Tam’s unexpected arrival took both men by surprise. They sprang apart guiltily then Alexander laughed.
‘Do you not recognise our steward Henderson, Tam? He is to be our knight in armour, watching over the king’s treasure,’ he added slyly.
Tam decided that he had never seen a less happy knight ready to guard anything. Henderson was shaking, the sword trembling in his hand.
‘Has the king now dined?’ asked Alexander.
Tam said yes and Alexander gave a nod of satisfaction. ‘Then all is in readiness. Come with us, Tam.’
Tam stood his ground firmly and shook his head. ‘First, tell me what all this is about.’
Alexander sighed. ‘Tam, you know full well what it is about. We talked about it last evening,’ he added wearily. ‘We are to spring a surprise on the king. He is expecting a man with a treasure, a casket containing certain items he has long yearned to possess. Instead he is to find a man in armour with a sword.’
And pausing dramatically, he laughed. ‘Imagine!’
Aware of the king’s horror of naked swords, how they were forbidden the court, Tam had no difficulty with that.
‘Imagine, Tam,’ Alexander repeated. ‘His gibbering terror. Then I will tell him that it was all a jape. We will witness his humiliation. Come.’
Tam was watching Henderson, shaking and fearful, his anguished expression showing that he had no liking for Alexander’s plan either
But was that all the fiery unstable young Master of Ruthven had in mind, thought Tam, remembering those earnest conversations he had witnessed from his window last night?
And Tam realised he was faced with a dilemma. The nightmare that he was to be unwillingly part of this plan and that all Alexander’s overtures of friendship had been leading up to this fatal moment.
Was it too late to try to dissuade him against this folly, this stupid dangerous game – if game was all – of making King James the Sixth of Scotland (who considered himself divine as God’s Anointed) a laughing-stock.
It did not take much imagination to foresee that such a plan could have terrible consequences for any and all involved.
‘Alexander, you must think again, I beg of you,’ Tam said. ‘I for one, will not be party to this mad scheme.’
But Alexander shook his head and set off, marching the reluctant Henderson ahead of him towards the Gallery Chamber. Helplessly Tam followed them, protests and pleadings falling on deaf ears.
Turning, Alexander smiled and took hold of his arm. Keeping his grip strong he wrenched aside the curtain hiding the door to the priest’s hole.
‘You are to hide in there, Tam. And watch carefully. You are to be our witness of the king’s humiliation. Go, Tam, as I bid you. I promise no harm shall come to you. It is but a game.’
Tam decided to humour him. If he made a fuss others might arrive on the scene and poor Henderson, armed with a sword, might well be the first to bear the brunt of the king’s personal interrogation under torture of the boot.
He had a plan and hoped it would work as he climbed the stair into the tiny space and looked down through the oblong of the laird’s eye into the Gallery Chamber.
It was empty. As he had expected there was no bound man with a pot of gold or a treasure casket waiting for King James.
Henderson, who had been thrust in by Alexander, was looking very agitated while being directed to the exact place where he was to stand at the ready, menacing the king, sword in hand.
‘Try to look the part of a dangerous man,’ said Alexander impatiently. ‘And for pity’s sake, hold the sword steady. You will not have long to wait. I will return directly with the king.’
Tam saw Alexander leave, heard the key turned in the lock on the unhappy Henderson. He could not release him as he had hoped. Sadly that part of his plan had failed. However, he would intercept Alexander and James with an urgent message, some excuse to prevent them entering the Gallery Chamber.
But would that be sufficient to avert Alexander’s mad scheme, this catastrophe in the making?
In the room below, Alexander stood behind the king’s chair and whispered that it was time to go to “that quiet room” but that he wished this to be kept secret from his brother, at present doing his duty by belatedly playing host to the neglected courtiers.
‘We would have Lennox and Mar accompany us,’ said the king. ‘Inform them, if you please.’
