Fate and Fortune (29 page)

Hew watched the boy go trailing off to school, his shoulders tight and hunched. Eleanor received him more graciously, in the dim glow of the shuttered hall that had lost its heart.

‘I do not blame you,’ she said sadly. ‘Richard must be mad, I think. I can make no other sense of it.’

‘Have you been to see him?’ Hew inquired.

‘Once,’ she admitted, ‘but I will not go again. The worst was, his saying, “I did it all for you.” He slaughtered that poor girl, believing all the while, that he was doing it for me, and for the children. That is hard to bear. And Richard says his one regret –
his one regret
– is that he will not live to see the earl of Morton’s trial. He hoped to lead the prosecution. That will fall to Robert Crichton, after all. For myself, I confess I am grateful that Morton’s downfall will eclipse our own. For in a day or two, Richard will be hanged and all will be forgiven. Except,’ she added quietly, ‘by the mother of that girl.’ Eleanor began to cry. ‘How did you find him out?’

‘He was subtle,’ Hew admitted, ‘and I was not sure until the last. I set a trap for him. He was my tutor, and I loved him for it, yet I saw that he controlled and directed me too much.’

‘You are a wilful boy,’ Eleanor said tearfully.

‘I do confess, when pointed, I am apt to turn the other way. I suspected Richard, yet I could not know the whole. He was often kind, and he was always plausible. He buried all his lies among the truth. Small things betrayed him in the end. For though he had my
confidence
, he knew a little more than he was told. He knew that Balcanquall had Catherine’s poems, when Balcanquall himself did not; he said that Alison …’
was raped
, he thought, and checked himself. ‘He knew the details of her death before they were released by Doctor Dow, and he was absent, often; and never where he should have been. On the day she died, he was expected at Craigmillar, and did not arrive. I never did find out,’ he said in afterthought, ‘what that business was.’

‘That I can tell you,’ Eleanor said unexpectedly, as she blew her nose. ‘For he made no secret of it. My cousin has a mind to build a caichpule at Craigmillar, and he wanted Richard’s advice. I do not suppose that he will know us now.’

‘Eleanor, though it is no consolation, you will be well looked after,’ Hew promised her. ‘The boys will have their education. Grace will go on with her French.’

Eleanor forced out a smile. ‘Then she may not thank you. Jehanne is old and cross, and though I scolded Grace for saying so, she does reek of garlic. I am ashamed to say, it is a consolation. I have been troubled with the fear we should be destitute. Was that wrong?’

‘It is natural for a mother to be anxious for her children. That fear, at least, I may take from you.’

‘You are kind. The boys will take it hard.’

‘Roger, I think, will not forgive me,’ Hew observed.

‘I believe he will, in time. Though it was not apparent, Roger and his father loved each other. Aye, they loved each other …
fiercely
is the word.’

Hew left Eleanor among her thoughts, and called in to the tolbooth, where he bribed the gudeman with a purse of gold. Richard was in fetters in an upper room that at least allowed the light. He smiled at Hew, half-mocking, from his chains.

‘Did you want me to make it easier for you?’ he asked ironically. ‘I cannot do that, I’m afraid. You must play the devil, to the end. Yet, you will allow, I taught you well.’

Hew gazed at him steadily. ‘I came to tell you that I have made arrangements for your family. Eleanor shall keep her house, and the children will continue with their education. Giles thinks that Roger has the makings of a fine physician. We shall see it done.’

Richard smiled sardonically. ‘Then you shall see him snuff out more lives than his father. At least he will not hang for it. You realise, of course, that you are merely doing what your father did? For you have been his puppet all along. He sent you as my nemesis.’

‘I do not believe that,’ Hew replied. ‘There is nothing in the
manuscript
that suggests he knew. This you have built in your own mind, perverted by guilt. You read conspiracies, where there were none.’

‘You are wrong,’ Richard swore. ‘Matthew knew. ‘Why else would he send you?’

‘You brought me here yourself,’ Hew reminded him. ‘And it was your own infected mind that saw threat where there was none. The pity is, I might have kept your secret, had I known. But you were driven deep and deeper into guilt, and to commit a crime that nothing could excuse.’

