After Flodden (18 page)

By now, Crozier’s men had passed through the hall to chambers deep in the keep’s warren. The great room was empty, the only company Crozier’s pair of wolfhounds, stretched
beside the hearth. Their eyes glittered as they observed Louise and the vixen, who kept close to her skirts, but they did not move. A growl rolled like dice in the little dog’s throat. The
hounds yawned, and closed their eyes.

Louise approached the gang leader, her heart thumping. Her boots scuffed the flagstones, but for all the notice the brigand took of her, she might have got close enough to bury a knife in his
back before he realised she was there. She and her companions had been captured, and carried off as if they were stolen sheep, and yet her ropes had been cut, and she was under no guard. Had she
wished, she could have walked out of the keep into the woods, and never been seen again. The Borderer’s preoccupation was oddly reassuring. Those with rape or murder on their minds were not
usually so easily distracted.

‘You,’ she said, as if summoning a serving boy. The man looked up, and Louise held his gaze. She had never seen such ungiving eyes, the pitiless pewter of a winter sea. It was as if
they merely reflected the world, offering no window on the emotions behind them.

She raised her voice. ‘Who are you? Why have you brought us here? Where are we? I demand you release us at once.’

Crozier put the letter back in his leather pouch, and drew the strings tight, as if throttling the thoughts it had raised. He stared for a moment. As he took in this plump wifie, a sooty-haired
pigeon of a woman, who screeched like a harrier, his expression eased.

‘Ma’am, I apologise for our rough handling. Believe me, it was necessary. We have done you a good turn, as you will one day appreciate.’ He prodded the flames with a poker, and
provoked a crackle and flare of pine-cones. ‘You are in Teviotdale, a short morning’s ride from the border. This,’ he said, gesturing at the hall, ‘is Crozier’s Keep,
and I am Adam Crozier, head of the family. The men you encountered last night are all my kin. We are honourable folk, whatever you might think.’

He took a step towards her. ‘But you must be weary. My mother is preparing a bed for you. It’s been a heavy ride, a long night.’ Seeing her scowl, he added, ‘I assure
you, it is not our intention to hurt you, or your boy. When you have slept a little, we can talk.’

Louise’s hands clenched. ‘I don’t need rest, I need to see Gabriel Torrance, the man you so cruelly used. He must be half dead, or worse after that beating. You and your
filthy, foul men are cowards, to attack him as you did.’

‘You are not the first woman to call the Croziers cowards, ma’am,’ said Crozier. ‘Nor filthy.’

Louise lifted her chin. ‘Take me to him at once. When I have seen he is alive and fit, maybe I too will be able to jest. As it is, I have seen nothing tonight to amuse me.’

Crozier straightened. ‘As you wish.’ With a countryman’s stride, he led her across the hall and down a windowless corridor, faintly lit. At its end, they came to a door
criss-crossed with so many bolts and locks it was more iron than wood. Inside, on a pallet, lay the courtier, turned on his side, his bound hands clutched to his chest. A none-too-clean cloth had
been wound around his head, and the worst of the bleeding and bruising was covered. Cousin Wat was surveying his handiwork with satisfaction. ‘Wis no easy winding yon thing on a head like
that, wi’ a’ they girls’ curls. No tae mention him wriggling like an eel, and chittering like a wren. Are they a’ of his ilk, where you pair come frae?’

But Louise was not listening. She was on her knees at Gabriel’s side, pressing his hand to her cheek. He was the colour of sour milk, and his face was damp with sweat. With the edge of her
cuff, she dried his brow.

His eyes opened, and seeing her, he smiled. She found herself smiling back, the first time in weeks she had felt a moment’s release from the stranglehold of misery and fear. ‘Sweet
girl,’ he said in a whisper.

The smell of the woods was on Gabriel, a pleasant leafy earthiness, but beneath that there was a bitter scent, and in this confined and airless space it was growing stronger. Louise ran her
hands over his cape, and found the leather jerkin beneath. With unsteady fingers, she unhooked the fastenings and revealed a shirt blooming with blood. She looked up in alarm. Wat was standing
apart, at the doorway.

‘We need fresh bindings,’ she said sharply. ‘His arm is bleeding badly.’ Wat turned, saw the blood, and was at her side at once.

‘We didnae do that, surely?’ He looked appalled.

Louise shook her head. ‘He took this at Flodden. It refuses to knit, but our desperate long journey here has not helped.’

