When the door was thrown open, it was to reveal the great chamber lined with two long rows of armed guards, stiff, silent. Away at the far end a throne had been placed on the abbot’s dais. King James sat on it, while a man stood at each shoulder — Chancellor Crichton and Bishop Kennedy. Apart from the newcomers’ escort, no person moved or spoke in all that scene.
Will’s brows came down like a black bar across his features. As their guide, after a deep obeisance began to pace forward between the inward-facing rows of guards, and some of the Rome party started to follow, Will, by a brief gesture, held them back, letting the man march on alone. This was quite ridiculous, treating the Douglases and all these other lords, some of the greatest in the land and all members of the Privy Council, to a display of stiff and formal audience-chamber ritual, as though they had been official foreign visitors or burghal suppliants, rather than James’s own chief subjects and intimate associates. But however ridiculous, the significance of the thing was evident.
Will let their escort get more than halfway to the trio at the throne, in lonely dignity, before he nodded to his companions and led off at a businesslike stride up the lengthy approach, deliberately unsuitable for any ceremonial occasion. There were more grins than frowns on the faces of the returned embassage.
The King’s own features were schooled to what was undoubtedly intended to be the stiffly expressionless. He sat his throne stiffly, too. But being an impulsive and active young man, he only managed to look thoroughly uncomfortable, his facial birthmark flaming, as it always did when he was embarrassed. He was much more richly clad than usual — normally he was careless about clothing — but he gave the impression that the fine wear had been donned especially and hurriedly for the occasion. He might as well have balanced the state crown on his head while he was at it, Will decided. Crichton standing just behind his right velvet-cloaked shoulder, was dressed all in black with silver facings, stooping, hooded-eyed, lined-faced but ageless. Will had not set eyes on him since that day, four years earlier, when he had watched him ride out of surrendered Edinburgh Castle and into ostensible obscurity. He should have struck then, as Margaret had desired, and saved Scotland this. James Kennedy, at the other side, had the grace to look almost as uncomfortable as his monarch and cousin.
The escort, bowing deeply again, began to speak, but Will Douglas cut him short.
“Your Grace — it is good to see you again, hale and well. Though in doubtful company! We greet you. The more joyfully in hearing that you have a fine son. A prince, for your throne. Good tidings to return to, Sire.”
There was a polite murmur of agreement from the other lords.
James coughed. Obviously this was not the way the audience was planned to begin. “Yes. To be sure, I thank you, Earl of Douglas. All of you, my lords.” He glanced up at Kennedy, uncertainly.
“The Earl of Douglas is the most kind,” the Bishop said evenly. “In that he himself is thereby dispossessed as next heir!”
“A position I never sought nor cherished, Sire. And Her Grace? She is well? And the prince!”
“Aye. Well. Both well. But . . . we have other matters to deal with, my lords. You are returned early. From your mission. To the Pope. Months before it was to be. Why?” James brought that out in a rush.
“We heard, Sir, that you had trouble here in Scotland. Unrest. Ill men raising their heads.” Will looked directly, if briefly, at Crichton. “Treachery and tumults. We esteemed our place at Your Grace’s side. And so returned forthwith.”
“And not before time!” Archie supplemented. “We had been gone too long already, it seems!”
“Though not long enough for my lord Bishop, perhaps?” Hamilton put in.
“Who conceived us best out of Scotland, that he might work his will unhindered,” Hugh declared.
It was Will’s turn to cough. He was no more happy than King James looked about the way the interview was proceeding. “We hastened home, Sire, to place ourselves at your service, as in duty bound. But we did not fail to fulfil our mission, nevertheless. In Rome. And in London.”
“Ah, yes — the mission.” James sounded relieved. “Your report, my lord. That is the reason for this audience. I hope you have good success to report?”
“Good success, and not so good, Highness. From Rome. His Holiness agrees to the founding of a university at Glasgow, and will grant a Bull to Bishop Turnbull to that end. But he will not yet raise the see of St. Andrews to an archbishopric. He declares the see behind in payment of its Papal dues. And he esteems Galloway, the Isles and even Glasgow, as all more ancient and therefore senior.”
