‘May I remind you all that this is a house of God?’ the abbot said sharply. ‘And the Countess of Dunbar is right. This man is a herald, and protected.’
Carrick twisted, trying to get free, but Douglas held him still. ‘Enough,’ said the king, rising to his feet. ‘Father abbot is right. My lord of Carrick, you will stand fast. Release him, Douglas.’
The king turned back to Merrivale. ‘I like you,’ he said. ‘You amuse me, and I had not expected that. I like things that are unexpected. Therefore, I shall give you a hearing. I shall take council with my advisors, and tomorrow morning we will meet before the Michaelmas feast. And of course, you shall be our guest at the feast.’
Merrivale bowed. ‘Your Grace is wise and just,’ he said. ‘I look forward to continuing our discussions.’
‘Lodgings have been prepared for you,’ said the king. ‘Go to them now and remain there. When the time comes, we will summon you.’
16
Jedburgh, 28th of September, 1346
Night
Kinross escorted the herald to the pavilion that had been set aside for his use, a plain canvas tent in the abbey park not far from the river. Peter, Mauro and Warin were already there along with Heron and his men. After a brief discussion Heron and Kinross posted their guards in pairs, one Englishman and one Scot. ‘Thank you,’ said Merrivale. ‘That should make Sir Roger’s men feel much safer. As we have seen, feelings are running high.’
Kinross looked around to see if Heron was within earshot. ‘This is for your safety, not Sir Roger’s,’ he said. ‘I’m not sure who is the greater danger to you, herald. Friend or foe.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I recognise two of Heron’s men, Nickson and Croser. Did you know they are renegade Scots?’
‘Yes. I understand Nickson killed a man in a feud with another clan.’
‘Like hell he did. He killed his own brother because he wanted his brother’s wife. Croser has killed at least three men because someone paid him to, but he also murdered a monk from Kelso who owed him threepence. Because these two are part of your escort, they have the same protection as you do. Believe me, if they didn’t, I would hale them out and hang them in the morning.’
‘There are plenty of violent men on the borders,’ Merrivale said. ‘What makes you think these two might be a threat to me?’
‘I’ll answer a question with a question. Who picked your escort?’
‘Rokeby selected the men. Sir Roger asked for these two as scouts.’
‘And why did he choose these two cut-throats in particular? You might want to ask him.’
The herald regarded him. ‘I thought you seemed friendly with him.’
‘I know him well, especially since he became deputy keeper last year. That doesn’t mean I trust him, or any Englishman. Come to that, I don’t trust most Scots, either.’
Merrivale nodded. ‘May I ask a question? Why does the Earl of Moray hate Countess Agnes so much?’
‘Ah, you don’t know the story. Moray was captured by your lot about ten years ago. When Lord Salisbury was laying siege to Dunbar, he sent for Moray and led him out in front of the castle walls with a rope around his neck, threatening to execute him unless Lady Agnes surrendered. She told Salisbury to go ahead and hang him; if he died, his lands and title would all come to her. Salisbury backed down, but my lord of Moray has never forgiven his sister.’
‘And so, when she opposed Brus and his friends, Moray joined them to spite her.’
‘Something like that.’ Kinross nodded. ‘I wish you a pleasant evening, herald.’
* * *
Food was brought from the royal kitchen, roast venison and quails in honey, a fish pie, stuffed eggs and an apple tart, along with a jug of wine. The kitchen servants who brought the food insisted on tasting it to show it was safe, which made Merrivale uncomfortable. Mauro and Warin helped themselves and withdrew, and Merrivale sat down to eat with Peter. The boy had quick ears; he had already heard what happened at the church. ‘Do you think the Scots will make peace, sir?’
‘I very much doubt it,’ Merrivale said. ‘If there is a chance, of course, we must grasp at it. But David was right. Having made such elaborate preparations for war, why should they lay down their arms?’
Wiping his fingers, Peter considered the question. ‘They have the upper hand, therefore there is no reason for them to make peace.’