Alexander bowed. ‘Sir, it is of great import that Your Grace’s treasure be kept secret between us and neither the Earl my brother nor anyone else must know of the prisoner who awaits Your Grace’s interrogation.’
James arose and looked reluctantly towards Lennox, just out of earshot with John Ramsay, both of whom had been watching and were trying to appear casual, intrigued by the king’s conspiratorial whispering to Ruthven.
‘If it please Your Grace, command that none follow,’ Alexander pleaded.
James nodded and leaning on Alexander beckoned to Lennox and said, ‘We are to be private together – to discuss urgent matters of state.’
Lennox bowed while Ramsay gave Alexander a glance of jealous hatred. Visualising all his regained prestige and advantages slipping away, the nature of being private together left him in no doubt whatever of the king’s intentions toward Eildor.
As for Ruthven, had he not left the court in disgrace, rumour had it, for spurning the king’s advances? Had he now regretted that impulse and was in a more agreeable state of mind?
Tam heard their approaching footsteps, Alexander’s voice and the king’s ringing tones which echoed the length of the Gallery.
‘The treasure, lad. You shall receive our best love and trust for this day’s work.’
With his invented excuse, an urgent message for the king to return to Falkland, Tam ran down the tiny staircase and pushed the panel door.
It did not open. The voices drew nearer.
Again he tried. Again it remained firmly closed.
He was trapped.
Chapter Twenty-one
Tam thought quickly. What was he to do?
His struggle with the jammed panel had gone unheard, lost in the king’s excited voice and Alexander’s replies as he unlocked the door of the Gallery Chamber.
Tam considered shouting, calling for help but rejected that. By making a lot of noise he might bring about the very situation he dreaded. Danger for the innocent Henderson, dragged unwillingly into his master’s wild scheme. Even danger for the king himself.
As for Alexander, he would have to find his own way out of this once the king knew that he had been tricked. For Tam, it was now too late to intervene and he went back to the laird’s eye with its view of the Gallery Chamber and the door leading down the Black Turnpike stair, which he guessed had been locked by Alexander to prevent Henderson escaping.
Below him, Henderson was also in full view, quaking with fear as the king entered. As Alexander turned the key behind them, James stared at the armed man, dismayed at sight of naked steel and the absence of the casket he had expected to see.
Turning to Alexander, he whispered urgently, ‘The treasure you promised us, lad. Where is it?’
At that, Alexander went to the portrait and wrenched off the curtain and, snatching the dagger from Henderson, he turned to the king with a threatening countenance and demanded,
‘Whose face is that? Who murdered my father?’
Pointing with his other hand to the face in the portrait he advanced towards the king, pointing the dagger to his breast.
‘Is not thy conscience burdened by his innocent blood? And the blood of my grandfather? King you might be but you are the basest black-hearted villain at heart.’
Unable to avert what was no mere jape to humiliate the king, no kidnapping attempt and as the full extent of what lay ahead became apparent, Tam realised that he was to be witness to a royal murder.
He saw James armed with only with his hunting horn standing between two traitors. One, a stranger to him, Ruthven’s servant, trembling ins
ide his armour. But the king’s astonishment was for Alexander’s changed attitude, his betrayal.
Staring unbelievingly at the dagger pointed at his breast, he said in a voice remarkably calm considering the dangerous situation,
‘Alexander, we were but a minor, when your grandfather the Earl of Gowrie was executed. We were guided by a faction who overruled us and the rest of our realm. What was done was done by the ordinary course of law.’
Alexander laughed mockingly at this as the king continued,
‘If you take our life, you shall not be King of Scotland for we have sons and daughters – ’
‘It is neither your life nor your blood I want,’ Alexander interrupted.
‘What is it then ye want, man, if ye do not want our life?’
Alexander shook his head and glanced towards Henderson, as if he did not wish to discuss this in front of him. ‘Only a promise,’ he muttered.
‘Aye – what promise would that be?’ As Alexander hesitated again looking at Henderson, James said, ‘Then go and fetch your brother.’
