A King Ensnared, A Historical Novel of Scotland (The Stewart Chronicles Book 1)

by Tomlin, J. R.

  The shadowy figure in the trees turned, cloak whirling about him, and ran. A horseman pulled up his shorting horse in front of James. There were shouts and curses. “Don’t let him escape!” A horse whinnied.

  Breathing hard, James ran his palm down his face and winced at the tacky feel of it. He leaned forward and rested his hands on his knees, panting for breath. A’ for naught! He wanted to rage and to weep at once. Instead, he gritted his jaws and kept silent.

  “Got him!” a rough voice growled, sounding triumphant.

  A man, short and sturdy, from what James could make out in the moonlight, stumbled out of the trees, prodded along with a sword at his back by a horseman. Now men with weapons gleaming in the moonlight streamed out the postern gate, and an alarm was being shouted on the parapet.

  His doublet only half-laced and hair a gray nest sticking every which way, Sir Ralph de Neville pointed to the new prisoner and said in an icy voice, “Get that miscreant to the dungeon.” He stood for a moment, his gaze fastened on James. “Where is Sir John Water?”

  Sir John was panting and fumbling to fasten his sword belt as he replied, “I am here, my lord.”

  “Then escort Lord James to his chamber. And put a strong guard on the door.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  May 1420

  James paced back and forth across his chamber like one of the caged lions in the Tower menagerie. In the weeks since the failed escape, Dougal had apologized at least a dozen times and could hardly look James in the face. John was silent and downcast.

  John Water had said no more than was required whilst they waited another two days at Raby, not even mentioning the dead guard. When it became clear that no hostages would appear crossing the Scottish border, he grunted that his commands were to proceed to Southampton. Southampton Castle was a square, gray, gloomy place, but the parapet had cannons. James itched to examine them, and planned to harass Sir John until it was permitted. Though the man had been oddly absent in the week since they had arrived, except when he appeared for meals. However, there were ever two guards on James’s door with orders that he was not allowed to wander, although the command still did not apply to his household.

  They had never dragged James to Southampton before, and it nagged at him. “Wha’ are they planning?” he asked Dougal, who stood staring morosely into the hearth where a small fire sputtered. “Obviously, Henry has changed his mind anent wha’ use he has for me, but why? How? I thought of a certainty after… after…” He sputtered to a stop to spare Dougal mention of their failed escape that he blamed himself for.

  “After my failed plan for your escape.” Dougal turned and gave his king a wan smile. “I feared harsh confinement in the Tower as well.”

  “I have told you times enough that it was not your fault that Payn was being watched. You could not have known. So let it be. I am much more interested in why I’ve been brought here.”

  “With Beaufort’s resolve to wipe out the Lollards, I should have guessed they might have spies on his heels.” Dougal rubbed the back of his neck. “But I have managed to sniff around Southampton. Discreetly, mind. And it seems that Sir John is ordering goods: tents, armor, even banners and horses. Seemingly, he plans to join King Henry in France, or I can think of no other reason.”

  James tugged at his lip and made another of his circuits around the chamber. “If he is merely preparing for joining his king, why bring me along? I have never known Henry to do anything without good cause. Much as I dislike him, he is far from a fool. And John Water would not act without Henry’s orders. Not when it comes to my confinement.”

  Dougal nodded, staring pensively at his feet.

  John’s stomach grumbled loudly enough to make James chuckle. “I’ll go to the kitchens and bring up our lunch, Your Grace,” he said.

  There were voices outside the door, and James stilled John with a raised hand. When the door opened, Sir John Water, his weathered face crinkled into a scowl, stepped through and made a sweeping motion with his arm. “I need to speak privily with your lord.” He waved a dismissive hand at the others. “You might find lunch in the great hall, I suppose.”

  Dougal’s look at the knight was icy, and Iain gave a questioning look, but James said, “Aye. As you please. Leave us.”

  Sir John stood in the door watching until the two men were out of sight. “See that we are not disturbed,” he said to the guards and closed the door. He stared at James and shook his head. “I have not conveyed the events at Raby Castle to the king. It may be I will not.”

