by J. R. Tomlin
Half the clerics in the hall were on their feet shouting and waving their arms. The rest were whispering to one another. Wardlaw stared at James, pulling at his lower lip thoughtfully.
When Cameron's pounding with his gavel had quieted the hall, Wardlaw said, "Your Grace, His Holiness will take such laws as an attack on the Church. I beg you reconsider. Controlling the gold that leaves Scotland, the Pope understands, but this is an extreme measure. I'm afeart you risk excommunication."
"No attack on the Church is intended." James leaned forward and scanned the room, giving each cleric, one by one, a hard look. "I supported Pope Martin in his dispute and have been always a good Christian, but I am sworn to protect the realm of Scotland. I mean to do so. Too many clerics leave for the Holy See, only to work against the good of the realm there." He smiled and gave a sop to the bishop's feelings. "And some enter the realm to spread heresy. This I shall stop."
He couldn't control the parliament without aid of the Primate of Scotland, but if the Primate wanted power over heretics, he would give something up. But now the nobles and burghers were looking every bit as weary and restless as James felt. Everywhere men were squirmed on the hard benches as comfortably they could. Murdoch sat slumped with his head in his hands.
James frowned when a servant slipped in a side door to sidle up to the Earl of Atholl. The hard-faced earl jerked a parchment from the servant's hand, broke the seal with his thumb, and perused it, his lips thinning to a hard line. He rose to his feet and said, "Sire, I must interrupt. There is dire news."
"Can this not wait?" Wardlaw said. "Our business is not complete."
"No, Your Reverence, it cannae. Your pardon, but this is of the utmost urgency. Rebellion is brewing in the west with an army to be led by Lord Johne Stewart."
Murdoch jumped to his feet. "Lies!" He pointed at the earl, his hand visibly shaking. "You…traitorous deceiver!"
James could feel the tension in the room like the string of a harp tightened until it would snap. The lords, burghers, and clerics all strained past each other to see the two men. James could not pretend to be totally surprised. At some point, his conflict with the other Stewarts had been bound to come to an explosion. His face pallid and damp with sweat, Bishop Lauder began to pound his gavel. "My lords," though his voice was thin, it dripped with scorn, "you are in the presence of the king. Another word and I'll have the guards enforce order."
Murdoch looked about him, his hands clasping and unclasping and face mottled red with fury.
James crooked a finger to the High Constable, William de Hay, a handsome man but for a nose flattened in a tourney, James had heard. "Have your men see the Duke of Albany to a chamber so that he can calm himself. I shall send for him."
"Fool!" Murdoch shouted. "He's a lying dog. He sided with my father, always. He's deceiving you." He was backing toward the door and fumbling as though looking for a sword, though there was no scabbard at his side in the parliament.
"May I have your permission to see to it myself?" Hay asked. "To prevent…conflict."
James nodded his consent. Hay bowed courteously to Murdoch and motioned for the man to precede him, although two guards stood ready with pikes in hand. After releasing a pent breath, Murdoch turned on his heel and stomped down the long path to the door of the refectory.
James had spent his entire life knowing that it would come to this moment, yet he was king and knew he must be seen to act within the laws he had made himself. "Now, uncle, what proof do you have of this uprising of my cousins, and who is involved?" he asked, trying to contain his fury. They had killed his brother, harried his poor father to his grave, and seen that he spent his entire life in an English dungeon. They deserved whatever punishment he gave them.
Atholl waved the message he had unsealed toward James. "I suspected something when no one kent where Murdoch's youngest pup, the fat one, Lord James, was, and I heard a rumor that Domhnall of Lennox was raising men. I sent one of my men to scout them out. Apparently they installed one of their own in Bass as a guard to take messages to Walter, so he is part of the plot. And whatever Murdoch says, he kent of it even though he's so drunken and fainthearted, he's agreed make Walter regent when you…" Atholl hesitated and then shrugged. "…when they'd disposed of you."
"Who else?" asked Bishop Wardlaw. "It can't be only young Lord Johne."