‘Exactly. The secret to diplomacy is making the opposition want something they do not already have. To do so, that other thing has to be in your gift. At the moment, I have nothing to offer. I am going into these talks empty-handed, which is the worst possible position.’
‘But at least they have agreed to talk,’ said Peter.
‘Yes. But I suspect that is David’s whim. And perhaps…’ Merrivale paused for a moment, considering. ‘And perhaps Brus’s hold over David is not as secure as we imagined it to be,’ he said. ‘Perhaps this is David’s way of showing Brus and his friends that he can make decisions for himself. I wonder if something can be made of that.’
‘Well, if there is,’ Peter said confidently, ‘I am sure you will find a way, sir.’
Few things irritated Merrivale, but flattery was one of them. He opened his mouth to say so, and stopped when Mauro came into the pavilion. ‘Pardon me, señor. A lady wishes to speak to you.’
Merrivale was surprised. ‘A lady? The countess?’
‘No, señor. Another lady. She is alone.’
He knew who it was, then, and the sick feeling came back to his stomach. ‘Show her in,’ he said abruptly. ‘Peter, leave us, if you please. Make sure we are not overheard.’
‘Yes, sir,’ the boy said, wide-eyed. He departed and Merrivale stood, hands clenched behind his back, facing the door.
She looked older than he remembered; but of course, so did he. There were lines at the corners of her eyes, and her mouth, imperfections in that once flawless face. Her eyes, which had once been so bright with hope, were full of shadow now, a deep-grained sadness drawn like a veil across her soul. The incandescence of youth had faded from her face; and yet, to his eyes, she had never been more beautiful.
‘Simon,’ she said softly, holding out her hands.
Merrivale did not move, and after a moment her hands fell slowly to her sides. ‘What are you doing here?’ he asked.
‘Here in this pavilion? Or here in Scotland?’
‘An answer to either would be helpful.’
‘Guy has lands in Scotland. He has come to support the king.’
‘Guy? Of course, you call him Guy. Why not?’
‘He is my husband, Simon.’
‘You cannot expect me to recognise that fact, or accept it.’
‘Simon, please.’ There were tears in the corners of her eyes, and he bowed his head.
‘I am sorry. Please go on.’
‘Guy is lord of Hamilton in Scotland, as you may know. You must also know that his brother, the Count of Flanders, was killed last month at Crécy.’
‘Yes. I watched it happen.’
‘He is eager to avenge his brother. He gathered some of his retinue and came to Scotland, where he joined forces with an old friend, the Seigneur de Brus.’
‘So, Guy is here, and you decided to come with him, presumably because the autumn weather in Scotland is always so fine. Why did you come here tonight?’
The tears welled again. ‘Because I had to see you again,’ she said. ‘I could not bear the thought that you might hate me.’
‘Hate you?’ Merrivale stared at her. ‘No, I have never hated you. I have tried, desperately, to forget you.’
Her voice was low. ‘And have you succeeded?’
‘No.’
They faced each other in silence for a long time, her eyes wet. The oil lamp flickered a little in the draught from the door. ‘I loved you,’ Merrivale said finally.
‘I know.’ She smiled a little through the tears. ‘Do you still?’
‘I no longer know. It is
so hard to say, after everything… It might help if I understood what happened.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Please don’t pretend you don’t know what I am talking about. We were one being, one passion, one soul. We were ready to run together, to defy everyone, to spend our lives together.’ He raised his hands suddenly to his head. ‘We were ready to die together.’
‘I couldn’t,’ she said.
‘Couldn’t what?’
‘Couldn’t go with you. Couldn’t die with you.’
Premonition chilled him to the bone. ‘Why not?’
‘You’ve guessed, haven’t you? You were always so good at guessing.’ Tears fell down her face now, a silent waterfall on each cheek. ‘I was with child,’ she said.
The silence that followed seemed to go on forever. Merrivale lowered his hands, clenching his fists so hard that his nails bit painfully into the palm of his hand. ‘Mary, mother of God,’ he said finally. ‘What have I done to you, Yolande?’
