The faint mumbling and moaning that came from the prisoner slumped between the two guards was no different from what she had been emitting since being brought into the council-chamber.
'Tut, woman – speak up I' the King urged. 'I carina hear you.'
'Sire – she is in no state to speak to any effect. Your butcher has seen to that…!'
'Master o' Gray, I'll thank you to hold your tongue!'
'A mouthful of wine, Highness,' Melville suggested. 'To loosen her tongue.'
'Aye, gie her that, Broun man. A bit sup.'
While wine from a goblet on the table was being forced into the woman's slack mouth, Patrick brought the chair that he should have been seated upon, set it behind her and eased her down into it. Even so, the guards had to hold her up or she would have slipped to the floor.
'You are exceeding tender towards an idolatrous hellicat, Master of Gray,' the Chancellor observed.
'She is still a woman,' the other answered simply.
'So, sir, was His Grace's royal mother the late Queen Mary – was she not?'
'God's passion, Maitland…!' Patrick swung upon the Chancellor.
King James banged his hand on the table. 'A truce, a truce!' he squeaked. 'Hold your tongues, both o' you. Guid-sakes – I'll no' have it! This is a court o' law, I'd mind you. Doing God's business. Aye, Now you, Mistress Cairncross -answer me. Admit to me that you are sold to the Devil.'
Wild bloodshot eyes flickered over the company, and returned shrinking, not to the King but to the baby-faced man beside her. A thick and unintelligible sound issued from her swollen lips – but she nodded her head, helplessly, hopelessly.
'Ha! And so we have it.' James beamed on her, on them all. Then he bent, to scratch his pen over the paper. 'The panel admits the prime complaint. Why couldna you have tell't us that before, woman – and saved a deal o' time. Now, secundum. Wasna yon ploy at North Berwick aimed against my ain royal sel'? Directed at me, the King?'
Again the mouthing and nodding.
'See you, my lords and gentiemen,' James looked round them, squaring his normally drooping shoulders, heavy head for once held high. 'It is as I said. Me, it is – me!' He beat on his padded chest. 'Me, James Stewart, that the Devil is fell set against. Me he fears. I ken it, fine.'
Heads bowed in due acknowledgment.
'Aye.' He consulted his papers. 'Well, then. Mistress Cairncross – the third point leads on frae the second. You'll no' deny previous conventicles o' sin? And nae doubt they'd be for the same ill purpose? The storms when I was on the sea? And when the Queen couldna win to me? These too were your detestable work? Your foul coven brewed these ills for me likewise, did they no'?'
The woman was nodding and gabbling before ever he had finished.
Triumphantly James turned to the Master of Gray. 'Did I no' tell you, Patrick? We win to the truth at last. Master Broun has well furthered the Lord's work.' He wagged his admonitory finger. 'You erred, Patrick – you greatly erred.'
Patrick Gray shook his head. 'What have we learned, Sire, that we did not know before? What does it advantage us to hear it again, wrung from a foolish country wench by torture?'
'It is evidence, man.'
'Evidence of what? Evidence of the frailty of human flesh against the rope and the screw? Naught else, I swear. The evidence that we need is from my lord of Bothwell. Question him, Your Grace…'
James nibbled at his pen. 'We canna do that, Patrick,' he interrupted. 'You ken it. Bothwell is a peer o' Scotland. Forby a member o' my Council, and a cousin o' my ain. We canna put him to the question like, like…'
'Like less fortunate of Your Grace's subjects!'
'A peer of this realm and member of His Grace's Privy Council may only be tried by that Council,' Chancellor Maitiand intervened stiffly. The period of co-operation between these two had been only brief; now their mutual antipathy was as pronounced as formerly. 'As well you know, Master of Gray – who were in the same position not that long syne!'
'I have not forgotten, my lord. Nor what went before that peculiar trial – and the questioning of my half-brother, Davy Gray! And who performed that questioning. Davy was only a peer's bastard, of course – which no doubt makes a deal of difference. But I am not here talking about my lord of Bothwell's trial. I referred but to his questioning.'
'He has been questioned – and admitted nothing. You know it.'
'But not questioned as this wretched woman has been questioned.'
