Gemini (64 page)

Eventually, Nicholas went himself to the door and tapped softly until it opened. The guard brought Tobie, who saw the two empty chairs and went straight to the bed, on which Mar’s body lay motionless, its eyes shut. He lifted its wrist.

‘It looks like sleep,’ Nicholas said, ‘but I think it’s some kind of a faint. He was rambling a lot. The trouble is partly this place. It’s linked with what happened before, with poison and violence and murder and all the Prestons’ various brushes with the occult, not to mention my divining.
The trouble is, where else could he be kept? He does need doctors. But wherever Andreas goes, he attracts attention.’

‘There’s my place in the Canongate,’ Tobie said. ‘You bastard. You meant me to say that.’

‘You would have said it anyway,’ Nicholas said. ‘But if you mean it, could we do it now, while he’s like this? A horse-litter so far, then a handcart with a few people around it. Cochrane, if you can get him, would disguise it. It’ll be dark. Andreas can go to warn Clémence. Then Avandale will have to know, and the King. You’ll need protection. Perhaps Preston’s men can stay till you get some. And, of course, Robin and Kathi are in the next house. Perhaps Wodman could come down to stay with them.’

‘Or Lang Bessie,’ said Tobie dryly. ‘I have to tell you, I wouldn’t mind some bought-in diversion for Johndie, if he’s to stay till the French envoy goes. And where after that?’

‘I was thinking of the Knights Hospitaller of St John,’ Nicholas said. ‘But I don’t think Johndie’s rich enough.’

‘Y
OU’RE GOING
where?’
Gelis said. Jodi had gone back to Cadzow, after waiting in vain for his father to dance or walk tightropes.

Later, she said, ‘Don’t you think Tobie and Clémence will manage without you? They’ve had a lot of experience. You might have harmed Mar, in Craigmillar, without knowing it.’

He said, ‘That’s why I stopped. I can soothe him, but I can’t keep his attention long enough to do anything with it. It’s as if he has his head full of crickets, and he can only capture a thought when they’re quiet.’

Gelis said, ‘If he were an ordinary person, it wouldn’t matter.’

And Nicholas said, ‘He struck the King. If he were an ordinary person, he would be dead.’

B
ECAUSE OF THE
weather, the French King’s emissary stayed ten more days. Being, like Monypenny, a Scotsman converted to France, he took the chance to see a few kinsmen and fellow graduates, and presented himself, in a well-mannered way, at all the entertainments belatedly devised for him. These were adequate, but less than remarkable, since the excellent de Fleury (at the King’s urgent behest) was absent on business, and Will Roger with him.

This at least was true: they were both on a healthy régime in the Canongate, being sustained by Tobie’s wife while helping to keep John of Mar out of sight. Occasionally they would cross the yard to spend a short interregnum with Robin, testing one another’s wit and eating less healthy
food sneaked in by Kathi. These sessions usually ended with music, and when they returned to their duty, Nicholas sometimes found himself continuing to argue across Johndie Mar’s bed, on the other side of which Whistle Willie, instead of soothing harp music, would begin to produce angry bits of lined paper, upon which questionable progressions stood in challenge among batteries of even more questionable rests, dug into the page, as if ready to fire.

But that was at the beginning, before Mar fully emerged from his strange, drowsing coma. In fact, music itself was the best antidote; better than the board games, the card games, the dice; the singing and reading which followed. But even music could not succeed when, very soon, their prisoner began to rebel. While the French envoy still remained, Mar demanded to see him and the King. Refused, he smashed and ripped his way through every article in the room. Soon, if left alone for a moment, he would overturn the brazier, or fling the lamps into his pillows, or continuously bang his own head on the door.

Thinking, with Tobie, that confinement itself was the problem, Nicholas arranged for Wodman and Cochrane to arrive with a guard, and devised secret forays at night: a sail, a ride down to Leith, an evening in Sinclair’s big house next the Cowgate with Betha, his familiar Betha in the room. From everything, with disbelieving anger, Mar tried to escape; and again, a man died at his hand. It was not the fear of confinement, it was the loss of free will that he found intolerable. The doctors conferred. Their next message, of the daily bulletins sent to the Castle, was different in content. The King’s brother’s health was not improving. They suggested that, despite the hazards, the King should come to see him for himself.

