By Loch and by Lin (8 page)

Had his lady been a serving lass, or Johnnie a noble of high degree, the lovers would never have found a cloud to cast a shade on their joy. But the lass young Johnnie took for his love was the king's own daughter, and Johnnie was naught but the lad who carried the banner for the king.

The news ran all around Lunnon town till it reached the ear of the king that his banner bearer, Lang Johnnie Mor, and his noble daughter had fallen in love. The king, he reared and shouted with rage, and swore it should never be. He took his daughter and carried her up to a room in a high stone tower, and he locked the door and pocketed the key.

“Stay there and starve, fair lady,” he said, “for you'll get no meat or drink from me.”

Then down he went, and angrily vowed that before the week went by, the weighty young Scot should stretch a rope, for he would be hanged on the gibbet tree. Lang Johnnie Mor paid little heed when they told him what the king had said. “They must catch me first,” said he. “While I have my good sword in my hand, no man will dare lay a finger on me.”

But the English king was cunning and sly. He found three rogues and paid them well to steal into the house where Johnnie dwelt and put poppy-seed oil in Johnnie's ale. Johnnie came home and drank his ale and sleep overpowered him soon. He fell to the floor and there he lay, like a man in a swoon. Then the king sent his soldiers in, and they fettered young Johnnie where he lay. When he woke he was sorely amazed to find that his hands were bound with iron bands, and his legs weighted down with a hundredweight of chains.

“Where will I find a wee little lad who will work for me?” young Johnnie cried. “Where will I find a wee little lad who will work for me and carry a message to Auld Johnnie Mor, my uncle, at Rhynie at the foot of Benachie?”

There was a wee little lad by Johnnie's door, and he spoke up. “Here am I, a wee little lad,” said he. “And I will run on, to take a message to Auld Johnnie Mor, your uncle, at the foot of Benachie.”

“You will earn your meat and your fee,” said Lang Johnnie Mor. “Run on, my wee little lad. When you come to the brae where the grass grows green, throw off your shoes and speed away. And when you come where the streams run strong, bend your bow and leap over, or swim! When you come to Rhynie you'll not need to call or seek about the town. You'll know my uncle, Auld Johnnie, there, for he stands three feet above them all.”

Then Johnnie said to the wee little lad, “Bid my uncle make haste lest they hang me high, and bid him bring along with him that stalwart body, Jock o' Noth.”

The wee little lad set his feet to the north, and on his errand he sped away. When he came to the brae where the grass grew green, he cast his shoes aside and ran on. When he came to the streams that flowed fast and deep, he bent his bow and leaped over or swam. And when he came to Rhynie at last, he had no need to go seeking through the town, or to call. He knew Auld Johnnie at first glance, for he stood three feet above them all.

“What news?” Auld Johnnie asked. “What news, my wee little lad? I've never seen you here in Rhynie before.”

“I bring you no news,” said the wee little lad. “But a message I bring to you, from your nephew, Lang Johnnie Mor. The king has put young Johnnie in chains, and he threatens to hang him high. Johnnie bids you haste to his aid, and to bring with you that stalwart body, Jock o' Noth.”

Benachie lies low in the dale, and the top of the Noth is high, but Jock o' Noth on his mountaintop heard every word of Auld Johnnie's call.

“Come down! Come down! O Jock o' Noth, come down in haste to me. My nephew, Lang Johnnie, needs us sore, so we must go to Lunnon town.”

Then Jock o' Noth came down from the hill and met with Auld Johnnie at the foot of Benachie, and these two mighty men together were an awesome grisly pair to see. Their heads peered down through the boughs of the trees, and their brows were three feet wide, and there was no less than three good yards across their shoulder bones.

These two great bodies started forth. They ran o'er hill, they ran o'er dale, they ran o'er mountain high, and they came to the walls of Lunnon town at dawning of the third day. When they got there the city gates, with iron bars and iron bolts, were closed and all locked tight, and on a tower a trumpeter stood with his trumpet in his hand, ready to blow it and give the sign for Lang Johnnie Mor to be hanged. The keeper of the gates looked out to see who knocked so loud outside. Auld Johnnie asked, “What goes on inside that the drums beat with a mournful sound and church bells toll so solemnly?”