‘Do you not see, it was fear for my family? Fear for my family that compelled me from the start!’ Richard cried.

Hew said gently, ‘Then you need not fear. For they will want for nothing, and they need not live in shame. Your children will not know the full scale of your treachery. And in the end, they will remember you as a man they knew and loved. That little you denied to Christian.’

Richard was silent for a moment. Then he said, ‘It is a strange thing. Now I know I am to die, I feel almost resigned to it, almost, I might say, at peace. That jacket you had made,’ he looked up suddenly and smiled, ‘was most ingenious. I am almost glad it saved your life. But supposing I had cut your throat?’ he teased.

‘There was a metal collar, hidden in the ruff,’ Hew admitted.

‘Ingenious. Such a thing might serve well in a hanging. I do not suppose …?’

‘Alas, not.’

‘Ah, well. It was worth a try. However, I do have one last request; I hope you will not refuse me. Dearly now, before I die, I should like to look at Matthew’s book. May I have it now, to see me through the night? I think it likely that I may not sleep.’

Hew nodded. ‘Aye, for sure. I’ll see what I can do.’

He took the script from Christian, and returned it to the gudeman, who received it doubtfully. ‘Suppose he sets the place alight, and burns it with his candle?’

‘And suppose he does,’ Hew answered patiently. ‘His cell is made of stone. He cannot burn it down. Since he will hang tomorrow, let him have his wish.’

‘Then I suppose he shall,’ the gudeman mused, ‘for old times’ sake.’

Returned to the west port inn, where he had taken lodging, Hew found Meg and Giles preparing to depart, Giles upon a sturdy bay, and Meg upon Grey Gillat. Paul and the baggage formed the vanguard, on a chestnut mare. ‘We are going home today. Come with us, Hew,’ Meg pleaded.

‘Aye, but in a day or two. I’ll catch you up. Tis likely I will
overtake
you, on my fine dun horse,’ Hew smiled a little absently. ‘Though it will cost me dear enough to pay his ransom.’

The lightness of his tone rang hollow, and he looked away. ‘You do not have to do this,’ Giles said, understanding. Hew answered quietly, ‘I think I do.’

At daybreak the next morning, he returned to town. He found a place upon a forestair that looked out upon the market cross. Further up the street, Eleanor had closed the shutters, yet the house could not escape the clamour and the glare. He thought of Grace and Roger, huddled in its hall. And through the jostling crowd, Hew saw Richard walking with the gudeman, a little tired and strained, yet with that spark of cautious brightness he was wont to show before a testing trail, an exhilarated nervousness. And as he climbed upon the
scaffold
he looked out, mocking, at the crowd, and his eyes met Hew’s, resting for a moment. Then Richard’s gaze dissolved into a smile, and he gave way to laughter as the hangman placed the noose around his neck.

Hew stood without a sound, and did not look away until the last. And even then, when all the crowd were gone, and Richard was cut down and taken to his grave, he did not stir, until the gudeman hailed him from the street below. ‘I doubt you want your book sir, then I doubt you will be vexed,’ he called out cheerfully. ‘I telt you it was dangerous to leave it. Though he did not burn us down, he tore it into shreds.’ The gudeman dropped a sack, that opened as it fell, and a thousand scraps of paper scattered to the wind.

Hew did not return to Christian’s printing house, but made one last journey through the netherbow to the palace of Holyrood house. He passed by Catherine’s lodging in the Canongate, and looked up to see the sun glance off the shuttered windows, resolutely closed. He saw no sign of life. At the foot of the hie gate, he came at last to the king’s palace, sheltered in the hills. Since James was expecting him, he was admitted at the gate, and passed into the north west tower, where he was left to wait in a chamber lined with tapestries. He stood there for a while, ignored by sundry guards, until the entrance to the inner chamber opened and the goldsmith, George Urquhart emerged, bowing retrospectively to the young king. Urquhart closed the door behind him and gazed at Hew benignly as he passed. ‘Master Cullan! You are come to see the king. You will find him in a curious mood. Yet you are well met,’ he remarked.

