Nigel Tranter: Lord and Master

'We give you the opportunity to prove that you are no traitor, rather, Master Gray, Maitland said, but sourly. 'Less merciful and patient Ministers of the Crown might consider that since you were your brother's close confidant and secretary, you must be equally implicated with himself in his treasonable activities. You might well be in the next cell to the Master of Gray at this present; sir! You would do well to remember it,'

'If I am not. sir, it is not because of your love for me, I swear!' David returned. 'Rather, because you have no evidence which would condemn me – for I am as loyal to King James as I was to his gracious mother the Queen. As I have proved,'

'I rejoice to hear it In that case, you will tell us what steps your wretched brother intends in this pass – since it is inconceivable that he will not strive to save his neck, contrary to the King's decree.'

David looked steadily at his questioner, and said nothing.

Maitland frowned. 'Master Gray, I would remind you that we have the means to loose halting tongues in this castle I'

'No doubt, sir. But they would avail you nothing. For though I would not reveal my brother's plans to you if I could, the truth is, there are none. I bear no messages from him, am committed to no projects.'

'Think you that we shall believe that, fool!'

'Whether you believe it or no,it is the truth…'

That ended in a wheezing gasp, as David reeled back and would have Men had not the two men-at-arms held him upright, The officer had struck him hard full across the mouth with a gloved fist, at Stewart's nod.

Maitland went on primly, as though nothing whatsoever had occurred. 'We require the truth, Master Gray, and shall have it. Your brother is not one to accept his fate without lifting a hand, we have known that from the first, and have taken due precautions. He has already tried to bribe his guards. Your visit offered him his greatest opportunity. What would he have you to do?'

David licked the blood from his lips. 'I would not tell you – even if I knew.'

His head snapped back with a sickening jolt as the captain jabbed two vicious blows at him, to nose and eye, in swift succession.

'Yes, Master Gray? We are waiting.'

'Curse you…!' David, dizzy, reeling, yet struggled desperately with his captors, striving to free his arms. But the men-at-arms held them fast, indeed twisted them behind his back until the agony was excruciating. Even so, as the officer lunged forward again, David lashed out with his foot, to catch the man strongly below the knee-cap.

A hail of furious blows fell upon him, and the weight of his own body sagging against those twisted arms had him half swooning away.

Dimly, as though through a thick red mist, he heard Maitland's dry voice droning on.'… obstinacy is the attribute of a fool, Master Gray. I had not esteemed you that, ere this. Come, man – enough of this folly. What are your brother's wishes? To whom does he send you?'

Slowly David's swollen and bleeding lips moved, sought to form words, 'Do… your… worst,' he got out, at length, only just intelligibly. 'You… cannot… make me… speak. You cannot…'

He choked to silence then, as the edge of a hard hand slashed at the front of his neck, his adam's apple. The torment was exquisite. His throat filled with bile. Blind with pain and nausea, David was convulsively sick.

It was a little while before he realised that it was a new voice that was speaking through it all – presumably Sir William Stewart's voice.

'…that this is all we can do? That there is not the rack and the boot, the wheel and the thumbscrews? Och, we are well provided with such niceties here – my lord of Morton saw to that! You have a long way to go, fool, before we are finished with you!'

David sought to raise his splitting head. He did not know whether he achieved it or no, even whether the words which he so sorely formed were indeed enunciated. 'I'll… no'… speak,' he muttered. 'You've… got… the wrong… man!'

The hails of blows which followed that made but little difference.

For how long David Gray's tribulation lasted, he never knew. Looking back, it seemed an endless purgatory of searing pain. But at the time he was almost more obsessed, undoubtly, by a furious anger, an all-consuming rage of hatred at his persecutors, and an overwhelming ache of anguish, not for himself and his plight, but for his inability to hit back, the wicked injury to his pride in that he could not give as good as he got, The Gray in him undoubtedly was far from latent.

And presently there crept upon him a warm and grateful awareness that things were not quite as they had been, that blows were no longer really hurting him, that savage pain was ebbing, that nothing mattered so much. It was a good, an excellent feeling. A great and overpowering relief began to enfold him, and he embraced its warm drowsy comfort with all that remained of his reeling consciousness.

The final descent into blessed insensibility held no single ' lingering echo of hurt.

THE ascent to pain and tribulation was gradual, also. Reluctantly, indeed, David came to himself. He kept his eyes shut, in fact, deliberately, out of sheer shrinking unwillingness to accept the grievous burden of it all, for quite some time – until, indeed, he discovered that he could scarcely open them anyway. One eye was in fact completely closed up; out of the other, presently, he decided that he could see, after a fashion.

What he saw out of it took some time to register, for it had to compete with other and very pressing perceptions and impressions, mainly of multiple and comprehensive hurt, of dizziness, sickness, stiffness, and general physical misery. But at length his eye told him, with some insistence, that the people standing watching him not only were not belabouring him in any way, but were not so inclined, at all. They were, indeed,, small children.

This knowledge, when it sank into his bemused brain, aroused him. His mind suddenly began to function with a strange clarity, even while his aching body remained inert, anxious only to escape back into blessed oblivion.

He perceived that he was lying on the ground, out-of-doors. Moreover, he recognised that it was raining. He seemed to be in a narrow, confined place amongst damp stone walls – undoubtedly one of the wynds or closes that opened off the main city streets. And only the children watched him, and a small sniffing dog. He was no longer in the castle, then…

As David lay there, eyes closed again, seeking to understand this strange circumstance, his nose, though battered and very sore, kept transmitting to him a message of its own. At length he attended to it. Malt liquor – whisky – that is what it was. He stank of it Gingerly he opened his eye again. All the torn front of his doublet was soaking wet-indubitably with whisky.

Groaning involuntarily, David stirred, sought to raise himself, got to his knees, staggered to his feet, leaning against the wall for support.The children stepped back warily, but hooted their merriment Obviously he was thought to be drunk, very drunk indeed.

Testing his joints, his muscles, cautiously, painfully, the man decided that no bones were broken. He took a tentative step or two, clinging to the wall – and though he winced with the stounding hurt of it, he perceived that he could walk. The dog began to bark, loudly.

Feeling his way, hand never leaving the masonry, and with the children chanting in his wake, he began to edge along. A dark archway opened ahead of him – no doubt the pend from the wynd leading out on to the street. Through its echoing vault he limped, tottering.

At the other end he paused, breathing deeply, trying to focus his unco-ordinated sight. Even so, it did not take him long to recognise his whereabouts. He was in the Lawnmarket, not far from his own house – even on the same side of the street Thankfully, if with great care, he began to stagger up the cobblestones. The children and dog deserted rum.