Dagger in the Crown (Tam Eildor mystery no.1)

by Alanna Knight

  A fanfare of trumpets, closer now, echoed through the chapel. A choir at first unseen, heard as an angelic chorus only, made its way slowly down the aisle to the altar, where an archbishop, several bishops, priors, deans and archdeacons had taken their places to await the procession.

  A stir in the congregation, a craning of heads, and the baby appeared, carried by the French ambassador from his room to the Chapel Royal between two rows of barons and gentlemen holding wax candles and adding to the already unbearable heat inside.

  The Catholic nobility of Scotland followed, bearing the great serge, the salt, the cloth, basin and ewer.

  Tam had a glimpse of a dark gnomish face shrouded in a magnificent baptismal robe, ten yards of figured silver as the prince was handed across the golden font into the arms of Jean, Countess of Argyll, the Queen's Catholic half-sister, acting as proxy godmother for the English Queen.

  The ceremony began with all the pomp and ritual of the Roman Church. Tam and Janet were among the fortunate who could see and hear what was happening through the smoke of the huge candles.

  As the primate began, 'I baptize thee James Charles,' the Queen stepped forward.

  Breaths were held at this interruption. Those close enough heard her whisper, there was to be no use of the primate's spittle for this particular royal babe - later reported as 'she deemed it a filthy and apish trick rather in scorn than imitation of Christ. Her very own words were that she would not have a pocky priest to spit in her child's mouth.'

  At Tam's side, Janet whispered, 'Mark it well, since the disease for which the primate has been treated by a doctor in Milan cost him at a fee of eighteen hundred gold crowns, Her Grace's decision is more practical than symbolic'

  Again the trumpets sounded, the heralds proclaimed James Charles three times, with the long list of his titles. More triumphant singing from the choir and the babe was carried back out of the chapel.

  'A very royal and dignified infant,' said Tam approvingly. 'Not a whimper out of him.'

  ‘And not a sign of his noble father either,' said Janet, as the congregation, duly blessed, bowed or curtsied to the departing royal party. 'No one has seen him all day. Though no doubt he will appear for the banquet.'

  A magnificent feast of fish and fowl, of meat and venison, of sweetmeats and elaborate desserts had been prepared all day and set out in the great hall of the castle. The long tables now lay in disarray, the contents consumed and wine drunk in accordance with the desires and capacity of several hundred guests.

  The Queen sat at a small table with the English and French ambassadors on either side of her, and opposite the ambassador from Savoy. Her husband was not at her side, as had been expected, but it was solemnly noted that she did not appear in the least distressed by his absence.

  Those who knew her well whispered that she must have been relieved not to have been embarrassed by Lord Darnley's loutish behaviour when he drank too much.

  It was observed that she looked happy, laughed a great deal and was more at ease than at any time since her arrival in Stirling. Doubtless the tension was over and she could afford to be very pleased with the diplomatic results of her extravaganza.

  From one of the long trestles for the upper servants, Tam kept a jealous watch on a large table where the four Maries were seated, carefully placed beside the important dignitaries and representatives from the European monarchs.

  Each time he looked in Marie Seton's direction, which was often, she was in animated conversation with an exceedingly good-looking young man with the same attractive fair colouring as herself. As they were leaving the hall, Marie hurried to his side, eager to introduce him to Adam Drummond.

  'We are old friends.' said Drummond. 'Marie and I have not met since we were little more than children.'

  As he spoke, he regarded her fondly, obviously pleased with what the passing years had produced. She smiled up at him, taking his arm in a friendly and understanding gesture.

  Tam knew a moment's jealousy. Then it faded, to be replaced with relief. Intuition told him this was the right partner for Seton, someone with whom she could share a happy life.

  As for himself, he could not seriously regard this young man with his frank and engaging manner, his open countenance, as a rival. He loved her but could offer her nothing; indeed, his presence in her life was a danger to her future. But if she fell in love with this young man, the burden of her hopeless infatuation would be lifted from him.

  The three Maries approached and greeted Drummond affectionately. Obviously he was a favourite with them too and Tam bowed his way out, his departure almost unobserved.

