Nigel Tranter - The Courtesan

That last appeared to penetrate, and they let him past, if doubtfully.

With those flames as beacon, he rode on, down to the little headland. With a measure of relief he perceived as he drew close that it was not exactly the house itself that was burning -although it probably would be, very shortly. It was brushwood heaped high all around its stone walls that was blazing, and busy figures, black and devilish against the red, were running to and fro, adding fuel to the conflagration – pine-tree branches, hay from the nearby farm-steading, implements and furnishings from the farm itself, anything which would burn and smoke. The smoke, without a doubt, was as important as the flame. Moray was in process of being smoked out.

These stone towers, with iron-grilled outer doors, stone vaulted basements, and lower windows too small to admit a man, were all but impregnable, save to artillery. But smoke, skilfully applied, could render them untenable. The glass of lower windows, and especially of stairway arrow-slits, smashed, and fire applied judiciously, with fierce heat to cause a great updraught of air, and the tower became little less than a tall chimney for sucking up billowing clouds of smoke. None within would be able to endure it for long. Huntly no doubt was an expert on the subject.

Nevertheless, Ludovick knew some relief. At least, since they were still piling on fuel, Moray was presumably still untaken and safe, however uncomfortable. There might yet be time.

Above the crackling of the fire, Lennox began to distinguish the louder reports of spasmodic shooting. Then, against the glare, he perceived occasional brighter flashes from the topmost windows of the house, especially from the watch-chamber that surmounted the stair-tower. Moray was fighting back, then – no doubt trying to pick off the hurrying figures that were feeding the flames. Shots, too, came from various dark groups on the ground, scattered around the house, firing arquebuses, hackbuts and dags at the upper windows.

Throwing himself off his horse, Lennox hurried to the first of these groups. Somewhere nearby a woman was sobbing hysterically.

'Where is Huntly?' he demanded. 'My lord of Huntly -where is he?'

Only one man so much as deigned to glance at him. 'Who asks, cock-sparrow?'

'I am Lennox. The Duke. Chamberlain of this realm. I ask in the King's name.'

The other cleared his throat. 'Och, well. I'ph'mm. Yonder's himself, my lord. By the horses. There, at yonder tree…'

Ludovick ran forward. To windward of the blaze he could distinguish Huntly's tall and ponderous figure now, steel half-armour on top of the tartans which he had worn for hunting. He stood with some others just back from gunshot range of the house.

'George!' Lennox cried, panting a little. 'What… what folly is this? Have you taken leave of your wits?'

'Precious soul of Christ!' The big man whirled round. 'Vicky Lennox! How a God's name came you here?'

'Following you. From Barnbougle. In haste. Praying that I would be in time.'

'Eh…? Aye, you are in time, a plague on it! The fox is still holed up in his cairn! But we'll have him out soon, never fear. A curse on him!'

'No!' the younger man cried.*Not that, George. You must stop it…'

'Stop it? Are you crazy, Vicky? Who says so?' 'I do. Listen to me, George. You cannot do this. This evil thing… '

'Sink me – what brought you yapping at my heels, boy?' Huntly demanded frowning blackly. 'Has our Jamie changed his mind, then? So soon?'

'Yes! Yes – that is it.' Ludovick clutched at any straw. 'I have come from him. From the hunt. No harm is to come to Moray. No harm, d'you hear?'

'I hear pap-sucking and belly-wind!' the other snorted. 'Think you that I am a bairn like yourself? If James Stewart cannot remain of one mind for two minutes on end, Gordon can! Gordon will do what Gordon came to do!'

'No, George – you shall not! You are not in your North now. The King's rule runs here – not Gordon's!'

'Faugh!' Huntly hooted his opinion of the King's rule. 'Besides, I have your King's decree to take Moray. Here in my pouch. Signed with his own hand.'

To take. Not to harm. Not to burn, to shoot…'

'Think you not so?' The other grinned.

'No, I tell you! The King at least has come to his senses in this. You are not to do it.'

'If the fool resists the King's orders, he must take the consequences.'

'Not this. Not burning, slaying. Not murder. Moray is of the blood-royal. You cannot do it.'

'No? You watch me then, boy. Watch Gordon!'

'I say no! In the King's name. I am Chamberlain and High Admiral of this realm. I command that you call off your men. Douse those fires.' Ludovick's voice cracked a little as it rose.

'And I am Gordon – and no man commands in my presence! Nor do puppies bark! Out o' my way, loon – this is man's work, not laddie's!'

'I warn you, George – if harm befalls Moray…' 'Hold your fool tongue, boy!' the other snarled, and turned away.

Donibristle House seemed now to be a roaring inferno. How any survived, even in the topmost storey, was a mystery, for clouds of smoke were belching out of all the broken upper windows. Yet shots continued to be fired from some of the same windows.

An outbreak of shouting from round at the west side of the house, where the smoke was thickest, attracted attention. Soon one of his Highland swordsmen came running, to inform Huntly that two of the defenders had bolted from the tower by leaping out of a third-floor window on the roof of a range of outbuildings and so to the ground, under cover of the smoke blown to that side on the east wind. Both had been caught, however, and were now suitably dead. Apparently they were mere craven Lowland hirelings.

Huntly reacted swiftly. If two had done this, others might also. Moray himself, perhaps. They would scarce win out any other way, now. The place would repay watching. The Earl led his group of lairds thither. Lennox, ignored, followed on.

In the lee of the building, the heat and smoke was highly unpleasant. Soon they were all coughing, with eyes smarting and running, complaining that they could see little or nothing.

In the event it was their ears which warned them. The shooting from the tower seemed to have stopped. That could mean either that the remaining defenders had been overcome by the fumes, or that they might be seeking to make their escape.

'Watch you, now!' Huntly shouted to his minions. 'We'll have the tod out now, I vow!' He drew his broadsword with a grim flourish.

'George – put back that sword!' Lennox exclaimed tensely. 'For Henrietta's sake, if naught else.'

'Glenderry!' Huntly commanded. 'Keep you an eye on my lord Duke. I hold you responsible for him. I will have no interferences – you understand? Use what force you must, should he be foolish. See you to it.'

'I' faith, if your bullies lay hands on me, George, they shall suffer! And you also. I swear it!' Ludovick cried. 'I swear likewise, that if you harm Moray, in capturing him, you will pay a dear price…'

'Quiet, fool! Enough of your babe's puling. See to it, Glenderry…'

A volley of shouts interrupted him. Fingers, weapons, were pointing. Dimly to be distinguished in the swirling smoke, men had appeared on the outhouse roof. This was itself now ablaze. Even as they stared, part of it fell in with a crash and a shower of sparks – and one of the men with it. His screams shrilled high – and then ceased abruptly. There were still three left, four, crouching desperate figures, crawling on the steep flame-spouting roof.

From as near-by as they dared approach, watchers mocked them and skirled, swords ready.

In a window higher in the tower, a man appeared framed, a fearsome spectacle, ablaze from head to foot. Arms flailing wildly, he leapt out and down, for the roof a dozen feet below. Blinded, no doubt, by smoke and pain, he misjudged, struck only the edge of the guttering, and plunged another twenty feet to the ground, there to lie still. The impact extinguished some of his fire, but not all.