From all sides the Douglases were marching upon Edinburgh. After the murder of the young lords the city gates had been closed by order of the Chancellor. The castle was put into a thorough state of defence. The camp of the Avondale Douglases, William and James, was already on the Boroughmuir, and the affrighted citizens looked in terror upon the thickening banners with the bloody Douglas heart upon them, and upon the array of stalwart and determined men of the south. Curses both loud and deep were hurled from the besiegers' lines at every head seen above the walls, together with promises to burn Edinburgh, castle and burgh alike, and to slocken the ashes with the blood of every living thing within, all for the cause of the Black Dinner and the Bull's Head set before the brothers of Douglas.

But at midnoon of a glorious day in the late September, a man rode out from the west port of the city, a fat man flaccid of body, pale and tallowy of complexion. A couple of serving-men went behind him, with the Douglas arms broidered on their coats. They looked no little terrified, and shook upon their horses, as indeed well they might. This little cavalcade rode directly out of the city gates towards the pavilion of the young Douglases of Avondale. As they went two running footmen kept them company, one on either side of their leader, and as that unwieldy horseman swayed this way and that in the saddle, first one and then the other applied with his open palm the force requisite to keep the rider erect upon his horse.

It was the new Earl of Douglas, James the Gross, on his way to visit the camp of his sons. As he approached the sentries who stood on guard upon the broomy braes betwixt Merchiston and Bruntsfield, he was challenged in a fierce southland shout by one of the Carsphairn levies who knew him not.

"Stand back there, fat loon, gin ye wantna a quarrel shot intil that swagging tallow-bag ye ca' your wame!"

"Out of my way, hill varlet!" cried the man on horseback.

But the Carsphairn man stood with his cross-bow pointed straight at the leader of the cavalcade, crying at the same time in a loud, far-carrying voice over his shoulder, "Here awa', Anthon—here awa', Bob! Come and help me to argue wi' this fat rogue."

Several other hillmen came hurrying up, and the little company of riders was brought to a standstill. Then ensued this colloquy.

"Who are you that dare stop my way?" demanded the Earl.

"Wha may ye be that comes shuggy-shooin' oot o' the bluidy city o' Edinburgh intil oor camp," retorted him of Carsphairn, "sitting your beast for all the warld like a lump o' potted-head whammelled oot o' a bowl?"

"I am the Earl of Douglas."

"The Yerl o' Dooglas! Then a bonny hand they hae made o' him in Edinburgh. I heard they had only beheaded him."

"I tell you I am Earl of Douglas. I bid you beware. Conduct me to the tent of my sons!"

At this point an aged man of some authority stood forward and gazed intently at James the Gross, looking beneath his hand as at an extensive prospect of which he wished to take in all the details.

"Lads," he said, "hold your hands—it rins i' my head that this craitur' may be Jamie, the fat Yerl o' Avondale. We'll let him gang by in peace. His sons are decent lads."

There came from the hillmen a chorus of "Avondale he may be—there's nae sayin' what they can breed up there by Stra'ven. But we are weel assured that he is nae richt Douglas. Na, nae Douglas like yon man was ever cradled or buried in Gallowa'."

At this moment Lord William Douglas, seeing the commotion on the outposts, came down the brae through the broom. Upon seeing his father he took the plumed bonnet from off his head, and, ordering the Carsphairn men sharply to their places, he set his hand upon the bridle of the gross Earl's horse. So with the two running footmen still preserving some sort of equilibrium in his unsteady bulk, James of Avondale was brought to the door of a tent from which floated the banner of the Douglas house, blue with a bleeding heart upon it.

At the entering in of the pavilion, all stained and trodden into the soil by the feet of passers-by, lay the royal banner of the Stewarts, so placed by headstrong James Douglas the younger, in contempt of both tutor and Chancellor, who, being but cowards and murderers, had usurped the power of the king within the realm.

That sturdy youth came to the door of his pavilion half-dressed as he had lain down, yawning and stretching reluctantly, for he had been on duty all night perfecting the arrangements for besieging the town.

"James—James," cried his father, catching sight of his favourite son rubbing sleepily his mass of crisp hair, "what's this that I hear? That you and William are in rebellion and are defying the power o' the anointed king—?"

At this moment the footman undid the girths of his horse, which, being apparently well used to the operation, stood still with its feet planted wide apart. Then they ran quickly round to the side towards which the swaying bulk threatened to fall, the saddle slipped, and, like a top-heavy forest tree, James the Gross subsided into the arms of his attendants, who, straining and panting, presently set him on his feet upon the blazoned royal foot-cloth at the threshold of the pavilion.

Almost he had fallen backwards when he saw the use to which his daring sons had put the emblem of royal authority.