That night, James descended the hill from the Castle to Tobie’s house, walking incognito with a handful of men, and avoiding the great sprawl of Blackfriars where the French envoy slept. The King sent no warning ahead. Thrusting aside his brother’s guard at Tobie’s doorway, he marched into the house, throwing back his icy cowled cloak and demanding Andreas, who was absent in the sickroom with Tobie. Clémence, explaining, guided the King’s grace into her parlour and sent for the best glass goblets, and wine. He knew her well enough. She advised the Queen on the care of her children. De Fleury and good Tam Cochrane and the royal chapel musician Will Roger were already there in the parlour, and rose, until signalled to stay. The King, after chatting perfunctorily, grew fretful at the delay, and proposed to make his way to his brother’s chamber, if either Andreas or his brother did not come.

De Fleury said, ‘Your grace, my lord of Mar would be ashamed to be seen at less than his best. His doctors will prepare him. Perhaps indeed—Ah. Here is Dr Andreas himself.’

Softened a little by wine, the King was not displeased to see Andreas again. The man was worth his keep. Every Court in Europe knew how he had prophesied the Duke of Burgundy’s death. He was esteemed by Adorne, whose opinion the King valued. It was a pity that neither medicine nor astrology seemed able to make a proper man out of Johndie. The King greeted the doctor, and listened with patience to some rigmarole about what he might or might not be pleased to say, as if one required to be told how to address one’s own brother. Then someone went off to fetch Johndie. His chamber, it seemed, was not deemed fit for the King’s grace to visit. The King’s grace believed that. Any room of Johndie’s looked like a pigsty. Then Johndie limped into the room, with the doctor Tobias behind him. His skin was rough, but his hair was neat under his cap, and he was properly dressed, although he looked narrow inside his doublet. The King said, ‘Well, John. Not about to cut our throat this time then, you young ruffian? Have we to immure you for life, or do you expect to get your wits back one of these days? We are beginning to wonder.’

Later, Tobie maintained that it was the second worst greeting he had ever heard to a crazed patient; Andreas quoted three quite as bad. At the time, they all fell silent, simply measuring the space between Mar and the King and preparing to leap if Mar did. Mar said, ‘You poisoned me.’

The door was still open. Nicholas closed it. The King said, ‘No one poisoned you. You think you are like this because someone poisoned you? You tried to kill me.’

Nicholas said quickly, ‘My lord King, these were accidents. The proof is that, God be praised, you are both still living. My lords have great powers. Had either been ill intentioned, the other would be dead.’

The King looked at him. He said, ‘That would appear to be so. But had my brother not been put under restraint, who knows what might not have happened?’ He turned to Mar. ‘Deny it. You plotted with Sandy. You wanted me dead.’

‘Doesn’t everybody?’ said Johndie Mar. He had been given no wine. He took the King’s goblet and drained it. ‘No wonder Margaret gets out of your bed the first moment she can. I wouldn’t want to be tied to a vacant man who has to be supplied like an infant with friends.’

‘And what friends do you have,’ exclaimed James, ‘but raped women and doctors known for dealing with madmen? Why have they let you out? You should be under lock and key, and in chains.’

Those outside could not hear the scuffle. But when the King shouted, his guards broke the door. Inside, they found the King rolling over the floor-tiles unhurt, and my lord of Mar on his face, held down by three pairs of hands, with his smashed goblet strewn on the floor. Now his hat
had fallen off, you could see the marks of blows at the roots of his hair, and his wrists were black and blue, as if he had recently struggled against bonds. The King saw his men, and got to his feet. ‘Get me out of here. And send a guard down tomorrow. I want my lord of Mar in the Castle, in prison.’

Andreas said, ‘But Dr Ireland, my lord King?’ Beneath his grasp, and Cochrane’s, and the Burgundian’s, Mar kicked and swore.

The King paused. ‘When Dr Ireland has gone. I hold you responsible for my brother’s imprisonment until then. In chains, if necessary. He must not leave this house.’

‘I hear you, my lord King,’ said Andreas.

‘Then lock him up. Now. I will wait until you return.’

There was no alternative. Nicholas made a loose tie round the fallen man’s wrists, while Cochrane and Tobie eased him to his feet. He was talking continuously, while his eyes watered and mucus covered his lips. Clémence stood before him with a fine kerchief and tended him, neatly and kindly. Mar and his helpers disappeared, and only the helpers returned.

