The noble baron of Tantallon had promised to bring to the chapel at midnight the now happy, yet unhappy Clare, that she might bind on the spurs, buckle on the belt, and hear the magic words uttered which made her lover a noble knight. She was unhappy to think that so soon they must part, perhaps never to meet.
Sweetly, tearfully she pleaded:
"'O Wilton! must we then Risk new-found happiness again, Trust fate of arms once more?
And is there not a humble glen, Where we content and poor, Might build a cottage in the shade, A shepherd thou, and I to aid Thy task on dale and moor?-- That reddening brow!--too well I know, Not even thy Clare can peace bestow, While falsehood stains thy name: Go then to fight! Clare bids thee go!
Clare can a warrior's feelings know, And weep a warrior's shame; Buckle the spurs upon thy heel, And belt thee with thy brand of steel, And send thee forth to fame!'"
At midnight, the slumbering moon-beams lay on rock and wave. Silvery light fell through every loop-hole and embrasure. In the witching hour two priests, the Lady Clare, Ralph de Wilton, and Douglas, Lord of Tantallon, stood before the altar of the chapel. De Wilton knelt, and when Clare had bound on sword and belt, Douglas laid on the blow, exclaiming as it fell:
"'I dub thee knight.
Arise, Sir Ralph, De Wilton's heir!
For King, for Church, for Lady fair, See that thou fight.'"
De Wilton knelt again before the giant warrior, and grasping his hand, exclaimed:
"Where'er I meet a Douglas, that Douglas will be to me as a brother."
"Nay, nay," the Lord of Tantallon replied, "not so; I have two sons in the field armed against your king. They fight for James of Scotland; you for Henry of England.
"'And, if thou meet'st them under shield, Upon them bravely,--do thy worst; And foul fall him that blenches first!"
They parted; De Wilton to Surrey's camp, the Douglas to his castle to ponder on the strange events of the past few days, and Clare to weep in loneliness.
It was yet early when Marmion ordered his train to be ready for the southward march. He had safe pass-ports for all, given under the royal seal of James. Douglas provided a guide as far as Surrey's camp. The ancient earl, with stately grace, placed the Lady Clare on her palfrey and whispered in her ear, "The falcon's prey has flown."
As adieus were about to be said, Lord Marmion began:
"In the treatment received, I, your guest, by your king's command, might well complain of coldness, indifference, and disrespect; but I let it pass, hoping that,
"'Part we in friendship from your land; And, noble Earl, receive my hand.'-- But Douglas round him drew his cloak, Folded his arms, and thus he spoke:-- 'My manors, halls, and bowers, shall still Be open, at my sovereign's will, To each one who he lists, howe'er Unmeet to be the owner's peer.
My castles are my King's alone, From turret to foundation-stone-- The hand of Douglas is his own; And never shall in friendly grasp, The hand of such as Marmion clasp.'"--
"Burn'd Marmion's swarthy cheek like fire, And shook his very frame for ire, And,--'This to me!' he said,-- 'An 'twere not for thy hoary beard, Such hand as Marmion's had not spared To cleave the Douglas' head!
And, first, I tell thee, haughty peer, He, who does England's message here, Although the meanest in her state, May well, proud Angus, be thy mate: Even in thy pitch of pride, Here in thy hold, thy vassals near-- I tell thee, thou'rt defied!
And if thou said'st, I am not peer To any lord in Scotland here, Lord Angus, thou hast lied!'
On the Earl's cheek, a flush of rage O'ercame the ashen hue of age: Fierce he broke forth,--And dare'st thou then To beard the lion in his den, The Douglas in his hall?
And hop'st thou thence unscathed to go?--Up drawbridge, grooms--what, Warder, ho!
Let the portcullis fall.'
Lord Marmion turned--well was his need, And dash'd the rowels in his steed."
A swallow does not more lightly skim the air, than Marmion's steed flew along the drawbridge. The man drew rein when he had reached the train, turned, clenched his fists, shouted defiance, and shook his gauntlet at the towers where so lately he had been a guest.
"To horse! to horse!" cried Douglas. "Let the chase be up." Then relenting, he smiled bitterly, saying, "He came a royal messenger. Bold can he talk and fairly ride, and I doubt not he will fight well."
Slowly the Earl sought the castle walls, that frowned still more gloomily, no longer brightened by the young and beautiful Lady Clare.
As the day wore on, Marmion's passion wore off, and scanning his little band, he missed the Palmer. From young Blount he demanded an explanation of the guide's absence.
"The Palmer, in good sooth, parted from Douglas at dawn of day. If a Palmer he is, he set out in strange guise," replied the youth.
