The Game of Kings (73 page)

“They won’t,” said Richard briefly. “They won’t pass sentence, but they’ll examine, and make up their minds, and force the result through Parliament the day after. You ought to be able to guess why. Lymond knows too much. He could shatter half the Government at a public hearing.”

Scott brightened. “He should insist on it. Either they let him off, or else—” At the expression on Culter’s face he broke off. “No.”

“No, indeed,” said Richard. “I really can’t think of any surer way of signing his own death warrant.… And does it matter, anyway? They’ll be out of their minds if they don’t condemn him.”

Rumour of the hurried Assize had reached the streets by midday, and by two o’clock the Lawnmarket from the Butter Tron to St. Giles was thick with people.

By midafternoon, a further rumour spread that the prisoner, taken out through the Castle postern, was already in the Tolbooth. As this became known there was a good deal of shouting, and someone with no religious intent started up the 109th Psalm: the grave words, used ceremonially at a degradation for treason, yammered on the wind up to St. Giles’ sunny crown:

“Deus laudem meam ne tacueris.…”

Sybilla at her window in the High Street heard it and rattled on, without pausing, with what she was saying to Janet Buccleuch.

Inside the Tolbooth, the sun piped in through the coloured glass of the windows. The Assize was preparing, in a narrow room above
the hall where Parliament would sit tomorrow. Twelve Assessors, drawn from each of the Three Estates and embracing the President and half the Court of Sessions, sat on three sides of a long board at one end. In the centre presided the noble and potent lord Archibald, Earl of Argyll, Lord Justice-General; the Campbell arms on his chair and the Royal arms above it.

On either side of the room, the sun striped red and blue and green the papers littering the desks of the Clerks: short Crawford and big Foulis and Lauder of St. Germains, Lord Advocate to the Queen’s Grace and member of the Governor’s Council, with his long blue chin and shrewd eyes and interminable black-hosed legs folded beneath his chair with the blunt-knuckled inconsequence of a roe deer.

The Lord Advocate had made a wager before starting with Jamie Foulis on whether Argyll was still on speaking terms with the President. He had won, and was watching the golden louis Jamie had thrown him spinning like a sequin against the black rafters when the Justiciar cleared his throat, making him take his eye off the coin so that it dropped unseen into the straw on the floor.

Lauder, catching the Clerk-Register’s ecstatic grin across the room, snorted aloud and assumed his legal face. He was, although he gave little sign of it, one of the astutest lawyers in Scotland.

“… Gathering,” Argyll was saying, skipping briefly and almost unintelligibly through the routine, “at the instance of Parliament … delated and defamed for … imprison his body and try and seek out the verity of the matter by examinations and inquisitions before the Justice … report to the Lords Commissioners of Parliament on this and on the indictment for subsequent crimes as follows …”

Henry Lauder scratched his head, running his eye over the gaily dressed twelve. Argyll. Glencairn and George Douglas, both notorious for their dealings with the English. Buccleuch. Herries, or John Maxwell as he used to be. Gladstanes the judge and Keith, the Earl Marischal, of the same faction as Douglas and Glencairn. A couple of Abbots; Methven, Queen Margaret’s withered widower; Marjori-banks; Hugo Rig and the President of the Court of Session, Bishop Reid of Orkney with his deaf ear.

Lauder wondered if anyone had hinted tc the prisoner about that deaf ear. It was responsible for more executions, whippings and tongue borings than even its owner realized. The junior clerks, usher, macers and witnesses filled the rest of the room: they were going to
need some air soon. He had taken the precaution of wearing his thinnest jerkin under his robes.

Lord Culter … the Scott boy … the Master of Erskine, without his father. That should be interesting: it was already interesting. One or two unknown faces, and some at the back he couldn’t see. He ran a bony finger over his chin and felt his usual rueful irritation that the hair which surged so cheerfully on his face should colonize his crown so feebly.

There was a hum of voices and a shuffle of feet: the initial procedure was over. They had put a chair in the centre of the floor for the panel: he remembered hearing that the fellow had been shot. Francis Crawford of Lymond, Master of Culter. They had called him. The name reverberated through the rafters: Lymond … Lymond … Master … Master. The boy Scott jumped and the brother, Culter, moved also. The rest simply looked stoic.

