The eating was long past, and they were sitting through the third offering of a minstrel with a lute, when James, without warning, rose to his feet, so abruptly as to spill a wine-flagon over the table. Staggering a little as everybody perforce got up, he waved an imperious arm in the direction of a side door. It was uncertain to whom he was gesturing, save that Will was included and his wife was not. Bowing to the Queen, Will followed his sovereign to the ante-room, where a couple of guards with pole-axes stood sentry.
Only a small number of the company presumed to come in after them — but these included Chancellor Crichton, Sir Patrick Gray, the Captain of the Guard, his brother Lord Gray, Lord Darnley and one or two others. The door was shut. Will recognised that he was about to discover the reason for his summons to Stirling.
The room was already lit with candles, so that it appeared that the interview was at least premeditated. James took Will’s arm and led him to the far end of the chamber, where a window looked out into the rainy dark. The courtiers remained in a knot near the door.
“Well, Cousin — now I shall have your counsel.” The King’s voice came thick and loud — loud enough evidently to surprise himself, for he quickly lowered it. “I have awaited it for long. Much troubles me, in this realm. And there are few that I can trust.”
“You trust me, Highness?”
“Should I not?”
“I believe that you should. For always I have been leal. I have sought to serve you, and the realm.”
“And Douglas! You have not failed to serve Douglas also!”
“But not to the realm’s hurt. Or yours. Ever.”
“You say so?”
“Why not, Sire? I see Douglas as part of the realm. Only that. A limb of the realm. Which should be strong. To work and smite for you, the head of the realm. Would you have it otherwise?”
“Douglas strong to smite for me could be Douglas strong to smite against me!”
“That may be so. But so long as I am Douglas, that shall not, cannot be. I am your leal man. I vowed my homage, and meant it.”
“Yet, when I took Patrick Maclellan under my supreme jurisdiction, you slew him. While my messenger was in your house!” The King’s voice had risen again.
“Sire — may I ask why you sought to take that jurisdiction to yourself? You had never done the like before. Maclellan was my vassal. Therefore I had feudal right to try him. He had slain my own servant, Pringle, Had him hanging before his door! Moreover, I am Sheriff and Justiciar of Galloway. The jurisdiction, on all counts, was mine. Why should you intervene?”
“Why? Why, man? Save us — must the King of Scots give an answer to Douglas now? As to why he chose to do this or that?”
“Not so. But the King of Scots, I say, should inform the Justiciar of Galloway why he chooses to upset the administration of the law in Galloway!”
“God’s blood! I counsel you to watch your tongue, my lord!”
Will was conscious of the incipient forward movement of the throng at the other end of the room. With an effort he kept his own voice calm, steady.
“Your Grace is entitled to choose not to answer my question. But you have my answer to yours. I did but my duty as Justiciar, Before I opened your letter.”
James, flushed and hot of eye, glanced towards the others, and back. He changed his stance. “You hanged Herries also. He was Sheriff-Deputy. You, Sheriff and Justiciar, not only took the jurisdiction in your own hands, but hanged the deputy! And you accuse me, the King, for taking the higher jurisdiction into my hands!”
“Sire — Herries had slain many. Shown himself unfitted to act sheriff. I went to him and, before all, took from him his brother’s jurisdiction — for Herries of Terregles was the Deputy, not he. Therefore I hanged no sheriff-deputy but a felon, a murderer. You did not take from me my office of Sheriff and Justiciar. Had you done so, I could not have executed Maclellan. If you had no faith in my justice, you should have unseated me.”
“Would to God I had! But . . . I swear you would have slain Maclellan, even so!”
Will looked at his choleric young monarch levelly. “If I had, Sire, you would have had reason to condemn me. As it is, I say that you have not.”
James tried to outstare him, but he was a little drunk and could not focus his eyes entirely satisfactorily. He turned away, and more than physically.
“You disobeyed my royal command. To go to Durham. To be my chief commissioner to treat with the English,” he said heavily.
“I sent my proxy and my seal, Your Grace. Also my advice and instructions.”
“That is not what I commanded.”
“I obeyed in token, Sire. Being but new back from obeying your command to go to Rome, to have gone furth of Scotland again so soon would have gravely injured my interests.”
“Douglas interests! Yet you say that you put your liege lord, and the realm, first.”
“I conceived it better service to Your Grace and the realm that Douglas affairs should be put in order, that Douglas should remain a strong arm for your support. For when I came back from Your Grace’s business in Rome, it was to discover Douglas affairs much deranged. Douglas strength lessened. So much so that Your Grace had been forced to take action against Douglas during my absence! You would not have had that happen again?”
James’s birthmark was not red now, but purple. He looked back into the room, and it was clear that it was to Crichton he looked, appealed. But that man, though attentive of eye, and no doubt straining his ears, made no move forward, nor spoke.
The King burst out, “Aye, I had to act! When I found you traitor. It was time, ‘fore God!”
Will took a deep breath. So there it was, out at last. “Not traitor, Sire,” he said quietly. “I suggest that you use the wrong word! You did not find me traitor.”
“Burn you — do you dare to give me the lie? Controvert me to my face!”
“I do, Sire. When you name Will Douglas traitor!”
“You lie! You lie, I say!” James raised a hand to point accusingly, a finger to tremble. The watchers now had lost all pretence of standing back and not listening. “You are in bond with Crawford and John of the Isles. He is in rebellion against me. The Islesman. Aided and abetted by Crawford. And by you. Aye, you were absent in Rome. But you planned it so. That you would not seem to be in it. Should it go awry. But we know your guilt. Douglas was to raise the South. Against me. The Islesman the North. Crawford the North-East. Only, John MacDonald struck too soon. Before all was ready. We know it all . . .”