"They loosed Robert Graham, and he's joined them. Domhnall of Lennox is with them as well. Finlay, Bishop of Argyll, has declared Murdoch rightful king. Young Alexander is part of it, and Murdoch's secretary Alan of Otterburn has written a letter that went between them. Montgomery of Ardrossan has been their courier."
James heard muttering and nervous whispers throughout the refectory. The lords and burghers alike knew what that meant. The Bishop of Argyll being on the Albanys’ side would allow them to raise a large army. James studied their faces. No wonder they were nervous; they had no reason to believe that James was strong enough to deal with an uprising, and they might pay with their lives or their lands for supporting him.
Alexander Stewart, Earl of Mar, was looking thoughtfully at Atholl, his elbows resting on his thighs and big hands hanging between his knees. Nearing fifty, he'd acquired the bulge of a solid belly under his silk doublet and was balding, with a close-cropped red beard that followed the line of his heavy jaw. He looked toward James and their gazes locked. Alexander was a bastard, and at least that meant that he had no designs on the throne.
"You have good information, my lord," Bishop Lauder said. "That was a most informative note that you read so quickly."
Atholl closed his mouth and studied the bishop, a glimmer of light in his eyes. James wasn't sure if what he saw there was anger or approval. Atholl's mouth, framed by his busy moustache, was a thin slit and his face stony as a statue. He crossed his arms over his thick chest. "Aye, it told me much but not all. I do not ken where they mass their forces. Somewhere near Lennox is my guess. Nor do I ken when they plan to strike."
James was squeezing the arms of the throne so hard his fingers were stiff. He forced them loose and flexed them before he spoke. He felt as pale as Bishop Lauder looked, and his stomach was a stone in his belly. "How many kent of this? Of your certain knowledge. Murdoch? Who else?"
"Search his chambers for letters, nephew," Atholl said. "I am told that he has been corresponding with all three of his sons on this conspiracy, but I have not seen the letters to swear to. Have Walter's prison searched as well. That will tell you truth of the matter."
"Uncle, I thank you. I owe you a debt for your aid and it will be repaid. I propose to bestow upon you in life-rent the earldom of Streathern in gratitude." He stood and immediately all rose to their feet. "My lords of Douglas, Angus, and Mar, you shall attend me in the council chamber. Lord Lyon, close the doors of the abbey and see that none depart without my express command. Word of this must not leak out until we are ready to act."
He turned to Bishop Lauder. "Bring the Primate and my secretary to the council chamber as well." He bowed to Bishop Lauder, and the trumpets sounded as he stalked away.
James paced the room, firing himself up for what must be done and making decisions. When he realized his councilors couldn't sit, he motioned Bishop Lauder and Bishop Wardlaw to their places around the table. Neither was fit to stand, but he needed to move while he grappled in his mind with open rebellion. "John, send guards to search Murdoch's chambers."
"Would he be such a fool as to carry letters of treason with him?" his secretary wondered.
"He has always been a fool, and so my uncle thinks. Send word to Robbie Lauder to hold Walter Stewart under the heaviest guard with men he is sure of, forbye to make sure that he has no chance to destroy evidence. Search his room and his person for letters. Robbie must seize any letters they have managed to sneak in."
The new Earl of Douglas since his father's death in France and still earl of Wigtoun came in, followed by the Earl of Mar and the young Earl of Angus. At last James took his place at the head of t
he table. "We must act, and quickly, before they have time."
"It will take time to raise a host," Mar said. "It was at your command I came with merely a score men as your laws demand." He motioned to the others. "That is true of all of us."
James tapped his fingers on the table. "No, but we must see that they don't take us unawares. I'll send my cousin Sir Johne Stewart with as many men as we can spare to reinforce the garrison at Dumbarton, and from there he can send out scouts to locate the rebels. And we pull the asp's fangs in the east. I declare the parliament prorogued. Douglas, you are to hunt down Alexander." He slammed his fist down on the table. "Damn him, I knighted him with my own hand. Find all that my uncle named. I want them in irons within the hour."