  In the hall, the meal over, the trestles cleared, the Queen returned and took her seat under the Canopy of State. The entertainment began with galliards and stately pavans in which she was partnered by the foreign ambassadors, and once by Sir Christopher Hatton himself, their performance closely watched by the court. They need not have feared, for their Queen acquitted herself well with this famous dancing master. She had learned it all long before in the French court.

  Tam was relieved he had not been asked to take part in the singing that followed, led by the absent Darnley's Yorkshire musicians.

  At last the royal party withdrew and, for Tam, there was nothing left but to secure a place on the crowded attic floor while there was still space available. He did not expect to get much slumber, if any, by the time the servants arrived, now at liberty to indulge their appetites on the remains of the banquet's food and rich wines.

  As he was making his way across the courtyard, he heard his name called. Turning, he saw his four deliverers from the Crozers, Bothwell's mosstroopers, led by Jock Hepburn.

  In jolly, hearty mood, they suggested that if he had nothing better to do, he could explore the town with them, including its many taverns, which were doing a roaring business, as were the town whores. If they got there soon, he was told, they still might be able to pick and choose.

  It seemed like an interesting way of seeing Stirling and Tam went along with them. The noise, the wine, the screeching of pipes, the women who sat on his knee and kissed him - he saw only a sea of painted faces before his wits failed him.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Wednesday 18 December 1566. Morning

  The condition of Tam's head allowed scant remembrance of the night's wild carousing. When he awoke in a strange bed at the side of a young girl who could not have been more than thirteen, his first thoughts were of a lucky escape. With one so young and new to the game, he had less chance of catching the pox, as he remembered with a shudder the ravaged faces of the older whores.

  In sleep, the young girl looked almost childlike. He had no memory of lovemaking and, since they were both fully clothed, he decided on a hasty departure. Pleased to discover that his purse was intact, he left most of his remaining coins for her and crept down the stair.

  A door opened and a woman looked out at him.

  'Sleep well, my Lord?' She grinned.

  'I did indeed.' Tam wondered if she wanted money for the night's lodging with the girl he had left.

  'You were gone to the world when Jock and Davy put you into the bed,' she chuckled.

  Tam suppressed a grateful sigh. He need no longer feel guilty about that child, for so she was, asleep upstairs.

  As if the woman read his thoughts, she said, 'Flora's my daughter. I was glad it was you she was left with and not the Hepburn lads. Nice enough, ye ken, and generous, but devils wi' women. Just like their master.'

  'How old is Flora?' asked Tam, with rising feelings of indignation.

  The woman, who on closer terms was even younger than himself, shrugged. 'Twelve,' then, at the expression on his face, she said defiantly, 'Going on thirteen.'

  Tam tried to find the right words. 'Surely she is a little young.'

  'Young!' the woman laughed. 'As soon as we're old enough isn't too young. What else is there for a woman to keep from starving?' She nodded towards the closed door. 'I have three more weans in there,
twa lasses and a laddie. Their father ran off wi' another slut, so how am I to feed them, my fine sir? This is the only trade I ken.'

  Tam knew it was true. Again his thoughts went to Flora, asleep so innocently. 'Can she cook or sew?'

  The woman grinned broadly. ‘Aye, she's a good broiderer. She can sew a fine seam.'

  Tam came to a sudden decision. 'Then send her to Lady Buccleuch, at the castle. She's to say Tam Eildor sent her and she wants employment as a seamstress.'

  He cut short the woman's gratitude, her awe that this was a real gentleman who had come into their humble home. 'Just do as I say.' Then he walked out into the chilly brightness of the cold December morning towards the castle far above him.

  At the sound of horns and voices, he leaned over a wall to watch a party of riders, with pennants flying, heading towards the forest that marked the royal hunting park. This was their sport for today, wild bulls and anything else that fled from their approach and suggested a likely target.

  The Queen was well ahead of them, Bothwell at her side.

  Tam was thankful he had not been called upon to accompany Janet, relieved to miss another day riding Ajax. Since he knew nothing about archery and, out of joint with the time in which he found himself, was averse to killing animals for pleasure, he was glad he was not being asked to enthuse about the day's activities.