"Guid save us a', laddies," he cried, staggering across the flag into the tent, "ken ye what ye do? The royal banner o' the King o' Scots—to mak' a floor-clout o'! Sirce, sirce, in three weeks I shall be as childless as the Countess o' Douglas is this day."

"That," said William Douglas, coldly, indicating with his finger the trampled cloth, "is not the banner of Scotland, but only that of the Seneschal Stewarts. The King of Scots is but a puling brat, and they who usurp his name are murderous hounds whose necks I shall presently stretch with the rogue's halter!"

Young James Douglas had set an oaken folding chair for his father at the upper end of the pavilion, and into this James the Gross fell rather than seated himself.

His sons William and James continued to stand before him, as was the dutiful habit of the time. Their father recovered his breath before beginning to speak.

"What's this—what's this I hear?" he exclaimed testily, "is it true that ye are in flat rebellion against the lawful authority of the king? Laddies, laddies, ye maun come in wi' me to his excellence the Chancellor and make instanter your obedience. Ye are young and for my sake he will surely overlook this. I will speak with him."

"Father," said William Douglas, with a cold firmness in his voice, "we are here to punish the murderers of our cousins. We shall indeed enter the guilty city, but it will be with fire and sword."

"Aye," cried rollicking, headstrong James, "and we will roast the Crichton on a spit and hang that smug traitor, Tutor Livingston, over the walls of David's Tower, a bonny ferlie for his leman's wonder!"

There came a cunning look into the small pig's eyes of James the Gross.

"Na, na, foolish laddies, thae things will ye no do. Mind ye not the taunts and scorns that the Earl—the late Earl o' Douglas that is—put upon us a'? Think on his pride and vainglory, whilk Scripture says shall be brocht low. Think in especial how this righteous judgment that has fallen on him and on his brother has cleared our way to the Earldom."

The choleric younger brother leaped forward with an oath on his lips, but his calmer senior kept him back with his hand.

"Silence, James!" he said; "I will answer our father. Sir, we have heard what you say, but our minds are not changed. What cause to associate yourself with traitors and mansworn you may have, we do not know and we do not care."

At his son's first words James the Gross rose with a sudden surprising access of dignity remarkable in one of his figure.

"I bid you remember," he said, speaking southland English, as he was wont to do in moments of excitement, "I bid you remember, sirrah, that I am the Earl of Douglas and Avondale, Justicer of Scotland—and your father."

William Douglas bowed, respectful but unmoved.

"My lord," he said, "I forget nothing. I do not judge you. You are in authority over our house. You shall do what you will with these forces without there, so be you can convince them of your right. Black murder, whether you knew and approved it or no, has made you Earl of Douglas. But, sir, if you take part with my cousins' murderers now, or screen them from our just vengeance and the vengeance of God, I tell you that from this day you are a man without children. For in this matter I speak not only for myself, but for all your sons!" He turned to his brother.

"James," he said, "call in the others." James went to the tent door and called aloud.

"Archibald, Hugh, and John, come hither quickly."

A moment after three young men of noble build, little more than lads indeed, but with the dark Douglas allure stamped plainly upon their countenances, entered, bowed to their father, and stood silent with their hands crossed upon the hilts of their swords.

William Douglas went on with the same determinate and relentless calm.

"My lord," he said, very respectfully, "here stand your five sons, all soldiers and Douglases, waiting to hear your will. Murder has been done upon the chief of our house by two men of cowardly heart and mean consideration, Crichton and Livingston, instigated by the false ambassador of the King of France. We have come hither to punish these slayers of our kin, and we desire to know what you, our father, think concerning the matter."

James the Gross was still standing, steadying himself with his hand on the arm of the oaken chair in which he had been sitting. He spoke with some difficulty, which might proceed either from emotion or from the plethoric habit of the man.

"Have I for this brought children into the world," he said, "that they should lift up their hands against the father that begat them? Ye know that I have ever warned you against the pride and arrogance of your cousins of Galloway."

"You mean, of the late Earl of Douglas and the boy his brother," answered William; "the pride of eighteen and fourteen is surely vastly dangerous."

"I mean those who have been tried and executed in Edinburgh by royal authority for many well-grounded offences against the state," cried the Earl, loudly.

"Will you deign to condescend upon some of them?" said his son, as quietly as before.

"Your cousins' pride and ostentation of riches and retinue, being far beyond those of the King, constituted in themselves an eminent danger to the state. Nay, the turbulence of their followers has more than once come before me in my judicial capacity as Justicer of the realm. What more would you have?"

"Were you, my lord, of those who condemned them to death?"

"Not so, William; it had not been seemly in a near kinsman and the heir to their dignities—that is, save and except Galloway, which by ill chance goes in the female line, if we find not means to break that unfortunate reservation. Your cousins were condemned by my Lords Crichton and Livingston."

