Nigel Tranter - The Courtesan

'The King? Rebellion? Not… not Huntly?' Marie gasped.

'Huntly…? No. How should it be? It was Bothwell. He struck yesterday. On Christmas Day. At Holyroodhouse. With many men. They came at darkening. Wild mosstroopers and broken men. How many I do not know – but they swarmed like rats over the palace. We were all at the Queen's revels, in the banqueting hall. Save James. And Maitland. James had gone back to his books and papers, tiring of the Danish play. The Guard was keeping Yule in my lord of Orkney's quarters. Mar, the new Captain, was with the Queen. As was I. We found ourselves to be locked in the banqueting hall, with Bothwell's bullyrooks guarding the doors. I won out through a window, to reach the Guard. But they were for the most part drunken, or… or…'

'Aye – we know how it would be!' That was Davy, briefly, as the other paused, partly for breath. 'What of the King?' 'Aye – what of the King, Vicky?'

'He was locked in his room. In his own tower. The guards on the stairs had the wit to lock the great double doors at the foot of the tower, when they heard the din and clash. They shouted to the guard on Maitland's tower, across the court, to do the same. Bothwell had not considered that – or else his men were slow. No doubt he thought to find James with the Queen and the rest at the revels in the hall. The great doors held. One is a yett of iron. So they could not get at James. So little a thing saved the King.'

'Saved the King…?' Marie echoed, appalled. 'But, what would Bothwell have done, Vicky? What was his purpose? You do not think that he would have harmed the King? Done him a hurt?'

'I do not know. Some said that he would have slain him. In revenge for imprisoning him, and naming him devilpossessed. All know that Bothwell is half-crazed…!'

'Nonsense!' Patrick intervened. 'Whoever so said is equally crazed. How would it serve Bothwell to kill the King? He would turn all against him. It is but the old game. He who holds the King holds the power.'

'He may have thought to make himself king in James's place,' Ludovick claimed. 'He is of the royal house. Closer than am I, save for the illegitimacy…'

'But that is all-important. And others are closer still, but with the same taint. Marie's father. Moray. No, no – he would but hold the King. Get rid of Maitland and the others. Be assured of that.'

'James feared for his life, nevertheless. Still does.'

'James always does that! Bothwell is not so great a fool. He would have all against him if he slew the King. Including Elizabeth, who presently aids him. But… how stands the position now, Vicky? How do they, now?'

'James is in Edinburgh Castle, safe. Bothwell's Borderers could not gain entry to his tower. I roused such of the Guard as I might. There was much fighting.' Ludovick flushed slighdy, stumbling over his words. 'I… I killed a man! It was him or me. He had a whinger. Swording. He near had me. I could not get my sword out of him. It was fast held. He had a black beard. Blood running down it… ' His voice tailed away.

'Vicky!' Mary came to his side, to hold his arm. 'Dear Vicky -1 am sorry!'

With an obvious effort die young man recovered himself. 'They were too many. We could not hold them,' he went on, jerkily. 'We were driven back. I got away. Took one of their horses. I won past their picquets. Into the town. I went to the Tolbooth. Roused them there. Had the bells rung – to summon the lieges. To bring out the Blue Blanket. Turned out the Town Guard. We had the church bells ringing. The burghers took long about it – but the apprentices rallied quickly. With them, and the Town Guard, I went back to the palace. And with some lords lodging in the town. Four score of us, perhaps – or a hundred. At first we could do little, against Bothwell's men who held the gates. But when the burghers and the crafts came, with their Blue Blanket, to save the King – then they could not hold us. They came in thousands – half the town. Shouting for the King. We forced the gates. The mosstroopers could not stand against so many. They fled. But I heard Bothwell shouting that he would be back. That he would burn the city, and hang the provost and bailies. So the provost hanged eight of the Borderers that they had caught. In front of the palace. As a warning…'

Panting, the Duke took the glass of wine that Mary was holding out to him, and gulped it down unsteadily. His features, under the grime of long and hard riding, were lined with weariness.

'You would seem, Vicky, to have been most… adequate,' Patrick murmured. 'Quite the paladin! And Bothwell notably ineffective. A bungler. So the town mob saved James, did it? I had scarce thought that he was so popular! Or is it just that they mislike Bothwell more?'

Lennox raised his brows. 'They but did their duty to their liege lord, as leal citizens, did they not?'

'Ah, yes. Of course, bless them!' The Master, though he spoke lightly, was clearly somewhat preoccupied, his mind not wholly on this exchange. 'And now the position is…?'

'The townsfolk carried James up to the Castle. He was in great alarm. He could scarce speak. I saw him safe bedded there. Then I took horse forthwith. To ride here. To tell you.'

'Vicky! You did not sleep first? You have not rested, since that evil fighting? You rode through the night? And all day…?' Mary was shocked.

'It was necessary. It is a long ride. I have worn out three horses. I had to come, Mary. All is confusion at Court. Bothwell is not far away. Only at Crichton, they say. Gathering more men. He can raise thousands, from the Border valleys and Lothian and the Merse. He said that he would be back. None knows what to do. James is safe for the nonce – but all the realm is endangered. I could think only of coming here, to you…'

'What of the Chancellor? My lord Maitland? Is not all in his capable hands?' Patrick wondered.

'He is a clerk, no more! As you know. He blames all, but does nothing. Save pray! He is at the Castle likewise, but helpless. None need him, anyway. Mar talks loud enough, but knows not what to do. You, Patrick, I thought… you always know what to do…'

'I am flattered by your faith and confidence, Vicky. We must see what can be done, yes.' The Master laughed. 'Heigho – is it not most fortunate, most convenient, that we have here at Broughty, by purest chance, the one man in this peculiar realm who can out-man Bothwell! In the circumstances, my lord of Huntly might be described as a God-send, might he not?'

'Huntly? He is… he is not here? At Broughty? Huntly himself…?' Ludovick stared.

'Huntly, yes – your own potent good-brother! He is indeed. He arrived but an hour ago. Did you not see his troop's horses thronging the courtyard? Huntly has honoured us at an auspicious moment, it seems.'

'But he is banished! In disgrace!'

'Whom the King has banished, he can unbamsh! Especially if the disgraced one can produce five thousand armed men to counter Bothwell's mosstroopers and rievers!' Patrick smiled, and patted the younger man's shoulder. 'Tomorrow I shall ride for Edinburgh – though in not quite such haste as you have ridden here, Vicky. I shall acquaint our liege lord of his great good fortune! All shall be well, for the best, never fear. I warrant that Jamie Stewart will fall upon my undeserving neck – and summon Huntly back to favour and the Court instanter!'

Mary Gray was considering Patrick long and thoughtfully. So much that had been unexplained now fitted neatly into place. She turned her head, to catch the grey eye of Lady Marie. Then she found David looking from one to the other of them. None spoke, nor required to speak.

Lennox, bewildered, ran a hand over his brow. 'I do not understand,' he faltered. 'This of Huntly…?'

'Never heed it, Vicky,' Mary advised. 'You are done -tired, hungry. Come with me.' She took him by the hand.