Cora Linn. A romance of the Clyde

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■ ■ ■ I A Romance of the Clyde BY J. GORDON PHILLIPS Author of "James Macpherson," "Wanderings in the Highlands," " Flora Macdonald," "The Smuggler's Bride," "The Maids of Loudoon." "The Lass of Bennachie," "Macleod's Revenge," " The Bride of Maxwrllton," etc., etc. ALEXANDER GARDNER Publisher to Her Majesty the Queen PAISLEY; AND PATERNOSTER SQUARE, LONDON i895 AUTHOR'S NOTE. The Author desires to state that the romance of "Cora Linn " is founded upon a legend told by one of the characters in the novel of the Yellow Frigate, by the late Mr. James Grant. CONTENTS PAGE Chapter I. — The Storm, - - - - 9 „ II.— In Deadly Peril, - - - 16 III.— The Witch of the Rumbling Well, - 23 „ IV. — The Hermit of the Clyde, - - 30 ,, V. — Tracked in the Forest, - - 36 „ VI. — By the Clyde, - - - 44 „ VII. — Cora's Warning, - - 51 ,, VIII. — A Dangerous Situation, 59 „ IX.— A Midnight Fight, - - - 66 ,, X. — The Rescue, - - - 75 ,, XI. — Defeat of the Danes, - - - 82 ,, XII. — A Critical Position, - - 89 „ XIII. — March of the Strathclyde Men, - 95 „ XIV. — Traitor's Schemes, - - - 102 ,, XV. — On the Banks of the Clyde, - - 108 ,, XVI. — Love's Young Dream, - - 114 XVII.— A Subtle Traitor, - - - 120 „ XVIII.— On the Trail, - - 126 „ XIX. — A Poisoned Barb, - - 131 „ XX. — A Lovers' Meeting, - 138 ,, XXI. — In the Hermit's Cave, - - 145 „ XXII. — Mac Ian Rua declares his Love, - 151 ,, XXIII. — Flight of Mac Ian Rua, - 157 „ XXIV.— The Witch's Story,- CONTENTS.

PAGE Chapter XXV. — Cora Escapes from the Palace, - 172 „ XXVI. — Traitors in Council, - - 179 XXVIL— Cora's Jealousy, - - 185 XXVIIL— A Cowardly Deed, - 193 ,, XXIX. — Escape of Mac Ian Rua, - - 199 ,, XXX. — Attempted Abduction of Cora, - 207 XXXI.— The March to Battle, - - 214 XXXII.— The Fate of Cora, - - 221 „ XXXIII. — Retreat of the Danes, - - 228 „ XXXIV. — Death of Morgar, - - 235 „ XXXV. — The Battle of Mortlach, - - 241 „ XXXVI. — Conclusion, -

Chapter I. The Storm

The wind was howling furiously over the Firth of Tay, and the foam crested billows dashed madly on the beach. Dark clouds scudded athwart the sky, and the broad forest moaned in the blast. Half way over the Firth, between Dundee and the coast of Fife, there was a speck on the water. It rose on the waves until it seemed as if it was being thrown clean out of the sea, and then it went down, down into the yawning abyss as if never more to rise. It floated bravely, however, and though it was tossed and buffeted by both wind and water, it was evident that it was making progress towards the Fife shore. As it drew nearer it was seen to be a round boat, or coracle, the inside of which was of wicker work and the outside covered with bull's hide. In this primitive boat was seated a man, who laboured with a broad paddle, which in appearance resembled a shovel.

