The Gilded Crown

by Catherine A. Wilson

  ‘I have always liked the idea of a round table. It evokes an image of solidarity and strength.’ David raised his arm and a pimply-faced youth stepped from behind a banner and filled his goblet. ‘So I had this one installed to remind me of just how fractured and disloyal my country really is.’

  Simon accepted a drinking vessel from the steward but remained standing, having been summoned to the King’s private chamber only minutes earlier. ‘I am sure you enjoy a great deal of support since your return from London.’

  ‘Yes, of course, particularly from my nephew, his wife and their family.’

  Simon placed the drinking vessel on the table, his shoulders rigid with formality. ‘You sent for me, Sire?’

  ‘Sit, Wexford, sit,’ David instructed. ‘We are friends, are we not?’

  Simon considered the request, then drew back a heavy wooden chair and sat opposite. ‘Your wife is a most fetching creature. I am told you rescued her from a nunnery?’

  ‘Not quite, M’lord. Lady Wexford fled that particular institution prior to our meeting.’

  ‘How fortunate for you,’ the king sneered. ‘And you were quickly married, in France, then travelled to London before making your way to Scotland?’

  ‘I wished to introduce Catherine to my family.’

  ‘Do you honestly expect me to believe that?’ David glared.

  Simon kept his gaze fixed upon David; to look away now would give the Scottish monarch reason to assume he had something to hide. ‘A private matter drew me to Paris and I chose to visit Edinburgh when I learned that Walter Odistoun was stealing from my family.’

  David narrowed his eyes. ‘That is quite an allegation to make against my brother!’

  Simon drew in a long breath and sat back in his chair. ‘I meant no offence, Sire. It is matter between Walter and me.’

  ‘I think not.’ David turned his attention to a large ring on his index finger which he began to rotate with his thumb. ‘It requires a great deal of coin to run this kingdom, funds that I am entitled to obtain as taxes from my people.’

  ‘And I do not object to such payments. It is more …’ Simon paused. He needed to tread carefully. ‘It is more the contribution to your ransom with which I disagree.’

  ‘I am grateful of Walter’s support.’

  ‘Lord Odistoun is most generous, when he is giving of something which does not belong to him.’

  David laughed loudly. ‘How well you know my brother!’

  ‘I have bequeathed him the revenue obtained from our family property in Fife and will add Doune once arrangements have been settled but, should he sign either property over to the crown, I will offer no further assistance to him or my sister.’

  ‘I see.’ David smiled broadly. ‘You are a man wise with your coin.’

  ‘There are many who show no care.’

  ‘Indeed! And there are those who prefer to hoard.’

  ‘Perhaps they have reason to,’ Simon suggested in the smallest hope of drawing something from David.

  ‘If only we could read our stars and those of our children, then we would have no need to worry.’

  Simon nodded, though he wondered where the conversation was headed, considering David had no heirs.

  ‘Have you news of my wife?’

  Simon frowned. ‘No, M’lord.’

  ‘And you bring no greeting from Edward?’

  ‘I had no reason to attend court in London.’

  David leaned back in his seat, his bearing visibly relaxing. ‘I am told she is doing well, that Edward has sought advice from the very best physicians.’

  ‘I will pray for her hasty recovery,’ Simon added, watching every emotion that passed over David’s face. ‘There is the matter of my wife and son.’

  ‘Go to Doune. Have the estate settled on Walter and when you return, you and your family will be free to leave.’

  ‘Thank you, Sire.’ Taking his leave Simon bowed and swiftly removed himself, pleased with the agreement David had offered.

  ‘Lady Wexford, I have brought along a companion.’ Lady Dunbar stepped through the doorway, encouraging the young woman behind her to enter. ‘This is Tiphanie. Her mother, a great friend of mine, requested that her daughter be placed into my care. She accompanied her father from France to the Scottish court and may be some company for you. I am sure she finds our daily existence up here all rather boring.’

  ‘Lady Wexford.’ The girl curtsied gracefully and waited for Catherine to acknowledge her.

