‘I think he went into the chapel,’ Thomas ventured timidly, ‘to say a prayer.’
‘He needs one,’ snorted Duncan.
Hew felt his heart stop. ‘I will have to go and fetch him, for it’s almost time. The rest of you, stand close, and try to learn your parts. No more antic play. For any moment now, the king will walk into those rooms and will look below and see you. Be sure that you are ready. All your life, you will remember this.’
He almost ran into the chapel. As first he did not see the bursar in the darkness. The boy was kneeling on the floor. His head was bowed. Hew urged him softly. ‘Come, Sam, quickly now, it’s time. We must say our lines together, you and I, for you are Mercator, and I am Claudus. Come, now, quickly, take my hand.’
The boy did not turn, but spoke in a low voice ‘I cannot do it, sir. I cannot play the part of Mercator.’
Hew knelt in the dust beside him. ‘Of course you can,’ he told him kindly. ‘This is stage fright, nothing more.’
The bursar shook his head. ‘I cannot do it. I am the son of a groom. And Duncan Stewart is the son of a lord. And if I humiliate him in front of the king he will not forgive me. I will be a dead man, sir.’
‘The responsibility is mine, not yours,’ insisted Hew. ‘I’ll see you are not blamed.’
‘Will you, though?’ The boy looked at him tearfully. ‘I do not think so. I’m the one who has to strike the blow. There will be reprisals.’
‘But you will act the part before the king,’ Hew argued. ‘Duncan will not dare to touch you.’
‘Do you think not? And suppose the king should take his part? And suppose he does not take his part, yet on a dark night will come men to slit my throat. And what will the king do then? Suppose he cares to trace the crime, his father is a lord; my father is a groom. They will pay blood money, aye, a fine at most, and hear the king’s displeasure for a day. I am a bursar, sir, my father is proud of me. I know we are ill used, and yet I have the chance to take the laurel wreath. I am a bowman in the college team, and at the butts in June I hope to take the prize.’
‘I’m sure you will.’ Hew put a hand on his shoulder. ‘Forgive me, I should not have asked it.’
‘Are you not angry?’ The bursar looked up. ‘What will you do?’
Hew grinned at him. ‘Ah, don’t fret. I’ll think of something. Your father is a groom, you say.’
The boy nodded. ‘An under marschal for the earl of Mar,’ he answered with a hint of pride.
‘Well, when this is over, I may ask him for advice.’
With heavy heart, Hew left the church and made his way back to the lawn. Meg ran out to greet him. ‘Hurry, Hew! The king has just arrived. But where is Mercator?’
‘Not coming,’ he said flatly.
‘What? It’s stage fright. I’ll go talk to him.’
‘No, leave him be.’ He took her by the arm. ‘He’s right. I asked too much.’
‘Whatever will you do?’
‘I don’t know.’ He smiled at her bravely. ‘There is no one who can take his place, who has Latin, and the strength, and knows the part. I will just have to make something up.’
He walked with leaden footsteps to the centre of the lawn. He was dimly aware of the players behind him. Their shrill boyish voices fell still as they fled to the shadows, awaiting their parts. In the distance he saw Nicholas sitting with his father, blankets around them, under a tree. A hush descended as he looked into the cloudless sky. The birds appeared to pause their song. On the balcony above the lawn he saw the lords assembling, Gilchrist to the right, and in their midst the boy king, James. Hew’s throat began to close against the drumming of his heart. He looked up to the window and found that he was staring at the cool gaze of the king. James began to frown. In a moment he would turn his head and walk away. The moment would be gone. Somehow, Hew felt deep and found the words. He heard his own voice shaping, ‘Claudus sum.’ He had no plan of what might happen next.
And then a shadow fell across the lawn behind him, and a figure in a dark green cloak came striding at his back. The figure dropped his hat and bowed before the king, so low he swept the ground, and a warm familiar voice boomed clear out to the cloisters, ‘et ego Mercator.’ And it was Giles.