With a frown, Wat took charge, as if care of the injured was his trade. Louise watched as he untied Gabriel’s hands, stripped off his clothes and swabbed his arm. The well-meaning touch of
the Borderer, as he wound lint tight over the weeping flesh, brought the courtier close to a swoon. By the time Wat had finished, Gabriel was weak as a suckling wean and the floor was strewn with
blood-crusted old wrappings.

Wat left to find a fresh shirt, and Louise hurried to his side. It took an effort for Gabriel to speak, but he clasped her hand again and fleetingly brought his lips to it. ‘Fret not,
sweetness. I only need sleep, and my wound will quickly heal. My headache too, no doubt. Once I am on my feet, we can leave here. We will find Benoit, never you fear.’

‘These men are brigands and thieves,’ Louise whispered. ‘What do they want with us?’

‘God alone knows,’ said Gabriel, and closed his eyes, as if the question was the cause of all his pain.

Before he could say another word, he was asleep, as if once more hit by a cosh. Wat arrived in the doorway, a clean chemise in his hand. He stared down at his patient, an almost maternal
expression sitting oddly on a face composed of hard deeds. ‘A good sleep, and he’ll be back to his troublesome self, don’t you worry, hen.’

Louise got to her feet and swayed as a wave of exhaustion hit her. ‘What have you done with the boy?’ she asked.

‘He’s with the horses in the stables. Couldnae keep him away. The bridle-boys will no doubt find him a berth, and some fodder.’ Louise nodded. There was a hand at her elbow,
which she recognised as the grip of a woman, though she was too weary to turn and find out who. She gave a last glance at Gabriel, sleeping softly as if in his own bed, and then found herself being
guided up the corridor and into a small chamber where a bed piled with furs lay ready. Not unkindly, the woman told her to sleep, and the door creaked shut, but not before the vixen had slipped
in.

As the woman’s footsteps faded, Louise lifted the vixen onto the furs beside her, and got under the covers. Her last thought, as she tipped into darkness, was that even the wolfskins in
this place smelled of pine. The sharp scent of resin was soothing, and despite the terrors of the past few hours, she fell not into nightmares but to untroubled dreams.

*    *    *

There was no sleep for Crozier and his men. Their only comfort was a jug of strong ale, and new-baked bread from the oven. Huddled over a table in the warmth of the low, vaulted
kitchen, they spoke quietly. The presence of strangers in the keep was a reminder that there were enemies close at hand.

‘It’s as bad as we feared,’ said Crozier, tossing the messenger’s letter on the table. ‘Dacre is acting on the orders of Surrey, Henry’s lieutenant. This is a
death warrant, sent from the weasel warden to King James’s widow in Holyrood. It offers certain terms. It tries – ’ here he averted his head as if to spit, but composed himself by
taking a deep breath. He turned back to his comrades: ‘it tries, would you believe, to forge an alliance between the English king and his sister against all our people. God rot
him.’

‘Whit in the name of God is a wee clan like us supposed to have done?’ asked Wat.

‘No jist us you fool,’ said Murdo, ‘he’s referring to the entire Borders folk.’

‘Aye,’ said Crozier. ‘All of us. Elliots, Armstrongs, Kerrs, Scotts, every good man, and every evil bastard this side of the border. And not just them, but their women and
children, their cattle and sheep.’

‘But they’re no oor people . . . ’ began Wat in outrage. A look from Crozier silenced him, and he bowed his head.

‘What he says is this.’ Crozier picked up the letter: ‘ “If it please Your Majesty, grieving relict of James IV, erstwhile King of the Scottish isles, to take matters
into her own hands, His Highness Henry VIII, your loving kin, would be agreeable. You may find it to your advantage, indeed, in the matter of claiming the dowry for which you have for so long and
importunately petitioned your most patient and generous brother to deliver.

‘ “All I ask is that your men find and annihilate the culprits for the dastardly and unchristian deeds committed at Flodden upon the bodies, quick and dead, of our gallant English
warriors. Atrocities, we are told, that were committed upon the Queen’s own noble troops as well as our own.

‘ “For these acts of barbary, we demand swift justice. We feel certain your views will concur with ours in this matter. The Borderers are carrion. We want them snared, and their
necks wrung. Produce the severed heads of the ringleaders for me to inspect, at the next assize at Berwick Castle, and we shall consider the matter dealt with. Failure to do so will mean that as
His Royal Highness’s senior envoy of the marches, I shall have no option but to ride into your borderlands and mete out retribution. During any such reprisals it would be unfortunate but also
unavoidable if many innocents – babes, women and ancients – were also to lose their lives.” ’

Crozier laid down the paper, and drained his tankard. His hand was steady, but his heart was not.

