Unicorn Rampant

by Nigel Tranter

  There, at the foot of the great rock, John experienced a very different reception from the previous occasion. The massive doors at the outer gatehouse of the perimeter wall were shut and barred. At first, he assumed that Middlemas had accepted his dismissal and departed without further ado, shutting up the castle behind him—until Sandy Graham pointed out the smoke which was rising from an inner gatehouse chimney, and also, it could be seen, from the hallhouse high on the hill. So the fortress was not in fact deserted.

  Nobody came in answer to their shouts and hangings on the iron-bound door.

  At a loss as to what to do, they presently went back down to the nearest houses, a pair of fishermen's cottages on the shore between castle and town, demanding of the occupants to know what was going on. The cottagers were reluctant to talk, obviously frightened of Middlemas and his crew; but, when Sheriff Napier threatened them with the sanctions of the law, they capitulated and informed that four days earlier the Constable, Middlemas, had suddenly closed and barred the castle-doors, which had always stood open hitherto. There were about a dozen men within, with some women. The fisherfolk heard them emerge at night sometimes, no doubt to collect food and change the women; but otherwise the castle remained closed and silent.

  "So-o-o." John commented. "They lock themselves in. A state of siege, almost! Four days ago, you say? I wonder why then? Middlemas must have heard, I think, that I was back at Methven. And guessed that I would be coming for him."

  "This is crazy-mad!" Alexander declared. "The King's royal fortress held against the King's Governor and his Sheriff! And by a mere deputy-keeper. This is beyond belief!"

  "He is a hard and violent man. I do not know why my father appointed him. But I did not judge him capable of this. I am at a loss what to do, if he will not come to speak with me."

  "He may not hear our shouting. It seems a long way up to that large house."

  "If we had a trumpet, to blow as summons?" Napier suggested.

  "I fear that none of us carry trumpets around with us!" John said. "I suppose that it might be possible to find one in the town."

  "A ladder," Sandy Graham proposed. "If we could get a ladder to scale this outer wall."

  "It would scarcely look dignified for the Governor of Dumbarton to enter his fortress by climbing a ladder, man!"

  "You need not do it. I will climb up. And Pate, here." Pate was Alexander's groom.

  "I too," Vandervyk declared, laughing heartily, clearly finding the situation highly amusing.

  "Well. . ."

  They went back into the town, John at least feeling distinctly feeble. There they divided forces, Sandy and Pate to search for a long ladder, Napier to try to find a trumpet, and the other three to enter an ale-house, to wait, in an effort at dignity. This affair was going to resound round Dumbarton inevitably.

  They had quite a while to wait. A sufficiently long ladder to scale a twenty-foot-high wall was not readily to be found, and eventually Sandy and Pate came back with a pair of grinning stone-masons and two twelve-foot ladders which, bound together with rope, ought to serve. The Sheriff-Depute could not lay hands on a trumpet, either, but had uncovered an old Highland hunting-horn, which at least would make a loud noise, he averred.

  Thus equipped, they headed back to the castle-rock—unfortunately now an enlarged company, a small crowd having assembled, to follow them, agog.

  At the gatehouse, whilst the ladders were being tied together, sundry members of the party took turns at blowing on the horn, some more successfully than others. A variety of noises resulted, squawks, moans, gurgles and wails, few really impressive, although some were probably loud enough to reach the upper hall-house. The delighted cheers of the onlookers, however, more than made up for the less-than-effective horn-blowing, and no doubt carried further.

  No response was evident from the castle, to either.

  The ladder ready, it was set up a few yards from the gatehouse, its topmost rung reaching to within a few inches of the wallhead. Sandy volunteered to climb first, and amidst renewed cheers started up. But he had not risen more than a few steps when two men appeared on the parapet-walk which topped the wall on the inner side and, leaning over, pushed the ladder sideways. It toppled and fell with a clatter, throwing Sandy Graham in a sprawling heap.

  Great was the uproar.

