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

by Tomlin, J. R.

  For a moment they trembled together, moist skin and breathy sounds mingling. Then she held him, and her embrace poured through the cracks, healing hurts he had not even known he had suffered. Murmuring comforting words that made him smile into her hair, she rocked him in her arms as they caught their breaths. So young—innocent. How could she know the ease he needed better than he did himself?

  He pillowed his face into her thick hair and breathed in her scent. The pulse in his throat matched the one he felt in her. Hearts beating together. James for once had no words.

  After a long calm, she said, “The king would be furious. To promise myself without his leave.” She clicked her tongue against her teeth. “And to a king who is his prisoner.”

  “He must nae yet ken. He might turn his anger on you. But when I return to England from France…” He reached for his cloak and pulled it over them. “Shall I tell you what has been said about my return to Scotland…”

  CHAPTER FORTY

  August 1422

  He was standing in the high window of his chamber in the Tower of London, where he had passed many hours through the years. The yard below was empty, and snow blew against the panes.

  “Iain,” he said, and no one answered. When he turned, there was no one there. “Dougal,” he called and went to the door. He pulled and it wouldn’t open. He pounded on it. “The door should not be locked against me!”

  “My liege,” a voice said, and James recognized Orkney’s voice. He let out a sigh of relief and turned. “My liege,” Orkney said again, kneeling, and when he looked up, James saw the empty eyes of a skeleton.

  He jerked away and grabbed the edge of his mattress to keep from tumbling out of bed. His heart was thumping in his chest, and someone was pounding on the door. The room was pitch-black, and Iain was mumbling in his pallet as he awoke.

  “Lord James!” the squire on guard called.

  “What?” James said, throwing aside his blanket and staggering to his feet. “Wait.”

  Iain cursed softly, and there was the sound of a flint struck, and candlelight flickered as he stumbled to the door. “It’s the middle of the night, man. Wha’ do you want?”

  A page stood behind the guard, his face pale, wringing his hands. The squire-guard said, “There is urgent news from Vincennes. The queen requires his presence.”

  James swallowed. They had news three weeks before that the king was so ill he had been forced to turn back to Vincennes from joining the battle at Cosne-sur-Loire.

  “I must dress,” James said.

  Iain pulled out a blue silk doublet and tights, and shortly James followed the page through the dark halls, where only a few torches flickered in their sconces. The royal apartments were on the far side of the castle. A knight stood guard at the door, and the page announced, “Lord James Stewart, son of the late King of Scots.”

  Within, in the anteroom, a fire blazed on the hearth, filling the room with a glow, and candles burned on the table where a letter lay abandoned. Queen Catherine sat in a large chair, the blonde, sturdy Lady Jacqueline de Bavière kneeling beside her, stroking her hand. Joan patted the queen’s loose, tousled hair. A priest stood by the windows with a breviary in his hands, and a servant brought a goblet of wine that Lady Jacqueline placed into the queen's hands.

  “Lord James!” the queen exclaimed. “You must tell me. Explain to me. The king, he has sent for you.”

  “For me?” James shook his head, wondering if he was still asleep and dreaming. The king had barely acknowledged him in more than a year. “The page said news. What news? What has happened?”

  The queen shoved the wine into Lady Jacqueline’s hands, as she pressed a palm to her mouth. Her eyes were red and swollen. She uttered a choked moan. “The letter said he is receiving the Extreme Unction. That he is calling all the nobles to his side before he dies. But he does not call for me.”

  James had no idea what to say. Perhaps something had happened between them, and the king was angry with her. That she had not brought his son when he commanded? Henry could become enraged when he was disobeyed, of that James had enough experience.

  He looked at Joan and made a tiny shrug.

  She put her arms around the queen and said, “You mustn’t upset yourself. It must be that he does not want to endanger you. Who knows what this illness might be that has seized him?”

  “If he commands me, I should prepare to go straight away,” James said in as soothing a voice as he knew. “I’ll find out why he doesn’t send for you, if I can. Mayhap when he is better…”

  Joan gave him an incredulous look over the queen’s head. They both knew if the king had received the Extreme Unction that he did not expect to live.

  “With your leave, Your Grace, I should go.”

  But the queen was crying into Joan’s shoulder, so James bowed and strode out the door almost at a run.

  In two hours, a score of men-at-arms awaited him in the castle’s bailey yard. Sir William Meryng, along with his four squires and ten archers, joined them.

  His courser with such beautiful lines James thought he must be as fast as the wind would speed the journey. Iain held the bridle while James mounted, considering how much he had changed from the lanky lad he had been when he had joined James all those years ago.

  The streets were empty as they rode through the city. A wagon was being unloaded of barrels at a warehouse, two men grunting as they carried the load on their shoulders. In a shadowy alley, someone moaned. As they passed through the city gates, the Angelus pealed at the cathedral, and church bells joined in across the city. Pale threads of dawn were stealing into the sky, chasing back the stars.

