Lord Soulis

: Tales From Scottish Ballads

"Lord Soulis he sat in Hermitage Castle,

And beside him Old Redcap sly;--

'Now, tell me, thou sprite, who art meikle of might,

The death that I must die.'



They roll'd him in a sheet of lead,

A sheet of lead for a funeral pall;

They plunged him in the cauldron red,

And melted him, lead, and bones, and all."





And so tho hast seen the great cauldron at Skelf-hill, little Annie,

standing high up on the hillside, and thou wouldst fain hear its story.



'Tis a weird tale, Sweetheart, and one to make the blood run cold, for

'tis the story of a cruel and a wicked man, and how he came by a violent

and a fearsome death. But Grannie will tell it thee, and when thou

thinkest of it, thou must always try to remember how true it is what the

Good Book says, that "all they that take the sword, shall perish with

the sword," which means, I take it, that they who show no mercy need

expect none at the hands of others.



'Tis a tale of spirits and of witchcraft, child, things that in our days

we do not believe in; but I had it from my grandfather, who had heard it

when he was a laddie from the old shepherds out on the hills, and they

believed it all and feared to pass that way in the dark.



But to come to the story itself. Long, long ago, in far bygone days,

William de Soulis, Lord of Liddesdale, kept high state in his Castle of

Hermitage. The royal blood of Scotland flowed in his veins, for he was

sixth in descent from Alexander II., and could an ancestress of his have

proved her right, he might have sat on the throne of Scotland.



Besides owning Liddesdale, he had lands in Dumfriesshire, and in the

Lothians, and he might have been like the "Bold Buccleuch," a succourer

of widows, and a defender of the oppressed and the destitute.



But instead of this he worked all manner of wickedness, till his very

name was dreaded far and near. He oppressed his vassals; he troubled his

neighbours; he was even at enmity with the King himself. And because he

feared that his Majesty might come against him with an army, he had

fortified his castle with much care. In order to do this thoroughly, he

forced his vassals to work like beasts of burden, putting bores[21] on

their shoulders, and yoking them to sledges, on which they drew all

kinds of building material to the castle.



[Footnote 21: Yokes.]



No wonder, then, that he was hated by rich and poor alike, and no wonder

that his heart would quail at times, reckless and hardened though he

was, for it is an ill thing not to have a friend in this world. Servants

may be hired for money, but 'tis love, and love only, that can buy true

friendship. Aye remember that, little Annie, aye remember that.



I say that he had no friends, but I am mistaken. 'Twas said he had one,

and mayhap he would have been as well without him. For men would have it

that Hermitage Castle was haunted by a familiar spirit.



As a rule he dwelt in a wooden chest, bound with rusty bars of iron; but

occasionally, when Lord Soulis was alone, he would come out and talk

with him. "Old Redcap," the country folk used to call him, and they said

that he was a wee, wee man, with a red pirnie[22] and twisted legs; but

whether that be true or no, 'tis not for me to say.



[Footnote 22: Nightcap.]



'Twas also said that, one day, when Soulis and his uncanny friend were

alone, Soulis asked him what his end would be; if he would die at home

in his bed, or out on the hillside in fair fight with his foes? And

Redcap made answer that he would throw his spell over him, and that that

spell would keep him from all common dangers, from all weapons of war,

and from all devices of peace; from arrows, and lances, and knives; from

chains, and even from hempen ropes. He would be safe from all these, but

there was one thing, and one thing alone, which the charm could not do,

and that was to save him if ever men could take him and bind him with

ropes of sifted sand.



Methinks I can hear Lord Soulis' laugh as Redcap told him this. "Ropes

of sand, forsooth!" he would say. "Did ever man hear of ropes of sand?"



But he had forgotten that the Wizard of the North, Sir Michael Scott of

Balwearie--the same who studied the wisdom of the East under the Moors

at Toledo, in Spain, who could read the stars, and command familiar

spirits to come and go at his bidding--had found out the way to forge

ropes out of sand, and that, though Michael was dead, his Spae-book yet

remained, in which he had written down all his magic.



"Moreover," added Redcap, "if ever danger threatens thee, knock thrice

on this old chest, and the lid will rise, and I will speak; but beware

lest thou lookest into it. When the lid begins to rise, turn thine eyes

away, or the spell will be broken."



