Black Douglas (Coronet Books)

by Nigel Tranter

  “The King I will ever serve,” he said. “But not those in whose hands His Grace is held!”

  “Unless perhaps their name be Crichton!” Will suggested.

  The other looked him up and down mournfully, distastefully, from those great eyes. “Is Crichton greater rogue than Livingstone? Or Hamilton?” he asked slowly. “Yet you work with these.”

  “Only because I have little choice. And for the King’s cause.”

  “He would rather work with you, my lord, I think,” Margaret added.

  Will moistened his lips, and swallowed. “Aye,” he said.

  “Yet your parliament had the insolence to declare me forfeit! Me — Angus! You did not vote otherwise, I think? Nor your brothers.”

  “You rejected the King’s summons to attend. Both parliaments.”

  “The King’s summons? Your summons!”

  “Not mine. The Privy Council’s in the King’s name. To you, and all others.”

  “Call it what you will.” Angus stalked around the room, more than ever like a great wading-bird. “What did you come to Tantallon to say? It must have been more important than this, to bring you to my house?”

  “Is it strange that Douglas should visit Douglas? We are kin. We should work together, not apart. Not against each other. The Red Douglas and the Black. Together, what might not they achieve.”

  “It has taken you long to think of this.”

  “I have had no aid from you.”

  “You do not want my aid, even now, I wager! You want the Dunbar cannon! And shall not have them.”

  Will shook his head. “That is not what I came for. Although they should be mine, as the King’s Lieutenant-General — for they are the King’s cannon. Your taking them and holding them here, against the royal commands, could be deemed treason. But I have taken other steps to gain the cannon we need. They are being made. Are already made, and on their way from Galloway. It is not cannon I seek of you, but . . . but the hand of friendship.” Will Douglas found that one of the hardest things he had ever had to say.

  “Friendship?” The other looked incredulous, almost alarmed. Friendship undoubtedly was not a state with which he was much experienced. “Why?”

  “I have told you. Douglas should be united, not separate. Together we could ensure the triumph of the King’s cause.”

  “The triumph of your cause!”

  “The King’s cause. Douglas is concerned in it, but the cause is the King’s.”

  “I think . . . you are hypocrite . . . as well as . . .” Suddenly Angus began to cough, in great, harsh, rasping barks, sore and deep. He became wholly convulsed. As the paroxysm continued, he staggered over to sit on a bench by the window, his long person hunched and crumpled. On and on it went, the thin frame racked and shaken. Concerned, his visitors eyed each other.

  “He gets taken thus. Often,” George Douglas told them, looking helplessly at his brother, “Nothing to be done. It will pass.”

  “Is there nothing we may do?” Margaret demanded. “To aid. Wine? A posset?”

  “No avail. Leave him. See — it is easing . . .”

  Presently the coughing died away. It left the Earl trembling and exhausted. He did not rise, but quite quickly he spoke, though thickly, huskily.

  “What . . . have you . . . to offer me? That I . . . support your cause. Other than . . . empty words? Friendship! Kinsmen! . . .”

  It was strange to hear the sufferer launch straight back into the discussion without preamble, comment or explanation. Strange, too, to hear the tenor of his enquiry, the new and blatant note of advantage-seeking.

  “You must rest,” Margaret urged. “You are unwell. Do not concern yourself, my lord. Not now.”

  He ignored her. “Did you come empty-handed, man? To Angus?”

  Will eyed him thoughtfully. “What do you want?”

  “I do not beg. I accept. Or decline. You offer what?”

  Will took a deep breath. “The Justiciership, south of Forth. Warden of the East March. Admiral of the Forth,” he said flatly.

  “Insufficient.”

  Without change or lift of voice, the other went on. “High Admiral of Scotland. When Crawford goes — and he is a done man. And the great customs of Leith, port of Edinburgh; and Aberlady, port of Haddington.”

  There was silence in that chamber for a space, save for Angus’s heavy breathing. Sweat beaded his high pale brows, from the coughing, but otherwise he seemed unmoved. At length he spoke.