  The position was now clear, at least. There could be no pretence at not knowing nor hearing on the part of Middlemas and his minions. He was openly defying John's and the Sheriff's authority, prepared even to use violence apparently.

  Whilst the ladder was being re-erected, John went close up to the gatehouse and cupped hands to mouth.

  "William Middlemas," he shouted. "I, Sir John Stewart, the King's duly-appointed Governor of this hold, charge you to open these gates to me, in the King's name. Or else suffer the dire consequences. Open, I say, in King James's royal name!"

  There was no least reaction.

  Pate the groom was now eager to try the ladder. He pointed out that, if others climbed close behind him, the extra weight could make it difficult for the men at the wallhead to push it over. Vandervyk—asserting loudly that he at least had plenty of weight—Sandy and even some of the townsfolk agreed to back him up. Pate started his climb.

  But the people above recognised their danger and, before the groom was halfway up, with only Vandervyk able to be off the ground, they bent to their task, a third man coming to assist them now, and again managed to tip the ladder sidelong and over with apparent ease. Great was the fall, with Pate crashing down on top of the Dutchman, amidst yells. Two rungs where the ladders were joined, were sprung loose.

  Vandervyk was winded, his laughter quenched for the moment, and Pate had hurt his leg. John called a halt on any more ladder-work, and returned to vocal efforts.

  "I warn you, Middlemas, that you put yourself, and these fools who support you, in the greatest peril," he cried. "You cannot hope to continue to hold a royal fortress in defiance of the King's authority. You will be ejected in due course, and suffer the fullest penalty—all of you. Open now—or meet your doom hereafter!" He felt something of a fool shouting that.

  Alexander joined in. "I am Sir William Alexander of Menstrie, Master of Requests to the King," he called up. "Do not think that you can expect any mercy if you do not yield up this castle at once. Do you wish to hang, for your insolent folly?"

  He received no more response than had John.

  Napier was not to be left out. "I am the Sheriff," he declared—and then, coughing slightly, amended that, in present company. "The Sheriff-Depute. This holding of the King's citadel against the King's Captain and Governor could be adjudged high treason. And you know the penalty for treason is death! Open, I command you."

  They all might have been talking only to the ancient masonry for all the effect they appeared to have.

  John spread his hands. "This is useless. They are not going to heed us. We are not going to get in, that is clear. What to do now, God knows!"

  "What says the Sheriff? Can he bring armed force to bear? With the law being flouted?"

  "I have no armed men, Sir William. I could enrol a few constables—but what would that serve? It would take a siege to reduce this place. I cannot mount that. It would have to be the Privy Council. And you, Sir John, will have more authority with the Privy Council?"

  "Is that what I must do, then? Appeal to the Privy Council?"

  "Yes. Or, I believe so. I have never known the like of this before. But I can see no other course, in law. The Council is bound to act, since it is the King's business."

  "Very well. We are going to Edinburgh. I will demand that the Privy Council takes action against this madman. There is nothing more that we can do here ..."

  Authority, looking and feeling distinctly sheepish, made its way back to the town, the crowd vociferous behind.

  The urge to be out of Dumbarton was now pronounced. Surely never had a Keeper of the proud fortress been so humiliated. But, before they left, John had Sand
y sworn-in as Constable and Deputy-Keeper, before Sheriff Napier, so that at least in law he replaced Middlemas and had authority to act when he had any power to do so.

  They then set off eastwards, taking Sandy with them meantime.

  Installing Vandervyk at the Water of Leith mills, in comparison presented no problem. The two Germans appeared not in the least to resent the Dutchman's arrival, especially when they learned that he was to be concerned mainly with a training programme and the setting up of new mills.

  Thereafter they spent a couple of days, in wintry weather, inspecting the Esk valley, from Dalkeith right up to the Pentland Hills, with the Dutchman and Germans, and settled on two or three suitable sites for mills, at Lasswade, Polton,

  Roslin and Penicuik. Final decisions would be left to the papermakers.

