Black Douglas (Coronet Books)

by Nigel Tranter

  The Countess was looking at Hay the Constable. “I am glad that you have brought Sir William,” she said. “He is a good man. But I fear that he has not the wits to match Crichton’s. Nor indeed has Sir James Hamilton. You will be careful, Will?” It was not often that Beatrix St. Clair sounded anxious or unsure.

  “I will be careful, yes.”

  “He is a most clever man. And, and . . .”

  “And I am not! Well I know it. But perhaps cleverness is not all in this matter. We shall see.”

  A superbly dressed gallant came pushing his way through the throng. He raised a mellifluous voice. “Constable — the Chancellor will see you now. Come.”

  Hay and Hamilton began to move forward.

  “No!” Will barked out abruptly.

  All eyes turned on him. The chatter in great groin-vaulted hall died away.

  “Would you so answer this man’s summons?” Will went on, thickly. “As though he was the King!”

  “He is the Chancellor,” Hay said.

  “And you are the Constable. Great Constable of Scotland. Under the King’s Grace, does any hold higher office? Chancellors come and go, do they not? But Hay is Constable, and ever will be.” Sir William was in fact 7th hereditary Lord High Constable since Bruce had created the office.

  Hay looked uncomfortable. Hamilton coughed. The magnificent emissary looked appalled.

  “Tell Sir William Crichton that we will see him, yes.” Will jerked. “But here.” He glanced round the crowded vestibule. “Or . . . or somewhere else,” he ended, distinctly feebly.

  “There is a small chamber, my lord. Beyond that door. Part of the chapel.” That was Robert Fleming, speaking quietly at Will’s back.

  “Aye. Let it be there, then. Tell the Chancellor, sir, we will see him there. The Constable. Sir James Hamilton. And Douglas.”

  There were moments of silence, and then the elegant turned and went whence he had come, wordless.

  Immediately a great buzz of talk broke out. Nodding to Hay, Will set-faced, pushed on towards the small door Fleming had indicated.

  The other two entered, none too confidently, but their esquires held back, waiting. Will found that Robert Fleming had come along behind him. On an impulse, he gestured to him to come in with them. He shut the door.

  “Fleming of Cumbernauld,” he said shortly to the other two, as they stared. “Who, if he had his rights, would be Earl of Wigtown! Sir William Crichton slew his brother.”

  Hay looked doubtful, but did not comment. Nor did Hamilton, but he pursed thin lips in obvious disapproval.

  Will, looking around that little bare room with its dusty table and some spare chapel furnishings, spoke again, “My lady-mother, out there, reminded me. That Crichton is a cleverer man than any of us. Not to forget it. He asked for this encounter. He wants something, therefore. Let him talk, I say. The less we say, it may be, the better. At first.” Hay was unlikely to talk too much, but Hamilton might be otherwise.

  Will had expected that Crichton might keep them waiting for a salutary time. But he had barely finished speaking when the door opened, and the same elegant as before announced the Chancellor of the realm.

  The man who came in, edging past the speaker, was almost laughably different from anything that Will had imagined. He had been prepared for arrogance, pride, dominance, vehemence, ruthlessness. He could perceive no sign of these before him now. William Crichton was a tall, spare, rather sad-looking man of middle years, with the ravaged face of an ascetic and the stoop of a scholar. Pale, stiffly formal, almost diffident in manner, only the heavily-hooded eyes gave any indication that he might not be all that he seemed. If Livingstone had been a surprise, Crichton was more so. Soberly but richly dressed, he inclined his greying head towards Hay.

  “My lord Constable,” he said, and his speech was flat, colourless, and with the faintest impediment. “Sir James. My lord . . . of Douglas, I understand?” He looked at the well-turned-out Fleming, not at Will. “And who is this? Not Sir Alexander Livingstone, whom I had expected.”

  “Alexander’s regrets,” Hay jerked. “He was taken ill. At Bannockburn. Had to return to Stirling. It is . . . unfortunate.”

  Crichton looked unhappy. “Ah. Very.”

  “And I am Douglas, sir. This is Robert Fleming of Cumbernauld. A name that will be known to you!”

