by J. R. Tomlin
“Where she is safe and where she will stay.” Callendar dropped the key into the scrip at his waist. “I’ll keep her locked away.”
The blood rushed to Patrick’s head, the rushing as loud as a high tide. He dropped his hand to his sword. “You’d hold the queen a prisoner?” he shouted.
When one of the men-at-arms dropped the point of a pike before him, Patrick stepped back, startled to his senses. But he could not stand aside while Callendar did this. “You cannae hold her prisoner. It is lèse-majesté.”
Callendar snorted. “She is no monarch, merely his mother. And she shall come to nae harm. The chamber is comfortable enough. She’ll be fed and warm. But there she shall stay as long as need be.”
The two men-at-arms both had their pikes lowered, ready to use. Callendar stared at him, eyes narrowed. At the moment, there was nothing he could do. Obviously there was no arguing with Callendar in his present mood. Patrick shook his head. “My lord, this… this is not wise.”
“Their marriage was what was not wise. They left me no choice.”
Shaking his head again, Patrick trudged back down the stairs. Somehow this must be dealt with, but he had no idea how.
Chapter 17
The next day, having given Callendar the night to re-think his actions, Annabella took the princesses to their mother’s door. They were turned away. Patrick and Annabella sought out Lady Janet, who shook her head dourly when they begged her to intercede with her husband. “I warned the queen against this marriage. Now I fear she must pay the price.” When Patrick took the king, who made a peremptory demand for entry as monarch, they also were firmly told no. The guards stated they took their orders from Lord Callendar and no one else. No entry was allowed. The queen was a prisoner.
Patrick and Annabella racked their brains for what to do. An appeal to Crichton was useless. Even had there been a chance he would intervene, they had no hope that Callendar would listen to him. But they had to try something. Patrick knew that Bishop Cameron had some influence over Callendar, that they were allies to an extent. In the end, they decided that Patrick should go to Glasgow and appeal to the Bishop for aid.
How was this to be done? Callendar was not likely to agree for Patrick to leave his duties with the king, and Patrick was reluctant to leave the young monarch without his protection, but there seemed to be no choice. He would slip away on foot to Stirling Town, there procure a horse, and make for Glasgow with all speed. They agreed that this would be done the next day. Boyd declared that he would carry down their weapons in a bundle before first light as he was under less close watch. Patrick could join him, being unarmed and unmounted. If questioned, he would claim an errand in the town, but as it happened, no one questioned him as he walked down the cobblestone road.
As promised, Boyd had the horses ready, and it was just the two men riding for Glasgow. In the early autumn, the road to Glasgow was well travelled, but the sight of two well-armed men riding fast made most people give way. They cantered through villages, scattering chickens before them without slowing, but had to make their way through small towns such as Kilsyth and Kirkintilloch at a walk. They kicked their horses to a faster speed in the open road where folk harvesting grain onto carts paused in their work to watch them pass.
Patrick clattered more sedately up Glasgow’s bustling High Street. The spires of St. Mungo’s Cathedral soared high above the middle of the city, the seat of the Bishop of Glasgow. Both horses were too done to shy at the noise of the market or the shouts of vendors. Neither Patrick nor Alex knew anyone in Glasgow, excepting the Bishop, so they wended their way through the crowded streets to the tall stone keep where Bishop Cameron resided.
The Bishop’s Castle had been completed by Bishop Cameron during the late king’s reign and showed every sign that he had put his favor with the king to his advantage. A servant led them past silver candle stands that glimmered over silk rugs and well-polished oak furniture suitable for a prince of the church.
John Cameron was sitting near an empty hearth at a table covered with parchments. A stand of candles was on the table beside him. The light gleamed on his bald head, on the dark brocade of his gown, and the gold and ruby pectoral cross that hung from his neck. When Patrick and Alex entered the chamber he held out his hand.
“I can spare you a short time,” he said as Patrick kissed his ring. “I hope your father is well. And yours, Boyd.”
