gray, impatiently, "but, where are they?"
"In a house belonging to the Dyck Graf, and adjoining the great church and the college of canons. I am to-night to bring her—"
"Where, father—where?"
"To this church of St. Genevieve."
"Oh, how happy was the chance that brought me hither! You will allow me to go with you?"
"Impossible—never; by my habit, my order—"
"Why—why?"
"Your relations with her, and my office—"
"Your office will protect us; it is ordained that you should succour those in distress, and Murielle and I are both in need of succour. Father Abbot—dear kind friend, you agree."
"Be then silent and wary, and meet me at the porch here, at the hour of seven this evening," replied the abbot, suddenly giving way.
"God will reward you—I never can—adieu, adieu!" said Gray, in the fulness of his heart, and in a voice which became husky with emotion, as he hastened into the street, with a giddy head and a light heart, muttering: "I shall see her—to-night I shall see her! but ah, by the dial, it lacks five hours of the time!"
When stars are in the quiet skies,Then most I pine for thee;Bend on me then thy tender eyes,As stars look on the sea!For thoughts, like waves that glide by night,Are stillest when they shine;Mine earthly love lies hush'd in light,Beneath the heaven of thine.—Bulwer.
To Gray it appeared as if the day would never pass, and he spent the hours of it in thinking over all he would say to Murielle, and all she might probably reply. He glanced at his mirror—would the scar on his face shock her? Doubtless, but she would love him the more for it, and then it would wear away in time. Then he consulted the gnomons of the sun-dials at the street corners, and the clocks of the numerous churches, and to the eyes of an impatient lover, the shadows of the former, and the hands of the latter, seemed alike to stand still.
Yet inevitable Time, which may neither be anticipated or withheld, passed slowly, and surely on. The shadows of the quaint streets, of the carved and traceried steeples, and of the battlemented castle, with its grey old walls and muddy sluices, fell far to the eastward, along the grassy meadows of the Bommelerwaard; the storks were already in their nests on the steep old gables, and long before the appointed hour, Gray was at the porch of St. Genevieve, where, with anxious eyes, he scanned the passengers, and the thoroughfares in every direction.
At lastseventolled from the spire, and every stroke reverberated in his heart. They had not yet come, and just as a sigh of impatience escaped him, a hand was laid upon his shoulder; he turned, and beheld the abbot of Tongland, and standing behind him, on the upper step of the porch, a pace or two within the church, was a lady, wearing a Flemish hood and veil. Gray's heart rose to his lips, as he sprang towards her, and pressed in his the hands of Murielle.
"Beware, Sir Patrick," said the abbot, "we cannot permit such transports here, and in view of the passers, too! Retire into the north aisle, while I betake me to the south, for I have still some leaves of my daily office to read; and when that is over, I shall rejoin you. Be secret—be wary!"
With this advice, the politic old Churchman left Gray and Murielle to themselves, being perfectly well aware that his presence, could in no way enhance the joy of this sudden interview.
The quiet tenderness of Murielle moderated the ardor of Gray; both trembled with the depth of their emotions, and the girl's eyes were full of tears of affection and fear, for she felt as if Gray had been restored to her from the tomb, and sometime passed before she could speak with coherence.
"Ah, that I should miss your presence here for a moment," said Gray, "but I was watching the passers in the streets."
"While I watchedyoufrom the church!"
"And how did you enter it—I have been an hour at the porch."
"We came by the postern, which adjoins the great garden of the Dyck Graf's mansion."
"Where you reside?"
"Yes."
"And the earl, too?"
"Yes—but he is hunting with the Dyck Graf. Oh, these wounds on your face," said Murielle, stroking his cheek with her pretty hands, and kissing it; "oh, mother of God, what must you have suffered?"
"More than tongue can say, Murielle, and more in mind than in body; but these scars are the relict of that dreadful day, when Earl James so mercilessly struck me down, as I besought mercy or quarter—not for my own sake, but foryours."
"And when I thought to have died—great is my wonder that I did not, for strenuously the earl, the countess, and all in Thrave strove to convince me of your death."
"But you received my letter, by Sir Thomas—my good and brave MacLellan?"
"Yes—and it restored me to hope, to life as it were, by the assurance that you lived—you, whom all about me wished should die."
