Gemini (83 page)

Someone murmured: a man. The boy said, ‘Well, I might forget. Who was it from?’

Murmur, murmur. Even close to the door, she couldn’t make out the man’s voice. People passed up on the street, their feet squelching, and someone ran up the stairs over her head, dislodging cold puddle water which rapped on her hood. She bent down, as if looking for something.

Jamie said, ‘I don’t say who it is from. I say that King Edward has sent to France, and offered to fetch my uncle of Albany to England. And promised he would lead—’

Murmur. ‘—
help
to lead the King’s army to Scotland. Is that true?’ said the boy. ‘… Well, of course, but she’ll ask. You ought to put it in writing. Get my uncle to write. When will I …’

‘Can I help you, hen?’ someone said from the stair. Kathi looked up. Tom Yare’s wife, Margaret Hume.

Kathi began, ‘I was just going to …’ but it was too late. The door beside her quietly opened, and the man upon whom she had been eavesdropping was standing there, studying her.

She knew him. His name was Rob Grey, and he was a butcher, with a house in the same part of the Canongate as Hector Meldrum and Robin’s father and family. He said, ‘Mistress Katelinje!’ She could see Jamie, standing rigid behind him.

Kathi smiled. ‘How are you? I’m sorry to shout in the street, but I’m astray. Margaret was just going to tell me where to find Hector Meldrum, and I think I remember. Down there?’

The man was smiling in return. ‘In the cellar. It’s a coney-warren, for sure. Is he in? Come back if he isn’t, and share our ale. Jamie and I were just preparing a rare surprise for the Princess’s Yule table. Are ye suited yourself in that regard?’

‘Too well,’ she said. ‘I’ve just seen Henry Cant and I’m penniless. But I’ll come back for the ale, if Hector’s out.’

He wasn’t, of course. She had just visited him. She waved goodbye to Margaret and tapped on the cellar door, prancing in when it opened, before the macer could speak. She wished she had taken lessons from the King’s Master Spyar, except that the King had dismissed him, along with his personal Guard, when Albany left.

Which would seem to have been a mistake.

P
ATHETICALLY, IT WAS
only after she was safe that she started to shiver. Hector Meldrum actually walked with her down to the Canongate, when she said she had to go there. He left her at her own house, but she crossed instead to the private stairs of what even Hector called the Floory Land. She hoped her uncle was there. At the very least, she wanted to pass on what she knew quickly, to as many reliable people as possible. She was waiting in the parlour for her uncle when Nicholas opened the door and shut it so quietly and fast that it sighed.

He said, ‘I saw you from the window. It’s all right. Whoever he is, we’ll kill him for you.’ Then she was in his arms, her teeth chattering, and he went on murmuring absently, holding her fondly and close like a warmly comatose bear with a cub. When Adorne came in, she made no effort to break away, nor did Nicholas; he simply went on talking comfortably over her head. ‘Could you possibly pour some of that stuff over there and bring it to her? And maybe keep the others away for a moment?’

Adorne did as he was asked without a word. It was only as Nicholas freed her to take the cup from him that she saw the concern on her uncle’s face. Then she said shakily, ‘I’m sorry. Listen. Listen. I’ve just overheard Jamie Boyd being given a message to take to his mother. The English are offering Sandy an army to help invade Scotland. The English. The English. The
English
.’

‘What frightened you?’ Nicholas said. He was still speaking simply.

‘I think they know I heard them,’ she said. ‘Rob Grey and Jamie, at the booths.’

‘But they let you leave,’ Nicholas said. He sat her down with her cup and fixed himself beside her, one arm still holding her steady. ‘They can’t kill us all, and by now they’ll guess that we all know. And in any case, you have just acquired an infectious disease, and are not going back to the Princess Mary ever again. Slightly better?’

The cup was empty. It had been spirits, not wine. She said, ‘Yes. Drunk, but much better. I’ll tell you the rest; then you’d better get the others in. Who is here?’

John and Moriz were there, and someone found Wodman, and brought across Tobie. Then they were all together in the small room and heard her, composed now, repeat her story. Moriz frowned, Andro swore, John banged his fist on his knee and Tobie glared at her. She had slurred a few words.

Nicholas said, ‘Well, come on. Assessment?’

