Kingdom of Shadows (87 page)

Christian glanced at Isobel in the darkness. By the light of the stars she could see that the other woman’s face was tight with fear as she stared out of the high, unshuttered window and suddenly they were all thinking of the coronation; Edward must know that it was Isobel, the daughter of Fife, who had placed the crown on Robert’s head.

She touched Isobel’s hand gently, but there was nothing she could say to reassure her. Instead she talked about herself. ‘I am so thankful Gratney did not live to see this. It would have broken his heart.’

‘What about your son?’ Isobel rested her head wearily against the stone embrasure. At least she had no children to worry over.

Christian shrugged. ‘Like your brother he is in England now – a ward of the English court.’ She sighed. ‘Lord Ross told me he has been taken into the household of the Prince of Wales. Please God he is safe.’ Both women were silent for a moment. ‘Surely they will be spared punishment,’ she went on at last. ‘Edward would not harm them just because they are our kin, would he?’

Isobel looked back into the dark room again. They had been given no fire or candles, and the only light was from the frosty sky at the narrow window. She was thinking about Marjorie, the King of Scots’ daughter – his only child and his heir. What would become of her? What mercy could she expect from Edward of England, who had ordered that no quarter be given to the women or children who supported the rebel king; he who had ordered that the impersonal stones of a church be dismantled because it had displeased him.

‘He will have me put to death,’ she said at last in a whisper. ‘You have done no more than follow Robert – you can plead that he forced you to stay with him, all of you, and everyone knows that Elizabeth thought him a fool to proclaim himself king. It is I who went to him of my own free will and put the crown upon his head.’ She clenched her fists. The icy weight of terror was there, all the time, lurking in the shadows. She tried not to think about it; refused to allow her mind to dwell on what would happen when they reached the King of England. She tried to hope, but in her heart she knew he would sentence her to die. Her nightmare now was the method he would choose to put her to death. It haunted her every moment. Would he sentence her to hang or to burn? Would he sentence her to be drawn, like poor Sir William Wallace? In her dreams she had already felt the rope around her neck a hundred times, and another hundred she had felt the flames, and smelled the smoke and dreamed of Mairi, but Edward of England was known for his unpredictable vindictiveness; no one could guess how he would punish them in the end. She forced her mind away again, feeling the sweat break out on the palms of her hands. She wanted to squeeze her way out of the narrow, high window and jump to her freedom, to soar up towards the clear, impersonal windy sky, but she couldn’t. There would be no escape. She felt her stomach begin to churn and for a moment she clung to Christian’s shoulder.

Outside the door the guards let out a yell of triumph. One of them had thrown a six.

King Edward was at Lanercost, a lonely priory in the hills of Cumberland within sight of Hadrian’s Wall. There the four women and the child were brought before him in October 1306.

He had dealt with hundreds of Robert’s adherents already, seeing the prisoners dragged before him in the chapter house of the priory, and then taken out again to face death or imprisonment, and when the women in their dirty, ragged clothes were at last herded into his presence he was tired and ill-tempered as he stared at them, surrounded by a silent crowd of his supporters and the royal bodyguard.

Elizabeth fell on her knees before him, and the others, taking their lead from her, followed suit. Marjorie was crying.

Edward was sitting on a raised chair with a pointed back, his gaunt frame swathed in furs against the east wind which swept across the hills. The shrewd, bright eyes were sunk now in the pallid wrinkles of his face, but they had lost none of their venom. He surveyed the women silently, scrutinising the faces of the prisoners one by one, then he turned to one of the men standing behind him. See, Lord Buchan, it seems we have caught your runaway wife!’

Isobel gave a gasp of fear, for the first time looking beyond the King to his companions. There, behind Edward, her husband was standing with his eyes fixed on her face. She had never seen such anger and hatred in anyone’s expression before.

Edward smiled coldly. He was rubbing his thin fingers, laden with rings, together in his lap. The joints were swollen with arthritis. The cold wind made him ache all over and he had a hard, painful cough.

‘So, the outlaw’s women,’ he said at last. ‘Wife and mistress’ – his eyes dwelt on Isobel’s face for a moment – ‘sisters and child.’ He stood up slowly, an extremely tall man, head and shoulders above many of those around him, and he took a dragging, painful step forward. He would deal with them swiftly, then he could leave the draughty chapter house and drink some mulled wine to ease the cold a little. He gave them all another cold, appraising glance. He knew exactly what he was going to do with them all.

