without looking to the right hand or to the left, marched straight up
the hall and along the dais, until he came to where Princess Jean sat;
then he stooped down and whispered something to her.
In a moment the Princess' pale face was like a damask rose, and, taking
a glass full of ruby-red wine in one hand, and a farl of cake in the
other, she rose, and walked straight out of the hall.
"By my faith," said King Aylmer, who was startled by the look on his
daughter's face, "something hath fallen out, I ween, which may change
the whole course of events," and he rose and followed her, accompanied
by the Ambassador and all the great nobles.
At the head of the staircase they stopped and watched the Princess as
she went down the stairs and across the courtyard, her long white robe
trailing behind her, with the cup of ruby-red wine in one hand, and the
farl of cake in the other.
When she came to the gateway, there was no one there but a poor old
beggar man, and all the foreign noblemen looked at each other and shook
their heads, and said, "Certs, but it misdoubts us if this bride will
please our young Prince, if she is wont to disturb a court banquet
because she must needs serve beggars with her own hands."
But Princess Jean heard none of this. With trembling hands she held out
the food to the beggar. He raised the wine to his lips, and pledged the
fair bride before he drank it, and when he handed the glass back to her,
lo! in the bottom of it lay the gold ring which she had given to her
lover Hynde Horn, seven long years before.
"Oh," she cried breathlessly, snatching it out of the glass, "tell me
quickly, I pray thee, where thou didst find this? Was't on the sea, or
in a far-off land, and was the hand that it was taken from alive or
"Nay, noble lady," answered the beggar, and at the sound of his voice
Princess Jean grew pale again, "I did not get it on the sea, or in a
far-off land, but in this country, and from the hand of a fair lady. It
was a pledge of love, noble Princess, which I had given to me seven long
years ago, and the diamonds were to be tokens of the brightness and
constancy of that love. For seven long years they have gleamed and
sparkled clearly, but now they are dim, and losing their brightness, so
I fear me that my lady's love is waning and growing cold."
Then Princess Jean knew all, and she tore the circlet of gold from her
head and knelt on the cold stones at his feet, and cried, "Hynde Horn,
my own Hynde Horn, my love is not cold, neither is it dim; but thou wert
so long in coming, and they said it was my duty to marry someone else.
But now, even if thou art a beggar, I will be a beggar's wife, and
follow thee from place to place, and we can harp and sing for our
Hynde Horn laughed a laugh that was pleasant to hear, and he threw off
the beggar's cloak, and, behold, he was dressed as gaily as any gallant
in the throng.
"There is no need of that, Sweetheart," he said. "I did it but to try
thee. I have not been idle these seven years; I have killed the wicked
King, and come into my own again, and I have fought and conquered the
Saracens in the East, and I have gold enough and to spare."
Then he drew her arm within his, and they crossed the courtyard together
and began to ascend the stairs. Suddenly old Athelbras, the steward,
raised his cap and shouted, "It is Hynde Horn, our own Hynde Horn," and
then there was such a tumult of shouting and cheering that everyone was
nearly deafened. Even the Ambassador from Eastnesse and all his train
joined in it, although they knew that now Princess Jean would never
marry their Prince; but they could not help shouting, for everyone
looked so happy.
And the next day there was another great banquet prepared, and riders
were sent all over the country to tell the people everywhere to rejoice,
for their Princess was being married, not to any stranger, but to her
old lover, Hynde Horn, who had come back in time after all.
THE GAY GOS-HAWK
"'Oh weel is me, my gay gos-hawk,
If your feathering be sheen!'
'Oh waly, waly, my master dear,
But ye look pale and lean!'"
It was the beautiful month of June, and among the bevy of fair maidens
who acted as maids-of-honour to Queen Margaret at Windsor, there was
none so fair as the Lady Katherine, the youngest of them all.
As she joined in a game of bowls in one of the long alleys under the elm
trees, or rode out, hawk on wrist, in the great park near the castle,
her merry face, with its rosy cheeks and sparkling blue eyes, was a
pleasure to see. She had gay words for everyone, even for the
sharp-tongued, grave-faced old Baroness who acted as governess to the
Queen's maids, and kept a sharp lookout lest any of the young ladies
under her charge should steal too shy glances at the pages and
gentlemen-at-arms who waited on the King.
