The Spider and the Stone: A Novel of Scotland's Black Douglas (13 page)

Longshanks came shadowing over the kneeling chieftain. “So, as even you can see, Comyn, Philip and his craven toadies have wasted little time in suing for peace. I fear your meddling friends across the Channel will no longer be supplying you with arms and funds. And, as a result, I am now freed to put down these Border uprisings once and for all. Perhaps you will wish to reconsider your terms to, shall we say, leaving your heads attached to your shoulders?”

Red realized that he had
severely miscalculated in trusting Tabhann’s advice to demand terms. “My lord,
we ask that you accept surrender of this castle under the protocols of war.”

“I think not.”

Red’s eyes bulged. “You refuse our surrender?”

Longshanks strode out of the tent, and his guards prodded
the twittering Comyns through the flaps toward the new English trebuchet, so
recently hewn that it still had the scent of the mill. The king caressed its
riggings like an executioner examining the sinews of a condemned man’s neck,
all the while forcing the Comyns to take the full measure of the contraption’s
enormity. “I’ve named it War Wolf. I’ve been promised that it will launch a stone
the size of a horse. Do you know how much it cost me?”

Red’s answer could barely be heard. “No, my lord.”

“Ten thousand pounds.”

“There is no need of it,” Red pleaded. “The castle is yours
if you will—”

Longshanks thumped the chieftain’s scabrous forehead with
the heel of his palm to demand silence. “I did not sail this gun down the
Thames and up the coast, dismantle and drag it through two hundred miles of
Scotland shit, only to haul it back without being fired!”

“You surely cannot mean—”

“Escort our esteemed combatants back to their tower,” the
king ordered Clifford. “Supply them with a case of wine. I would have them
enjoy a night they shan’t soon forget.”

Red could not force his legs to move—until Clifford’s
forearm to the chieftain’s chin provided the motivation.

A
T DUSK, THE TOLLING OF
Dundarg’s bells was followed by a
fireworks display worthy of London fete. Several minutes later, the sky fell
silent, and the War Wolf went into action. All that night, Belle and the women
cowered under pews in the chapel while Longshanks’s trebuchet launched a
whistling missile every fifteen minutes through the walls and roofs, crumbling
them as if threading rotten kindling.

When morning finally broke, the firing ceased.

Belle opened the chapel door and found the bailey littered
with debris and the walls smashed. Red and his defenders cowered behind the
piles, too frightened to raise their heads.

Clifford rode through the gate and drove the Comyn men from
their holes with the flat of his blade. “The king humbly requests your presence
for the taking of an oath.”

Shaken to the quick by the night’s ordeal, Red led his
frazzled defenders and the women to a field below the walls. He found
Longshanks ensconced atop a platform with his entourage, breakfasting on
currants and pastries.

“Comyn!” the king shouted. “What think you of my new sling?
If this slag dump can be brought down so soon, think of what it will do to
those insolent French bastides in Normandy.” He slapped the back of the
grim-faced Parisian envoy at his side. “
Monsieur
, do make certain to include in
your report to Philip that the razing of this Scot tower took only eight
hours.”

Clifford forced Red to his knees, along with Tabhann and Cam. The Scots were now grateful to have escaped the bombardment with their lives, though they would henceforth be required to do the bidding of the English crown.

Belle was the last of the Comyns to remain standing, but
finally she also descended. At last, she had come face to face with the fiend
who had stolen her precious Destiny Stone. She held a bitter glare on the king,
silently mouthing a curse. She took heart at the lone bright prospect to this
entire sorry affair: At least her father’s death had released her from the
marital bond.

While the Comyn men mealy-mouthed their oaths, Longshanks
strode among them, tapping a carving knife against his thigh. “Rattray, Slains,
Banff, all will be delivered within the week,” he ordered. “I shall install my
headquarters at Lochindorb. See to its provisioning.”

