by Candace Robb
The men were quietly discussing the plans when someone joined the group by the fire. Holm glanced over at him and asked Sir Francis who it was.
‘Sir Simon Montagu,’ said Francis. ‘We conferred at Soutra. He’s been biding at the castle. Let’s hear what he has to say of the situation up there.’
Andrew wanted to slip away, not eager to meet Ada de la Haye’s former lover again. The fewer Englishmen who knew him and where he’d been posted the better; especially now that his hope for escape was stirring.
But he ducked too late.
‘Father Andrew? Well, I’d not thought to meet you again so soon,’ said Sir Simon. He crouched down by Andrew, the firelight adding menacing shadows to his face.
‘He agreed to come as chaplain for my men, a sudden change in plan,’ said Sir Francis. ‘I thank God for him. He’s kept my men from despair.’
‘That’s more than the priests of Holy Rude have managed in Stirling,’ said Simon, studying Andrew’s face. ‘Murders abound in the town. The townspeople have all gone mad. Your sister is there, Father, did you know? Margaret. She’s a beautiful widow – my son Peter might be a good match for her.’
Knowing full well that Simon was trying to goad him into responding inappropriately for his post, Andrew asked merely, ‘Margaret is widowed? What happened to Roger Sinclair?’ while his mind was frantic with concern. What was she doing in Stirling of all places, and being courted by Sir Simon’s son?
‘He met an unfortunate accident while spying on Stirling Castle for the traitor Robert Bruce. Fell from a rock, hit his head, broke his neck.’
‘May he rest in peace,’ Andrew murmured, crossing himself and keeping his eyes lowered. It was not good that Simon Montagu knew of Roger’s alliance.
‘Your sister is here with an old friend of mine, Ada de la Haye. Peter is our son.’
Andrew ignored the scenarios vying for attention, needing a clear head. ‘I pray I have the opportunity to see her after the battle,’ he said. I pray for her, he silently added.
With that Simon seemed to become bored with the sport and withdrew.
‘I am sorry to hear of your sister’s loss,’ said Francis. ‘No matter how ill-advised her husband’s loyalties, it is sad news for you, too.’
‘I should pray for her,’ said Andrew.
‘I understand.’
Rising, Andrew made a show of yawning and excused himself. ‘If there is to be battle tomorrow, all the sinners in the camp will find their way to me tonight. I must catch sleep when I can.’
All but Sir Simon bade him a good night.
Ada had never witnessed Celia so withdrawn. She could not get a word out of her regarding Margaret’s collapse. Maus thought she’d seen them coming from the neighbour’s house, but Celia would not even verify that, going about her tasks pinched-faced and pale. It had been late morning when Margaret rushed through the hall and up to her bed; it was now mid afternoon and Celia was a cipher, though she had assisted Ada in sewing Peter into his shroud. Only then had she spoken, and only to say, ‘This minds me of the night my mistress opened Master Jack’s shroud.’
‘Roger’s cousin?’ He’d been murdered in Edinburgh while searching for Roger and his body had been taken home to Dame Katherine in Dunfermline for burial. ‘Maggie opened his shroud?’
Celia nodded. ‘She knew something wasn’t right. That was the beginning, I think.’
‘Of what?’ Ada had asked.
Celia had shrugged and gone silent. Maddening woman. Ada knew the moment she’d seen the dark, tiny maid that she would be difficult. Small people often made up for their lack of size in the strength of their will, and she’d seen that strength in Celia’s strong brows and clear, dark eyes. But she had proven her worth, standing by Maggie in some harrowing times, so Ada kept her mouth shut and let the woman be. Perhaps Maggie was simply that worried about James’s joining the battle.
It was to be a day of aggravating servants, Ada thought, when John asked if Archie would be departing soon.
‘Is that a request?’ Ada snapped.
‘As he gains strength he’s eating more and more,’ said John. ‘We have food for a week, perhaps a fortnight if we can barter for some oats that cook could grind into cakes. They’ll not let us off this cursed rock to seek out fresh supplies – we’ve tried. We’re trapped here. I hadn’t planned for a siege.’