Afterwards, Hew took the lesson, for the students were about to make their final disputations and the coming of a king did not constitute a holiday. Those who had performed sat nervous in the hall. He set them to their task, but they had scarcely begun when the doors were thrown open and the party of the king was announced, James with his cohort of servants and lords, and a flustered Master Gilchrist at the rear.
‘Is this a lecture?’ asked the king. ‘Then we shall stay to hear it.’
Hew bowed low. ‘The students are about to make their declamations.’
‘We shall hear them. What’s the theme?’
‘Self-murder, sire.’
‘Your Grace, this is the man who made the play,’ the lord said at his side.
‘I know him. What’s his name?’
‘Hew Cullan. Sire, the man’s a viper. I am most wretchedly deceived in him,’ Gilchrist interjected.
‘Truly, sir, how so?’
‘For his play, his wicked lies, his slanders of the college and myself.’
The king professed astonishment. ‘But was that you? I had not known. What do you say, d’Aubigny, did you recognise James Gilchrist in the play we saw?’
‘Now that you mention it,’ his friend replied dryly, ‘I perceive a likeness.’
‘Morton?’
The earl inclined his head, ‘It shall be looked into, your Grace,’ he answered stiffly.
‘Thank you. I had not observed it,’ James revealed to Gilchrist, ‘but since you have remarked it, then he must have caught a likeness, don’t you think? For ourselves, we liked the play. My lords and I have been discussing your controversies, Hew Cullan, and are entertained by them. We cannot quite agree. Perhaps you will explain them to us when your class is finished. Meanwhile, we shall hear your self-slayers. Peace, Master Gilchrist,’ and he waved the man away, ‘this interests us. We shall be better exercised in disputations than in listening to more melodies and madrigals.’
The students made their arguments, and most of them acquitted well enough, except for Sam, who had not played the part of Mercator. He stammered blindly through his speech, quite overcome with nerves. But if the king had noticed it, he gave no sign. At last he said. ‘I wish to speak with Master Cullan. Is there a chamber close by?’
‘The masters’ room adjoining, sire.’
‘Morton, you may go with Gilchrist and examine his accounts. No, my lord, I pray,’ for the earl moved to protest, ‘Esme shall accompany us, and the rest will wait outside. Come, Master Cullan, we are private here.’
The door was closed behind them.
‘We liked the play,’ James went on, ‘though we were perplexed as to the meaning. The wickedness of the dyer we found most satisfactorily requited, and the merchant and the woman were well served, and yet we disagreed about the tutor and the boy. According to my regent Morton, their sins were the worst of all, their friendship the most inward and unnatural. But did you mean it so? For myself, and my cousin monsieur d’Aubigny, we perceived their friendship as most virtuous and pure. Morton will assert this marks out my greenness in these matters. Which of us is right?’
‘Majestie,’ Hew bowed, ‘I would suggest that youth has the advantage here, for your eyes remain unclouded by the rheum of his experience. The tutor and the boy are in the play as innocents. Sadly, it is the way of our world that we perceive corruption in the purest heart, and see wickedness where it was never meant.’
The king smiled, satisfied. ‘It’s as I thought. The earl has lived too long. Whatever is that noise?’
James was startled to his feet, and Esme to his dagger, as the chamber doors flew open to admit Duncan Stewart. Catching sight of the king, he stopped short and let out a whimper before crumpling to his knees.
‘Y
our Grace, I beg forgiveness.’ The boy looked close to tears, ‘I had not thought to find you here. It was Cullan I was looking for. You see how he has used me, sire.’
It was a rare sight. Duncan had changed his wet clothes, but the drubbings of the laundress and her ash and candle soaps had had little effect on his face. He was naturally fair, and his hair now darkened to the root stood up in clumps of purple, echoed in the infant wisps of purple-tufted beard.
James suppressed a smile. ‘Aye, I do see,’ he confessed. ‘What say you, Master Cullan?’ he enquired, mock-severely. ‘You have dyed my cousin, have you not?’
‘He played the dyer’s part,’ shrugged Hew, ‘full well.’
‘Aye, that he did. But you have made him purple, and he wears it badly.’
‘Sire, will you hear me?’ Duncan cried, ‘I played the part to please you, as it pleased my masters I should play it. Why then would you ridicule me?’
