Turn of the Tide Read online

  ‘We have thought on the business at Annock and . . .’ The candle sconce behind James’ head hung with congealed wax, putting Munro in mind of long, grasping fingers. ‘. . . some small token, as an earnest of your serious intention . . .’ James was looking pointedly at the brooch.

  Glencairn, sweeping the hat off William’s head, said smoothly, ‘Perhaps this, though only a trifle . . .’ unclasping the brooch.

  James’ tongue darted over his lips. ‘We will accept it.’

  ‘Sire,’ Glencairn bowed and retreated, jerking William with him.

  John Cunninghame, his eyes fixed on Glencairn, beckoned Munro, indicating that they should retire also.

  ‘Wait. The game isn’t over yet and Glencairn will hardly be so good company that we should rush to join him.’ Munro gestured towards the Montgomeries who held their position in front of James, Hugh still to the fore, Robert Montgomerie a fraction behind, a hint of anticipation in his gaze.

  Hugh’s voice was confident and clear. ‘I have nothing about me, sire, fit to offer, nevertheless I too would like to give an earnest.’ He paused for just long enough for James to take his attention from the brooch. ‘If it please you, my uncle and I,’ he nodded towards Alexander, ‘plan some sport for Thursday – a small thing, but I’m told the chase will excite. We would be honoured by your presence.’

  James passed the brooch to Maitland, who, examining the quality of the pearls was, if one could judge by the glint in his eyes, pleased at the latest acquisition. There was renewed animation in the King’s voice as he called Alexander to his side.

  ‘We will accompany you, but where?’

  ‘The greater the surprise, the greater the sport, sire.’ Alexander Montgomerie’s reply was smooth. ‘Shall we meet below the castle at first light and ride on together?’

  James rolled up the Letters of Affirmation and rose from his chair, encompassing the whole Montgomerie party in his smile. ‘It pleases us, and . . . ’ with a glance at Glencairn that seemed to dare him to think otherwise, ‘ . . . it is not such a trifle.’ He tapped Robert Montgomerie on the shoulder with the roll of parchment. ‘You have a fine family, Montgomerie, gey fine. But now I must turn to other, more tedious matters.’ With a moue that suggested both apology and reluctance, he began to move down the hall; the company parting before him like the Red Sea before Moses, Maitland and others of the council in his wake.

  Munro, stepping aside with the rest, continued to watch the Montgomeries as Robert placed his arm about Hugh’s shoulder, nodding satisfaction. Glencairn, turning abruptly, swept past William and what was said to him in the passing, though spoken in a hiss that made it impossible for others to hear, was, to judge by the set of William’s lips, not complimentary. Again, Munro felt a tug on his arm.

  John said, ‘Our presence may be missed.’

  ‘What harm curiousity?’

  ‘That isn’t a quality Glencairn prizes.’

  ‘You go on then,’ A pause. ‘I’ll not be long behind you.’

  John shrugged, turned away.

  The knot of Montgomeries were making for the door. Munro dipped his head and trusting to the press to save him from notice, slipped in behind them, straining to hear their conversation.

  ‘Neatly done, Hugh.’ Robert Montgomerie’s tone was warm, ‘We will have you a courtier yet. Though I wouldn’t have put statemanship as your strongest suit.’

  ‘Nor is it, but I have a good tutor in our uncle. And as it was he who thought of the ploy, he, I trust, can carry it through.’

  ‘I thought it already arranged.’ Robert’s voice rose a fraction. ‘It is a dangerous thing, Alexander, to trifle with the King.’

  ‘Have no fear, nephew, it will be done and well.’ Alexander spoke with confidence. ‘There are many who would wish to please the King and I have not a few of them in my pocket. It isn’t yet arranged only because I didn’t think of it until this morning. The details will be sorted, and in a timely fashion. Look you to your choice of horse, the rest is my concern.’

  Munro risked a glance and saw it was the poet who spoke. He saw the crease of worry clear from Robert’s brow as Alexander continued.

  ‘I find it convenient on occasions to accept payment in kind and this is just such a one. Enjoy your dinner as I suspect Glencairn, and more particularly, William, will not.’

