“When do you suppose the ship will come?” he asked as he glared at the towers of Tantallon Castle on the distant shore. Even from here he could make out the Douglas banner with its huge red heart flying above the ramparts. Damn the Douglases.
“Soon, I suppose.” Robert smiled with a wry twist of his mouth. “Build a fire so it can burn down to coals. I only brought a couple of arrows, so I’ll need some luck. I don’t see any lambs yet, but I’d better take a closer look.”
“There are no trees for wood,” James said, but there were always sticks in the grass.
“I’m nae sure if the birds carry the sticks or if they blow or wha’. But you can always find some,” Robert said.
He turned and walked slowly toward the sheep, not wanting to spook them, James supposed, though the creatures seemed placid enough. So James gathered up enough sticks to make a little fire and used his flint to start it. Then he took out the iron griddle with a wary glance at the sky. He hoped no bird shite would land in their food. There couldn’t be so many birds all in one place anywhere else on earth, he was sure. He dumped oats in the middle, dropped in the lump of fat he’d brought and mixed it all with water from his flask, and then he pulled some leaves to cover it until the fire burned down. He wasn’t picky anent a little dirt in his food, but bird shite was another thing entirely.
He was looking for another stick to stir the yolks of the eggs when Robert dropped a bird on the ground beside him. Robert dropped cross-legged onto the ground and started plucking his prize. James took out the eggs and cut a hole in one end. He paused for a moment, remembering that it was Davey who’d taught him to cook eggs in a campfire. They’d ridden out many a day before his older brother had been grown—James shook off the memory. It was too fine a day to think of that.
He looked up at the bright sky and the white birds sailing above their heads to dive as though dropped straight into the water. “Do you ken how they tell where the fish are?” It amazed him to watch them. Hundreds, no it must have been thousands of birds, swooping and diving and coming up with a fish in their bill.
“I suppose they can see the fish—though I cannot.” Robert tossed the last handful of feathers into the air, and the wind spread them like snowflakes.
James smiled as he watched the white feathers spread and blow away on the wind.
Robert pulled out his dirk and made fast work of cleaning the bird. He stuffed it with a handful of thyme he pulled from a low bush, wrapped it in more leaves and used a forked stick to push it into the coals.
James carefully propped the four eggs against coals and dropped the griddle into the middle. He jumped to his feet and grinned at Robert. “I can beat you to that boulder,” he said and took off running.
“Hey!” Robert shouted.
James heard his footfalls and stretched his legs. Robert was taller, which would only make victory sweeter. Hands shoved in the middle of his back, and Robert yelled as James toppled, yelping in surprise as he toppled. He caught himself and rolled. Robert hopped over him. He laughed and grabbed Robert’s leg so that he fell flat. James threw himself on top of the older lad, straddled him and held him down, leaning a hand on each shoulder. “Lèse-majesté! Pushing a prince.”
“No. Nae when the prince has a dirty face.” Robert heaved and managed to throw James off, and they rolled across the grass. Robert raised his head and looked back toward the campfire. “And if you’ve made me burn my dinner, ‘tis more than a push I shall give you.”
“The food should be done,” James said. He jumped to his feet and dashed back toward their fire. He pulled the eggs and bannock out whilst Robert did the same to the bird and they hurriedly split the food between them. The bannock was a bit burnt, but James still intended to eat it. He lay back on one elbow and spread his veritable feast on a bunch of thyme leaves. Robert stretched out nearby.
For long, comfortable minutes, they ripped the hot meat from the bones of the bird and stuffed themselves. “When I am king, you’ll be my chancellor,” James said.
“If you like.” Robert shoved the last of the bannock, which took some fierce chewing, into his mouth. He slithered to the edge of the cliff and pointed down. “I love watching from here. There is nothing else like it.”
James wiped the grease from his hands on a clump of thyme. He considered Robert’s comment that his face was dirty, but decided he didn’t care. He slithered to watch with his friend to stare down the four-hundred foot drop.