Now it chanced soon after this, that one morning, just as the day was

breaking, Lord Soulis, as was his wont, sent one of his little pages up

to the top of the tower, to look out over the country far and near, to

see if there were any travellers who took the road to Hermitage. At

first the boy saw nothing, but, as it grew lighter, the figure of a

horseman, clad in the royal livery, appeared, riding down the hillside.



"Now what may thine errand be?" cried the page.



"I carry a message to Soulis of Hermitage from the King of Scotland,"

replied the stranger; "and he bids me tell that cruel Knight, that the

report of his ill deeds has come to his Majesty's ears at Holyrood

House, and that if ever again such stories reach him, he will send his

soldiers to burn the castle, and put its lord to death."



Then the page hasted, and ran, and delivered this message to his master,

whose face grew white with rage when he heard it. For he was an awful

man, little Annie, an awful man, who in general feared neither God nor

the King, and who could not brook to be reproved.



Under the castle there was a deep dungeon, cut out of the solid rock,

and the entrance to it was by a hole in the courtyard, which was covered

by a great flat stone. The stone rested on beams of oak, and Lord Soulis

gave orders that the guards were to keep the King's messenger waiting

outside the gate, and pretend to be very kind to him, giving him a

tankard of ale, and a hunch of bread, until some of the men inside the

castle had cut away those great oak beams.



Then they opened the gate, and told the poor man that Lord Soulis would

speak with him if he would ride into the courtyard; and he rode in, and

as soon as his horse stepped on the big flat stone that covered the

mouth of the dungeon, it gave way beneath its weight, and both man and

horse fell down, and were crushed to pieces on the hard stone floor,

full thirty feet below.



The King was right wroth when he heard how his messenger had been

treated, but before he could set off for Liddesdale to punish Lord

Soulis, the punishment came from nearer home.



It chanced that the young Lord of Buccleuch wooed a lovely lady called

May o' Gorranberry. 'Twas said that she was the bonniest lass in all

Teviotdale, and in all Liddesdale, and the wedding day was fixed. But

the wicked Lord Soulis, puffed up with pride at the way in which he had

got rid of the King's messenger, and relying, doubtless, on Redcap's

charm to protect him from danger, took it into his sinful head that he

would like May o' Gorranberry for his wife.



And he sent, and took her, as she was walking on the hillside above her

father's house, and brought her to his grim old Castle of Hermitage.



The poor lassie was almost mad with terror, and tore her hair, and cried

continually for her lover, until the cruel man threatened that if she

did not hold her tongue he would send men to burn down Branksome Tower,

and kill all its inmates.



And next morning, because she would not stop weeping, he called his

chief man-at-arms, a brave, fearless fellow called Red Ringan, and told

him to gather a band of spearmen, and ride over the hills to Teviotdale,

and attack the old castle which was the home of the Lords of Buccleuch.



Now it chanced that that very morning, young Buccleuch set out alone to

hunt the roe-buck and the dun deer which roamed in the woods that

surrounded his castle. He had fine sport, and he went on, and on, and

never noticed how far up among the hills he was getting, or how fast the

day was passing, until it began to get dark.



Suddenly he looked up, and, to his astonishment, he saw, riding down the

glen to meet him, a company of spearmen. He thought they were his own

retainers, and walked boldly up to them, and never knew his mistake

until he was seized, and bound hand and foot. They were really Lord

Soulis' men, with Red Ringan at their head, and Red Ringan had thrown a

glamour over his eyes, so that he could not distinguish between friends

and foes. Of course Red Ringan was delighted at this piece of good luck,

and he set the poor young man on a horse, and sent him over the hills to

Hermitage, guarded by a handful of spearmen, while he rode on with the

rest of his troop to Branksome, to see what mischief he could work

there.



Thou canst think with what triumph my Lord Soulis would greet his

prisoner, and with what bitter tears May o' Gorranberry would see him

brought in, for she would know about the dungeon, and shudder to think

what his fate would be.



'Twas said that the cruel lord mocked at young Buccleuch as he rode

under the archway, and cried out to him, as if in jest--



"Thrice welcome, Buccleuch, thrice welcome to my castle. Nathless 'tis

as a wedding guest thou comest. Certs, my bonnie May well deserves such

a gallant groomsman."



