by J. R. Tomlin
"You haven't eaten all day," Joan said. "You'll feel more yourself when you do."
"I shall not feel myself until this is done. And mayhap not then." He continued his course, circling the room, and stopped before the cold hearth to run fingers over the stone.
"What do you mean?" She sounded confused. Did she not know what would come next?
He turned, his face oaken as it had been all day. "They must all die. It is the only way the realm will ever be safe."
She gasped. "The whole family? Surely not, James."
"You think Duke Murdoch is less guilty than Walter? We know better. Lennox was part of the plan. Even Alexander, whom I knighted, joined them knowing it was treason. And they meant murder. Of me. Of you and the bairn. Of anyone who stood between them and the throne."
She was shaking her head. "James, not the whole family. I beg you." She wrung her hands. "Duke Murdoch, yes. He is as guilty as Sir Walter, but not the others. Lennox is an old man. Make him forfeit his lands. That will pull his fangs. The same with young Alexander."
"Fangs," James repeated thoughtfully. "That is a good word. They are a nest of asps, and if I leave any alive, more will only breed."
She darted to grasp his arm. "I beseech you, beg you. Think what people will say of you if you have them all killed. They'll say it was greed. They'll say terrible things about you. Think terrible things."
"And will you think them too, my love?" His chest felt hollow and empty as though the heart was gone out of him. "The parliament will bring its sentence, as is its right. They have no choice. And I will not show them any more mercy than they showed my brother. Than they would have shown me. Or you."
She moved her mouth but could not seem to find more words. James shook his head and gently took her hand from his arm. The day had left him weary beyond words, but he knew that sleep would elude him. He strode out of the chamber. That night James paced the towers and parapets of Stirling Castle, staring often into the dark blue sky. Not once did he close his eyes.
On the morn, parliament resumed to hear the evidence against the three remaining accused. It was a repeat of the previous day. James stared above their heads, withdrawn and impassive. His face was even more still than the day before. Again the twenty-one men in the jury repeated a chorus of "guilty" when Bishop Lauder called upon them. When Lauder asked him the customary question as to mercy, his eyes twitched, but he held his breath until it was over.
At the Heading Hill, Duke Murdoch stumbled to his death, shaking, but he made no sound. Alexander fought as he was dragged up by the guards and pushed down upon with his head over the edge of the beheading stone. Then he went limp. But Lennox cursed every step of the way, his thin face twisted with malice. Even as the headsman's axe descended, he was cursing James.
James felt hollowed out. Empty. He turned his back on the bloody ground. That night he again spent on the ramparts, leaning his elbows on the rough stone and staring into the sky. Twice servants came to beg him to eat, but he only shook his head. He supposed Joan had sent them. He felt weary far beyond his years and could only hope he would eventually be weary enough to sleep and that she would not reproach him. Because he had done nothing more than had to be done. He would do it again, so he didn't understand why he kept seeing a spray of crimson gushing across the grass and gore dripping down the stone.
Chapter Seventeen
The sun felt wonderfully warm, and the rustle and occasional squawk of ducks in the reeds, the faint rustle of the waters of the loch, and the slow, sweet trill of a warbler in the trees soothed her. The sun made the tranquil water shimmer like a sheet of beaten silver. James stood akimbo as he listened to the master mason, who was pointing and gesticulating about the rebuilding of Linlithgow Palace. On this side, the wall had collapsed completely, the stones in a blackened jumble over fallen timbers.
Joan smiled as Margaret toddled up to her father and clasped onto his leg when she stumbled. He stopped to beam down at her, and Joan felt the stirrings of happiness for the first time in months. The fire that had ravaged the palace and nearby Kirk of St. Michael might be a blessing, for it had given James something to think about other than his melancholy over destroying half of his own family. Not once had he expressed regret, but for months he had not slept more than a few hours. And Joan had for a while been sure he hadn't forgiven her for her words to him, but he still came to her bed even if he lay there for hours awake. Not once had she reproached him for the executions. If the subject came up, he simply shrugged and said he'd done what must be done. But he wasn't himself. William Lauder's death had been such a blow. Joan wondered if James felt alone, yet she was there for him.