Patrick murmured that he was.
The bishop gestured for Patrick to stand. “How fares the king?”
“As well as can be, considering the news of the queen.”
“What news of the queen? She is still at Stirling, is she not?”
“She is more than just at Stirling.”
“What?” Raising his eyebrows, the bishop waited for Patrick to continue.
“The news has nae reached Glasgow then.” Patrick went on to relate how the queen and the Black Knight of Lorne had secretly married, and how in response to this, the queen had been confined to a single chamber. He told how the Black Knight and his brother had been thrown into the underground dungeon and the queen’s children refused entry to see her. Patrick explained that he believed only the intercession of the bishop might save the situation from becoming even worse.
Frowning, the bishop listened to the account in obvious anger. “I kent naught of this.” He shook his head. “He was to keep me apprised of any developments, and Crichton as well. I am working to bring the two men into agreement. This bickering over possession of the king’s person must stop. In the meantime, you believe that the queen and the Black Knight are merely confined and nae harmed.”
“When I left Stirling that was the case.” Patrick cut his eyes to Alex, apprehensive at the tone of Cameron’s comments. “The king, as you can imagine, is beside himself at the attack on his mother.”
“Och, the king is a child. Of course he takes his mother’s part.” He stared at one of the parchments in front of him for a moment, picked up a quill, and neatly penned his signature. “I think I must deal with it. If the fighting over the king’s person continues, eventually we will have open war. This I shall nae allow. It is to no one’s benefit.” He got heavily to his feet. “I must prepare to return to Stirling. You will return there with all speed and tell Callendar to expect me in two weeks’ time.”
Dismissed, Patrick and Alex were shown out by a servant who gave them directions to a good inn. As they walked there, the sky still golden with the last light of day, Patrick wondered aloud why they had not been offered the hospitality of the Bishop’s Castle. While not quite hostile, Cameron had not greeted them or offered them aid with any great warmth.
Seated at a table in the inn where they had also hired a bed for the night, Alex asked, “How do you think Callendar will react to our appealing to Cameron? We could end up sharing a dungeon with his present guests.”
Patrick paused as a serving girl put a tray of food on the table. “Cameron and Callendar seemed close when they spoke to me at Stirling. Mayhap even allies. I hope that keeps us out of the dungeon. I’ve heard stories of what it is like, but if it comes to worse, I think Cameron will have us out.” He took a slice of barley bread and used his eating knife to smear it with a good amount of potted herring. He topped it with a slice of pickled onion.
Alex followed suit and took a large bite. “This is nae bad,” he said around a mouthful of food. Patrick nodded in agreement. Once their bellies were full, they went to the straw pallet in a common room that they had rented for the night. There was no point in talking about what might happen when they returned to Stirling. They would know soon enough.
Chapter 18
At Stirling, Patrick and Alex found the Earl of Avondale with the lord. They were greeted coldly, which was actually better than he had feared.
“So here is the gentlemen of the bedchamber who sneaked away from his duties. By foul stealth.” He scowled but showed no sign of his previous rage. “I wonder that you dare to return, Gray.”
“I return at Bishop Cameron’s bidding, My Lord. I went to the bishop at the behest of the king, who is justly concerned about his mother. Neither command was one I might ignore. The bishop wants the wrangling over possession of the king’s person to end.”
Callendar raised his eyebrows at Avondale who gave a brief laugh that shook his enormous body.
“He is a presumptuous pup doted on by the queen. But if he spoke with the bishop, I’d hear his account of that matter,” the earl said.
“The bishop will arrive in a week’s time. He told me no more except that he means to see an end to this wrangling.” Under Callendar’s cold stare, Patrick continued. “I told him of the matter of confining the queen and imprisoning the Black Knight and Sir William. He gave me no hint of his thoughts on that matter.”
Callendar nodded but said nothing.