Gray drew her close to his heart, and a soft sweet smile overspread the childlike face, while he pressed to his again and again the little rosebud mouth. At that moment he heard something like a cough or snort; Gray looked round, but saw only the shadows of the pillars that lay in long lines across the tessalated floor of the church.
"I thought, Murielle, I should have gone mad with perplexity when I saw you at Antwerp," said Gray.
"At Antwerp—you saw me there?" replied Murielle, a little beam of gratified vanity lighting up her eyes.
"In the procession of the assumption; but the strange part you bore—how came that about?"
"Through the desire of the earl and the bishop of Mechlin (or as some name him, Malines), whom he knew in Scotland as secretary to the Legate Æneas Sylvius Piccolomini; but, believe me, I had no desire to appear as I did."
"And how long do you remain in Bommel?"
"A week."
"Thank heaven! then we shall meet often. Have—have you yet seen the outlawed duke of Albany?" asked Gray; hesitating with the question, while burning with impatience for the answer.
"No," said Murielle, blushing in spite of herself; "I have declined."
Gray pressed her to his breast.
"You know then, dearest, of what the earl is capable," said he; "of forcing you to become the bride of another, who will further his designs and strengthen his power at home and abroad."
"Yes—yes," replied Murielle, weeping; "I knew it—already has he broadly hinted as much."
"Already!"
"And commanded me to obey; ah, pardon me for making this admission!" said she imploringly.
"Pardon you?" reiterated Gray.
"Yes; but the earl rarely condescends to hint."
"Oh my beloved heart!"
"I meant not to add to your griefs, dearest, by naming a rival whose rank renders him so formidable,—but—but—" tears choked her utterance.
"And this rival is the duke of Albany—a French minion—an outlaw; the son of a traitor who plotted for the lawless detention of James I., in England; a roué and swashbuckler, who consorts with the robber, Ludwig of Endhoven!"
"'Tis indeed he, to whom they would sacrifice me," said Murielle, clasping her poor little tremulous hands, and weeping bitterly. Gray remained silent for some moments, while love, pity, and alarm wrung his heart by turns.
"I know it—I know it," said he gloomily, "for Albany's own lips informed me."
"You see, dear Gray, to what lengths Douglas and my sister will go in their thirst for vengeance. The young king dethroned or slain; his banished cousin crowned by English aid as Robert IV., the house of Douglas would become more powerful than ever, and thus attain in the land a strength which none could crush, and before which Livingstone and Crichton assuredly must fall."
The vista these projects opened up, when thus plainly stated, startled even the gallant heart of Gray!
"But Albany dare not," said he huskily, while grasping his dagger; "thisshould end his treason long ere it reached the mature length his father's did."
"Douglas and Albany will dare anything," sobbed Murielle; "alas, poor me! I am, my sister says, but a child, and a very weak one in their iron hands."
"Then be a woman—let us escape and seek safety by flight together. We are but thirty miles from the sea, where we can soon find a ship for Scotland, and ere the earl's return we may be ready to defy him."
"Oh to what would you tempt me?"
"To save yourself and me. Once wedded, once again in Scotland, under the protection of the king, a boy though he be, we might defy your kinsman and all his followers."
"Oh no—no!" said Murielle, shaking her head mournfully.
"To Gueldres then. Duke Arnold will succour and protect us," urged Gray vehemently.
"Worse still!"
"Oh Murielle, in pity to yourself and me——"
"Nay, nay, this must not be," said the abbot of Tongland angrily, as he came suddenly forward; "Sir Patrick Gray, this is a breach of faith with me. In friendship to her, and you my kinsman—for I dearly love you both—I permitted this meeting; but have no intention that it shall take a turn so startling—so dangerous for the honour of Lady Murielle, and for the lives of us all perhaps! Come—come with me lady, we must return at once."
"But we shall meet again,—good Father Abbot, say we shall meet again?" urged Gray.
"Once, I promise you, once ere we leave Bommel, on thethirdevening from this, at thesamehour," said the abbot, hurrying Murielle away, for at that moment several Flemish ecclesiastics entered the church.
As Gray wished to avoid every one, he withdrew; but resolved that, come what might of it, in his next interview with Murielle, to save her from the perils that were impending. She still loved him truly, and there was every consolation in the knowledge that she did so; yet her love would not save her from Albany when Douglas chose to play the tyrant.
