The Green Man (17 page)

‘You don't care for this country of mine,' he said accusingly.

‘I find it strange, my lord. Wild, untamed. Even, if you'll forgive my plain speaking, somewhat barbarous.'

To my relief, he was not offended. In fact, the description seemed to please him. He smiled.

‘Full of hobgoblins and witches, eh? You hear echoes of a much older religion?'

I hastened to disclaim. ‘I didn't mean to imply that Scotland was not a Christian country, Your Grace.'

‘No, of course not.' His tone was suave, but he gave me a sharp, sidelong, bright-eyed look. ‘But then, in your own western part of England, you have many pagan beliefs, do you not? The Old Ones in their hollow hills; the Druids; Mithraism, the worship of the Bull; the Great Goddess, Mother of the Earth …'

‘These heresies did exist once,' I admitted.

‘But no longer?'

There was an urgent rap on the bedchamber door. I heaved a sigh of relief as the latch was lifted even before Albany had time to call ‘Come in!'

‘What the devil—?' he was demanding furiously, as Donald Seton fell on one knee beside the bed, but checked as he looked into the squire's white face. ‘What is it? What's happened?'

A
torrent of words followed, only a few of which I understood, but I could tell from Albany's face that something serious – or, at least, something which touched him nearly – had happened. As the squire finished speaking, the duke fired a number of rapid questions at him, using the same Scots tongue as his servitor, and, eventually, when they had been answered, he lay back against his pillows, biting his thumb.

He reverted to English. ‘He's in the castle dungeons, you say?' Donald nodded. ‘And likely to be brought to trial?' Another nod. ‘How did you learn this?'

‘From one of the lay brothers here. It's common knowledge.' The squire, taking his cue from his master, also lapsed into language I was able to comprehend.

‘Do you know any details of the murder? Does Master Sinclair protest his innocence?'

The squire shook his head. ‘No. Quite the contrary. Apparently he admits openly to the crime, but claims it was done in self-defence.'

Albany drew in his breath.

‘Let me understand this properly,' he said, his fingers plucking restlessly at the hem of the sheet. ‘Rab Sinclair confesses to stabbing his wife – his unarmed wife – but says it was done in self-defence? This informant of yours, this lay brother, is sure of his facts?'

‘He swears to it. It only happened the day before yesterday, on Monday afternoon. Master Sinclair made no effort to escape and was arrested almost at once with the knife still in his hand.'

The duke swung his legs out of bed and demanded his bed-gown.

‘I must see my Cousin Gloucester,' he said. ‘I must find out if my uncles and the Council mean to open negotiations with us or whether they intend to make us lay siege to the city. If the latter, it might be weeks before we are inside the walls, and by then Rab could well have been hanged.'

He hunched himself into the furred velvet gown that Donald fetched for him and disappeared through the bedchamber door. The squire made no move to follow him, so I seized my opportunity to ask questions in my turn. Whether or not I would receive any answers was another matter.

‘I've gathered the gist of the story,' I said. ‘But who is this Master Sinclair?'

Donald looked round at me in surprise, as though he had forgotten my existence, or, more likely, been unaware of it so anxious had he been to impart his information to Albany.

‘Oh, it's you, is it? Of course! I should have thought. You're still guarding His Grace.'

The words could have had a sting to them, but somehow they didn't. They were uttered in a flat, dry tone that was almost one of indifference.

‘Yes, I'm still here,' I snapped back, ‘although what good I'm doing continues to be a mystery to me. I'm hoping that once my lord and the rest of you are safely inside the city, I shall be allowed to return to my home. Now that King James is a prisoner of his nobles, surely there can be no impediment to the duke assuming the crown?'

The squire laughed. ‘I wouldn't be too certain of that, chapman. No Scot worth his salt is going to let himself be manipulated, or have his king chosen for him by a Sassenach. Your countrymen have tried it before, several times during the course of the centuries, and, eventually, have always been worsted at their own game. No; if anything, I would guess that my lord's chances of the crown are slimmer now than they would have been had King James and his army been beaten fairly and squarely in battle.'