  The older man inclined his head, almost as though in acceptance of a distressing fact. But those heavy-lidded eyes were considering him very thoroughly, Will was certain. “A day of surprises,” he sighed.

  They waited, in a rather embarrassed silence. At least, Will and his companions did; Crichton appeared to be lost in a sort of pensive melancholy.

  Hamilton it was who cracked first. He cleared his throat loudly. ‘We have come a great way, my lord Chancellor,” he said, “to see you.”

  The other moved slowly round the table, touching its top with long delicate fingers. When he turned, he had the window’s light at his own back and in their faces. “Is that so, Sir James? I am flattered. But . . . to what may I ascribe the honour?”

  Hamilton frowned. “You sought to see us. Asked for this meeting. Came here to speak with us.”

  The Chancellor spread his hands. “The pleasure is undoubted. But I came to Linlithgow to meet my old friend and colleague, Sir Alexander Livingstone of Callendar. On the realm’s affairs. In which we are both, alas, concerned as officers of state.” The inference in that was plain.

  “The Constable is also an officer of state,” Will said.

  “That is so. Have you come to see me on state business, Sir William? If so, perhaps my chamber would be more comfortable than this.”

  Hay shook his head. “Cease this beating of the air, sir, of a mercy!” he exclaimed. “Let us be at what we have come for.”’

  “With all my heart, sirs.”

  They waited, and exasperation grew.

  At length Hamilton burst out. “’Fore God, Crichton — come to the bit! You sought this. What have you to say?”

  “I sought talk with Livingstone, sir — not with his grandchild.’ That was sorrowful rather than tart, and the emphasis on the final syllable was so slight as to be barely noticeable.

  Hamilton noticed it, nevertheless, and grew purple in the face. He was a man of nearly thirty, his mother, Livingstone’s eldest daughter, having been only sixteen at his birth. He took a step forward, hand dropping to sword-hilt.

  Fearing complete failure, Will spoke quickly. “You have not spoken with him for many months, so Sir Alexander says. He holds that you would speak now, only because of myself. Douglas.” Flushed, Will was talking with anything but the calm care he had determined to employ. “Douglas strength it is that has brought you here, I think! Is it not so? You have something to say to Douglas?”

  The Chancellor shook his head, as though in wonderment. “My good young lord,” he said. “What is this? Of what strength is this you speak? I fear I do not rate Douglas strength quite so highly, as do you . . .”

  “You feared it highly enough three years ago, to slay the Earl of Douglas my cousin! And his brother. And Fleming’s brother likewise. To slay, when your invited guests, in bloody murder!”

  No single sound stirred in that stone-vaulted chamber, as men held their breaths for long seconds. Will himself stood appalled at what had escaped his lips.

  Crichton’s long fingers reached out to touch the table-top, and the tap-tap of them at last broke the utter silence. “You . . . you are young, my lord. Very young,” he said, and there was steel behind that level voice now. “Else, I swear, I could not permit the tongue that so spoke to speak again! After this day. No man speaks the Chancellor so! But . . . you are scarce a man yet. So I must be patient. But be warned, my lord of Douglas — be warned!”

  “We are both warned, then!” the younger man said harshly. “I am not my cousin. Nor yet my father! And I have many brothers. Seek to silence my tongue, and others will speak the louder! And many will listen!”

  “S
o you threaten me, my lord? Me, the Chancellor!”

  “Yes,” Will agreed, simply.

  Hay intervened, “Such talk serves nothing. We did not come for this. We came believing that you wished to talk, sir. For the good of the realm.”

  “For the good of the realm?” Crichton sighed, himself again. “You, my lord Constable? Hamilton, Douglas. And, it seems, perhaps not Livingstone! Your concern for His Grace’s realm touches me. The Council will rejoice to hear of it also, I think!”

  “The Council will watch how the cat jumps. As always!”

  “The Council have not failed, as yet, to support their Chancellor and preses. As I recollect it. As is right and proper.”

  “The Council may think again. When they perceive the forces supporting the King.”

  “But we all support the King’s Grace, Sir William. Am I not his chief minister? While His Grace remains under age, those who rise in arms against the authority of his Chancellor and Council are in rebellion. Guilty, Whoever they claim to support.”