“And you accepted that, man?” the King demanded, leaning forward in his chair. “Knowing our will in the matter?”
“I am no churchman, Sire. It was not for me to argue these matters with the Holy Father! For any of us. You should have sent my lord Bishop himself! Then much might have been otherwise. There . . . and here!”
“Aye, by the saints!” Hugh cried, to a murmur of agreement from the others.
James clenched angry fists, making but ineffectual attempts to swallow his wrath. His hot temper undoubtedly was less under control than heretofore. The assumption of full kingship seemed to have had more results than one.
Kennedy spoke, taking the blow well. “It is no such grave matter, Sire,” he said. “We are no worse off than before. We shall try again, when perhaps His Holiness more greatly needs Scotland’s support! We could scarce expect my lord of Douglas to put himself out over this issue. He considered it a matter for churchmen, it seems — although indeed it is aimed at English claims against us.”
A hot response rose to Will’s lips, but he restrained it. “That I well understand, Sire. We did what we could. I told the Pope that Your Grace would be much disappointed. But we could scarce say that we sought this as a weapon against the English.” He shrugged. “But at least, we did better with the English themselves. At London. They are prepared to discuss terms for another general truce. For a period of years.”
“You say so. But what avail is such word now? All is changed there. The Protector, my uncle Somerset, is put down. York now rules. And he loves me not. He is against all my mother’s house. My uncle’s word of truce is now valueless.”
Will cleared his throat again. This required careful speaking. “Aye, Sire. But we went back. Back to London. On our journey home. We had word that the Duke of Somerset had fallen and that York was now Protector. We learned it in France. So I saw the Duke of York. And he accepted the truce.” James was bound to learn, sooner or later, of this second visit to London.
There was a moment or two of silence, as this news was digested. “You . . . you were very swift to act, my lord,” the King said, distinctly grudgingly.
Will hoped that none of those behind him would blurt out the true circumstances of that second call at Westminster. Nothing would be more liable to make James and his present councillors suspicious and alarmed than York’s flattering gesture towards Douglas.
Crichton had so far remained completely aloof, taken no part in the interview. Now, he stooped forward to the King’s ear. “The Duke of York’s rise may well be but temporary, Sire,” he said in his flat, nasal, slightly hesitant voice that was so at odds with his character and performance. “The Duke of Somerset, and the Queen Margaret’s party, are like to rise again. In matters of government, men can fall . . . but rise again!” His heavy-lidded eyes lifted for a moment to Douglas’s. “Was not my lord of Douglas ill-advised thus to recognise York, in the name of Your Grace and this realm? Unauthorised so to do?”
The gasps at his back, and the swift glance Kennedy shot at Crichton were eloquent of the sudden heightening of tension. But King James nodded quickly.
“You are right, my lord. Here was, here was presumption! The Earl of Douglas was given a mission to Somerset, not to York. It is for me to deal with England, and the English moves, not Douglas!”
“Your Grace was sufficiently glad for Douglas to deal with the English
but a year ago!” That was jerked out of Will, despite himself, though he bit his lip thereafter.
“Aye — have you forgot Sark?” Hughie cried.
“The Earl of Douglas was then Lieutenant-General. He but did his duty. Here, I think, he exceeded it.’ Crichton was cold, exact.
“Sire — this man?” Will demanded. “When last I saw him, he was under sentence for treason and armed rebellion! By what authority does Sir William Crichton now presume to declare Douglas’s duty? He was not on the Privy Council which gave this embassage its instructions.”
James took a long quivering breath. “He is now Chancellor of this my realm. On Bishop Kennedy’s resignment of the office. As my chief minister he has the right and duty to speak in such matters. Of his great experience. And he is no longer Sir William. He is now a Lord of Parliament. Disagreements between him and my, my former advisers, are now overpast and forgotten. I have now taken unto myself the full rule and authority of my kingship — and I have all confidence in my lord of Crichton.” If that came out in something of a rush, there was no doubting its determination.
Will looked at his monarch levelly, as the moments passed.
