the slaughtered garrison in a great fire
made of every movable within it; which dreadful cookery his men called
the Douglas Larder. Bruce, still successful, however, drove the Earl of
Pembroke and the Earl of Gloucester into the Castle of Ayr and laid siege
to it.

The King, who had been laid up all the winter, but had directed the army
from his sick-bed, now advanced to Carlisle, and there, causing the
litter in which he had travelled to be placed in the Cathedral as an
offering to Heaven, mounted his horse once more, and for the last time.
He was now sixty-nine years old, and had reigned thirty-five years. He
was so ill, that in four days he could go no more than six miles; still,
even at that pace, he went on and resolutely kept his face towards the
Border. At length, he lay down at the village of Burgh-upon-Sands; and
there, telling those around him to impress upon the Prince that he was to
remember his father's vow, and was never to rest until he had thoroughly
subdued Scotland, he yielded up his last breath.

CHAPTER XVII--ENGLAND UNDER EDWARD THE SECOND

King Edward the Second, the first Prince of Wales, was twenty-three years
old when his father died. There was a certain favourite of his, a young
man from Gascony, named PIERS GAVESTON, of whom his father had so much
disapproved that he had ordered him out of England, and had made his son
swear by the side of his sick-bed, never to bring him back. But, the
Prince no sooner found himself King, than he broke his oath, as so many
other Princes and Kings did (they were far too ready to take oaths), and
sent for his dear friend immediately.

Now, this same Gaveston was handsome enough, but was a reckless,
insolent, audacious fellow. He was detested by the proud English Lords:
not only because he had such power over the King, and made the Court such
a dissipated place, but, also, because he could ride better than they at
tournaments, and was used, in his impudence, to cut very bad jokes on
them; calling one, the old hog; another, the stage-player; another, the
Jew; another, the black dog of Ardenne. This was as poor wit as need be,
but it made those Lords very wroth; and the surly Earl of Warwick, who
was the black dog, swore that the time should come when Piers Gaveston
should feel the black dog's teeth.

It was not come yet, however, nor did it seem to be coming. The King
made him Earl of Cornwall, and gave him vast riches; and, when the King
we