But the abbot'sprotégé, the serpent, was abroad, and there were many mischiefs to be plotted and many to be worked ere Murielle could be saved from her persecutors.
As she and the abbot passed through the postern door which opened from one of the aisles into the garden of the Dyck Graf—a door over which there may be seen to this day, a strange sculpture of a mitred cat preaching to twelve little mice—a man who had evidently been listening shrunk back into the shade. This person was the somewhat ubiquitous James Achanna, who, inspired alike by impatience and malevolence, repaired immediately to his lord and chief the earl.
With every exertion, the best of men can do but a moderate amount of good; but it seems in the power of the most contemptible individual to do indescribable mischief.—Washington Irving.
While the lonely Sir Patrick Gray, full of sombre and exciting thoughts, retired to his hostelry to consider and to plan the deliverance of Murielle from her own family, the house of Messire Jacques de Lalain, the Dyck Graf or hereditary governor of Bommel, which had been assigned as a temporary residence to the powerful Scottish noble and his retinue, became brilliantly lighted up.
In the principal chamber were grouped together many of the personages whom we last saw together, at the abbot's house in Edinburgh, on that eventful evening of November, 1440. It was noble in aspect, loftily ceiled, and floridly decorated in the Flemish fashion of that age of profusion, the walls and roof being covered with quaint devices and heraldic blazons, by Jan Van Eyck, a native of Maeseyk, who, in 1410, attained great perfection in the mixing of oil colours. Within a fireplace, lined with Dutch tiles, blazed a pile of logs across the massive bar of the and-irons. On an oaken buffet stood a gigantic lion, formed entirely of Delft ware, the crest of Gueldres, as it sprang from a ducal crown. From the ceiling hung a gilded chandelier, a veritable pyramid of candles, which shed a flood of light upon the guests below.
And striking groups they formed, the ladies having long veils of the richest white lace, falling from the summits of their lofty horned head-dresses; while their other garments, cote-hardies and skirts, were of the finest silk, taffeta, and gauze, covered with pearls, jewels, and embroidery; the hues and fashion of the attire of all these noble demoiselles making them resemble the queens of clubs and spades, just as we may see them on a pack of cards.
The apparel of the gentlemen was much of the same material—gay in colour, and gorgeous as embroidery and jewels could make it, with here and there a richly engraved cuirass of Milan plate, a gorget of burnished steel, or a diamond studded dagger-hilt, to impart a military character to the wearer.
An old cavalier, with a high bald forehead, a beard so long that Ferdinand of Toledo might have envied it, and who wore the mantle and jewel of the Golden Fleece of Burgundy, was conversing in French with the earl of Douglas. He was Jacques de Lalain, a noble Burgundian knight, hereditary Burg Graf of the town and castle of Bommel. While seeming to converse with the earl, who was speaking of King Charles VII. and Duke Philip the Good, and what might result from a war between France and Burgundy, with the adverse parts which Scotland and England were certain to take therein, he was gazing with pleasure on a group of Scottish girls, who by the fine carriage of their heads, their general bearing, and more than all by the whiteness of their hands, evinced that they inherited the best blood and highest breeding in the land.
They were, in fact, the Countess Margaret and Murielle, her sister; the countess of Ormond; dark-eyed Maud Douglas, of Pompherston; Mariota, of Glendoning; the golden-haired Caillean Rua; Lady Jean, of Cairnglas; and the three daughters of Sir Alan Lauder. The gentlemen who conversed with them, and played at chess with some, at tables (an old name for backgammon) with others, were the knights and esquires of the earl's retinue.
Amid these were two persons already introduced to the reader—Robert, duke of Albany, and Ludwig, count of Endhoven, whom as a simple Burgundian knight, he had, with his usual recklessness, dared to introduce to this high circle.
It was not without secret emotions of pleasure and satisfaction, that theblaséroyal outlaw beheld the girlish beauty of Murielle. Though in no mood for marrying, and long since used to consider women only as tools or playthings, to be cast aside when no longer needed, he conceived that he might find such a wife, for a time, the reverse of a tedium or an encumbrance; and, that on the simple condition of wedding her, he could enter with ardour into those daring schemes which promised vengeance to Douglas and a throne to himself.