  This aspect of the King's business duly performed, John set about seeing to another, that of the royal fortress of Dumbarton. It was all very well to declare that he would involve the Scots Privy Council in the affair, but that august body consisted of prominent individuals who met only infrequently and were scattered over the face of the land. John was advised that the procedure was to see the Secretary of the Council, in the first place, to have the matter put on the agenda of the next meeting. Nobody suggested that there would be any very swift and decisive action.

  The Secretary proved to be James Primrose, a lawyer and small Fife laird, renowned for his enormous family of nineteen and the fact that his eldest daughter had been wed to the late George Heriot, the King's banker and crony. Primrose, however, appeared presently to be at his West Fife property of Burnbrae, in the Stewartry of Culross; so John had to make another journey, Alexander, having nothing better to do, accompanying him.

  They found the Secretary to be a fussy, tetchy little man with a notably downtrodden wife, living in a tumbledown house on a small estate which appeared to consist of little more than a steep wooded valley down which a stream tumbled in almost a prolonged waterfall, hence the name of Burnbrae, flanked by only one or two meagre fields. He was not really helpful, and as good as stated that it was the Keeper's and Captain's business to maintain due discipline at Dumbarton and keep his Deputy in order, not to come bothering the Privy Council. When John demanded how he was to take order with Middlemas, barricaded and defiant inside the fortress, the other shrugged and said that this ought never to have been allowed to develop so far. If Sir John was incapable of keeping the castle for the King in good order, or found it impossible to do so from far away London, then he ought to resign the office to someone better placed.

  In a sneaking sort of way John agreed with this, but could not say so. The fact remained, he insisted, that this royal strength was being held unlawfully against due authority, to the hurt of King James; and the Sheriff-Depute concerned asserted that it was a matter for the Privy Council. Would Master Primrose, as Secretary, take the necessary steps to bring the matter before the Council? Or must His Majesty, in London, be informed of this non-co-operation and take the necessary steps from there?

  Will Alexander backed up this strong line in suitably authoritative fashion, and he could have a notably lofty way with him; and the little lawyer testily acceded. But he would have to take down a proper deposition of the case, with the complainer's assertions and relevant substantiatory deponings by witnesses. Also the Sheriff-Depute's observations. All this could certainly not be done here and now, and must await his, Primrose's, return to Edinburgh the following week. The due processes of law had to be observed.

  It is to be feared that John made less than courteous reply to this. But Primrose was not to be moved. The two friends parted from their host in no great mutual esteem.

  So they had to kick their heels in Edinburgh for quite some time. However they lodged very comfortably with Lady Mar and found sufficient to occupy their time pleasantly enough. As Alexander pointed out, they were almost certainly much better entertained here than if they were back at James's court in London. They took the opportunity—although Primrose undoubtedly would not have approved—to inform two prominent members of the Privy Council who happened to be in Edinburgh, one of them the Chancellor himself, the former Lord Fyvie and now Earl of Dunfermline, of the Dumbarton situation, and were more sympathetically heard than by the Secretary. Sheriff Napier was duly summoned from Kilmahew.

  Eventually they got their depositions, deponings and witnesses' statements duly set down, signed, sealed and certified. How long it would be before relevant action would be taken was not indicated.

  There appeared to be nothing more that they could do, meantime. Snow held up their departure for a few more days. Then they started on their long return-journey to London in uninviting weather conditions, duties performed.

  12

  So it was March before the travellers got back to Whitehall—only to find that the King and court were at Theobalds Park again in Hertfordshire. They had to turn around and retrace some of their steps.