Alexander seemed reluctant to leave and Tam listened to James trying to appeal to his captor’s conscience by reminding him that he had restored the Ruthven lands and dignities after the executions of their father and grandfather. How two or three of his sisters were in attendance on his “dearest bedfellow, the queen”.
When James saw that this was making little impression, he reminded Alexander of his religion, of his education under Robert Rollock, Principal of Edinburgh University, from whom he had never learned such cruelty.
Alexander’s stubborn scowl turned him momentarily into a mutinous schoolboy as James said reproachfully, ‘We have loved thee like one of our own family.’ Pausing to let that take effect, he added as the final plea; ‘If ye spare our life and let us go, we will never reveal to any living flesh what has passed between us nor allow you to receive punishment for what was betwixt us at that time.’
This statement seemed to satisfy Alexander. ‘Sire, if you keep silent then nothing will ail you. I will fetch my brother and by making this same promise to him all will be well.’
At the door he said, ‘Sire, I will promise you your life, if you hold your tongue. Do not make any noise or open the window until I come back with my brother and him only.’
‘Ye have my word,’ said James.
Alexander nodded and turning to Henderson said, ‘I make you the King’s keeper and you keep him safe upon your own peril.’
As he went out and was locking the door behind him, Tam ran down the tiny staircase, rapped on the panel and called,
‘Alexander, I am locked in. The door has jammed. For God’s sake, let me out.’
Alexander either did not hear him or did not want to, for all he heard were his footsteps retreating across the gallery.
Tam looked round frantically. He considered trying to burst open the panel but decided that was too dangerous. The noise might startle the nervous Henderson into violent action. The king, thinking help was at hand, might even attempt to disarm him with disastrous results.
Voices from below had him rushing up the tiny staircase again.
James was asking Henderson if he meant to murder him.
Tam heard Henderson’s quavering reply, ‘Sire, I was forced into this room and locked in only a short while before Your Majesty arrived. As the Lord shall judge me I was never told of any purpose behind this and knew nothing of any conspiracy against Your Grace.’
Tam listened, his sense of inescapable nightmare growing. Small wonder Henderson was so distressed. He had obviously realised too late his terrible predicament and peril, an unwilling accomplice in a plot against the king’s life arranged by his masters in which he was to be the scapegoat.
‘Sire, I would shield you with my life,’ he pleaded.
‘Is it the Earl and the Master’s intention then to murder ourself?’ asked James, and Henderson’s heart sank to new depths. The king’s expression as he said the words indicated that he thought their servant was in the plot too.
‘Sire, if that is so, then I have never been privy to it,’ Henderson argued feebly. ‘And I shall die first,’ he added hoping to convey fierce and gallant loyalty.
James pointed to the turret. ‘Then open the window,’ he commanded.
Henderson went at once to the one facing the garden.
James said, ‘The other window, facing the street.’
As Henderson obeyed, Tam heard footsteps below and Alexander’s key in the lock. He entered the room alone.
Seeing the turret window open, he shouted to James,
‘By God, Sire, there is no remedy. You must die,’ and producing a cord attempted to catch both the king’s hands and tie them.
James struggled and tried to reach the open window shouting, ‘I was born a free King and shall die a free King.’
Tam waited no longer. Running down the staircase he hurled his full weight against the panel door. It did not move. He ran a few steps up the stairs to give some impetus and launched himself bodily, using his shoulder as a battering ram, against the panel.
There was a crack, and the agonising pain that stunned and sickened him was enough for Tam to know that his shoulder had also fractured in the onslaught.
But he was free and struggling out of the panel. He ran the few steps to the door of Gallery chamber. To be thwarted once again, for Alexander had locked it behind him.
Tam thumped the door with uninjured arm, shouting, ‘Let me in, Alexander. For God’s sake, let me in.’
No one listened or even heard him above the noise of raised voices – Alexander’s and the king’s – inside the room. Other sinister sounds, scufflings and the rasping of steel on steel.
