‘So you say,’ said the King. ‘We find it difficult to imagine why. And what of the pendulum? What was this fateful message that the pendulum was supposed to deliver? What of that?’
Nicholas answered. ‘It was meaningless, sire. The so-called magic was just Simpson’s device to fill time until the drug took effect. Then he could denounce his personal enemies as poisoners. My lord of Cortachy and his family. Others who had offended him in Egypt. My wife and myself.’ His attention, Tobie saw, was half on the door. Someone had gone to call up the Guard.
‘He accused my brother,’ said the King. He searched behind him, and finding his gown, dragged it on over his shirt. Then he strode to the steps and set foot on them. Albany moved away from the throne. James said, ‘Was this what you wanted? Perhaps Simpson wanted his enemies dead, but perhaps you did as well? With your King gone, you would never need to wait for orders from me. Then you could challenge your counterpart Gloucester as much as you like, and waste the country’s strength in picking fights with those allies you don’t agree with.’ He was shaking.
‘No,’ said Albany. ‘Yes, I enjoy fighting and you don’t. Yes, I want to fight. No, I didn’t plan to kill you. Can’t you understand? Can’t you understand what we’re telling you?’
Nicholas suddenly moved. Tobie saw that the royal Archers had come and were thrusting through the door, no doubt expecting some band of assassins. He discerned, among the silvery helms, the determined fair face of Henry. Then he saw Andro Wodman attempting to enter and being stopped. The Conservator made a single, violent sign towards Nicholas, who started towards him and found his arms pinned at his back.
The King said, ‘Not yet, sir. No one leaves yet.’ Henry, sword in hand, had noticed Nicholas, and Gelis behind him. His face changed. His captain, looking about, also came to a halt.
William Scheves said, ‘We are glad you have come. No one is armed, apart from Simon Preston’s own men. A circumstance has arisen which needs resolving, and until that is done, his grace would prefer that no one leave the castle. By your leave, my lord?’
It was bold, for Scheves himself was still under suspicion. He stood, as he had throughout, on the ascent to the dais, although he had descended two steps so that the King, sitting abruptly, was still his superior. Without his ceremonial robes, Will Scheves of the pleasant long face and round shoulders had reverted to a different, well-practised authority: that of the efficient physician-dispenser, the well-read natural statesman who had long served the King. The King looked at him for a space, and then nodded.
Nicholas bit his lip. David Simpson, by the King’s vacated chair, bent and straightened, causing a threatening rustle which seemed to amuse him. He held the fallen bronze bowl, cradling it in his manicured fingers. ‘Alms, Nicholas?’
His voice was bantering. The beseeching figure of a moment ago had quite gone. The King had not responded and David Simpson had understood, Tobie supposed, that he was not going to succeed. However angry and uncertain James might be at this moment, there were witnesses, there was evidence, and very soon it would be plain what Simpson had done, and he would face the penalty, which was death. The final reward for a petty, miserable life.
And yet his voice was teasing, amused; and Nicholas was looking at no one else. As if they were alone in the room, Simpson said, ‘You must forgive me. I had no idea you could truly divine. What a convenience!’
‘I am glad you think so.’ The King was looking elsewhere. Nicholas added, ‘And with accuracy, as a rule.’
‘Without any doubt. You saw Andro. I left a message. They will wait for me till sunrise tomorrow.’
‘Where?’ Nicholas said. Mar was shouting again, and men were trying to restrain him. The drowsiness was leaving the room: as the King’s voice rose, issuing orders, the stools and cushions were kicked aside, and the innocent afflicted were encouraged to stand to one side, preparatory to leaving. Among them was Gelis who, to Tobie’s eye, had drunk nothing at all and had simply been overcome by sleep. Then she was masked by the trailing shambles of Willie Roger and his musicians, one of whom brushed against Nicholas, who took the chance, presently, to rearrange his shirt-sleeve. Within it, if the doctor was not mistaken, was a small sharp instrument normally used for the trimming of strings.
Then Tobie and Nicholas himself were lashed by the wrist and herded with the other suspects to the opposite side. Simpson, his hands tied, walked beside them, together with Anselm Adorne, as yet unbound. Katelinje and John le Grant followed. Coming close to Simpson, Nicholas spoke, as if continuing a conversation, which indeed he was.