"What mean you?" quickly demanded Marmion.
"My Lord, I can ill interpret what I say. All night I was disturbed in my sleep, as if by workmen forging armor. At dawn, hearing the drawbridge fall, I looked from a loophole and saw old Bell-the-Cat, wrapped in sables, come from Tantallon keep. The wind blew aside the fur mantle, and I beheld beneath it, a suit of rusty mail, which I am sure must have done bloody work against Saracen and Turk. Last night that armor did not hang in Tantallon hall. Next, I saw Old Cheviot, Douglas's matchless steed, led forth, sheathed in bright armor. The Palmer sprang to the saddle, Lord Angus wished him speed, and as he bowed and bent in graceful farewells, I could but think how strongly that Palmer resembled the young knight you overthrew at Cottiswold."
A sudden light broke upon Marmion. "Dastard! fool! I, to reason lost, when I rode to meet a fay, a ghost, on Gifford's moor. It was this Palmer fiend, De Wilton in disguise, I met. Had I but fought as is my wont, one thrust had placed him where he would never cross my path again. Now he has told my tale to Douglas. This is why I was treated with scorn. I almost fear to meet my Lord Surrey. I must avoid the Lady Clare, and separate Constance from the nuns.
"O, what a tangled web we weave, When first we practice to deceive!
A Palmer too!--no wonder why I felt rebuked beneath his eye: I might have known there was but one Whose look could quell Lord Marmion!"
Stung with these thoughts, he urged on his troop, and at nightfall reached the Tweed, closing the march of the day at Lennel convent. Here Marmion, his train, and Lady Clare, were given entertainment for the night.
"'Next morn, the baron climb'd the tower, To view afar the Scottish power, Encamped on Flodden edge: The white pavilions made a show, Like remnants of the winter snow, Along the dusky ridge.
Lord Marmion look'd:--at length his eye Unusual movement might descry.
Their ranks inclining, wheeling, bending, Now drawing back, and now descending, The skilful Marmion well could know, They watched the motions of some foe."
Even so it was. The Scots from Flodden ridge saw the English host leave Barmore-wood and cross the river Till. Why did Scotland's hosts stand idle? What checked the fiery James, that he sat inactive on his steed and saw Surrey place the English army between Scotland and Scotland's army? O Douglas! O Wallace! O Bruce! for one hour of thy leadership to rule the fight! The precious hour passed,--the hour when in crossing the river, the English might have been destroyed.
"From fate's dark book a leaf been torn, And Flodden had been Bannockbourne!"
Fitz-Eustace called to Blount, and both to Marmion,
"'Lord Surrey's o'er the Till!'"
The spirit of war flowed in every vein. Marmion flung himself into the saddle, scarce bade adieu to the good Abbot, commanded the young knight to escort the Lady Clare, and dashed on to the Tweed. The river must be crossed. Down to the deep and dangerous ford, he ventured desperately.
Foremost of all, he gallantly entered and stemmed the tide. Eustace held Clare upon her saddle, and old Hubert reined her horse. Stoutly they braved the current, and though carried far down the stream, they gained the opposite bank.
The train followed. Each held his bow high over his head, and well he might. Every string that day needed to be unharmed by moisture, that it might ring sharply in the coming combat.
Marmion rested a moment, only to bathe his horse, then halted not until Surrey's rear guard was reached. Here on a hillock, by a cross of stone, they could survey the field.
"The hillock gain'd, Lord Marmion stayed: 'Here, by this cross,' he gently said, 'You well may view the scene.
Here shalt thou tarry, lovely Clare: Oh! think of Marmion in thy prayer!
Thou wilt not? well,--no less my care Shall, watchful, for thy weal prepare.
You, Blount and Eustace, are her guard, With ten picked archers of my train; With England if the day go hard, To Berwick speed amain.
But if we conquer, cruel maid, My spoils shall at your feet be laid, When here we meet again."
He waited for no answer, but dashed over the plain to Lord Surrey, who met him with delight.
"Welcome, good Lord Marmion; brief greeting must serve in time of need.
With Stanley, I myself, have charge of the central division of the army, Tunstall, stainless knight, directs the rearward, and the vanguard alone needs your gallant command."
"Thanks, noble Surrey," Marmion said, and darted forward like a thunderbolt. At the van, arose cheer on cheer, "Marmion! Marmion!" so shrill, so high, as to startle the Scottish foe.
Eustace and Blount sadly thought,
"'Unworthy office here to stay!
No hope of gilded spurs to-day.'"