Suddenly the wind fell and the sky grew darker. The boat man ceased paddling, and gazed heavenward, and as he looked a sheet of flame, which nearly blinded him, flashed forth, followed by a low rumbling, which grew louder and louder as it rolled onward till it cracked overhead like the report of cannon. Peal followed peal, and the lightning wriggled and twisted like snakes in mid air. The sea hissed and foamed and boiled around the tiny boat, while the occupant sat awestruck and allowed it to drift. ' The spirits are at war,' he muttered, ' and the demon of the sea is loose. May he swallow the ships of the Dane ! Hark ! What was that ? ' He leaned forward in the attitude of listening, but the roar of the surf and the loud peals of thunder drowned all other sounds. Then there came from out of the depths of the forest a wailing cry, like the voice of a woman mourning, and he grew pale. ' 'Tis the cry of the banshee,' he whispered. ' It is the third time I have heard it since the new moon.

I fear me the spirits of evil are near, and that woe is in store for me.' Seizing the paddle, he worked with all his might, and heeded no more the gleam of the lightning, the roll of the thunder, or the hiss of the sea. The light bark skimmed over the waves, and at length it was seized by one mighty roller and borne on its crest till it was left high on the beach. The man stepped out on the sand and looked around. He was of uncommon stature, broad chested, and strong limbed. Yet the limbs were clean and straight, and the muscles were well developed. It could be seen at a glance that not only were they of great strength, but that they were also built for speed. He had a massive neck, upon which his head was firmly set, and in his eye slumbered a fire which few would care to see kindled in wrath.

In short, he was a splendid specimen of young man hood. His age could not be more than twenty. He was clad in a tunic of soft leather, which was scalloped round the border. His limbs were also partly encased in leather, and on his feet were shoes of deerskin. He wore a broad belt also ornamented at the edge, from which hung a sword of great length. A horn tipped with silver was suspended with a leather thong round his neck. His arms were bare a little below the shoulder, and his long fair hair hung in masses down his back. A cap formed of the same leather as his tunic was on his head, and an eagle's feather adorned it. "When he stepped out of the coracle he lifted it in his arms, and gazing around carried it a short distance into the forest until he found a suitable place, where he carefully concealed it, covering it with long grass and withered branches.

At the time of which we write the greater part of Fife was covered with one dense unbroken forest. Huge trees of many years' growth reared their mighty heads aloft, and spread their branches abroad over the virgin land that in the far future was to enrich Scotland. The wild boar and the bison, the wolf and the fox, roamed at liberty through the dark recesses and leafy avenues, and man, scarcely less wild and savage, hunted these animals, or made war upon one another. War and the chase were the only occupations for free men, and what little cultivation was done was the work of serfs. It was a strange time, a chaos out of which was gradually being evolved a nation. When he had carefully hid the boat to his satisfaction, he glanced cautiously round to see that no prying eyes were near. The thunderstorm had ceased, and large drops of rain began to fall, which soon increased to almost a deluge.

He stood under neath the thick branches of a tree, and was gazing at the rain drops drip, drip, dripping, when again the weird wail resounded through the forest, and he started. Again, and yet again, it sounded, and there was a rustling of leaves, as if spirits unseen by mortal eye were fingering them and breathing upon them. He shuddered and crept closer to the stem of the tree and laid his hand on his sword. But what availed a sword against spirits ? The man breathed not that could make his stout heart quake, but he could not fight the spirits of the departed. And they were all around him, he knew, for had not the good hermit told him that the air was peopled with them. He would not stay longer there, so he came out and took his bearings. The rain had passed away, and the sun now shone out.

He thought for a little, then plunged into the depths of the forest. He walked steadily and swiftly onward until the dark shadows of evening began to gather around, then he bethought him of searching for a place of shelter for the night. As yet he had seen no appearance of humanity. It was useless to proceed in the dark, so he laid himself down on the soft grass to rest. He thought not of danger, but from force of habit he drew his sword and laid it by his side. It was well he did so. There were footsteps following stealthily in his track. As he stood under the tree when the rain fell, four savage, gleaming eyes were fixed upon him. They looked down from among the branches. They had seen him as he paddled his coracle towards the shore. They had seen him lift it and carry it into the forest and cover it with the grass and the branches.

