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

There’s a great cheer, and the men turn to slapping one another’s backs as though they’ve already won a victory. Will watches Leslie look around the group for any sign of dissent, but no one gainsays him.

‘Good. And there is an added benefit. In his fear that the castle will be attacked by England, the Cardinal has built up a large stock of powder and lead, as well as purchasing more cannon. Once we’re safe inside they will find it almost impossible to dislodge us, giving Henry Tudor ample time to come to our aid.’ He pauses and Will sees him take a deep breath. ‘We will act, early tomorrow.’

There’s another cheer, which Kirkcaldy of Grange hushes in his deep voice. ‘We must be discreet. There’s many a good plan destroyed by a loose tongue. No word, I mean NO word must leak out, or we’ll be undone before we’ve even begun.’

The jubilation dies quickly and they fall silent in front of this man who exudes great authority.

Kirkcaldy stares at Norman Leslie. ‘And to be clear, Cardinal Beaton is to be imprisoned and tried before us all.’

Leslie nods curtly and takes up the reins again, allocating tasks to those who will enter the castle first. Balnaves is to return to Stirling and will be their eyes and ears outside. William Kirkcaldy will represent his large clan and Norman and John Leslie theirs. James Melville is included in the first wave too, although Will thinks he’s unlikely to be handy with a sword. He’s surprised to be among the group. He supposes he must have a more warlike appearance than he realises, to be so included. He’s less pleased when it transpires he’s to gain entry by posing as a workman, because his looks and age fit the part of an apprentice, and even less satisfied when he discovers he must dress in rough clothing and cannot carry any weapon beyond a stonemason’s hammer.

When some complain about being left out Leslie says, ‘remember, we’re doing this by stealth. The rest of you will join us as soon as the castle is safely in our control. It may be the vanguard who take the lead, but your turn for bravery will come later.’

James grins at Will. ‘We are the brave vanguard.’

He tries to smile back but he has to grit his teeth to stop them chattering. Once he’s out on the street, his courage recovers when Nydie reminds him how easy it will be. He swaggers home, doesn’t sleep all night and hours before dawn is up. He dresses in the workman’s clothes Melville gave him, which smell of dirt and sweat. Tucking his own clothes into a small sack which he ties around his waist, under the shift, he is ready for action – if he could only control the shaking.

It is early on the morning of the 29th May in the year of our Lord 1546. Bethia hears the bells for the first mass at the cathedral, then Blackfriars, soon overlapping with a more distant Greyfriars. The noise wouldn’t usually call her to wakefulness, there’s forever a bell ringing somewhere in St Andrews. It is the squeal of the heavy front door being edged open, but not carefully enough as it grates over the stone floor, which has startled her awake. Thoughts buzz around her head, like bluebottles around a carcass, and she knows she won’t get back to sleep.

She slides out of bed, then goes still as Mother turns her head restlessly against the bolster. Mother’s slipped down in the night and it’s dangerous to lie flat when you sleep – otherwise the Devil may tempt you with his sweet songs; lying flat is only for your coffin. It’s not so dark now, no corners for him to hide in; Mother will be safe enough.

Pulling on her skirt she ties the strings tight around the waist then laces her bodice, still surprised by how large her bosom is become, and draws her shawl over it. She creeps down the stairs and leaves the house without any of the racket Will made, for she’s trained herself now to check for pebbles on the floor, so the door won’t stick. She assumes it must be him: Father wouldn’t bother to sneak; John was asleep in his truckle bed as she arose; and Agnes and Grissel, sleeping in the kitchen, leave by the back door. Maybe today she’ll uncover what Will is doing that requires such stealth, and so early.

The air is fresh, a sky of purest cobalt. She thinks how much she’d like to have a dress this colour, but it’s difficult to get the dye right for such a pure shade. Mother says she’ll get one as a bridal gift, but she’s not ready to claim her tocher. She crosses her arms over her breast and hurries down the street.

There’s few people abroad so early and they mostly workmen, yet the sun is already climbing. She loves the clean newness of late spring: the green buds on the trees unfurled and reaching for the light and hope of heat; the loud song of birds busy about their nests; the recently sown crops in the riggs behind the houses thrusting through the soil.

Instinctively she heads for the house by the Swallowgait and waits in a nearby doorway. The sea is as blue and still as the sky; it’s hard to see where one begins and the other ends. There’s barely a ripple as the waves touch the shore at the dunes over by the West Sands. All would be peaceful, were it not for the dark mass of the castle to her right.

A woman passes, trailed by her servant, head bent and muffled in her cloak as she hurries up Fishergait. It is Marion Ogilvy, the Cardinal’s mistress and mother of nine of his children, leaving the castle and heading for the house he keeps for her in Southgait. She thinks of Will’s indignation that Cardinal Beaton has a mistress.

‘What does it matter when George Wishart himself said a priest should marry?’ she’d said.

‘Because it’s honest and above board to marry,’ Will roared. ‘And dishonest to keep a whore and a pack of bastards that you’re busy finding livings for, good livings which belong to the church and are not the benefice of Beaton’s to give away at will.’

She gave up the argument then, for Will always has an answer, and even when he doesn’t, he shouts her down. Privately she considers that it’s right the Cardinal looks to care for his own, and she does not think any less of him for it.

Suddenly there’s movement, and she forgets about Marion Ogilvy and her children. Pulling the shawl over her head, she slips into the close, the smell of the byre strong. Will and three others, all dressed as workmen, stride past the end of the close; heart thumping, she follows.

He’s dressed in dirty hessian and all four carry tools. A group of workmen amble ahead, and the four move faster to tuck in behind them. One workman turns to look at the newcomers and, as quickly, turns back. Bethia, now, only a short distance behind, sees fear on his face – and feels it gripping her own belly too.

They’re in the shadow of the castle now, early sun glinting off the windows high above. She speeds up, determined to stop Will, to save him from whatever he’s got himself drawn into – doesn’t care if she embarrasses him in front of his fellows – but she’s too late. The whole group are crossing the bridge over the dry moat, while the porter holds wide the gate and bids them enter. She stands uncertain, but the bishop’s palace is closed to her. She’s never been inside and can think of no reason whereby she could convincingly request entry now, for she’s neither a servant nor a whore.

The rhythmic thump of hammer hitting stone begins and, hanging in the still blue sky, a seagull calls. There’s the ghosting of last night’s moon above and the whisper of water touching the rocks below: a perfect day – yet she’s standing close to the spot where George Wishart died in agony, and she shivers; his ghost has touched her.

She hears voices coming from behind and shrinks against the castle wall. A party of men are striding down Rottenrow, talking loudly. Unlike Will and his co-conspirators, these men are bright in cloaks, feathered caps and pantaloons. They too cross the moat. Bethia gasps, she knows at least two of their number: Norman Leslie and the young laird of Nydie, Lady Merione’s son. James turns his head, and gestures urgently for her to leave, but he doesn’t stop. She can hear Leslie demanding loudly that they’re here to speak with the Cardinal, that he’s expecting them. The porter again opens the gate and they too disappear through the gateway.