Next morning the sun rose blood red, and just as its rays touched the

gray stones of the grim old keep, the page came running to say that Red

Ringan was riding down the hillside all alone. Methinks the wicked

lord's heart gave a throb of fear, as he hurried out to the gate to meet

his henchman.



"Where have ye stabled my gallant steeds?" he cried, "and wherefore do

thy comrades tarry, whilst thou ridest home all alone?"



Red Ringan shook his head mournfully. "I bring thee heavy tidings,

Master," he said. "The steeds are stabled, sure enough, but 'tis in a

stable where they will rest till the Crack of Doom, and their riders lie

beside them. Thou knowest Tarras Moss, and how fair and pleasant it

lies, and how deep and cruel it is? My men mistook the path in the dark,

and rode right into it, and, had it not been for my good brown mare, not

one of us had been left to tell the tale. She struggled to firm footing

right nobly, and brought me out alive on her back; but when I looked

around me, I was all alone, Master, I was all alone."



Lord Soulis made no reply. With heavy steps he sought the low dark room

where the great chest stood, with its iron bands, and its three rusty

locks.



He shut the door behind him, and then, with clenched fist, he knocked

thrice on the heavy lid. The first time he knocked, and the second time,

such a groan came from the chest that his very blood ran cold; but at

the third knock the locks opened, and the lid began to rise.



Lord Soulis turned away his head as Redcap had told him to do, and stood

listening with all his might. A strange sullen muttering came from the

chest, of which he could only distinguish these mysterious words,

"Beware of a coming tree," and then the lid shut as slowly as it had

opened, and the locks were locked with a jerk, as if by unseen hands.



Meanwhile, over the hills in Teviotdale there had been confusion and

dismay when the young Lord of Buccleuch failed to return, and when news

came by the country folk that he had been seen, bound hand and foot,

being taken to Hermitage by Lord Soulis' men, the anger of the whole

clan knew no bounds. For, as it is to-day, little Annie, so it was then.

The Scotts of Buccleuch were strong and powerful, and held in honour far

and near.



The young lord had one brother, Bold Walter by name. He was a mighty

fighter and a right strong man, who carried a bow that no other man

could bend, and who loved nothing better than to ride on a foray with

all his father's moss-troopers at his back. Methinks Lord Soulis had

forgotten Bold Walter when he meddled with his brother and his bride.



It did not take this brave knight long, when he heard the news, to send

his riders out to North, and South, and East, and West, to call on his

friends and clansmen to ride with him to the fray. And because he had

heard of Old Redcap, and knew that Lord Soulis would be protected by his

charms, he sent all the way to the Tower of Ercildoune for True Thomas,

that wondrous Rhymer, who had been for seven years in Fairyland, and

who, on his return to earth, had gone to the Abbey Church of St Mary, at

Melrose, and had taken Sir Michael Scott's Spae-book from its dread

hiding-place, for its writer had been buried with it in his arms.



So, before the next sun had set, Bold Walter had raised as fair an army

as that which the King in Edinburgh had thought to send to Hermitage.

The news of this army spread like wildfire over the country, ay, and

over the hills to Hermitage, and I ween Lord Soulis' heart sank still

lower when he heard of it, and once more he went for counsel to the

magic chest. Again he knocked, and again the hollow groan rang out; but

as the lid lifted, he forgot in his haste to turn his eyes away, and in

a moment the charm was broken. The spirit spoke indeed, but it spoke

sullenly and angrily.



"Alas," it said, "thou art undone. Thou hast forgotten my warning, and,

instead of turning away thy head, thou hast raised thine eyes to look on

me. Therefore thou must lock the door of this chamber, and give the key

into my keeping, and for seven long years thou must not return, and I

must remain silent."



The wicked may flourish like the green bay tree, little Annie, but

vengeance will always overtake them at last; and I trow that Lord Soulis

felt that vengeance was close on his heels, as he left that mysterious

chamber, and locked the door, and drew the key from the lock, where it

had always rested, in his life-time at least, and threw it over his left

shoulder, which is, men say, the right way to give things to wizards and

witches, and such-like beings.