Gay, handsome, and richly dressed, he leaned upon the high back of her chair, and insisted on conversing with her, flattering himself that he was making considerable progress, though the memory of Gray's sad loving eyes, and of his lover's kiss, yet lingered in her mind; but she was too well bred to treat the duke as he deserved; too gentle and too timid to repel him; and, moreover, too proud to acknowledge the footing upon which he affected to place himself with her—a position on which she was daily rallied by the countess and her ladies of the tabourette, until her little heart waxed wroth.
There were times also, when Albany, piqued by a coldness and reserve that were new to him, actually nursed himself into the conviction that he was desperately in love with this little beauty—if love in a heart sorouéwere a possibility.
Near them sat Count Ludwig, affecting to be entirely occupied with a bloodhound, which the Dyck Graf had presented to the countess. It was a spotless dog, of "Black St. Hubert's breed," butwhiteas snow, and was named Souyllard, after that famous hound of the prince of Lorraine, which is thus extolled in the "Noble Art of Venerie:"
"My name first came from holy Hubert's race;Souyllard my sire, a hound of singular grace."
The reckless Ludwig, as he gazed on the beauty of Murielle, began to conceive some very daring schemes on his own account, as his armed Brabanciones, to the number of some hundreds, lurked in the Peel morass and woods on the other side of the Waal. He allowed his imagination to run riot, and while affecting to caress the powerful hound on the one hand, and converse with the abbot of Tongland on the other, he saw before him only the sweet girl's gentle eyes, which drooped, and her little coral mouth, which paled, whenever his bold glance fell on her.
The abbot and she exchanged smiles from time to time. He was full of commiseration and alarm for Sir Patrick Gray, whose preceptor he had been, and he was thinking of that peaceful and pleasant time in Tongland Abbey, when he was wont to take him once daily to read the works of St. Augustine, or a page of the Gospels in old monkish Latin. Each of these stood under an iron grating in the church, where a leaf of them was turned daily for the behoof of the learned or the pious; but Gray and MacLellan, like wayward boys, to get rid of the task which bored them, stole the key of the grille, and threw it into the Dee.
The poor old abbot had very little idea of the real character of the personage with whom he was conversing; and the reader may imagine the astonishment with which the robber count listened to him, and the undisguised merriment with which he treated his great project regarding the restoration of the Man of Sin. In short, Count Ludwig deemed our worthy abbot neither a well-deserving divine nor eccentric pedant, but a veritable madman, and so often muttering several times, "Der Teufel hole dich!" or "Sangdieu!" and so forth, he ceased to listen, and continued to gaze covertly at Murielle.
The recent interview with her lover gave a brilliance to her beauty, and a radiance to her expression; her slight but finely rounded form, being clad in cloth of silver under a robe of white gauze, seemed to stand forth in brilliant relief from the dark tapestry of the room. A silver caul confined her hair; her ornaments were all Scottish pearls, and everything about her appeared pure, girlish, and angelic—and so thought both therouéduke and the ruffian count.
Her eyes wandered frequently to the latter, though he terrified her, and she knew not why; but she pitied him for having such a terrible scar on his face, and it made her think of Patrick Gray. Little dreaming thathissword had inflicted it, she timidly inquired of the duke where that wound was received.
"In a battle with the Burgundians," replied the others readily, "a desperate one, when he slew all their men-at-arms."
"But is not he of Burgundy?" said Murielle with surprise.
"Ah, true; I meant to say with the French—but they fight so many," added the unabashed duke.
After this Murielle relapsed into silence, for she listened to Albany rather than conversed with him. Hitherto she had steadily refused to meet him; but she was too little in stature and too gentle in spirit to be aheroineeither in romance or history; and perceived now the futility of resisting further to receive him, as it had been arranged that the duke was to accompany the earl to Rome, to the end that during the journey he might ingratiate himself with her, and thattherethe marriage would be performed, after his betrothal to Mademoiselle of France had been cancelled by the Vatican—a measure which the French king, since Albany's change of fortune and position, most earnestly desired.
And now James Achanna entered, with a smile spreading over his cat-like visage, when he saw how this goodly company were grouped.
He wished to gain the ear of the earl, but that formidable personage was conversing with the Dyck Graf.
