A Prince of Good Fellows. Robert BarrЧитать онлайн книгу.
put mine forward in making the request,” said Ballengeich.
“Aye, but not as one of the deputation.”
“Very well,” agreed the laird in an offhand manner, “if you make a point of it, I have no objection to saying that I shall make one of the concert. I only proposed to keep out of it, because it is always wise to have an unbiased person to put in his word at a critical moment, and it seems to me important to have such a person on the outside. But it shall be exactly as you please; I care little one way or the other. I have made my proposal, and with you rests the acceptance or the rejection of it. If you think it safer to kidnap a king than to have a friendly chat with him, amicably arranged beforehand, then all I can say is, that I don’t in the least agree with you. Please yourselves; please yourselves. We have but one neck apiece, and surely we can risk it in the manner that brings us most content.”
“There is wisdom in what the laird says,” cried one of the more moderate party. “I never liked the kidnapping idea.”
“Nor I,” said the cobbler. “It was but a wild Hielan’ notion.”
“My project has this advantage,” continued Ballengeich with nonchalant impartiality, “that if it does not succeed, you can then fall back upon abduction. Nothing in this proposal interferes with the ultimate carrying out of your first plan.”
“It is putting our heads in the lion’s mouth,” objected the leader, but in the discussion that followed he was outvoted. Then came the choosing of the delegates, on which rock the enterprise was nearly wrecked, for there seemed to be no anxiety on the part of any four present to form the committee of expostulation which was to meet the monarch. At last it was decided that all should go, if Ballengeich could produce a written safe-conduct signed by the king, which would include eleven persons.
Within three days this document was placed in the hands of the cobbler by Ballengeich, who told him that it had been signed that morning. And he added that the king had expressed himself as well pleased to receive a deputation of his loyal subjects.
The cobbler handled the passport gingerly, as if he were not altogether assured of its potency to protect him.
“The conference is for Wednesday at midday,” said Ballengeich. “Assemble some minutes before that hour in the courtyard of the castle, and you will be conducted to the Presence.”
“Wednesday!” echoed the cobbler, his face turning pale. “Why Wednesday, the day of our weekly meetings? Did you suggest it?”
“It was the king’s suggestion, of course,” replied Ballengeich. “It is merely a coincidence, and is, I think, a good omen.”
“I wish I were sure of it,” moaned the cobbler.
Before the bell rang twelve the conspirators were gathered together in the courtyard of Castle Stirling; huddled would perhaps be the more accurate word, for they were eleven very frightened men. More than one cast longing looks towards the gate by which they had come in, but some places are easier to enter than to leave, and the portal was well guarded by stalwart soldiers.
As the bell slowly tolled twelve, an official came from the palace into the courtyard, searched the delegation for concealed weapons, and curtly commanded them to follow him. Climbing the stone stairway they were ushered into a large room containing a long oaken table with five chairs on one side and six on the other. At the head of the table was a high-backed seat resembling a throne. The official left them standing there alone, and after he had closed the door they heard the ominous sound of bolts being thrust into their places. The silence which followed seemed oppressive; almost suffocating. No man spoke, but each stood like a statue holding his cap in his hand. At last the tension was broken, but it would scarcely be correct to say that it was relieved. The heavy curtains parted and the king entered the room, clad in the imposing robes of his high state. A frown was on his brow, and he advanced straight from the doorway to the throne at the head of the table, without speaking or casting a glance at any one of the eleven. When he had seated himself he said gruffly,—
“There is a chair for each of you; sit down.”
It is doubtful if any of the company, except the cobbler, at first recognised their ruler as the alleged Laird of Ballengeich; but at the sound of the monarch’s voice several started and looked anxiously one at another. Again the king addressed them,—
“A week ago to-night I met you in Flemming’s room. I appointed this day for the conference that the routine of your meetings might not be disturbed, as I thought it well that the last of your rebellious gatherings should be held in the Castle of Stirling, for I am resolved that this conclave shall be your final effort in treason. One of your number has stated that the word of a Stuart is not to be trusted. This reputation appears to have descended to me, and it is a pity I should not take advantage of it.”
When the king ceased speaking he lifted a small mallet and smote a resounding bell, which was on the table before him. A curtain parted and two men entered bearing between them a block covered with black cloth; this they placed silently in the centre of the floor and withdrew. Again the king smote the bell and there entered a masked executioner with a gleaming axe over his shoulder. He took his place beside the block, resting the head of his axe on the floor.
“This,” continued the king, “is the entertainment I have provided for you. Each of you shall taste of that,” and he pointed to the heading block.
The cobbler rose unsteadily to his feet, drawing from his bosom with trembling fingers the parchment bearing the king’s signature. He moistened his dry lips with his tongue, then spoke in a low voice.
“Sir,” he said, “we are here under safe conduct from the king.”
“Safe conduct to where?” cried James angrily, “that is the point. I stand by the document; read it; read it!”
“Sir, it says safe conduct for eleven men here present, under protection of your royal word.”
“You do not keep to the point, cobbler,” shouted the king bringing his fist down on the table. “Safe conduct to where? I asked. The parchment does not say safe conduct back into Stirling again. Safe conduct to Heaven, or elsewhere, was what I guaranteed.”
“That is but an advocate’s quibble, your majesty. Safe conduct is a phrase well understood by high and low alike. But we have placed our heads in the lion’s mouth, as our leader said last Wednesday night, and we cannot complain if now his jaws are shut. Nevertheless I would respectfully submit to your majesty that I alone of those present doubted a Stuart’s word, and am like to have my doubts practically confirmed. I would also point out to your majesty that my comrades would not have been here had I not trusted the Master of Ballengeich, and through him the king, therefore, I ask you to let me alone pay the penalty of my error, and allow my friends to go scatheless from the grim walls of Stirling.”
“There is reason in what you say,” replied the king. “Are you all agreed to that?” he asked of the others.
“No, by God,” cried the leader springing to his feet and smiting the table with his fist as lustily as the king had done. “We stand together, or fall together. The mistake was ours as much as his, and we entered these gates with our eyes open.”
“Headsman,” said the king, “do your duty.”
The headsman whipped off the black cloth and displayed underneath it a box containing a large jug surrounded by eleven drinking-horns. Those present, all now on their feet, glanced with amazement from the masked man to the king. The sternness had vanished from his majesty’s face, as if a dark cloud had passed from the sun and allowed it to shine again. There sparkled in the king’s eye all the jubilant mischief of the incorrigible boy, and his laughter rang to the ceiling. Somewhat recovering his gravity he stretched out his hand and pointed a finger at the cobbler.
“I frightened you, Flemming,” he cried. “I frightened you; don’t deny it. I’ll wager my gold crown against a weaver’s woollen bonnet, I frightened