Everybody stared at the door. Two guards came in, and someone fair, of a vague distinction who walked steadily through the benches to the clear space in the middle, declined the chair and turned to face the Tribunal.

And this was a surprise. Unobtrusive, beautiful clothes; fine hands; a burnished head with a long, firm mouth and heavy blue eyes, spaciously set. He had been ill all right: the signs were all there. But his face was beautifully controlled, giving nothing away.

The guards withdrew. Orkney cupped his left ear in his hand and then took it away again. The answers to Argyll’s questions were professionally pitched; clear, pleasant and effortlessly audible.

Henry Lauder, Prosecutor for the Crown, guardian and administrator for all its people of the laws which secure their tranquillity and welfare, sat back in his seat and gave an unlegal twitch of sheer pleasure. He was, he felt, going to enjoy his day.

*  *  *

“This is not a trial,” Argyll had announced. “This is a preliminary examination conducted by us through Mr. Lauder, to lessen the burden on tomorrow’s meeting of the Estates. A number of questions will be put to you, and your replies will be noted. You will be given every chance to put your point of view, and a report based on these proceedings will be drawn up and placed before Parliament.…”

In other words, Parliament is busy with weightier matters than treason. Beware, for you are being judged.

“… And so, as a result of these productions,” the Lord Advocate was saying, swaying gently to and fro on his heels, “the above charges are dismissed. The Crown does not accuse you of the attempted murder of your brother, Richard Lord Culter, or of wilful and malicious fire-raising, robbery and attempted murder at your own home of Midculter, or”—he put out a bony finger and moved a paper in front of him—“or of the abduction of your brother’s wife and the slaughter of her child. These charges, as I have said, are not being pursued.”

Henry Lauder broke off, took away the spectacles resting on the bridge of his nose and said, “You don’t look very pleased about it. Do you understand what I am saying?”

“I was considering its legal implications,” said Crawford of Lymond, without raising his eyes.

The Lord Advocate sensed the grin on Foulis’s face while schooling his own. Of course, he had no right to recapitulate, but he didn’t expect to be told so.

He said, watching the prisoner under his lids, “I am glad you are following us. I am aware that you have not been in good health since a misunderstanding with your … force in June. We have no wish to unman you. It is, I think, unique in our time to encounter a plea of innocence against such a formidable list of charges.” He glanced up, getting no response.

Argyll said, “It’s after two, Lauder. Let’s get rid of the new charges first. Dealings with Wharton.” He addressed the prisoner direct. “You’re accused of consistently giving help and selling information to Lord Wharton, the English Warden. Notably … When, Lauder?”

Lauder said agreeably, “We are informed that you were a member of Lord Wharton’s force for a period in 1545, and that while there you acted under his orders in a number of raids and other activities directly detrimental to Scotland. Have you any answer?”

The sure voice said laconically, “Yes: but no proof. I offered my services to Lord Wharton over a period of four months and won his confidence by taking part in three small raids. On the fourth, major raid I misled him so that the English force was seriously damaged. I left him the same night.”

“I am sure you were wise. As an experienced soldier and tactician the throwing away of a troop—even a deliberate throwing away—must have been an ordeal for you.”

“Not at all,” said the prisoner briefly. “I had never commanded a force before.”

“Ah!” said Harry Lauder, who was perfectly aware of that fact.

“—But I’ve studied geography and I know my chess.”

“Indeed.” There was a rustle of amusement. “Excellent qualifications in themselves, but …”

Lymond said mildly, “The one shows you where to go, and the other what to do when you get there. A man so fortified would be unique in Scottish arms, don’t you think?”

“Since, as you say, you have no proof,” said Lauder, “we must leave it to Parliament to decide how far your overthrow was deliberate and how much of your motive was selfless, against the tenor of your general character and behaviour. You are further charged,” said Lauder mildly, “with conspiring to lay misleading information about the intentions of the English army during the western invasion of September last year; of attacking a Scottish force under Lord Culter and the Master of Erskine, and of taking from their possession an English messenger bearing a valuable dispatch.”

