WHEN Baliol arrived within
a few miles of Château Galliard, he pointed to a wooded part of the
forest, and told the friends, that under its groves they had best shelter
themselves till the sun set; soon after which he should expect them at the
castle.
Long indeed seemed the
interval. It usually happens, that in contemplating a project, while the
period of its execution appears distant, we think on it with composure;
but when the time of action is near, when we only wait the approach of an
auxiliary, or the lapse of an hour, every passing
moment seems an age; and the impatient soul is ready to break every bound,
to grasp the completion of its enterprise. So Wallace now felt—felt as
he had never done before; for in all his warlike exploits, each
achievement had immediately followed the moment of resolve; but here he
was delayed, to grow in ardour as he contemplated an essay, in which every
generous principle of man was summoned into action. He was going to rescue
a helpless woman from the hands of a man of violence; she was also the
daughter of his first ally in the great struggle for Scotland, and who had
fallen in the cause. Glad was he then, to see the sun sink behind the
distant hills. At that moment, he and his friend closed their visors,
mounted their horses, and set off on full speed towards the château.
When they came in
view of the antique towers of Galliard, they slackened their pace, and
leisurely advanced to the gates. The bugle of Wallace demanded admittance;
a courteous assent was brought by the warder; the gates unfolded, the
friends entered; and in the next instant they were conducted into a room
where Baliol sat. De Valence was walking to and fro in a great chafe: he
started at sight of the princely armour of Wallace; (for he, as Baliol had
done, now conceived, from the lilied diadem, that the stranger must be of
the royal house of France;) and composing his turbulent spirit, he bowed
respectfully to the supposed prince. Wallace returned the salutation; and
Baliol, rising, accosted him with a dignified welcome. He saw the mistake
of De Valence, and perceived how greatly it might facilitate the execution
of their project.
On his host’s return to
the château, De Valence had received him with more than his former
insolence; for the governor of Rouen had sent him information of the
despised monarch’s discontent—and when the despotic lord heard a bugle
at the gate, and learned that it was answered by the admission of two
travelling knights, he flew to Baliol in displeasure, commanding him to
recall his granted leave.—At the moment of his wrath, Wallace entered,
and covered him with confusion. Struck, at seeing a French prince, in one
of the persons he was going to treat with such indignity, he shrunk into
himself; and bowed before him, with all the cowering meanness of a base
and haughty soul. Wallace, feeling his real preeminence, bent his head in
acknowledgment, with a majesty which convinced the Earl that he was not
mistaken. Baliol welcomed his guest, in a manner not to dispel the
illusion.
"Happy am
I," cried he, "that the hospitality, which John Baliol intended
to show to a mere traveller, confers on him the distinction of serving one
of a race, whose favour confers protection, and its friendship, honour."
Wallace returned a gracious reply to this speech; and turning to Bruce,
said, "This knight is my friend; and though from peculiar
circumstances, neither of us choose to disclose our names during our
journey; yet, whatever they may be, I trust you will confide in the word
of one, whom you have honoured by the address you have now made! and,
believe, that his friend is not unworthy the hospitalities of him who was
once King of Scots."
De Valence now approached;
and announcing who he was, assured the knights in the name of the King of
England, whom he was going to represent in Guienne, of every respect from
himself, and assistance from his retinue, to bring them properly on their
way. "I return you the thanks due to your courtesy," replied
Wallace; "and shall certainly remain to-night a burden on King Baliol;
but in the morning we must depart as we came; having a vow to perform,
which excludes the service of attendants."