‘She’ll never agree!’ said young Tom Crozier, eyes alight as the prospect of mortal danger drew closer. ‘He writes to her as if she is chattel.’

‘That is his plan,’ said Crozier. ‘He hopes to belittle her into agreeing to act with him, to scare her with a reminder of how little power and comradeship she can muster. With
James gone, and most of the court with him, she has few advisors to turn to, and barely a man at arms to protect her and her child. Surrey’s men could walk into Edinburgh today and take the
country as if it were a plum ripe for plucking. Who could stop them?’

‘They do say Patrick Paniter got out alive from behind the thunderin culverins,’ said Magnus. ‘He’s a sharp mind, if ever there was.’

‘Gone mad, is what I hear,’ said Bertie Main from the end of the table, a seasoned skirmisher in charge of the scouts Crozier had sent out across the shire. ‘Lost his mind. No
use to woman or beast.’

‘Dacre’s a two-faced cur,’ said Murdo, taking the letter out of Crozier’s hand and squinting at the imperious hand racing across its page for all the world as if he were
able to read. ‘One day he’s all matey wi’ Jamie, taking his hospitality, playing wi’ the queen’s wean. Then, as soon as she is alone and friendless, he’s
taunting her. Whit a gentleman.’ As he toyed with the vellum, he smiled, a faraway look in his eyes.

‘What’s amusing you?’ asked Crozier.

‘Ach,’ he replied, ‘I jist recalled how easy it once wis to rile the English court. Remember the Bartons’ trick wi’ yon English pirates? Sent their heads to Henry
Lard-Arse buried in kegs of salt. They say the king didnae eat for a week after the sight o’ them.’

‘The smell mair like,’ began Tom. ‘Imagine the jellied eyes . . . ’

‘Enough!’ barked his brother. ‘This is a deadly business. It’s no time for stories. We need a plan.’ He turned to his cousin, a man broad and solid as a church
bell. ‘Magnus, when’s the next assize?’

‘The final Thursday of the quarter, sir. Last day of this month, in fact.’

Crozier calculated. ‘If the queen misses Dacre’s deadline, or refuses the deal, as we can only pray she will, the warden and his crony Surrey will set in motion their own plans. It
might be fair to assume, then, that we have until All Hallows’ Eve before all hell descends.’

Tom raised his hand, unusually meek after his reprimand. Crozier nodded.

‘But this letter isn’t going to reach the queen, is it?’ he said, looking around the table. ‘Not if we’ve got it. Do we pass it on to her? What’ll she do when
she knows we’ve intercepted it? Isn’t that a treasonable offence?’

‘Surrey will have sent it three different ways, or more,’ said Crozier. ‘One of these will reach her – it may indeed already be in her hands.’

Bertie Main nodded. ‘That’s why we sent scouts out on the bridle paths, and tae the coast an all, as well as the main road frae England. These divils are like ferrets; they can get
through any net.’

‘But it would be as well, and not just for us, to find out what action she decides to take, would it not?’ said Old Crozier, who had been silent till now, crumbling a piece of
breadcrust into a fine dust in which he stirred a crooked finger.

‘Happens you’re right,’ said Crozier, whose hawkish features he had inherited from his grandfather as well as his shrewd mind. ‘If she agreed to hunt the ringleaders
– let’s just call them scapegoats and have done with it, we know the real culprits will evade the rope – it would be a better result for the border. In the short term, at least.
It might mean she’d lost her wits, but there is no queen on God’s earth who would torch the lands of her subjects and kill wantonly without reason.’ He paused, before adding,
‘Is there?’

Tiredness tricked Crozier into a rare moment of doubt, but in that lonely hour not one of the men gathered under the hissing crusie lamps had any confidence in their overlords, especially not
when, as in this instance, their liege was the husbandless sister of the country’s most implacable foe. Once a regent had taken charge the situation might feel less precarious, though the
Croziers put no faith in any authority, least of all the crown. For the moment it was troubling enough that Margaret, a grieving, vulnerable young widow, held the reins of the kingdom. There was
silence, as the clan considered what was coming their way. The thick walls and sheer battlements of this hilltop tower felt flimsy as mud and straw in the face of the forces that might descend upon
them. Fearless as they were, each felt a flicker of unease.