‘Then—'

‘Oh, have no fear! His Grace will take his own measures to ensure his coronation.' And again, Donald Seton laughed.

‘What are they?' I demanded.

The squire raised his eyebrows. ‘Do you really think he confides in me?'

I had to admit to myself that it seemed unlikely, but the man had spoken with such authority that my suspicions were aroused. Moreover, his words echoed something that Albany himself had once said to me. But I decided to let the matter drop, knowing that even if I pursued it, I should get no satisfaction. I returned instead to my original question.

‘Who is this Master Sinclair who is in the castle dungeons on a charge of murdering his wife?'

My companion hesitated for a second, then shrugged.

‘No reason why you shouldn't be told, I suppose. Master Sinclair is a close friend of the duke and was one of my lord's most faithful servants before he – my lord, that is – was forced to flee the country after the murder of my former master.'

‘The Earl of Mar?' I queried, and he nodded. ‘Then why,' I went on, ‘did this most faithful servant not join you, Davey and the others when you escaped to France to offer your services to my lord Albany?'

Donald snorted. ‘What a damnably curious, long-nosed fellow you are.'

‘So people tell me,' I answered coolly. ‘Nevertheless, I should like an answer.'

The squire hunched a shoulder. ‘Well, for one thing, he had no notice of our intention. We kept that a secret between the five of us. We had no wish to be arrested and executed on a charge of high treason or, more likely, clapped in the dungeons of Craigmillar Castle and murdered like poor Mar. And for another thing, Master Sinclair is – or rather was – a married man who doted on his young wife. I doubt very much he'd have left her, even for my lord's sake.'

‘And yet now he's killed her without, it would seem, any provocation on her part?'

The squire frowned. ‘According to my source of information—'

‘The lay brother.'

‘The lay brother, yes. According to him, Master Sinclair is pleading self-defence.'

‘Strange …' A thought occurred to me. ‘Is this man the one my lord was referring to when speaking to Earl Rivers yesterday? The one whose distant kinsman built the chapel at … oh, I forget the name.'

‘Roslin. Yes, this is the man.' Donald's tone was suddenly curt, as though he had had enough of my questioning, and he made for the bedchamber door, no doubt feeling that only by his absence could he stem the flow of my insatiable curiosity.

And there is no doubt, either, that he was right. Unfortunately for him, he nearly collided with Albany in the doorway as the duke came back into the room, an expression of dissatisfaction marring his handsome looks. The squire's retreat was necessarily checked.

‘What news, my lord? Good or bad?'

Albany shed his bed-gown and chewed a thumbnail for a moment or so before replying.

‘I'm not sure. The arrival of a messenger from my uncles and other members of the Council coincided with my own. Indeed, he was shown into Gloucester's bedchamber a second or so before I was.'

‘And, my lord?' Donald prompted when the duke broke off, staring absent-mindedly into space.

‘What?' The duke gave a start as if recalled from a long way away. ‘Oh, yes. The Council is offering to negotiate. I gather that a part, at least, of the Princess Cicely's dowry is on offer, to be repaid immediately, with a promise of further instalments later on.' He chewed his nail again. ‘There will be no siege, no conquest. My Cousin Gloucester, together with certain chosen lords – myself included, naturally – will be admitted peacefully to the city tomorrow morning to be received in state at the castle, where we shall be housed. The English army will remain encamped in the valley, to be victualled at the Scots' expense until such time as they withdraw from Scottish soil. Gloucester has agreed, of course. He'd be a fool not to.'

Albany again appeared to be distracted by his own thoughts, and this time it was my turn to recall him to himself.

‘But surely, this is no bad thing, my lord. Negotiations are better any day than the death and destruction of war. Think how many lives will be saved.'

For my own part, I could scarcely conceal my relief and joy that the end of this madcap adventure must now be in sight. A week, perhaps less, could well see me on the long road home in the wake of the retreating English army.

I wasn't certain that the duke had been attending to my words, but he suddenly spun round to face me, his eyes narrowing.