Lauder gaped at him. "Parliament has never been prorogued in Scotland."
"I have no choice. It cannae continue to sit whilst there is open rebellion, but it must be ready to resume when these villains come to trial. Forty days to call a new parliament would be too long. The English have some ideas I mean to adopt, and this is one of them. Instead of calling a new parliament, we shall continue this one after a pause."
John Cameron rose to carry out James’ command but paused at the door. "There is one name not mentioned that you might give thought to, Sire."
"Who might that be?"
"The Duchess Isabella. They say that it is she who rules that household. I dinnae know how true the rumors are, but…" He shrugged. "It is not something I would ignore. I cannae think that it was that slug Johne the Fat or his drunken father that came up with this scheme."
James gave a curt nod and the secretary quietly closed the door behind him. "Angus, I leave the Duchess to you. Take a sufficient force to seize Doune Castle where she bides if they resist. Arrest her and confine her to your own Tantallon Castle to hold her fast. If it was her mind that devised this scheme, I fear we'll find no proof of it, and my name would be stained beyond redeeming if she died. Treat her fairly—but no need to be over-gentle. A single maidservant and a cell with a bed and chamber pot shall suffice. She may have her sewing and attend chapel. And see that she comes to no harm."
He stood. "My lord of Mar, they say you are the best soldier in Scotland. I shall have a chance now to see if that is true. Raise as many men as you may with speed, and we'll lead them to Lennox."
Douglas had jumped to his feet with a scowl. "What of me?"
"They say the Douglas men are fine soldiers as well, so prove it to me."
Chapter Fourteen
James beat his hand on his armored thigh, a message crushed in it. The rebels had attacked Dumbarton, put it to the sword and flame, and his cousin Sir John with all his men died defending it. James was sure that for Dumbarton Castle on its high rock to have been entered, a traitor had opened the gates. It seemed that all within had been taken by surprise. In the morn, they'd ride for Dumbarton and pick up the trail of the rebels.
Their camp sprawled for two miles near the River Clyde. Standing in front of his pavilion, he looked out on a dozen more and a hundred cook fires. The men were wrapped in cloaks, giving out snores and grunts in their sleep whilst lightning bugs darted above them like sparks from the fires. Away in the distance he heard someone cursing. Further on, there was the snort and a brief whinny from the horses' pickets. Against the faint light of dawn that rimed the horizon, he saw a sentry marching his post.
Wisps of fog drifted off the river like trailing shrouds. A horn blared harooo and then another, the signal of the sentries for enemies approaching. Mar stepped out of his pavilion and shouted for his squire. "What direction is that?" he called. "Where is my damned squire?"
James shouted for Sanderis. A horn called again from the east, wild and urgent. Danger! Danger! Men were stumbling to their feet with shouts and questions, leather creaked as men hurried to don their harness, pikes clattered, but there was no sound yet of battle.
"Blow battle assembly," Mar yelled.
"They were supposed to be at least half a day's march away," James said. The horn blew again in warning. Squires led hastily saddled mounts in the moist dawn chill and knights buckled on their swords as they ran. When Sanderis dashed up, James said, "My armor, and be fast about it." Douglas strode out of the rags of mist, already armed and helm under his arm, with a man-at-arms at his side. "What's happened?" James asked him.
"The fat traitor is less lazy than I expected. He's stolen a march on us," Douglas said and thrust his chin at the man-at-arms, whose face James couldn't make out in the darkness. "The move scouts reported toward Lennox was a feint."
"My lord…" the man stuttered. "Mayhap they didn't expect sentries so far out. We spotted them a mile up the road toward Dumbarton. They're making a quick march this way. We signaled, but I ran as fast as I could be to bring news."
"We have little time, then," Mar growled and hurried back into his pavilion.
James’ squire put his gilded cuirass on him as a servant helped fasten the buckles and clasps. "Hurry," James snapped. He was quickly into the cuisses that covered his thighs, the gorget, greaves, and pointed steel boots. As Sanderis fastened the close helm into place, one of the men-at-arms led up the huge destrier, a beautiful black that he had brought with him from England, for such horses were rare in Scotland.