Then he inclined his head slightly. “As Your Grace decides. But there is one matter on which you, Sire, may be mistaken. You say that disagreements between this new lord and your former advisers are overpast and forgotten. It may be true with some. But with this former adviser it is not so! Douglas does not forget the murder of his kinsmen, even though Your Grace forgets open rebellion and treason against yourself!”
“God’s death, man — you to talk of rebellion and treason! You, Douglas! With the North aflame with the rebellion of your friends and allies, Crawford and Ross!” In his suddenly increased rage, James Stewart rose to his feet threateningly. “Inverness sacked. My castles of Urquhart and Ruthven stormed, my servants slain. Ross, calling himself Lord of the Isles, declares himself independent of my rule! Think you that I do not know why you come home thus early? From Rome? It is because of your treasonable bonds with these rebels, I swear! You say that you return because you heard that I had trouble, tumults. I believe you, my lord! That I do! And who would know better of these troubles than you? You returned not to aid me, your liege lord, but further to injure me!”
Will stared at him. “You believe that?” he demanded. “Of me? What have I ever said, or done, to give you cause for such words? Have I not acted your friend from our first meeting at Stirling Castle, yon day? Who rescued you from the Livingstones’ grasp? Who brought down this Crichton for you? Who found you a new Chancellor in this Bishop? Who drove the English invaders from your soil? Who brought Livingstone down at last? And now you would call me traitor?”
The pent-up intensity behind those words, the sheer vehement strength of the dark face confronting him, had their effect on the King — for Will Douglas roused was a more fearsome sight than he knew. James involuntarily stepped back and, his throne in the way, sat down heavily.
“How dare you . . . to speak me . . . the King . . . so!” he panted.
Bishop Kennedy had been looking ever more concerned. Now he spoke up urgently. “Cousin,” he said, “this serves no good purpose for any. Save your enemies. My lord of Douglas is no traitor — of this I am certain. Mistaken he can be — as can we all. Rash, indeed. But not treason.”
Neither James nor Crichton spoke.
“His Grace knows that I am no traitor, my lord Bishop,” Will went on. “What he says is, I think, but to hide other matters. Or another’s spleen! I have no bond or alliance with the Isleman. What Crawford may have done is without my knowledge. Ever he was a man apart. But . . . it was not this that sent His Grace against my houses of Lochmaben and Craig Douglas. That was done before ever there was trouble in the North. Here was an unkindly act, unkindly done. But it was not done against a traitor. Else my greater houses would have been attacked and taken. Why it was done I have yet to be informed — although I have little doubt who advised it!”
“It was done, my lord, because these houses of yours were nests of violence and lawlessness,” Crichton declared. “Your people were terrorising the country. Your Brother, the Lord Balveny, was warned. But he made no betterment. The King’s peace had to be maintained . . .”
“’Fore God, it was necessary!” James interrupted him. “Necessary. Your people act as though Douglas was king in this realm, not I. They had to be shown, all had to be shown, that it is not so.”
“Aye,” Will saw it all clearly enough, the resentment of a weak monarch for his strongest subject, egged on and played on by the clever malice of this evil man. Kennedy had raised the devil indeed, in his balancing of power. “If Your Grace, and my lord Bishop, saw me and mine as a threat to your throne — which God forbid — the sorrow of it that you had to raise up this man, of all men, against me! A scourge to your own backs! If it is the last counsel your true and leal subject and servant ever gives you — get rid of Crichton while yet you may!”
The Chancellor smiled thinly. “I fear that my lord is weary, Sire. After his long journey. Perhaps a little light of head! Who would wonder at it? Another time, perhaps, Your Grace? . . .”
“Yes,” James jumped at the opportunity this offered. “Another time. It is enough for this day. Your reports to the secretaries, my lords. I thank you for your services.” He stood up. “This audience is now ended. A good day to you.” Turning, as all hastily bowed, he strode from the refectory with more hurry than dignity.
The Lord Crichton was not very far behind him.
“Are you satisfied, James Kennedy?” Will demanded of the Bishop, when the door had closed behind King and Chancellor.
That man spread his hands and then let them fall to his sides. “No,” he said.
“Though no doubt you acted for the best!” Will’s voice grated harshly.