  “One matter more.” He turned to his brother. “Dod — the lassie,” he said.

  The Master hesitated, glanced at the others, and then shrugging, went out.

  In only a few moments he was back, leading by the hand the girl they had seen playing in the pleasance with the cat. She was a pale, thin, plain child of eleven of twelve, with a frightened look, dressed in what was obviously cut-down women’s wear, too large for her frame. She kept her eyes down.

  “Aye.” Angus barely glanced at her. “Here is the other matter. I would wed.”

  The gasps of surprise that greeted this announcement were perhaps hardly tactful, much less complimentary. Frowning, the Earl went on, briefly.

  “She is Joan Stewart. Or Joanna. The King’s sister.”

  Astonished, they looked from the crouching man to the silent standing child. “Dear God!” Will exclaimed — and then, recollecting himself, made a jerky bow. “Highness! he said. “I . . . ah . . . your servant.”

  Margaret and Meg sketched hurried curtsies. “We did not know the Princess . . .” the former said.

  “You may save your breath,” Angus told them. “She is deaf and dumb both.”

  Appalled, they stared, at a loss for words.

  This, then, was the third daughter of James the First. They had not known of her whereabouts. Two sisters were safely in France. The late murdered King’s unfortunate family had suffered rough usage indeed, the wife mishandled and imprisoned, the only son grabbed and used as a pawn by power-hungry men. That Will had not so much as heard this princess mentioned, by her royal brother or anybody else, for many a month, was perhaps indicative of the sad state of monarchy lacking strength. Yet her father had been Scotland’s greatest king since Bruce.

  “I had no notion that Her Highness was here,” he said.

  “I picked her out of Dunbar Castle. With the cannon,” James Douglas mentioned. “Her mother had died, and the ruffian Hepburn did not know what to do with her. I deemed her better here.”

  “Her mother . . . the Queen . . . dead?”

  “Aye. Two months back, it seems.” Angus sounded indifferent.

  “God rest her soul!” Here was the final indignity. Queen Joanna Beaufort, the loveliest woman of her day, her love story with King James the theme of poets and minstrels, thrown by merciless adventurers into the dungeons of a minor royal castle in the keeping of a rough, freebooting Border laird, mistreated and there left to rot and die, while yet under forty years of age, and her son nominally the reigning monarch. Moreover, none informed of her passing, least of all the King. And this deaf-and-dumb child cast adrift, unwanted.

  Or not quite unwanted. ‘I would wed this princess,” Angus informed. “Gain me the royal assent, and that of the Privy Council. And I will make cause with you, my lord.”

  “Oh — no!” That was Meg. Impulsively she ran forward, to clasp the shrinking child in her arms. “No!”

  Their host frowned. “Who is this woman?” he asked.

  “Another Margaret Douglas. Grandchild to Earl Archibald the Grim. As am I. Companion to my wife.” He paused. “You seek betrothal? To this child? As she is?”

  “Wed, I said. Not betrothal — marriage.”

  “But . . .” he shook his head helplessly. “How old is she?”

  “What matters that? Old enough for my purpose.”

  That purpose at least was sufficiently clear. It was some years before the young King could be married and could produce an heir to the throne. The two elder sisters were in France, on
e married to the Dauphin and the other to the heir to the Duke of Savoy, young as they were. No children they might produce would be acceptable as heirs to the Scots throne. This pathetic waif, however young and mute, might yet give birth to a son. King’s lives were notoriously uncertain, especially in Scotland. A Douglas might yet be King of Scots, and his father chief power in the land. And Angus was proud.

  Meg still clutched the child protectively, almost glaring challenge. Margaret looked thoughtful.

  “Well, man?” Angus demanded. “Will you do this? Or shall I wed her first and seek assent later?”

  Will shook his head. What could he say? Angus, holding the girl securely, could most certainly do as he threatened. The thought of the forcible union of this man, consumptive almost certainly, and the deaf-and-dumb child, scarcely bore contemplation. But on the other hand, what better fate would await her otherwise? If it was not Angus, some other would grab her, with like ambitions. Perhaps older, harsher. As Countess of Angus, at least she would be protected from all save her husband’s hands.