The old lady loved her in return, and pretended to be blind when she
noticed, what every maid-of-honour had noticed for a fortnight, that
there was one Knight in particular who was always at hand to pick up
Lady Katherine's balls for her, or to hold her palfrey's rein if she
wanted to alight, when she was riding in the forest.
This gallant Knight was not one of the King's gentlemen, but the son of
a Scottish earl, who had been sent to Windsor with a message from the
King of Scotland.
Lord William, for that was his name, was so tall, and strong, and brave,
and manly, it was no wonder that little Lady Katherine fell in love with
him, and preferred him to all the young English lords who were longing
to lay their hearts at her feet.
So things went merrily on, in the pleasant June weather, until one sunny
afternoon, when Lady Katherine was riding slowly through the park, under
the shady beech trees, with Lord William, as usual, by her side. He was
telling her how much he loved her, a story which he had told her very
often before, and describing the old ivy-covered gray castle, far away
in the North, where he would take her to live some day, when a little
page, clad all in Lincoln green, ran across the park and bowed as he
stopped at the palfrey's side. "Pardon, my lady," he said breathlessly,
"but the Baroness Anne sent me to carry tidings to thee that thy Duchess
mother hath arrived, and would speak with thee at once."
Then the bright red roses faded from the poor little lady's cheeks, for
she knew well that the Duchess, who was not her real mother, but only
her step-mother, wished her no good. Sorrowfully she rode up to the
castle, Lord William at her side, and it seemed to both of them as if
the little birds had stopped singing, and the sun had suddenly grown
And it was indeed terrible tidings that the little maiden heard when she
reached the room where her stern-faced step-mother awaited her. An old
Marquis, a friend of her father's, who was quite old enough to be her
grandfather, had announced his wish to marry her, and, as she had five
sisters at home, all waiting to get a chance to become maids-of-honour,
and see a little of the world, her step-mother thought it was too good
an opportunity to let slip, and she had come to fetch her home.
In vain poor Lady Katherine threw herself at the Duchess's feet, and
besought her to let her marry the gallant Scottish knight. Her ladyship
only curled her lip and laughed. "Marry a beggarly Scot!" she said. "Not
as long as I have any power in thy father's house. No, no, wench, thou
knowest not what is for thy good. Where is thy waiting-maid? Let her
pack up thy things at once; thou hast tarried here long enough, I trow."
So Lady Katherine was carted off, bag and baggage, to the great turreted
mansion on the borders of Wales, where her five sisters and her
grandfatherly old lover were waiting for her, without ever having a
chance of bidding Lord William farewell.
As for that noble youth, he mounted his horse, and called his
men-at-arms together, and straightway rode away to Scotland, and never
halted till he reached the old gray castle, three days' ride over the
Border. When he arrived there he shut himself up in the great square
tower where his own apartments were, and frightened his family by
growing so pale and thin that they declared he must have caught some
fever in England, and had come home to die. In vain the Earl, his
father, tried to persuade him to ride out with him to the chase; he
cared for nothing but to be left alone to sit in the dim light of his
own room, and dream of his lost love.
Now Lord William was fond of all living things, horses, and dogs, and
birds; but one pet he had, which he loved above all the others, and that
was a gay gos-hawk which he had found caught in a snare, one day, and
had set free, and tamed, and which always sat on a perch by his window.
One evening, when he was sitting dreaming sadly of the days at Windsor,
stroking his favourite's plumage meanwhile, he was startled to hear the
bird begin to speak. "What mischance hath befallen thee, my master?" it
said, "that thou lookest so pale and unhappy. Hast been defeated in a
tourney by some Southron loon, or dost still mourn for that fair maiden,
the lovely Lady Katherine? Can I not help thee?"
Then a strange light shone in Lord William's eye, and he looked at the
bird thoughtfully as it nestled closer to his heart.
"Thou shalt help me, my gay gos-hawk," he whispered, "for, for this
reason, methinks, thou hast received the gift of speech. Thy wings are
strong, and thou canst go where I cannot, and bring no harm to my love.
Thou shalt carry a letter to my dear one, and bring back an answer," and
in delight at the thought, the young man rose and walked up and down the
room, the gos-hawk preening its wings on his shoulder, and crooning
softly to itself.