The key sank in the ground, and there it remains for aught I know, and

'tis said that even to this day, at the end of every seven years, if

anyone cares to listen, they may hear strange and awful sounds coming

from that long-locked chamber.[23]



[Footnote 23: "Somewhere about the autumn of 1806, the Earl of

Dalkeith, being encamped near the Hermitage Castle, for the

amusement of shooting, directed some workmen to clear away the

rubbish from the door of the dungeon in order to ascertain its

ancient dimensions and architecture. To the great astonishment of

the labourers, a rusty iron key of considerable size was found among

the ruins a little way from the dungeon door. The well-known

tradition passed from one to another, and it was generally agreed

that the malevolent demon who had so long retained possession of the

key of the castle dungeon now found himself obliged to resign it to

the heir-apparent of the domain."--Note on "Lord Soulis" in Leyden's

Life and Works.]



Yet Lord Soulis' heart was not humbled, and he made up his mind, that,

come what might, young Buccleuch should die. And in the wickedness and

cruelty of his heart he determined that he himself should choose the

manner of it.



So he had him brought before him. "What wouldst thou do, young Scott, if

thou hadst me as I have thee?" he asked, in his cruel mocking voice.



"I would take thee to the good greenwood," answered Buccleuch haughtily,

"and I would hang thee there, and I would make thine own hand wale[24]

the tree."



[Footnote 24: Choose.]



"Good," answered Lord Soulis; "then thou shalt do as thou hast said, and

if bonnie May refuse to marry me, then she shall hang on a bush beside

thee."



So they led him out to a wood full of tall trees, far up on whose upper

branches sat hooded crows, looking down on them in solemn silence.



The first tree that Lord Soulis made his men halt under was a fir.



"Say, wilt thou hang on a fir tree, and let the hooded crows pick thy

bones?" he asked roughly.



Young Buccleuch shook his head. "Nay, not so, my Lord of Soulis," he

answered in mock humility, "for on windy nights at Branksome, the fir

trees rock by the old towers, and the fir cones come pattering to the

ground like rain. I heard them when I was a bairn, as I lay awake at

night in my cot. Thou surely wouldst not have the heart to hang me on a

tree which I have loved all my life."



Then Soulis told his men to pass on, and as they went through the wood

their prisoner kept peeping and peering from side to side, and muttering

to himself, as if he were looking for something. The men-at-arms could

not hear what he was saying, and methinks they would have been much

astonished if they had. For he knew the spirit that his brother was of,

and he knew that he would not let him hang without an attempt at rescue,

and he was saying over and over again to himself, "This death is no' for

me, this death is no' for me."



At last they halted again under an aspen tree, whose leaves were

quivering mournfully in the wind. Lord Soulis was growing impatient.



"Choose, and choose quickly," he cried, "or methinks I must choose for

thee."



But again Buccleuch shook his head. "Not on an aspen tree, my lord, not

on an aspen tree. I love its gray leaves better than any other, for it

was under their shade that May o' Gorranberry and I first plighted our

troth."



So on they went, and still the young man peered and looked, first in

this direction, then in that, until at last he saw what seemed to be a

bank of hazel branches pressing through the trees towards them. Then he

gave a great shout, and leaped high in the air. "Methinks I spy a coming

tree," he cried, and at the words Lord Soulis' face grew pale, for they

recalled to him Redcap's warning, and he feared that his hour had come.



Everyone soon saw what the strange thing was which was coming towards

them. It was Bold Walter of Buccleuch and his men, and each of them had

stuck a branch of witch's hazel in his basnet, for 'tis said that a twig

of hazel protects its wearer from the arts of magic, and they had no

mind to be bewitched by the Lord of Hermitage.



So this was the coming tree that Redcap had warned Lord Soulis to beware

of, and it had come in right earnest.



But Soulis remembered the charmed life that he bore, and he tried to

shake fear from his heart.



"Ay, many may come, but few shall go back," he cried defiantly;

"besides, ye come on a bootless errand. There is not a man in broad

Scotland who hath the power to wound me."



"By my troth," replied Bold Walter, "but we shall soon prove that," and,

drawing his bow, he sent an arrow straight in Lord Soulis' face.



