Gemini (52 page)

‘No. But I need—’

‘Put it all out,’ said Nicholas. ‘I’ll write you a note. My God, who would have thought you so mean?’

‘He’s an Aberdonian,’ said Henry de St Pol quickly.

‘And you’ve just lost that round. So go on, what happened?’

The youth had been telling some story. He continued with it, glancing at John every now and then, and eventually forgetting him as the narrative rose to a crescendo and fell apart amid interruptions and arguments. It sounded normal, like anything you would hear round a garrison fire. The game ended and another began. When John left, eventually, it was dark and the youth Henry helped him down to the gateway. No one had mentioned guns.

He found his way to Gelis’s house, and she led him in and put him to bed. The next morning, he came down, holding a paper.

Gelis said, ‘It’s all right. I read it last night. He owes you two pounds, and you have to make some enquiries at Leith, while I find out when and how Sandy could have communicated with the family of Elizabeth Monypenny, wife of John Preston. How secure is that prison?’

‘It’s not a prison,’ John said. ‘They’ve just made Albany stay in his own apartments, and put a guard on the door. That is, if he escapes, in theory the King can tell the English Wardens how annoyed he is, and that he will bring him back as soon as possible.’ He paused. ‘I’d better get down to Leith.’

‘Yes, you had,’ Gelis said. ‘Where is John of Mar?’

‘Don’t ask,’ said John le Grant. ‘Just don’t ask.’

A
LEXANDER
, D
UKE OF
A
LBANY
, escaped, with the help of his excitable brother, just as soon as it dawned on him that he was not in course of receiving a rap on the knuckles, but was about to be incarcerated for some considerable time. In the guise of a grim, long-nosed woman, he rode out of the Castle with Johndie Mar and down to Leith, where a small boat waited to take him out to a larger.

As he had feared, at the last moment Johndie tried to come with him. Two of Sandy’s helpers stood on the shore, holding Johndie’s arms,
while Sandy’s oarsmen pulled off and began to move for mid-river. Sandy was waving a conciliatory goodbye from the stern when a familiar voice spoke at his hip. Nicholas de Fleury, sitting on the thwart just behind him, said, ‘I’m sorry, Sandy, but you can’t go any further. I have to take you back to the Castle.’

It was so unthinkable that it was funny. Sandy Albany dragged his sword from under his skirts, but it took rather long, and de Fleury was already trying to get hold of him. The rowers, who didn’t seem to be in anyone’s confidence, had slackened their pace, while the boat jerked under the struggle and continued to wander out to the river-mouth. De Fleury was also wearing a sword, but at least had the sense not to draw it. Against a prince, that was treason. Albany panted, ‘Get him off me, will you?’ to the oarsmen, and two of them did. Of course they did. They knew they would be rewarded. They jumped on the Burgundian, and dragged him away, and banged his head on the gunwale until he slumped. Then they tied him up, while Albany got out of his cloak and kirtle and hood, and, in no time at all, they were alongside the bigger ship, which was a fishing-boat.

Albany had been going to send de Fleury back in the skiff, and then had a better idea. He had him hauled aboard, after himself, and sent the oarsmen back with a message. ‘Tell my lord of Argyll that his plan has failed, and his minion has gone on a journey.’

Hearing that, Nicholas groaned. It was partly sham, for the plan had not, of course, failed. It was partly real, because the oarsmen had overacted, and his head buzzed. He kept his eyes shut and lay on the bottom-boards, which were fishy. He wondered where they would transfer to a larger vessel. The rolling motion was soothing, and he went to sleep.

He woke off the castle of Dunbar. That was all right. The castle was built over sea-rocks. Bigger ships sometimes changed cargo there.

That was not all right. Another rowing-boat had arrived. Sandy was climbing down into another rowing-boat and he himself, still bound, was being bundled down after and thrown at Sandy’s feet. Sandy said, ‘So you’re awake? Don’t you wish you’d minded your own business?’

‘Where am I?’ Nicholas said.

‘Arriving at my castle,’ said Sandy. ‘Where I propose to wait for the King of France’s army to come.’

The oarsmen were grinning, but not because they thought it was a joke. They were proud of the Duke. Nicholas said, ‘You might have a long wait.’

Sandy’s smile did not change. ‘It’s spring. I can hold out all summer. Ellem provisioned the castle while everyone was away because of the pest.’