She laid a hand on the slight swell of her belly when there was a nudge. Indeed, she thought they were both beginning to recover from the horrors of the Albany insurrection.
Margaret loosed her father's leg and toddled toward a bird pecking in the grass, giggling with delight. "Bird!" she crowed. James’ gaze met Joan's and a grin slit his face. Yes, rebuilding the palace was just what he needed, and she would love a place to call home.
James was pacing out the area where he wanted the new great hall of the palace to be as the master made notes. He chuckled when Margaret came padding after him again. He had squatted and pointed toward a couple of starlings hunting bugs in the weeds when a mounted party of men approached, two in fine clerics’ garb and a score of men-at-arms. James continued to point toward the birds as they chuckled and whistled, but he watched the two dismount and approach, his expression growing stern.
Bishop Henry Wardlaw's hair was now completely white and his jowls hung loose, but his shoulders were still broad and his step firm. The light gleamed on the dark brocade of his cassock and the gold of belt and purse at his waist. John Cameron made a stark contrast in his simpler garb, still thin and the hair around his tonsure dark, as they walked, keeping some distance apart. Joan took a deep breath and steeled herself before she stood.
Margaret stopped and gave the two a serious look before she pointed and said loudly, "Bird!" The starlings took off with a murmuration that made the child howl in laughter. Joan strolled toward them, watching a bit uneasily as Cameron bowed to first the king and then to her.
At last James stood from his crouch and said, "A fine day for a ride, but I suppose you had a greater purpose than that."
Cameron's look was troubled, but he motioned to Bishop Wardlaw with a small bow. The old man looked from James to Cameron and back again.
James gave an impatient grunt. "I have no secrets from my secretary, Reverence. Do you have news for me? Then tell me."
"Very well, Your Grace." Wardlaw sighed. "I have received a response from His Holiness the Pope to your appointment of John Cameron as Bishop of Glasgow."
"And…?"
"His Holiness reminds you that the see is reserved and only he may make the appointment. He has quashed the election of the Glasgow Chapter and declared it invalid." Wardlaw gave Cameron a cool glance, and Joan wondered if Wardlaw's opposition to the appointment was based on jealousy. She hadn't thought so, for John Cameron was a bastard of low birth. Many had opposed it, insulted that one of the many clerics of higher birth wasn't chosen. One of those had been Bishop Wardlaw, but James had insisted. He trusted Cameron more than anyone else, possibly even more than Wardlaw, whose insistence that only clerics should attend the new University of St. Andrews set them at odds. There had been times when the two had even shouted at each other, and James became so angry he couldn't speak to the Primate.
Margaret had sat in the grass and plucked a handful of honeysuckle that she was eating, so Joan circled the three men. She knelt and pointed to another bird to the child. She loved birds so much. As the babe babbled on, Joan continued to listen.
"And I remind you that I do not admit that the Pope has the right to appoint bishops within my realm."
"The see of Glasgow is reserved, Sire. I warned you as much. The other sees you may appoint, but not the sees of Glasgow or St. Andrews. O
nly the Pope may make those appointments."
The king's face was flushed. He swept his arm wide as he exclaimed, "And how will he stop me?"
His glance at Wardlaw was knowing. Joan suspected he had long since understood why Wardlaw opposed him and decided how to handle it. She had little doubt Cameron had the most agile mind in Scotland, even more than James.
Cameron said mildly, "Sire, I would have no dissention with the Holy See over my appointment. I am sure there is some way to bring the Pope to your will given time. Sending envoys to the Holy See might be the solution. Thomas Myrton has often acted for you in the past, has he not, Sire? As Archdeacon of Dunkeld as he is now…" He shrugged. "But for the nonce, there is another matter I must raise with you."