“Why do so many live here?” There were more birds soaring and diving than a man could possibly count.
Robert grunted an indifference to the question, so James just watched the display. When Robert picked up a rock and dropped it off the precipice, it bounced against the side once, twice, thrice and disappeared into the foam.
The Bass Rock stank, but James mostly didn’t notice anymore, and up there so high the wind carried most of the smell away. Besides, it was worth putting up with the smell to watch the birds that rose in swooping clouds, scattered, and reformed to rest once again on the rocks.
James rolled over onto his back. He closed his eyes and let the mild warmth of the sun soak into his face. High on its cliff, with the supplies in the castle, the sheep in the field and the birds, why, Bass Rock Castle could withstand a siege for years and years. His enemies could never reach him here. Perhaps he could stay. Lauder could teach him in arms. He needn’t ever leave for France. He dozed and smiled at the thought.
Robert’s elbow poked James hard in the ribs, so he lazily opened his eyes. Robert pointed down to the sea. “Someone is coming,” he said.
Rolling onto his side, James followed Robert’s gesture. A small boat was bobbing in the water, pulling into the shelter of the rocky spit. “Is it your father’s?”
“We shall see. If it’s not, they’ll nae gain the castle.” Robert jumped to his feet. “Come on.”
James scrambled up and darted after his friend, who was already running for the cliff’s edge. “If it were the Douglas, it would never be such a small boat.”
“Aye, but they’re searching for you everywhere.” Robert held onto the edge and swung his legs over the precipice to drop a few feet and then hugged the cliff face as he worked his way down the path. “It might be someone spying the place out. Or mayhap news of your ship.”
James saw all the lower cliff where the castle stood at a glance: a guard walking with a pike above the castle gate, a servant digging to plant in the kitchen garden, one of the castle dogs barking as it ran beneath an inner wall. He leapt along the narrow shelf, chivvying Robert, “You are so slow.”
“Aye, well, I do nae want to fall.”
“You won’t. Hurry! If they drop rocks on enemies, I want to help.”
The thin wail of a horn sounded. Robert held up his hand and stopped, frowning. He waited. “Did you hear more than one blaw?”
“I’m nae sure. Mayhap…”
Then clearly came an answering horn from the castle and Robert smiled. “Friends.” He scrambled the rest of the way down, keeping one hand on the cliff face.
James sighed in impatience. It would be a terrible fall, so he didn’t blame Robert. But a prince must be too proud to be afraid, so all the way down he kept his hands at his side. It didn’t count if he sweated and bit his lip, but once at the foot of the cliff they dashed for the castle.
The great hall was damp and drafty, even with a fire roaring on the hearth. Through the narrow slit windows James heart the cries of the gannets. A flagon of wine, cups, and cards from a game the men had abandoned still lay on the long wooden table. A tall newcomer, brown hair shot with white and dressed for travel in armor, turned to look at James as he and Robert let the door slam behind them. He had a serious look to his gray eyes.
“Prince James,” he said and a bowed.
James felt his face tighten. “Has something happened?”
Orkney smiled. “Nothing ill. It’s news of the ship we’re awaiting.”
James opened his mouth to tell
the earl that they wouldn’t need it, that he could stay here, but Lauder cut in. “Since a’ your possessions were lost in the flight, Sir Archibald Edmonstone brought fitting clothes for you to wear. You cannot arrive at the French court dressed like a churl.”
Lauder gave a wry smile. “As long as we reach France, I’m nae worried wha’ Prince James wears.”
James opened his mouth again to protest, but Sir Archibald went on. “It is called the Maryenknyght. A cog carrying wool and hides home to Danzig, so we hope no one will think to look for the heir to the throne of Scotland on it.”
Staying had been no more than a dream—foolishness. Such fancy was not for him, and even when he had dreamed, something within him had known it. He must go where he was sent and learn to be king. The burn behind his eyes made him squeeze them shut. He would not cry. He was a twelve years old—almost a man grown, by all the saints. “When will the ship come?” he asked.