  ‘Tiphanie, what a lovely name. Please let me look at your gown. It is beautiful!’ Catherine reached for the brocade fabric unable to stop herself. ‘Lady Dunbar believes I need assistance with my wardrobe. Perhaps you shall be able to help me?’

  ‘I would be honoured,’ Tiphanie gushed, her cheeks aglow.

  ‘Good! Then it is settled.’ Lady Dunbar clapped her hands together. ‘For the duration of your visit, Lady Wexford, I shall loan you Tiphanie as a companion. You two are almost the same age and I believe,’ Lady Dunbar turned to Tiphanie, ‘the Lady Catherine has a sister in France. You will have much to discuss. Run along, dear, and pack your belongings.’

  The girl inclined her head and ran off, her face jubilant.

  ‘She is very striking,’ commented Catherine.

  ‘Her colouring is that of Douglas clan. They are known for their glossy, red locks and startling green eyes.’

  ‘Oh, like James?’ Catherine asked.

  Lady Dunbar’s brow furrowed. ‘Who do you mean?’

  ‘James Douglas. He spoke to Lord Wexford on the day we arrived. He did not look pleased to see Simon.’

  ‘I am unaware of any direct connection between Lord Douglas and Tiphanie. There are several branches of the clan Douglas throughout Scotland, just as there are Campbells and Stewarts.’

  ‘And Dunbars?’

  ‘No, there are not so many Dunbars, or Randolphs for that matter.’

  Settling before the fire, Lady Dunbar retrieved the needlework from the wicker basket she had brought with her. ‘I thought we would try some more sewing today.’

  Catherine nodded, her thoughts returning to the brash James Douglas.

  ‘And where are you, Catherine, for I see you are not here listening to me?’

  ‘Sorry, I was thinking – well, wondering …’

  ‘About that scoundrel Douglas? Yes?’ Lady Dunbar laughed. ‘If I tell you what I know will you promise to concentrate on these stitches?’

  ‘Of course,’ Catherine agreed, amused by Black Agnes’ playfulness.

  ‘James has an older sister. Some would say a rather unattractive lass, whom he has been attempting to marry off for as long as I can remember.’

  ‘Oh dear.’ Catherine winced. ‘The poor girl.’

  ‘Yes, well, he claims that Lord Wexford had been courting Morag and made certain promises.’

  Catherine gasped. ‘What kind of promises?’

  ‘Now, now, lass. I doubt there is any truth in the matter. James has a habit of accusing any man whom he believes may have visited his sister.’

  ‘I see, well, in that case …’

  ‘I wouldn’t worry, I am sure Lord Wexford will sort it.’

  Simon returned to their solar later that afternoon. He was bone tired. Battling adversaries with a sword was far preferable to the political jousting he was being forced to endure. But he had to know. How many of the Scottish lords were assisting David with the alleged ransom and how much were they paying? Without the facts he would not be able to get to the truth of the matter. And he had to be completely sure before he returned to Robert Stewart.

  Lady Dunbar excused herself upon his arrival. He smiled warmly at her as she tucked the embroidery thread and needles into her basket. The assistance and friendship she offered his wife was invaluable.

  Catherine waited until the older woman left then wrapped her arms around him and kissed his cheek. ‘You smell like horse dung.’

  ‘What a lovely way to welcome your husband.’


  ‘Did you spend your day out riding?’

  ‘No, unfortunately. I was forced to meet with several Earls today,’ he winked, ‘in the stables.’

  Catherine wrinkled her nose. ‘Lady Dunbar has provided me with a companion. Her name is Tiphanie.’

  ‘Good,’ replied Simon, distractedly. His attention was elsewhere as Catherine prattled on, earlier matters weighing upon him heavily.

  ‘Lady Dunbar told me about your visits to Morag.’

  ‘Who?’ he asked, sure he had missed some important part of Catherine’s news.

  ‘Lady Douglas.’ Catherine took the seat closest to the fire and retrieved the pillow that had slipped to the floor. ‘You are not listening to me.’

  Simon grimaced, unable to follow his wife’s conversation.

  ‘James Douglas’ sister!’

  ‘I am sure I do not know who you mean.’

  ‘The woman James said you were meant to marry,’ Catherine berated. ‘Though I cannot believe any man would be expected to do so simply because he had visited her!’