‘You, madam.’ He was addressing Elizabeth now. ‘I hear that you did not approve of your husband’s puny attempt to snatch himself a throne. My spies tell me you even rebuked him for it.’ He gave a tight smile. ‘And you are still, when all is said and done, the daughter of the Earl of Ulster.’ He paused thoughtfully. Lord Ulster was a powerful man – one he did not wish to alienate. ‘I am inclined, madam, to show you lenience, although I shall imprison you, of course.’ He turned to a clerk near him. ‘Madam Elizabeth is to be sent south to Burstwick in Holderness and confined there with two companions. Sober, elderly companions, I think.’ He turned to her again. ‘To help divert your thoughts to prayer, and dissuade you from any ideas you may have of returning to court – mine, or your husband’s.’ The last three words were spoken in a mocking tone which brought a smile to the faces of his followers.

His attention left Elizabeth who was staring at him, almost faint with relief, and moved on to Christian who was kneeling beside her, upright and tight lipped. ‘Lady Christian.’ He gave a grim smile. ‘Your husband has already paid with his life for his allegiance to the outlaw. I wonder, would you have willingly followed your brother had you known what lay in store for him? Your son is my ward now.’ He paused again thoughtfully. Christian did not move. Her eyes rested on his face, unblinking. ‘I think that, like your sister-in-law, you too must spend the rest of your days in prayer and meditation. Where shall I send her?’ He turned to the clerk and snapped his fingers.

‘You suggested a nunnery in Lincolnshire, your grace.’ The man fumbled with his notes. ‘Sixhills, your grace.’ The mother superior there was well known to the King, and would be strict enough with the outlaw’s sister. He smiled to himself. The King had with his usual thoroughness and impeccable eye for detail already thought out the punishment for these women. However much he made a show of thinking out their fate now, he already knew what was to happen to every one of them.

Christian had closed her eyes. She too was weak with relief. There was a movement of unrest in the room, even disappointment. Was the King growing feeble at long last, to let them off so lightly? But there were more sentences to pronounce.

Edward’s cold eye had moved on to Marjorie. The girl bit her lip, desperately trying to control her tears. She straightened her thin shoulders. Lady Isobel had told her that her father would expect her to be brave and behave like a Princess of the Scots, no matter what happened.

‘With the pretended king’s child,’ he said portentously, ‘we are dealing with a traitor.’ There was a sudden expectant hush in the room. Isobel could see pity in one or two of the faces near the king, but his own was like carved stone. She saw Mary’s hand creep out to hold Marjorie’s as the long silence drew out around them.

‘The Tower of London,’ he said at last. ‘The Lady Marjorie will be taken there and held there, incarcerated in a cage’ – he smiled again – ‘so that the people of London can come and view the spawn of the traitor, Bruce.’ There was a gasp from the men around him. Marjorie looked up, her eyes full of tears, not understanding, but already the king had turned his attention to Mary.

‘And a cage for you too, madam, I think, to curb your rebellion. I wish to make an example of you and the child. When the people see you penned like an animal they will mock and they will spit on you and they will think twice before ever they support a Bruce again – people like Neil Campbell, madam, who persists in his support of your pretended king.’ He fixed her with a stony stare. His spies had told him everything, of her passionate support of her brother, of her vilification of the King of England, and even of her love for a rebellious highlander. Edward did not like the sound of Mary Bruce. ‘And we’ll hang your cage somewhere in Scotland, I think, to remind your brother’s would-be subjects that he and his family are fit only for a menagerie. Caged lions.’ He smiled. ‘Such as I brought to Scotland, to show the people what the King of England does with a lion when he holds one alive!’

The clerk was busy scribbling. The King had already given orders for the cages to be constructed. At Roxburgh this one.

Mary had gone white. She stared at Edward, transfixed, her hand still clasping Marjorie’s. Isobel closed her eyes. As the king’s attention moved slowly from one woman to the next she had grown more and more afraid. To be caged like an animal was the most terrible fate she could imagine, far worse than anything she feared. Worse even than death. Death at least was over soon, and then your soul could fly free up towards the clear blue sky.