  Indeed, it was an uneasy meal that Glencairn and William took, though as they kept to their lodgings, none bar Munro was able to enjoy the ill feeling between them. Glencairn was furious: with William for the stupidity of flaunting the brooch before the king, and with himself for failing to notice the wearing of it and thus avoid its loss. So that the ale was flat, the bread stale, the cheese lacking in flavour, the cuts of beef, set on a side table that they might serve themselves, tough and stringy; the whole twice as expensive as it should be, and not worth the half. Relations between them did not improve when a messenger arrived to say that they were bid to remain at the court, and to accompany James and the Montgomerie party on the proposed hunt.

  Glencairn growled at Munro, ‘I trust you have a change of clothes that you could oblige William with, for I doubt he is capable of being inconspicuous else. It’s likely we will be spared the sight of James wearing the brooch. Maitland will not wish to risk its loss. Though that is little consolation for so substantial and unnecessary a loss.’

  William’s knuckles were white, and Munro watched, almost with relish, to see if the anger between them would flare into an all out brawl. The idea that they might be forced to appear before James sporting a black eye or two between them amused him, but he was careful not to betray his thoughts lest he fell foul of their aggression. And besides, his fortunes rose and fell with theirs, and he had no wish to be the bearer of their apologies to James, should they so injure each other as to render them incapable of joining the hunt. So he said, ‘I can arrange for the hire of fresh horses, more suited to the chase than those we travelled on,’ and before Glencairn could raise an objection, ‘The sooner undertaken, the more likely that the Montgomeries will be disappointed.’

  Glencairn rounded on William again. ‘The likely cost, another drain on our purse that we could meet the better had it not been for this day’s proceedings.’ He turned back to Munro, oozing sarcasm, ‘Do you make sure there is no mistake with our mounts. At least if they are hired we cannot be expected to gift them to the King.’

  Munro bowed his way from the chamber, William on his tail.

  ‘I need a drink,’ he said, taking hold of Munro’s arm, ‘and someone to drink it with me.’

  ‘The horses . . .’

  ‘Cannot be got at this time of night.’ William held on. ‘Don’t pretend to a Presbyterianism, Munro. I know you too well – it will not be the first time you have drunk yourself into oblivion. This time be grateful that you don’t pay.’ His eyes glittered dangerously, and Munro relaxed into his grip. ‘If I don’t go now, I shall run father through, and then we shall all be roasted. So if you value your freedom, you will accompany me. And we’ll drink ourselves to the devil. But you, my dear Munro,’ William laughed without humour, ‘take care that you retain just enough of your faculties to bring me safe home.’

  There was an alehouse hard by their lodgings, but William passed it by, as too close to his father for comfort, and made his way through the narrow wynds to the meaner fringes of the town. They came on a tavern, the door swinging on one hinge. ‘This will serve.’

  Munro peered in, noted the rough deal tables, pitted with old scars; the battered plate; the rushes on the floor matted with stale vomit. In the corner, a pot-bellied effigy of a man, fustian cheeks stained crimson, perched drunkenly on the edge of a broken stool, a rope looped into a noose snaking around its neck: clear warning to those who might have any thoughts of partaking without paying. Amusing as it might be to see William reduced to the level of this company, it was a pleasure likely short-lived and the responsibility all his own should Glencairn get word of it, so he said, ‘At least let me
look to your purse. You wouldn’t wish to be relieved of your silver too soon.’

  William flung himself down at the end of a bench and drew out a leather pouch that he tossed to Munro. It drew the attention of a serving maid, who elbowed her way towards the newcomers.

  Munro breathed shallowly against the reek – we’ll be lucky to get out of here with our clothes, never mind our silver. William’s doublet alone would buy and sell most here three times over. If he must drink himself blind, let it be into a stupor and not the gutter. He thrust the purse deep inside his jerkin, and gestured to the girl. ‘Ale and be quick about it.’

  She sprawled across William, her own drink brought with theirs, while Munro kept a weather eye on the surrounding company. His eyes slid back to William and the girl. Her face was a travesty of paint and powder that failed to disguise the child beneath. The wee slip was likely not above twelve. Kate had a cousin, just such an age. This girl had learnt her trade well, but the fact that it was she and not William in control gave Munro little comfort. As he listened to her high-pitched giggle, and caught glimpses of her child’s long legs and immature breasts, part-exposed as William’s hands tugged at the ribbons of her bodice, Munro saw his cousin-in-law’s face on the thin shoulders and felt revulsion, despite that he knew it to be disproportionate.

  William gestured for another drink; his bloodshot glance passing over Munro, a slur in his voice. ‘Become a prude, have you?