‘Peace,’ the king said laughing, ‘Aye, you played your part. It pleased me well. But what is your complaint? Did your master not instruct you in the part that you were playing? That being the dyer,’ he threw back his head, ‘being the dyer, you should be dyed?’
‘He did not. When we rehearsed the play, the bath was empty.’
‘For certain,’ interrupted Hew, ‘we could not fill the bath with dye for the rehearsal. For think of it! If you had come into the dye before the play, you would be purple at the start, and being purple at the start, you know, would give the game away. But all this was explained to you.’
‘No,’ Duncan snivelled, ‘I swear to you, sire, that this was not explained. For how should I suffer myself to be purpled, had I known?’
‘Nor yet to please me?’ James answered softly. ‘You know, Master Cullan, the man has a point. His father, having influence in court, is likely to bend my ear on this account. I beg you then, account for this: why, for my pleasure, have you made his son violet, without his consent?’
‘I know not, sire. It baffles me,’ said Hew. For it is written in his script, as clear as day, that on the one performance he is dipped into the dye, and he has read the script, and must have seen it there. Moreover, he was asked by myself and by the regent Robert Black and by our very principal if he had read the script and understood it, and his reply was most emphatically, he had.’
‘Is this true, then?’ asked the king.
‘I would swear to you, sire, I did not,’ the purple face blustered. ‘It was not in the script.’
‘That is easily proven. Bring me a copy.’
The script was found and brought, with Duncan Stewart’s name to it, and given to the king, who chuckled as he read.
‘Aye, it says here, plain enough. I think you have not read this, or you had not understood.’
‘I doubt that may be true,’ said Hew regretfully, ‘for he is a feeble scholar. We feared the part would tax him. He assured us it would not.’
‘I see the whole,’ the king said solemnly. ‘Come now, Duncan Stewart, I find no cause for complaint. I know you did not learn your part, since you spoke it most indifferently. Your grammar and your diction both were vile. You are, it is plain, a poor sort of scholar. But in our eyes you are redeemed somewhat, for you have made us smile, less competent a scholar than a clown. I regret your loss at court while you wax puce. Tell me, Master Cullan, lest his father make enquiries, shall this colour last?’
‘Happily, with scrubbing, twill grow paler by the day. It is the curse of purple dyes, I’m told, to lose their colour with the sun. Within the month he’ll fade to plunkett blue.’
‘Well then,’ smiled the king, ‘there’s no cause to be despondent. You may lock yourself away about your studies. That, by all accounts, will profit well. And when you come to take your laurel wreath, the shades shall scarcely clash. To plunkett blue? Oh, Duncan, go, or I shall split with laughing. You stand so dismal in your woad. Besides, it is the king’s hue you disport so, and I find myself misliking that you wear the shade so flippantly. Take care lest you offend us. Leave us now!’
And waving him away, he laughed until he wept. ‘But did you see his face? I could have plucked him like a plum! Did you not see him, my lord?’
He changed his tone abruptly.
‘Who are you, Master Cullan, who so openly come mocking at the college in your play? You make enemies today of powerful men. Do you dare presume on our protection?’
‘I make no presumption,’ Hew swallowed. ‘The fact is, your Grace, that the play has its root in a history, the truth of which was hidden so deep I saw no other way to make it see the light of day. The people you have seen within the play are real. The merchant and the weaver’s wife are fugitive from justice.’
‘What then? Was all of it true? Not the dyeing of the dyer?’
‘Aye, even that.’
‘That’s better still! But what about the tutor and the boy?’
‘That is the worst of it. The tutor is suspected for the murder of the boy. He has been gravely ill these past few months. He is my friend.’
‘Then you made your play to reflect the true facts, as you saw them?’
‘They are the true facts. I have proof of them. You should know, sire, that the corruption in the college is true also. This regent, the tutor you see in the play, has been persecuted because he did not countenance these deceptions.’
‘I see. Then you would have me do what, precisely?’