“That is my hope. My prayer. This had to be, friend. Something of this sort. Douglas was grown too great in Scotland. There was coming to be no room for the King and Douglas both. Do you not see it?”
“I see an evil man raised up, to put me down. And I believe myself honest — as once I believed you to be, my lord.”
“Honest? What is honesty, in statecraft? Who can touch it and remain truly honest, I wonder? The single mind and all innocence of heart become shut out by the door of the council chamber and the inner cabinet. If my honesty in this is soiled, my friend — who is to be thanked for it? Who besought me to meddle in affairs of state, who never wished to do so? Who, I say?”
“Aye. Would I had never ridden to St. Andrews, if this is to be the way of it. Ridden with that woman’s glove!”
“This had to be the way of it! In the end. Can you not see it, man? I said then that Douglas had been for too long like a louring cloud, overgrown, threatening the land. Too powerful. I said, if Douglas had changed, then I rejoiced. But I doubted the change. And I was right. Douglas but grew in power.”
“But . . . of a mercy — I have not used the power to oppress — whatever Crichton says. I have used it to support the King . . .”
“Here’s the sorrow of it, my lord. I do not accuse you of misusing the power. Almost better if you had, perhaps — God forgive me for saying it! The power itself, it is, that is at fault. Too great a power, in honest hands, can be almost as sore a trial as in ill ones. You have cherished your power, not squandered it, so that it but grows and grows. You have used it to support the King, yes — but now, folk can scarce see the King behind your Douglas lances and swords! Today, the cry of ‘A Douglas’ in any street, in any field, will speak louder in every ear than will ‘A Stewart!’ or ‘The King’s Grace!’ And this is, must be, to the realm’s hurt — so long as Douglas is not king!”
Will drew a long breath, as the lords behind him stared at the Bishop, at each other, and whispered, at a loss.
“What, then, is to be the end of it?” he exclaimed. “What can I do? I cannot cast away the Douglas power. I cannot change Douglas men into other men. I cannot turn my back o
n the realm’s needs. My father chose sloth — and men blamed him for it. What would you have of me?”
Kennedy spread his hands again. “Would that I knew the answer to that, my friend. If an answer there is. All that I know is that I am the King’s servant, not Douglas’s. And that the Douglas power must needs be kept from choking the King. For the King is the realm, in the end, and Douglas but a part of it. And the part must remain less than the whole. So in sorrow, I did what I did. And will do what I must do. And you ask me if I am satisfied! Deus misereatur!”
For moments the two men eyed each other. Then with a sigh and a shake of the head Will Douglas turned away, to pace slowly down between the double lane of stiffly, silent guards, without another word spoken.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
THREAVE, stern, towering, strong, was not built to look peaceful or gentle. But that late August evening, amidst the green rolling Galloway countryside, bathed with the mellow glow of a quiet sunset that reflected gold from all the lochs and spreading water-meadows which surrounded its island site, and painted purple shadows behind every tree and mound and battlement, it seemed as fair and tranquil a place to the Douglas brothers as any they had seen on their long travels, and a welcome haven to return to — to Will and Jamie, that is; Hugh was not of the sort, as yet, who found tranquillity and havens much to his taste. These three, with their escort of men-at-arms, rode down to it from the north; all the others of the Rome party had dispersed to their own places.
Their coming was known, and Johnnie rode out to meet them, a young man with much on his mind. He greeted them with a nice mixture of relief, indignation and apology, declaiming fervent thanks to his Maker that they were back, inveighing against the wicked ingratitude of their liege lord King James, the villainy of Crichton, Kennedy, Maclellan of Bombie, Herries of Terregles and sundry others, and pointing out that he had done all he could, taken every precaution possible, punished such transgressors as he was able to lay hands on, and salvaged what he could from the ruins of Lochmaben and Craig Douglas. The King’s charges of rebellion and violence were false, sheer fabrication, excuses to attack Douglas when they were at a disadvantage. Lacking full authority, he was in no position to take the law into his own hands, and hit back against the royal perfidy. But now! . . .
Black Douglas (Coronet Books) Page 36