Harooo! The horn blared again. War! Danger!
"I'll form the men ready to ride," Mar called and shoved his squire out of the way. His battered steel plate was topped with only a simple surcoat with a blue and white Stewart check and a bar sinister for his bastard birth. A groom ran up with his dun courser, not as heavy as James’ mount but more maneuverable, and he leapt onto the animal to begin pointing their men into position.
James swung into the saddle and Sanderis handed him up his shield. "Do you want your lance, sire?" the squire asked. James looked down at him, shook his head, and commanded that the lad arm himself but stay out of the battle as much as he could. He snapped the visor down with a clang, wheeled his destrier, and trotted off. He cursed himself that they'd allowed the rebels to steal a march, and his stomach clenched into a hard knot. If they could, they would kill him in this battle. Killing him was the point of the entire endeavor. Then Joan and the baby would be next as Walter made sure there were no more obstacles to prevent his stealing the throne.
He rode past servants scrambling to strike the pavilions. Molten gold spread across the horizon with the first rays of the sun, yet the western sky was still velvet black with stars like a spill of diamonds across it. He wondered if he would live to see the stars this night. But he had to. He imagined tiny Margaret in the hands of his enemy and knew that he must not die.
War horns, many of them, sounded in the distance with a bloodcurdling note. Lord John Scrymgeour had raised James’ banner and turned his horse to canter to his side. Their few dozen archers were trotting to place themselves behind the foot soldiers and forming a double line. The pikemen were forming two schiltrons, squares of double ranks with the pikes of the inner rank bristling over the outer rank's shoulder. One schiltron was under the Stewart banner of Alexander of Mar and the other under the three white stars and crowned heart of the Douglas.
On the right, their small contingent of heavy horse, only a hundred but what they had, was forming and riding to join them. James used his sword to wave to Mar and Douglas, who were still shouting orders to their pikemen before they also joined the horse, since mounted they would be worse than useless.
A night march had to be wearing. James though surely it would put the rebels at a disadvantage, but the Highlanders were tough, savage fighters. Everyone said so. Soon Mar and Douglas thundered up to join the horse, their bannermen following. "Will they charge with their heavy horse?" James asked. That's what the French would do, but he'd never fought Highlanders.
Mar snorted derisively. "No, they'll use their Lochaber axes to tear apart the schiltrons and to rip the bellies out of our horses if they can. This will be dirty fighting. Not like the fancy French." He snapped down his visor.
"One day I'll tell you how fancy the French fight. But first I hope to live through today." James slashed a few times, warming up his sword arm. He stood in his stirrups. Trees dotted the rolling ground, but near the river it was a boggy marsh. A layer of mist still clung to the river, the blue, glassy water eddying past underneath.
"They'll have to attack the schiltrons first," Mar said, "so once they're engaged, we'll take them from the flank." He gave James a hard look, and James knew the man wondered if he was up to the task. "I mean to see that we kill more of them than they do of us, but that will be bloody work."
James heard a roll of drumbeats drawing near, and a thundering in his ears took up the cadence. Had he taken leave of his senses to meet his foes with such a small force, too few pikemen, too few archers, far too few heavy horse? He could have made them attack him in Stirling, lay siege to the castle. Except then his forces would have been trapped. He couldn't let that happen.
Then the enemy was running, screeching bloodcurdling war cries and ululating shouts. Afoot, the bare-legged Highlanders in their short kilts leapt and bound in their charge. Their axes were five feet long, and the blades with an evil hook on the end glittered in the sun as they slashed. Like a flood at the tide, they washed against the thin lines of pikemen. The armored heavy horse should turn the battle, but they were outnumbered, badly, and the rebels were on their home ground. A wedge would have worked in another battle but would have slashed into their own men here, so Mar had spread the horse into a long line. He gave James a thumbs up, and James nodded.