When approaching he passed close to Murielle, who, while seeming to listen to Albany, was lost in reverie, and was unconsciously drawing from her pretty finger a pearl ring which Gray in happier times had given her. At that moment it suddenly slipped from her hand, and rolled among the rushes of the floor.
Quick as his wicked thought, Achanna let his handkerchief drop in the same place, and adroitly picked them up together.
"Good," he muttered, "this may prove useful."
We shall soon see what use he made of this ring.
Cautious in action, stealthy in step and eye, sharp in question but vague in answer—his eyes and ears ever open, and his tongue always prepared to speak in an age when men were slower in word than deed,—James Achanna was indeed a fitting tool for an unscrupulous feudal lord. Taking the opportunity of the Dyck Graf addressing a few words to the countesses of Douglas and Ormond, he said to the earl in a whisper,—"Would it please you, my lord, to play a game with me at tables?"
Then perceiving that the earl glanced at him with some disdain in his eye and hauteur in his manner, the politic Achanna added in a low voice,—"I have that to say which must be said instantly, and which none must overhear."
"Oh, we are to play a double game!" replied the earl with a sudden glance of intelligence; "bring hither the tables, the men, and the dice."
Achanna and he withdrew into the recess of a window. The tables were speedily opened, the men were marshalled, and the game began; but Achanna waited until his lord should make the first move.
"Proceed," said the latter impatiently.
"I am, then, to make the first move?"
"If it please you—begin."
They bent their heads near, as if interested in the game, and proceeded to push their men about vaguely, but vigorously.
"I told you, my lord, that I had met a certain Laird of Luaig," commenced Achanna.
"Yes, yes, at Grave."
"Well, I had my suspicions that the pretended laird of Luaig was no other than he we all wot of."
"Whom mean you—Gray?"
"Sir Patrick Gray of Foulis, captain of the king's guard; and now my suspicions are confirmed."
The earl started, and his eyes flashed with dusky fire, but controlling his emotion he simply asked,—"How?"
"I discovered him by watching the Lady Murielle. Cogsbones! I knew that the cock bird would soon find the hen."
"Sirrah," said the earl frowning, "you speak of a sister of the countess of Douglas—quick to the point, lest I hang you from that window by one of the curtain ropes!"
"Your pardon, Lord Earl; my speech is ruder than my thoughts," cringed the other.
"Quick!" continued the earl, almost grinding his teeth.
In a few words Achanna rapidly related the interview, which,by chance, he had overheard, in the church of St. Genevieve, and the earl was filled by such a tempest of anger that he became all but speechless; yet by a great effort of self-control, an effort the more painful that such exertion was quite unusual—he contented himself by glaring from under his black bushy eyebrows at poor unconscious Murielle with an expression as if he would have annihilated her.
"Think you the abbot took her there to meet him?" he asked in a hoarse whisper.
"Where?"
"Thou ass! to the church of St. Genevieve?"
"Heaven forfend! no; 'twas he who saved her from Gray," whined the sycophant vassal.
"It is well," said the earl in a quiet voice, but with fury still kindling in his eye and quivering on his lip; "were it otherwise, by St. Bryde, I'd unfrock and scourge him through these streets of Bommel with a horse halter, a mitred abbot and my confessor though he be!"
"Who, think you, my lord, brought to Lady Murielle at Thrave, the tidings that Gray still lived?"
"I would give this golden chain to know."
"I overheard——"
"His name—his name?"
"Sir Thomas MacLellan, of Bombie."
"Gray's kinsman, the lieutenant of the guard?"
"Yes, my lord," said Achanna, sweeping into his girdle pouch the gold chain which the earl quietly passed to him; "and long ago I had further proof that it was he."
"But for the assurance she received, by letter, of Gray's existence, she would now, I doubt not, have been duchess of Albany, and might have spared us this journey to Rome."
"You remember, my lord, that the letter was tied to an arrow, which struck the turf at her feet as she walked by the side of the Dee?"
"Yes, I remember to have heard so."
"I found that arrow, and a week after, Malise MacKim, the smith, found a quiver full lying among the rushes. The two chevronssableof MacLellan were painted on it, and the letter which bore the arrow was one of the same sheaf, the same shaft, notch, and feather; for, but a week before, Sir Thomas had bought them in the Friars Wynd, at Dumfries, as he passed south from Edinburgh."