  Although scarcely the time of year for serious hunting, the breeding-season, James was not to be denied his sport, and considered that falconry could be pursued satisfactorily at any time. But the day of their arrival at Theobalds, in blustering rain and wind, even James stayed indoors. Nevertheless, sport was still his preoccupation it seemed, only the theory rather than the practice—and, as it affected the laws of the land, oddly enough. Something being called the Declaration of Sports was being debated, as a mixture of judgment and exercise in government, and sundry authorities had been summoned to discuss and comment. The said authorities had been at Theobalds for a week but had had to kick their heels most of the time, the King being more concerned with the practice than the theory, in this instance, and the weather having permitted the former in preference to the latter. But this cold, wet day was apt enough for the business. They had had one session in the morning, it appeared, before the travellers arrived—and Ludovick of Lennox had looked in on it and been mildly intrigued. He suggested to his son and Alexander that they could do worse than attend the afternoon session and learn how their liege-lord decided on matters of state policy. They could possibly make their due report to James thereafter. He explained that the question was to do with religion, strangely enough; churchmen's attitudes varied on the subject of engaging in sports on Sundays, and the Puritan element was lobbying parliament, where they were fairly strongly represented, to forbid all Sunday sports and games.

  James personally had other views, indeed hunted and hawked regularly on the Sabbath, after due attendance at divine service, with no inhibitions.

  When the Duke ushered the two younger men into a crowded dining-hall of the palatial mansion, it was not into any very evident atmosphere or judicial enquiry nor yet learned debate. Great log-fires blazed and crackled in the two huge fireplaces, and tables were laden with bottles, flagons and beakers. Clearly the discussion was going to be thirsty work, at least for the non-Puritans. The company assembled was a very mixed one, dignitaries of the Established Church of England in soberly rich garb, Romish clerics in cassocks and birettas, Presbyterian divines in stern black-and-white, Puritans in aggressively mouse-like anonymity, and courtiers in padded and slashed extravagance and every colour under the sun. The noise was remarkable.

  Knowing that James would be in no hurry to appear, after a mid-day nap, Ludovick brought them in a good half-hour after the session was due to start. But even so it was almost another half-hour before the King tottered in, leaning on Steenie's shoulder—whom he had recently promoted to be Marquis of Buckingham and Lord High Admiral, much to the latter's disappointment and more so to his mother's, who had wanted him to be a duke. As the noise died away, James could be heard telling his favourite not to sulk and that this debate might well be good for his young soul—if the good God had seen fit to lend him one . . .

  It took some further time for the monarch to settle himself at the dais-table, test the various wines and spirits on offer, fill his beaker, tip forward his high hat to scratch vigorously at the back of h
is head, and eye all from under his brim, critically.

  "Aye, then," he said, at last. "Let's hear you. And you'll oblige me by talking mair sense and less whummle than you did this morning. I never heard so much daft-like blethers! A' we learned was that there is mair folly talked in the name o' religion than even Almighty God could have jaloused! Archbishop—you perhaps will talk sense?"

  John knew George Abbot, Archbishop of Canterbury, slightly, for he was a friend of Queen Anne's and visited her frequently—which may not have been a recommendation in themonarch's eyes. Hewas a large, heavy, slow-spoken man.

  "Sire," he said, "this morning we heard the differing views of what the Lord's Day should represent. Few agreed on all aspects—save that it was essentially a day for the worship of God. Some saw it as only that with nothing else to be engaged on by any—this, if necessary, to be enforced by the laws of this realm. Others saw it as a day of rest, celebrating the Biblical account of the Creation, when the Creator is said to have rested on the seventh day. Others again saw it as a continuation of the Jewish Sabbath and would apply to it all the exercises and also the bans and prohibitions of that ancient and non-Christian people's worship of Jehovah .. ."

  "Aye, man—aye," James interrupted. "Just so. But we had a' that this morning. Guidsakes, we dinna need to hear tell o' it again!"

  "No, Majesty. But bear with me, I pray you, for just a little longer. Some of us, I think, need to marshal our thoughts from this morning's much talking, to remind ourselves what are the options before us when we make our decisions..."

  "My decisions, my lord—mine! As the Lord Christ's Regent and Vicar in this realm, and head o' its Church, J mak the decisions, I'd remind you and all. You are here only to advise."