The Gowrie Conspiracy (5 page)

As Tansy once again changed the subject to more general remarks about Will’s visit to Edinburgh, a page came in and announced that Her Grace wished Mistress Scott to wait upon her immediately.

‘This will be more about her costume for the Masque,’ groaned Tansy. To Will she said, ‘Is it possible that you might be back with us by Saturday, then you could escort me.’

‘I cannot be sure,’ said Will, ‘but if I fail to return in time, perhaps Master Eildor?’

‘I will do so gladly, sir.’

Will smiled his thanks. ‘Meanwhile I will escort you, my dear, to the queen’s apartments.’ And taking Tansy’s hand, he turned again to Tam. ‘May I ask you, sir, in my absence from Falkland to watch well over my lady?’

As Tam bowed his assent, Tansy’s eyes raised heavenward and her lips tightened perceptibly, indicating that she felt she needed no man to guard her and that she was well able to take care of herself.

Preparing to depart, Will looked out of the window. ‘It rains again, I see. You will need your cloak.’

Tansy avoided his eyes. ‘Oh, I left it in the queen’s
chamber
.’

As Will shook his head and said, ‘Have mine, then,’ Tansy’s swift glance in Tam’s direction held mute appeal. It warned him not to mention that Mistress Agnew had been wearing it when she was murdered.

Taking their leave of Tam, as they walked across the
courtyard
, Will said, ‘I am not convinced.’

‘Convinced about what?’ asked Tansy, knowing perfectly well.

‘About Master Eildor. I am certain that we have met before.’

‘That you cannot be, love. You were just a child.’ Even though she said the words, Tansy knew what Will had an exceptional memory. Conscious of his intent gaze, she asked, ‘What is amiss, love?’

He laughed. ‘Do you ever look in your mirror, my Tansy?’

She frowned. ‘Indeed I do.’

‘Then has it not occurred to you that there is a very close resemblance between you and Master Eildor. You could be siblings.’

Tansy shook her head. ‘Alas, I had neither brother nor
sister
,’ she said sadly.

Will smiled. ‘Distant kin, you said.’

‘Remote cousins,’ said Tansy abruptly, not wishing to
continue
this conversation. Unhappy to deceive Will she had nevertheless sworn to Janet Beaton never to reveal Tam’s
origins
and she was determined to remain true to her word.

Will’s arm tightened about her. He looked down into her lovely face for a moment. ‘Distant kin, eh?’ and stroking his chin thoughtfully, he smiled wryly. ‘And we are not unaware of what goes on in those wild Border strongholds.’

Tansy smiled, relieved that Will had found his own
solution
to her likeness to Tam.

‘The Tam Eildor I met had some connection with your granddam, Lady Beaton. Perhaps that is the link. She was a very strange woman.’

Pausing he looked at Tansy, hopeful for an explanation.

He waited in vain. Tansy remained silent and he asked, ‘What do you know of his early life?’

‘Only what Granddam told me before she died. And that was very little. But she told me I could trust him.’

‘And do you – trust him?’

‘With my life, Will,’ said Tansy firmly.

‘Then let it be so.’ And kissing her fondly at the entrance to the queen’s apartments, he held her close for a moment.

‘I will not be long, love,’ she whispered. ‘You will stay?’

‘I will, but I must be on my way by early morn.’

She stroked his cheek gently. ‘There is a whole night before that.’

Leaving her, he realised that this had always been the story of their lives together. From the very first, only a few stolen days and nights together. Even for that, they must be grateful, he thought.

Returning to her lodging, Will was already framing some searching questions for Master Eildor about what
circumstances
had brought him to Falkland Palace to visit a remote cousin. And in particular, how long he intended to stay.

Anticipating Will’s return and doubtless some probing
questions
about his background, Tam conveniently absented
himself
. He had no wish to be interrogated or have to deal out unnecessary lies to Tansy’s lover.