"So, so!" said the earl, grinding his teeth; "if God and St. Bryde of Douglas permit me once again to cross the bridge of Dumfries I shall have a vengeance on MacLellan, so sure and deadly, that all Scotland shall ring with it from sea to sea."
And terribly the earl kept his vow.
"But where," he added, "is our lover at present?"
"That I have yet to discover."
"The Dyck Graf," began the earl, starting up; but Achanna caught his sleeve, saying, "Nay, nay, my lord, he will be certain to protect him. We cannot make a raid in Flanders as we might in Nithsdale."
"True, we must be secret. Oh, that I had them both, this Gray and MacLellan within ten Scottish miles of our gallows knob at Thrave, I would soon mar the interference of the one and the wooing of the other. I would summon all the Corbies in Deeside to his spousals."
"Leave the sequel to me, lord earl," said Achanna, in a low impressive whisper, "and Sir Patrick shall be punished even toyourheart's content."
"Assure me but of that, Achanna, and thou shalt pocket a thousand silver crowns," said Douglas, pressing the hand of his trusty vagabond.
With his natural ferocity of disposition, and being usually in the habit of giving full vent to every gust of fury, the earl found great difficulty in preserving an aspect of external composure during the remainder of the evening; but immediately on the Dyck Graf's departure for the castle of Bommel, the company broke up, and Douglas prepared to retire, with a scowl on his brow, and bitterness in his heart.
"God—den to you, father abbot; art still labouring hard to ruin the empire of the prince of darkness? Oh, if ever thou shouldst fall intohishand!" said he with a mocking laugh, as he passed the worthy churchman, who started at the sound, for Douglas seldom laughed, andneverin merriment.
Achanna and Count Ludwig, who had been extremely ill at ease in the vicinity of the Dyck Graf, now withdrew together to plot mischief and to discover Gray.
"James Achanna," said Albany, as they were bowing themselves out, "remember that I am to see you to-morrow."
"At Carl Langfanger's auberge,The Forester."
"Yes, at noon."
"I am at the disposal of yourhighness," said Achanna, using the title by which kings were then addressed in Scotland and England.
Albany started, and the colour mounted to his usually pale temples as he said, "Sir, I desire that you will not address me thus."
"Why!" asked the earl with surprise as he paused in the doorway.
"Because I consider it premature, and as such unlucky."
"Your grace, perhaps, is right," replied the earl, gloomily, and somewhat contemptuously; "however, time will show."
'Twas thus these cozening villains laid their schemeAgainst his life, his youth, and comeliness:Woe worth the end!—Old Play.
Three miles from the southern gate of Bommel, on the road which led to Ameldroyen, there stood a solitary auberge, or wayside tavern. It was namedThe Forester, from the circumstance that on a signboard it had a hideous representation of a hunter sounding a horn, and this passed for a likeness of Liderick du Bucq, the first forester of Flanders.
The signboard, moreover, informed the passers, in tolerably-spelt Flemish, that there was entertainment for man and horse, with good German beer within; while a greenbush, which hung over the door in the more ancient fashion, announced that there also could be had the good wines of Alicant and Burgundy, with perhaps the strong waters of Anjou and Languedoc,i.e., brandy.
The country in its vicinity was lonely, and thinly populated. Save a wind-mill or two, and a gibbet on an eminence, with a man hanging thereon between the spectator and the sky, there was little to be seen but the dense forest, which then spread for miles along the banks of the river Waal, and away towards Bois-le-duc and Ravenstein.
This auberge, a rickety old house, the roof and walls of which some masses of ivy and woodbine alone seemed to hold together, was kept by Carl Langfanger, an old Brabancione, or disbanded soldier; and it was, in fact, one of the many secret rendezvous of Count Ludwig's military outlaws.
On the day after the night just described, three horsemen arrived at the auberge about noon, and within ten minutes of each other. They placed their horses in a shed behind the edifice, where a Brabancione, named Gustaf Vlierbeke, a very "ragged robin" indeed, acted as groom. They then met in an upper room, on the bare and dirty table of which wine, unasked for and unordered, was placed; and, we may mention, that their swords and daggers werenotrequired by the slipshod tapster, though such was the custom in those days in all well-ordered taverns throughout Christendom.
These three personages were the exiled duke of Albany, the outlawed count of Endhoven, and that "Scottish worthy," Master James Achanna.