“Tomorrow night. After nightfall, they’ll anchor off the west side of the Bass, well out of sight of Tantallon Castle, wi’ a light fore and aft to guide you.”
“Guide me?”
“You, the earl, and Sir Archibald. My little skiff will take you out,” Lauder said. “Giffart will be waiting on board. You’ll nae be alone, lad.”
“No,” James said faintly.
CHAPTER SIX
The water lapped at their feet as they waited for the lights of the Maryenknyght to appear. Before them was the Firth of Forth, above, the sky, each so black you could not tell one from the other. The wind was up and clearing the clouds to show a thousand stars. James caught his cloak and pushed his hair out of his face. Four men sat in Lauder’s skiff that rocked tied up to the stone shelf. The only sound was the endless crash of wave upon rock.
A distant light flashed in the blank darkness and then another behind it. They wavered, steadied. Orkney grunted. “Into the boat,” he said. “Quietly. Noise carries over the water.”
The wooden edge was wet and slimy to the touch when James grasped it and jumped aboard. It rocked under him. Sir Archibald and the earl followed more carefully. The men—James couldn’t tell in the dark if they were the same as before—put their backs into their oars, rowing toward the flickers as they rose and fell. When he looked back, darkness lay black and thick around the base of Bass Rock. He couldn’t see even the shapes of the friends he had left there. The sea boomed against its cliffs, and his heart thudded. He’d not even have a last glimpse of Scotland—of home.
The oarlocks were muffled, so they moved in silence through the night alone on the Firth. The men bent, grunting, over the oars. Only the two specks of light broke the darkness. James hugged himself in the night chill and bit his lip. They rowed and rowed, and then and then James made out a shape in the flickering light of a small lamp fore and aft, a cog, her one sail furled. As they neared, he made out four or five men moving on the deck. Drawing alongside, one of the oarsmen cried out. A rope ladder dropped. One of the oarsmen grabbed it. “Up you go, laddie,” he said.
The ladder was slick and rough as he swarmed up, his two companions close behind. He swung his leg over the side and two sailors boosted him. A rower hoisted up his little chest. There was faint splash from lowering oar blades, and when James looked down, the little skiff was already only a smear in the immensity of the dark sea.
William Giffart strode toward them. “My lords! Thanks be to the all saints.” He motioned beside him toward an immense man, the moonlight glinting off his bald head. “Captain, these are the lords we awaited.”
The captain sketched a bow, including the men behind James. “Captain Albrecht Giese of Gdansk, Eure Durchlauchtigkeiten. I welcome you aboard the Maryenknyght.”
James looked at the earl, who nodded at the greeting. It sounded polite enough, although in no language James had ever heard. “Thank you, Captain,” he said, but received no answer as Orkney cut in.
“Your ship is a welcome beneath our feet. We thank you. We would have Prince James safely in France as quickly as possible.”
The captain grunted. “It will not be the quickest trip, but it will be safe, God willing. The biggest risk would be English pirates, who prey along their coast, but I assure you, I know how best to stay away from those vultures.”
“But we have a truce.” James looked over his shoulder at Orkney. “Why would they bother us?”
The captain grunted. “Because they’re the English.”
“A risk of your profession, I suppose,” Orkney replied to the captain. “I’m sure it is as you say; you can stay out of their reach. But it has been a long and weary night. Is there a cabin for us?”
“I fear you will have to share a small space.”
William motioned for them to go below. “I’ll show you, my lord.”
The sail cracked and snapped as it was raised. James turned to follow the earl.
The ship rocked under his feet as he went down the passage. The cabin was low and narrow. It smelled of salt water and hides. But a bed had been made on a shelf, one side piled high with blankets. More blankets were folded in a corner.
“Best you rest, lad,” Orkney said. “The night is fair spent.”
“Wha’ about you?” James asked and frowned around the cabin, its ceiling so low that Orkney would bump his head on the thick beams if he wasn’t wary.