Avoiding direct lies for the complications they caused, one lie begetting others, to tell the truth would be incredulous to those living in the sixteenth century. As well as an invitation to disaster in an age dominated by a king whose obsession was with witchcraft and who had already written a learned treatise on the subject.

Tam guessed shrewdly the need to take great care and walk warily. Suspecting that through the king’s evident
infatuation
he had made a powerful enemy in the Duke of Lennox, he was certain there would be others who had witnessed the incident of the runaway horse and his rescue of the king.

Certain that no stone would be left unturned in their efforts to poison the king against him, he was in little doubt about the result and what would be his fate. To be dismissed as a sorcerer, thrown into prison – or burnt as a warlock.

His immediate plan after Tansy departed was to set off in search of the man Mistress Agnew had visited in the village. However, as he walked across the courtyard darkness was falling, the heavy dusk of a hot summer’s day had settled across lawns white with dew, and trees heavily burdened with summer leaves seemed ready to droop into exhausted sleep.

Not everyone slept. From the king’s apartment came
raucous
sounds of merriment, laughter mixed with the sound of music inexpertly performed. Candles were lit in the windows and he could well picture the scene within.

It was peaceful in the gardens. Time for the wild creatures
who lurked in woods nearby to live out their short lives. Night-time insects too were on the move. Bats fluttered before his face and large moths danced in his path to the tune of an owl’s melancholy hoot from a branch above his head.

Such peace. But twilight was fast fading into the dark side of the moon lying like a cloak enveloping the huddle of thatched roofs that made up the royal burgh of Falkland.

A watchman on his rounds called out the hour. ‘Nine o’ the clock and all is well.’

Was it really, thought Tam? He would hazard a guess that he had lost his opportunity and it was already too late to call on the unknown man who had been brother – or lover – to the murdered woman. Most probably the latter, which accounted for her embarrassment at meeting Tansy outside his door.

Ordinary folk who had only rush-lights to see by and who never knew the luxury of wax candles retired with the dark and arose with the dawn. Mistress Agnew’s lover would doubtless have long been abed.

With a sigh, for it would need daylight for him to identify the house he sought, Tam reluctantly decided that his visit must wait until morning, despite the gnawing sense of urgency that time was not on his side.

The sooner he made contact and warned the man of Mistress Agnew’s death the better. He could not shake off an ominous feeling that if, as he suspected, her murder had been premeditated, then he might already be too late and the man himself in dire peril.

He reached his room in Tansy’s lodging only seconds before he heard Will ascending the turnpike stair. Relieved that he had been spared the encounter, as always Tam slept without dreaming and awoke refreshed to birdsong early next morning.

Hearing the murmur of voices from Tansy’s parlour and Will’s deep voice, he decided that the only way to avoid a meeting was to remain where he was until Will departed.

Turning on his side, he slept again and awoke to silence to
find himself alone in the lodging. Breaking his fast on bread, cheese and ale which had been left out for him, Tam reflected that Will would be heading for Edinburgh and Tansy, no doubt, about the queen’s business.

As it was a fine morning with the promise of another
pleasant
summer day, Tam decided to take the short cut across the gardens. As he strolled he began to recognise again the sense of antiquity that stretched well beyond the palace; the sense of a land settled by an ancient race long-forgotten, nestling at the base of the Lomond Hill. On the distant horizon,
bluehazed
to the west of the prehistoric hill fort of East Lomond, with the Pictish slab Tansy had pointed out to him on one of their walks to the Maiden Castle, stood another hill fort with cup and ring marks whose interpretation was lost long ago.

The site of the palace had been granted to the Macduff Earls of Fife in the 12th century and passed to Robert Stewart, later Duke of Albany in 1371. Gazing up at its lofty grey walls untouched by sunlight, its windows deep and dark in cold morning shadow held secret tales of savage cruelty and treachery not unknown in royal palaces. Here, on the site of the present magnificent Palace, David, Duke of Rothesay,
eldest
son of King Robert III, was kept prisoner and starved to death by his uncle Albany in 1402.