  “It is a hard thing you ask,” Will said.

  “Why?”

  Margaret intervened. “My lord of Angus, I think, would make no ill husband for the Princess Joanna. Later. Meantime, he would succour her. Keep her from others. He would not be demanding on her — that I believe!”

  They all looked at her, Will speculatively, Angus approvingly, Meg in sudden resentment. It was George Douglas, the Master who spoke.

  “That is true. My lord would not . . . treat the lassie ill. She is kindly used here. He is not . . . not a man for women. It is a matter of what is best.”

  There was silence for a space. Then Will nodded. “Very well,” he said. “I will speak with the King. And the Council.”

  “That is well. Then there is no more to be said.”

  “When will you come to Edinburgh?”

  “It matters not. When you will.”

  “Two days hence, then? That will serve. I will have the papers made up.”

  “Aye. See you to that. And this also . . .” Abruptly he began to cough again. “See you . . . that Crichton . . . is granted . . . fair terms. To yield . . . Edinburgh Castle.” Between the bouts he managed to get that out. “Mind it. Or all . . . is by with. I’ll not have . . . it said . . . that I sold Crichton!” That was barely intelligible “Dod — away with them . . .”

  The coughing went on and on, with the sufferer all but prostrated. But he kept waving them away with a commanding hand, nevertheless. Awkward, embarrassed, the visitors allowed the Master to lead them out without more than hurried bows. The dumb girl sidled out behind them, and scurried back to her cat.

  George Douglas had little to say to them as he escorted them back through all the defensive lines of Tantallon. Nor indeed had the trio much to say to each other as they rode away westwards into the setting sun — even though they had gained what they came to seek. What little there was passed between the young woman.

  “That was ill done,” Meg declared, after a while, tight-voiced. “That poor bairn!”

  “Better James Douglas than many I can think on,” Margaret answered quietly. “If she is ever wed, she will be a widow soon, I think. And a man sick as that will not have his mind on bedding. She may escape him altogether, and yet be Countess. Wedding and bedding go not always together — eh, my lord?”

  That did nothing to ease tongues, and they rode on, silent.

  And so, when two days later the Earl of Angus rode into Edinburgh at the head of one thousand men, it was to join the greatest assembly of Douglas power ever known. Will, well warned of the other’s approach, had his own hosts drawn up in their scores and hundreds, their troops and squadrons, companies and cohorts, mile upon mile along the route into the city from the east, through the royal parkland of Arthur’s Seat. He calculated that there were fourteen thousand men there — not all Douglases of course, but the majority so. He hoped that Angus might be suitably impressed — although he would swear that the man would not admit it.

  There was more than serried thousands to impress the Red Douglas, for the great cannon had at last arrived from Galloway, and fearsome monsters indeed they looked. Angus was in fact treated to a try-out of their effectiveness, and half a dozen huge balls were sent hurtling at the citadel’s defences amidst mighty and earth-shaking explosions, almost as alarming for the senders as the receivers. Great was the excitement when the smoke cleared sufficiently to show that one ball had carried away the top of the gatehouse-tower and another smashed the iron gates and portcullis machinery.

  Will had organised a banquet and entertainment for that evening, at which a united Douglas theme was emphasised in many ways. After a brief and gabbled announcement by the King that the sentence of forfeiture for treason, passed in misunderstanding, was now removed and expunged, and his well-beloved and trusty cousin, the Earl of Angus, restored to the royal favour and delight, the said Earl’s new appointments were announced — omitting in public the reversion to Crawford’s High Admiralship which would not have gone down well with the Lindsays — and ending with a proclamation of betrothal to His Grace’s dear and exalted sister, the Lady Joan. Angus himself proved to be something of a death’s-head at the feast, and King James had difficulty in showing anything but distaste for the man, but apart from that the affair went off very successfully.