‘Bind his hands – ’
‘Help! Treason!’ from the king.
And again from Alexander, ‘Are you not going to help, Henderson? You will get us all killed.’
There were more yells, sounds of swords clashing…
With no hope of getting into the room, Tam remembered the other entrance on the outside of the house by the Black Turnpike.
Praying that he could summon help on the way, he fled across the gallery and down the main staircase. But there was no one in evidence.
Looking through one of the windows, it appeared that the guests had all removed into the garden and were enjoying the sunshine of a perfect summer afternoon, completely unaware of the drama that was taking place a few yards away in the turret facing on to the street.
Tam blinked in disbelief. Could this nightmare be really happening? There were swans on the river beyond the garden. An idyllic scene with a glimpse of courtiers eating cherries.
Was it possible that in such a world, on such a day so tranquil and serene with birdsong and laughter drifting up to him, he had imagined the scene he had just left?
Rushing out of the main entrance he ran to the hedge and yelled at the courtiers to follow him, for unarmed he could do nothing. They turned startled faces in his direction, regarding him reproachfully and exchanging bemused glances with one another.
Had this servant gone stark raving mad? Some shook their heads and went back to picking cherries.
‘The king is in danger. Come, for God’s sake!’ Tam yelled, running up the turnpike stair.
The door was locked. From inside the Gallery Chamber. Hammering against it, he could hear sounds of fighting, scuffling, cries and groans as if the two were locked in mortal combat, Alexander’s voice screaming that James would die if he attempted to cry out of the open window.
‘Help! Help!’ the king’s strangled yell. ‘Treason! I am murdered. Help!’
And the men who had been eating cherries so peacefully a few moments earlier and had seen Tam disappear up the turnpike stair now caught a glimpse of the king. His face in great distress pushed through the window, while a hand was seen grasping his throat trying to pull him back.
Tam, shouting to Alexander to open the door, heard a key fall, and the fumble of it retrie
ved and turned.
A voice called to him to wait a moment. Not Alexander but presumably Henderson, still inside and trying to escape, to run for help.
As the door opened, there were footsteps on the stair behind him.
Heartened to think there was help on the way, he was pushed roughly aside as Ramsay, the king’s falcon on his wrist, rushed inside.
As Tam made to follow him, Henderson in his heavy armour emerged like a bat out of hell, cannoned into Tam and sent him spinning down the stairs. As he stumbled and fell, his injured shoulder striking hard against the stone wall, Henderson stepped over him, and disappeared down the stair.
Stunned and faint, with the agonising pain intensified, Tam stumbled through the open door.
To his surprise James had the situation well in hand. Alexander was on the ground, his head tucked firmly under the king’s arm.
James was shouting, ‘Kill him, Johnnie. Strike him low.’
Even as Tam entered, Ramsay struck at Alexander with his hunting knife. Disfigurement was more to the favourite’s taste and smiling, ignoring the king’s instructions, he dealt two vicious slashing blows across face and neck.
Watching the blood spurt Tam ran to Alexander as he fell. As Ramsay called for help from the open window of the turret, Tam tried to raise the fainting Alexander, taking his weight on his good arm.
Appalled by the brutality he had just witnessed, Tam realised that he must somehow get him down the turnpike and quickly find means to staunch the blood flowing from the terrible wounds on his face.
Before Tam had dragged the by now unconscious boy more than a few steps across the floor, they were beset by those who had heard the king’s cries and were rushing to the scene.
The Earl of Mar thrust Tam roughly and painfully aside, shouting; ‘He has murdered our king,’ and before Tam could do more than cry, ‘No!’ the Earl thrust a rapier into Alexander’s heart.
In his last breath Alexander turned to Tam and grasping his hand said, ‘I had no knowledge of this. I never intended to kill the king.’
His eyes glazed over. The gallant knight would never slay another dragon.
The Gowrie Conspiracy Page 20