by J. R. Tomlin
Chapter Twenty-Nine
A voice was screaming. A boyish terrified screaming. One of the pages…
"James!" They must flee, but he was not here. She threw back the bed hangings and ran desperately to throw open the doors of the wardrobes. "James!" she called. "James, where are you?" He didn't answer. "Guards! Someone. Help me." She heard the march of footsteps outside and the gurgling last breath of a dying boy. They are coming. They are coming for me. She ran to the door, panting with panic, pounding on it to get out. The room grew dark. The light has gone out of Scotland. "James, help me."
"Your Grace! My lady. Can you hear me? You're safe."
Wait. She knew that woman's voice. What was happening? What…?
"Madam, you are all right." Now the voice sounded desperate. "You are safe now. Wake up."
The mad phantasmagoria of dream and memory shattered. She was in a strange bed, but that was Catherine Douglas's voice calling to her over and over. The disembodied voice sounded despairing.
Her eyes fluttered open. She was wrapped in warm wool and the room was in watery daylight. Her shoulder throbbed, and when tried to turn in the soft bed, it seemed to be pierced by a hot knife.
"Your Grace." A branch of candles appeared and the familiar face of the Earl of Douglas was staring down at her.
"Douglas," she croaked.
"The king…" His throat worked and his plain face was drawn up like a fist. He crossed himself. "He lies in the Charterhouse."
She managed a nod. Her mouth was too parched to speak; her tongue clove to the roof of her mouth. "Water."
Catherine lifted her shoulders carefully, although Joan had to bite back a moan, and put a cup to her lips. She took a long swallow, licked her lips, and sipped again. "Douglas, the children. You must go. Hurry! If any try to come between you and my son—" She gulped down a sob. "—cut them down."
He bowed his head for a moment before he took her hand and kissed it. He jumped to his feet, and she turned her head to watch him stride from the room. She closed her eyes. If only this could be a bad dream, a terrible nightmare. But it was not, so she opened them and said to Catherine, "Dunbar, he went to pursue the traitors. What happened?"
"Injured, Your Grace, but he lives."
Joan tried to sit up. She fought through the pain to swing her legs over the edge of the bed. "Bring the Earl of Angus to me. He must pursue Robert Stewart and the others, take them prisoner. Where is the Earl of March? He shall seize the Earl of Atholl. All of them traitors. Murderers! They must be returned to for punishment." Oh, she would see they were punished. She crossed herself and softly uttered an oath that they would scream their way to their deaths. "And then dress me. I must…" A sob built up beneath her ribs. She shoved a fist against her mouth and breathed roughly through her nose until she could speak. "I must go to my husband."
Epilogue
March 26, 1437
A tern circled overhead as Joan made her way toward the gallery she'd had built. She glanced down at her son thoughtfully. But he kept his back straight and his chin high. His clothes were all crimson, patterned with lions rampant, a child-sized gold crown on his head. If the crown weighed heavily on him, he did not complain. Around them, the guards in the royal livery were grim faced, their pikes in white knuckled hands.
Across the city, church bells began to toll.
Ahead, two guards shouted, "Make way! Make way for the king!" Beyond the guards, the whole city was moving, all rushing to see the final punishment of the leader of the traitors. The bells grew louder, clanging, clamoring. Joan bit her lip, her shoulder throbbing with every step, for the wound had festered and was only slowly healing.
Around them excited voices shouted.
"…Earl of Atholl. I got him with a rotten turnip yesterday when he was in the pillory!"
"I heard he died of the pelting."
"Nae."
By the time Joan climbed the steps of the gallery, people were packed shoulder to shoulder. The market square was a solid mass of people all yammering and prodding with shoulder and elbow to get closer to the scaffold, topped by a long table, raised in the middle. She briefly touched James’ shoulder. His face was as pale as whey so that the birthmark on his cheek showed as crimson as a splash of dark wine. The bells were so loud her ears rang with it.
That was when she saw Walter Stewart, Earl of Atholl.
He stood at the foot of the scaffold, supported between two guards. He wore a blue velvet doublet and an iron crown on his head. A dark bruise stained one cheek and an eye was swollen shut. He was more being held erect than standing. A priest stood behind him, beads clutched in hand and head bent, his lips moving in prayer.
A long line of liveried pikemen held back the crowd.
Atholl shook loose from the guards beside him and stolidly climbed the steps of the pillory. When he reached the top, the bells ceased to toll and slowly quiet descended over the square. He turned and swept a look across the crowd, and began to speak, his voice thin and hoarse. "I am Walter Stewart—last living son of King Robert the second." He raised his voice and continued. "I am the rightful King of Scots! We killed the usurper!"
