The Mer- Lion Page 10

  He lived, he loved (very well, judging from the sighs and glances of the serving maids), he led. To be with him was an excitement, a source of endless innovative delight, for his was a curious mind that perceived possibilities for fun or fantasy in the most mundane situation. He was daring but not usually foolhardy, asking nothing of his fellows that he did not demand of himself more rigorously, and accepting on his own head responsibility for all of his and his fellows' actions. The earl and the countess gloried in him, losing themselves in the wonderment every parent feels at seeing dreams fulfilled, immortality promised, but at the same knowing that bittersweet feeling that comes in watching one's only child grow to manhood.

  As was the way with all noble households, the family moved frequently, dividing their time among Rangely and Alva and Edinburgh, but always coming back to Seaforth. Even there, however, they were not unaware of the doings in Scotland, although the mood of court and country was less cosmopolitan, more insular. Because of the Lady Islean and Jamie's proximity to the throne, much of their attention was focused on the doings of the royal family, specifically Margaret Tudor's. Like the rest of the nobility, they were astonished by her wedding the head of the Red Douglas clan, Archibald Douglas, the sixth Earl of Angus. In so doing, she forfeited her regency, according to the terms of the late King James's will. Thus, when the Estates summoned John Stewart, the Scots Duke of Albany, from his home in France to be regent, the boys understood . And, versed as they were in heraldry and genealogy, they understood too why the Estates confirmed him as hereditary second in line to the throne.

  They were, in their familiarity, not at all impressed by the knowledge that Jamie Mackenzie, their playmate, was fourth in line, through the bar sinister, before his mother and behind her brother, to that selfsame throne. They understood why Albany had beheaded Lord Home and his brother, both of whom were believed to have murdered James IV at Flodden. But they could not fathom why he had eventually agreed in 1517 to the return of the exiled Margaret and her husband to Edinburgh.

  Indeed they were ready, three years later, to proclaim "I told you so," when word came of a fight in April 1520, between James Hamilton, Earl of Arran, and the Queen Dowager's husband. Almost nine hundred men faced each other on the streets of Edinburgh that day. Before they were through, blood greased the cobblestones of High Street, the noble thoroughfare that led from castle to palace. For a while the battle seemed to favor the Hamilton? who in turn favored the Scots Duke Albany, now in France negotiating a treaty. Then another Home, he of Wedderburn, at the head of his own Border clan, charged through Netherbow Fort and threw his weight in with Douglas.

  The Hamiltons broke and ran, between tall houses, down meandering wynds, through narrow closes. Who it was that first called this bloodletting fracas 4' Cleanse-the-Causeway'' no one knew, but the term was too apt to disappear. It stood in typical Scots contrast to mat sophisticated ensemblage of pageantry and pomp that took place the same year across the German sea in France, the Field of Cloth of Gold, where Henry VIII and Francis I first met in a most ostentatious display of wealth and jewels.

  Fortunately, for Scotland's sake, the peace between England and France did not last. Each monarch took umbrage at the other's flaunting of riches; and shortly thereafter, the Scots Duke of Albany returned to Scotland, with France's blessing and a token force of men-at-arms, to drive the English south of Scotland's borders.

  For three years more, the country enjoyed the blessings of good, solid, capable government under the wise eyes of this gallicized ruler, who spoke not a word of Scots. He managed temporarily to throttle the gross ambitions of the Marrying Douglas.

  Sometime in 1524, the earl and countess judged, things went sour for Scotland. An army of Scots being led against the British refused to follow Albany beyond the Border. Angus and his wife, Margaret Tudor, who had seemed on the brink of divorce, reconciled. Henry Stewart, Earl of Moray, brother to the Lady Islean and third person in the realm after Albany and the child King James V, was set upon by persons unknown as he was leaving St. Margaret's Chapel near the palace's yard. Left to bleed from more than a dozen wounds, his death seemed inevitable.