  That left James speechless for a moment. “Why not?”

  “Neville agreed to keep the matter quiet—for our own good. If the king knew how close we had come to letting you escape, how far we had failed in our duties, he would be furious. Of that, you may be sure.”

  “I failed in my attempt. That is a’ that matters.”

  “The king would not see it so. He tasked me with seeing to your safety and that you do not escape. My failure is what he would see, and I cannot afford to lose his trust.” Sir John had a scar across his forehead that twisted when he scowled and a habit of looking down his crooked nose, which surely had been broken at least twice. “In France, my duty will be even harder, but I shall not fail in it. At no time will you be without guards within at your side, unless you and I can come to some agreement. If you give me your parole… Swear that you will make no further attempt, and I will at least somewhat loosen your leash.”

  James knew he was gaping, but the astonishment felt like a rush of heat through his entire body. “France? How in France?”

  “The king is in Troyes and is to wed Catherine of France.”

  Everyone knew that. “Wha’ has that to do with me?”

  “Beaufort did not tell you, then?”

  When James wordlessly shook his head, Water shrugged. “The king has commanded that if hostages did not reach Raby within a week’s time, you are to be brought to France. And I believe we will proceed with him to take part in the war.”

  France… The Douglases were said to have a huge army there helping the Dauphin Charles, who now was King Henry’s only barrier to conquest. But Henry held Normandy, Anjou and all the northern provinces and might well take Paris. He held the mad king, who had promised to name Henry as his heir. Or perhaps that was the work of the Queen Isabeau and Philip of Bourgogne, who control the poor madman. James slowly paced around the edge of the room, running his fingers across the smooth wood of the table, pursing his lips.

  “I want your word, sir. Swear to me that you will not make another such escape, or I will keep you under such guard as you have never before seen.”

  James was sure the man was speaking exactly the truth of his intent. In France, if he escaped, he might have a chance to reach the Douglas, but whether that would be for good or for ill, he could not know. It could be a leap from one evil to a worse one. Yet, if there were such a chance, could he swear he would not take it? For now, such an oath would serve him, though. And if he did not escape, he would still have a chance of learning war from Henry of Monmouth, whom, God wot, was as good at that art as any man alive.

  “So, you believe we will join the king’s army? To take part in the fighting?”

  “I know of no other reason for the king’s commands: to acquire a courser for your use, palfreys for your household, armor, tents, banners bearing your lion rampant. They would be of no use unless you join the king with his army, and they are at the king’s own very particular command.”

  James nodded as his mind flicked through thoughts like flipping the pages of a book. “My household has not been given their stipends in many months. They must be paid. And my own purse is empty, as it is a year or more since I’ve received funds from Scotland. I have debts which must be paid.”

  “I have the funds to resolve those concerns. Do I have your oath? Will you give it? You will still be under guard, but I will loosen it as much as I am allowed.”

  James ceased his pacing and turned to l
ook Sir John in the face. “Aye. I will give you my oath.” A corner of his mouth twitched in a wry smile. “If you would have me swear on a holy relic, I shall do so for you. No more escape attempts.” Excepting if a very good one appeared—one that would succeed. Then he had no doubt that Bishop Wardlaw would give him absolution for breaking an oath.

  Sir John looked at James with his dark eyes narrowed to slips. “I shall inquire for the location of a suitable relic for your oath, Lord James.” The man gave a brisk nod and left James pondering France and war.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  June 1420

  James noticed a grave the first hour of their ride out of Dieppe, a small raw mound with a tilted cross made from sticks. A few hours later, Iain pointed to a row of them. After that, hardly an hour passed that they didn’t see a few, some freshly dug and others beginning to sink into the ground.