‘We’ve food only for a week despite my eating every evening at the castle?’ Ada did not believe it. ‘You just want him gone.’
John denied it.
Ada knew the English had commandeered all the food for miles around, and she’d begun to feel they were as trapped as if under siege, but she wasn’t going to concede to a servant’s demands.
It was late afternoon when Margaret at last wandered into the hall looking like a wraith, her curly red hair loose like a caplet over her shoulders, her shift sleeves lacking their outer covering. Her appearance was not inappropriate when there were no guests, but it was very unlike Maggie. Celia hurried after her with sleeves in hand.
‘I’ll not wear Peter’s blood,’ said Maggie, pushing the sleeves away.
Ada shook her head when Celia appealed to her. ‘Let her be. Archie won’t mind her without decorative sleeves.’ Noticing that Margaret seemed confused by her surroundings, Ada put an arm around her and guided her to a chair a little away from the fire, out of Archie’s sight – the young man was sitting up today and quite curious about the household.
‘What happened, Maggie?’ Ada asked under her breath. ‘You are behaving – well, I almost think Christiana has taken your form.’
Margaret sank back in the chair, eyes fixed on the ceiling, and breathed deeply.
‘Can I bring you something?’ Ada asked.
‘A sip of brandywine, if you can spare it, and then I’ll be myself again, I promise.’ Margaret glanced down at the hair spilling across her shoulder. Pulling on a tress, she said, ‘Sweet heaven, Celia will have a fit about my unbound hair and no sleeves.’ Apparently she’d not noticed her maid shadowing her.
‘What happened this morning?’ Ada asked. ‘You looked even worse than when you spoke to Ranald.’
Taking Ada’s hand, Margaret affectionately squeezed it. ‘I’ll tell you all in exchange for some brandywine.’
Ada did not know what to make of Margaret’s behaviour.
Gradually Margaret felt coherent enough to look outward and trust that she was seeing with her own eyes. By the expression on the face of her good and loyal friend, she knew that she must at last explain her behaviour to Ada. She needed to know that the Sight had come to Margaret, and that she was struggling to learn how to use it and how to live with it. It was plain that she’d frightened both of them, for Celia had heard quite a lot at the Allans’s house.
They sat up in the solar, just the three of them, talking softly. At first it was mostly Margaret who spoke, telling them of the beginnings before they left Perth, Dame Bethag’s advice, how frightened and lost she’d been as she rode towards Stirling.
‘I have wondered what was bothering you ever since you told me of the owl,’ said Ada. ‘Roger’s death – how horrible to dream of it. I wish you had told me.’
‘There is nothing you could have done for me, my friend, just as I’ve never been able to help Ma.’
‘Father Piers guessed that you had the Sight that day when you asked about the clothing in his parlour,’ Ada remembered. ‘I’ve been so blind.’
‘I wanted you to be,’ Margaret assured her.
She told them of her fear for Johanna, and how it had brought her to Johanna’s house, but too late.
‘Why have you seen nothing about her murderer?’ Ada asked, sounding as frustrated as Margaret felt. ‘Have you no idea who beat that poor woman?’
Margaret shook her head. ‘I know it’s difficult to understand, but the Sight seems to choose what it reveals – or God chooses.’
She told them of her growing obsession with the Allans, and the question about
Huchon’s ring that she’d asked Ranald without knowing why.
‘Poor Lilias Allan. What was Peter thinking, to insist they watch? And to wear that damned ring!’ Ada growled.
‘He might not have known whose it was,’ Margaret said. ‘In truth I doubt he could have. Why would Gordon tell him? But it is returned to the Allans now.’ She bowed her head. ‘I have prayed and prayed that the Sight is God’s gift, and not a curse.’
Celia looked up from her work. ‘I am sure it is God’s work, Mistress.’ She had been quiet until now, delicately scraping the last traces of blood from Margaret’s sleeves. ‘What you did for Lilias Allan was a blessing for her. You drew her out of the despair that threatened her soul’s salvation.’