The crowd began to scream and yell. Boos, hisses, and curses filled the air. A stone soared out of the crowd and hit him in the chest. A guard grabbed his arm to keep him upright and another stepped in front of the earl. More stones followed that clattered like hail on the scaffold. A thousand voices were shouting. Robert Keith, the Marischal stepped out from behind the ranks of the guards, raising both hands for quiet. "The Earl of Atholl signed his confession to treason and murder, has further condemned himself with his own words. Now keep your peace whilst we carry out our duty. His treason shall not go unpunished."
The crowd bellowed.
Keith drew his dirk from his belt and used it to rip Atholl's clothes from his pale, stringy body. Atholl stared blank faced over the Marischal's head. The guards moved aside as the executioner strode forward, all in black, doublet, hose, and hood. The roar of the throng was like the sea crashing over Joan, thundering in her ears. She put a hand on James’ thin shoulder and squeezed.
High atop the scaffold the executioner gestured, and the naked earl was hoisted onto the table. He lifted a knife above the Earl's belly.
Joan choked out a soft, "You may close your eyes if you want, Jamie."
"No." James looked up at her, his mouth in a thin, determined line. "He murdered my father."
Faintly, as if from far away, when the knife descended, Joan heard Atholl scream.
Also by J R Tomliln
The Stewart Chronicle
A King Ensnared
Standalone Prequel to the Black Douglas Trilogy
Freedom’s Sword
The Black Douglas Trilogy
A Kingdom’s Cost
Countenance of War
Not for Glory
The Sir Law Kintour Mysteries
The Templar’s Cross
The Winter Kill
The Intelligencer
* * *
For more information about my novels and a free offer, please visit my website at jrtomlin.com.
Author's Notes
The research for A King Ensnared and A King Uncaged was very considerable. I kept as much as possible to documented facts given the requirements of telling a story. There are few books that are very well researched about King James I of Scotland. My own re-telling of the story of his life is based upon Volume 8 of Walter Bower's Scotichronicon which is available in translation, The dethe of James Kynge of Scotis which unfortunately for most readers is not available in translation, and E. W. M. Balfour-Melville's excellent James I, King of Scots. However, I also had reference to many other documents, and of course, at times simply drew what seemed to me to be the most logical conclusion from available evidence.
In writing historical fiction, an author sometimes must choose between making the language understandable and making it authentic. While I use modern English in this novel, the people of fi
fteenth-century Scotland spoke mainly Scots, Gaelic, and French. To give at least a feel of their language and because some concepts can only be expressed using phrases no longer in common use, there are Scottish and archaic English words in this work, particularly in the dialogue. Some are close to or even identical to current English although used in a medieval context. The following is a list of terms in which I explain some of the words and usages that might be unfamiliar. I hope you will find the list interesting and useful.
List of Principal Historical Characters
James I, King of Scots
Joan Beaufort—Queen Consort of King James I, daughter of John Beaufort, Earl of Somerset and niece of King Henry IV of England
Archibald Douglas—Earl of Wigtoun and later Earl of Douglas
Walter Stewart—Earl of Atholl, son of Robert II of Scotland and half uncle of King James I
Henry Percy—Earl of Northumberland
Henry Wardlaw—Bishop of St. Andrews, primate of Scotland
Sir Robert Lauder of Edrington—Lord of Bass Rock Castle
William Lauder—Bishop of Glasgow, Chancellor of Scotland
William Giffard—Esquire of the Tower of London
Murdoch Stewart—Duke of Albany
Walter Stewart—Eldest son and heir of the Duke of Albany
John the Fat—(actually he was called James the Fat,but a superfluity of Jameses led me to use the name John in the novel) Youngest son of the Duke of Albany
Alexander Stewart—Son of the Duke of Albany
John Lyon—Priest and secretary to James Stewart
Dougal Drummond—Priest and confessor to James Stewart
Alexander Stewart—Earl of Mar, illegitimate son of Alexander Stewart, known as the Wolf of Badenoch
Robert Stewart—Grandson of the Earl of Atholl
Sir Robert Graham of Kinpont—Scottish knight and landowner
John Cameron—Secretary to King James I, later Bishop of Glasgow and Chancellor of Scotland
William Douglas—Earl of Angus
Alexander MacDonald—Earl of Ross also known as Lord of the Isles
Glossary
Afeart (Scots) — Afraid.
Ain (Scots) — Own.
Any road — anyway.
Aright — In a proper manner; correctly.
Auld (Scots) — Old.
Aye — Yes.
Bailey — An enclosed courtyard within the walls of a castle.
Bairn (Scots), Child.
Bannock (Scots) — Unleavened flatbread bread made of oatmeal or barley flour, generally cooked on a flat metal sheet.
Barbican — A tower or other fortification, especially one at a gate or drawbridge.
Battlement — A parapet in which rectangular gaps occur at intervals to allow for firing arrows.
Bedeck — To adorn or ornament in a showy fashion.
Betime — On occasion.
Bracken — Weedy fern.
Brae (Scots) — Hill or slope.
Braeside (Scots) — Hillside.
Barmy — Daft.
Braw (Scots), Fine or excellent.