  Returning through narrow streets of the town where signs of last night's debauch were evident, he fought his way into a smoky tavern, bought ale, bread and cheese and, emerging into cold fresh air again, walked down the hill towards Stirling Bridge.

  On this very spot William Wallace's heroic battle had saved Scotland. King Edward I, triumphant from the defeats of Berwick and Dunbar, with John Balliol as prisoner, had made a triumphal tour of Scotland, collecting the Stone of Destiny from Scone on his way home to England. Expecting an easy victory over the troublesome outlaw William Wallace, the English army massed on the south bank of the River Forth to take Stirling Castle, was watched by Wallace and his troops from their vantage point on top of Abbey Craig, some two miles distant. Early on the morning of 11 September 1297, Lord Cressingham led the English vanguard over the narrow bridge. It was a disastrous move, for when they were halfway across Wallace and the Scots rode down and met them.

  The English, unable to move forward on the bridge or retreat, were massacred, their piled-up bodies preventing Lord Surrey and the remaining forces from joining the affray. Cressingham fell and Surrey fled, leaving the victory to Wallace and Scotland's future secure.

  Tam leaned on the bridge, savouring that moment of past glory. In no hurry to return, he needed time to think about his own future. Presuming that he had a future to think about, instead of a past he could not remember. And a present that included pressing matters from Branxholm awaiting his attention in Janet Beaton's apartment.

  Remembering the scene he had witnessed earlier of the Queen and Bothwell at the head of the hunting party, he looked up at the royal apartments far above his head. Where was the king? Was that the thought in everyone's mind, as he had not been seen since before his son's christening.

  The thought came unbidden then. Was he even still alive?

  Tam's wrestling with Branxholm documents was interrupted by commotion in the courtyard below. The royal hunt had returned.

  He heard Janet and her attendants come up the stairs and the door close. A short while later, Janet, now clad less formally but considerably more comfortably in a loose-fitting gown, came in, looked over his shoulder and sat at the table opposite him.

  'This is not my Lord Bothwell's day,' she said. 'He had a narrow escape this morning.'

  'Another?'

  'Aye. During the hunt an arrow misfired and hit the tree beside him. An inch closer - ' she paused, shuddered - ' and he would have lost an eye, or worse.'

  'You say the arrow misfired, an unfortunate accident.'

  Janet looked at him and slowly shook her head.

  'You think it might have been deliberate? The poisoner at work again?' Janet shrugged. 'I dinna ken. But the hand o' coincidence is well to the fore.'

  Tam thought about that. 'You mean that having failed once, he lost no time in making a second attempt. Do you get a feeling of urgency in the air?'

  'You said "he", Tam.'

  'I doubt if his mysterious Spanish lady, whoever she is, could have been behind this one.'

  Janet leaned forward, her elbows on the table. 'And what makes ye think that, Tam? Ladies o' the court go along to the hunt. It is expected of us, and archery is not restricted to men. Some women take part, but most just sit on their horses and watch. Like Lady Jean Gordon,' she added significantly. 'The kill, however, is for trained archers. It's not a game any longer. Hunters get very excited at the kill and ye ken what bows and arrows could be like in the hands of folk who dinna heed the dangers.'

  'Who else was there?' Tam asked.

  Janet gave him a shrewd look. 'I presume ye mean those who might consider doing Lord Bothwell a mischief. The king didna put in an appearance. No one expected him. And neither on this occasion did Her Grace's loving half-brother—'

  A tap on the door, a maidservant appeared, and before he could be announced Bothwell pushed past her into the room.

  As Janet rose and curtsied politely, Bothwell gestured her away. 'Aye, Janet. It's not you. I want a wee word wi' Eildor. If ye'll leave us.'

  As the door closed, Bothwell took the seat she had vacated. 'Did ye hear that there was almost a nasty wee accident during the hunt?'

  When Tam said Janet had mentioned it, Bothwell leaned forward. 'She did, did she? And what d'ye think?'

  'You said it was almost an accident, my Lord.' Tam chose his words carefully. 'Am I to understand that you think it might have been deliberate?'

  Bothwell nodded vigorously. 'Aye, that I do. Especially when the question was raised and no one admitted to letting loose that particular arrow.'