“Bishop Cameron is right about one thing,” Avondale put in. “This arguing over the monarch must end. What is to be done with him in his minority must be settled once and for all. Crichton has some rights as the chancellor, and he must be appeased.”
“I shall think on it.”
Patrick took advantage of Callendar being preoccupied by his discussion with Avondale to take his leave. The earl seemed to be giving Callendar something to think about. Perhaps between Avondale and Cameron, he would be brought to his sense, but the fact was Patrick didn’t trust Avondale. His father didn’t and perhaps that was why. He would try to withhold judgement, but the man made his skin crawl. Patrick nudged Alex and they made their way into the keep, sharing a grin of relief at having escaped being thrown in the castle dungeon.
Annabella greeted him with a tight embrace and confirmed that there had been no change in the conditions of the queen’s imprisonment or that of her new husband.
Chapter 19
September 1439
Pacing the bailey in the early morning and wondering why, on the eighth day, there was still no sign of the bishop, Patrick wished he knew what Cameron had in mind. With the greatest house in Scotland in the hands of a youth barely out of childhood, and many such as the earldom of Mar still vacant, only the church could lead them out of this quagmire.
Yes, Cameron said he wanted an end to the disputes, but what did that mean for the queen and her freedom? And closely allied as he was with Callendar, could the bishop possibly negotiate some peace between that lord and Crichton? If only Pope Nicholas had not called Kennedy to Bologna. He snorted softly. If wishes were horses, then beggars would ride as his mother ofttimes said.
But the current Black Douglas would not always be an untried youth. Once the king reached a man’s estate, they would make the realm once more a place worth living in if they acted together. Both showed every sign of being vigorous leaders. But the realm must be held together until he reached manhood.
He let out a long breath of relief when, a short time later, a messenger arrived to inform Callendar that a convention was to be held the following day, the tenth day of September, at Cambuskenneth Abbey and urgently requesting his attendance. Patrick could not help but wonder at the calmness with which the man took the bishop’s request and the smug smile that briefly broke over his normally grim features.
They rode for the convention in the early afternoon, the cavalcade led by Callendar and Avondale on the huge mount that was required to carry his bulk. The king had been left behind to noisy protests. Patrick rode beside Alex Boyd, William Cranston, and Simon Glendinning, a silent group wondering what they were heading for. Patrick hoped that his father would be at the convention but had had no news of him. And what of the great magnets, Angus and young Douglas?
He remembered something he’d heard a priest read from the Bible once: Woe to thee, O land, when thy king is a child…
At the Abbey, Patrick and his friends were relieved to see Lord Gray, whom Patrick only had time to greet briefly. The Earl of Angus accompanied the Earl of Douglas, who was grinning and swaggering as he talked to the older men. The grounds of the abbey were a chaos as the retinues of all the nobles set up encampments. No nobleman travelled without a large retinue of men-at-arms, so although the nobles would be found places in the abbey’s guest house, the swarm of their retinues would have to manage for themselves.
Shortly, James of Dalkieth arrived, as did the Earl of Huntley, Murray of Tullibardine, Sir Robert Erskine, and Sir Alexander Stewart, generally called ‘Bucktooth,’ adding yet more to the chaos. Alex Boyd growled deep in his throat at the sight of Stewart. The feud between their families had come to blood no more than two months hence, but Patrick squeezed his friend’s shoulder. This was no time to exact revenge.
When Crichton rode up with a large retinue, it was a surprise. But, Patrick mused, no long-term peace could be negotiated without his presence.
The abbot, who had performed the marriage of Queen Joan and the Black Knight, was a munificent host to the nobles. So that evening, well-fed and comfortable, Patrick and his companions found a quiet corner to speculate whether the convention would somehow find a way to free the queen and the Black Knight, as well as his brother. And what it might mean for the king.