  ‘What?’ Simon hollered.

  ‘Lady Dunbar said—’

  ‘That I had previously been enjoying the company of Morag Douglas?’

  ‘She claimed this was the reason James was displeased to see you.’

  Simon slapped his thigh and roared with laughter.

  ‘Should I return later?’ asked Roderick as he pushed open the door.

  ‘No, please brother, this you must hear.’

  Simon’s mirth was infectious and Roderick grinned as he sat down beside Catherine.

  ‘Lady Dunbar has informed my wife that I have broken a marriage troth with Morag Douglas.’

  ‘That old cow,’ Roderick howled.

  ‘Roderick!’ Catherine playfully tapped her brother-by-marriage on the knee. ‘That is not a kind thing to say.’

  ‘On the contrary, I think I was being most generous.’ Roderick laughed. ‘James Douglas is perpetually sour and not fond of your husband simply because James is unable to beat him at dice, or any other game for that matter. And, from what I am told, he needs the coin.’

  ‘A general complaint promulgated by many.’ Simon filled three tankards with mead and joined his wife and brother by the fire. ‘There are few who wish to reveal the truth of their worth. To be seen with a heavy purse can be interpreted in so many different ways.’

  ‘What do you mean, Simon?’

  ‘I spoke to several of the clan chiefs today and all claim they are providing David with large sums of money.’

  ‘A good reason not to flaunt one’s wealth, else it be gobbled up by your king.’ Roderick scratched his brow in thought. ‘What I don’t understand is why they haven’t figured it out? Don’t they talk amongst themselves?’

  ‘Like any court, it is split down the middle. There is as much support for David as there is for Robert. The trick is knowing who is on whose side!’

  ‘Where does your die fall brother? David or Robert?’

  Simon had been thinking of nothing else for days. Robert appeared to have the most to lose and he had taken a risk by approaching Simon. But Roderick was right. Robert knew more than he had revealed. David, on the other hand, had the power, the means to destroy everything Simon held dear.

  ‘What does Robert truly desire?’ Simon asked.

  ‘The throne,’ Roderick answered. ‘So perhaps he would like his uncle to suffer an untimely death?’

  ‘When I spoke with David this morning he seemed more concerned with his wife’s health than the matter of the ransom.’

  ‘He may still love her,’ Catherine suggested.

  ‘Or perhaps David would like to see Joan of the Tower suffer an untimely death!’

  ‘Roderick!’ Catherine shrieked.

  ‘If Joan dies and David remarries, he might produce an heir,’ Roderick suggested. ‘Reason enough to want your first marriage to end quickly.’

  Simon cast his mind back to David and the conversation they had shared. If only we could read our stars and those of our children, then we would have no need to worry. ‘I believe I am beginning to see through this deception.’

  ‘Then please share, brother, for I am mightily confused.’

  ‘It appears that Edward is more concerned about David siring a child than whether or not he receives payment towards the outstanding ransom. This can only mean one thing,’ Simon explained. ‘David has signed Scotland over to Edward!’

  ‘Surely you jest?’ Roderick declared.

  ‘No, it has to be. That’s why he wanted to know if I had visited London and had news of Joan and why Edward is doing everything he can to keep his sister alive.’

  ‘So that David can’t remarry,’ Catherine concluded.

  ‘And David keeps up the pretence by collecting the ransoms but instead benefits from the proceeds.’ Simon gulped down the remainder of his ale, but it did nothing to relieve his constricted throat. ‘We must tread carefully.’

  ‘If such an agreement were to exist, I am assuming it would become void should David produce an heir?’ Roderick questioned.

  ‘His last lover was killed. Lady Dunbar is terrified for young Agnes!’ Catherine paled. ‘What are we to do?’

  ‘I will write to Gillet. He may have a contact or be able to enquire within the French court for surely such an agreement of this magnitude would not remain secret for long,’ Simon whispered. ‘And in the meantime I will decide if any of this should be shared with Robert Stewart.’