The King said, ‘Enough time has been wasted on this. I am glad you sent for me. It has allowed me to decide what to do. Roger: you will return. Your presence is needed at Court. De Fleury: I believe you were asked to entertain Dr Ireland. You will return with me, and do so. Dr Andreas: likewise, I have more need of your presence than my brother. I want you back at the Castle. Cochrane?’

‘I have work to do elsewhere, my lord,’ Tam Cochrane said. ‘I was leaving tonight. But my lord of Mar needs care, and someone to guard him.’

‘I will leave my guard,’ said the King. ‘And, of course, Dr Tobie, who has generously lent his house so that my brother may be adequately safeguarded.’

Nicholas said, ‘My lord, forgive me, but the Earl needs care day and night. It requires several men.’

‘That is nonsense,’ said the King. ‘My prisoners at Blackness and Berwick do not need day-and-night care. They are locked up. They are fed at prescribed intervals. They sleep. I have no more to say. I am leaving. Those I have mentioned will accompany me.’ The door opened, and the King led the way out.

The visit was over. The hoped-for remedy, the invocation of childhood, of family, had been a disastrous mistake. Whether James and his brothers were touched by a heritable sickness was not really an issue. The family was already split asunder by shared characteristics of a different kind.

Parting company with Nicholas at the Castle, Dr Andreas was bitter.
Nicholas said, ‘You did all you could. He thinks a lot of your prophecies.
The lion will be killed by a whelp.’

‘Even that he got wrong,’ Andreas said. ‘The prophecy didn’t mean Mar.’

‘How do you know?’ Nicholas said. ‘I didn’t think you still drew up charts. I hope you’ve done mine.’

‘Do you want an answer?’ said Andreas. ‘I couldn’t. I don’t know when you were born, or where. I don’t even know in which country.’

‘Good,’ said Nicholas. He believed him.

B
ECAUSE HIS WATCHERS
were thus reduced, John of Mar was left for some time on his own, and no one thought to search his inner clothing, where he had pushed a shard of the goblet which he had taken from his brother the King. By the time the door was unlocked, several hours had elapsed since the young man had opened his veins; and his pulse was almost gone. Returned desperately to his side, the doctors fought for many hours to redeem him, but before dawn, he received the last rites from a chaplain from Holyrood, and died without opening his eyes.

The Chancellor was sent for, and arrived, his silver hair ruffled, his cheek creased from sleep. He looked at the body in silence. In death, the angry skin rash had withdrawn, and the long-nosed, bony face with its combed auburn hair held something of unaccustomed nobility in its stillness. He had been a Stewart. Avandale, of the same descent, crossed himself eventually and rose from his knees. ‘Poor lad. Poor lad. Whatever he did, it shouldn’t have ended like this. And, of course, so far as the world knows, it has not. So, what do we say?’

Nicholas had been there from the beginning, with Andreas. He said, ‘There will be talk, especially as the King was recently here. People may put it about that the King has got rid of both his brothers.’

‘Albany rebelled and deserted,’ Avandale said.

‘I know,’ Nicholas said. ‘But rumours don’t flourish on logic. I think my lord of Mar has had a fever and, being brought to his physicians to be bled, has succumbed to a mysterious illness unknown to the finest of doctors. Andreas and Tobie can elaborate. They may even mention the unnatural humours which caused the Prince, against his true inclinations, to attack those he loved.’

‘I suppose so,’ said Tobie.

‘Then it is agreed,’ Avandale said. ‘And now I must tell the King.’ He tilted his head, allowing his thoughtful gaze to dwell on each member of the small group. ‘Since we are friends, I ought to say that I often draw comfort from the simplicity of his grace and his brothers. Were they persons of malignancy or cunning, one would serve them with less than a whole heart.’

He was looking at Nicholas. Nicholas said, ‘I feel as you do. So does Dr Tobias. Otherwise we should not be here.’

He left Tobie’s house in broad daylight, and made several brief calls, before walking uphill to his home. There, he took Gelis aside. ‘Something has happened. Come into the office.’

He never had to explain the implications to Gelis. She listened, and spoke at the end. ‘I am mortally sorry as well. But it must be contained. When will his death be made known?’

‘Avandale has gone to the Castle. Once the King has been told, the Councillors will frame an announcement. Meanwhile I have asked Adorne to come here, and all those who have been caring for Mar, so that they can hear what Avandale proposes to do. Then we have to think of the effect on Mar’s siblings. On Mary and Margaret. On Albany, when he hears.’ He broke off. ‘It is such a tragedy.’