'Would you, you, have a noble of Scotland, and one of the highest in the land, thus mishandled, sir?'
'For so fresh-minted a noble as yourself, my lord, you are touchingly considerate for your new kind!' Although Gray's lip curled, he eyed the Chancellor keenly, thoughtfully. Maitland had never loved Bothwell, indeed had suffered at that madcap's hands. If now he was taking Bothwell's part, then it must be for good and sufficient reason. This would obviously require watching.
That Bothwell appeared to have another unexpected friend present now became apparent. The Earl of Moray had hitherto taken no evident interest in the proceedings. Now he spoke up.
'Is it not the case, Sire, that Bothwell is known to have spent yon night you were at North Berwick, in Leslie of Lindores' house in the Lawnmarket? And there's a certain lady can prove it!'
Nervously, the King peered at him from under down-drawn brows. 'Eh…? Say you so? Well, now. A tale, nae doubt -a tale. Did he tell you it himseP, my lord?'
'No, Sire. It was a lady who told me. But not the lady, mark you!'
All members of the court were now sitting up, with interest introduced into the occasion. Patrick's eyes were busy. 'This lady…?' he began.
Elphinstone was leaning forward. 'Aye, the lady's name, my lord?' he demanded.
The King banged his hand on the table. 'Enough o' idle tattle and gossip!' he ordered squeakily. 'You, my Lord o' Session, should ken better. Aye, better. This is a court o' law.' He coughed. 'To proceed. Woman!'
The unfortunate prisoner had sunk into a partial coma during this exchange. Now she was roused roughly by the man Broun, into gasping attention.
'My fourth question, Mistress, if you please.' James pointed the pen at her. 'It is fell important, see you. Was yon limmer in the pulpit at North Berwick – aye, whose black arse you so shamefully kissed – was yon the Devil or man?'
Gnawing swollen lip, the young woman gazed around her like a trapped animal. This was not a question to which she could merely nod her head.
'Come, Mistress – out wi' it,' James urged irritably. 'You must ken – you who lewdly bestrode his wicked shoulders.'
Still she did not answer.
'What's wrong wi' you, woman?'
'She does not know what you would wish her to say – that's what is wrong with her,' Moray shrewdly asserted. 'In your other questions, she knew.'
'It was a man, was it not?' Patrick put in swifdy. 'A man, acting for the Devil?'
Almost eagerly the prisoner nodded. 'Yes,' she said. 'Yes.'
*Now we have it. Aye, now we come to it,' the King said.
'Belike the wretched creature would have said as much for the Devil,' Moray observed. 'Put it this way. Tell me, woman. This man – it was the Devil in the guise of a man, was it not? A man in form, but the Devil in person?'
For a moment or two she hesitated. Then she nodded. 'Aye,' she whispered.
'You see, Sire!'
James frowned and tutted. 'I'll thank you, my Lord o'Moray, to leave the questioning to me. Aye – all o' you. D'you hear? To me. You but hae the woman confused. Mistress – see here. This man in the Devil's guise – was it my lord o' Bothwell, or was it no'?'
Desperately the unhappy creature looked from one to another of them. 'I… I carina say,' she got out.
'Waesucks, you can! And you shall. You are a right obdurate woman. Aye, obdurate. I'm right displeased wi' you. Was it Bothwell or was it no'? Answer me.'
'Sink me!' Moray exclaimed. 'So there's your evidence!'
'Aye, Both
well has naught to fear here,' Chancellor Maitland agreed.
'It is as I said, Your Grace.' Patrick smoothly altered his stance. 'Such evidence is of no value to us. None of it. This last but means that Bothwell, if it be he, does not use his own name at such affairs. And who would expect him to?'
But James was not satisfied. 'I say she lies,' he declared. 'She kens the creature well enough, wi' his breeks on an' wi' them off! She kens him as carnally as he kens her, I warrant! Dinna tell me that she never asked his name. Woman – what is the man's name?'
She shook her head.
'Answer me, witch – answer me!'
'We… we but ken him as Jamie. Jamie, sir – the same as yoursel'.'
