Black Douglas (Coronet Books)

by Nigel Tranter

  “Then go, for Christ-God’s sake — and a good quittance to the pack o’ you!” Beardie shouted.

  King James moistened his lips as Kennedy thrust back his chair. “My lords, my lords! . . .” he quavered. He looked at Will.

  That young man had seldom been more loth to embroil himself in anything, fighter though he was. Kennedy could declare that Hamilton’s mind was wandering, but however absurd these counter-charges, there was no maundering here. It was the age-old and well-proved device of playing off the Church against the rest, the lords temporal against the lords spiritual. The mutual suspicion was always there, latent, ready to smoulder or flame. With the Church owning more than half of the best land in Scotland — and, as it happened, the best managed and therefore most productive — the nobles and lairds could be relied upon to react strongly to any accusations such as Hamilton’s, however scantily substantiated. Moreover, by claiming that they did all under the authority of the Sheriff of Fife, and flatly denying any culpability, the miscreants put themselves in a strong position. The Privy Council was not a court of law, and members of it, even though accused of offences, could not be forced into any detailed defence or made to give specific account of their actions. It looked very much as though, on a vote, Hamilton and his friends would get away with it.

  Will Douglas was a realist. Perceiving all this, he saw it as no duty of his to fight the Church’s battles for it — especially when, in any case, it was likely to lose. His concern was the eventual triumph of the course to which he had set his hand, the King’s cause, which he had made the Douglas cause. But for this he needed the Church’s support. Just as he needed Crawford’s support and, to a lesser extent, Hamilton’s and Gray’s and the rest. He had no illusions about the size of the task still ahead of him, and recognised that he could afford to lose nothing of the support he had managed to build up. His problem therefore was how to prevent the Crawford-Hamilton faction being thrown into the arms of Crichton, and at the same time keep the regard and sympathy of the Church — which meant, in effect, the Primate, Kennedy. He had little conviction that it was possible.

  “Sire,” he said, a lot more confidently than he felt. “It seems to me that here is a matter which cannot be decided out of hand, here and now. There is much to enquire into, to establish. And this Council has other grave issues to consider, decisions to make, relative to the safety of the realm. I counsel, therefore, that four lords be appointed, as commissioners, of good faith and not concerned in this issue, to make due enquiry and to report. Two lords temporal and two spiritual. So that we may move to the next business.”

  “Aye,” James agreed relievedly. “Well said, Cousin. You have it right . . .”

  The murmurs of agreement from most of the Council were drowned by Kennedy’s strong objection. “No!” he cried. “I will not have it. I will not have Holy Church harried and mocked in this realm — and remain this realm’s Chancellor! All here know who are guilty, without Lords Commissioners enquiring. I refuse to sit at this table with these foresworn and shameless scorners of the law. Either they go or I go!”

  Will moistened his lips, as the Master of Crawford shouted great laughter. “Go then, Churchman — go! Go and pray! We have decisions here for men to take — not clerks and half-men! Decisions that require swords, not rosaries!” And the giant shot a quick glance at Will, to remind him as to where lay his hard immediate needs. Beardie Alex Lindsay was not quite such a witless oaf as he sometimes appeared to be.

  Will did not really need the warning. “My lord Bishop — I bid you reconsider. All here are members of His Grace’s Privy Council. Here of right. Your hurt is grievous, and must be made good. And lawlessness punished. But these lords have denied your charges against them. My lord of Hamilton’s accusations against Holy Church are wrong and should not have been made. But they signify nothing. As to your charges, so long as these others deny them, are they not entitled to be here? You cannot turn them away.”

  “Then I go myself.”

  “But you are Chancellor. Under His Grace, you preside. Many lords have come far for this Council. And there is much more to decide”

  Kennedy did not answer.

  “If my lord of St. Andrew goes, we go,” the old Bishop of Brechin declared.

  As two of the prelates were Douglases, Will doubted if this was certain. But he was faced nevertheless with one of his dreaded situations — the loss of the Church’s support. Desperately he played his last poor card.