‘Perhaps God has yet some information about Johanna to give us,’ said Ada. ‘It is not right that such a murder go unpunished.’
‘The English don’t care about her death,’ said Margaret. ‘She was unimportant.’
‘I know. But I do. My situation with Simon was not so different from hers with Rob.’
‘He hurt you deeply.’ Margaret took Ada’s hand.
‘Perhaps his punishment will be to never know Peter’s fate,’ said Ada. ‘That will give him pain, I know it will.’
‘If he returns, will you not tell him?’ Celia asked. ‘Someone will surely notice the burial.’
‘If Simon returns to Stirling we’ll have far more serious concerns,’ said Ada, ‘for that will mean our people have lost the battle.’ She shook her head. ‘As for telling Simon about Peter, I shall know what to say when he asks. I always do.’
‘I wonder about Johanna’s English lover,’ said Celia, ‘what Rob’s fate will be – or has been.’
‘I’ve wondered that, too’ said Ada. ‘I should have thought they’d make an example of him.’
‘Like poor Huchon Allan,’ said Celia. ‘Only her lover Rob did not know he was committing treason.’
‘Then he was a fool,’ said Ada.
Margaret wondered at the turn in the conversation. Her friends seemed to have accepted the change in her and gone on to other concerns. But then she hadn’t told them of her bargain with the Sight. By following it, she had done some good, so she intended to keep her vow to seek out Euphemia when she was free to do so. That would not be received without argument. She expected Ada and Celia to try to persuade her not to take such a radical step. For now she was relieved that they knew, and grateful that they accepted her as she was.
At dawn the noise of men arming and gathering to march woke Andrew and Matthew, though it was not their camp on the move. Word passed through the camps that some infantry had been sent over the bridge. The battle had begun. Andrew soon found himself surrounded by soldiers wanting his blessing. It was not only Sir Francis’s men, but many of those who had stopped him as he moved through the camps a few days earlier with Pete and Will.
‘Do they think your blessing will make the arrows and axes glance off them?’ Matthew asked.
‘For a man who cannot learn his letters, you are a canny one, Matthew,’ Andrew said.
‘I pray they don’t come after us when their comrades are killed,’ said Matthew.
Andrew was finally eating some hard bread soaked in watered ale when Holm arrived, cursing and kicking at anything in his path. The infantry that had been sent over Stirling Bridge had been called back because Surrey had overslept and was furious that someone else had ordered the battle begun. Andrew feared Holm would end up killing one of his own men, but he eventually gained control of himself, though he was anything but calm.
The news was enough to sow panic in the camp. Andrew had never seen men so agitated as the soldiers were now. Rumours abounded – that Wallace had fierce highlanders waiting to pick them off from beneath the bridge, that sea monsters were heading upriver from the firth – and fights broke out as fear frayed tempers.
‘If King Edward were here he’d have Surrey’s head, and ride with it into battle,’ said Sir Francis, already looking spent and anxious. ‘I’ve never known such incompetence. I have a bad feeling about this day, Andrew. Pray for us.’ They had been ordered to the bridge once more, and this time troops seemed to be crossing.
Andrew blessed him, and was choked with sorrow as he watched Sir Francis ride off, leading his men into the chaos. Andrew might be free now, but he respected Sir Francis and had grown fond of many of the men who had come to him for absolution and guidance. He wished he were ministering to the army of his own cause, but that did not make him hate these men. This was a war begun by a king who had sucked the heart out of Wales and now intended to do so here in Scotland. It angered Andrew that a king’s lust for power had forced men to take sides against their fellows with whom they had no personal argument. He prayed that Sir Francis, his men, and all the men he had met here might pass this day unharmed, but he did not have much hope. There was a witless feel to the movement of the troops.
When they were alone except for servants and camp followers, Andrew and Matthew packed their few belongings, adding some of the dwindling provisions, and headed up the hill to Stirling. He might be surer of escape by heading into the countryside, but he was worried about Maggie. His heart lifted a little with the thought of seeing her. But Matthew was muttering prayers beneath his breath as they climbed.