'Guidsakes, do you so!' The King was indignant. 'Jamie, is it? Jamie what? What's the rest o' it?' 'Just Jamie, sir.'
'Havers, woman! Dinna tell me that you never spiered mair about the man whose arse you kissed. And who's had you times aplenty, I'll be bound! How d'you name him, eh?'
Dumbly she shook her head.
Exasperatedly the King wagged his pen at her. 'Master Broun – to your trade! See if perchance you can bring back her memory!'
The fat man grasped a handful of her hair, close to the head, and twisted it, and the already wrung and tortured scalp beneath. Half-rising in her chair to the agony of it, the woman emitted an ear-piercing shriek that rang the very rafters, and swooned away unconscious, dragging down even the expert questioner. Disgustedly he threw the inert body to the floor.
'Fiend tak her!' he exclaimed. 'She's failed me, at the last.'
'Is it not yourself that has failed us, fellow!' one of the professional judges complained. 'That's the end o' her, for a wager. We'll get no more out o' her. We're wasting our time.'
'Not quite the end o' her, my friend,' James corrected. 'That is still to come. Nor have we entirely wasted our time, I think. We've this ill woman's confession, added to the testimony o' our ain eyes, that she has committed the vile sin o' witchcraft – which is a burning matter. Aye, and that she and others contrived it against my ain royal person – which is highest treason, forby. You a' heard her. In consequence, this being a court o' justice duly constituted, we needna spend mair time on her. I pronounce her black guilty o' these maist abominable crimes and offences, and do hereby sentence her to just and lawful punishment.' He paused, licking thick lips. 'Aye. She shall be taken out the morn to the forecourt o' this my castle o' Edinburgh, and the good burghers o' this town and city summoned by tuck o' drum to witness. And before them a' she shall be worried to the half-deid, and thereafter burned wholly wi' fire. As is just, right and proper, according to the law o' this realm and the precepts o' Christ's Kirk. Ex auctoritate mihi commisa.'
'Amen!' the Church, in the person of Master Lindsay agreed fervently.
'Correct, meet and due,' the law acceded, by the lips of one of the senators.
' 'Fore God – has she not suffered enough?' the Master of Gray demanded.
Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live!' the King intoned. 'Would you deny Holy Writ, man Patrick?'
'I can recollect other Scripture, I think, less savage…'
'Tush, man – dinna bandy words. You're no' in a proper and seemly state o' mind this night, Master o' Gray – you are not. You've no' helped the assize. You've but hindered the course o' justice. Aye. But enough o' this. Our royal word is said, and sentence passed. Awa' wi' her, Master Broun. And then we will hear the other. Fetch in the auld wife.'
'In that case, Your Grace – have I your permission to retire?' Patrick asked. 'Since my presence is of no help… and my stomach will scarce stand more of this!'
'Aye – go then, Patrick. You may leave us. But I'm right disappointed in you -1 am so. A weak vessel, you prove. Tried, I find you wanting, man – wanting.'
'I had believed that it was to be the Earl of Bothwell who was tried – not myself, Sire. Seemingly I was wrong. Your Grace… my lords… gentlemen – I bid you a good night. If that is possible after… this!'
Chapter Sixteen
LUDOVICK STUART came long-striding up the steep grassy hillside, breathing deeply. Mary Gray waved to him as he approached, from where she sat on a green ledge amongst the yellow crowsfoot and the purple thyme. But she did not smile.
'I thought… that I might… find you here,' he panted. 'I searched all the… palace for you. None had seen you. Jean said… Jean said that you would be with my page, Peter Hay. But I did not believe her.'
'The Lady Jean is of that way of thinking, Vicky. So works her mind.'
'Yet you are a deal away from the palace these days, Mary.' He stood before her, hands on padded hips, his Court finery as usual looking somehow out-of-place and alien to his sturdy stocky figure. 'Is it ever here you come? All this way?'
'Not always. But often, yes.'
'And alone?'
'Alone, yes. Although sometimes the Lady Marie comes with me. And little Andrew. To escape… to get away, for a little, from, from…' It was not often that that young woman left her sentences unfinished or lacked due words – save perhaps when she had occasion to play the part of an innocent girl.