  “Is that wise, my lords? Holy Church’s voice undoubtedly will be required. And then, there is the matter of the Bishop of Glasgow! Master Cameron. He was named, was he not, in this charge? He is not here, although summoned. I see that the Bishop of Argyll and the Abbot of Paisley are also absent. In such case, would you leave the word of Holy Church unspoken?”

  It was, of course, unscrupulous, almost blackmail. But it was none the less effective for that. It was, in fact, the threat of a division within the Church itself, the raising up of a faction under Bishop Cameron — whom all knew wanted the chancellorship. In that, it was directed against Hamilton also. But none of the churchmen there failed to perceive the danger. Douglas, Bishop of Aberdeen spoke up.

  “I hold that we wait,” he said briefly.

  Others muttered concurrence.

  James Kennedy was no fool, however outspoken. He recognised stalemate when he saw it, and the time to change his stance. He stood up.

  “I go, then — with Your Grace’s permission. But before I go, I declare to you all that Holy Church is not mocked. In token of which I hereby proclaim that I go directly to my cathedral church of St. Andrew here, and after due and holy preparation, present myself before the High Altar. And there I shall pronounce due dire and condign sentence of excommunication upon each, all and every one of those aforementioned and indicted, barring them the Mass and all holy sacraments, all absolutions and dying unction, and all the comforts of religion. The said extremest execration of Holy Church upon all who may harbour, support or cherish them. Furthermore I shall, this day, and every day hereafter, curse them. Curse them solemnly with mitre, bell, book and candle. At the sun’s going down each day, before all. Curse them in their waking and their sleeping; their going out and coming in; in their youth and their age; in their wives and sons and daughters, in their manservants and maidservants; in their houses and lands, their cattle and corns, their farms and fields and fisheries. In all that they are, have, and hope for, I shall curse them, until the name of Holy Church is reverenced again in this land. So help me God!”

  Raising his hand to the monarch, James Kennedy turned and stalked from the hall.

  Stricken dumb, stunned, King and Council sat staring after him, even his fellow-bishops appalled, almost unbelieving. Never had anyone present known anything like this, heard of such cursing, been involved in an excommunication. Even the Tiger looked thoughtful. Only his father slept through it all.

  King James was actually trembling, on Will’s left — his brothers not so much better on his right. He was affected himself, but less so than the others probably because he had come to know Kennedy passably well and it was more difficult to associate this wholesale malevolence with familiarity.

  He cleared his throat. “Your Grace. My lords,” he began, a little unsteadily. “We are troubled. Much concerned. By this. By what has happened. But . . . there is much to be done. The business of this realm. In especial, the matter of the assault on the castle of Edinburgh. Much has to be considered. Decided. The Chancellor has left us. But His Grace still presides. It is His Grace’s Privy Council, not the Chancellor’s. Therefore we can and must continue. With Your Grace’s agreement?”

  None said him nay; indeed none so much as answered. The Primate’s spell was on them all still.

  “Aye. Well. I move to the matter of Edinburgh. As Lieutenant-General. As to men, I believe that I shall have sufficient. In two weeks time I am assured that I shall have six thousand Douglas men-at-arms assembled. With others, notably th
ose of Hay, Graham, Drummond, Atholl, Maxwell, Montgomery, Borthwick . . .” He nodded towards each of the lords concerned as he named their clans “. . . and of course, Lindsay and Hamilton, I shall have ten thousand, I hope. Enough.”

  He had their attention now. To those nobles, fighting-men, swords and lances, by the thousand, spoke louder than anything else in heaven or earth. And six thousand Douglases was something to consider almost with awe. Never had anyone there heard of so large a force fielded under a single name. Here was the sort of discussion in which all felt competent and concerned to join in.

  “Crichton cannot muster men to that tune!” King James cried. “Even with my lord of Angus aiding him.” He bit that remark off short, looking a little alarmed as he realised the implication that the Red Douglases would fight the Black Douglases might not be popular on his right.

  “Aye. But what of cannon?” the practical Sir William Hay put in flatly. “Swords and arrows and lances are of little avail against Edinburgh Castle. A thousand men are scarce worth one cannon. What of them?”