When he started away through the forest first one figure and then another slid from the tree. Strange, uncouth, savage-looking creatures they were, clad in skins, and their matted hair hung in elf locks upon their shoulders, and their eyes peered out from under masses of hair. Their legs were bare to the knee, and their feet were also bare. They carried swords, and spears, and bows and arrows. ' It is Mac Ian Rua, the King's forester,' one of them said. ' Mind ye not when he had you flogged for killing a red deer?' ' Am I likely to forget ? By the holy rood, no. The dog ! Would that I could wash the stripes in his heart's blood. Have you forgotten the blow which he gave you when you struck down the hound with your spear ? ' The other grinned horribly, showing his fang-like teeth as he replied, ' that blow must be washed in his blood, and a better opportunity could never be than now.

Come let us follow him. Fit an arrow in your bow and bring him down.' ' Nay, by my troth, that were too soft a death for Mac Ian Rua. We will follow him and bind him, and try a throng upon his back.' ' There is danger in that. Could we both bind Mac Ian Rua? His strength is said to be greater than two ordinary men, and he looks it. Bring him down with an arrow first and flog him after.' ' No, let us follow and watch our opportunity. He cannot reach Dunfermline to-night, so he must sleep in the forest. Then we can fall upon him.' Having settled upon this, the two savages — for savages they were — started in pursuit of Mac Ian Rua. It was with difficulty, however, that they could keep him in sight, so swiftly did he press on. At length they saw him stop, and then knew that he was preparing to pass the night there, and they congratulated each other.

Revenge was now almost within their grasp. They waited until he lay down, and then crept closer, for as the night darkened objects grew indistinct and they feared lest they might miss their mark, or that by any mistake he would discover their presence. Nearer and nearer they crept till they were within a few yards of where Mac Ian Rua lay apparently all unconscious of danger. There is, however, in the human breast an instinct, or a something not easily explained, which warns people of approaching danger, and though Mac Ian Rua stirred not, he was far from easy. Sleep he could not. He closed his eyes and tried to court it, but in vain. His mind kept wandering, and his senses were most acute. He heard a twig crack. Without moving he listened intently, and he could hear his own heart beat. It might be an animal — a prowling wolf or fox.

Gradu ally the feeling crept over him that he was not alone, and he thought of the banshee's wailing cry. At that moment he felt the skin of his arm grazed by a sharp instrument, and it entered the earth by his side. Mac Ian Rua sprang to his feet and seized his sword. At the same time he received a severe blow on the head, which nearly stunned him, and a voice hissed almost close to his ear, ' Die, dog of a forester,' and he felt his side again grazed. Mac Ian Rua could see no one, but he struck out at where the voice came from, and there was a cry of pain. Then he felt himself seized from behind and his arms held fast, while a leather thong was being passed rapidly round them. Exerting all his strength he shook off his assailant, and then with one blow, struck at random, he felled him to the earth.

He swung his sword around him, but it cut nothing but air. He continued to do so for some time, for he feared being attacked from behind. Then he went cautiously to where he thought he had knocked down a foe, but he could feel nothing. The night wore slowly on, and the grey dawn at length appeared. Mac Ian Rua looked around, but there was no one to be seen. There were some marks of the struggle, and there were some drops of blood on the grass, but nothing more to tell the tale. His assailants, whoever they were, had vanished. He came to the conclusion that they had been out hunting the King's deer, and come upon him by accident, so he continued on his way to Dunfermline, where the King and his Court were. The sun was glinting over the Cleish hills as he approached Dunfermline, and the mists of morning yet rested on the distant Ochils.

It was a fair scene, and Mac Ian Rua had an eye for the beautiful. He admired the rolling heights of Fife and its breezy braes. He gazed around at the Luscar hills and the more distant Saline hills, and then he turned to the east, where the conical Hill of Beath shot up. Then he looked down the Glen, where the Tower Burn wimples past the base of the rock where on stands the ruined Palace, once the home of a hundred kings. He could not see into the future so far as to know the part that Dunfermline was to play in the history of his country. He could not know that in its Abbey a greater king than the one he served was to find a last resting place, and that pilgrim Scots from the ends of the earth would visit that grave, and that their hearts would beat proudly when they thought of the warrior king as being their king.