The next morning, Patrick and his friends were joined by Boyd and some of the supporters of Avondale in the upper part of the large choir area, brightly lit by its long series of stained glass windows. The numerous nobles who had chosen to attend ranged themselves on long pews, many casting suspicious sidelong glances at the others. The glares between Erskine and Alexander Stewart were particularly vicious.
Bishop Cameron plodded onto the dais that had been raised in front of the chancel and lifted his arms. When he had silence, he intoned a prayer beseeching God’s blessings upon their young monarch and all who gave him protection and care. He called down heaven’s guidance and benediction on the convention and on their decisions in handling the difficult decisions that faced them. Finally, he begged that the Blessed Mother lead them to amity, friendship and cooperation for all there who had the good of the realm in their hearts, most especially to his successor as chancellor of the realm, Lord Crichton.
There were some surprised looks at the Bishop’s particular prayers for the man who had succeeded him to power. Patrick raised an eyebrow. Crichton strode to take Cameron’s place and hammered once with a mallet on the table. He declared that disorder in the realm was rife, as was to be expected with a child king who was given into the care of his mother. The disunity between himself and Lord Callendar, he declared, was brought about by her scheming and the king’s person must be removed from her care. There was a low murmur through the room, but Crichton ended that with another bang of his mallet.
Callendar rose and bowed to Crichton. “I desire only amity between the two of us. We may work together, with the king safe in my custody while you, as chancellor, ensure the safety of the realm.”
Patrick scratched the side of his nose. All this was working out very neatly for someone. How many messengers had made desperate rides between Cameron and the others?
Bishop Cameron rose and added that he was sure the queen only had the best intentions in regard to her beloved son and monarch, but women had ever been the dupes of Satan. She had sown hatred and dissension between men who had only the good of the realm at heart. They should not blame her for the weakness that was natural to a woman, but must take power from her hands.
Patrick breathed a noiseless snort. So now all the problems since the king’s murder were to be laid at Queen Joan’s door. Callendar would be substantially enriched, and, conveniently, the king would be taken out of her hands. Alex cast him a sidelong glance and grimaced.
When Cameron resumed his seat, Crichton said, “The situation must be resolved forthwith. Joan de Beaufort must renounce her right to custody of the king, James, in the custody of the Livingstons. She must give up her dowry for his maintenance and confess that all Callendar had done was through zeal for the king’s safety. To that end, a representative would be sent to the queen, now held in Stirling Castle, to achieve her agreement. Wa
s this proposal to the will of the lords of parliament now present?”
Avondale heaved himself to his feet to so propose. The Earl of Huntley seconded.
“Is there any opposed?” Crichton asked. His eyes widened in surprise when Sir Robert Erskine jumped to his feet.
“The earldom of Mar is rightfully mine!” he shouted. “It was wrongfully seized by the late king and I demand that it be returned.”
Cameron lumbered to his feet. That seizure had been part of his doing and his face was red at the attack. He shook a finger at Erskine. “Alexander Stewart, the late earl, signed patents resigning the earldom to the crown upon his death. That ended your claim to the title.”
Erskine shook his fist at the cleric. “I have never seen any such patent. It’s a lie from a scheming cleric.”
“Enough!” Crichton hammered the mace on the table. “This is nae a matter for this convention to decide.” He turned a threatening glare upon Erskine. “Nor is yours the only claim that must be considered, but this is nae the day for it. We must act on the motion already before us.”
The church was filled with shouts of agreement.
“Is anyone in opposition?”
When no one spoke up, Lord Gray rose. “My son, Sir Patrick, is on good terms with her grace.” Crichton barked out an unpleasant laugh, which Patrick’s father ignored as he went on. “Some of you are aware that he is married to her lady-in-waiting and has spent much time with the royal family. I suggest that we have these proposals drawn up and he may convey them to her with a full explanation of why signing is strongly to her benefit.”
“Do you expect me to believe you are no longer in the queen’s pocket, Gray?” Callendar demanded. “Why should I trust you or your son with this? I should throw it in her face myself.”