‘And now. Lady Buchan.’ At last Edward turned to her. ‘We come to you. And in your case we have your husband here to advise us. Lord Buchan, do you have anything to say before we sentence your wife for high treason?’

Isobel had stopped breathing; her mind had stopped functioning; part of her was watching from some great distance as the earl stepped forward. She saw his lips move, heard the words spoken, echoing in the silence of her head – heresy … sorcery … murder … treason … seduction … adultery … the subversion of his men … the thieving of his best horses … The list went on and on, his hatred and his resentment palpable, surrounding her, enfolding everyone in the room, encircling the King.

She was completely cold. On her knees on the flagstones, a little apart from the other women, she raised her eyes at last to look at Edward’s face. His thin lips were almost colourless, his features gaunt, the papery skin drawn tight across the bones, the eyes deep set and black, two bright, intelligent, cruel eyes, fixed upon hers, and she knew suddenly, irrelevantly, that he too was near death.

Unexpectedly he smiled, but it was not at her. ‘So, what do you suggest I do with her, my lord, to punish her for this over-long list of crimes?’

‘The death sentence, your grace.’ Lord Buchan spoke firmly. ‘No less. She has to die.’

Isobel closed her eyes. She clenched her hands tightly. She must not break down; she had to be brave. Robert had always been so proud of her bravery and she must make Robert proud of her now, even at the end.

The King sat down again painfully and leaned back in his chair. ‘The rope,’ he said musingly, ‘or the fire.’ Behind him the clerk sighed. He already knew the sentence. He was cold and he wanted to go out to the kitchens and find himself some hot soup to take the ache of these cold northern moors out of his bones.

‘No.’ The King sat forward again slowly. ‘No, my lady. Death would be too easy for the woman who put the crown on the outlaw’s head. Too easy and too quick. A cage like the others.’ He smiled slightly at Isobel’s gasp of fear. ‘A cage, madam, to show you up as the animal you are. A cage where everyone can see you and mock and torment you – the woman who crowned an outlaw, the woman who lay with him as a whore. You too will serve as an example to the people of this land who dare to defy me, and we will hang your cage at Berwick. You love your land of Scotland, madam, I think. I saw that when you came to me at Westminster. You’ll be able to see your beloved Scotland from your cage, madam, but you will never set foot there again. Berwick belongs to England now. And you will hang there in your cage until you die.’

‘Clare! Clare, for God’s sake, wake up!’ Neil was shaking her. ‘Wake up! It’s only a dream.’ He pulled her into his arms and held her tightly. The room was ice cold and he found he was shivering violently. ‘Clare!’

She stared at him blankly. ‘She was here,’ she said slowly. ‘She was here. It has happened. The cage …’

His arms tightened around her. ‘It all happened a long time ago, Clare. It’s finished …’

‘No, it’s not finished; it’s not!’ She clung to him. ‘I can’t go through it, Neil. I can’t. Not the cage! I can’t!’ She was almost hysterical. In the distance they could hear Casta howling from the room across the landing. ‘She’s making me go through it with her. She’s forcing me to live it!’

‘That’s not true, Clare.’ He stared at her helplessly. ‘It was only a dream; only your imagination. It’s not real.’

‘Not real?’ She pushed him away and scrambled out of the bed, groping for her negligée which had slipped to the floor beside the wall. ‘How can you say that! She is real. She is as real as you are!’ She knotted the sash around her with shaking fingers. ‘Dear God, what am I going to do?’

Neil swung his legs over the side of the bed and groped for his bath robe. ‘Have you ever been to Berwick, Clare?’ He leaned across to switch on the bedside lamp.

She stared at him. ‘Of course I have –’

‘Really been to Berwick? To the castle, where she was held?’

‘Well, no.’ Her face was white, her eyes huge in the lamp light.

‘Would it help to go there? To face it. It’s a ruin now, Clare – far more ruined than Duncairn. There’s nothing left; no ghosts, no shadows, no echoes, just a beautiful river and a railway bridge.’ He smiled, and was relieved to see an answering lightening in her eyes. ‘Would you like to go there? If I come with you?’

‘I don’t know.’ She sat down on the bed with a shiver. ‘I don’t know that I’ve got the strength, Neil. I’m frightened.’ She looked very frail in the thin silk negligée, her arms crossed defensively across her breasts.