"But how shall I know thy love?" it said at last.
"Ah, that is easy," answered Lord William. "Thou must fly up and down
merrie England, especially where any great mansion is, and thou canst
not mistake her. She is the fairest flower of all the fair flowers that
that fair land contains. Her skin is white as milk, and the roses on her
cheeks are red as blood. And, outside her chamber, by a little postern,
there grows a nodding birch tree, the leaves of which dance in the
slightest breeze, and thou must perch thereon, and sing thy sweetest,
when she goes with her sisters and maids to hear Mass in the little
That night, when all the country folk were asleep, a gay gos-hawk flew
out from a window in the square tower, and sped swiftly through the
quiet air, on and on, above lonely houses, and sleeping towns, and when
the sun rose it was still flying, hovering now and then over some great
castle, or lordly manor house, but never resting long, never satisfied.
Day and night it travelled, up and down the country, till at last it
came one evening to a great mansion on the borders of Wales, in one side
of which was a tiny postern, with a high latticed window near it, and by
the door grew a birch tree, whose branches nodded up and down against
"Ah," said the gos-hawk to itself, "I will rest here." And it perched on
a branch, and put its head under its wing, and slept till morning, for
it was very tired. As soon as the sun rose, however, it was awake, with
its bright eyes ready to see whatever was to be seen.
Nor had it long to wait.
Presently the bell at the tiny chapel down by the lake began to ring,
and immediately the postern opened, and a bevy of fair maidens came
laughing out, books in hand, on their way to the morning Mass. They were
all beautiful, but the gay gos-hawk had no difficulty in telling which
was his master's love, for the Lady Katherine was the fairest of them
all, and, as soon as he saw her, he began to sing as though his little
throat would burst, and all the maidens stood still for a moment and
listened to his song.
When they returned from the little chapel he was still singing, and when
Lady Katherine went up into her chamber the song sounded more beautiful
than ever. It was a strange song too, quite unlike the song of any other
bird, for first there came a long soft note, and then a clear distinct
one, and then some other notes which were always the same, "Your love
cannot come here; your love cannot come here." So they sounded over and
over again, in Lady Katherine's ears, until the roses on her cheeks
disappeared, and she was white and trembling.
"To the dining-hall, maidens; tarry not for me," she said suddenly. "I
would fain be alone to enjoy this lovely song." And, as the fresh
morning air had made them all hungry, they obeyed her without a moment's
As soon as she was alone she ran to the window and opened it, and there,
just outside, sat a gay gos-hawk, with the most beautiful plumage that
she had ever seen.
"Oh," she cried faintly, "I cannot understand it; but something in my
heart tells me that you have seen my own dear love."
Then the gay gos-hawk put his head on one side, and whistled a merry
tune; then he looked straight into her eyes and sang a low sweet one;
then he pecked and pecked at one of his wings until the tender-hearted
little lady took hold of him gently to see if he were hurt, and who can
describe her delight and astonishment when she found a tiny letter from
Lord William tied in a little roll under his wing.
The letter was very sad, and the tears came into her eyes as she read
it. It told her how he had already sent her three letters which had
never reached her, and how he felt as if he must soon die, he was so
sick with longing for her.
When she had read it she sat for a long time thinking, with her face
buried in her hands, while the gay gos-hawk preened his feathers, and
crooned to himself on the window sill. At last she sprang to her feet,
her eyes flashing and her mouth set determinedly. Taking a beautiful
ring from her hand, she tied it with trembling fingers under the bird's
wing where the letter had been.
"Tell him that with the ring I send him my heart," she whispered
passionately, and the gay gos-hawk just gave one little nod with his
head, and then sat quite still to hear the rest of her message. "Tell
him to set his bakers and his brewers to work," she went on firmly, "to
bake rich bridal cake, and brew the wedding ale, and while they are yet
fresh I will meet him at the Kirk o' St Mary, the Kirk he hath so often
told me of."
At these words the gay gos-hawk opened his eyes a shade wider. "Beshrew
me, lady," he said to himself, "but thou talkest as if thou hadst
wings"; but he knew his duty was to act and not to talk, so with one
merry whistle he spread his wings, and flew away to the North.