‘I confess, I do not know. I have tried to make the controversiae, to set out the rights and the wrongs of the case. But the case is not clear. I do not know where the blame lies. There are several crimes, and three people here accused of capital offences. Are they guilty of them? Should they hang?’
‘Well,’ the king considered, ‘I should think their guilt is clear. The dyer killed the boy, and that is murder. Then the father kills the dyer. And blood for blood, we may forgive.’
‘In law, it is no crime to kill a man for killing, or to kill the killer of a son,’ conceded Hew. ‘But the dyer had not been indicted for the killing of the boy, and the merchant had no cause to have suspected him. He killed him for his threat of blackmail. So it was a crime.’
‘I take the point. But nonetheless, because the dyer killed his son, although he did not know it, then I think that I might pardon him the killing of the dyer,’
‘Your majestie is gracious.’
‘. . . And yet we may not pardon him the converse with his brother’s wife, which is, I think, the greater indiscretion. That’s adultery and incest too, within his brother’s house, which he must answer for.’
‘As you say, your Grace. I have pondered this awhile, and I believe that he has answered to a higher court than this, for his collusion with his brother’s wife has cost his son.’
‘And you think that this atones for it? From what I have seen in your play, he did not think much of his son.’
‘You are mistaken, sire. I am assured he prized his son beyond the world. He was the world. And because he was so precious, he had the highest expectations, which the boy could not fulfil. But now without his boy, his world is nothing. He was a rich man. His life and his wealth fall away.’
‘You are persuasive. Well then, I may pardon him. But the wife I shall not pardon. She must hang. For incest and adultery, and for the murder of her husband,’ the king declared triumphantly.
‘In her defence,’ insisted Hew, ‘she did not mean to kill him.’
‘So she says,’ the king replied. ‘She fed him poisons, though.’
‘She gave him herbs she was persuaded would provoke him into bed with her. She had been raped. She was with child. What should she do?’
‘So you put it in your play. I don’t believe it. She killed him for her lover. Doubtless she bewitched her lover, teased him into bed with her and forced him to kill the dyer with her spells. Persuaded would provoke him! How was she persuaded? Who persuaded her?’
‘I don’t know,’ Hew lied uneasily. ‘She claimed a cunning woman offered her
the herbs, but likely she invented her. Your majestie is sharp.’
‘Aye, like as not. For sure, she is a witch, and if she had them from a woman, both of them are witches, Hew, and both of them shall hang. She shall be made to tell.’
‘She has fled, sire, with her lover, far across the seas.’
‘Has she? Oh.’ The king looked disappointed. ‘Then we banish her. Well, we have solved your puzzles. What will you do now? I cannot think that you are welcome in your college.’
‘No. But I came there by an accident. My training’s in the law.’
‘I’m not sure you have the mind for it,’ the king declared. ‘You are too intricate. No matter. I’ll remember you, Hew Cullan.’
‘I thank you. Majestie, there is the matter of my friend.’
‘Your friend? Of course, the tutor. I should like to talk with him.’
This was unexpected, and James saw Hew’s hesitation.
‘This irks me now. You say he’s sick? Tis not contagious?’
‘No, sire, not at all.’
‘Well, then. Take me there.’
The Majestie’s Desire
‘You need not stay,’ the king advised his retinue. ‘Peace, it is a sick man; he can hardly hurt us. Wait here by the door. You too, Hew Cullan.’
He looked at Nicholas. The room was fresh with scented flowers, a sad and sweet tincture of petals and candlewax. A handkerchief, peppered with blood, lay on the bed.
‘I pray you, don’t get up,’ the king remarked.
‘I cannot, sire.’ The walk back from the priory had exhausted him.
‘I see.’ Restlessly, he walked round the chamber, fingering a candlestick, leafing through a book.
Nicholas stirred painfully. ‘Will you sit, your Grace?’
‘I thank you, no.’
Nicholas gave in to a spurt of coughing and fumbled for the handkerchief.
The king returned to walking, and observed him coolly as he shrank back on the bed. At last he said, ‘According to your friends, you will not live. And yet the manner of your death may yet be eased. You are accused of crimes, of sodomies, unnatural lusts. Do you deny them?’
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