The 15th century saw the lands reverted to the Crown and the modest castle had become the favourite hunting seat of the Scottish kings who were James’s ancestors. A hundred years ago in 1500, the king’s great-grandfather, James IV, began construction of Falkland Palace. Completed by his grandfather James V as a royal residence, it was made up of buildings which formed three sides of an informal
quadrangle
The great south range with its twin-storeyed gatehouse, built in the style of the French Renaissance and containing the chapel royal, faced on to the burgh’s main street.

Tam crossed the inner courtyard of the east range with its royal lodgings and emerged into the gardens whose shaded walks and high hedges afforded privacy for dalliance and for
conspiracy.

His head down deep in thought, too late he became aware of voices and found himself in the path of King James, who was accompanied by several of his courtiers and leaning on the arm of the Duke of Lennox.

Tam bowed low and stepped aside for them to pass,
hoping
that he would be invisible as the king, clutching his
beribboned
staff, talked loudly to Lennox.

Tam was unlucky. James saw him, stopped and said, ‘Bide a wee, Vicky.’ And beaming in Tam’s direction. ‘Weel now, if it isna the fisherman again. What brings ye here, Master Eildor?’

Without waiting for the reply which Tam was already framing, he went on, ‘Are ye here to rescue your king from a matter as dire as yon runaway horse?’ and put his hand to his lips in a conspiratorial manner.

Tam bowed. Some response was expected of him. ‘What would that be, sire?’ he asked cautiously.

‘Being bored to death – by idle chatter, aye, that’s it, the company o’ fools,’ said James. Slapping his thigh and
doubling
up with mirth at his own wit, he darted hard looks at the courtiers who were obliged to fall about with suitable exclamations of merriment.

James gave a satisfied grunt and said, ‘We are on our way to the tennis court, Master Eildor, and we would have you accompany us.’

That was a command and Tam bowed again.

‘Walk with us,’ said James. ‘Here at your king’s side,’ he added. Giving Tam an appreciative glance, ‘We will lean on Master Eildor. He looks as if he might bear his monarch’s weight,’ he added with a faint leer and, pushing Lennox unceremoniously aside, he gestured to Tam to take his place.

Although Lennox bowed out gracefully enough, Tam was aware of the venomous look that boded ill for him.

‘And does our simple fisherman play the game?’ James demanded.

Tam thought quickly. He knew something of ancient games and was interested enough to meet the challenge. Realising that to refuse would displease the king, he hoped that his bow and accompanying smile conveyed sufficient enthusiasm. As well as curiosity to see the royal court in action, the occasion promised a rare opportunity to enjoy some serious exercise.

On one of their walks Tansy she had told him that the game was introduced into Scotland and built at Falkland by the king’s grandfather, a great enthusiast for all things French, in the year before his death in 1492.

Its origins were as “jes des paume”, game of the palm, some 300 years earlier by monks playing handball against the monastery walls.

‘The word “tennis” is from the French “tenez” – “take this” – as one player served to another across a rope in the courtyard,’ Tansy told him. ‘Bare hands at first became a glove with webbing between the fingers, succeeded by a solid paddle. Now they use a long handled racket with a ball of hair, wool or cork, wrapped in string or leather.

‘His Grace restored the court neglected for many years and plays regularly. For a man who seems often clumsy in his movements, his game – according to his courtiers – is like his horsemanship, quite excellent.’

Tansy had smiled wryly and added, ‘Sometimes I suspect that they let him win.’

Tam was remembering Tansy’s words as they entered the court. A stone floor surrounded by four high walls with a service and hazard end, open to the sky. The net was a simple cord made visible by the addition of tassels, five feet at either end dipping to three feet in the centre. The onlookers were protected by a partition on the right hand side of the court.

At the king’s request, Lennox explained the rules and method of scoring to Tam, very fast and somewhat
incomprehensibly
and giving him no opportunity for questions. Then without further ado a racket was thrust into his hands
and Lennox announced to James that they were ready to begin.