John le Grant had discovered that. Questioned, the masters of barges remembered bringing timber and lead and artillery. Men and food would
come later, by sea, by the open back door to Dunbar Castle. The Lords Three knew the castle was fortified. They knew Albany would try to escape. They thought Albany would go straight to France, or if ships failed him, would use Dunbar as a temporary base until shipping arrived. They had all agreed, if this happened, to let him go.

Instead, he had always meant to go to Dunbar. Long ago, he had asked for French help and (of course) had been promised it. Now, he had announced his escape, and invited the French King to send a fleet, bringing an occupying force to Dunbar Castle. And thus supported, of course, Albany and the French would demand an end to this cowardly peace between England and Scotland. It was for Scotland to proclaim her proud sovereignty by declaring war on her neighbour. And if the King still refused, his subjects would know where to turn.

In a rueful kind of
da capo
, the note from Nicholas this time was the same as before:
Gelis, I’m sorry. I’ll bring him back safe
. Only it wasn’t Jodi who had left home this time, but a prince of the realm. And Nicholas wasn’t simply sailing to Berwick: he was a prisoner in a garrison preparing to withstand assault, and bound to go where Sandy went. For whether Sandy wanted it or not, that was why Nicholas was there.

I
T TOOK A
fortnight for Sandy’s confident message to reach the French Court, and another fortnight for the reply to travel back.

But for Sandy, Nicholas might have had a harder time than he did. Dunbar Castle was packed full of neighbours and henchmen in jubilant mood, at least to begin with. These, the Ellems and the Trotters and the Dicksons and the rest, were apt to remember that Nicholas de Fleury was a Burgundian before they remembered that he had ridden, after all, on Sandy’s last raid. And he might not be the King’s puppet like Adorne, but he was the one in the boat who had tried to take Sandy back. One of the Lochmaben supporters, Applegarth, made a point of that.

It was Sandy who pointed out that Nicol, alone, could hardly have hoped to get him back to Edinburgh anyway. He might not agree with what they were doing, but all he ever tried to do was talk them out of it. To which he had added that they might not especially want de Fleury, but he made a good hostage.

After that, it was like watching the lettering of a very long invoice, item duly following item, irrevocably, to the final accounting.

The garrison, settling in, began to relieve the tedium with forays into the countryside, lifting fresh provisions, driving off sheep and cattle and adding to the numbers of compliant women. The King’s Councillors, having established that Albany was there, and apparently waiting for French help, sent a competent force to camp in the town and fields facing the castle, both to prevent depredations and to dissuade sympathizers
from joining the Duke. By the third week, it could be seen from the banners that the companies which made up the force belonged to men of some power and influence in the kingdom, and that they had both handguns and light artillery. A week after that, the rumbling of wheels and the lowing of oxen told that Lisouris or Cochrane or Bonar or maybe all of them had been detailed to fetch the big cannon. Unspoken message to Albany: Even if the French come, what can they do against this?

Nicholas hoped to God that the coastal lookouts had been warned, and Crackbene and John and Alec and Leithie and Gelis’s latest admirer the Great Andrew had ships tucked away and ready to intercept other ships, or were telling everybody that they had. There was no possibility, none, that the King of France would send an army to Scotland just now. But Sandy wouldn’t believe that. All they could do was persuade him that if an army did come, it would be nullified.

The banner of the commander, flying from a comfortable house in the town, was that of Drew Avandale. It had an avuncular look. Drew Stewart, in his day, had been King’s Guardian to this young King’s father. Very soon, if he kept to the plan, he would send his own familiar chamberlain to the causeway gate of the castle, asking Sandy to meet him and talk.

He sent the chamberlain, who was rebuffed but not killed, which was fortunate, as no response had came from France, and the mood within the castle had changed to one of angry anxiety. The failure was no surprise to Avandale, but it had established a channel. He was there, if Sandy wanted him.

Then the reply came from France, brought by sea on an innocent salt-ship. Untied, it kept rolling up. The top said,
Ludovicus, Dei gratia Francorum rex, illustrissimo et praeclarissimo principi Alexander, Albani duci, salutem cum prosperitatis incremento … Cher et spécial ami …

The bottom said, Got your message, but No.