That night, when all the people in the great house were asleep, the
little postern opened very gently, and a gray-cloaked figure crept
softly out. It went slowly in the shadow of the trees until it came to
the little chapel by the lake; then it ran softly and lightly through
the long grass until it reached a tiny little cottage under a spreading
oak tree. It tapped three times on the window, and presently a quavering
old voice asked who was there.
"'Tis I, Dame Ursula; 'tis thy nursling Katherine. Open to me, I pray
thee; I am in sore need of thy help."
A moment later the door was opened by a little old woman, with a white
cap, and a rosy face like a wrinkled apple.
"And what need drives my little lady to me at this time of night?" she
Then the maiden told her story, and made her request.
The old woman listened, shaking her head, and laughing to herself
meanwhile. "I can do it, I can do it," she cried, "and 'twere worth a
year's wages to see thy proud stepdame's face when thy brothers return
to tell the tale." Then she drew Lady Katherine into her tiny room, and
set her down on a three-legged stool by the smouldering fire, while she
pottered about, and made up a draught, taking a few drops of liquid from
one bottle, and a few drops from another; for this curious old woman
seemed to keep quite a number of bottles, as well as various bunches of
herbs, on a high shelf at one end of her kitchen.
At last she was finished, and, turning to the maiden, she handed her a
little phial containing a deep red-coloured mixture.
"Swallow it all at once," she chuckled, "when thou requirest the spell
to work. 'Twill last three days, and then thou wilt wake up as fresh as
Next morning the Duke and his seven sons were going a-hunting, and the
courtyard rang with merry laughter as one after another came out to
mount the horses which the pages held ready for them. The ladies were on
the terrace waiting to wave them good-bye, when, just as the Duke was
about to mount his horse, his eldest daughter, whom he loved dearly, ran
into the courtyard and knelt at his feet.
"A boon, a boon, dear father," she cried, and she looked so lovely with
her golden hair waving in the wind, and her bright eyes looking up into
his, that he felt that he could not refuse her anything.
"Ask what thou wilt, my daughter," he said kindly, laying his hand on
her head, "and I will grant it thee. Except permission to marry that
Scottish squire," he added, laughing.
"That will I never ask, Sire," she said submissively; "but though thou
forbiddest me to think of him, my heart yearns for Scotland, the country
that he told me of, and if 'tis thy will that I marry and live in
England, I would fain be buried in the North. And as I have always had
due reverence for Holy Church, I pray thee that when that day comes, as
come it must some day, that thou wilt cause a Mass to be sung at the
first Scotch kirk we come to, and that the bells may toll for me at the
second kirk, and that at the third, at the Kirk o' St Mary, thou wilt
deal out gold, and cause my body to rest there."
Then the Duke raised her to her feet.
"Talk not so, my little Katherine," he said kindly. "My Lord Marquis is
a goodly man, albeit not too young, and thou wilt be a happy wife and
mother yet; but if 'twill ease thy heart, child, I will remember thy
fancy." Then the kind old man rode away, and Katherine went back to her
"What wert thou asking, girl?" asked her jealous step-mother with a
frown as she passed.
"That I may be buried in Scotland when my time comes to die," said
Katherine, bowing low, with downcast eyes, for in those days maidens had
to order themselves lowly to their elders, even although they were
"And did he grant thy strange request?" went on the Duchess, looking
suspiciously at the girl's burning cheeks.
"Yes, an' it please thee, Madam," answered her step-daughter meekly, and
then with another low curtsey she hurried off to her own room, not
waiting to hear the lady's angry words: "I wish, proud maiden, that I
had had the giving of the answer, for, by my troth, I would have turned
a deaf ear to thy request. Buried in Scotland, forsooth! Thou hast a
lover in Scotland, and it is he thou art hankering after, and not a
Two hours afterwards, when the Duke and his sons came back from hunting,
they found the castle in an uproar. All the servants were running about,
wringing their hands, and crying; and indeed it was little wonder, for
had not Lady Katherine's waiting-woman, when she went into her young
lady's room at noon, found her lying cold and white on her couch, and no
one had been able to rouse her? When the poor old Duke heard this, he
rushed up to her chamber, followed by all his seven sons; and when he
saw her lying there, so white, and still, he covered his face with his
hands, and cried out that his little Katherine, his dearly loved
daughter, was dead.
