Black Douglas (Coronet Books)

by Nigel Tranter

  ‘I am Douglas,” Will jerked.

  “Of where? From whence, man?” Hay, the Constable, demanded. “Who are you who comes swording and fighting into the King’s presence? Only nobles may claim to do homage . . .”

  Will was not of a character to conduct conversation with any man, king or constable, on his knees. He rose, picking up his sword as he did so, and sheathed it, without undue haste. “I told His Grace,” he said, looking at Sir William Hay. “I am Douglas. Himself. Commonly called Black. You will have heard, sir, of the Black Douglas, I think?”

  The Constable’s sudden intake of breath was to be perceived rather than heard amongst the gasping from all around.

  It was the young King who found words most quickly. “You mean . . . you mean, sir . . . that you are Black Douglas? Yourself? The Earl? You?”

  “Since my father’s death three weeks past, Sire, I am. William Douglas, his eldest son.” He amended that, a little self-consciously. “Sir William. Earl of Douglas. The 8th. Come to do my fealty to my liege lord, the King of Scots.”

  The boy’s prominent jaw dropped slightly, lips parted, but he found nothing to say.

  “God’s eye — is this truth, man? You do not jest? . . .” the Constable exclaimed, thickly.

  “Did I seem to jest back at the gatehouse, sir? When I sought entry to this castle, to pay my duty?”

  Hay was eyeing him up and down, much as the guards had done. “How . . . how could any know? Coming . . . thus?” As an afterthought he added, almost as though it choked him, “My lord.”

  “I said my name and asked to be brought to the King’s Grace. Your ruffians at the gate would have none of me . . .”

  “Not mine, my lord — they are none of mine. Livingstone’s men.” The Constable looked over the King’s head at the other man.

  Sir James Livingstone, eldest son of Sir Alexander, the King’s guardian, was having difficulty with his facial expression; also with his breathing. He looked at Hay and the King, not at Will. “How were they to know? How any of us to know that this was not . . . an impostor! A young man. Dressed so. With no attendants. Not so much as a servant. And no banner. No arms blazoned. Nothing to show his worth and quality. To come to Stirling Castle thus! . . .”

  “Would His Grace have preferred that Douglas came with a thousand men at his back?” Will demanded. “Or two thousand? Or five?” If that was hot, and not a little vaunting, Will had been sorely tried — and moreover he found the speaker obnoxious.

  Young Livingstone did not answer. Hay cleared his throat.

  “The point is taken, my lord,” he said carefully.

  “He . . . my lord of Douglas . . . showed his worth. His quality,” the boy James exclaimed. “Back there with the guards, Sir James. It was good fighting, was it not? The best we have seen . . .”

  “It was rude fisticuffs. Brawling, Sire. Like common wrestling at a fair! . . .”

  “My father was a wrestler, sir!”

  Livingstone all but choked. James the First had indeed learned wrestling during the eighteen years of his imprisonment in England, had in fact become renowned as one of the finest wrestlers in that land — as well as runner, athlete, poet, lutist and, later, iron-handed ruler.

  “May I have your hand, Sir?” Will asked levelly. He did not intend to make it sound almost like a command.

  The boy thrust out his hand, at once. Will took it between both his own, in the traditional gesture of homage. He jerked his head over it, and muttered something perfunctory. He did not, however, resume his kneeling stance.

  “Why did you come dressed so? Like a merchant?” James asked. He sounded interested, enquiring, not in any way censorious. “And with no train? I have never seen a lord look like you.”

  Will looked down at his dusty, travel-stained garb. There was nothing wrong with it, except for the tear made by the halberd-point in his doublet. It was not fine — but nor was it ragged or badly soiled. “I did not know that clothing was so important. I have no better than this. I have never lived at Court, Sire. Where I live we esteem the man within, not his clothing.”

  “Yes. Yes — you have the rights of it, my lord. So think I!” James glanced down at his own apparel. He was not notably fine himself, though his clothing had been plainly good once. He was much less handsomely clad than most of those around him. He switched his gaze to the magnificence of Sir James Livingstone and the quieter richness of Sir William Hay, and grinned at Will.

