V Masters - The Castilians - A Story of the Siege of St Andrews Castle

‘What do we do now?’ asks Elspeth.

They leave the cloud scudding sky and go up the hill, under cover of the pends. There are a few pilgrims coming through the abbey port, from the south. They walk, although many are likely to be wealthy, for it is part of the pilgrimage, and the penance, to walk at least some of the way. Even those coming from overseas by ship will have disembarked at Earlsferry or Garrbridge, some distance from St Andrews. She thinks of the wonder any pilgrim must feel when they first see her city’s tall spires; it’s right that St Andrews is called a second Rome.

The pilgrims walk slowly, long staffs in hand, the badges signifying their pilgrimage pinned to their caps. They are a large group, for it is the safest way to travel – she’s made donations in the past to help pilgrims who’ve been robbed.

Last in the group is a young man of a hue so rich brown, and bonny with it, she can’t help but stare at him. They pass close by, as the pilgrims head towards the cathedral, and the young man looks her full in the face and smiles. She ducks her head, unused to such frank appraisal. They both turn and watch the distance grow between them, until Elspeth gives her a sharp nudge in the ribs.

Grissel knows of another hostelry in a vennel by Mutties Wynd, where her uncle may be found. They enter the close cautiously, for the sun has finally dropped low in the sky and it is shadowy within the narrow confines.

There’s a burst of laughter from behind. A group of men have followed them in and are blocking their way out. The girls draw close together but the vennel ends abruptly with a high wall; they cannot easily escape. The men come nearer and the girls shrink against the wall, but the rough stone cannot protect, only entrap.

The men stop, cocky smiles spreading over their faces.

‘Well what have we here? Some wee lassies looking for a kiss,’ one says, and the other three roar with laughter.

‘Aye, but there’s only three o’ them. You’ll have to do without your kiss, Tam,’ says another, nudging the ring leader.

‘Och no, they’ll each give me a kiss. I’ve got enough spunk to take them all.’ He clutches at his groin and thrusts.

They move closer to the girls and Bethia feels Grissel beside her, shaking. She’s especially vulnerable, being clearly, by dress, a servant. Most men would have pause for thought before attacking her or Elspeth, but these men are from the castle, she realises, and they think the normal rules do not apply.

They are surrounding them now, jostling each other, showing off and waiting to see which among them will make the first move. She hopes it’s all bravado. There’s a fumbling next to her, and she looks down. Elspeth has a knife in her hand.

The men halt their advance. They too can see it, glinting in the falling light.

‘Our wee kitten has a claw,’ says the ring leader softly. ‘Let’s see if she kens how to use it.’

The solid bulk of Grissel slips away while all eyes are on Elspeth. The men close the circle; they reek of sweat and drink. The ring leader steps confidently forward, his sword still sheathed and hand outstretched, expecting Elspeth to give up the knife. He doesn’t know Elspeth. She waits until the hand is near upon her wrist then, quick as any sword-master she slashes, laying his arm open, and steps back. The man stares at the blood running down his arm and dripping onto the ground.

‘Run,’ Elspeth cries and flees back down the close, towards the light.

But Bethia doesn’t run. Suddenly she’s furious. ‘Vipers,’ she cries. ‘My brother is among you, a Castilian too. Shame on you to threaten defenceless girls. You’ll never get the town on side with such efforts. What are you about?’

The men retreat in front of her rage. It feels good.

‘Who is your brother?’ asks Tam, holding his arm aloft to stop the blood, his face a shining white in the dim light.

‘William, but he’s known as Will.’

‘There are many Williams in this world, even Wills.’

‘He is very tall.’

‘Ah, Will the Giant.’ He steps back and makes his obeisance and the others follow his courtly lead. She’s suddenly aware she’s standing ankle deep in a puddle. She lifts one foot at a time, feeling the mud suckering her to the earth.

‘A most doughty fellow. I did not know he has such a pretty sister. We shall take our leave and please accept our humble apologies for any distress we make have caused you, and your friend.’

She shakes her head. They turn to go. ‘Wait,’ she calls, ‘give my brother a message.’

They look at her, waiting.

‘Please,’ she says reluctantly.

‘We’re waiting for the message.’

‘Oh,’ she says, flustered. She draws herself up to her full height, which is not tall. ‘Tell him to meet me tomorrow in the castle gardens at first bell.’

Tam bows. ‘We will make sure he knows.’

She’s pleased, and she didn’t need Agnes after all. By the blessed Mary, Mother of Jesu, her brother will be waiting tomorrow. If she can persuade him to come home then Father won’t care that she disobeyed him.

There’s a flurry of activity at the entrance to the close and Elspeth, with Grissel alongside, comes rushing in with the young pilgrim following. Bethia’s heart lifts; they had not deserted her – they’d gone for help.

The pilgrim rushes to bar the exit, holding his staff lengthwise. The four men pause.

‘What’s this?’ says Tam. ‘Come laddie, you do not expect to take us all with yon stick.’

The pilgrim doesn’t move. The men step forward, the ring leader in the centre.

‘Take care, Tam,’ one says. ‘You already had a wee lassie lay your arm open, I’m no sure the saints are with you today.’

‘God’s blood, Dod, do you no ken we are no longer for the saints? It’s a Papist invention and not part of the true word of the Lord.’

‘Oh aye, right.’

‘Come on laddie, get out the way. We mean you no harm, nor any to the lassies,’ says Tam.

‘Yes,’ says Bethia. ‘Thank you kindly for your assistance, but they truly did me no harm.’

The pilgrim stands aside, turning to the girls, but as the men swagger past Dod gives him a whack across the back with the flat of his sword. He staggers, quickly regains his balance and, swinging around, wields his staff.

Dod is laid out on the ground, howling in pain. ‘My arm is broke, I swear that son of Satan broke my arm.’

Bethia’s mouth drops open. It was so fast she’s not even sure how the pilgrim did it.

Dod’s fellows gather round their fallen friend, while the pilgrim encourages the girls quickly away.

‘Laddie,’ Tam calls.

The young pilgrim turns.

‘That was neatly done. Perhaps you should join us, and give some lessons,’

‘I am thinking not.’ He ushers the girls out into the broad street.

‘Let me be escorting to your home,’ he says.

Elspeth and Grissel lead the way and Bethia walks shyly next to the pilgrim, wondering where he’s from – perhaps Amsterdam or maybe Antwerp. She’s aware they’re drawing curious glances from her neighbours. He’s around her age she guesses, almost as tall as her brother but even broader of shoulder. He walks with a loose-limbed confidence, as though he’s nothing to fear and no wonder when he can use his staff to such devastating effect.

He stays with them to her door and bows as he goes to leave.

‘Wait,’ she calls. ‘I do not know your name,’

‘Mainard, I am Mainard de Lange.’

‘Thank you kindly, Mainard de Lange.’

‘It is my pleasure.’ Again he turns to leave.

‘And Mainard…’

‘Yes my lady?’

‘Will you teach me how to use a staff?’

He laughs.