“There's naught that goes on,” the gatekeeper said. “And naught that matters to you! Just a weighty Scot to straighten a rope, for Lang Johnnie Mor will be hanged today.”

“Open the gates!” Auld Johnnie cried. “Open the gates without delay!”

The gatekeeper trembled, but grinned and said, “Kind sirs, I do not have the key.”

“You'll open the gates,” Auld Johnnie said. “You'll open them without delay, or here's a body at my back who will open them for me!”

“Open the gates!” roared Jock o' Noth, “or I'll open them up with my own key!” Then he raised his foot and gave a great kick that knocked a hole three full yards wide through the stones of the city wall.

In through the gap the champions went, and down by Drury Lane. They came down by the Lunnon town hall, and there stood young Lang Johnnie Mor, beside the gibbet tree.

Young Johnnie cried out, “You've come in good time, Auld Johnnie, my uncle, and Jock o' Noth, and you're unco welcome here. Come, loosen the knot and throw off the rope, and set me free from the gibbet tree.”

“Nay, not so fast,” Auld Johnnie said. “Why have they sentenced you to die? Is it murder you have done, or theft or robbery? If it's for a grievous crime you've been judged, it's not for us to set you free.”

“Och, nay!” said young Johnnie. “For no great crime have they set me here to die. I have done no murder nor theft nor robbery. It's all because I've fallen in love with the fairest lady in Lunnon town, and that is no crime at all that I can see.”

“Why did you let the soldiers take you and bind you?” asked Jock o' Noth. “And you with your good broadsword that you brought here from Scotland. I never saw a Scotsman in all my life but could free himself, as long as he had his sword in his hand.”

“I had no sword in my hand,” said Lang Johnnie Mor. “And if I had, I should have gone free. The de'il fly away with the king's sly rogues who put in my ale the poppy-seed oil that stole my senses away from me. But when they had me helpless and bound it took four of their stoutest men to carry my good sword away.”

“Bring back the sword!” said Jock o' Noth to the king's men who were standing by. “Bring back the sword and give it back into the hand of Lang Johnnie Mor. I've one as good, if not better, of my own.” And he drew his sword that all might see. “Bring back his sword and quickly, or you must answer to me, for I have sworn a black Scotsman's oath that if you delay, five thousand Englishmen will die by this sword of mine today.”

The soldiers took Johnnie's shackles away, and they took the rope from around his neck and set him free. And four of the stoutest of the king's men fetched young Johnnie's sword, and put it back in his hand again.

“Now show me the lady,” said Jock o' Noth. “Young Johnnie's true love, I must see.”

“It's the king's own daughter that's young Johnnie's love,” they said. “And she's locked in a room in the castle tower, and the king, her father, keeps the key.”

Then to the king's palace went Lang Johnnie Mor, Auld Johnnie, and Jock o' Noth, all three. Through the palace door they strode and showed themselves before the king.

“Oh, where is your daughter?” roared Jock o' Noth. “That bonnie young lady I must see, for me and Auld Johnnie here have come to see her wed Lang Johnnie Mor, all the way from the foot of Benachie!”

“Oh, take my daughter!” cried the king, and his knee-caps rattled together with fear. “Take my daughter! You're welcome to her, for all of me. I never thought they bred such men at the foot of Benachie!”

“Och, if I had known,” said Jock o' Noth, “that you'd wonder so much at my size, I'd have brought along another man who's at least three times as big as me. Likewise if I thought the size of me would give you such a fright, I'd have brought Sir John of Erskine Park, for he has a height of thirty feet and three.”

“Let me get hold of the wee little lad who fetched you here!” cried the king. “I'll pay him well for the errand he ran, for I'll hang him with my own hands!”

“Do so!” Auld Johnnie said, and a hot fire shone in his angry eyes. “But if you do, we three, Lang Johnnie Mor, Jock o' Noth, and me, will come to the wee lad's burial, and you shall be as well paid as he, and you and the wee little lad in one same grave shall lie.”

“Take the wee little lad and my daughter, too!” said the king. “And leave me be. My daughter may wed whoe'er she likes, and I shall not say nay.”