‘And where do you think these negotiations will leave me, Roger? Not crowned king of Scotland, you may be sure. I shall be one of the bargaining counters. Let me guess. On behalf of King Edward, Cousin Gloucester will not press my claim to the throne, while the Council, acting in my brother's name, will leave Berwick to its fate, allowing it to become once again an English town, one of the main aims of this expedition. I am no longer necessary to your countrymen, you see.'

I could see, now that it was pointed out to me, and I was able to understand his bitterness. I could see, too, that, whether it had been planned or not, the killing of King James's favourites and the taking of the king himself into custody had been a shrewd move on the part of the Scots nobles. Furthermore, their offer of a peaceful settlement had rendered Albany valueless to the English.

Donald cleared his throat. ‘My lord!' He put out a hand as if to grasp his master's wrist before thinking better of it. ‘My lord!' he repeated with an urgency I failed to understand. Albany, still looking a little dazed, also failed to grasp his meaning judging by the questioning glance he turned in the squire's direction. Donald muttered something in the Scots tongue and the duke's face lightened momentarily.

‘Ah, yes!' He took a deep breath like a drowning man coming up for air and spoke more cheerfully. ‘Of course!' But then he hesitated, obviously thinking better of what he had said, and shook his head. ‘That must wait,' he continued. ‘First, Rab Sinclair must be cleared of this charge against him. I can't and won't attend to my own affairs before I see him freed.'

‘But, my lord, what can be done?' the squire protested. ‘He's plainly guilty. He was arrested with the knife still in his hand, the body still warm.'

‘If Rab says it was in self-defence, however improbable that may seem, then I for one believe him. His claim must be investigated, and –' he turned to me, throwing out his arms in a triumphant gesture – ‘here is the very man to do it!' Donald eyed me sceptically, but Albany continued enthusiastically, ‘Yes, yes! He has a reputation for being able to solve mysteries and problems. He has even done so for Cousin Gloucester and other people of note.'

He smote me on the back with such vigour that I lost my balance, toppled over on to the bed and decided that, while there, I might as well climb between the sheets again.

‘Your Grace is pleased to joke about it,' I ventured, praying to God and the Virgin that he would agree.

My luck was out, as I had feared it would be.

‘No joke, Roger.' Albany got into bed beside me. ‘What foresight on my part to insist on bringing you along. It's almost as if I had had a premonition.'

‘I thought I was brought to guard you from your enemies,' I snapped, glancing meaningfully at Donald Seton.

‘Oh, that mainly,' Albany agreed, adding hurriedly, ‘From those English lords and their hired assassins who desired my death. But I think that now, until I put my own plan into execution and once more become a threat to them, they will consider King Edward's intention to have me crowned king of Scotland as unlikely to be fulfilled.' He nodded dismissal to the squire. ‘All right, Donald, you may go. Tell the others what has happened and be ready to accompany me into Edinburgh tomorrow morning, whenever the embassy arrives from the castle and His Grace of Gloucester decides to enter the town. Now, for God's sake, let's all get some sleep.'

I don't know that I slept much, there were too many thoughts crowding my mind, but I can vouch for it that, whatever cares and prospects of potential disappointment were troubling Albany, he slumbered peacefully until daybreak. (I can also vouch for the fact that the monks had fed their noble guests garlic at supper, for the smells which rose from beneath the bedclothes from time to time were of an indescribable pungency.)

I lay awake for at least an hour, staring at the four walls of the austere, cell-like guest-room of Holy Rood Abbey, wondering what this plan of the duke's was that would ensure his coronation despite the wreckage of his and his English allies' schemes to seize the Scottish throne in the wake of military conquest and the possible death or capture of his brother. I also lay awake cursing my fate at being pitchforked into a murder mystery that Albany would expect me to solve by exonerating his friend, even though it seemed to be a straightforward case of a husband killing his wife in a fit of – what? Jealousy? Betrayal? Or just a fit of pique because the meat had been undercooked at dinner? (Not such a ridiculous idea as you might think.) I had a few choice words to say to God on the subject, just to let Him know what I thought of the situation, but, as always, He ignored me and let me get on with venting my spleen without vouchsafing any reply. He knew that I knew He would give me His help when it was required.