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

He staggers but regains his balance and comes at her. Grissel leaps on his back, clawing at his eyes and he grabs her wrists – it’s enough time for Bethia to get past and grab the staff, instinctively holding it as Mainard taught her. She pokes Wardlaw’s man in the stomach and he doubles over, letting go of Grissel who drops in a heap, then she hits his legs, sweeping the feet out from under him. He topples back as Grissel scrambles out the way and they hear the crack loud in the hallway as his head hits the flagstones. He lies dazed as they both stand, panting and staring down at him. She hits him across the head, and he goes limp. Grissel hauls on his legs, slewing him away from the door, and then they are outside and running down the hill for home.

The marriage is to go ahead tomorrow and Bethia has been locked in her chamber overnight. She opens the shutters and studies the wall beneath her window. If she could climb down the swinging rope ladder from the castle, surely she can climb down the much shorter wall of the house. But she can see no way down; the wall is too smooth and the drop too far. She bangs the window shut and goes to sit on the bed, hands covering her eyes, rocking back and forward. Think, Bethia, think, she mutters over and over.

Uncovering her eyes she sees her wedding dress hanging from its hook on the wall in front of her. It is of finest damask, cut low across the bosom and with a wide skirt and small train. Blue in colour, like that of the Virgin Mary’s raiment; blue which means loyalty in love – the rich blue dress she once dreamed of.

She cannot believe her parents are making her do this. Father could have been persuaded but Mother not…

‘All women have to put up with men trying to ravish them – stay out of his way in future,’ Mother says, when Bethia arrives home, so breathless from running, and fear, she can barely get the words out to tell of Wardlaw’s attack.

‘What were you doing allowing him into your chamber anyway; what did you expect? He was inflamed with passion and men cannot control their passions. It is up to women to exert the control: to never lead them astray, or place themselves in a situation where the man may take advantage. What were you thinking, going to the house with Wardlaw, and without Norman to protect you?’

‘I didn’t know he was coming,’ she screams. ‘He turned up after we got there. Do you think, for one moment, I would have gone anywhere with that man, especially after the way he stares at me and licks his lips.’

‘Now calm down,’ says Father. He frowns at Mother. ‘I mean both of you. We will all sit down and talk this over – quietly.’

‘We cannot delay, you yourself are saying they will break the siege this time, with all these soldiers and ships come from France.’ Mother says, holding onto his sleeve tightly, face turned up, imploring.

He removes her hand gently. ‘I know, I know Mary but I cannot leave my own child so unprotected.’

‘She will not be unprotected – she will have a husband. And it is his job to protect her, not yours.’

Father nods slowly. Bethia knows she’s losing him.

‘He is not my husband,’ she shrieks. ‘And you are my protector.’

Father rests his hand on her shoulder. ‘Be calm, my lass. I will speak with Norman and make him aware of his brother’s transgressions. Much better he deals with it.’

She opens her mouth to object but he holds his hand up. ‘I agree Norman’s no bonny.’ He shakes his head. ‘But he is a good man, I would not give you to him otherwise.’

‘No, no, no,’ she screams. ‘I won’t marry him, I won’t. I’ll never be safe from Wardlaw.’

‘There, there, my child – you must trust me to know what’s best for you.’ Father looks to Mother. ‘Perhaps a purge for the bad humours?’

‘I will get Agnes to prepare an emetic, we have some mushrooms dried and ready chopped, which are most efficacious.’

‘I won’t take them, I won’t,’ hisses Bethia, through gritted teeth.

‘Be calm, my lass,’ says Father, patting her again.

Bethia hits his arm away. ‘You take it. I was vomiting for days the last time Mother fed me red caps.’

‘I think some time for quiet reflection might be best,’ Mother says. She places her arm around Bethia’s shoulders and leads her out of the room and to her chamber. Then she closes the door behind them and thrusts her face close to Bethia. ‘You will wed Norman Wardlaw tomorrow and with no more skittishness. I married the man my father chose for me, as girls the world over must. You will do your duty.’

She whisks out of the room and Bethia hears the key turn in the lock.

‘Fatherrrr,’ she screams banging on the door. “Fatherrrr….’ But he didn’t come.

She tries the door, tugging the handle and rattling the latch. It is as firmly locked as the last time she tried it. She looks out the window again, it’s very dark out there now and the street below is deserted. She hits the shutters off the wall: bang, bang, bang, bang. If she can’t sleep, she doesn’t see why anyone else should.

There’s a tapping at the door.

‘Grissel?’

‘Aye, it’s me.’

Bethia kneels on the floor and whispers.

‘I canna hear ye.’

‘Kneel down.’ She can see Grissel’s eye glittering through the gap. ‘Can you get me out?’

‘There’s no key, it’s gone.’

‘Mother must have it.’

‘What do ye want me to dae?’

‘Wait, I’m thinking.’ She sits up and rubs her eyes, dare she do this? Then memory of Mother screaming in her face returns. ‘You will marry Norman Wardlaw tomorrow, my girl, just see if you won’t.’

She lies down, whispering. ‘Go to the house by Greyfriars and ask for Gilbert Logie. Tell him I have need of him.’

‘What, at this time o’night?’

‘Please, Grissel.’

‘You want me to tell him you have need of him?’ says Grissel loudly, ‘and wake his whole house to do it?’

‘Shush! No, of course not.’

‘Well, how am I to tell him anything at this hour, without banging on the door first?’

Bethia sighs. ‘You’re right, it is impossible. I must think of another way.’

‘I’ll go,’ says Grissel and the eye withdraws.

‘Grissel,’ she hisses.

The eye re-appears. ‘What now?’

‘Take care that the front door doesn’t stick and make a noise when you open it.’

‘Aye, of course. I’ll go out through the back.’

Bethia sits on the bed, hands folded in her lap and one leg twitching. Grissel returns sooner than she expected.

‘He’s no there.’

‘How do you know, did you find out where he is?’

‘I got in their back door and a servant, his name is Tam and a good looking one he is too…’

‘Grissel! What did he say?’

‘I’m getting to it. Tam said they’re all meeting – and drinking – with Arran and the Italian lad with the curly hair.’

‘You mean Strozzi.’

‘Aye, that’s the one.’

‘So you couldn’t pass on the message.’

‘No – but ye ken, your father’s right. Norman’s no sae bad, and it is a bonny house.’

‘Go to bed, Grissel.’

She falls back onto the bed herself and gazes up at the curtain looped over the bed frame, all colour seeped out in the grey light. She is trapped, there’s to be no escape. She feels as though a weight is pressing down on her chest and her breath seems loud in her ears. She listens to it and her eyes flutter and close, she can’t fight anymore. She’ll marry Fat Norman tomorrow and pray that he will guard her from Walter Wardlaw.

She opens her eyes and sits up. What’s that noise? A rustling at the door, then it slowly opens and her small brother stands in the doorway.