  Upon the heels of these ill tidings came a summons of Seaforth to court. Seamus' was not privy to the conversation, but Albany's messenger was closeted with the earl and countess for close to an hour. Seamus was then called to the library tower, and Seaforth put the messenger in his charge with pointed instructions: "See to it that this man be fed and bedded—apart from the barracks so he is not bothered by idle questioning. He shall return to court tomorrow— give him that new roan palfrey."

  Seamus opened his mouth to protest; the horse was Jamie's.

  Seaforth continued. "You and your troop and we and the boys shall follow close on his heels. Take full half the household troop and see to it that they are suitably armed. They go with us as does the countess and two of her ladies. Tell the men to pack lightly. All our baggage must go on sumpter horses."

  When Seamus would have left, the messenger in tow, Seaforth called him back. "This will be the boys' first trip to Edinburgh in years. Let's not worry them with unnecessary details. Devorguilla will be staying here. I'll make some excuse to the boys. You break the news to your daughter." The two men just looked at each other. Seafbrth didn't envy Seamus his task, and Seamus knew it. He would rather have faced seven outraged young boys than his one willful, lovely daughter. So, he did what fathers have traditionally done under such circumstances. He immediately sought out Nelly and told her to tell her daughter the bad news.

  The following day, the countess and her ladies on jennets, the earl on an iron gray rounsey, the lads on their palfreys made a bright show. Jamie had raised an inquiring eyebrow when he discovered the roan gone, but other than that said nothing.

  As Seamus rode out of Seaforth at the head of the troop, he remembered another trip to Edinburgh before Flodden. The countess had been young, the earl whole, and the heir a mere child. Now, the earl's beard was as laced with strands of white and gray as was his strange gray white hair, the countess had ripened with age; and the child was a young man who shaved nearly every day and handled himself and the weapons of a knight with surety. Seamus, who had been an apprentice groom far back in the ranks of the troop, now rode directly behind the earl's standard bearer. He was a man of thirty with at least three sons that he acknowledged but so far no wife. Truly had he become the earl's right-hand man, advancing from squire to Captain of the Guard. When pressed as to why he'd not married, he laughingly asserted, "When I find another as fair as the Lady Islean, I'll jump me into the marriage bed."

  The trip from Seaforth to Edinburgh, because of the women, was made in fairly easy stages, stopping first at Rangelyi on Rannock Moor where first the troop of boys assembled ten years before. Then on to Crieff and Drummond Castle where the Second Lord Drummond's welcome seemed a bit cold until he realized that his young kinsman might make a welcome addition to the court. When they left, after a tearful reunion between John and his mother, the Lord Drummond was almost effusive in suggesting that the lad come back soon.

  Bypassing Stirling, although night was upon them, the troop pressed on to Falkirk and Rough Castle, one of the nineteen fortresses along the great Roman Antonine Wall, which once ran the width of Scotland. The following afternoon they rode into Edinburgh and through the Cowgate, which now was indeed a gateway, its great gates connecting the Flodden wall. Partway up St. Mary's Wynd and into the Seaforth tall house they went; the boys were eager to ride out again and investigate the town, but Seaforth reined them in.

  "Tomorrow will be soon enough. Today, see to your horses... and I'll set you an exercise. How would you defend this house against a siege? He with the best plan will get DUnstan's next colt."

  The young men scattered, the better to survey the house, its grounds and defenses. Angus and Ogilvy paired off, as did Cameron and Menzies, while Drummond and Gilliver waited for Jamie to take the lead. He took the reins of his palfrey from the footman and, i
nstead of charging into the house, led the way to the stable. "Our best defense may have to be a quick strategic retreat."

  Seaforth and his lady, arm in arm, more slowly made their way up the stair and into the house, Seamus following behind, to the solarium, the room of so many memories.

  "Seamus, you and I have a visit to pay on Castle Hill tonight," Seaforth said, and laughed wryly. "I have been advised to come in disguise. How a man with my hair and but one arm and served by the tallest man in Scotland can move about without detection in this city boggles the mind. The citizens would all have to be blind."

  "A cloak with a hood, perhaps," the Lady Islean murmured.