Andrew tried to distract him with talk about what they’d missed most since leaving Holyrood Abbey.
‘The bed I thought so hard,’ said Matthew.
‘I miss the quiet work of copying out a letter in my best hand,’ said Andrew, surprising himself with fond memories of the cloister.
‘The singing,’ said Matthew. ‘And the food.’
They had eaten well at Holyrood.
‘How will we find Dame Margaret?’ asked Matthew as houses began to appear.
‘Quiet, Matthew,’ said Andrew, catching sight of guards ahead. ‘We’re headed for the kirk. We know no one in the town.’
‘Halt! What do you want in the town?’ one of the men demanded. He looked more frightened than fierce.
‘I am Father Andrew, late of the Hospital of the Trinity on Soutra Hill. My servant and I have been travelling long with the troops and our supplies are gone. We would take communion wafers from the kirk here to the men below, for their blessings before the battle.’
‘How goes it below, Father?’ the other asked.
‘Our men have begun crossing the river. Wallace and Murray will be only now seeing how great a host comes after them.’
The frightened one made a noise that might have been a chuckle. ‘You may go on through,’ he said, ‘but without weapons.’
The other moved forward to search them.
‘We have nothing but our small knives for the table, I assure you.’
The guards stepped aside, letting them pass.
‘Just two of them?’ Matthew whispered as they moved on.
Andrew shook his head. ‘Behind the house there were more, ready to ambush us at a signal. God is watching over us.’
The streets were almost deserted, and the few folk they encountered averted their eyes when they saw strangers. Andrew headed for the kirk.
An elderly priest greeted them in the nave.
‘We had no word of a priest visiting,’ said Father John. He seemed to be supervising the cleaning of a chantry chapel; it looked as though someone had been living there.
‘Sanctuary?’ Andrew guessed.
The old priest looked uncomfortable.
Andrew quickly explained who he was.
With a sigh of relief, Father John relaxed. ‘Dame Maggie, yes, she is biding with Ada de la Haye.’ He nodded. ‘I can direct you there. But tell me, how did you find your way here? The English surround us.’
‘With care,’ said Andrew, softening the curt answer with a smile. ‘Is there a place my servant and I might stay tonight?’
‘You’ll want to ask Father Piers,’ said John. ‘I am his assistant; I make no decisions.’ He led them across the kirk yard to the rector
y where a clerk said that Father Piers was at prayer.
‘I know that,’ said John. ‘Tell him that Father Andrew, Dame Maggie’s brother, is here. He’s made it through the English down below and deserves a welcome.’
Andrew thanked the elderly priest.
The clerk looked interested. ‘You’ve been down there, Father?’
Andrew nodded. ‘And if I lodge here tonight I’ll have a tale or two for you.’
He and Matthew were soon invited to lodge with the priests; once relieved of their things they headed to Ada’s house. Andrew was not yet saying prayers of thanks for deliverance. Not until he was safely beneath Ada’s roof and knew his sister safe.
‘Andrew!’ Maggie cried, running to him as the butler showed him in to the hall. ‘I can’t believe it’s you. I’ve prayed and prayed for you.’ Her hug was fierce, as if she intended never to let him go.
‘I’ve heard about Roger,’ he whispered before they parted. ‘I am sorry, Maggie.’
She stepped away, wiping her eyes, but remembering her duty she welcomed Matthew. ‘Let us sit.’ She led them to some benches away from the fire, where a young man lay on a pallet, but they had little time alone. Indeed, he learned only that their father had returned from Bruges and was lodging at Elcho Nunnery, hoping to win their mother back to the marriage bed.
He was still puzzling over that when Ada entered, and then her maid. Gradually the entire household joined them, wanting to hear of the battle below. They were all disappointed that he’d left the camps before there was any news to tell. Andrew reclaimed a little of their interest by describing the confusion before the battle and the guards halfway down the hill.
‘Do you think our men have a chance?’ Ada asked.