Tabhann stole a calculating glance at Belle, then he crawled
toward the king and begged, “My lord, may we look to you for the administration
of law in our provinces?”

The king laughed. “If I’m not mistaken, you’ve just had a
sampling of it.”

Tabhann bowed his head even lower to accept the brunt of the
jibe. “There is a legal matter that I would submit to your adjudication.”

Longshanks settled into his chair, his stretching legs
hanging over the edge of the raised platform. “The common law is my passion. I
would see it applied with all due alacrity. Is the other claimant present?”

“Aye, my lord,” Tabhann risked rising, until he was
half-upright on his knees. “I am betrothed to Isabelle MacDuff, the daughter of
the Earl of MacDuff.”

The king asked Clifford, “Did we not dispose of a rebel
named MacDuff?”

Clifford nodded. “With no small help from these stalwart
Scots. They held back their forces at Falkirk when we advanced.”

Longshanks grinned wickedly at the feckless Comyns. “I must
keep that equitable action in mind when I render my decision.”

Tabhann stammered, “I ask the marital contract be enforced
post
mortem
.”

Caught unprepared by Tabhann’s ploy, Belle looked
desperately to Idonea, who tried to calm her with a cautioning glare.

The king searched the
kneeling Scots. “Where is this woman?” Seeing Belle glare at Tabhann as she
slowly arose from her knees, the king ordered her, “Come here. Let us have a
look.”

Nodded forward by Idonea, Belle took several guarded steps
toward the king. As she did, she looked around the pavilion for the coronation
relic, suspecting the ogre was vain enough to travel with it.

Longshanks caught the silent exchange between the two women,
He asked Belle, “Does the Earl of Buchan speak true?”

“I am betrothed against my will.”

Tabhann tried to shout over her. “MacDuff agreed to the
terms!”

Longshanks silenced Tabhann with a pointed finger. “This is
easily settled. Produce the contract signed by her father.”

Tabhann dodged and shifted. “The woman’s father promised
that the deed would be accomplished on his return. Surely my lord sees the
injustice of allowing this pact to lapse.”

The king turned his hawkish eye on her again. “What say you
to this, woman?”

Belle tried to quell her
shaking. “If my father is dead, am I not emancipated from his reach in the
grave? No woman should be bound to a marriage arranged by one not her kinsman.”

“An agreement in principle!” Tabhann cried. “Her father’s
desire was to see it enforced!”

From the rear of the kneeling gaggle of Scots, Idonea
shouted, “Not after you Comyns abandoned him in battle!”

Red tried to cower the widow to silence. “Give that woman no
heed, my lord! She communes with the Devil!”

Longshanks swept his narrowing gaze over the prostrate
brood, until his hard eyes fell upon the widowed hag. “I’ll not have witchery
in my presence.”

Idonea remained unbowed. “Aye, but you’ll have lies and
treachery. Would the wise King of England trust the word of scoundrels who
betray their own countrymen?”

Longshanks sank into his chair, unsettled by that point.

Out of earshot of the Scots, Clifford whispered to the king,
“My lord, there may be an advantage to us in the enforcement of this marriage.”

“How so?”

“If we weaken these
Comyns too severely, the Bruces may turn against us and try for the throne. Is
it not wise to let the cat guard the rat and the dog guard the cat?”

“How would the disposition in marriage of this filly gain us
Scotland?”

“These tribes adhere to a quaint practice,” Clifford
whispered. “The clan MacDuff must crown their king. When this woman’s brothers
are captured and hung, she will become the head of her brood. Attach her to
these Comyns, who shall remain under your thumb, and a Bruce will never wear
the crown.”

Longshanks waved the officer aside and studied Belle as if
testing her mettle. “You have sufficient reason to protest this marriage, my
lady?”

“My heart is given to another,” Belle said.

Longshanks reacted as if he had not heard her correctly. “Are
you under the impression that your
heart
is of concern to me?”