  "And would you have Seamus ride like a hunchback?" he replied quickly. "No, we cannot hide; but you're right, we should not draw attention to ourselves. So cloaks and dark colors it will be. Under your cloak, Seamus, wear your mail, as will I, and carry your favorite arms. Between now and when we leave at dusk, keep the boys occupied and preferably out of sight. If you can't do that, at least keep them separated so that no head count can be easily taken by an inquisitive soul. Now, go and get what rest you can."

  The earl sounded bone-weary. He and his wife looked as if they had come down a long road, and beyond the next turn, the end was in sight. Only they were not sure just what form that end might take, nor whether they truly welcomed it.

  The family supped, earl, countess, seven boys, two ladies-in-waiting, and Seamus, in the upper hall that night. The boys were all ravenous and full of their plans, but Seaforth would not entertain any details until the next day. "How can you know how to defend the house when you have not seen it except in full day? Know you how often the watch comes by during night? Or how many traffic the Wynd when the city stirs itself? Is this the best thinking you can do? Faugh, and to think I trained you!"

  Crestfallen and more than a little subdued, the boys said no more but bolted their meal and eagerly sought excuse from the table. No longer was it boy against boy, but the troop united against its - ' teacher.

  Watching them go, Seaforth could not contain himself. "Pray God, we don't need to put any of those plans into action. I tell you, Islean, I can feel in my bones that it's a trap."

  "Hush, don't start thinking that. John Stewart was the king, my father's best friend, more than just a cousin. He is an honorable man. Look at him, at the number of chances he's had to take

  advantage of the child-king. He hasn't done it. Can the child's mother or stepfather say as much? I tell you James, Albany would not have sent for us, brought us out of the safety of your keep in the Highlands unless it was an emergency."

  "That's exactly what I fear. What kind of danger could there be that would find us safer here in the midst of our enemies, whoever they might be, than within our own castle walls? I don't like it. Not at all."

  Islean had no answer, and Seamus took advantage of the silence to make his excuses from the table. He needed assurance, not uncertainty, to make him feel right with the world.

  Fortunately, the moon was near full that night, for Seaforth would have no lantern-bearer light their way, although he was more than willing to take a score of men—almost a quarter of their troop—with him. Only after assuring himself that a strong guard had been posted, did he lead the men out. Their route was round about, following the Flodden Wall round to the base of the castle, then up through Lawnmarket, beyond the Luckenbooths and up High Street, the famed causeway, to the castle.

  The drawbridge across the old moat was down, and they crossed to a strong battlemented gateway, defended by a massive door studded with iron bolt-heads. A murmured word to the guardsman, and the door swung silendy open. Up they went, by a pathway cut into the solid rock, to the Portcullis Gate beneath the state prison. Better known as the Constable's Tower, it was part of the defense works erected by David II more than 150 years before. The walls were enormously thick, ten to fifteen feet, Seamus judged. He would have preferred to defend this citadel against attack rather than Seaforth's tall house.'On the left, a flight of stairs ascended direct to the citadel; on the right, the road continued. When Seaforth cast about for some guidance as to which path to choose, a man, heavily muffled, stepped out of the shadows. "Pardon, monsieur, if you will follow me." Without waiting for an answer, nor even looking back, he took the more circuitous road, to the battery on the edge of the cliff overlooking the Nor Loch below.

  There in labored Scots, heavily French-accented, the man advised the earl to dismount and have his men take shelter in the shadows amongst the cannon, while Seaforth—with Seamus close behind— entered the guardroom. The room was bare, without fire, candles, or lanterns. Only an occasional ray of the moon lit their way to the benches drawn up to the trestle table in the center of the room. Their guide said nothing. Seaforth and Seamus were well content to keep the silence.

  Soon came the muffled sound of a bolt being drawn... and then just the faintest protesting of well-oiled hinges. A draught of cold, dank air raised the hackles on Seamus's neck, and a voice from out of nowhere spoke: "Le Comte? Albany, a votre service. Parlez-vous frangais? Votre homme aussi?" At Seaforth's assent, there was the scraping of a wooden stool being drawn up.