Their greetings were more brief than courteous, and after imbibing each a long horn of wine, they drew their chairs close to the table, as if to confer confidentially.
"More wine now, that we may not be interrupted hereafter," said Albany, as a preliminary.
"Have we not had enough?" asked Achanna, warily.
"Bah! I am not a hermit, and have no need of endeavouring to resemble old Anthony of Padua."
"Der teufel! our fair ones would not esteem you the more for seeking to do so," said Ludwig.
The duke smiled complacently, caressed his well-pointed moustache, and played with the tassels of his velvet cloak.
"Duke," said Ludwig, "you have sworn to love this lady?"
"Love her?" reiterated Albany, ponderingly.
"Yes; whether she will or not."
"Whom do you mean?"
"Teufel! who but Murielle Douglas!" said Ludwig, with surprise.
"Oh, of course, I swore it," said Albany, suddenly seeming to remember.
"Ah, there are moments in life when a man swears anything to a woman so pretty," replied Ludwig, burying his red nose in his wine-pot.
To elude discovery, as he knew well that the soldiers of the Dyck Graf and the halberdiers of the burgomaster were somewhat solicitous about his movements, Count Ludwig had adopted a new disguise. He was dressed like an Italian fantasin, in a jacket and pantaloons formed of long stripes of cloth of the Douglas colours, and wore on his breast a scutcheon, charged with those three stars which formed the paternal coat of the earl, for one of whose followers he wishedpro temp. to pass. For this purpose he had smoothed over his usual ruffianly exterior, cut off his long bravolockof hair, and, to enhance the respectability of his appearance, wore a large rosary.
"We have met, duke," said he; "so to the point. What have you to propose?"
"Simply, that we must get rid of our troublesome lover," replied Duke Robert, mixing two kinds of wine, Burgundy and Alicant, and draining them at a draught.
"But first, we must discover his residence," suggested Achanna.
"Carl Langfanger, our worthy tavernier, will soon do that for us," said Ludwig.
"I am not unskilful in the use of my sword," said the misguided duke of Albany; "I have already been victor in four duels, three in Paris and one in Flanders, and might be victorious in a fifth. Why should I not challenge and fight him? Count Ludwig, wouldst bear my glove to this man?"
"What, your highness—grace, I mean!" stammered Achanna, with one of his hateful smiles, "would you commitallthat is at issue to the chance of an unlucky sword-thrust? Nay, nay, I'll to the earl—this must not be."
"So say I, sangdieu! Der teufel hole dich!" growled Count Ludwig, whose oaths were alternately French and Flemish; "I have a bone to pick with our traveller, and, by Gott in himmel! I will have satisfaction for the slash he gave me on the face."
"Please yourselves," said Albany, with a bored air, applying again to the wine, as if he was in haste to intoxicate himself; "only rid the earl, Lady Murielle, and me of him."
"We will arrange a most lover-like rendezvous, and as sure as the devil hath horns, we shall catch our amorous traveller," said Ludwig; "what say you, Messire Achanna, and you, Monseigneur, Mein Herr, or how der teufel am I to address you?"
"A rendezvous," repeated Achanna, "where?"
"Here."
"At this solitary auberge?"
"Der teufels braden! what would the man have? The more solitary the better, and where can a fitter place be found? My trusty Brabanciones all within call, and close by the wood with its wolves, ha! ha!" and Ludwig burst into a loud laugh, which expressed cruelty and ferocity, butnotmerriment.
"As for the snare, it is easy when we have this to bait our trap with," said Achanna, displaying the pearl ring, for the loss of which poor Murielle was then breaking her little heart. He then related how he became possessed of it, and with what intention.
"Good, good! ter teufel! it is admirable," shouted Ludwig, striking the rickety table with his clenched hand. "But after luring him here with this, what do you propose to do?"
Achanna glanced at the duke of Albany, who was already dozing off to sleep, with his flushed forehead resting on his hands, and said, "What doyoupropose—a combat at snick and snee?"
Ludwig ground his teeth with rage, at the recollection of that affair at Endhoven, and said, with a strange smile, "Listen: my Brabanciones are all very good fellows, but are very irritable and very excitable; and so, in a moment of their excitement and irritability, they may burn out our prisoner's eyes withthis iron, when red hot," said the bantering ruffian, suddenly displaying a curious steel instrument, fashioned apparently for the express purpose of blinding, as it had the form of a spur, or the letter U with a handle, the points for entering the eyes being about two inches apart.