  Still more successful was the next day’s developments. Whether on account of the new cannon, or Angus’s change of front, messengers under a white flag issued from Edinburgh Castle, to declare to the King’s Grace that Sir William Crichton was prepared to yield the fortress provided that his personal freedom was guaranteed, with that of his family and supporters, and his forfeited house of Crichton, in Lothian, restored to him. Lacking such agreement, he would continue to hold the citadel indefinitely.

  Although a hurried Privy Council was convened to consider this proposal, there was in reality little to discuss. Loth as Will Douglas and his colleagues might be to agree to Crichton going free, the alternative was an almost endless prolongation of the siege; for though the new cannon made a difference, none there believed that they could of themselves batter the mighty fortress into submission. Only at the gatehouse approaches could they be brought to bear at all; elsewhere, hundreds of feet high on its rock, the castle was as out-of-range of artillery as it was of slings, swords and arrows. Crichton could probably hold out for months yet, and the encircling host could not be held together for much longer; already men murmured and would be off home — for a feudal army was a civilian army basically. Crichton unseated, discredited and shorn of power, was the main objective; retribution was less vital. So said the Chancellor, so agreed the majority of the Council, so repeated Angus, with threats of complete withdrawal to Tantallon otherwise. Will Douglas acknowledged it in his heart of hearts, and gave in, although with ill grace. Vengeance must wait, on Crichton as on the Livingstones.

  So Sir William, in full armour, marched out of Edinburgh Castle at last, with his banner flying and the honours of war, two days later, through the silent ranks of his enemies. He came and made obeisance to the nervous monarch, nodded to Angus and Bishop Kennedy, and blankly ignoring the rest of them, passed on his way, flanked by sons, brothers and supporters, with scarcely a word spoken.

  Will watched him ride off into obscurity with mixed feelings. On the face of it, he had done what he had set out to do. The adventurers who had brutally seized Scotland, after the murder of the late King, had been brought low and cast from power. The young monarch was free again, after a fashion, and the realm set on the road to good government — or, at least, passably fair government. And it was almost all his own, Will’s, doing. Yet what had primarily set him on his course, the main source of his purpose, revenge for his murdered cousins, remained unfulfilled. Crichton and Livingstone, with their sons and minions, both went free and unpunished. How greatly had he failed then? Douglas was more powerful probably than ever before in its long history. Yet Douglas went unrevenged
.

  Will was left in no doubts, at least by his wife. He had suffered diminution in Meg’s regard over his agreement to support Angus’s marriage plans; now he found himself much blamed over Crichton. Margaret, normally so quietly level-headed and wise beyond her years, was, he discovered, implacably set on vengeance for her brothers. She remained dutiful wife, as Meg a less dutiful mistress — but Will was made very much aware that in some degree he had failed both women.

  As the Siege of Edinburgh broke up, the great hosts dispersed, and the captains and kings departed, the Black Douglas might be architect of it all and supreme in Scotland — but he did not feel it. Nor was he fool enough to imagine for one moment that his warfare was over, his task accomplished, even forgetting the matter of vengeance.

  As well that he did not.

  PART TWO

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  THREE years will make a great difference to most of us, especially in the earlier part of our lives. On Will Douglas three years had left a greater impression than on many perhaps — three years of uneasy power, of cut-throat political manoeuvring, of maintaining an approximate balance of domination, in 15th-century Scotland. And in living with Margaret and Meg Douglas. He looked now not so much older than his twenty-four years as ageless, as hard, dark, strong, tight-bitten almost taciturn man. Physically he had broadened in the shoulders and chest into a tough, taut and controlled maturity, compact, and fortunately with nothing of his father’s weight of flesh. He looked, in fact, what he was, a man accustomed to rule, to take swift, definite and sometimes ruthless decisions, and to see that they were carried out without question or delay. But despite it all, he still retained some hint of the eager youth with the quick shy smile, doubts of his own capacities — especially with women — yet sense of responsibility towards those to whom he was committed. Few would accuse the 8th Earl of Douglas of diffidence, yet somewhere in his character he still struggled against that tendency.