‘Where?’ he said; and the Procurator, smiling, answered, ‘Your castle, where else? How proud he will be, to die there, at sunrise, for you.’ Then he was pushed aside.
Tobie murmured, ‘What?’ But it was Henry de St Pol who usurped what he had been going to say, nodding to the guard who held Nicholas by the free arm before thoughtfully dismissing him and, twisting the arm, taking his place. Nicholas swore.
Henry said, ‘Yes, what? What have you done this time, dearest Uncle?’
‘Nothing,’ said Nicholas. ‘It’s the Blackfriars silver all over again. Do you know what I want?’
‘To escape?’ said Henry, and laughed.
‘No. To have David Simpson escape. His men have taken a hostage. If Davie doesn’t join them by sunrise tomorrow, the prisoner will die.’
‘Who?’ said Tobie; but he knew. He had heard the five letters that made up the man’s name. He was still trying to digest that catastrophe when John of Mar burst through the door to the turnpike. There, instead of descending, he set off, screaming and lurching, to scale the spiral steps to the roof. The flat, stone-flagged roof from which you could see the sea, and Edinburgh Castle.
The King shouted. Men raced to follow. Nicholas swore. Tobie, coming to life, said, ‘Mar didn’t help you. You can’t help him.’ Something ripped down his sleeve and parted the rope that bound him to Nicholas. He saw, to his utter astonishment, that David Simpson was one of those who had leaped for the door. Simpson was free. Simpson had been freed by Henry, who had now vanished. A hand, belonging to Nicholas, gripped Tobie hard and propelled him likewise to the door. As men bounded up the stairs, he and Nicholas bounded down. At the foot they saw no sign of David, but Henry de St Pol sprinting up with three horses. Behind him were two riders already mounted: Andro Wodman, looking displeased, and Gelis.
Nicholas stared at her. He said, ‘Why not? So where are the Chapel Royal Singers?’
Henry grinned. Gelis said, ‘I’m coming. And you’ll also need Henry and Tobie. Get up.’
Henry said, ‘You could send the doctor away.’
But Nicholas said, ‘No, we can’t.’
He didn’t explain. To Tobie, he didn’t have to explain.
Five letters. Robin.
Chapter 19
Sen thow has maid this cruell instrument,
Go preif it first, for this is myne entent.
THE WINTER SUN rises late in the north, and does not care whether it looks upon the new-born, or the expiring, or the prisoner whose execution it has brought. A party of five active people had set out to find a young man by sunrise, but to do this, they had to cross sixty miles of moorland, ravines and hills in the dark, following indistinct muddy tracks and stopping only to change their tired horses where they could, and to snatch some food and drink to keep them in the saddle. There was no time to rest.
Gelis, dame de Fleury, had ridden far and fast on business before, and had helped to manage a tough band of mercenaries before the battle that destroyed her husband’s company, as it had half destroyed Robin of Berecrofts, in whose cause she was making this journey. She had ridden far and fast, but rarely in darkness, like this, in a group of which Nicholas became immediately the leader, even though Wodman, his elder, was there.
Wodman and Tobie, she supposed, were in their forties. Henry must be barely eighteen. She was not sure why Henry had chosen to come. He had long since become disenchanted with S
impson, and had displayed a ghoulish delight in the scenes at Craigmillar. Yet he had freed Simpson immediately when Nicholas asked him. It might, of course, have been for the sake of the hostage. Perhaps. More likely, Henry had elected to reverse last year’s episode of the oyster-sellers for his own entertainment. Nicholas had told her enough about that to explain Andro’s thrice-broken nose, and the present scowl over and under it.
As yet, Henry didn’t know who the hostage might be, except that he was clearly important and rich. Nicholas claimed not to know either. In fact, they all did. That was why Tobie was here. Tobie was not going to see squandered the long struggle to bring Robin safely back home and to give him a life of his own. He fulminated, and Gelis sympathised, for she could not understand, even yet, how this had happened. There existed iron-clad rules for protection, especially on occasions like this, when Nicholas and Simpson might be together. Ever since the Milanese bale, they had been on guard against poison. Yet Robin, in the care of his father, of Sersanders, of Clémence, had been captured—the least likely victim, you would think: helpless, difficult to transport, of little importance to anyone.
