Beneath a Dark Highland Sky: Book #3 (3 page)

“Is this to be a history lesson then, where we talk of long dead kings?” said the man with two different colored eyes. “I think ‘tis time the strange bairn told
yer
future, my king. Is that nae why ye fetched him here? We are all waiting to hear. What says the child of how long
yer
reign will be, my Grace? Will
he
tell the truth of what he sees?”

              James frowned, taking a fig from a bowl and examining it. The king’s royal taster, a small man with wildly curly hair, approached the table but James waved him away and dropped the fig back into the bowl. James seemed angry with the scryer and Malcolm waited, feeling certain the scryer should not have criticized the king so openly and arrogantly.

James eyed the man and his smoking bowl. Finally, he spoke. “Today I ha’e been told many futures, Malcolm. I ha’e been told I will live to the ancient age of eighty-five. I ha’e been told I will ha’e great love and admiration from the people. I ha’e been told I will win many battles and defeat all of my enemies. I ha’e e’en been told that one day England will fall to us Scots. So tell me, Malcolm, what do
ye
see in my future? How long will I reign?”

3

Malcolm remembered what he’d been told by his Mum and Dad and he chose his words carefully. “Ye will ha’e a prosperous reign with…many summers.”

The king smiled.  “E’eryone here has told me only good things, Malcolm. Tell me, is there anything I should be forewarned about? After all, ye did see the bloody, severed head of a Douglas on a pike in one of yer visions. I canna imagine all visions are so, what is the right word,
cheerful
?” James appeared relaxed but the side of his face with the red birthmark had darkened and purpled subtly, and his jaw had tensed.

Be vera careful what ye say,
Malcolm reminded himself. “E’ery life has its shadows, yer Grace. Mayhap they are warnings. Mayhap they are nae. Sometimes ‘tis hard to tell the difference. I ha’e seen a holly tree, bands of looping iron, and a…lion.”

The king, more interested in his words than anyone else’s, straightened in his chair. There was the clatter of bone dice being thrown on a table and the king pinned his gaze on the man with two different colored eyes who had dared to patronize him.

“He speaks of childish things!” the scryer cried. “Lions? He must also dream of dragons and green men and unicorns! What cares a king for such things? He hasna told ye all he has seen! I can tell by the dice he lies about something.”

“Silence!” James looked at his guards and Malcolm shivered.

“Scryer, w
hen I was a child, I learned firsthand the deviousness, jealousies, and manipulations of power-hungry men who sought only to better their
own
fortunes. Chancellor Crichton, that hateful, abominable pile of dung, kept me here against my mother’s will when I was a small lad. She had to smuggle me out of the castle inside a trunk. A massive, carved, bog-oak trunk half filled with women’s ridiculous petticoats and skirts, my knees drawn up to my chest. It was like being in a womb—dark and close. I was hardly able to move about, all my breaths sharp and cramped. It smelled of dried lavender perfume. To this day I canna stand the smell of lavender. She tried to make it like a game, but it was a vera frightening game.”

He frowned. “I won’t ha’e this. Take this man with his noisy dice and sharp tongue to the market square and nail his ear to the pillory.”

“Nay, yer Grace!” the man cried. “I ha’e much to tell ye about yer future that the child willna and ye must listen! I ha’e spent my nights gazing at the stars rather than sleeping to chart yer future!”

“Mayhap when yer bloodied ear heals and is nothing more than a dangling loop of puckered, scarred flesh, ye’ll think about the importance of using yer ears to
listen
. Mayhap ye’ll think about the impact of yer harshly spoken words on the ears of an innocent child.”

“He isna innocent! And I alone will speak the truth of yer future!”

James seemed lost in his thoughts. “What did Chancellor Crichton think, building unfavor with a future king when I was but a lad? ‘Twas most unwise, for what did he think would happen when the lad king became a man? Six years ago he escorted a wife for me back to Scotland from the continent, my dear Mary of Gueldres, whom I love dearly, and he made impressive loans to the crown, but in the end his offerings couldna buy my affection or respect or overcome my resentments. A man is what a man is, Malcolm. When he died last year, I felt nothing. Still, part of my dear Mary’s dowry included weaponry made by the expert smiths of Flanders, cannons that can break apart castle walls! Vera valuable weapons to have in a siege.”