He could not tell all that, but he did feel that it was a fair and noble land, and he dreamed that the day would come when the marauding Dane would be beaten from its shores. While he was contemplating the prospect he heard the blast of a horn. Looking in the direction, he saw the King and his Court riding out of the Palace gate to hunt the deer. They were a gallant company, chiefs and ladies fair. But among all the ladies there was one that shone peerless — the fair Cora, the King's daughter. Men worshipped her, and mighty chiefs, and lords, and kings sought her hand and wooed her smile, but she had remained heart whole. At least she had shown no preference for one ■5 more than another, and the King was grateful, for he loved her. None could soothe him when wearied with the cares of State like the beautiful Cora.

But besides her beauty she was the boldest and most dashing rider at the King's Court, and she loved to sweep along on her fleet steed like the wind. On the present occasion she rode beside her father, the King, and a noble Englishman who was a suitor for her hand. Mac Ian Rua watched them disappear in the forest aisles, and his heart beat faster, for he loved to look upon the face of Cora, though he, a humble forester, could never dare aspire to do more. He heard the horns sounding in the distance, and he was about to turn away when there was a crashing among the branches, and a horse dashed out at headlong speed, pursued by a huge wild boar, whose tusks were covered with foam. The affrighted animal rushed madly on in the direction of Mac Ian Rua, and what was his horror to see that it was the horse of the Princess Cora ?

Her auburn hair had escaped from its binding, and was streaming behind her, and all her efforts to check the speed of the horse were in vain. Suddenly it stumbled and fell, throwing its rider violently to the ground. The foam flew in flakes from the mouth of the wild boar as it pressed forward. Mac Ian Rua also rushed forward, but he was too late. The horse uttered a heart piercing shriek as the tusks of the boar ripped up its side. Without pausing to finish the horse it rushed upon the Princess Cora, who was lying senseless. It was an awful moment. The King and several others appeared upon the edge of the forest. They saw the infuriated beast rushing upon the Princess, and they saw Mac Ian Rua bounding towards them, but he was too far away, and his chance of saving her appeared hopeless. The King wrung his hands. ' My beautiful, beautiful Cora,' he cried, 'and is this to be your fate ? ' The others could only gaze in silence at the helpless maiden and the father's agony.

Chapter II. In Deadly Peril

King Malcolm sat in his hall in Dunfermline. He was moody and silent, for evil tidings had reached him. The Danes had invaded the southern portion of the kingdom, and were ravaging the land with fire and sword. They had burst like an avalanche from Northumbria and had burned Berwick, one of the strongest places in Scotland. They were now marching upon Edinburgh, while their warships were being rowed up the Forth. Scarcely an hour passed that did not bring a messenger with a tale of woe and of the wreck and ruin being wrought. The fire was burning low in the hearth. Occasionally a feeble flame would flicker up brightly for a minute, casting shadows in the darkening room and on the tapestry which covered the cold walls. One little gleam shot higher and stronger than some that had pre ceded it, and the King watched till it too died away.

Then he rose to his feet and strode across the rush covered floor. He was a strikingly handsome man this Malcolm, King of Scotland. He had a bold, strong face with high cheek bones, and a prominent nose slightly hooked. Keen grey eyes sunk deeply in his head, bushy eyebrows, and a long beard which was streaked with grey. His hair fell over his shoulders, and on his head he wore a close-fitting cap with a gold border, in token of his high position, for he had not yet taken it off for the evening. He wore a leather tunic of foreign manufacture, closely covered with iron rings, which protected the wearer from the dagger of the assassin. In actual war he used a woven coat of chain mail, as well as head, breast, and back pieces of steel, also of foreign manufacture. His feet and legs were protected with leather, which fitted closely to the limbs.