Tobie’s pale eyes switched to his. He said, ‘It can’t be true. It’s a lie. It must be. Kathi’s right in a way. It’s a warning to her. They’ve guessed what she’s doing, and this is their way of telling her so. Who would use Jamie Boyd as a courier?’

‘Perhaps someone who wanted to be overheard,’ Nicholas said. ‘But if so, are we supposed to believe what he said?’

Wodman said, ‘Not unless we’re daft. Sandy’s whole quarrel with King James was because James wouldn’t make war on England. That’s why he’s in France, for God’s sake. If anyone gives him an army, it’s going to be Louis. Who in England would be crazy enough to think Sandy would join an English invasion of Scotland?’

‘The King of England, perhaps?’ said Adorne. ‘He has become very autocratic, we are told, and not entirely reliable. As with ourselves, there
is perhaps a limit to what his advisers can do. And he is receiving a pension from France.’

There was a little silence. Father Moriz said, ‘Am I interpreting correctly the complacent expression on Nicol’s face? His reasoning is the same. Louis is ill; France is beset; she cannot possibly send an army to Scotland, but would welcome anything that would prevent England from sending archers to Brittany or Maximilian. Edward is foolish enough to want to waste his time fighting in Scotland. France, when sending over his pension, lets it be known that he would be very ready, for a consideration, to lend out the Scottish King’s brother for any purpose Edward might wish.’

‘Such as to overrun Scotland?’ said John le Grant. ‘Never. That would leave England free to turn her whole attention to France from now on.’

‘If she did manage to overrun Scotland,’ Adorne said. ‘Louis might have a private view about that.’

Kathi felt very happy. She said, ‘I think I see. Sandy is restless; the King is unwell and doesn’t want to take action, so he hopes to get rid of Sandy and send England off on an abortive invasion to gain time. But he doesn’t know—he can’t know how much Sandy hates England. As do his sisters. They’d go mad if they thought he’d dream of doing this.’

The large grey eyes of Nicholas were encouraging her. ‘But?’ he said. ‘Louis is not the Universal Spider for nothing. He knows that Sandy loathes England. He and Sandy both know that Sandy won’t get back to a rich position in Scotland unless an army puts him there, and Louis will now have told him that it won’t be a French army,
mon cher
. So settle down with your Bourbon and baby, or get someone else to make you a king.’

‘A
king!
’ Tobie said.

‘Oh yes. That would be the English inducement,’ said Anselm Adorne. ‘We know you don’t like us, but we are prepared to place you selflessly on the Scots throne, to the joy of your sisters, provided we receive one or two presents.’

‘Such as?’ Tobie, still belligerent.

‘Such as Berwick-upon-Tweed,’ said Kathi dreamily. ‘Do you know, I thought I was hearing a garbled version of some ludicrous plot. But it could be real.’

‘Or it could be a garbled version of some ludicrous plot,’ said John le Grant. ‘How do we tell?’

‘We don’t. Rob Grey and his friends will keep us indirectly apprised,’ Nicholas said. ‘They have nothing to lose: we’re at war with England already; we can’t forbid them to take Sandy on board. Meanwhile, it drives a wedge between ourselves and France. And if we are foolish enough to tell the King, it will add to the problems of controlling him.’

‘Do we tell him?’ said Adorne. He was looking at Nicholas. Kathi
thought, still caught up in happiness, that in that group of six men, there was no doubt which were the leaders. Leaders, not leader.

Nicholas said, ‘That is for his officers, I think. They will have to be told now. No one else, except our own circle. Saunders. Crackbene. Robin. Archie. Andreas.’

‘Julius?’ Wodman said. ‘Liddell must know of the plot. Julius might find it awkward.’

‘All the more reason why he must know,’ Nicholas said. ‘Grey and others will feed us with tales, but we want other sources. At any rate, Kathi can leave the Hamilton household forthwith, and be excused from all further operations. You did prodigiously well. A coup, by God.’

‘
De foudre
, by God,’ she said, with a certain grimness. ‘I wish I could believe you. I was meant to overhear?’

Nicholas said, ‘They were probably weaving in and out of booths all the time, trying to find one you’d stop at. Andreas may even have noticed.’

She said, ‘Jamie wasn’t acting. He hadn’t been told it was a ruse.’