  Well Will knew it. “There are cannon to be had. The King’s cannon. Some unfortunately are in Edinburgh Castle itself. But there are others. In the royal castles of Stirling, Dumbarton, Doune and Dunbar.” He paused, and glanced past the monarch, at Sir James Livingstone.

  A faint sigh ran round the table. If any there had wondered before as to Douglas’s gentleness and forbearance towards the Livingstones, why the insufferable Sir James had been made Chamberlain and his reprobate old father permitted still to go unpunished, now they perceived it. These four royal fortresses were each in the keepership of one of the Livingstone sons. All the cannon in Scotland which Crichton did not control were in the hands of the Livingstones.

  Sir James smirked his sour smile. “No doubt my brothers will do what they can in the matter.” He coughed. “Assuming that they are not beset by churchmen and clerks!”

  “I will seek my grandfather’s good offices,” Hamilton said smugly.

  “Aye.” Into the long quiet, Will’s breathing sounded heavy. “Now, as to horseflesh . . .”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  EDINBURGH had undergone many sieges, invasions and assaults in its day — but undoubtedly never one like this. Will Douglas had been determined on that, from the start. After all, it was not the city that was being besieged, but the citadel. The King’s forces had no quarrel with the citizens, except inasmuch as they had acquiesced for long, and too supinely, to Crichton and his friends in the fortress. But even so, the atmosphere now was more than of a weeks-long holiday, an endless gala, than any military campaign. Ten thousand men-at-arms filled the town to bursting-point, with practically nothing to do. In that respect alone, something had to be done to keep them occupied, or there might have been wholesale outrage.

  Day after day the green meadows and parkland of Arthur’s Seat, the Calton Hill, the Burgh Muir and the banks of the Nor’ Loch resounded to the cheers and shouts and laughter, the music, the trumpet-calls and the clash, of organised games, contests, mock-battles, tourney’s pageantry and parade. Each night feasting, dancing, baitings, play-acting and minstrelsy prevailed, in every camp and open space amongst the crowded narrow streets of the city. For in it all the townsfolk were included, expected to play their part, even in the great eating. Douglas paid for all — since the royal coffers had long been empty — and anyway, a fair proportion of the beneficiaries were Douglases. Never had Douglas treasure been spent as this Earl spent it.

  That there was so little military activity in all this was not Will’s fault — who indeed fumed and fretted at the delay. He would have been battering at Edinburgh Castle day and night had he been able. But despite gentle handling and all their promises, the Livingstones had failed him. Some small pieces of artillery they had obtained from Stirling Castle, but nothing as yet from Dumbarton in the west, Doune in the north or Dunbar in the east. For weeks they had waited, urgent couriers had been sent, royal commands, inducements, threats. All to no effect. Excuses in plenty came from Dumbarton and Doune — the cannon were unserviceable; the carriages had broken down; there were no balls of the right calibre; it was too far for oxen to drag them. Excuses, but no cannon. And without sending to besiege these castles likewise, there was no way of forcing the issue. Dunbar, on the Lothian coast, and nearer at hand, might have been different — but soon after the host’s arrival at Edinburgh, they heard that the Earl of Angus had sallied out from his nearby stronghold of Tantallon and removed the Dunbar cannon thither, undoubtedly with the connivance of their keeper.

  Of cannon-makers Scotland had none. Oddly enough it was Meg Douglas who provided a gleam of hope. She had heard talk years before, to the effect that there was a family of smiths at Carlingwark near Threave in Galloway, who had once made a large cannon for the 5th Earl, which he had taken to the French wars, and which had never come back. That was more than a score of years ago — but in a family, the skills and knowledge might have been preserved. Will sent his brother Hugh hotfoot to Galloway — but cannon were not things which could be wrought in a day, or a score of days, especially the size of weapons that Douglas required. Hugh brought back word that the thing would be attempted, but it would take time. They could only wait.

  All this is not to say that there were no gestures made against the castle on the rock. The small cannon they had from Stirling were fired frequently, but really only as a token, and mainly to impress the citizens. The fact was that Crichton’s guns up there far outranged them. So they dared not set them up in any established positions, for fear of dire retaliation. The great fortress, skied hundreds of feet high on its crag, could be assailed only from one angle — that covered by its own artillery.