“We must make do wi’ blankets. It won’t be a pleasure voyage, but we never thought that it would.”
James sat to lever off his boots and stretched face down on the bed. Boards creaked, and the bed rocked beneath him with the movement of the ship. He cradled his head on a bent arm, closed his eyes, and felt the warmth when someone threw a blanket over him. Orkney’s voice blended with William’s and Sir Archibald’s into a pleasant hum.
France… James wondered what it would be like there before sleep enfolded him.
CHAPTER SEVEN
March, 1406
James scrambled up the slimy wooden ladder to the forecastle and leaned on the rail near the high bowsprit of the cog. The wind ruffled his hair. It washed away most of the stink from the hides and fleece in the hold. Watching the endless gray sea was the only entertainment he had, whilst the Earl of Orkney huddled with the captain, muttering anent English pirates and the English truce with Scotland. Sir Archibald Edmonstone crossed his muscular arms and watched the others, never saying a word.
William came up to stand beside James, chuckling. “They’ll talk the pirates to death,” he said.
Foam splashed into James’s face, and he smiled at his esquire. William was cheerful company but didn’t help the boredom of the journey. James sighed and scanned the horizon for something, anything, to break the monotony. He caught sight of a speck of white far to the right of the bow. “Wha’s that?” He pointed.
“I’m nae sure.” William frowned as high, white cliffs poked above the horizon. “But it isn’t France.”
The captain yelled a command. The sail creaked and snapped, the deck rocked beneath their feet, and the cog changed course. Foam splashed high around the bow as they plowed into the waves. The turn put the barren, treeless headland abeam to the cog, and James gaped at the first sight he’d ever had of England. “It’s bare. Not a place I’d want to go.”
Sir Archibald climbed the ladder to join them, forehead crinkled in a frown. “That’s Flamborough Head, so the captain says. From here, we’ll run straight south.”
James stretched over the gunwale to better see the cliffs that sparkled in the bright sunlight. He grunted. “I suppose. And then more water. And waves. And water. And more water.”
“It is boring,” William agreed and yawned.
The sea spray stung James’s eyes. He wiped them clear to take one last look at the land of their enemies. He turned his back, since the cliffs were no more interesting from a distance than was the sea, though the sailors’ cursing had taught him some words that might be of use to him one day. The thought made him duck his head and grin. The knight looked askance at him, so he
said, “How long until we reach France?”
“Depends on the weather. Two days… mayhap three,” Sir Archibald said.
A sailor in the rigging shouted something that was carried away on the wind. The man pointed toward the rapidly disappearing coastline. The captain called out a command and the cog put about more to the east. Orkney strode to the rail. He grasped it, staring fixedly into the distance.
Sir Archibald looked down from the forecastle and called out, “Wha’s to do?”
“They’ve spotted a sail. Just rounded the Head and moving this way.”
The captain was shouting commands, and sailors swarmed the ropes. The deck lurched under James’s feet as the ship changed course slightly. James narrowed his eyes and tried to pick out a ship in the shimmer of the sun on the sea. There was nothing. “It won’t catch us.” He looked at Sir Archibald. “Will it?”
“Probably just another merchant ship and nothing to do wi’ us.” But he was frowning fiercely as he glowered at the sea.
“It’s matching our course,” the watch shouted down.
James spotted a speck of white, almost like one of the gannets that swooped over the sea at Bass Rock. “Look,” he said to William.
“It’s gaining on us, then.” William pinched the skin at his throat. “That is… worrying.”
“I want to speak to the earl. And you need to go to the cabin, my lord.” Sir Archibald prodded James toward the ladder. “That’s the safest place for you.”
James meekly climbed down the ladder with no intention of hiding in the cabin. He’d go mad wondering what was happening on deck. The captain was standing beside the helmsman, his mouth in a pinched line.
A King Ensnared, A Historical Novel of Scotland (The Stewart Chronicles Book 1) Page 4