‘It is good to hear my name on your lips again,’ she said, wiping her face. ‘You must not blame yourself. I took everything you offered and demanded more, and I was ready to see it through to the end. I was happy to put myself in danger for you, in order to defy my father. But I could not risk my unborn child.’
‘Of course not,’ he said softly. ‘Did you tell them? About us?’
‘No, but they knew anyway. And then my father ordered you to be killed. I married Guy at my father’s command, and I bore my son. For a long time, for many years, I thought you were dead. I gave up mourning for you and tried to make a new life.’
‘A son.’ Merrivale paused for a moment. ‘Is he well?’
‘Healthy and thriving. We did one thing well, at least.’
‘Oh, Christ,’ said Merrivale in sudden agony, and he reached for her hands but she drew back.
‘No,’ she said. ‘You were right. I am not sure I could bear your touch. The sight and sound of you are torture enough. I must go.’
‘I am… so desperately sorry.’
‘Do not be. The torment lies in my regret for what we lost, what might have been. I shall not see you again.’
‘Of course you will. We both have to be at this wretched feast tomorrow.’
‘I shall be diplomatically ill. I shall also ask my husband to send me back to Flanders. I do not want to know what happens to you.’ She shivered suddenly. ‘No. That last sentence is a lie. I shall always want to know.’
‘Is there any way,’ he asked, ‘any way at all that I can reach you? That I can at least write to you from time to time?’
She shook her head. ‘It is too dangerous,’ she said. ‘I don’t care what happens to me. But they might harm my son.’
‘Yes,’ he said quietly. ‘Of course. It was selfish of me to think of it… What is his name?’
‘Jean,’ she said. ‘After my father. It seemed a… politic name to give him.’
She turned and walked out of the tent. Slowly the herald sat down, resting his elbows on the edge of the table and staring at the lamp flame without seeing it.
She was the fire and the flame. She was the lily, and the rose.
Beauty, he said, if it please you
and this great joy should be mine,
that you give me your love,
I shall listen always to you and your call
and fulfil your every wish and desire.
You are my only lord and sovereign.
All others, I have abandoned for you.
Let me never part with you again.
This is the hope that burns in my heart.
He became aware of someone standing beside him; Mauro, looking anxiously down at him. ‘May I clear away the supper, señor?’
‘Please do.’ The smell of the food, the venison fat, the sickly sweet quails, was making him feel ill. Mauro began piling dishes onto a platter. ‘And there is a man to see you now, señor, a hospitaliero. Señor Kinross wants to know if you wish to see him.’
At first he thought Mauro was talking about a doctor, but then he realised his servant was referring to the Hospitallers, the Knights of Saint John. He stood up quickly, pushing Yolande out of his mind. ‘Show him in,’ he said.
The man who entered the chamber a moment later was the one he had seen in the church; tall, long-limbed, with dark hair and skin leathered from many years’ exposure to the sun. He wore a plain black cloak with a hood covering the robes of his order. ‘Forgive me for disturbing you at this late hour,’ he said. ‘My name is Brother Alexander Seton, and I am the preceptor of the Order of Saint John in Scotland.’
Merrivale bowed. ‘How may I serve you, brother?’
‘I shall have to explain my own presence first.’ Seton glanced at the wine jug, which Mauro had left behind, and Merrivale poured two glasses. He took his own unwatered, needing to scrape off the ragged edges of his nerves.
‘As you may know, when the Scottish wars began, the Order in Scotland foolishly became involved in secular politics,’ Seton said. ‘They supported Edward of England, your king’s grandfather, against the Scottish faction led by Robert Bruce. When Bruce triumphed, the Scottish members of our Order fled to England or took service in the Levant. Bruce allowed his supporters to take over most of the Order’s lands in Scotland.’
‘Those lands would have been extensive,’ said Merrivale.
Seton sipped his wine. ‘Very. As well as our own estates, we were given custody of all the lands of the Knights Templar after their suppression. We are, or were, a power in the land.’