So your normal bold plotter might think. But Davie Simpson knew Nicholas, and knew Kathi. Davie Simpson had been in no doubt what threat would bring Nicholas most quickly, apart from one to his family.
And now what? But she did not have to think of that, for Nicholas himself talked it over as they rode.
He took Henry beside him, since Henry was a member of the Royal Guard, and would make the arrest when they found Simpson. He also consulted Henry and Wodman at the various places he halted: at Malcolmston, to borrow cloaks and spare hacks from the Browns; at Bathgate for torches and food. There were blankets strapped to the saddles that Wodman had brought; Gelis had made no change to her wide-skirted gown, and observed the wreck of its nap without regret. She listened to Nicholas, talking.
‘Andro found out the hostage was going to Beltrees, and sent two men on ahead. The hostage will be there by now, but Simpson won’t. He has to get there by daybreak, he claims, or the hostage will be killed. It may be true. It may be that he has told his men to wait a while longer. But if the morning wears on and he doesn’t arrive, his men are going to think he has been captured or killed, and flee themselves, after killing their prisoner.’
‘How many men does he have?’ That was Wodman.
‘Oh, I don’t think you need worry.’ That was Henry. ‘Half a dozen servants, who’ll run, and not more than twelve bowmen and grooms he brings in when he’s in residence.’ Alone of them all, Henry wore a plumed helmet, cuirass and greaves, and carried a sword. He added, ‘If your men are so far ahead, why didn’t you tell them to catch Simpson and bring him back to us?’
Nicholas answered before Wodman could, in a thoughtful way. ‘It’s possible, but, as I said, time is the problem. Simpson will have to stop now and then, if only to try and pick up fresh horses. It’s my guess that he’ll follow the Newbattle route. The monks travel this way all the time, and are well thought of in the cots where they stay. The same places will welcome Davie, and perhaps hinder us, if he’s told them some story. I think we’d be better avoiding them meantime. I’d like to know when he’s close to the tower, and then take him before he gets in. After that, it’s his life in exchange for the hostage’s.’
Henry said, ‘He wouldn’t agree. If he did, you’d just besiege him and kill him.’
Gelis said, ‘Or what about swearing an oath? If he has the hostage brought out, you will let Simpson and his men escape to wherever they want. They could ride to Dumbarton and take ship.’
‘Dumbarton wouldn’t do,’ said Nicholas. ‘In fact, none of it will do, because he wouldn’t trust us.’
‘So?’ said Tobie. She had thought he had gone to sleep in the saddle.
‘So,’ said Wodman, ‘it’s not worth talking about, because he’s got a head start, and the chances are that he’ll get into Beltrees long before dawn, while my men are still trying to track him. In fact, he may not be going to Beltrees at all. His prisoner may be somewhere quite different, and we are not going to get there by daybreak.’
‘So we go home,’ Henry said. The sneer was familiar.
‘We could,’ Nicholas said. ‘Or we could think it through a bit further. Beltrees is where Simpson has protection, on a route that he knows well at night, and far enough away to dodge large-scale pursuit. He’s likely to go there. And he’s likely to have told us where to go, because above all else he wanted me to follow. Now he’s got Andro and Gelis and Tobie as well, he’s going to be ecstatic.’
‘Why?’ said Gelis. The streaming torchlight showed Wodman looking surprised. Men.
‘I suppose because he wants them all dead,’ Henry said. ‘I rather think I come into that category too. So we may have to storm the tower? We could do with more men.’
‘I thought of sending to Semple,’ said Nicholas. ‘He’s the sheriff of Renfrewshire. We’ll get there before he does, but it might help.’
Wodman said, ‘I told you. I sent to Semple while I was waiting for you. Then I wondered if I’d done right.’
‘I’m sorry. It must have been the soup,’ Nicholas said. ‘No. I’m sure it was right. We’ll get there first to negotiate. Then the heavy troops can come up.’
Very soon after that, Wodman’s first henchman appeared out of the darkness to tell them that Simpson had been seen. He was still riding west, and on a route that would take him to Renfrewshire.