Involuntary both of them turned to look out across the deep trough where acres and acres of jumbled roofs and spires and turrets, part-hidden in the swirling smoke of a thousand chimneys, climbed the crowded mile from the grey palace of Holyroodhouse up to the great frowning fortress of Edinburgh Castle on its lofty rock. If they did not actually see more and different smoke drifting down from that grim citadel's forecourt, they did not fail to sense it, smoke tainted with a smell other than that of wood or coals.
'Aye,' the young Duke said heavily. 'I also. Often I could choke with it. The palace, the whole town, stinks of death. Aye, and fear. I would be out of it all, Mary – away… '
'Yes,' she said. 'I knew that smell in London. Elizabeth's fires at the Bridewell. I had not thought to smell it here in Scotland. Madness, it is – cruel madness… ' She paused. 'Once I feared that it might be the Spanish Inquisition's fires that would burn on the Castle-hill of Edinburgh! Now…!'
For three weeks the fires had blazed on the windy plateau before the gates and drawbridge of Edinburgh Castle. For three weeks the screams of the condemned had rung through the crowded vennels and tall stone tenements of the capital. For three weeks the citizens had daily been gorged with the spectacle of justice most evidently being done, of strings of the Devil's disciples being led in chains through the streets to the wide and crowded castle forecourt, there to be part-strangled publicly by teams of lusty acolytes and then tied to stakes to burn, for the confounding of evil and the greater glory of God. Day in, day out, and far into the night, the work went on, King James himself personally supervising much of it, especially the examining, determined, indefatigable, confounding his archenemy Satan. There was no lack of material for his cleansing fervour; sufficiently questioned, almost all suspects could be brought to the point, not only of confession to the most curious activities, such as sailing die Forth in sieves, and turning themselves into hares, hedgehogs and the like, but also of denouncing large numbers of their acquaintances as equally guilty of these disgraceful practices. These, apprehended and similarly questioned in turn, could be brought to implicate ever greater numbers more. It was extraordinary how, once the rope was sufficiently twisted round their heads, names would come tumbling from their lips. The process was cumulative, the good work ever widening its scope and ramifications, growing like a snowball – to the notable enlargement and improvement of the King's monumental book on demonology. Seldom indeed had an author been so blest with the supply of excellent research material.
The citizens had long lost count of the numbers of culprits, after it had run into hundreds – mostly women, but with a fair sprinkling of men, and even children. Clearly the abominable cult and practice of witchcraft and warlockry was infinitely more widespread than anyone had dreamed. North Berwick and that part of Lothian had soon ceased to be the centre and hub of activities; the net was spreading f
ar and wide over Scotland. To cope with the alarming situation, King James hit on the ingenious expedient of granting Royal Commissions throughout the land, with power 'to justify witches to the death' without further formality – stipulating only that all interesting occult revelations should be passed on to himself. Fourteen such Commissions had indeed been granted in a single day. There seemed no reason to suppose that the momentum would not further increase and the harvest expand.
The Earl of Bothwell meantime remained warded in the fortress, still not brought to trial – but warded as befitted his rank and standing, with his own suite of rooms and his own servants.
'Madness indeed,' Lennox agreed, thickly. 'I fear that Patrick may have been right, yon time. That James is indeed mad. Either mad or a monster. And yet, if he be so, so many others are likewise. James leads, yes – but he has no lack of followers.'
Mary shook her head. 'I do not believe that he is mad. Nor yet a monster. I think that he is a man frightened. Fearful of so many things. Unsure. His head so full of strange learning that he cannot comprehend. If he is working a great wickedness, it is because he is what men's wickedness has made him. And he is so very lonely.'
A little askance the Duke looked at her. This sort of talk was beyond him.
'All kings are lonely,' the girl went on. 'But James is the most lonely of all. He has never known mother or father, brothers or sisters. Always he has been alone, close to none -but watched by all. Trusting none, and for good reason. Yet greatly needing others close to him. More than do many.'
'He has a wife now, Mary.'
'I cannot think that the Queen is the wife that he needed. She has a hardness, a sharpness. She will not pretend for him, as he needs – pretend that he is a fine gallant, a notable poet, a strong monarch.'
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