  Much more, of course, was required for the reduction of Edinburgh’s citadel than just cannon; just as much more was here involved than in the mere siege of a fortress. Crichton had been the real ruler of Scotland for many years, and his power and influence was not readily to be destroyed, whether by hammer-blows or by more subtle undermining. Particularly the fear of him, men’s belief that he might yet come out on top, and exact dire vengeance on all who had taken sides against him — it was this, above all, that had to be defeated. Here was the reason for the ten thousand men — when there was probably fewer than a couple of hundred men in the castle itself; for the displays of splendour, largesse, sheer confidence, in the city beneath its walls. It was a battle for the minds and support and commitment of the people of Scotland. Edinburgh Castle was but one move in that battle.

  More was needed, therefore, than cannon and armies. More even than prolonged holiday, feasting and displayed power and might. The King was here in person, lodging in the Abbey of Holyrood, with most of the great officers of state. The Church was represented by as many bishops, abbots and priors as could be persuaded to attend — although Kennedy himself kept his distance, only coming from St. Andrews briefly when the Chancellor’s duties demanded. A rift was developing all too evidently between him and Will, despite all the latter could do to heal it. Theirs had been an uneasy partnership from the first, the realist and the idealist.

  It was only after two weeks of this ferment that Margaret Douglas brought forth the idea of a parliament, to be held in Edinburgh. A great parliament, more representative than any held for years, sitting here under the walls of the besieged fortress. Surely that would demonstrate, more than anything else, the will of the nation? Crichton would be seen to be isolated, powerless, made to look almost foolish. And Bishop Kennedy, as Chancellor, would necessarily be much involved.

  Will saw the force of this, at once. Unfortunately a parliament demanded a statutory calling-period of forty days. Almost six weeks. Yet sieges of fortresses such as this had in the past lasted many months, even years; and it was unlikely that the cannon ordered in Galloway would be made in lesser period — or that Crichton would be apt to yield in the interval. Even if by some miracle he did, a parliament would be useful thereafter to give legality to much that would follow. S
o the decision had been taken, and the writs and summonses sent out in great numbers. The last parliament had been the least representative for years; this must be otherwise.

  Those weeks made long waiting, and a strangely unreal life was forced upon the waiters. The Court established at Holyrood Abbey was brittlely gay. Devices for keeping everybody amused and in good heart waxed almost feverish. Will spared neither himself nor his family, nor yet his purse. Douglas money was poured out like water. Edinburgh had never known anything like this. Will, whose forebears had been named William le Hardi, Hugh the Dull, Archibald the Grim and James the Gross, began to be called William the Magnificent — a title which shocked his practical mind as much as it amused his brothers and Meg.

  Meg Douglas was now an integral part of Will’s household, accepted by all as vastly more important than any mere tiring-woman. Many undoubtedly suspected that she was the Earl’s mistress — indeed, with such an attractive creature constantly in and out of the Countess’s bedchamber, such wonderings were inevitable. But the lovers were discreet, and both with their own ideas of duty, and no one — save perhaps Margaret herself — was in a position to know for certain. If that reserved and self-contained young woman did in fact know or suspect, she gave no sign of it. Meg and she remained inseparable companions. In public, the older girl was still the modest and dutiful servitor, but in private she permitted herself a certain latitude with most of the young Douglas family. Which was probably good for them all, if any were in danger of growing swollen-headed, for she had a shrewd wit and only a moderate respect of persons.

  The parliament idea, when at last it materialised, proved to be a success. There was a gratifyingly large attendance, representative of all parts of the country — save the Highlands, which always ignored such embroilment. Some lords and lairds of very doubtful allegiance put in an appearance, and even one or two of Crichton’s known supporters. Nevertheless, there were some notable absentees, in especial the Earls of Angus, Lennox, Sutherland and Buchan, the Lord of Gordon, and the heads of many of the great eastern and Border houses, such as Hepburn, Home, Kerr and Elliot. These last represented a manpower of mosstroopers, some of the toughest fighting men in the country.