Buffet — A blow or cuff with or as if with the hand.
Burn (Scots) — Watercourses from large streams to small rivers.
Cannae (Scots) — cannot
Chivvied — Harassed.
Cloying — Causing distaste or disgust by supplying with too much of something originally pleasant.
Churl — A peasant.
Cot — Small building.
Couched — To lower (a lance, for example) to a horizontal position.
Courser — A swift, strong horse, often used as a warhorse.
Crenel — An open space or notch between two merlons in the battlement of a castle or city wall.
Crook — Tool, such as a bishop's crosier or a shepherd's staff.
Curtain wall — The defensive outer wall of a medieval castle.
Curst — A past tense and a past participle of curse.
Defile — A narrow gorge or pass.
Destrier — The heaviest class of warhorse.
Din — A jumble of loud, usually discordant sounds.
Dirk — A long, straight-bladed dagger.
Dinnae (Scots) — does not.
Dower — The part or interest of a deceased man's real estate allotted by law to his widow for her lifetime, often applied to property brought to the marriage by the bride.
Erstwhile — In the past, at a former time, formerly.
Faggot, A bundle of sticks or twigs, esp. when bound together and used as fuel.
Falchion — A short, broad sword with a convex cutting edge and a sharp point.
Farrier — One who shoes horses.
Fash — Annoy.
Forbye — Besides.
Garderobe, A privy chamber.
Git — A bastard or fool.
Glen — A valley.
Gorse — A spiny yellow-flowered European shrub.
Groat — An English silver coin worth four pence.
Hallo — A variant of “hello.”
Hart — A male deer.
Haugh (Scots) — A low-lying meadow in a river valley.
Hie — To go quickly; hasten.
Hodden-grey — coarse homespun cloth produced in Scotland made by mixing black and white wools.
Holy Rood (Scots) — The Holy Cross.
Jesu — Vocative form of Jesus.
Ken — To know (a person or thing).
Kirtle — A woman's dress typically worn over a chemise or smock.
Laying — To engage energetically in an action.
Loch — Lake or narrow arm of the sea.
Louring — Angry or sullen.
Malmsey — A sweet fortified Madeira wine.
Marischal — The hereditary custodian of the Royal Regalia of Scotland and protector of the king's person.
Maudlin — Effusively or tearfully sentimental.
Mawkish — Excessively and objectionably sentimental.
Mercies — Without any protection against; helpless before.
Merlon — A solid portion between two crenels in a battlement or crenellated wall.
Midge — A gnat-like fly found worldwide and frequently occurring in swarms near ponds and lakes, prevalent across Scotland in certain seasons.
Mien — Bearing or manner, especially as it reveals an inner state of mind.
Mount — Mountain or hill.
Murk — Darkness or thick mist.
Nae — No, not.
Nave — The central approach to a church’s high altar; the main body of the church.
Nock — To fit an arrow to a bowstring.
Nook — Hidden or secluded spot.
Outwith (Scots) — Outside, beyond.
Palfrey — A placid saddle horse used for ordinary riding.
Pap — Material lacking real value or substance.
Parapet — A defensive wall, usually with a walk, above which the wall is chest to head high.
Pate — Head or brain.
Perfidy — The act or an instance of treachery.
Pillion — Pad or cushion behind the saddle for a passenger or riding on such a cushion.
Piebald — Spotted or patched.
Privily — Privately or secretly.
Quintain — Object mounted on a post, used as a target in tilting exercises.
Rood — Crucifix.
Runnel — A narrow channel.
Saddlebow, The arched upper front part of a saddle.
Saltire — An ordinary in the shape of a Saint Andrew's cross; when capitalized, the flag of Scotland (a white saltire on a blue field).
Samite — A heavy silk fabric, often interwoven with gold or silver.
Sassenach (Scots) — An Englishman, derived from the Scots Gaelic Sasunnach meaning, originally, "Saxon."
Seneschal — A steward or major-domo.
Shite — Shit.
Siller (Scots) — Silver.
Sirrah — Mister; fellow. Used as a contemptuous form of a
ddress.
Sleekit (Scots) — Unctuous, sly, crafty.
Sumpter — Pack animal, such as a horse or mule.
Surcoat — An outer tunic often worn over armor.
Tail — A noble’s following of guards.
Tisane — An herbal infusion drunk as a beverage or for its mildly medicinal effect.
Trencher — A plate or platter for food, often a thick slice of stale bread.
Trestle table — A table made up of two or three trestle supports over which a tabletop is placed.
Trews — Close-fitting trousers.
Tun — Large cask for liquids, especially wine.
Wain — Open farm wagon.
Wattle — A fleshy, wrinkled, often brightly colored fold of skin hanging from the neck.
Westering — To move westward.
Wheedling — Using flattery or cajolery to achieve one's ends.
Whilst — While.
Whisht — To be silent—often used as an interjection to urge silence.
Wroth — Angry