Nicholas, trying not to beat someone at chess, looked up and then stood as Sandy erupted into the room. ‘Louis won’t do it,’ Nicholas said, guessing.

‘Go on. Say it. You told me so,’ said Albany. He was deeply crimson.

Nicholas said, ‘Of course he wants to. But he can’t. It would be suicide while he’s at grips with Burgundy. What else does he say?’

Sandy flung down a paper. ‘That the ship which brought the courier will return in a week, and that it is his dearest wish that I should use it to travel to France, where there will be a welcome such as no man ever had, and freedom to live as his guest until the time is ripe for me to bring about that alliance of Scotland and France of which we both dream.’

He stopped. The other chess player, at a look, bowed and got out of the room. Albany said, ‘You were right.’

‘I don’t always like being right,’ Nicholas said. ‘You will go?’

‘If I go,’ Sandy said, ‘it won’t be to stay as his guest. You say he can’t spare an army. I say he can spare enough men and enough guns to hold this place for France, until he can send more later. I’ll go. And I’ll bring them back.’ He paused. ‘You don’t agree. You never agree.’

‘I think of alternatives,’ Nicholas said. ‘If you go, you leave behind all these men who have supported you.’

‘They will wait,’ Albany said.

‘And if you don’t come back with your army? Or if they can’t hold out until you do? There are some big guns out there,’ Nicholas said.

‘The trouble with you,’ Albany said, ‘is that you don’t understand the men in this castle. You think that they would prefer to surrender quietly as soon as I’ve gone, and sell their ultimate freedom for a possible promise of indemnity. They won’t. And by God, before I go, I’ll make sure that Drew Avandale knows he has a long, weary summer before him, for I have guns, too.’

That day, Nicholas remembered what the doctors had said about this family, for after so long together, it should have been possible to talk Albany away from his plan; even allowing for his frustration, his hurt vanity, his passion of indignation against England. But Albany was now beyond controlling. He ranged the castle, making his dispositions; appointed the captain who would lead the garrison when he had left, and prepared to depart in a blaze of glory.

The enemy must not know he was leaving, or stop him. Therefore they must believe he was still there.

He led a foray out of the castle, noticed by Avandale’s scouts, who brought a troop of horse down upon him; but not before he had fallen upon the barns and beasts of a loud-mouthed cousin of Eck’s and killed him in the hand-to-hand fighting that resulted. He got back to the castle, but with a toll of wounded that made the raid farcical. Then, his temper further roused, he sent for his gunners and planned to take his revenge for his company’s wounds.

By then, Nicholas had forged some sort of relationship with the men of the garrison, and with Ellem of Butterdene the captain, who would carry the burden of all that Sandy did now. They were loyal, but they were not foolish. Butterdene said, ‘I know. If we fire, they will fire back. But what else can I do? Refuse him? And there are others who feel as he does. They can’t join us now, but one day they will. This stand will further the fight against England.’

Nicholas said, ‘They don’t want to fire against you. Those guns are there simply to invite his highness to stop. In my view, they would not even prevent him leaving for France. They know that France can do nothing.’

It was reported to Sandy, as he expected, but did no good. The guns began firing one dawn. He heard them from his room. Later, Albany sent
for him up on the battlements, where he was made to look across and see what damage had been done. Avandale’s banner still flew, but the field of tents on the rising ground opposite showed a haze of smoke in one corner, and scurrying men. It reminded Nicholas of other places, other battles, other sieges that he would rather forget. Of his own tent in flames, because of Henry. He said, ‘What did you hit?’

Sandy said, ‘We were aiming at the gun-carriage. There.’

‘I see the gun-carriage. What did you hit?’

Then it came out. ‘They shared a pavilion next to the guns. They knew the risk.’

‘They didn’t know you were going to start firing for the first time at dawn. Who, Sandy? Who was in the pavilion?’

Wallace of Craigie, the answer was. Ironically, the man who had told Blind Harry all he knew about Albany’s great hero, Wallace.

‘And?’

‘I wouldn’t have wanted it,’ Sandy said. ‘But he had a finger in a good many pies, and those ships of his weren’t above a spot of piracy. His wife was a cousin of Cortachy’s mistress, wasn’t she?’

‘Who?’
said Nicholas repetitively. But he guessed. Sir John Colquhoun of Luss, Gelis’s recent host: dead.