James shuffled forward to Tam’s side and, showing slightly more consideration, asked, ‘D’ye ken fine all Vicky’s instructions, Master Eildor?’

‘I believe so, Your Grace,’ said Tam, bewildered and
sounding
considerably more confident than he felt at that moment.

‘Then we are ready, sire,’ said Lennox taking up his racket and looking steadily at Tam.

‘No’ you, Vicky. Step aside,’ said James shortly and sucking in his lips, he said slowly, ‘We wish to set Master Eildor against Johnnie here.’ And to Tam, ‘The lad is a fine player, best in our court.’ With a sly shake of his head, he added, ‘Aye, Johnnie Ramsay will be able to teach our simple
fisherman
a thing or twa, nae doot.’

Tam groaned inwardly. He did not doubt that either for John Ramsay at sixteen had the face of an angel combined, according to rumour, with a waspish tongue and a cruel and vicious streak.

Ramsay squared his shoulders, smiled and bowed to James before eyeing Tam with an expression of contempt, certain that this man twice his age would be an easy opponent.

Although Lennox had no liking for Ramsay he was
similarly
pleased, certain that Tam defeated and looking foolish would go down several notches in James’s estimation. And that was splendid news, he decided, watching the two men strip off their outer garments.

For Tam it was a simple matter or removing his leather jerkin, leaving him in breeches and shirt. For Ramsay,
however
, it was a very different ritual, clad in heavy doublet, padded breeches and thigh boots.

But it appeared that fashion set by the king must be
followed
in court, regardless of the weather, which indicated that there was already heat in the sun despite the early hour.

James had not yet retired behind the partition and stood alongside the two men eagerly watching Tam who said, ‘If
your Grace permits, I would also remove my boots. I prefer to play in bare feet.’

‘Aye, ye do that, mannie, ye do just that,’ said the king excitedly, lingering to gaze with delight at Tam’s well-shaped feet and ankles while Ramsay looked on with disgust at such a common man’s vulgar notion.

He would soon show this upstart the error of his ways. His supercilious smile towards the onlookers indicated that he was already confident of the result, a victory that was also a waste of his precious time and talent on such an unworthy opponent.

James addressed the courtiers waiting to escort him to his seat, ‘A wager – gentlemen. A wager – ma Siller on Master Eildor,’ and so saying he took from his pocket a purse which he handed to Vicky Stewart who, after a swift glance at the contents, sighed with relief.

James was known to be cautious about his silver as well as frequently and conveniently forgetful to pay up when he lost a wager.

‘Tis a warm day,’ the king said, ‘we believe ye’d play better were ye bare-chested,’ and to Ramsay, ‘Mannie lad, ye’d
better
strip down also, then ye’ll be evenly matched.’

An expression of distaste hastily concealed twisted Ramsay’s mouth at having to obey this royal command.

As Tam removed his shirt, the king glanced from one to the other and noted with considerable pleasure and excitement that Master Eildor was, as he had expected, a fine well-set up figure o’ a man, broad in chest and shoulders.

Alongside him, James and the assembled courtiers, some who were jealous rivals, could not help but observe with
considerable
satisfaction, that Ramsay looked what he was, a mere boy who had not yet reached manhood’s maturity.

With a gamesman to keep the score, the king took his seat and gave the signal for play to begin. As each sent the volley of balls across the net, Tam, who had an excellent eye and was well co-ordinated, was soon ahead of Ramsay who, although
the more experienced player, had his speed of movement
considerably
hampered by the heat and his unwieldy attire.

Used to having the king as his opponent, whose
enthusiasm
was greater than his skill, Ramsay soon discovered that he was being beaten by Eildor. And the more James
applauded
the score, the angrier and more flustered Ramsay became which did little for his prowess.

At last James held up his hand. ‘Enough. The game is over.’

Ramsay stared at him defiantly, since he had scored that last two points and was still hopeful of victory. ‘Sire?’ he pleaded.

James shook his head. ‘Nay, I have seen enough. Da locum melioribus – give way to your betters.’