  The other answered with a fleeting glimmer of a smile. There was something of rapport established between them, from that moment. They were, after all, cousins of a sort, and only five years apart in age.

  Sir James cleared his throat, frowning. “My father,” he said stiffly. “I think, Sire, it is time that we saw my father. With . . . with this lord of Douglas!” There was more than a hint of threat in that, barely disguised.

  Will looked from King James to the speaker, over to the Constable, and back. “I will perhaps see Sir Alexander Livingstone on some other occasion,” he said harshly. “I have matters to discuss with him. Notably regarding my cousins. Who . . . died! The 6th Earl, and David his brother. Sir Alexander was present, was he not?”

  The stir all around was immediate, almost electrifying. Livingstone bit thin lips, eyes narrowing. James Stewart looked appalled. He had been present also, of course, those three years before, at the fatal dinner, arrest, trial and execution of the two Douglases, however unwillingly.

  When no one found anything to say, in reaction, Will went on. “Another time. For Livingstone. I have ridden far, Sire. I am of a sweat and I have not eaten. I’d esteem it a favour . . . in this your house of Stirling? . . .”

  “Yes. Yes — to be sure. You must come to my tower. I have quarters in the old Ballengeich Tower.” Young James looked quickly, almost defiantly, at Livingstone. “You will come to my room, my lord of Douglas. My own room.”

  “I thank Your Grace.” Will turned, and without waiting for other lead or invitation, began to move back, up towards the lower courtyard. King James hastened to walk at his side. Perforce, Livingstone and the Constable had to fall in at their backs, and the rest followed on.

  “You served those men, the men at the gate, the guards — you laid about them splendidly!” James said admiringly, the words tumbling out. “It was good, excellent sport. Much better than the bull. And the bear. They were very poor. You are strong and quick. I wish that I could fight like that. My father would have taught me. You would not have beat him, my lord! He was the best fighter there was. It took six men to kill him. Nobody here will teach me. They say it is not kingly, not knightly, to fight with the hands. Only the sword and the lance. Would . . . would you teach me?” That came out with a rush.

  “I have not been trained, Sire, I have but learned, by experience. In many fights. I have five brothers! And the men of Ettrick are great fighters. With their hands. I am less nimble with the sword . . .”

  “Then I will teach you that! If you will show me the other. I have been taught swording. Will you?”

  “You are the King, Sire. Your wish is my command. If you will have it so.”

  “Yes. That is well. Good. My tower is the old one. It is part a ruin but it has a little garden on the side of the rock where you could teach me. Over there, through the pend.”

  Will noted that Sir James Livingstone, behind them, had betaken himself off.

  As they sat down at the table in the bleak little room with the magnificent prospect over the flat Carse of Forth and the Flanders Moss, towards the Highland mountains, Will eyed the plain fare set forth, and smiled grimly.

  “No black bull’s head for Douglas, today!” he observed.

  The boy-king, who had scarcely ceased to chatter in half an hour, swallowed audibly and said nothing.

  “That was an ill deed. But an old story, my lord. And no responsibility, no concern, of His Grace.” Hay, the Constable, who remained with them of all the company — and who obviously was not going to leave the
visitor alone with the monarch — spoke shortly.

  “It was the concern of all in this land, sir. Especially all who bear the rule. In any degree. Since it was done in the King’s name and presence.”

  “A child of ten! Forced to watch while, while . . . others did what they would.”

  “Aye — others. Evil men. One of whom still holds this royal castle, it seems. And another who rules the realm in His Grace’s name.”

  Hay glanced about him, in something like alarm, as though the stone walls of that meagre chamber might have ears. “Watch what you say, a God’s name!” he jerked, voice lowered. “Remember where you are! Who you speak with. Men have died for less words than these.”

  “Men are forever dying, my lord Constable. Sometimes even the evil men die! For myself, I scarce think that Livingstone will risk to slay another Earl of Douglas eating in the King’s presence! It is said that lightning strikes but once in any place!”