‘He may know now,’ Nicholas said. ‘He was born in Bruges, in your uncle’s house, don’t you remember? He’s the godson of the English King’s sister. His aunt is married to Archibald Angus. He could be one of Albany’s trump cards, if all this is true. At any rate, you are safe. We are not targets, we’re tools. Will you miss your august life at the Princess’s?’

He sounded mildly cheerful. Her uncle looked satisfied. She realised, woefully, as the fumes of alcohol vanished, that they were reassuring her. For Nicholas, who had given so much of his time to this one, confused man, and to the Boyds, it must have been shocking news, as it must have been for her uncle. She said with sudden resentment, ‘Blind Harry. All Sandy’s stupid, dangerous raids; his outbursts against
that reiver Edward
and the
Auld Enemy of perfidious England;
the speeches about the dignity and sovereignty of his nation … He
shouted
at James for cravenly keeping the peace. He asked people to die for an ideal. They thought he meant it. I thought he meant it.’

Nicholas was quiet. Then he said, ‘He did mean it, although it was coloured by other things. This venture too. He may well be telling himself that he will use the English to get what he wants, and then sweep them out of the country with the help of his friends.’

‘Having got rid of the King,’ said her uncle. ‘But, as we said once of the French, an invading army would expect to be given something more than Berwick-upon-Tweed. They would want garrisoned forts from which they could control all the Lowlands. And do enough men admire Albany to rise up and prevent that from happening? He will have been away for three years.’

‘I don’t know,’ Nicholas said. ‘I don’t think it depends on what the English do with Albany. I think it depends on what we do with the King.’

‘These are princes,’ her uncle said. You could hear a sharpness.

‘These are impaired men who need help,’ Nicholas said. ‘As are we all. We put them first, because half a million people rely on them.’ He and Adorne looked at one another.

Tobie said, ‘So what do we do?’

Her uncle stirred. ‘Advise the Council,’ he said. ‘Abide by what it decides. Continue our preparations for war, and pass the winter as best we can, in good heart. We are not dealing with madmen or tyrants, as Nicholas reminds us. We are dealing with limited men who are doing their best.’

T
HUS THE WINTER
was spent. For Kathi, there were no repercussions. The Princess Mary accepted her retiral with grace, and seemed unaware, as did her son, of any untoward reason. Rob Grey continued to wave to her as he passed from his house to the booths, and might have been equally innocent, although she doubted it. Julius, full of glee, had embarked (he said) on a counter-espionage programme which produced not very much, but kept Julius entranced.

Enchantment of a different kind was supplied, over the season, by the Court’s personal entertainment industry, headed by the Master of Music and his acolytes. The playlets they devised were performed everywhere: at Holyrood and at Trinity, at Greenside and at Orchardfield and the Netherbow, and induced children to laugh and their elders to hug them and each other. The great choral responsory devised by Will Roger alone was performed before hundreds in the burgh’s own High Kirk of St Giles, with the guilds and their flags standing each before its own altar. Dr Andreas arrayed himself with his flock before the glittering shrine of St Crispin, and for part of the ceremony, Anselm Adorne came to stand at his side, his eyes never leaving the master, or the choir beneath his two hands. Among the singers, robed and remote, were Adorne’s niece Katelinje, and the man for whose great, solitary voice the anthem had been written.

Full of love, Adorne prayed for them both.

T
HEN CAME THE
enemy sun; and it was spring.

J
UST BEFORE THE
war began, Nicholas called on William Knollys, Lord Preceptor in Scotland of the Knights Hospitaller of St John. He went not to the Order’s Edinburgh hospice, but to the grand old Preceptory at Torphichen, which lay to the west, halfway between Bathgate and Linlithgow. He took John le Grant with him. There, in the Preceptor’s chamber, they were welcomed, seated and offered a choice of Rhenish, Gascon or Candian wine by Lord St John himself, in his robust, meticulous Scots. Then he asked, genially, if they had come to measure his shields, or to expose yet again—who would ever deceive an ex-banker?—some cataclysmic deceit over salmon?

To which Nicholas merely said, Neither: he wanted to talk about Alexander of Albany.

The wine pouring slowed. ‘Ah,’ said Sir William. ‘Deputed by whom?’

‘I volunteered,’ Nicholas said. ‘There is a possibility that France and England may collude to install his grace of Albany in place of his brother. An English army would bring him. King James has not yet been told, and you will, I am sure, keep it secret. The Council simply asks for advice. If Albany came, would many support him?’