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

‘My father paid for an altar in the Holy Trinity,’ she says, ‘but a pilgrimage, I cannot see it. Your father must be very pious.’

‘No, Papa is not the pious one.’ He laughs, then grows serious. ‘But why your father not give the altar to the great cathedral?’

‘Holy Trinity Kirk is for the townsfolk. The cathedral is only for high days and holy days.’

‘And it so beautiful, one of the finest I ever see.’

‘I know aught about that but Father says ’tis the biggest in Scotland and probably England too; but we fear there is some malevolent spirit at work within.’

He looks shocked. ‘You say it is a cursed place?’

She leans in close to whisper her answer. ‘Twice since it was completed the towers were blown down, and once it was greatly damaged by fire. They tell in the town it is a sign. There’s too much pride, too much vainglory and God is not pleased with the folly of our over-grand cathedral.’

She feels the fear low in her belly as she speaks. Mainard makes the sign of the cross to ward off evil, then takes her hand. She looks at the slim, dark hand with its fine long fingers resting on her bare skin; the hand of a rich man’s son, and wonders again why he’s truly in her town.

They are practising when she catches a movement out of the corner of her eye. It is Father upon his horse, about to pass through the Abbey port heading out of town, no doubt off to Pittenweem where he has recently bought a warehouse, saying if things continue as they are in St Andrews they may have to move there. She shrinks back against the high cathedral wall, pulling Mainard with her.

‘My father,’ she hisses.

‘I will speak with him,’

‘No!’ she grabs his sleeve. ‘Stay here.’

He shakes his head, but doesn’t move.

She peeps out from behind the buttress, hoping Father will be gone. But no, he’s beckoning a boy who’s loitering by the port. The boy seems reluctant but perks up after Father bends from the horse and passes him something. She is sure a coin has changed hands, for the boy sets off at speed.

‘Why you not let me go? You are ashamed he see you with me?’

‘No, I am not. But imagine it was your sister secretly meeting a man?’

He looks shocked.

‘I must go,’ she says, breathless as though she’s already run a race and lost.

‘I will say my papa to meet with your father,’ he calls as she runs off.

Mother is waiting when she gets home. ‘Your father has sent a message,’ she says as soon as Bethia enters the room. ‘You’re to stay indoors biding his return tomorrow.’

So he did see us, she thinks.

Mother waits but Bethia says nothing. ‘I hope you’ve brought no disgrace upon our house child. It’s difficult enough holding Father back as it is, especially since Will’s foolishness.’

She wonders what Mother’s talking about.

But it is for another reason she disobeys father’s instructions. Early the next morning Grissel slides into Bethia’s room and shakes her awake. Fortunately she’s sleeping alone as Mother has returned to the marital bed while it is empty.

‘A message come from Will,’ Grissel says softly. ‘You are to meet him now.’

Grissel helps her dress and then she’s off across the yard, clambering over the back dyke and creeping through vennels to find Will.

‘And Henry Tudor will send a relief force, mark my words,’ says Will. They are standing on battlements gazing at the cannons that Cardinal Beaton recently had installed, in case of attack from England.

‘Why would he, now you and all your great friends have done the deed and rid him of the Cardinal?’ The rising sun lights up Will’s countenance. Bethia sees a sheen of sweat upon his pale face.

‘You’re sick.’

‘It is nothing.’ He flaps her away. ‘Anywise, you’re wrong, help is coming. Norman Leslie will soon go to Henry’s court and then he’ll give us funds.’

She thinks Will is speaking to persuade himself as much as her. ‘Why did you want to see me… and why didn’t you come when I sent a message before? Did you get it? You know I waited and waited in the gardens, and it’s not safe.’

He shrugs.

‘Your fine friends were threatening me, me and Elspeth. Did they tell you that?’

‘Elspeth, what does she have to do with it?’

She knew he was sweet on Elspeth, she just knew it. ‘Elspeth was with me when they trapped us. If she hadn’t pulled a knife, it could’ve gone very ill.’ She decides not to mention the assistance Mainard rendered.

He smiles and she wants to slap him. All he can think on is Elspeth and her courage, not the danger his own sister was in, the danger he’s placing his whole family in. She feels like a dam is bursting inside her, and all her frustrations come pouring out.

‘Never mind Elspeth, what about me? What about Father and his business and John and even Mother? Do you not understand? We could lose everything if it’s known you are here. They will confiscate all that Father has for aiding rebels.’

She’s shouting in his face and he looks round, anxious not to be seen being scolded by a girl. She’s losing him, indeed never had his attention apart from mention of Elspeth.

‘Elspeth is to marry,’ she says bluntly. Let him stew on that.

His face grows paler. ‘Who’s she to marry? When?’

‘Her father is seeking a match with Norman Wardlaw, but it’s you we must take care of.’ She reaches up to touch his face, to call him to her, but he knocks her hand away.

‘Dinna come here again Bethia. I’ll not leave my fellows; we’re in this to the end, whatever may happen. Look around, they will not easily dislodge us.’

A crow circles above them, a black witch cawing. She looks out upon the courtyard, no doubt once well kept. It’s ankle deep in muck from rain, animal excreta and probably human too. A couple of rats are leaping across it.

She points to them. ‘If the stocks of food run low, you’ll not starve.’

Will rolls his eyes. ‘Don’t be so stupid.’

She shrugs. Even this high above, the stench scratches at the throat. Clearly they have no servants, or at least none willing to clean up. A man is capering over the muck trailing red satin and bowing low, his fellows chortling as he sweeps the cardinal’s hat from his head. She cannot imagine Cardinal Beaton, in all his grandeur, travelling with his own bed with its trap to let fresh air in, living amidst this stinking midden.

She wants to scream at Will for his foolishness but instead says, ‘you Castilians must take charge of cleaning this place, or else you’ll have pestilence among you.’

He tugs on his scraggly beard in a gesture reminiscent of Father.

‘You already have sickness, don’t you?’

‘Only a couple of our lads, it is nothing, something they ate.’

‘Well, I hope it wasn’t the fish I saw rotting in the stanks while I was waiting and waiting for you yon day in the gardens.’

‘Do ye think we’re fools?’ he shouts, but she can see from the way his eyes shift that she is not so wide of the mark.

He takes a breath and speaks quietly although his lips are drawn tight across his teeth. ‘We are low on supplies now we cannot move so freely around the countryside, but we expect some to arrive any day.’ He humphs. ‘And, anyway, you know I hate fish.’

She refuses to be distracted. ‘Oh Will, have the English been here? If Henry has sent a delegation, you’ll have caught something from them; they say the sweating sickness is bad in England this summer. Please come home and we’ll look after you.’

‘Enough Bethia!’ He pauses. ‘Come and meet the Regent’s son, he’s a good lad.’