  Sir John Water rode beside James with Iain of Alway, Dougal Drummond, and John Lyon trailing on adequate palfreys. A dozen sumpter horses carried their tents and harness. James had turned up his lip at the courser he had been provided with, of inferior quality to what a king should ride. But above their heads flew the royal banner of Scotland. If it was limp in the heat of day in late May, for the first time in his life it was there. Though riding through a land that reminded him of a priest’s sermon on hell destroyed his pleasure.

  As far as James could see on either side of the road were great swaths of devastation. They rode through miles of ruined fields with no sign of plowmen, and past orchards where trees grasped toward the sky with branches like blackened fingers. The farmhouses were burnt-out shells. At a crossroads, they came to a gibbet that dangled with what was left of dead men, empty eye sockets staring, tattered rags flapping on the rotting bodies. James choked on the stench and used his cloak to cover his mouth and nose. At the clatter of their passing, ravens flapped into the air.

  They traveled sunrise to nightfall, with Sir John Water anxious to have James in Troyes in time for the wedding. The few travelers they passed were armed, some just with a hefty staff, others with falchions or axes—farm implements but they could kill, and here and there James spotted a rusty sword. They scattered off the road like quail from a hawk at the sight of their party, but James noted that they fingered their weapons and gave lingering, hungry looks as the troop passed.

  In camp, James lay awake in the dark, looking up at a sky scattered with a thousand stars. Sir John had claimed there was no time to set up the tents, but James welcomed sleeping in the open air. The night smelled of freedom, even if it was false. He could hear Dougal’s grunting snores, the fire’s crackle as it sent sparks heavenward, one of the horses whickering softly, and the sentry’s footfalls as he paced around their little camp. James was obviously not the only one who had noticed the avid looks of the passing travelers. He rolled himself in his blanket and watched the flames dance, as the night wore on.

  They circled the towns, too many of which were controlled by the Dauphin’s army, and made a wide swing south around Paris, but when they neared Troyes, Sir John finally let them stop to wash and don fresh clothing. The hostelry was barely worthy of the name—a stable for six horses, and two guest rooms upstairs. James thought the wine good, better than they ever had in England, where it spoiled so fast. “King Henry will be regent once he marries Princess Catherine,” a solid merchant in a good wool gown said. “Not that the Dauphin Charles will give up easily, but clearly King Henry can beat him.”

  James wondered if the man were really so eager for an English king or if it was the company of English knights that made him say so. But maybe peace and no more war would be enough for the man. Did he care who ruled if they left him alone? That made James think—ideas that he had never before considered. What king was worth the devastation they had ridden through?

  “Queen Isabella had to sign the treaty for the king,” the hostel-keeper said to Sir John, whom they had quickly identified as the one with coins in his purse. “He’s in one of his drooling, mad periods, may God show the poor man mercy.”

  “It is we who need the mercy, us with such a king,” the merchant said with a snap. “King Henry is ready with a hanging, but he doesn’t drool into his soup.”

  James sat silent, sipping the rich wine, listening to all the words and wondering how similar his people of Scotland would sound in their inns. Would they curse him if he gave way and swore fealty to the English king? Would he be cast out as King John Toom Tabard and his son had been? Or was he wrong? Had he wasted so many years fighting the wrong war?

  Sir John insisted they ride hard the next day. His king would be furious if James weren’t in Troyes in time for the wedding. When he saw the spires of the city dark against the soft afternoon sky, James cantered to ride beside him, behind a man-at-arms carrying the Scottish banner. “It doesn’t stink as badly as London, at least.”

  Sir John snorted. “Comparing a minnow to a whale. I’m glad it doesn’t reek of ash, though.”

  It was true that most of France had a stench of death. At least the English hadn’t put Troyes to the torch, since it had opened itself to the English king like a whore spreading her legs.

  They rode past wagons loaded with casks of wine, stacked with bales of hay, and piled with vegetables, so James knew somewhere there must be parts of France that Henry hadn’t ravaged. But every wagon had a guard or two walking beside it with a sword or war axe at his hip.