James’ eyes glittered with excitement when he spoke of the weapons. “When I was a boy, I asked, ‘Can we make such cannon here at Edinburgh?’ I was laughed at and told no one in Scotland had the knowledge or expertise to construct such pieces, only Flanders and the Netherlands had the wrought iron necessary to make such guns. Such
glorious
guns! And now, lad, I
ha’e
those vera guns anyway. A king gets what a king wants, after all.” He gazed intently at the scryer.

“After ye nail his ear to the pillory, and only after he’s learned his lesson, slice it off.”

The man with the bent back trembled as he was led from the room, the smoke from his scrying bowl just a wisp of ghostly grey.

Malcolm did not want to think of the man’s future. He was certainly glad the same fate had not befallen the boy Jehanne. He felt the closeness of the room, heard acutely the rustle of the women’s silk gowns, the air pressed too harshly with their exotic rose and jasmine perfumes. He wished he were alone in a quiet wood, in a thicket of scrub, elder, and birch, hunting roe deer or woodland stag in the bushes, instead of sitting next to a king who demanded to ken his future.

“I am nae a liar, yer Grace,” Malcolm said.

The king grasped his hands in affection and Malcolm noted the shiny ruby ring on the king’s finger. It was the size of a lark’s egg. Malcolm had heard that rubies were supposed to protect the wearer and could even be used to tell whether a person’s food had been poisoned. Perhaps that was why James wore it, for a king had many enemies.

“I ken it,” James said. “Indeed, like I said, yer probably the most honest person in this room. Certainly the most innocent. But please, dunna spare me any details. I dunna wish to die like my Da did, on a cold winter’s night trapped in a drain below the abbey cellars, betrayed by the men he trusted. He was stabbed twenty-eight times. If I can avoid it….”

He released Malcolm’s small hands and Malcolm felt sorry for him in that moment. But he remembered his Da’s warnings.
“Ye can stretch the truth and still be tellin’ it.”
What were the destinies a king desired? What were the destinies
this
king desired?

Malcolm had heard that James’ father had been stabbed in a blocked off tunnel that ran below his chambers, from which he could not escape, on a bone-chilling winter’s night. He’d heard the king had been seated by the hearth, contentedly playing chess, when he was attacked. “Ye willna die as yer father died,” he said confidently. That was not what he’d seen in his vision, so he was not lying.

“A relief then,” James answered. “Now let us talk of battles and cannons. Ha’e ye had any visions like the one ye had before the battle of Arkinholm? For I receive great pleasure from seeing the severed heads of my enemies on pikes. What king wouldna? Dangerous law breakers ha’e to be suppressed for the good of Scotland. And the Black Douglases ha’e always been law breakers who until recently thought they were more important and more powerful than a king.”

Malcolm shook his dark head, for he had not dreamt of any battles like Arkinholm. “But I ken ye and yer brave men invaded England earlier this month, and destroyed seventeen towers and fortalices! I wish I could ha’e been there and drawn my sword against the Sassenach!”

“Yea, we did. Yer a brave lad, Malcolm. I ha’e no doubt ye’ll see many battles and be victorious. The day may come when ye’ll fight the cowardly rotten whoreson English yerself. Now dunna be afraid to tell me more, especially of this lion ye saw in yer vision. I am most curious about that.”

Malcolm nodded. He searched for the right words. “I do ha’e a warning of sorts. Dunna stand too close to the lion and dunna pull its tail.”

There was more laughter from the men and women in the room, and Malcolm began to feel bewildered.

“Dunna pull the lion’s tail!” James said, slapping his own thigh in mirth. “Ah, Malcolm, dunna look so bemused. I am sure ye give me good advice and I will remember it, but ye see why it is funny? Because I
am
the lion!” The king caressed the embroidered lion on his rich, gold-red satin doublet, which gleamed with rubies. The lion stood upright, forelegs raised, claws unsheathed, as if ready to strike. “Malcolm, did ye ken, hundreds of years ago, the symbol for Scots Sovereignty was a
boar
? Imagine how silly my royal title would be if it were the ‘Boar of Scotland!’”

People raised their goblets high. “Long live the Lion Rampant of Scotland!”

“Enguarrand and Jehanne,” James said, “Ye ha’e brought that magnificent bronze lion to my court. Now let us hear it roar!”