  “Nevertheless, my lord — I say, watch your words. Watch well every step you take in this place. However you may wish it otherwise, Sir Alexander Livingstone holds this strength, and all within it. On the authority of His Grace’s Privy Council. You have seen fit to put your head into a noose, here. Why, I know not. But see you — beware lest Livingstone decides that he must pull the noose tight!”

  “He will not do that — since, I think, he is not a fool as well as a knave! This is His Grace’s castle, not Livingstone’s. His Grace has asked me to his table. That is as good as safe conduct. Is it not, Sire?”

  “Yes. I . . . I suppose it. Yes.” His Grace did not sound altogether confident.

  Will laughed shortly, “I am content,” he said.

  As they ate, Hay put the question bluntly. “What brought you here, my lord? Like this. Alone. Unsupported. You must have had a reason. When you might have come . . . so differently.”

  “Would I have gained entry to Stirling Castle had I had thousands at my back? Would I have been eating at the King’s table, sir?”

  “Perhaps not. Not with thousands. But with some style, some circumstance. Seemly in a great lord.”

  “I did not know that style and circumstance meant so much in Scotland. But I came so of a purpose, yes. Already men have been seeking that I take sides in this land. That I take one’s part against another. Use the Douglas power thus, or thus. All think to enroll Douglas’s thousands. How was I to judge aright? Had I come with a great company. I would have learned but little. Save that men respect Douglas swords — which I knew already. This way, I learn much. I have learned much. Which it is good for Douglas to know.”

  “I say that he is right,” King James exclaimed. “I am glad that he came.”

  Hay was less enthusiastic. “Such knowledge might cost you dear, my lord.”

  “That I thought of. But I wanted to learn something of the state of this realm, with my own eyes and ears and wits. Not just what others would have me believe.”

  The Constable grunted. “And you learn apace, my young lord?”

  “Aye.”

  “For example?”

  “If you will. I learn, amongst other things, that the King of Scots is held prisoner in his own castle.” He glanced around him. “And not in the best quarters of it, I think! And that the Lord High Constable of Scotland, whose duty it is to guard and protect the King’s person at all times, is helpless to do anything!”

  Hay drew a hand over mouth and chin. “You are less than careful with your words, by the Mass!” he said, but heavily, not fiercely.

  “Perhaps. But they are true words, are they not?”

  “Only part true. Only part. You are young, my lord. It is easy for you to speak, to make your swift judgements! What know you of the dangers, the difficulties, of the balance that must be maintained in this Scotland today? Weighing this force against that. Think you, man, that I would have it this way?” The Constable spoke with a restrained passion now. “I would serve His Grace better than this if I might. I am Constable of Scotland, yes. I bear the sword of state. My authority is great. But where lies my power? I bear that sword all but alone. I cannot field thousands, my lord!”

  “This Council? His Grace’s Privy Council? Is it not for them to give you the power you need?”

  “The Council! The Chancellor calls a Council. Who, think you, attend? Who will walk into his Castle of Edinburgh? Not those who fear that they might not walk out again.” Once again the involuntary glance around him, even at the young king, as that came out.

  “Yet there must be many of the Council who are leal? No friends of Crichton?”

  ‘No doubt. But they are not united. Scattered over the land. they need a lead. A powerful lead.”

  “Aye. I have heard that before! Who make up the Council?”

  “Many creatures of Crichton’s. And Livingstone’s certain of the greater prelates. Officers of state, as myself. The Chamberlain. The Treasurer. The Secretary. The Justiciar. And of course, the earls . . .”

  “All the earls? Then I am of it also?”

  “Aye, my lord — you are. And much good may it do you! Or His Grace! Few earls ever attend. Your father was of the Council, both as earl and as Justiciar. I cannot mind once seeing him there!”

  “My father was a man sick,” Will said briefly. “I am not. To summon this Council? Can only the Chancellor Crichton do that?”

  “The Chancellor summons. In the name of the King.”

  “Aye. But it is the King’s Privy Council, is it not? As other than the great council of a parliament. It is not the Chancellor’s Council. His Grace could summon it himself? Without the Chancellor?”

  ‘My lord — you tread dangerous ground! As well that I am no creature of Crichton’s! His Grace is young, not of age. He cannot act the king, as you would have him do.”