  “You say so? Even if they include the King’s governor. And the High Constable?”

  “Even so. Since the Council can annul these offices, Sir William. And would, I promise you!” Crichton added that, after a slight pause, almost regretfully.

  “You are very sure of your Council, sir!”

  “He should be less sure,” Will put in shortly. “Has he forgotten Holy Church? How many bishops sit on the Council?”

  The Chancellor swung on him, more swiftly than in any of his previous movements. “Bishops? . . . What mean you by that?”

  “How many bishops may attend your Council? The Lords Spiritual. Twelve, is it? Thirteen?”

  “My lord of St. Andrews, the Primate, is . . . sound. He attends. Few others. He speaks for Holy Church.

  “Not for my lord of Glasgow, I think! Nor others. Including kinsmen of my own. Bishop Cameron was Chancellor once. He does not love you, sir!”

  Crichton went very still, seeming to gaze down at the streaked dust of the table. “I see,” he said, at last He glanced up. “No, Cameron does not love me. But others do. And there are those who do not love Cameron. Eh, Sir James?”

  Hamilton looked embarrassed.

  “So! Ambition makes strange bedfellows!” He turned back to Will. “Did you come to Linlithgow with anything more to say to me, young man?”

  Will swallowed. “We came, rather, to hear what you had to say, sir.”

  “Yes, indeed!” Hamilton blustered. “Since you it was desired the meeting. Out with it, sir!”

  Crichton shrugged, with apparent acquiescence. “I came but to talk with Livingstone. My friend. To inform him of certain matters. He has not attended the Council of late. We have been considering. The office of Lord Treasurer is like to fall vacant. The Council considered that Sir Alexander might worthily fill it, if it is not too great a burden. You are of the Council, my lord Constable. Perhaps you will seek Sir Alexander’s view on the matter?”

  His hearers stood all but dumbfounded. In a few short words he had changed the entire situation. All knew it. Livingstone, although he had made himself immensely powerful, had always lacked money, wealth. He held the King and most of the royal castles, but these were a drain on his resources rather than a source of profit. An unscrupulous man, as the realm’s Treasurer, could line his pockets at will. Crichton had always kept this key position for his own disposal. The present Treasurer was a minion of his own, Sir Walter Haliburton of Dirleton. If the Chancellor was prepared to buy Livingstone with the Treasurership, there was no question as to how Livingstone would react. Avaricious to a degree, he would grasp at it. All else would go by the board. Crichton knew his man. Any alliance between his hearers and Livingstone was as good as shattered. And Livingstone, holding the King, alone could lend the vital air of authority, legality, to any rising against the Chancellor.

  Once again there was complete silence in that little chamber. No talking would change this situation.

  Crichton coughed in his diffident way. “The Wardenship of the Middle March is at present vacant. Owing to the late lamented death of the Earl your father, my lord of Douglas. You are young for so onerous a task on the realm’s behalf — but there is an able Deputy-Warden in Sir Walter Kerr. The Council must make the appointment shortly. I ask myself whether to suggest your lordship’s name? . . .”

  So there it was, the second stroke in this shrewd attack to detach Douglas from the others by flattering Will with this lofty appointment, to keep Douglas power busy patrolling the Border instead of threatening his own hegemony.

  “No!” Will cried. “No, Sir. Keep your Wardenship. I do not want it.”

  The other inclined his head. “So be it. I was in doubt as to the wisdom of it, since I have seen your style! In that case, sirs, I have no more to say.” Crichton bowed stiffly, and moved round to the door. “A good day to you. You will convey my-concern to Sir Alexander, over his health? My deep concern! And not fail to inform him of the matter of the Treasurership?” With a levelly significant glance round them all, he left them.

  The putative allies eyed each other starkly. In the chaos of their reactions they had one urge in common requiring no discussion. They all wanted to be away from Linlithgow, without delay. Outmanoeuvred, dismissed and made to look foolish, their immediate concern was to be gone. They streamed out, practically wordless.

  It is to be feared that Will Douglas was less than the dutiful son when his mother sought to question him, as he pushed his way through the crowded hall. With only the curtest of answers to her queries, he thrust on. She had little better response from Hay, but Hamilton was more eloquent. She was not alone in her interest.