“A priest! A priest!” cried Lang Johnnie Mor. “Go run for a priest and bring him here, to wed my true love and me.”

“A clerk! A clerk!” the king replied. “To set down the dower my daughter will have from me.”

To that Auld Johnnie Mor spoke up. “You want no clerk for we'll take no dower with your noble daughter,” said he. “We've no lack of land of our own at home in Rhynie, at the foot of Benachie. We have castles and houses and farms, and our plowmen's plows are seventy-three. We've chests of gold too full to be told, and flocks and herds galore, and young Johnnie Mor has a grand estate at the foot of Benachie.”

Then said Jock o' Noth to the king, “Now have you masons in Lunnon town, and any who will come at your call, that we may bring in some of them to mend the hole that I kicked in your wall?”

Said the king, “To be sure we have masons in town, and plenty to come at my call. But you can go back where you came from as fast as you can, and never mind my broken wall.”

They took the key from the hand of the king, and off they went to the high stone tower. They set the king's fair daughter free, and the priest came soon, and wedded her to Lang Johnnie Mor.

There ne'er was a wedding in Lunnon town as joyful and full of glee. The merry drums beat and the merry fifes played for seven nights and seven days. Then Lang Johnnie Mor, Auld Johnnie, and Jock o' Noth, all three, they took the king's fair daughter and the wee little lad, and they all went home, to Rhynie, at the foot of Benachie.

The Tale of the

Famous Flower of Servingmen

KINGS and castles have their day and crumble into dust. But when the dust has blown away we find that they are not forever gone. The old, old tales about them still live on, and storytellers bring them back to life again. And one of the very old tales of kings and castles is the one about the famous flower of servingmen.

Long ago, in a castle in Scotland, there dwelt a bonnie young lady. She had been motherless ever since she could remember, and she was the only child of her father, a good old nobleman. Every year pushed the father a little closer to the grave, and he began to trouble himself about what was going to happen to his beloved daughter when he was no longer alive. There were no close kinsmen to look after her, she was his only heir and would be immensely wealthy, and she was much too young to be alone in the world, having just reached her fifteenth year. The old nobleman looked about for a suitable husband for his daughter and settled his choice upon a fine young knight. With him he arranged a marriage for his daughter, and when all was done and the young couple were wedded, the old man was happy that the matter was so well settled, and not too soon, as it happened, for not much later the good old father died.

The knight carried his young bride home to his manor house in the country. She was so winsome and gentle that he loved her dearly, and he was so kind and so mindful of her happiness that she could not help loving him. He made the house fair for her, and sought to please her more and more each day, so that the two of them were as contented together as two turtledoves on a bough.

Then late one night a band of thieves came riding, and broke into the house while all inside were sound asleep. They slew the young knight before he could reach for his sword, and when the young wife screamed with horror at the sight, one of the robbers picked her up like a sack of rags and tossed her through the open window of the room.

Then the thieves went quickly through the house, ransacking it from cellar to garret until they had gathered everything of value that could be carried away. They took all the steeds and the gear from the stables, and when their booty was packed on the horses' backs, they set fire to the house. Off they galloped and left the red flames roaring behind them on the darkness of the night.

When the young wife was hurled through the window she fainted from fright. Day had begun to dawn before she came to herself and looked about her, dazed and only half-remembering what had happened during the night. By good fortune, she had fallen into a thick clump of gorse bushes that grew on the hillside below the house, far enough from the flames that she had been safe from being burned. The thick branches had caught her and broken her fall so that she was not injured, although she was badly scratched by the spiky twigs and the sharp thorns. Now that day had come she could see what damage had been done. The fire had almost consumed the walls of the manor house by then, and when she looked up and saw the smoking remains of the home where she had dwelt so happily, her heart nearly broke in two for grief. She scrambled out of the bushes and climbed the hillside to the courtyard, and there she stood with bent head, trying to gather her thoughts together and decide what she was to do.

She had no kinsmen to go to, and she had been so much alone with her father before her marriage that she had made no close friends. The servants who had remained here had all been slain by the robbers, and she was sure that those who had saved themselves by running away would not return. There was naught here for them to return to, nor was there anything left to keep her here. She was left all by herself, alone in the world. And away from here, into the world, she must go and try to find a place for herself.