"Another matter?" James asked, sounding annoyed at Cameron trying to change the topic. "What then?"
"I received on your behalf earlier today a letter from Sir Robert Umfraville. He makes numerous complaints concerning violations of the truce and charges Scots with the molesting of the English forces that hold Berwick and Roxburgh. Indeed, he was most indignant. But the main matter was the payment of ransom."
James plunged his hands into his hair. "We have paid… How much, John?"
"Four thousand merks altogether."
James paced back and forth a few times. "We simply do not have the funds to pay more. What merks are in the treasury, and it is not many, must go for the rebuilding of Linlithgow. The burghs are to make a payment, but that shan't be soon. What of the hostages? There is to be an exchange. Might the English refuse?"
"The hostages have been brought north from the Tower to Knaresborough and Pontefract, but Umfraville hints—only hints—that the release will be delayed if more funds are not received."
James glanced at Wardlaw, who shook his head. They had already received funds from the church, and more would not be forthcoming. Wardlaw had already said as much, and the disputes between the two men had not softened his stance.
James paced a few more times back and forth. "They make me bargain like a merchant. Holy Rood, I need you as my chancellor, John. That means I need you confirmed as bishop."
Having tired herself out, Margaret had curled up in a patch of grass and was peacefully sleeping, so Joan stood. "With a child king, the English are in no position to press you, are they? Especially since the war in France is not going well." The Maid of Orleans was said to have the will of God on her side. Joan wasn't sure if it was true, but reports said the English had lost several important battles.
"What of the Auld Alliance?" Wardlaw asked. "Since Douglas's and Buchan's deaths, nothing more has been said of supporting France, but that would give the English pause."
"Sending them an army would cost even more than paying the ransom and might well be useless. Charles has never even been crowned. He's been driven hither and yon like a coursed stag since his mad father died. Besides, I have nae desire to end up at war with the English. We simply must maintain the truce. "
Joan put her hand on his arm and squeezed. Please God, that would not happen for any English army her brothers would be likely to lead. "There must be something short of that." She turned to Cameron. "What do you think, Master Cameron?"
"The French position is stronger than it once was. It's rumored that the Dauphin has finally decided to be crowned. An embassy to him would be wise, I believe, and be sure it is known to the English. Even a hint of renewing the alliance might be enough of a threat to buy the time that we need. It may be that we could stretch out negotiations for an alliance with the French for a number of years. Why not? And with the French position strengthening, I believe we may force the English to dance to our tune, or at least to cease trying to make us dance to theirs."
"I doubt that an embassage to the French would cause sufficient alarm to achieve your goal," Wardlaw said.
"If the envoys proposed a marriage between Dauphin Louis and young Margaret, it might."
"She is still a babe," Joan exclaimed. Joan gave James a determined look. "I know I had more choice than she will be allowed, but I shall not lose her so young."
"Your Grace, I meant only that we should propose it and make sure that the English hear of the idea. Mayhap even make a formal promise, but nothing more."
Joan breathed a soft sigh of relief when James nodded. "Of course, my love. It shall be many years before we even consider allowing her out of our sight." He gave the sleeping child a doting look. Even Bishop Wardlaw nodded in agreement.
Chapter Eighteen
July 1428
The air was warm and heavy with the scent of heather, and the land had a beauty that James had never seen in the south. It was years beyond counting since any King of the Scots had set foot in this part of the realm. James dared not do so without an army at his back. The fact chafed. He was determined to bring this fair land into unity under his reign. In truth, he had not suspected its beauty. They only said it was a wild and savage place. Riding down the long slopes of moors dotted with broom and yellow gorse, he was speechless at the sight that stretched out before him. Beyond the moors was a checkered scene of woodlands and pastures that led to the slate roofs of Inverness huddled around the castle. On one side, a loch stretched gleaming away out of sight, and above all the massive peaks of purple mountains arose into the clouds.
They traveled in a river of polished steel, a force three hundred strong of knights and lords and men-at-arms in chainmail. Forty days before, he had sent summons to parliament to his castle of Inverness.