Enguarrand nodded at his son and they both raised their arms and began to chant. The crowd held its breath, waiting. Enguerrand curled his fists and concentrated, glaring at the beast. Jehanne did the same, his small hands imitating his father’s movements with precision. At the same moment, they both lowered their arms with a flourish. The gilded lion blinked its eyes and beat the ground with its tail and then opened its mouth and gave a dreadful roar, its bronze tongue quivering. The crowd gasped in delight and applauded.

“Most magnificent!” James said.

The people repeated their cheer. “Long live the Lion Rampant of Scotland!”

“They say King Solomon’s throne was the most wonderful throne any king ever sat upon,” James said. “’Twas fashioned of ivory and covered in gold, set with rubies, sapphires, emeralds, and other precious stones. Six steps led to the seat. Each step had two animals opposite each other. On the first was a golden lion and a golden ox. On the second, a golden wolf and a golden lamb. On the third, a golden tiger and a golden camel. On the fourth, a golden eagle and a golden peacock. On the fifth, a golden cat and a golden rooster. Does anyone ken what was on the sixth and final step?”

Jehanne bowed. “I heard it was a golden hawk and a golden dove, yer Grace.”

“Yea, it was!”

The crowd was enthralled listening to the king speak.

“’Tis said when Solomon stepped upon the first step, the ox and the lion each stretched out a foot to support him and help him rise to the next step. As he continued to climb, the animals helped the king up until he was comfortably seated upon his throne. Then a golden eagle brought the crown and held it above Solomon’s brow so it should not weigh too heavily on his head.”

He looked at Enguarrand and Jehanne. “I am impressed with yer magic and yer bronze lion. Can ye show me anything else?”

Enguarrand nodded. “I can make my son float in the air and hover above the ground.”

James clapped his hands together like a small boy. “Show us, show us!”

“It involves the use of a special, magic smoke,” Enguarrand said. He began to chant and wave his arms. There was a small crackling pop. A cloud of smoke enveloped Enguarrand and his son, and floated about the room. When the smoke began to thin, the crowd gasped in collective delight, for Jehanne lay on his back, hovering several feet in the air in front of his father.

“’Tis truly amazing!” James cried.

Enguarrand moved his arms again and Jehanne was slowly righted and lowered to the floor. Father and son bowed to the King.

“I find I like this French magic,” James said. “Will ye consider staying on at my court as my royal magicians?”

The ladies squealed in delight and the men murmured.

“’Twould be an honor, yer Grace,” Enguarrand said, bowing again.

The King raised his goblet high. “Here’s to many years of magic!”

All raised their goblets high. But Malcolm knew the king would not remember his words of warning today and, if his vision proved to be true, James had not many years to live. Five summers hence, on a Sunday, James of the Fiery Face would not be thinking of this day or roaring bronze lions and magic. He would die just a few months short of his thirtieth birthday, and the lion would roar no more.

Malcolm had seen the English-held castle of Roxburgh in his vision, a four-tower fortress that lay between the River Tweed to the west and the Teviot to the east. He knew over one hundred and forty years ago, on the night of Shrove Tuesday, James Douglas and a party of men clad in black surcoats to disguise their armor, crawled on their hands and knees in the freezing mud toward the castle. They pretended to be black cattle, grazing quietly around the castle perimeter. Then, with ladders made from hempen ropes and grappling hooks of iron to catch on the battlements, they scaled the castle walls. They captured the main English fortress of the central borders with a garrison of a hundred men.

Over the years, the castle changed hands a number of times between the English and Scottish, and within its walls kings were married and future kings were born. And in five summers, a king would die outside its walls. The Scots would once again take the castle from the Sassenach but lose their king, and James’ queen, the pious Mary, in her grief, would have the castle demolished. He’d seen it in his dream. He’d heard the great, jarring sound of chunks of stone crashing down and thudding as it was torn to ground level.

Malcolm felt sad, for James the Second seemed to be a good and strong king, a forceful king who had finally defeated all the men, Douglas and otherwise, who had tried to control him since he’d been a wee lad.

James stood and Malcolm eyed the jeweled dirk that hung from his golden belt.

“I ha’e grown rather tired of all this talk of
my
future for today,” James said. “I think, Malcolm, now I will tell
yer
future. What think ye of that? I will tell the future of the lad who foretold my great victory at Arkinholm.”

“Yer Grace?” Malcolm said.