  'I take it they have no personal or distinguishing marks?'

  Bothwell shook his head. 'Nay, for the royal hunt they're just issued piecemeal.'

  Tam thought if it had been his arrow that had narrowly missed killing the Earl of Bothwell and no one noticed, he would have been tempted to keep quiet too. Especially if he had considered what would then be the fate of some minor court official. Prison, and perhaps some trumped-up murder charge, since members of the court were particularly nervous of the tense atmosphere here at Stirling.

  'Well?' demanded Bothwell impatiently.

  'You have someone in mind, my Lord?'

  Bothwell's brow darkened. 'It couldna have been my first choice - Yon bitch we've spoken of.' He laughed harshly. 'She couldna handle a bow and arrow to save herself.'

  Tam remembered Janet's words on archery for court ladies. And in the years since Bothwell and Anna had last met, with nothing better to do, she could have become proficient in a sport which was becoming increasingly popular among fashionable rich women. An elegant and daring pastime if they could find an attractive master in the art, since it offered close physical contact between tutor and pupil.

  'She knew about daggers, my Lord.'

  'Aye, but that's a different matter. Come, man, ye can do better than that. I'm relying on ye to put some sense into it.'

  'Let us consider the Spanish lady, sir, whose identity is still unknown to us. She could have bribed someone to attack you. We can guess she paid Archie Crozer well to drive the cart with her and throw Ben Fellows' corpse into the loch.'

  The door opened. Lady Buccleuch was awaiting him.

  Bothwell stood up, clearly disappointed. 'I dinna agree. Yell ha' to do better than that, Eildor.'

  Tam's feelings were mixed indeed. The thought that the Spanish lady was in the court somewhere and had followed them to Stirling, although perfectly feasible, was not popular with Bothwell, who wanted to believe he was safe from her murderous attentions.

  Tam wasn't prepared to argue. What would Bothwell's reactions have been had Janet confided i
n him that the dish of sweetmeats - marchpane that he was known to find irresistible - contained a poison that would be fatal if consumed in large quantities?

  That was unlikely to be the work of a woman who was still in Edinburgh, and he considered his growing list of those who might have reason to be Bothwell's secret enemies here in Stirling.

  Heading the list was that man of subtlety Lord James Stewart. Poisoned sweetmeats did not readily fit his character, but an accident with a misfired arrow, arranged while he was not in the vicinity of the royal hunt, was a distinct possibility.

  Second was Bothwell's wife. A more obvious choice, who now loomed large and far from secret by her presence during the hunt, who had greater reason to hate Bothwell for his infidelities. Humiliated at seeing him riding at the head of the hunt with the Queen, was she overcome by another murderous impulse now the poisoned marchpane - which had a distinct woman's touch - had failed? The sudden unexplained sickness of Marie Seton's maid and Lady Jean's gallant substitution of one of her own servants smacked more of contrivance than coincidence. And again Tam realized the urgency of a meeting with Seton's new maid.

  Third was Darnley, one of the key players, conspicuously absent from his son's christening and from the royal hunt. An excellent reason, if nervously disinclined to incur his Queen's wrath by being present at the scene when Bothwell fell to a fatal arrow wound.

  Tam made a shrewd guess that the King was unlikely to make the same mistake as he had at David Riccio's murder. This time he would have no trouble at all in bribing one of his less scrupulous minions to 'accidentally' kill his rival to the Queen's affections.

  Tam's only glimpse of him had been when he stormed into the Queen's apartment and, among other unpleasant topics, threatened him with a fate similar to that of David Riccio.

  He had not been seen again.

  Tam stared up at the windows of his royal apartment. Stirling, known as the royal nursery for its guardianship of infant monarchs, had not a healthy happy reputation for kings.

  James I had executed the Dukes of Albany and Lennox, Darnley's forebears, here in 1425. James II had murdered the 8th Earl of Douglas, another Darnley kinsman, and thrown him out of the window in 1452. His son James III had been murdered nearby after the Battle of Sauchieburn. James IV had died at Flodden and Mary's father, James V, had died, so men said, of a broken heart after the Battle of Solway Moss.