‘Well met, indeed,’ Hew bowed stiffly, ‘since I am going home and want some money.’

‘That can be arranged,’ Urquhart acquiesced. ‘Have you decided what to do with Christian Corbie’s cottage?’

‘I would like to make it over, as a gift, to Annie Forrester, widow of the west bow, whose daughter Alison was murdered on the muir; in truth …’ Hew stopped short. ‘You said, Christian
Corbie’s
cottage.’

‘Aye, well noted,’ Urquhart nodded. ‘For so your father always cried it, though of course it was not hers. It is a generous gift. I wonder whether you have given it much thought?’

‘But you said you did not know her father’s name!’ objected Hew.

Urquhart shifted slyly. ‘If you recall, I said his name was not inscribed within the deeds. I never said I did not know it. They are not the same,’ he pointed out.

‘But you withheld it,’ Hew exploded, ‘If you had spoken out, then Alison need not have died.’

‘You can hardly suppose that I had the knowledge to prevent it,’ the goldsmith answered smoothly. ‘I knew who Christian was, I do confess. I did not know that Richard meant to kill her maid. Do not confuse science, with prescience.’

‘Then what of Christian? Would you have let her hang?’ Hew
countered
angrily.

‘That was no concern of mine. Why do you suppose your father came to me?’ the goldsmith replied.

‘I cannot imagine, since you clearly have no scruples and no morals.’

‘That did not come into it. It was a matter of absolute trust. The key to holding secrets is to keep them,’ Urquhart smiled. ‘Since your father did not leave instruction to inform you of the name, I kept it close. It was not, in, fact, his choice. The name was kept secret on the wish of Ann Ballantyne, Christian’s mother, who did not wish her daughter to be sullied with the shame of it. You may infer that Matthew wanted it remembered, by the device that he constructed for the press.’

‘Yet you allowed me to believe the worst of him,’ Hew accused him bitterly.

Urquhart regarded him closely. ‘Have a care to what you say,’ he advised at length. ‘I
allowed
you? It seems to me that you were well prepared to think the worst of him; that I must think deficient in a son. Though to be somewhat circumspect, you were guided and misled by Richard Cunningham. You did not notice how he framed your questions for you. He was a skilful advocate. It is indeed a pity that he proved to be insane. He was also, I regret to say, a most valued customer. I have in my shop a pair of diamond rings, that he is, alas, no longer able to collect. I don’t suppose that I can interest you in them?’

‘You cannot,’ snapped Hew.

‘Then that is a shame. But never mind, they will make a trinket for the king, if I thin them out a little. Richard had unusually fine fingers, very slim, almost like a girl.’

‘I think it a marvel,’ Hew observed grimly, ‘that Richard did not kill you, and that no one else has slit your throat on some dark winter night.’

‘It is no marvel;’ Urquhart answered solemnly, ‘my life is charmed.’

‘Aye, it would seem so.’

‘No, I mean it
is
. I paid a wise man forty pounds, for magic
prophylactics
.’ Urquhart tapped his nose. ‘Do not tell the king.’

Hew was shaken by this revelation, and was unprepared for the coming of the king, who appeared at his side, as though by stealth, gazing at him curiously. Hurriedly, Hew bowed. ‘Majestie, I was distracted, for a moment, by George Urquhart.’

James regarded him keenly. ‘So I see. We are about to take a turn about the gardens. Follow!’ he commanded. Then he changed his mind. ‘Ah, do not follow, walk ahead. We are going to the lion house.’

Hew bowed again, perplexed, ‘As you will, your grace.’ He made his way down to the gardens. The king had a menagerie, where he kept a sad collection of wild beasts and royal pets, the lion and the lynx, and brightly coloured birds, whose plumes began to fade like summer flowers, for want of light and air. Hew waited nervously outside the lion house. And in a while, the king appeared, a small and fluffed up fledgling flanked by crows, with his lords and council flocked around him, in their silks and chains. He waved them off, ‘stand a little back, my lords. They do not like the stink,’ he remarked to Hew, smiling imperceptibly, the merest ghost.

‘It is pungent, majestie,’ Hew noticed.