"He will die, and in torment!" exclaimed Albany, with an expression of disgust on his handsome, but tipsy face; "and if I engage in aught so rascally, may the Devil twist my neck!"
"I fear that is a task reserved for one of less rank," muttered the rash count of Endhoven, in a low voice.
"Say you, sir!" thundered Albany, starting to the full height of his tall figure, and turning the buckle of his beltbehindhim. As this was a challenge in those days, Ludwig changed colour.
"I pray your grace," urged Achanna, starting forward.
"Dost think I will permit this Flemish flouting-jack to make a jest of me?" said the duke furiously.
"Nay, mein Herr—Gott in himmel! I made no jest of you," said Ludwig, unwilling by a brawl to frustrate his own private objects, and future profit.
"Very well—very well—carbonado him if you please, but trouble me not on the subject," replied Albany, with an air ofennui, as he drained his cup again.
"This process of yours will certainly kill our man," said Achanna, in a low voice, as Albany sank his head on the table, already overcome with wine.
"Not immediately," replied the count, with a diabolical grimace. "My Brabanciones will tie him naked on an old bare-backed horse—place a blazing brand under its tail, and then set it loose, mad with pain and fear in the forest among wolves. Der Teufel! a rare thought! but not a word of all this to your soft-hearted duke of Albany," whispered Ludwig; "I do not think he would admire my rough mode for disposing of a rival. He would be for measuring swords with him quietly, and getting run through the body. But I—der Teufels braden! I have this slash on the face to avenge, and with the assistance of my friends, the wolves of the Waal, I shall do it amply! When Ludwig of Endhoven shows his teeth the wolves laugh!"
The singular cruelty of this proposal almost exceeded the malevolence of Achanna, who had no other idea than having Gray cut off by violent means; but as the victim stood in the path of his lord the earl, and a thousand crowns were the price of his removal, Achanna considered it a somewhat secondary matterhowit was effected.
Carl Langfanger was despatched into the city of Bommel, with an accurate description of Gray, and of his Muscovite disguise, and with instructions to inquire at all the hostelries, to discover his present quarters. He was also entrusted with the ring of Murielle, which he was to deliver as his credential, and armed therewith, to request Sir Patrick to meet her near the auberge, namedThe Forester of Flanders, on the Ameldroyen road; and old Carl, a practised plotter, and most careful rascal, departed with confidence to discover their victim, and arrange the rendezvous.
"Are we safe in trusting this man, Carl?" asked Achanna.
"He is sure as he is secret," replied Ludwig; "I would have gone on this mission myself, but I must beware of that old devil the Dyck Graf; for Duke Arnold of Gueldres has sworn to punish me in the same fashion that Count Peter of Orscamp was punished by Baldwin With-the-Hatchet."
"How was that?"
"The poor count was frequently put to his shifts, as I am, and having fancied two bullocks, which belonged to a widow at Vandal, Baldwin ordered him to be cast in his armour into a cauldron of boiling oil, in the market-place of Bruges, where he perished miserably, before a mighty multitude."
"And Duke Arnold has set a price upon you?"
"A thousand guilders. So you see, my friend, I am of some value to the state."
So Achanna thought, and he began to conceive, that these guilders, if he could earn them, would form a very seasonable addition to the thousand crowns from the earl.
Meanwhile, he had no suspicion that the subtle outlaw with whom he plotted had conceived the idea of luring Murielle to a rendezvous there or elsewhere, by means of the same ring, after her lover had been disposed of; and thus, if the snare proved successful, he resolved to delude alike the duke and the earl, and bear her off for his own purposes to one of those wild forests with which that part of Flanders then abounded; and with all the secret paths, strengths, ruined castles, and lurking-places of which, his predatory life had long rendered him familiar.
Drowsily and tipsily the unfortunate duke of Albany slept, half reclined upon the table. While he was in this position, and during the absence of Achanna for more wine, Ludwig took care of his purse, and some other little matters of value, which he might otherwise have lost; and so night closed in upon the solitary auberge, while Langfanger, its proprietor, was pursuing his inquiries amid the busy streets of Bommel.