Sure enough it fell harmless to the ground, and there was not even a

scratch on the wicked lord's skin, and for a moment Buccleuch was

baffled.



But Thomas of Ercildoune stepped forward. "He is bewitched, Sire," he

said, "and protected by the charms of Redcap. No steel can break that

charm, but mayhap if thy men bore him down with their lances, he might

be taken."



In vain the spearmen crowded round, and struck him to the earth. The

lances glanced harmlessly off his body, and never left so much as a mark

on him.



Then they bound him hand and foot with hempen ropes, but, to their

amazement, he burst them as if they had been threads of wool. Then

someone brought chains of forged steel, and they bound those round his

limbs, thinking that now they surely had him in their power; but he

burst them as easily as if they had been made of tow.



At this everyone was daunted, and would have let him go, but Thomas of

Ercildoune cried cheerily, "We'll bind him yet, lads, whatever betide."



As he spoke, he drew out from his bosom a little black leather-covered

book, and at the sight of it all the spearmen fell back in awe. For it

was Sir Michael Scott's "Book of Might," and, as I have said, Sir

Michael was a wizard himself, and knew all about warlocks and witches,

with their charms and spells, and he could undo everyone of them, and he

had written all this knowledge down in his black Spae-book. When he

died, the book had been buried deep in his grave in the Abbey at

Melrose, and True Thomas had gone there, and recovered it, and he had

brought it with him to aid Bold Walter of Buccleuch in rescuing his

brother.



He turned over the leaves, and at last he found the place where Sir

Michael had told how it was possible to bind a charmed man.



"Ye cannot bind a wizard with ropes," he read, "unless they be ropes of

sifted sand."



"Where can we get some sifted sand?" he asked, and everyone looked round

in dismay, for there was no sand there, under the trees.



"Come to the Nine-stane Rig," cried a man; "there is a burn[25] runs

past the bottom of it, and we will find plenty of sand there."



[Footnote 25: Stream.]



Thou knowest the Nine-stane Rig, little Annie, the hill that slopes down

to Hermitage Water, with the circle of great stones standing on it,

which, 'tis said, were placed there by wild and heathen men, hundreds of

years ago. Well, they carried Lord Soulis there, and hurried him down to

the burn, and they shaped ropes out of the sand that lies smooth and

clean by the water-side.



But, shape the ropes as they might, they would neither twist nor twine;

the dry sand just ran through their fingers, and once again they were

baffled. Once more True Thomas turned to the spae-book, and this time he

found that the sand would twist more easily if it were mixed with barley

chaff, and the men of Teviotdale ran down the valley until they came to

a field of growing barley. They pulled the ripe grain and beat it in

their hands, and it was not long ere they returned with a napkin full of

chaff. They mixed nine handfuls of it with the sand, for it was thus the

"Book of Might" directed, and once more they tried to twist the ropes,

but once more they failed.



"This is some of the wee man's work," muttered the country folk, who

were standing looking on; and they were right. Old Redcap had not

deserted his master, although the spell which caused the magic chest to

open was broken, and he was at hand, doing his utmost to save him,

though unseen by mortal eyes.



Again True Thomas turned over the leaves of Sir Michael's book, in the

hope of finding something which would break even the most powerful

spell, and at last he came to a page where it told how, if all else

failed, the wizard must be boiled in lead.



Ay, thou mayst well shudder, little Annie, and hide thy face in my gown.



'Twas a terrible thing to do, but they did it.



They kindled a fire on the Nine-stane Rig, in the middle of the old

Druid stones, and there they placed the great brass cauldron. They

heated it red hot, and some of them hasted to Hermitage Castle, and

stripped a sheet of lead from the roof, and they wrapped the wicked lord

in it, and plunged him in, and stood round in solemn silence till the

contents of that awful pot melted--lead, and bones, and all--and nought

remained but a seething sea of molten metal.



So came the sinful man by his end, and to this day the cauldron remains,

as thou knowest, child. It was brought over to the Skelf-hill, and there

it stands, a fearful warning to evil-doers, while, on the spot where it

was boiled, within the circle of stones on the Nine-stane Rig, the

ground lies bare and fallow, for the very grass refuses to grow where

such a terrible deed was done.