‘It keeps the mice away,’ James returned thoughtfully. ‘And the rats. Another of our lions died this winter,’ he went on. ‘They do not live long.’

‘Perhaps it is too cold for them,’ suggested Hew.

The young king shivered in the bright spring air; the sun was high, and he was finely dressed, in cloth of gold and silk, yet he had come without a cloak. Hew slipped his own from his shoulders, ‘Will you take my cloak, your grace?’

James looked startled and amused. ‘No thank you, Hew Cullan,’ he said gravely. He paced back and forth, while Hew stood still
respectfully
, and bowed his head as James prepared to speak. ‘I have no doubt it is too cold for them,’ he allowed at last, returning to the lion house. ‘They are not suited to these climes. And yet, I do not think that is why they die. We keep them warm and well, and they have meat and drink, and all that they require. And yet they pine. They are a royal beast, and do not care to be shut up in a house. It is a pity,’ he said sadly, ‘for they are the emblem of our Crown; we want them as our pets, yet they persist in dying.’

‘It is vexatious of them,’ Hew agreed. The king glanced at him sharply.

‘We have read your letter,’ he retorted, ‘which was why we sent for you. So it was Richard Cunningham that wrote slandering our name. We should not have guessed it.’

‘Majestie, I must point out, that you were not the object of his crime,’ protested Hew.

‘You said that before. Though you will accept that every crime, in as much as it offends our person and estate, is a crime against the king. It is unfortunate, that you allowed this man to hang, before he could be made accountable for his acts against the Crown,’ James observed.

‘It is a pity, sire. That was an oversight,’ excused Hew.

‘Was it though, I wonder?’ James asked shrewdly. ‘Is it not possible, still, to exact revenge upon his corpse?’

‘The body was cut down, your grace, and returned to Richard’s family for burial.’

‘A pity. He has got away with it.’ James said, regretfully, as though Richard had been one of his pet lions, who had died to spite the tyranny of his affections. ‘Still, you know the law. May we not prosecute his family for his treasons, and seize his land and tenement? He amassed some wealth, I understand?’

‘The law allows it,’ Hew admitted. ‘Though his wife and children are quite innocent of any part in this. In such a case, I should expect them to come in the king’s will, and a just monarch, doubtless, would extend his mercy, and allow them to live peaceful in his realm.’

‘Aye, perhaps so,’ James considered. ‘It seems to me that you have power to circumvent the law, which may serve you well, if it does not see you hanged. You have taken Richard Cunningham beyond our reach. I hope that does not mean that you collude in treason.’

‘Not at all, your grace. Though Cunningham is dead, he never was a threat to you. My only wish was to protect the innocent. It is to be regretted that his crimes have led to Lady Catherine’s exile.’

‘Aye, that it true.’ As Hew had hoped, James was distracted. ‘And I was sorry for it, for I liked Catherine Douglas.’ The king’s
imperiousness
began to slip, and Hew saw a glimpse, for a second, of the boy. James had not yet reached his fifteenth birthday.

‘I wondered, whether your majestie might allow her to return?’ Hew ventured.

‘I am afraid that it cannot be done,’ James admitted. ‘You know, it was through my intervention that Catherine was allowed to sail for France. She was destined for the prison at Inchgarvie. Have you seen the place? It is a living grave. Catherine has been spared that, and so far my mercy has extended; I may not do more. The kirk here is a constant itch, and Catherine’s sin inflames it. Were I to recall her, we should have no peace.’

‘That is a pity, sire.’

James stared ahead, reflecting. Presently, he said, ‘You had a jacket made, I think, that defended you from harm.’

‘Aye, Majestie. It was made by the wife of Laurence Dow, to his specific pattern, to protect the vital spots.’

‘That is ingenious,’ the king observed. ‘I must have the pattern.’

‘It shall be arranged.’

‘Aye, it shall. They want to take my power from me,’ James blurted suddenly. ‘They all of them want power.’

‘Who do, majestie?’ Hew asked him curiously.

‘
All of them
.’ The boy looked away as he struggled to compose himself. In a moment he had overcome his terror, and turned back. Hew saw the lords glance up, alert to each nuance and movement, shadowing their king.