All was silent in the room as he paced backwards and for wards. Sentinels stood near the entrance guarding Scoland's King, but they stood like statues of wood or stone leaning on long two-handed swords. The King's head rested on his breast and his eyes were fixed on the ground as he walked. 1 That hearth is like my unhappy Kingdom,' he said, ' ever a smouldering fire ready to burst into flame at any moment. No sooner are the Danes beaten than the Moravians of the North rise in rebellion, and they are scarcely quelled when the Northmen again come and the savage Vikings ravage my coasts ; and the Saxons from the South, too, are beginning to show themselves on the Border. Unhappy Scotland ! Art thou doomed to go out like that fire — t'o be the battle-ground of con tending hosts from the North and from the South while your sons expire in their blood or become the serfs of the foemen, and your daughters become the wives of those who have slain their fathers and brethren ?

Woe is me ! What can I do to save you ? ' ' Lead your people against them,' said a deep voice behind him. The King started from his reverie. ' Ha ! ' he exclaimed, drawing a dirk which hung at his girdle, ' who are you, and how came you here ? Did you pass the guard ? ' The latter question was put in a doubtful voice, for the stranger's appearance was startling. He was tall — taller than the King himself had it not been for a slight stoop in his shoulders. He was dressed in a long cloak made of skins which seemed to have received no other curing than that of drying in the sun. His feet were bare with the exception of strips of hide which protected the soles, and these were fastened by thongs twisted round the legs. His face was thin and pale, and his eyes dark and piercing. He had a long grey beard and grey hair, and he leaned upon a long staff and gazed fixedly at the King.

The look had a weird wildness about it, which in a superstitious age would have frightened a less brave man than Malcolm, King of Scotland. ' Who are you ? ' again asked the King. ' Answer, or I will have thee removed and thrown into the dungeon below the Castle.' ' I am Kentigern, the Hermit of the Clyde,' he answered in a deep and hollow voice. 'And what would you have with me, father?' said the King gently, as he sheathed his dagger, for he deeply respected the Church, and protected it, when possible, against the wild and lawless of his own subjects as well as against the invader. ' Malcolm, King of Scotland, I come,' he said, ' to bid thee arm and lead thy people against the heathen Dane. Send messengers to the east, to the west, and to the north, and to the south, and gather the nation together.

Let those of the fleetest foot speed to Glasgow and Lanark and all the Vale of Clyde, and tell them to say that Kentigern the Hermit sent them. Let them say to gather by the groves of the Kelvin, where the ghosts of the brave departed will watch over them in the fight. Let another fly to Aberdeen and Dundee, and warn the tribes of the north. Let them kindle the beacon fire on the Law till it gleams afar. Let it blaze forth on Tap o' Noth and Benachie. Pile it high on the heights of Craig Phadric till its flames startle the wild clansmen of the Ness.' ' Alas ! good hermit,' answered the King, ' it is not long since the Moravians were up in rebellion against our rule, and how can we expect them now to fight with us against the invader ? ' ' Fear not. They only rise in rebellion when time hangs heavy on their hands and there are no Vikings to fight.

Warn them with the beacon fires, and they will gather ; and the Strath Clyde men will gather by the groves of the Kelvin. They are ever true to Scotland and to Scotland's King,' and saying so, he waved his hand above his head enthusiastically, while his voice rose higher. He was silent for a minute, and then he spoke in a deep whisper, while he turned his eyes heavenward, and lifted his arm so that his cloak of skin fell back, showing his lean, skinny arm. ' Strong in battle,' he said, ' fear not. Thy race shall conquer the Raven of the North, and the Lion of Scotland tear his wings. But a time will come when the blood of the North shall mingle with yours in friendly veins.' 'Are you a prophet, holy father?' said the King somewhat sceptically, for he hated the Danes, and did not feel much pleasure at the prospect of his race being mingled with theirs. ' Long fasting and prayer has given me a keener insight into the hearts of men than other mortals, and the study of the heavenly bodies has enabled me to pierce the future, and fore tell coming events,' answered the Hermit.