  ‘As I would, my lord, if I could!” the boy interposed.

  “It may be that you are less helpless than you think, Sire. Than Sir William thinks.”

  “Would you help me, my lord? Would Douglas help?”

  “I have done homage, have I not? Said that I am your man. I did not come to utter mere empty words . . .”

  He stopped as, without a warning or a knock, the door was flung open. Sir James Livingstone stood there, holding it wide for another and older man.

  King James half rose from his chair, fear writ large on his eager features. The Constable, as required when the King stood, stood also. Will Douglas, though he knew the custom, remained seated.

  The newcomers came in, leaving the door wide. The older man though most evidently Sir James’s father, was an unlikely sire for so tall and slender an elegant. Small, twisted, stringy, a sandy ferret of a man he looked not so much old as ageless. Of no appearance, presence or dignity, and overdressed like a fairground monkey, he nevertheless still impressed by his sheer latent vitality, acuteness, and the shrewd penetration of his darting weasel’s eyes. Beside him, his fine son was no more than a walking clothes-horse.

  Ignoring the others he looked directly at Will. “This, then, will be the new young Earl of Douglas?” he said, and his voice was as thin and lacking in quality as the rest of him. “And a lad o’ parts, I’m hearing — hey?” That ended on a cackle, almost a giggle.

  It had been Will’s intention to ignore the man, and to ask the Constable who was this who presumed to burst into the monarch’s presence without warning or acknowledgement. But he found himself rising, to answer, nevertheless, and though he managed to halt the uprising he could not withhold response.

  ‘I am Douglas, yes. Come to the King. And you — are Sir Alexander Livingstone? Who helped slay my cousins!” That was not what he had meant to say, at all.

  “Ha! That way the cat jumps! Na, na, my lord — you mistake. Chap you at another door, man. Yon was Crichton’s ploy — no mine.” The other grinned.

  “You consented, sir. The invitation. To visit Edinburgh Castle, to meet the King. That was sent in your name, as well as Crichton’s.”

  “The invitation, aye.
For the young Earl o’ Douglas to come take his due part in the conduct o’ the realm, to be sure. No’ the deaths that followed, lad. That wasna Alec Livingstone! I’m a man o’ peace.” Again the whinny of high laughter. “His Grace here will tell you so. And Sir William, the Constable. Eh? Eh?”

  James nodded quickly, anxiously. Hay inclined his head, expressionless, but said nothing.

  “I have heard of your peace, sir!” Will said shortly.

  “Aye. As well you might, lad — as well you might! No’ that your own entry to this Stirling Castle was that peaceable, I’m told! Eh? Swordery. Riot. Cauld steel out in the King’s presence!”

  “Your bullies denied me entry. To the King’s presence. Attacked me. Douglas defends himself. This Douglas!”

  “Ooh, aye. Worthy. Aye, worthy. Me — I’m an auld done man, but I defend mysel’ also. And defend His young Grace here, likewise, see you. Frae all assaults. By whomsoever. Be they named Stewart! Or Hay! Or even Douglas! By orders o’ the Council.” There was no attempt to disguise the threat of that, despite the chuckle.

  Will drew a deep breath. “Or . . . Crichton?” he asked.

  The little man’s glance was keen, probing. For moments he did not answer. Then he nodded. “Aye — or Crichton,” he agreed. “Assuredly. If he came chapping at the gates o’ Stirling.”

  “If he came, he would not come as I have done, I think. Alone.”

  “Maybe no’. Think you he is like to? I wouldna think it.”

  “You know him best, sir. You work with him. You together rule this realm, do you not? But . . . if Crichton could hold the King’s Grace in his hands, where would Livingstone be then?” That came out less calmly, certainly, than Will would have wished. He had a mental picture of how his mother would have carried it off, and strove to emulate — but knew himself to fall far short.

  The other sniffed. “If! . . . If! . . . Seven years I have been guardian and governor. Think you he wouldna have seized His

  Grace before now? If he could! What difference is there now?”

  “This difference.” Will swallowed. “Douglas.”

  “Eh? . . . What do you mean, boy?” That was almost a squeak.