  "Good. French it shall be. I prefer always to speak under such circumstances without interpreter. It makes for better understanding. And secrecy. Your wife's brother, the Earl of Moray is dead. And has been dead for two weeks. We have hidden the news. Please, allow me to continue. La reine Margaret knows. She has brought her son here to Edinburgh, along with two hundred English gentlemen sent by King Henry. They plan his erection. The regalia have been sent for. The investiture will take place. And within a day or two of it, the estates led by the king's stepfather will tell my Frenchmen to leave, and I will go with them. Already I have been told that I shall be divested of my claim to the throne. That will leave only four others, how that Moray is dead, with a frail claim to it: Hamilton (who will assuredly be put to the horn after his part against Douglas in Cleanse-the-Causeway, at the first chance Douglas gets); the daughter of the queen, Margaret Douglas, a nine-year-old girl; your wife, and your son, not in that order.

  "No, don't interrupt. To buy the Queen Dowager's assistance, and, through her, her son's consent to this, Douglas has agreed to give her the divorce she wants so that she can marry the well-hung stallion she fancies. But to do so, he has had to swear on holy relics that his divorce of wife number four was invalid. Which makes his marriage to five, la reine, equally so. That, of course, bastardizes his own daughter. Now follow closely, for the lives of your wife, your son, yourself, and your king may depend on it. As you know by the laws of primogeniture, a girl can inherit only if there is no male heir; a bastard can inherit only if there is no legitimate child. Compare you the rights of a bastardized daughter of a queen dowager against the son of a bastard, but acknowledged, daughter of the king! The College of Heralds would have to rule your son had the greater claim.

  "I know you are going to scoff, but Seaforth, I warn you, never underestimate Douglas. He is a man who wants, above all else, power. Why else would he have taken la reine Margaret into his bed? The woman is silly, a shrew, not much more than a strumpet, but she has the blood of kings flowing in her veins, and she was named regent in the king's will." His voice was calm, matter of fact, which made his words all the more chilling to Seamus.

  "Suppose something should happen to that son of yours? Your wife's claim remains valid. Suppose that something should happen to you and your son, that you should be victims of a freak hunting accident, for example. It would not be hard to arrange. A son might still be gotten on your wife—perhaps by the Marrying Douglas himself. This could be considered payment for his role in securing la reine her latest fancy. And if Islean should not happen to breed? Douglas has seen three wives to the grave, why not a fourth? And then, suddenly, our nine-year-old Margaret Douglas becomes a factor again, next in line to the throne. You do follow my meaning?"

  Albany's voice changed. Seamus could almost see him lean closer, hi
s face grow more serious, his eyes more intent. ,

  "Do not mistake me. What I do tonight is not to save the lives of the family Seaforth. If that is a by-blow of our meeting, I am delighted. But my main concern is to save the life of the young king. Nine years ago, when I was first made regent by the estates, I took a vow to protect that three-year-old child and to save his kingdom. I do not take such vows lightly. Until released of them, I will fulfill them to the best of my ability. The best way I can protect young James's life is to make sure his death would benefit no one, except maybe the Seaforths. What I propose tonight will neutralize any advantages to the Seaforths and totally nullify Douglas's. Here, then, is why I sent for you. I propose you send your son with me to France."

  In the silence that followed, Seamus thought that he could almost hear the sounds of Seaforth's brain digesting this information. "For how long?"

  "Until the young king sires a living child. I understand he has already been striving hard in that direction, but with no tangible results so far. Perhaps because his stepfather restricts the ladies he sees to those with a curiously similar history of infertility. Then, too, the Stewarts themselves are none too prolific. Look at you and your own wife. I might add, another bairn in the Seaforth cradle would not hurt matters, if it could be arranged. If not, then I suggest that the wait might be so long as the king is childless or your wife beyond the breeding age. That is if we don't want Douglas to extend his marrying ways to a dowager countess." Albany, typically Gallicly gallant, added, "Especially one as lovely as yours."

  That gross redheaded Douglas and the Lady Islean? Seamus was sickened at the thought, but he waited in vain for the earl to protest. When the earl finally spoke, his voice was so well controlled that in the darkness one had no hint of his thoughts.