  Catherine retired early even though the long evenings were making it difficult for her to find sleep. She pulled the woollen plaid up over her head to try and block the light, but the fibres irritated her face and tickled her nose. She longed to nestle up against Simon, but he had rejected her clumsy attempt to entice him to bed, claiming instead that he needed to continue to foster the friendship of several Scottish earls, so he had accompanied Roderick to a game of dice.

  Catherine ran her hand over her protruding abdomen and closed her eyes. She tried to imagine the face of her unborn child, but she kept picturing Gabby’s chubby cheeks.

  At some point she fell into a fitful sleep, but something was wrong. She was hot and confused. At first she thought she was on the moor, mist swirling about her, but it became apparent that it was smoke and the heat was flame, shooting up from beneath her feet. She desperately wanted to run, but was rooted to the spot, unable to move. She was holding something, a sack or blanket. Then the image cleared and it became a baby wrapped in a linen shroud. She gathered it towards her, wanting to protect it from the danger, but as she did so the sheet fell open to reveal a blackened, disfigured face.

  Catherine screamed and sat upright, her heart racing. Simon was instantly awake. ‘What’s wrong? Are you unwell?’

  ‘I … I had a nightmare.’ Catherine sobbed. ‘I took fright; I am sorry, Simon. I feel so silly.’

  Simon wrapped her within his embrace and they lay together under the covers. ‘Do you want to talk about it?’

  ‘No.’ She hiccupped several times. ‘It was nothing, just silliness. I am sorry I woke you.’

  ‘I’m not sorry,’ he replied, cradling her gently. ‘Shall I rub your back?’

  Catherine sighed as his hands slid under her chemise.

  Saint Margaret’s Chapel was tiny compared to the Holy Sepulchre in Cambridge. As a boy Simon had explored the many alcoves of the old Temple Church and had watched it being transformed by the addition of a north aisle. The memory of his father, berating the master mason, returned him to his childhood. Simon was surprised by the clarity of the image and even though fifteen years had passed, his grief remained raw and painful.

  ‘Wexford, are you alone?’

  Simon stepped from the shadows.

  Robert Stewart closed the heavy timber door and slid home the bolt. ‘I wouldn’t want us to be disturbed.’

  ‘No, it would be difficult to explain.’

  The Scottish earl made his way to the front of the chapel and sat do
wn on a wooden bench. ‘I was not expecting such a prompt response.’

  ‘I thought it best to inform you of what I have discovered at your earliest convenience but, to be frank, I do not believe I will be revealing anything that you don’t already know.’ Simon stepped away from the wall. He wanted to keep eye contact with Robert. He had to see the effect his news had on the Scotsman.

  ‘Go on then, tell me what you will.’

  ‘I am beginning to suspect that the agreement between David and Edward was never about the ransom.’ Simon paused. ‘I think your king has agreed that Scotland’s next heir will have English blood running through his veins.’

  Robert shifted uncomfortably in his seat. It was not the reaction Simon was expecting.

  ‘You already knew of this?’

  ‘You are an astute man, Wexford.’

  ‘Then what need do you have of me?’

  ‘Had you been spying for Edward you would never reveal such a suspicion.’ Robert rose and placed his hand on Simon’s shoulder. ‘David is fickle. His love for his country is as lacking as that for his wife. He will lay with any dog so long as it fulfils his needs.’

  Robert turned towards the glazed window behind the altar, the morning light highlighting the lines of worry that crisscrossed his face. ‘Failing to raise the funds for David’s release was the best protection I could offer my countrymen. I never believed he would sign away his birth right.’

  ‘Are you sure he has done so?’

  Robert frowned. ‘Do you honestly think I would risk so much if I thought otherwise? I doubt you trust me anymore than I, you, but I can assure you, Wexford, should we be discovered, our heads will be adorning the gate by this time tomorrow.’

  Simon ran his hand through his hair. What had he walked into?

  ‘I have been told of a document,’ said Robert quietly, ‘signed by both Edward and David, stating that should David die childless his heir presumptive will be John of Gaunt.’

  Simon gasped in disbelief.

  ‘’Tis true.’ Robert’s shook his fist with force. ‘I should be king. I am the rightful heir to the throne, not some English pig. Regardless of what you may think of me, I am the grandson of Robert the Bruce!’