  In the inner courtyard, Will found that Robert Fleming was still at his back, with Pate Pringle. “You choose no goodly cause to support!” he jerked. “Better back to your Cumbernauld!”

  The other shook his head. “I said that I wished to serve you, my lord.”

  “My service looks to be barren, does it not? Profitless!”

  “Nevertheless, I would come with you. If you will have me. You have no esquire?”

  “Why, man? What have I to offer you?”

  “You are my lord. What I have I hold of you.”

  “My mother put you up to this?”

  “Not so. I sought her aid, to come to you.” Fleming’s voice changed a little. “I see your service as the best road to my desire, my lord. Vengeance on Crichton. For my brother.”

  “Ha! And you still think that, after what you heard in there?”

  “Yes.”

  “And what of vengeance for your father? Your grandsire?”

  “That is by with. An old story. All who played part in that are dead. So I would ride with you, my lord.”

  “As you will. Pate — find Cumbernauld a horse.”

  “Aye, lord. And the troop? The men I brought? Out there?”

  “They were loud at shouting Douglas!” Will said grimly. “Let us see if they can do more than shout. Let them ride with me. To Stirling.”

  “Aye. Good, my lord.”

  “There speaks Douglas indeed!” Fleming exclaimed. “I thank God to hear it!”

  Will turned to look at him, but said nothing.

  Later, as the enlarged company, of nearly five hundred, rode out of Linlithgow westwards, Hamilton spoke. “At least it shows how high he rates our threat. This Treasurership. To give up that will cost Crichton dear. We must have troubled him sorely.”

  “We have not. Only Douglas,” the Constable said. “These at our backs. Douglas swords and lances. That is all that troubles Crichton. The rest he can deal with. You saw — he did not seek to buy us. With offices. Only Douglas. And Livingstone.”

  “Livingstone,” Will repeated. “Can we keep this matter from him? Meantime. Tell him nothing of it?”

  “Crichton will send messengers, never fear. He will not leave it to us.”

  “Could we not waylay his messengers? Keep them from Sir Alexander? Watch for them.
We have men, now. To give us time.”

  “Time for what?” Hamilton demanded. “What can we do? With my grandson? He will do nothing, until he knows Crichton’s views. And when he learns of the Treasurership, he will take it. Nothing more sure.”

  “Aye. So say I. But still we need time. It is not Livingstone we need look to now, I think. Only that he should remain ignorant, so long as may be. He cozened us today. It is our turn, now! . . .”

  Will at least wasted no time. That very evening, in the Ballengeich Tower of Stirling Castle, he all but importuned young James Stewart.

  “Your Grace,” he cried. “Do you not see it? If you are ever to get out of the clutches of these scoundrels who hold you fast, and spoil your realm, you must act now. Act the man. The king. Before it is too late.”

  “But what can I do?” the boy exclaimed. “I am held fast. They will never let me out of this castle. What can I do?”

  “You can do what only a king can do. What they hold you here to do. For them. Sign decrees. Which are then the law. The royal warrant. I say such decrees need not always be written by Livingstone and Crichton!”

  “But, if I signed some paper contrary to their wishes. They would make me pay for it. Sorely.”

  “Only with their tongues, Sire. Can you not face that? Others will be hazarding more than that, in your cause!”

  “Yes. But, even so, they would not let it stand. A decree that I had signed. Not of their making. They would annul it. Make me sign another, declaring it void.”

  “To be sure. But that would take time. They would require a meeting of the Privy Council to annul a decree bearing your royal signature. Would they not? Livingstone himself could not do it. Nor Crichton. And that time could be well used.”

  “What would you do, Cousin? What would you have me to sign? What difference can it make? Since I cannot leave this castle?”

  “You can not, Your Grace. But I can. Livingstone will not try to hold me now, with a hundred Douglas lances in his forecourt!” That was the situation. Livingstone had by no means permitted the great company of Douglas, Hay, Hamilton and other supporters that had ridden from Linlithgow, to enter the castle proper; but even in the outer bailey they represented a threat. Will felt a deal safer than he had done before.