But the cruel step-mother shook her head and said nothing. Somehow she
did not believe that Lady Katherine was really dead, and she determined
to do a very cruel thing to find out the truth. When everyone had left
the room she ordered her waiting-maid, a woman who was as wicked as
herself, to melt some lead, and bring it to her in an iron spoon, and
when it was brought she dropped a drop on the young girl's breast; but
she neither started nor screamed, so the cruel Duchess had at last to
pretend to be satisfied that she was really dead, and she gave orders
that she should be buried at once in the little chapel by the lake.
But the old Duke remembered his promise, and vowed that it should be
So Lady Katherine's seven brothers went into the great park, and cut
down a giant oak tree, and out of the trunk of it they hewed a bier, and
they overlaid it with silver; while her sisters sat in the turret room
and sewed a beautiful gown of white satin, which they put on Lady
Katherine, and laid her on the silver bier; and then eight of her
father's men-at-arms took it on their shoulders, and her seven brothers
followed behind, and so the procession set out for Scotland.
And it all fell out as the old Duke had promised. At the first Scotch
kirk which the procession came to, the priests sang a solemn Mass, and
at the second, they caused the bells to toll mournfully, and at the
third kirk, the Kirk o' St Mary, they thought to lay the maiden to rest.
But, as they came slowly up to it, what was their astonishment to find
that it was surrounded by a row of spearmen, whose captain, a tall,
handsome young man, stepped up to them as they were about to enter the
kirk, and requested them to lay down the bier. At first Lady Katherine's
seven brothers objected to this being done. "What business of the
stranger's was it?" they asked, and they haughtily ordered the
men-at-arms to proceed. But the young soldier gave a sign to his men,
and in an instant they had crossed their spears across the doorway, and
the rest surrounded the men who carried the bier, and compelled them to
do as they were bid.
Then the young captain stepped forward to where Lady Katherine was lying
in her satin gown, and knelt down and took hold of her hand.
Immediately the rosy colour began to come back to her cheeks, and she
opened her eyes; and when they fell on Lord William - for it was he who
had come to meet her at the Kirk o' St Mary, as she had bidden him - she
smiled faintly and said, "I pray thee, my lord, give me one morsel of
bread and a mouthful of thy good red wine, for I have fasted for three
days, ever since the draught which my old nurse Ursula gave me, began to
do its work."
When she had drunk the wine her strength came back, and she sprang up
lightly, and a murmur of delight went round among Lord William's
spearmen when they saw how lovely she was in the white satin gown which
her sisters had made, and which would do beautifully for her wedding.
But her seven brothers were very angry at the trick which had been
played on them, and if they had dared, they would have carried her back
to England by force; but they dare not, because of all the spearmen who
"Thou wilt rue this yet, proud girl," said her eldest brother; "thou
mightest have been a Marchioness in England, with land, and castles, and
gold enough and to spare, instead of coming to this beggarly land, and
breaking thy father's, and thy mother's heart."
Then the little lady put her hand in that of her lover, and answered
quietly, "Nay, but I had no mind to wed with one who was already in his
dotage; little good the lands, and castles, and gold would have done me,
had I been obliged to spend my time in nursing an old man; and, as for
my father, I know he will secretly rejoice when he hears, that, after
all, I shall wed my own true love, who, I would have him know, is an
Earl's son, although he may not be so rich as is my lord the Marquis;
and, as for my cruel step-mother, 'tis no matter what she thinks."
Her brother stamped his foot in useless anger. "Then," said he, pointing
to the silver bier lying forgotten on the grass, "I swear that that bier
on which thou camest hither shall be the only wedding portion that thy
husband will ever see of thine; mayhap poverty will bring thee to thy
But his sister only laughed as she pressed closer to her bridegroom and
said bravely, "Happiness is more than gold, brother, and the contented
heart better than the restless one which is ever seeking riches."
So the seven brothers went back to England in a rage, while Lord William
married his brave little bride in the old Kirk o' St Mary; and then they
rode home to the gray ivy-covered castle, where the gay gos-hawk was
waiting on the square tower to sing his very sweetest song to greet
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OTHER VOLUMES BY ELIZABETH GRIERSON
~SCOTTISH KEEPS & CASTLES~