  They rode through the day cantering and then slowing to a walk only to canter again, stopping at streams when they must to water the horses and let them cool. When the sun was at its zenith, James insisted they stop long enough for the horses to rest, whilst the men sat beneath a stand of chestnuts and cut up hard sausage from their saddlebags, before they rode on. No one spoke the long day. What was there to say, except the young and strong King Henry could not be dying.

  That night, they made camp beside the River Seine. They hadn’t brought wagons or pack horses that would have slowed them, so they gathered deadwood and huddled around campfires. James set sentries and a watch on the picketed horses, even though an attack was unlikely, but there were gangs of bandits, and he didn’t intend to take any chances.

  Come morning, it was another bright, sweltering day. James kept the column at a good pace southeast along the Seine. The signs of recent war were everywhere. Fields that should have been full of ripening summer grain were choked with weeds. They passed groups of merchants’ wagons, whose guards looked at them, eyes full of suspicion. Yet the world grew dazzling, and they rode beside water that rippled, gleaming with bright sunlight.

  In the early afternoon, the tall, square keep of Vincennes rose before them at last, around it five towers and thick, sandstone walls. James drew up before the gate and his name soon opened it before them.

  James passed knights whispering in the hallway, hands twitching with nerves or with fear. Two priests knelt in the hallway, mumbling prayers. A squire opened the door and motioned James in. The lack of ceremony made a chill go through him.

  John of Bedford was thin, his face drawn and eyes sunken, as though he hadn’t slept in weeks. James saw him and knew it was as bad as he had been told. Richard Beauchamp paced back and forth in front of a window, his hands clasped behind his back and his head bowed. Thomas Beaufort sat in a chair by the hearth, where a fire blazed, in spite of the day’s heat, his elbows on his knees and hands plunged into his scant hair. A brazier in the corner gave off a sweet scent that didn’t cover the stench of shit and sickness.

  “My lord,” James said quietly.

  James couldn’t see beyond the bed’s heavy draperies. A plump physician in a rich robe bent over the bed, a cup and spoon in his hands. After a moment, he turned and said, “I gave him just a spoon of the syrup of popp
y for his pain, my lords, but I dare not give him more.”

  “Is that James?” King Henry said in a thin voice.

  James bit his lip so hard that he tasted blood to hold in his gasp at the skeleton that lay under piles of blankets. Henry was shaking with fever, and his cheeks, where the bones jutted out under nothing but skin, were brightly flushed.

  James dropped to one knee beside the bed. “Your Grace,” he whispered.

  “Damn you,” Henry croaked with a blaze of his old fierceness. “Now you will never swear fealty to me.”

  James twitched a wry smile. “I never would have. You ken that, sire.”

  Henry flinched with pain as he nodded. “I have confessed. Received Extreme Unction. But I must know, James, so I can confess it. Have I wronged you? I swore…” His face contorted, and he drew a deep breath. “I swore to my father on his death bed that I would free you. But you were still young. Too young. Did I wrong you? Wrong my father?”

  James bowed his head for a moment. The man was dying. Perhaps it would be a kindness to lie, but he should confess it. Go to God with a cleansed soul, if that were truly possible.

  He raised his eyes and met Henry’s gaze. He nodded. “Your wronged me, Your Grace.” He tried to make his voice gentle but heard the shard of hard anger within it. “You broke a most sacred oath to a man dying, your own father. And wronged me most cruelly.”

  The king’s thin face twisted in a grotesque smile. “Always honest, James. I thank you.”

  James stood and looked down, shaking his head. Not a word about righting the wrong. The king’s eyes closed, and he turned his head away, sagging into the pillows.

  After a moment, James left the bedside. “How long has he been like this?” James asked John of Bedford.

  The duke shook his head. “He has grown worse daily for two months. Were my brother not so strong…” His voice broke.

  “Should we remain? Or return to Rouen? The queen was distraught.”

  “I want you here, so if he calls for you again…” His Adam’s apple worked as he swallowed, and his voice was thick. “But it will not be long, all the physicians say.”

  Outside the door, James wavered on his feet, exhausted, and realized he had nowhere to lay his head. He needed to find the seneschal and arrange rooms for himself and his men. And sleep. His belly was empty, but all he wanted was sleep.

  By the time a servant led him and Iain to a tiny room in the east tower, the castle was full to overflowing, and he was lucky to be given it. He was numb with weariness and felt nothing as he threw himself onto the bed.

  James opened his eyes, awake. The room was gray with moonlight. Wide awake. Shouts. “The king is dead.” Strange that no one shouted the second part. Feet pounded, running, and another voice shouted, “The king is dead.”

  Iain snored, rolled in a blanket in a corner.