A splendid supper was
served, at the board of which De Valence sat, as well as Baliol. From the
moment that the strangers entered, the English Earl never withdrew; so
cautious was he to prevent Baliol informing his illustrious guests,
of the captivity of Lady Helen Mar. Wallace ate nothing; he sat with his
visor still closed; and almost in profound silence, never speaking but
when spoken to, and then only answering in as few words as possible. De
Valence supposed that this taciturnity was connected with his vow, and did
not further remark it; but Bruce (who at Caen had furnished himself with a
complete suit of black armour) appeared, though equally invisible under
his visor, infinitely more accessible. The humbler fashion of his martial
accoutrement, did not announce the prince; but his carriage was so noble,
his conversation bespoke so accomplished a mind, and brave a spirit, that
De Valence did not doubt that both the men before him were of the royal
family. He had never seen Charles de Valois: and believing that he now saw
him in Wallace, he directed all that discourse to Bruce, which he meant
should reach the ear of De Valois; and from him, pass to that of the King
of France. Bruce guessed what was passing in his mind; and with as much
amusement, as design, led forward the Earl’s mistake: but rather by
allowing him to deceive himself, than by any actual means on his side to
increase the deception. De Valence threw out hints
respecting a frontier town in Guienne, which, he said, he thought his
royal master could be persuaded to yield to the French monarch, as
naturally belonging to Gascony. But then the affair must be properly
represented, he added; and had he motive enough to investigate some
parchments in his possession, he believed he could place the affair in a
true light, and convince Edward of the superior claims of the French king.
Then casting out hints of the claim he had, by right of his ancestors, to
the seigniory of Valence in Dauphiny, he gave them to understand, that if
Philip would invest him with the revenues of Valence on the Rhone, he
would engage that the other town in question, should be delivered to
France.
Notwithstanding Baliol’s
resolution to keep awake, and assist his friends in their enterprise, he
was so overcome by fatigue, that he fell asleep soon after supper; and so
gave De Valence full opportunity to unveil his widely grasping mind to the
Scottish chiefs. Wallace now saw that the execution of his project must
depend wholly upon himself; and how to inform Helen that he was in the
castle, and of his plan to get her out of it, hardly occupied him more,
than what to devise to detain De Valence in the banqueting-room, while he
went forth to prosecute his design. As these thoughts absorbed him, by an
unconscious movement he turned towards the English Earl. De Valence
paused, and looked at him, supposing he was going to speak; but finding
him still silent, the Earl addressed him, though with some hesitation;
feeling an inexplicable awe of directly saying to him, what he had so
easily uttered to his more approachable companion. "I seek not,
illustrious stranger;" said he, "to inquire the name, you have
already intimated must be concealed; but I have sufficient faith in that
brilliant circlet around your brows, to be convinced (as none other than
the royal hand of Philip could bestow it) that it distinguishes a man of
the first honour. You now know my sentiments, Prince; and for the
advantage of both kings, I confide them to your services." Wallace
rose: "Whether I am prince or vassal;" replied he, "my
services shall ever be given in the cause of justice; and of that, Earl de
Valence, you will be convinced when next you hear of me. My friend,"
cried he, turning to Bruce, "you will remain with our host: I go to
perform the vigils of my vow."
Bruce understood him. It
was not merely with their host he was to remain, but to detain De Valence;
and opening at once the versatile powers of his abundant mind, his
vivacity charmed the Earl; while the magnificence of his views in policy,
corroborated to De Valence the idea that he was conversing with one, whose
birth had placed him beyond even the temptations of those ambitions, which
were at that moment subjecting his auditor’s soul to every species of
flattery, meanness, and, in fact, disloyalty. Bruce, in his turn, listened
with much apparent interest to all De Valence’s dreams of aggrandisement;
and recollecting his reputation for a love of wine, he replenished the
Earl’s goblet so often, that the fumes made him forget all reserves; and
after pouring forth the whole history of his attachment to Helen, and his
resolution to subdue her abhorrence, by love and grandeur, he gradually
lowered his key, and at last fell fast asleep.
Meanwhile Wallace, wrapped
himself in Baliol’s blue cloak, which lay in the anteroom; and
enveloping even his helmet in the friendly mantle, he moved swiftly along
the gallery towards the chamber of Helen. To be prepared for obstacles, he
had obtained from Baliol a particular description of the situation of
every apartment leading to it. it was now within an hour of midnight. He
passed through several large vacant rooms, and at last arrived at the
important door. It opened into a small chamber, in which two female
attendants lay asleep. He gently raised the latch; and, with caution
taking the lamp which burnt on the table, glided softly through the
curtains which filled the cedar arch that led into the apartment of Helen.
