Chapter XXI Graeme and Bewick
Good Lord Graeme and Sir Robert Bewick were friends. They met one day in Carlisle, and went arm in arm to the wine, and, as was too oft the custom of these days, they stayed and drank till they were both merry. Good Lord Graeme took up the cup. “Sir Robert, and here’s to thee!” he said, “and here’s to our two sons at home, for they like us best in our own country.”
“O were your son a lad like mine,” answered Bewick, boastfully, “and learnt some books that he could read, they might be two brothers in arms, and lord it over the Borderside.
‘But your son’s a lad, and he’s but bad,
And billie6 to my son he cannot be.’
You sent him to school, and he would not learn; you bought him books, and he would not read!”
Lord Graeme called angrily for the reckoning. “My blessing shall he never earn,” said he, “till I see how his arm can defend his head.” He threw down a crown, and went to the stable, took his horse, and rode home. “Welcome, my old father,” said his son, Christie Graeme, “but where were ye so long from home?” “I have been at Carlisle town, and a shamed man I am by thee,” answered his father with a black look; “I have been at Carlisle town, where Sir Robert Bewick met me. He says you are but a bad, wild youth, and can never be billie to his boy. I sent you to the school, and you would not learn. I bought you books, and you would not read; therefore you shall never have my blessing till I see you save your head in fight with young Bewick.” “Now God forbid, my old father, that ever such a thing should be! Billie Bewick was my master, and I his scholar, in spite of the pains he wasted in teaching me.” “O hold thy tongue, thou foolish lad! If thou dost not soon end this quarrel, there’s my glove, I’ll fight with thee myself.”
Then Christie Graeme stooped low. “Father, put on your glove again, the wind has blown it from your hand.”
“What’s that, thou sayst, thou limmer loon?
How darest thou stand to speak to me?
If thou do not end this quarrel soon,
There’s my right hand, thou’lt fight with me!”
Then went Christie to his chamber, to consider what should happen. Should he fight with his own father, or with his brother-in-arms, Bewick?
“If I should kill my billie dear,
God’s blessing I shall never win;
But if I strike at my auld father,
I think ’twould be a mortal sin.
But if I kill my billie dear
It is God’s will, so let it be;
But I make a vow, ere I go from home,
That I shall be the next man’s die.”
He put a good old jack or quilted doublet on his back, and on his head he put a cap of steel, and well did he become them with his sword and buckler by his side!
Now young Bewick had taken his father’s sword under his arm, and walked about his father’s close. He looked between himself and the sun, to see some approaching object, and was aware of a man in bright armour, riding that way most hastily.
“O who is yon, that comes this way,
So hastily that hither came?
I think it be my brother dear,
I think it be young Christie Graeme.
Your welcome here, my billie dear,
And thrice you’re welcome unto me.”
Christie explained that he was come to fight, that his father had been to Carlisle, and had met with the elder Bewick. He retailed what had passed, “and so I’ll never earn my father’s blessing, till he sees how my arm can guard my head in fight against thee.”
“O God forbid, my billie dear,
That ever such a thing should be!
We’ll take three men on either side,
And see if we can our fathers agree.”
Christie shook his head. He knew that it was useless. “O hold thy tongue, billie Bewick. If thou’rt a man, as I’m sure thou art, come over the dyke and fight with me.”
“But I have no harness, billie, as I see you have.”
“As little harness as is on your back shall be on mine.”
With that Christie threw off his coat of mail and cap of steel, stuck his spear into the ground, and tied his horse up to a tree. Bewick threw off his cloak, and cast aside his psalter book. He laid his hand upon the dyke, and vaulted over. The two fought for two long hours. The sweat dropped fast from them both, but not a drop of blood could be seen to satisfy the requirements of honour. At last Graeme hit Bewick under the left breast, and he fell to the ground wounded mortally.
“Rise up, rise up, now, billie dear,
Arise and speak three words to me!
Whether thou’s gotten thy deadly wound,
Or if God and good leeching7 may succour thee?”
Bewick groaned. “Get to horse, billie Graeme, and get thee hence speedily. Get thee out of this country—that none may know who has done this.” “O have I slain thee, billie Bewick? But I made a vow, ere I came from home, that I would be the next man to die!” Thereupon he pitched his sword hilt downwards into a mole-hill, took a run of some three and twenty feet, and on his own sword’s point he fell to the ground dead.
Then up came Sir Robert Bewick. “Rise up, my son,” he said, “for I think you have got the victory.”
“O hold your tongue, my father dear. Let me be spared your prideful talking. You might have drunken your wine in peace, and let me and my billie be! Go dig a grave, both wide and deep, and a grave to hold us both; but lay Christie Graeme on the sunny side, for full sure I know that the victory was to him.”
“Alas,” cried old Bewick, “I’ve lost the liveliest lad that ever was born unto my name.” “Alas,” quoth good Lord Graeme, “my loss is the greater.
‘I’ve lost my hopes, I’ve lost my joy,
I’ve lost the key, but and the lock;
I durst have ridden the world around,
Had Christie Graeme been at my back!’”
Notes
6 Comrade, or brother-in-arms.
7 Doctoring.