  James rose, shoved his feet into boots that Iain must have removed whilst he slept and went into the hall, down the stairs. The keep was dark as James strode across the inner bailey. The full moon hovered over the tower. On the parapet walk, the guards stood still, frozen by shock.

  A squire cried in the hallway, sobbing, face buried in his hands.

  A knight ran up the stairs shouting, “The dukes must be told! Why haven’t the dukes been called?”

  The guard at the door of the king’s bedroom just looked at him blankly. Within, the only light was the red flicker from the hearth. The panicked physician was clasping himself and rocking as he said, “We told them he could not be saved.”

  James picked up Henry’s hand, and already it felt cold. He smiled in the near-darkness, standing beside the dead king. It didn’t feel like a nice smile, more like a sneer of bitter joy, and James was glad no one could see it.

  Historical Notes

  In the writing of this novel, I have stayed as close as possible to known historical events. For the purpose of storytelling, however, I did change the location or date of a few happenings. King James’s attempted escape occurred at Windsor Castle rather than Raby Castle, and his stay at Raby was slightly earlier than in the novel. I was careful however not to alter the occurrences in any substantive way.

  King Henry V’s executions of prisoners were, if anything, more extensive than I described and were brutal even by medieval standards. While some of the battles, especially those in the tunnels under the walls of Melun, may seem strange to modern readers, they did happen and were described by chroniclers of the period. As for the nature of King James I of Scotland, his love of both athletics and poetry were well documented as was his participation in the war in France.

  For anyone who would like to do a little reading on the main characters of the novel, I recommend James I, King of Scots by E. W. M. Balfour-Melville. King James’s semi-autobiographical poem The Kingis Quair is available online. Those only skim the surface of the topic of the reign of King James I, but much of the information is about events not included in this novel. They will be in A King Uncaged, and at the end of that novel, I will include an extensive bibliography.

  List of Principal Historical Characters

  James Stewart—Youngest son of Scotland’s King Robert III, Earl of Carrick, and Prince of Scotland. Heir to the throne. Later James I, King of Scots

  Robert III—King of Scots, son of King Robert II

  Robert Stewart—Duke of Albany, younger half-brother of King Robert III. Governor of Scotland

  Archibald Douglas—Earl of Douglas, known as Archie Tyneman

  Henry Percy—Eventual Earl of Northumberland, son of Henry Hotspur

  Henry Wardlaw—Bishop of St. Andrews, primate of Scotland

  Sir Henry Sinclair—Earl of Orkney

  Sir David Fleming of Cumbernault—Chancellor of King Robert III

  Sir Robert Lauder of Edrington—Lord of Bass Rock Castle

  Robert Lauder—Son of Sir Robert Lauder

  William Giffard—Esquire of James Stewart

  Hugh-Atte-Fen—English pirate

  King Henry IV—King of England

  Thomas Rempston—Constable of the Tower of London

  Gruffudd Glendwr—Prisoner in the Tower of London, son of Owen ab Glendwr, rightful Prince of Wales

  Murdoch Stewart—Earl of Fife, eldest son and heir of the Duke of Albany

  John Lyon—Priest and secretary to James Stewart

  Dougal Drummand—Priest and confessor to James Stewart

  Henry of Monmonth—Son of Henry IV, Prince of Wales and eventual King of England

  Sir Richard Gray—Lord of Codenore, High Chamerlain of England, one of the keepers of James Stewart

  Charles—Duc d'Orléans and Valois, brother of King Charles of France, accomplished poet

  Henry Beaufort—Bishop of Winchester, Chancellor of England, illegitimate son of John of Gaunt, uncle of Joanna Beaufort

  Sir William Douglas of Drumlanrig—Scottish baron and ally of King James

  Queen Isabella of France—Married to the mad King Charles VI of France

  King Charles VI—King of France, known as both ‘the beloved’ and ‘the mad’

  Catherine of Valoi—Princess of France, daughter of Charles and Isabella, wife of Henry V of England and eventual Queen of England

  Iain of Alway—Member of the household of King James. (His name was actually John of Alway. I altered the name for the novel because of a superfluity of Johns)

  Thomas of Lancaster—Duke of Clarence, son of Henry IV of England

  John of Lancaster—Duke of Bedford, son of Henry IV of England

  Humphrey—Duke of Gloucester, son of Henry IV of England

  Author's Notes / Scottish and Archaic Words

  In writing historical fiction, an author sometimes has to choose between making language understandable and making it authentic. While I use modern English in this novel, the people of 15h century Scotland, of course, 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 long
er 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.

  Afeart, (Scots) Afraid.

  Ain, (Scots) Own.

  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), A flat, unleavened 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.

  Bedecked, 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), a name for watercourses from large streams to small rivers.

  Clàrsach, A Celtic harp

  Chivvied, Harassed.

  Cloying, To cause 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.