He smiled up at the beams. “Doubtless the—misunderstanding—of 1545 between yourself and Lord Wharton had by that time cleared up, that you took such pains to help his invasion, Mr. Crawford?”

“Until the present moment, my lord, there was no misunderstanding over what happened in 1545. Lord Wharton had placed the sum of a thousand crowns on my head.”

“And yet you passed freely enough in and out of England, we hear. You offered to spy for him if he appeared to reject you?”

“No.”

“What fee did you receive from him for the services you did render?”

“After 1545 I received no voluntary payment from Lord Wharton.”

The Bishop, leaning forward, missed the significant word. He tapped the copy of the indictment before him. “That, Mr. Crawford, is untrue. According to several witnesses, you agreed to a suggestion by your brother that Lord Wharton was paying you.”

“I beg Your Grace’s pardon. What I said, more precisely, is that
my money came from Lord Wharton,” said the Master coolly. “It did. I had just extracted it by force. Mr. Scott will perhaps confirm it if you wish.”

Scott was already on his feet, but Lauder conceded the point without calling on him. “Very well. I am prepared to accept the fact that a personal enmity had been established between yourself and Lord Wharton for reasons we shall not specify. You were not however freeing his messenger from purely humanitarian reasons?”

“Not precisely. He was a very silly man,” said the Master reminiscently. “I thought perhaps he would irritate the English less than he irritated me.”

“And for that profound reason you engineered a vicious attack on your brother’s force, from which he was only saved by Mr. Erskine?”

For the first time Lymond was momentarily silent. Then he said, “I was not on good terms with my brother. To such an extent that he would disbelieve automatically any statement which came from me.”

“We are all familiar with the sensation,” said Lauder blandly. “Go on.”

Lymond said evenly, “I had earlier encountered the messenger and after reading his dispatch put him on the right road to reach Lord Wharton. When my men found him in Lord Culter’s grasp he had destroyed his message and my brother was naturally bent on preventing him from delivering it verbally.”

“But you thought he should be permitted to do so?”

“Yes. Isn’t it obvious? The message was from Lord Grey ordering Lennox and Wharton to retreat immediately.”

The whirl of ensuing comment gave Lauder time to savour annoyance. Gladstanes said, “And did they? Does anyone know?” and someone called, “Aye, Jock: my boy was in it. He told me the English pulled out of Annan that night, though the previous evening they’d every look of long roots.”

“In that case,” said the Lord Advocate, caressing his blue chin lovingly, “why, I wonder, did Mr. Crawford tell his brother the English were coming north?”

“Because I knew he would assume the opposite and take his men south to attack,” said the Master promptly. “Which he did. I believe they were chasing Wharton south of Annan all night.”

The Lord Justice-General cut across the hubbub. “If we grant
your enmity toward Wharton—and I see you are prepared to cite witnesses for this—I still think you have to answer the charge of serving the English on the West March—whether Wharton, Lennox or another—for your own ends,” he said. “There are witnesses, it says here, to your activities during the invasion of six months ago, when you opened the way of escape for Lord Lennox while appropriating for yourself some of the cattle used as decoys.”

The face turned toward him was quite composed. “Most of the English who could still move had escaped by that time. The cattle were not for my own use: I returned them to their original owners, an English family to whom a number of Scots besides myself owe a great deal. For my part in the raid, Baron Herries can speak better than I can.”

This time the noise took much longer to die down. When it did, John Maxwell leaned back in his carved chair and astonishingly raised his deep voice, the impersonal yellow eyes fixed on the panel.

“The plan for the cattle raid was Mr. Crawford’s, made in a chance encounter when I was ignorant of his identity. I could take little active part. But he and his band drove all the livestock from the south side of the Border and succeeded in taking them to the right place at the appointed time in spite of very bad conditions: a quite remarkable feat of leadership. The Whartons detest him. The young one did his best to slit his throat a month or two later at Durisdeer.”

He stopped speaking as suddenly as he had begun and restored the front legs of his chair to the ground, ignoring the commotion on either side. First blood, miraculously, to the panel.