  If the people of the city of Troyes were sorry at having been conquered, James couldn’t tell it. The brick and half-timbered houses stood whole and untouched, and the spire of the cathedral towered whitely over all. Sir John led the way through the crowds. A dozen soldiers staggered, drunk, one lolling against a wall to stay upright. Servants scurried to carry baskets of goods from the markets. Whores with white breasts half bared in unlaced bodices leaned above window boxes flowing with flowers and called invitations to passing customers. The bells of the Angelus began to toll. Black-robed friars in a long line threaded their way as they chanted, Ave Maria, gratia plena; Dominus tecum. Someone shouted, Au voleur! as a lithe figure darted and dashed to escape into the crowd. A peddler pushed a cart yelling, “Moules! Moules fraîches!”

  Riding through the crooked streets with French spoken on every side in the bright June sunshine, for the first time James felt some pleasure in being dragged into Henry’s war. They had to themselves the top floor of the little house that had been reserved for his use, a surprise and a welcome change from the castles where James was usually confined. Iain was settling them into their quarters, whilst Sir John hurried off to receive his orders concerning James. In the meantime, James stood at the window, looking out at the pleasant bustling street. “Mayhap if Sir John is indeed willing to loosen my leash, we can enjoy some of the pleasures of the city.”

  Iain’s face lit up. “Aye, I’ve heard so much of Frenchwomen. And the food!”

  Dougal managed one of his more priestly looks. “I hope you are nae thinking of wenching, Your Grace. That would be below your dignity. Better that you keep yourself chaste for a lady such as that sweet Lady Joan you saw at Windsor Castle.”

  James felt himself coloring and was sure he had said nothing to Dougal anent the lady. “I may never see her again, so if I find myself with a something sweet to hand I’ll enjoy that instead of dignity.” James laughed. “But there are churches you might visit, so you don’t see my violation of my royal dignity.”

  Lyon shook his head, although the severe look he gave James seemed a bit false. “Even if Sir John will agree to such feats of Venus, you must remember who you are. Forbye, I am happy to rest from our dash across France. Churches will wait until another day, however handsome they may be.”

  Iain was nearly dancing as he made the bed with James’s linens and shook out the clothes, well wrinkled from travel. “Do you really think he will agree to it?”

  “I’ll see wha’ I can do,” James said.

  A servant fetched them hot water, and James nea
rly scrubbed his skin off to rid himself of the stink he felt had soaked into it. His chaplains had already laid out their pallets, and Dougal was snoring softly in his sleep when Sir John came banging in the door.

  “We made it barely in time. The wedding is tomorrow.” He tossed Iain a bundle. “Clothes for his lordship.”

  As Iain shook out the blue silk doublet and smoothed the tights, James wandered over to sprawl in the only chair, his legs stretched out and booted feet crossed at the ankle. “My chaplains are fair weary, but it seems to me that the rest of us could find some food and mayhap…” He shrugged. “… some company or even a hostelry with a player would not be so ill.”

  “And I suppose the cost would come from my purse.”

  “Or King Henry’s.” James grinned insolently. “He is paying for this wee jaunt, is he not? And I have seen nothing of that ‘loosened leash’ you promised me if I gave you my word.”

  An hour later, James sauntered out of the door of the half-timbered house accompanied by Iain, Sir John and only one squire as guard. The streets were still busy as the sky grayed toward dusk, and for a city surrounded by war, they were peaceful. Shutters banged closed, and bars thudded into place. A man stood in the door of his shop scolding an apprentice for his tardiness.

  A few women bargained for the last vegetables in the stalls in the market. A baker was shouting that he had a loaf of bread left in his basket. “Have you heard how much food is reaching the city?” James asked.

  Sir John shrugged. Food for a foreign population wasn’t his business. “I’ve been told the king says that we have to keep the people sweet so we can trust our backs. But the important thing is for the army to be fed, and that you may be sure of. You won’t go hungry with King Henry.”

  James hadn’t supposed it, but he let the subject drop when the knight pointed to a hostelry with a hanging rooster painted on a sign over the door. When they rode into the little enclosed courtyard, two boys ran out to take their reins.