He approached the bed, covering the light with his hand, while he observed
her. She was in a profound sleep, but pale as the sheet which enveloped
her :—her countenance seemed troubled, her brows frequently knit
themselves, and she started as she dreamt, as if in apprehension. Once he
heard her lips faintly murmur, "Save me, my father! on you alone—"
there she stopped. His heart bled at this appeal. "Thy father’s
friend comes to save thee;" he would have cried, but he checked the
exclamation :—his hand dropped at the same instant from before the lamp
and the blaze striking full on her eyes, waked her.—She looked up; she
believed her dream realised; De Valence leaning over her bed, and herself
wholly in his power! A shriek of honor was bursting from her lips, when
Wallace hastily raised his visor.—At the moment when despair was in her
orphan heart, and her whole soul turned with abhorrence from the supposed
De Valence, she met the eyes dearest to her on earth—those of indeed her
father’s friend!—Stretching forth her arms, for an instant she seemed
flying to the protection of him to whose honour she had been bequeathed;
but falling back again on her bed, the glad surprise of seeing him, who in
her estimation was her only earthly security now that her father was no
more, shook her with such emotion, that Wallace feared to see her delicate
frame sink into some deadly swoon. Alarmed for her life, or the
accomplishment of her deliverance, he threw himself on his knees beside
her, and softly whispered, "Be composed, for the love of Heaven, and
your own safety. Be collected and firm, and you shall fly this place with
me to-night." Hardly conscious of the action, Helen grasped the hand
that held hers, and would have replied; but her voice failing, she fainted
on his arm. Wallace now saw no alternative but to remove her hence, even
in this insensible state; and, raising her gently in his arms, enveloped
in the silk coverlid, with cautious steps, he bore her through the
curtained entrance, and passed the sleeping damsels, into the ante-rooms.
To meet any of De Valence’s men, while in this situation, would betray
all. To avoid this, he hastened through the illuminated passages, and
turning into the apartment appointed for himself, laid the now reviving
Helen upon a conch. "Water;" said she; "and I shall soon be
myself again." He gave her some; and at the same time laying a page’s
suit of clothes (which Baliol had provided) beside her; "Dress
yourself in these, Lady Helen:" said he; "I shall withdraw,
meanwhile, into the passage; but your safety depends on expedition."
Before she could answer, he had
disappeared. Helen instantly threw herself on her knees, to thank a Higher
Power, for this commencement of her deliverance, and to beseech his
blessing on its consummation. She rose strengthened; and, obeying Wallace,
the moment she was equipped she laid her hand upon the latch; but the
watchful ear of her friend heard her, and he immediately opened the door.
The lamps of the gallery shone full upon the light grace of her figure, as
shrinking with blushing modesty, and yet eager to be with her preserver,
she stood hesitating before him. He threw his cloak over her, and putting
her arm through his, in the unobscured blaze of his princely armour, he
descended to the lower hall of the castle. One man only was there. Wallace
ordered him to open the great door.—"It is a fine night," said
he, "and I shall ride some miles before I sleep."—The man
asked if he were to saddle the horses ;—he was answered in the
affirmative; and the gate being immediately unbarred, Wallace led his
precious charge into the freedom of the open air. As soon as she saw the
outside of those towers, which she had entered as the worst of all
prisoners, her heart so overflowed with gratitude to her deliverer, that
sinking by his side upon her knees, she could only grasp his hand, and
bathe it with the pure tears of rescued innocence. Her manner penetrated
his soul; he raised her in his arms: but she, dreading that she had
perhaps done too much, convulsively articulated—"My father—his
blessing—" —"Was a rich endowment, Lady Helen;"
returned Wallace, "and you shall ever find me deserving it." Her
head leaned on his breast. But how different was the lambent flame which
seemed to emanate from either heart, as they now beat against each other,
from the destructive fire which shot from
the burning veins of Lady Mar; when she would have polluted with her
unchaste lips, this shrine of a beloved wife, this bosom consecrated to
her sacred image !—. Wallace had shrunk from her, as from the touch of
some hideous contagion; but with Lady Helen, it was soul meeting soul; it
was innocence, resting on the bosom of virtue. No thought that saints
would not have approved, was there; no emotion, which angels might not
have shared, glowed in their grateful bosoms—she, grateful to him; both
grateful to God.
