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

Will is relieved to hear it. He would not wish for a repeat of last summer’s behaviour when the garrison plucked what they could from his town.

‘In the meantime we are to send hostages as a pledge of good faith.’

‘Ah, I thought it all sounded too easy.’

‘That is what has taken so long to agree, for they have insisted that Kirkcaldy’s sons are among the hostages.’

Three boys, younger than Will, two of them indeed Kirkcaldy’s sons, leave the castle later that day. Will thinks, as he watches them go, that yet again he’s glad to be the son of a merchant and not worthy of anyone’s attention.

Soon there is a strange rumour running around the castle that Henry of England is seeking absolution from the Pope on the Castilians behalf.

‘How can that be?’ he asks Nydie. ‘Henry has denied the Pope and seized all his lands and wealth in England.’

Nydie shakes his head in shared disbelief, but then the tale changes.

‘’Tis now being said that Balnaves, far from asking King Henry to seek absolution, is requesting him to use his influence to block the absolution that Arran has sought,’ says Will.

They roll their eyes.

‘Here’s the latest on the absolution story,’ says Nydie leaping out in front of Will some days later.

Will shoves him on the shoulder and Nydie wrestles back.

‘What now?’ asks Will when they pause for breath.

‘Leslie has heard that the Dowager Queen asked the King of France to seek absolution but the Pope, in return, wants all the ecclesiastical dues unpaid since the Cardinal’s death to be given up.’

Will gives a snort of laughter but is relieved to know that the absolution may still be granted. ‘Do you think it’s true, will they give the funds up?’

Nydie grows serious, ‘Who knows if any or all of these tales of absolution are true.’ He shuffles his feet considering, and then looks up. ‘Regent Arran will not easily hand over funds to the Pope – for his family now control what was once Beaton’s rich livings. And why would he to save our souls, when we are his enemies?’

Will considers what Nydie has said. It all sounds worthy of that fellow Machiavelli advising his prince; a ruse, and excuse, for a truce and delay. On their side to give England more time to effect a rescue and on Arran’s side, simply to delay – for that is what it is said whiffle-whaffle Arran does best.

Shortly after Yule, the Leslies and Kirkcaldy of Grange return from London and are able to re-enter the castle under the flag of truce. They have each been granted a hundred merks and much reassurance about how Henry Tudor is their supporter. Balnaves has stayed at Henry’s court, and continues to press for military aid to break the siege once and for all. The English king has also written to Arran, insisting the Castilians must be given safe passage and freed, as his friends and well-wishers to the marriage of the infant Mary to his son Prince Edward. The Castilians are jubilant and dance an impromptu reel in the courtyard, kicking up the muck – which has grown worse again since Balnaves left – with their flying feet.

Will stands on the sidelines watching the celebrations. If Henry is our great friend, he thinks, why has he not broken the siege, and where is the promised relief force? If they had not killed the Cardinal, but held him prisoner, he still swears the English king would have sent an army for the joy of getting his hands on Beaton. He can feel the weight of despair heavy upon him once more, as though he’s trapped under a rockfall in the siege tunnel. He reminds himself that their work is God’s work, and the good Lord must be supporting them else they would not still be holding the castle. He rubs his forehead but it does not help; the sense of impending doom will not leave him.

‘What’s the matter with our pigeon-hearted bairn now? Little misery face, does nothing ever make you happy?’ says Peter Carmichael, jostling him.

He turns his head and looks down at Carmichael. He feels too weary to rise to the accusation that he’s a coward.

‘What did I ever do to you that you should so revile me?’

Carmichael sneers, ‘I have no time to bandy words with a scunnersome donkey penis.’

‘Then why speak?’

In response Carmichael shoves him, and he staggers into the revellers, who push him out of their way. Stumbling into the portico, he’s determined to hit Carmichael back and have this out once and for all – but Carmichael has disappeared. He heads up the stairs looking for him but, instead, finds Norman Leslie sitting by the fire, stroking his freshly trimmed beard . He goes to leave but Leslie lifts his head, turns his piercing eyes upon Will, and beckons him to come sit on a nearby stool.

‘Ach Seton, you’re a lad who doesn’t care for merriment, more of the taciturn nature.’

Will shrugs, embarrassed by the description, which he knows to be true.

‘Well, you’re no so daft. We may be jolly for now but who knows how it will end, and somehow I fear they’ll get us out, unless we get the town and surrounding country on side.’

‘Surely King Henry will eventually send troops?’

‘There are many obstacles to Henry Tudor taking direct action.’

Will shuffles on the low stool, stretching his legs out. ‘I would be most grateful if you could explain, for I am confused. When we were planning the attack on the castle, all were agreed that England would come to our aid.’ He hesitates, uncertain if he should share what he’s thinking. Leslie reminds him of a horse Father once owned, which seemed friendly, but, without warning, would turn and bite its rider.

‘Spit it out, young Seton, for I’m fairly certain I know what’s coming.’

‘I did wonder… if we’d kept the Cardinal alive, would that have spurred Henry into action?’

‘Perhaps, but on balance I think not, and I’m not saying this only because my Uncle John was instrumental in Beaton’s death. Perhaps a wee lesson in Anglo Scots, Anglo French and Franco Scots politics might be helpful to you. I shall make it brief, for no doubt someone will soon come seeking me.’

Will waits expectantly while Leslie leans back and scratches his head.

‘King Henry, throughout his reign, has pursued a most ruinous conflict with France, most recently over both the taking and holding of Boulogne.’

He nods. Leslie isn’t telling him anything he doesn’t already know, for the French siege of English-held Boulogne affected Father’s trade.

Leslie holds up his hand. ‘Patience Seton, let me tell it in my own way.’

The fire has burnt low and he feeds it with the last of the Cardinal’s books, thinking how unhappy Bethia would be if she saw them consigned to the flames. He, himself, would prefer not to burn books but most of the furniture has already gone; they even chopped up Beaton’s great bed the other day.

Leslie continues. ‘Henry’s subjects, taxed beyond measure to fund his wars, are now in desperate straits with no siller and the price of all goods constantly rising. Not that the King of England cares overmuch about the state of his people, it’s more that they cannot sustain the high taxes for him to continue fighting, and there’s inevitably discontent – that always makes a king nervous. France equally desires an end to constant conflict, whilst still insisting Boulogne is returned, and indeed there was always a possibility that France would sell Scotland out for Boulogne. You’re with me so far?’

Will nods.

‘It is our misfortune that we took this castle in May, and in June a treaty was brokered between England, France, and others, signalling an end to their current wars. The treaty would’ve affected us little had it not included a clause saying, “the serene King of England shall not move any war, without new occasion, against the Scots”, which I am supposing was the French king’s nod to France’s ancient alliance with Scotland. And we are not without our uses to him; there’s no war so cheap for France as when their Scots allies are involved.’