The ride from Aberdeen to Inverness had been hard, crossing the hills of the Mounth with not only his court but a large enough force to repel a possible attack. Nerves had been on edge, and every day had seen quarrels that he had quashed with a harsh hand and threats of severe fines. He had allowed only two of the queen's ladies-in-waiting to accompany them. More would have made the journey even more of a trial. White mules pulled a litter for the queen's comfort in the warm summer sun, but when the heat eased, Joan often chose to ride by his side on her beautiful cream palfrey that she had ridden the day that they wed.
James had known very well that this trip was a risk. Rebellion was mother's milk in the mountains of Scotland. And in the past few years, the violence and fighting had grown even worse, with feud and sack causing suffering across every village and town. This was his realm, and he would see that it ceased or die trying. Once the clan MacDonald had held total sway, but they had been weakened to the point that instead there was almost anarchy. That James might die to bring peace caused him before he left Perth to cause the Estates to take an oath of fealty to the queen and left behind both Margaret and the infant Isabella in safe hands at Edinburgh Castle. It was a vast, colorful cavalcade under dozens of banners that surrounded that of the king. It almost looked peaceable until you saw that they had left behind the servants, minstrels, cooks and brought no wagons of comforts. Every man rode fully armed.
James rode at the head of the column with Joan by his side, flanked by the Earl of Douglas on one side and the Earl of Mar on the other. Mar grumbled under his breath as they approached the city. He had opposed this entire venture as foolhardy. No parliament had ever been held in the Highlands. When they rode into Inverness, the streets were crowded with men in tartans of every color, all armed. Joan edged her horse close to his side, but other than stares, they rode peacefully through the castle gates. Mar was quickly shouting out orders for their own men to man the gates. James slept with a blade at his side that night.
The next day was all noise and confusion as the castle servants were set to preparing the great hall for the parliament. Fresh rushes were laid, sweetened with heather, the long trestle tables removed, and benches put in place. James sat on the dais with John Cameron by his side, and they discussed the few matters to be brought up. James sipped at a goblet of wine as John went over them and allowed the Highlanders, who had never attended parliament in the south, to look him over. All the day, men swaggered in, Highland lairds of the Mactaggarts, Frasers, G
ordons, Gunns, Macphersons, MacEwans, Munros, and the like, answering his summons to parliament. James greeted them with a nod; these were not the ones James waited for, however. He chewed his lip and exchanged looks with his secretary. He must bring the great chiefs to the parliament and make them feel the weight of the royal authority. He had thrown the die, and if he lost, he could not guarantee they could win their way back south of the Firth of Forth.
James knew he could show no nerves, so he lay awake in the dark beside Joan again that night, his blade beside their bed. In the morning, they broke their fast together, and he forced himself to patience. The Parliament would open at Terce. James was dressing in his finest doublet, cloth of gold, the sleeves slashed with crimson silk, when a cacophony from below in the town broke out. It was shouts and the skirling of bagpipes, and to be heard within the castle, it had to be a great many people. James took a deep breath. A guard knocked and stuck his head in to say that the Earl of Mar was without. When he entered, James just raised his eyebrows in question.
"It is a substantial host, Sire, under the MacDonald banner. It is Alexander of Islay right enough and hundreds of his caterans."
"Hundreds." James scowled. That was in direct contravention of the law, and they were throwing it in his face. "Do they appear peaceable?"
"They're not in battle array. They remain outwith the town, but beyond that I cannae say."
"Alexander of the Isles would not come alone. What other banners?"
"I spied the banners of Macruri and MacArthur and Campbell, but there are at least a dozen others."
James let out a long breath. He grasped Joan's hand for a moment. James had not dared risk bringing the regalia on so dangerous a venture, but he donned a gold coronet to serve as a crown. He twitched a smile at Mar that felt more like a grimace. "You've fought the Donalds before, my lord, so if we must, and I trust you."