"We never heard of either of them," said William, calmly.

"In their judicial aspect they may be styled lords, as is the Scottish custom," said James the Gross, "even as when I was laird of Balvany and a sitter on the bed of justice, it was my right to be so nominated."

"Then our cousins were condemned with your approval, my Lord of Douglas and Avondale?" persisted his son.

James the Gross was visibly perturbed.

"Approval, William, is not the word to use—not a word to use in the circumstances. They were near kinsmen!"

"But upon being consulted you did not openly disapprove—is it not so? And you will not aid us to avenge our cousins' murder now?"

"Hearken, William, it was not possible—I could not openly disapprove when I also was in the Chancellor's hands, and I knew not but that he might include me in the same condemnation. Besides, lads, think of the matter calmly. There is no doubt that the thing happens most conveniently, and the event falls out well for us. Our own barren acres have many burdens upon them. What could I do? I have been a poor man all my life, and after the removal of obstacles I saw my way to become the richest man in Scotland. How could I openly object?"

William Douglas bowed.

"So—" he said, "that is what we desired to know! Have I your permission to speak further?"

His father nodded pleasantly, seating himself again as one that has finished a troublesome business. He rubbed his hands together, and smiled upon his sons.

"Aye, speak gin ye like, William, but sit doon—sit doon, lads. We are all of one family, and it falls out well for you as it does for me. Let us all be pleasant and agreeable together!"

"I thank you, my lord," said his son, "but we will not sit down. We are no longer of one family. We may be your sons in the eye of the law and in natural fact. But from this day no one of us will break bread, speak word, hold intimacy or converse with you. So far as in us lies we will renounce you as our father. We will not, because of the commandment, rise in rebellion against you. You are Earl of Douglas, and while you live must rule your own. But for me and my brothers we will never be your children to honour, your sons to succour, nor your liegemen to fight for you. We go to offer our services to our cousin Margaret, the little Maid of Galloway. We will keep her province with our swords as the last stronghold of the true Douglases of the Black. I have spoken. Fare you well, my lord!"

During his son's speech the countenance of the newly made Earl of Douglas grew white and mottled, tallowy white and dull red in turns showing upon it, like the flesh of a drained ox. He rose unsteadily to his feet, moving one hand deprecatingly before him, like a helpless man unexpectedly stricken. His nether lip quivered, pendulous and piteous, in the midst of his grey beard, and for a moment he strove in vain with his utterance.

His eyes fell abashed from the cold sternness of his eldest son's glance, and he seemed to scan the countenances of the younger four for any token of milder mood.

"James," he said, "ye hear William. Surely ye do not hold with him? Remember I am your father, and I was aye particular fond o' you, Jamie. I mind when ye wad rin to sit astride my shoulder. And ye used to like that fine!"

There were tears in the eyes of the weak, cunning, treacherous-hearted man. The lips of James Douglas quivered a little, and his voice failed him, as he strove to answer his father. What he would have said none knows, but ere he could voice a word, the eyes of his brother, stern as the law given to Moses on the mount, were bent upon him. He straightened himself up, and, with a look carefully averted from the palsied man before him, he said, in a steady tone, "What my brother William says, I say."

His father looked at him again, as if still hoping against hope for some kinder word. Then he turned to his younger sons.

"Archie, Hugh, little Jockie, ye willna take part against your ain faither?"

"We hold with our brothers!" said the three, speaking at once.

At this moment there came running in at the door of the tent a lad of ten—Henry, the youngest of the Avondale brothers. He stopped short in the midst, glancing wonderingly from one to the other. His little sword with which he had been playing dropped from his hand. James the Gross looked at him.

"Harry," he said, "thy brothers are a' for leavin' me. Will ye gang wi' them, or bide wi' your faither?"

"Father," said the boy, "I will go with you, if ye will let me help to kill Livingston and the Chancellor!"

"Come, laddie," said the Earl, "ye understand not these matters. I will explain to you when we gang back to the braw things in Edinbra' toon!"

"No, no," cried the boy, stooping to pick up his sword, "I will bide with my brothers, and help to kill the murderers of my cousins. What William says, I say."

Then the five young men went out and called for their horses, their youngest brother following them. And as the flap of the tent fell, and he was left alone, James the Gross sank his head between his soft, moist palms, and sobbed aloud.

For he was a weak, shifty, unstable man, loving approval, and a burden to himself in soul and body when left to bear the consequences of his acts.

"Oh, my bairns," he cried over and over, "why was I born? I am not sufficient for these things!"

And even as he sobbed and mourned, the hoofs of his sons' horses rang down the wind as they rode through the camp towards Galloway. And little Henry rode betwixt William and James.