The man brought the horses from the
stable. He knew that two strangers had arrived at the castle, and not
noticing Helen’s stature, supposed they were both before him. He had
been informed by the servants, that the taller of the two was the Count de
Valois; and he now held the stirrup for him to mount.—But Wallace placed
Helen on Bruce’s horse; and then vaulting on his own, put a piece of
gold into the attendant’s hand. "You will return, noble Prince
?" inquired the man. "Why should you doubt it?" answered
Wallace. "Because;" replied the servant, "I wish the
brother of the King of France, to know the foul deeds which are doing in
his dominions."—" By whom?1" asked Wallace, surprised at
this address.—"By the Earl de Valence, Prince;" answered he;
"he has now in this castle a beautiful lady, whom he brought from a
foreign land, and treats in a manner unbecoming a knight, or a man."—"And
what would you have me do?" said Wallace, willing to judge whether
this applicant were honest in his appeal. "Come in the power of your
royal brother," answered he, "and demand the Lady Helen Mar of
Lord de Valence."
"Helen, who had listened with
trepidation to this dialogue, drew nearer Wallace, and whispered in an
agitated voice, "Ah! let us hasten away!" The man was close
enough to hear her. "Hah !" cried he, in a burst of doubtful
joy: "is it so? Is she here? say so, noble knight, and Joppa Grimsby
will serve ye both for ever!" "Grimsby!" cried Helen,
recollecting his voice, the moment he had declared his name: "What!
the honest English soldier ?—I, and my preserver, will indeed value so
trusty a follower."
The name of Grimsby, was
too familiar to the memory of Wallace, too closely associated with his
most cherished meditations, for him not to recognise it with melancholy
pleasure. He had never seen Grimsby, but he knew him well worthy of his
confidence; and ordered him (if he really desired to follow Lady Helen) to
bring two more horses from the stables.—When they were brought, Wallace
made the joyful signal concerted with Bruce and Baliol-—to sound the
Scottish pryse, as soon as he and his fair charge were out of the castle.
The happy tidings met the ear of the
Prince, while anxiously watching the sleep of De Valence, for fear he
should awake and, leaving the room, interrupt Wallace in his enterprise.
What then was his transport, when the first note of the horn burst upon
the silence around him !— He sprang on his feet. The impetuosity of the
action roused Baliol; who had been lying all the while sound asleep in his
chair. Bruce made a sign to him to be silent; and pressing his hand with
energy, forgot the former Baliol in the present, and, for a moment bending
his knee, kissed the hand he held; then, rising—disappeared in an
instant.
He flew through the open
gates. Wallace perceiving him, rode out from under the shadow of the
trees. The bright light of the moon shone on his sparkling crest:-
that was sufficient for Bruce, and
Wallace falling back into the shade, was joined the next moment by Grimbsy.
Who this friend was, for whom her deliverer has helped Helen he waited,
she did not ask; for she dreaded, while so near danger, to breathe a word:
but she guessed that it must be either Murray or Edwin. De Valence had
barbarously told her, that not only her father was no more, but that her
uncles, the Lords Bothwell and Ruthven, had both been killed in the last
battle. Hence, with a saddened joy, one of her two bereaved cousins, she
now prepared to see ;—and every filial recollection pressing on her
heart, her tears flowed silently and in abundance. As Bruce approached,
his black mantle so wrapped him she could not distinguish his figure.
Wallace stretched forth his hand to him in silence; he grasped it with the
warm but mute congratulation of friendship; and throwing himself on his
horse, triumphantly exclaimed, "Now for Paris!" Helen recognised
none she knew, in that voice; and drawing close to the white courser of
Wallace; with something like disappointment mingling with her happier
thoughts, she made her horse keep pace with the fleetness of her
companions.
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