Merrivale tried to work out where this was going. ‘Did the Order not try to recover its lands?’
‘Not at first, no. We were too busy establishing ourselves in our new home on Rhodes. But a few years ago, the grand master summoned me and gave me a commission to return to Scotland and begin recovering our property. I have fought a number of court cases, and I am pleased to say I have won most of them. However, more recently I have run into an obstacle.’
The herald waited. ‘The cases I won were small ones against local landowners,’ Seton said. ‘A house here, a messuage there. Now I am up against more powerful men, magnates who have deeper pockets and so can afford to buy better lawyers and more competent forgers of documents. One of them is the Lord of Hamilton, who is also the Count of Béthune.’
‘Go on,’ Merrivale said.
‘Last week, while I was in the midst of presenting a case against Béthune and his family for wrongful seizure and occupation of our estates, he sold his entire claim to the Seigneur de Brus. I have since learned that Brus has bought the title to more than two dozen other manors that once belonged to us, some of them very large and wealthy.’
‘He is building an estate for himself in Scotland,’ Merrivale said. ‘Why?’
‘I was hoping you might know the answer.’ Seton finished his wine and set the cup down. ‘I have a bargain for you,’ he said. ‘I believe you have information that will be useful to us, and I am fairly certain I know things that will be helpful to you. Shall we exchange?’
The secret to diplomacy is making the opposition want something they don’t already have. It was difficult to tell how much Seton knew about the herald’s mission, or even indeed whether Seton was telling the truth; as usual, there was only one way to find out. ‘You go first,’ said Merrivale.
‘Earlier this year I received a letter from my grand master, informing me that the high council of the Order had grave doubts about the loyalty of Jean de Nanteuil, the Grand Prior of France. I was instructed to look into the matter, but before I could do so, Nanteuil was killed. As you of course know, Sir Edward de Tracey, who had recently joined the Order, died along with him.’
Merrivale nodded. ‘Here is the thing that interests me,’ said Seton. ‘And I think it will interest you too, Sir Herald. When Sir Gilbert de Tracey, Sir Edward’s brother, decided to wind up his business and withdraw from the world, pressure was put on him to join the Order too.’
Ther
e was a moment of silence. ‘From where did this pressure come?’ the herald asked. ‘Inside the Order?’
‘No, from the English court. I am told the suggestion came from one of King Edward’s councillors, who urged the chancellor to take up the matter with our prior in London. The prior, needless to say, would have been quite happy to receive Sir Gilbert, and his money, but Sir Gilbert chose another path.’
The hair on Merrivale’s neck was standing up again, for a different reason. ‘Do you know which councillor?’
‘No. I don’t think my informants knew either. The suggestion was made anonymously. But it definitely came from the king’s inner circle.’
Christ, thought Merrivale. If Seton was right – if he was telling the truth – the conspiracy was still very much alive. The man from the north was rebuilding his scheme with new allies. ‘What do you want to know?’ he asked.
‘Whether this affair has anything to do with Scotland,’ said Seton.
‘Yes,’ Merrivale said quietly. ‘It does. Nanteuil and Tracey were part of a wide-ranging conspiracy spanning half of Europe, to overthrow established kingdoms and create a new order. From what you have said, I suspect someone within your own Order is also working with the conspirators. Rollond de Brus was, and I believe still is, one of this group.’
‘What do you think he intends to do?’
‘I don’t yet know. At the moment, it is clear that he intends to cause as much havoc and chaos in England as he can. But from what you have said, it seems he also wants to establish himself as a power in Scotland, and that is a concern. Can you stop him from taking control of your lands?’
‘I am trying,’ Seton said. ‘I came to plead my case with the king. He has told me to continue through the courts, but no judge will hear a case against Brus. They are too afraid of him. Meanwhile, rumours are spreading that I, like my predecessors, am in league with England.’ He spread his hands. ‘I have no interest in secular politics. The Order has one aim only, to return Jerusalem to Christian hands. But that does not stop the whispering in the corners.’
A Clash of Lions Page 18