Belle stood steadfast, even though her blood was racing. “If
my lord will not honor a lady’s devotion, I pray you will enforce God’s
justice. None here has cited precedent that would require my marriage to this
man.”

Longshanks tapped the
armrest, deliberating while he watched Idonea. After several tense moments, he
smiled at Belle and announced, “I find nothing in the law that requires this
lady to marry against her will.”

Belle released a held breath. Had she misjudged this English
king?

T
HE NEXT MORNING,
B
ELLE AWOKE
alone in the battered chapel.
Finding the castle deserted, she hurried to the ramparts and saw Longshanks and
the Comyns enjoying repast on a raised dais overlooking the dunes. Below them,
on the beach, Idonea stood tied to a stake. Water engulfed the widow’s feet,
with each wave rising inches higher. High tide would submerge her within the
hour.

Numb with terror, Belle ran from the tower and climbed to
the king’s platform. “My lord, what has she done?”

Longshanks affected surprise at her arrival. “Ah, our little
jurist! She who would have us apply the legal maxims to the letter. You see, my
lady, inspired by your example, I consulted my judiciary on the matter. Do you
know what I discovered? The statutes require a woman suspected of witchery to
be subjected to an ordeal. Stickler for the law as you are, I am certain you
agree that I had no choice.”

Belle broke through the cordon of guards and rushed to the
beach.

Idonea warned her back as the water surged to the widow’s
waist. “Leave me, child! It will be a blessed release!”

Belle pulled at her hair, desperate to stop the grisly
execution. She ran back to Longshanks and fell to her knees, crying, “I beg of
you, my lord! This woman has shown me great kindness.”

Longshanks casually stabbed another helping of mincemeat
with his knife. After several chomps on the morsel, he mumbled with a full
mouth, “It is out of my hands.” He stole a quick glance at Belle to assess her
reaction.

Stricken by the trickery,
Belle saw Tabhann grinning at her predicament. Only then did she piece together
the conspiracy that these craven men had concocted overnight at her expense. She
would have to agree to the marriage with Tabhann to save Idonea from drowning.
The rough waves surged to the widow’s neck and forced her to cough up salt water. Finally, she cried, “I
will submit!”

Longshanks kept his gaze fixed on the sea’s horizon. “I
would never force a lady to troth against her heart.”

Belle heard Idonea spitting water and gasping for air. Sick
with despair, she capitulated to the king and folded her hands. “I wish to
marry him!”

Tabhann chortled at the fruits of his connivance, until the
king withered him to silence with a threatening glare.

A ray of the sun broke through the clouds, and Longshanks
seized the opportunity. “A sign! The accused has been exonerated by the saints.”

In no hurry, the English
soldiers sauntered down to beach and reached the stake as the waves submerged
Idonea’s head. They cut the widow free and dragged her half-conscious to the
dunes.

As Idonea slowly revived spitting sea wash, the king speared
a slither of salmon from his plate and held it aloft on his knife to cool in
the breeze. “We must never fail to enforce the law. It is all that separates us
from the savages.”

A
BLOODCURDLING SCREAM PIERCED THE
din of Parisian commerce on the Ile de
Cite. James looked up at Notre Dame’s south tower and saw what appeared to be a
living skeleton in rags falling from a rope that had been hoisted from the
tollhouse at St. Michael’s Bridge. Apparently hoping to speed his death, the
airborne man pressed his arms to his sides and crashed to the stones with a
sickening thud. Yet the crowds congregating around the markets near the
cathedral’s portico continued about their business as if nothing more than a
dead pigeon had dropped from the sky.

Shaken by what he had just witnessed, James looked to Lamberton for an explanation, but the bishop kept hurrying him toward the shady oaks on the Pont Neuf to escape the oppressive summer heat. Finally finding a breeze, the cleric wiped beads of sweat from his forehead with a kerchief and said, “Once a month, King Philip offers a criminal the choice of walking the rope to freedom or suffering the noose. He holds these spectacles to distract his subjects from the bread riots.”