So saying, he turned on his heel, lifted the tapestry, and disappeared. The King looked silently for a minute at the spot where the hermit had vanished. Then he sprang forward and lifted the tapestry, but there was no one there. ' Ho ! Sir Hermit,' he exclaimed, ' so you know the secret passage to the Monastery, do you ? Then you must have been there before you came here. We must talk to these monks. When they can tell a stranger the secret they could point out the entrance to an enemy. But,' he continued, ' the hermit's advice was good. We must march against the Danes, or they will beard us in our Royal Palace.' So saying, he summoned one of the sentinels to approach, and ordered him to ask the attendance of the High Steward in the Council Chamber. The King was not altogether right concerning Kentigern's knowledge of the passage between the Monastery and the Palace.

It was from none of the monks that he received his in formation, but from a wholly different source. No sooner did he get in behind the tapestry than he glided with a swiftness which no one would have believed him capable of right round to the opposite side of the room, keeping close to the wall so as not to shake the tapestry. He imagined, after his friendly ad vice, the King would not follow him, but he paused to see. He heard what the King said, but that did not trouble him much, for he knew that more important matters would soon engage His Majesty's attention. When, therefore, he heard the order given to the sentinel he turned back for a short distance, and felt with his hand along the wall till he came to what was like a badly hewn boulder. This he pressed with all his strength, and it slid slowly back, disclosing an entrance into a dark, narrow passage.

This he crawled into, and pressed back the stone into its place. Then he felt his way cautiously along for a considerable distance until he came to another stone similar to the former. He pulled it inward, and was about to pass out, when the sound of voices attracted his attention. He stopped to let them pass, wondering who it could be, for they were in the secret passage between the Monastery and the Palace that the King had alluded to. They paused close to the mouth of the entrance, where he was standing, and Kentigern heard what nearly made his hair stand on end. One voice whispered in a foreign accent — ' Then you think that there would be no difficulty in surprising Dunfermline and seizing the King ? ' ' Nothing could be easier,' answered a voice which Kentigern thought he knew, though he could not remember at the time whose it was. 'There are not a thousand men in the town.' ' But that number will soon be largely increased, for Malcolm must have heard of our doings during the past few days.' ' That, no doubt, is true, but nothing has yet been done.

No Council has been held, and not a single messenger has been sent to any of the chiefs, barons, or thanes, and some of them will not be too ready to march at his call.' ' Indeed ! It is reported that he is very popular.' ' Yes, with the Church, but the nobles are jealous of the Church, and they wish to curb its growing power, or they fear that they will soon lose their own.' ' Ah ! I see. Then when do you think would be the best time to attack ? ' ' The sooner the better. To-night if you can.' ' That is impossible. Our war galleys were tossed with con trary winds, and the arms of the rowers are weary.' The speaker paused for a moment, then he asked suddenly and sharply — ' Can I depend upon you, Scot ? ' ' Yes, on the conditions we arranged.' ' I remember, but you must know that I am but little used to the ways of women.

I am more at home in the field of battle, when the raven claps his wings, and Oden beckons the warriors to Valhalla _ but I will aid you in your purpose. Kiss this dagger, and swear by the ghosts of Oden and Thor — nay, I for get. Swear by your own God that you will be true, for he that is false to his King and country needs strong reasons for being faithful in anything.' Could the speaker have seen his companion's face when he uttered these words, and seen the hand as it sought the hilt of his dagger, he would have been more careful in what he said, but the darkness hid both, and the reply came softly from the renegade Scot — ' Give me the dagger ; I swear.' " Then our compact is sealed. Lead the way out of this den and let me feel the breath of the breeze again. Yet stay. Would it not be easier and save a great deal of labour to sur round this Palace and enter by this secret passage and penetrate the King's apartments ?