‘Would you like to be king’s advocate, Hew Cullan?’ James demanded.

‘No,’ retorted Hew.

The king laughed. ‘Ah, but you are blunt. And that is not the answer I expected. Richard Cunningham did want to be king’s advocate. Aye, dearly, he did want it. But you beat him after all. It must give you satisfaction, to have beaten your old master, to have routed him so soundly, in the end.’

‘It gives me none at all,’ Hew answered soberly. ‘In truth, it breaks my heart.’

‘It breaks your heart! How strange you are! For in your place, if I had such a master, it would please me well to best him,’ James declared. ‘Well, forget Richard Cunningham, for though I should have liked to see his head upon a spike, we are to have a bigger prize, that dwarfs his petty treacheries. I mean, the earl of Morton. Should I expect to find you at his trial?’

Hew shook his head. ‘No, your grace, I shall be gone by then. I’m going home.’

‘Home to St Andrews?’ the king echoed thoughtfully. ‘Then you may be gone. But when I have want of you – and be assured I shall have want of you, Hew Cullan – I expect you to come.’

Before he left the town, Hew bought a horse from the west port inn. And though it was a fine quick horse, of grave and placid temperament, and did not shy or falter at the boat, he exchanged it for Dun Scottis at the Inverkeithing stable, where the taverner appeared delighted with the deal. Dun Scottis, for his part, remained unmoved, trotting onwards placidly through Fife, as leisurely and slow as if he pulled a plough. At Pettycur, they met a group of travellers coming from the ferry, and kept pace with them, moving landward on the path to   and on to Ceres, which brought them to St Andrews from the west, north of Kenly Green. Hew’s heart began to quicken as he turned on to the south street, through the west port of his own beloved town, and rode his horse along the clear wide thoroughfare that led to the cathedral, past the kirk of Holy Trinity and the south side colleges, St Mary’s and St Leonard’s, down towards the harbour and the pier. Turning at the abbey walls, he urged Dun Scottis home to Kenly Green. On his left he saw the clear blue stretch of water and the quiver of the barley fields, leafy flecks of yellow where the corn began to colour in the sun. He saw the white tipped seagulls resting on the rocks, specks upon the hazy layers of grey and blue. He reined the horse closer, hard by the shore, where they could taste the salt air on their cheeks. And riding through the marram grass that trailed the water’s edge they came at last to Kenly Green, to find the trees in blossom, and the woods pricked out in violets, peeping from the trees. Hew dismounted long before he reached the gate, and let Dun Scottis loose to graze among the fields. Nicholas stood waiting in Meg’s garden.

‘I saw you coming from the tower,’ he called. ‘So you are home at last! Have you brought the books?’

‘Books?’ Hew stopped short in his tracks.

‘Aye, Hew, the books we wanted for the library. But surely you did not forget them? All that distance, all those weeks, spent working in a printer’s shop, and not a book to show for it!’

‘I confess, I had forgotten it. I had more pressing matters on my mind,’ admitted Hew.

‘Aye, I know. Giles told me all. I meant to tease you, Hew. But you have had some strange adventures.’

‘It is a traveller’s tale,’ Hew smiled, ‘and I am done with travelling, for a while.

Tis not like you to jest. You are not very good at it. And yet I am right glad to see you quite so well.’

‘Aye, it is a miracle,’ Nicholas said cheerfully, ‘I am quite well. Giles has brought a potion that brings great relief to the aching in my bones. He has given the Meg the receipt, and she is making more for me. It is not quite approved by the apothecaries.’

‘Did it come from Doctor Dow, then?’ wondered Hew.

His friend shook his head. ‘It appears not. Giles claimed that he had it from a brewster, a purveyor, so he says, of the deepest darkest secrets. He says we are not to tell Meg.’

‘Well and good. Were you tending to her garden?’

‘I was thinking on it,’ Nicholas said seriously. ‘You do not think it has grown rather wild? I think that it might benefit from order and restraint.’

Hew considered the fresh cicely, the chervil, dill and chives that pushed their straggled shoots into the late spring air. Emphatically, he shook his head. ‘Absolutely not. Let them grow free.’