“It is false. There is no truth in it, I say.”
“You lie!” James was shouting now, beside himself. “We have uncovered it all.”
Will looked from the infuriated young monarch to the cool watching chancellor. “I think you mean that Crichton says he has uncovered it, Sire! Which is a different matter, is it not?”
The older man did not so much as move his thin lips. He left it all to the King.
“You are in league with traitors. Therefore you are traitor!” James cried. “You have bonds with Crawford and John of the Isles. You cannot deny it, man.”
“I can and do. I have a bond with Crawford, yes. Have had for years. His sister’s husband, and my cousin, was murdered by this forsworn knave whom you have raised up again. But I have no bond with MacDonald. Nor knew of his rebellion. That I swear, on my oath.”
“That for your oath!” James Stewart not altogether successfully snapped his fingers. “It is as worthy as your oath of fealty to me. When it comes to obeying my commands. But I command you now. By the living God I do! That you dissolve these wicked traitorous bonds. Here and now. You hear me, Douglas? Before these witnesses. You will abjure them now.”
“I cannot dissolve what does not exist. I have no bond with the Islesman. Or any other links with him. Save distantly, of blood. As have you . . .”
“That we shall see to. For I have certain intelligence of it. But you do not deny your bond with Crawford. This you shall abjure, at least. Now!�
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“No, Sire. It is impossible.”
“Impossible? On my command!”
“You know that I cannot. A bond is made by two, or more. Before witnesses. Signed and sealed. No man can dissolve or abjure it alone. It requires both parties. I cannot renounce my bond with Crawford, lacking Crawford’s presence. Even at your command.”
The King’s lips parted. He seemed to gasp for breath, for words. His features contorted spasmodically. Like a man in a seizure, he swayed and panted. Then abruptly he reached down with a groping hand. His words came at least, thick, scarcely intelligible.
‘False traitor . . . if you will not . . . break the bond . . . this shall!”
Will stepped back, eyes widening. Steel glittered in the candlelight. The King held a drawn dagger aloft, in shaking hand.
Too astonished for words, Will stared. He could not draw in defence, for none but the High Constable and the Royal Guard might carry arms in the presence of the monarch.
Staggering a little, James Stewart lunged. The first blow struck the other in the throat, a slantwise slash that brought blood spouting like a fountain over the royal hand. Shouting incoherently, he withdrew and stabbed again, low in the body. With a bubbling groan, Will Douglas sank to his knees.
Bedlam reigned in that inner room of Stirling Castle. Sir Patrick Gray sprang to life. He grabbed the pole-axe of one of the guards, and dashing forward, felled the kneeling reeling man to the floor. Then, with the spear-point of the weapon, he began to stab. Darnley, not to be outdone, snatched the other pole-axe and drove in with it, hacking and bludgeoning. Soon the others were fighting with each other for the two axes, and for the dagger that had fallen from the King’s grasp, that they might have part in the royal work.
The Black Douglas died without a word spoken.
They tugged open the casement window, James standing back now, bloody hand to open mouth, aghast. They cast out the Eighth Earl of Douglas into the dark February night. And in the courtyard below astonished men-at arms came running, to count twenty-six wounds in the broken body.
William, Lord Crichton, Chancellor of the Realm, watched all distastefully, taking no part. As the candles flickered wildly in the cold night air from the open window, he turned and quietly left the room. He spoke to none, even the Queen, in the Great Hall, but went quickly downstairs, to call for his horses. Of all things, he loathed night riding — but the sooner he was back in Edinburgh and the safety of its rock-skied castle, the better. Before the angry flood submerged Scotland.
HISTORICAL NOTE
THE flood was not long in coming. The Douglas power rose in a tide of fury and vengeance. King James had to be restrained from actually fleeing the country, to France, in panic. The Douglas brothers, now led by Jamie as 9th Earl, came hot-foot to Stirling with an angry host. They brought the royal safe-conduct with them from Threave, tied it to a horse’s tail and dragged it through the streets below the castle walls. Then they burned the town under the eyes of the terrified monarch and Court. Civil war raged thereafter, with pitiless fury, for two years, though a furtive parliament met in June, to pronounce the King guiltless of the death of Douglas “because he had publicly and contemptuously renounced the royal protection”. Aid, arms and munitions from France had to be sought.
But the Douglas brothers missed Will’s strong and sure hand. Their leadership was gallant, but reckless and unco-ordinated, and the new Earl was indeed no warrior. The years of fluctuating warfare ended in disastrous defeat, when Hamilton deserted the Douglas army at a vital moment, and changed sides. The Battle of Arkinholm saw the fall of the Black house of Douglas, with the Earl of Angus, Red Douglas, in command of the royal army. Archibald, Earl of Moray, fell in action; Hugh, Earl of Ormond was captured and executed; James, Earl of Douglas, and John, Lord Balveny, escaped into England and were forfeited. Obtaining English help, and that of John, Lord of the Isles, they continued the struggle for long, but their bolt was shot. John was caught and executed, but Jamie fought on, and thirty years later he was still in rebellion against the Crown, was captured in 1484, and pardoned by James the Third on condition that he entered a monastery. So, though he had married his bereaved sister-in-law and cousin, the Fair Maid of Galloway, soon after Will’s death, he died a monk.
Chancellor Crichton died of natural causes only two years after his victim. King James the Second lived six years longer, and was killed, at the age of twenty-nine by a bursting cannon at the siege of Roxburgh. The Earls of Angus, the Red Douglases, grew rich, powerful and traitorous on the ruins of the Black, to be a thorn in the side of Scotland for generations. As so often in their long story the house of Stewart had backed the wrong horse.
Black Douglas (Coronet Books) Page 41