The messenger was reeling with tiredness. Wodman kept him for a bit, then sent him off to beg an hour on the hay in some farm. Henry helped him find one.
While he was away, Gelis moved beside Nicholas. He said, ‘Are you tired?’ There was no weariness in his own face. He looked calm, and steady, and competent. He was concerned for her. He did not show what he might be feeling for Robin.
Gelis said, ‘Yes, of course, but not beyond reason. Nicholas? This is all because Davie wants you to face him. Wants you more than his own life, perhaps.’
‘It’s the one problem,’ he said. ‘What will Henry do when he discovers, too late, that the prisoner isn’t a prince with a marriageable daughter?’
‘Blame you,’ she said. ‘Then act like any careless superior, throwing a crumb to some once-favoured cripple.’ She paused. ‘Not as good for his character as you’d like.’
‘You can’t have everything,’ Nicholas said. Behind, a faint drumming told that Henry was now catching up. Gelis prepared to drop back. Nicholas said, ‘No. Stay. To hell with Henry and his character. It’s one of the privileges of being married, to ride with one’s wife. Especially when being shown so much leg. I like that one.’
‘I’ve got another just like it,’ said Gelis.
He smiled: the great, glorious smile she remembered from Bruges, and suddenly she was fresh, and supple, and tireless once more.
‘Remind me, some time,’ he said.
She loved him. She loved him also for what he had said without words. You are my beloved wife. You are one of this group, upon which a man’s life depends.
FATIGUE, HOWEVER WELL managed, cannot be held off for ever. Towards the end of that night, the cold deepened, and the mud stiffened, so that the worn horses stumbled and slid, and riders, half asleep, were jerked awake. Nicholas increased the number of halts, and then didn’t. Simpson was racing somewhere ahead, and ahead of him rode the soldiers carrying Robin, chilled and jolting and helpless. If Robin had survived the long night at all.
Travelling west, Gelis noticed, Nicholas avoided not only the route of the Newbattle monks but also the castles which might have been expected to succour them. Templehall, the ancient home of Old Will of Berecrofts, was thirty miles to the south-east of Beltrees, and too far away for a messenger. Nearer but also ignored were Hamilton’s Draffane, and Avandale’s place by Strathaven. It was partly, she supposed, for Robin’s sake, for Simpson’s capture would matter more to these men than his prisoner. It might even have been for the opposite reason: that the
position of Simpson, of Albany, of Nicholas himself was not yet legally clear, and the King’s men should not be asked to commit themselves.
As their destination drew nearer and the hour became later, however, Nicholas did call on some friends. The Cochranes, where they crossed the Black Cart, provided their last change of horses, and a Johnstone brought out wine and would have given them arms, if Nicholas had allowed him. Their previous stop had been a short one at Paisley, where Gelis had been brought indoors by nuns, but had refused to stay. When Nicholas left, he had a sheathed sword at his saddle-bow, and had given another to Tobie. Gelis didn’t ask any questions. Nicholas had once presented a window, she recalled, to the Abbot. In honour, she further recalled, of the now disgraced Archbishop replaced by Will Scheves. On the other hand, Paisley traditionally cared for the sons of the monarch, and those who befriended them.
It was there that they heard of a horse litter, travelling fast, which had called at another hospice that night. It had been making west also, but very much earlier. Poor soul, a sick man having to journey that way, in the dark. God be good to him.
Gelis heard Nicholas’s voice as he thanked them, and saw Tobie’s face. She felt like that, too. They were following Robin, and he was alive.
The sky was lightening.
Nicholas said, ‘It’s all right. We shall be in time.’ He must know, as she did, that the Cochranes would now rouse their neighbours and that, inescapably, armed men would join them sooner or later. All Nicholas was really concerned about was reaching Simpson before them.
She had realised, long since, what the bargain was going to be. So had Tobie and, she thought, Wodman, although his manner throughout had been one of reserve: a powerful, silent lieutenant. Henry, the youngest, the least tired, had made his opinion known several times. ‘I’ve told you! Simpson has twelve men, twenty at most! All these families will turn out and help us take them!’
‘So you stay and bring them,’ Nicholas had said, the last time. ‘I want to get Robin out first.’
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