  Munro didn’t reply, but was careful to match William drink for drink, but contrived each time, when William’s attention was elsewhere to tip some of his own into William’s glass. Even so it was taking a long time to get William drunk, the ale clearly watered. Munro kept one hand inside his doublet, his fingers touching the handle of his dirk and although he slumped over the table with every appearance of increasing inebriation, he scanned the room from under his spread arm.

  Despite his watchfulness he was taken by surprise, both by the force and the source of the trap when it was sprung. Any softer feelings he harboured for the girl who tangled with William fled in an instant. One moment, she dandled on his knee, her bodice loosened, her hair falling like a curtain across William’s face, one hand resting behind his head as with his lips he scoured the pale flesh at the base of her neck. The next she drew up her leg, as if in response to the hand travelling down her back, then a flash of steel as she whipped a dirk from under her skirt. She brought it up, pulling William’s head back by his hair and held the tip, unwavering, at his throat.

  Munro lunged for her, but was stopped by the warning pinpricks of blood she drew as the blade stroked William’s neck. A sound behind him. He tried to turn, but found his own arms pinioned. Forced across the table, he could see from William’s pallor that, part-drunk or not, the danger of their situation had reached him. The girl was enjoying herself now, running the blade of the dirk back and forwards across William’s neck, scoring it lightly as if she sliced the skin of a pig for roasting. He watched, part fascinated, part revolted, as blood beaded from the cuts, a ruby necklace around William’s throat. With her other hand she pulled loose the padding that had enhanced her breasts, stuffing it into William’s mouth so that he gagged.

  ‘Was this your fancy my lord?’

  There was a sharp pain in Munro’s side, where the handle of his dirk dug into his flesh, but he was unable to shift his weight to reach it. The man holding him down reached inside Munro’s doublet and grabbed the purse, weighing it in his hand before tossing it to his companion. He increased the pressure on Munro and, his gaze and voice directed at the girl, said, ‘Next time move mair quickly. There is near half gone.’ He leered, ‘If it’s pleasure ye seek, no doubt Tam or I . . . or both, can service ye.’

  She swung round, her knee lifting from William’s chest, the knife in her hand flashing past Munro’s cheek, ‘I would as soon ride a pig, and it covered in glaur.’

  The other man, in the process of stowing the purse, snarled at them both. ‘Spark at each other as ye please, but elsewhere.’ He cast a glance around, ‘We draw mair attention than we need.’

  Both subsided instantly, indicating that he was the leader of the group. In a practised move, the man holding Munro twisted his arm further, raising Munro’s head only to smash it onto the table with a crack.

  The girl, the dirk again at William’s throat said, ‘The pleasure was all mine, pretty lord, but I have taken my payment nonetheless. And dinna think to follow else . . .’ She again stroked his neck with the edge of the blade.

  Then they were gone; neither William nor Munro in any immediate state to follow. The silence that had fallen around them lasted only as long as it took Munro to lift his head and rub at his wrists; those that had enjoyed the spectacle turned their backs and resumed their drinking and whoring as if nothing of moment had happened at all. Munro dragged William to his feet, and half-supporting, half-hauling him, made his way to the door. Outside, the cool air finished the job of sobering him, so that he made a passable job of holding William nearly upright. ‘There’s more than a step to your lodging, and I have no wish to attract any other scavengers, so you will do well to make an effort.’

  William pulled himself a little straighter, so that they showed some semblance of control as they wove their way back to the comparative safety of the High Street, and up the winding stair to the Cunninghame’s door. Munro left him propped against the lintel and, his own head and arms throbbing, made his way to his lodging hard by.

  Chapter Ten

  Hugh waited on Robert Montgomerie with the news that the hunt was arranged, and the assurance from Alexander that both it and the hospitality to follow, would be to everyone’s satisfaction.

  ‘Not, I think, to everyone’s.’ Robert’s pleasure was clear. ‘James has commanded Glencairn and his followers to present themselves also. It will add a little spice to the proceedings. Let’s drink to good sport and to the discomfiture of the Cunninghames. And to precedence, which a fine chase with a hind or two at the heels of it, may restore to us.’

  Hugh raised his glass, ‘To Thursday, and to all that we may gain and others lose.’ He emptied it in one draught as Robert said, ‘You will stay awhile? And tell us of your home at Braidstane and Grizel and the plans that you no doubt have for the estate. There are calls on it, I daresay?’

  ‘That there are. I didn’t think these many months past to be grateful for the failure of my paymasters in Holland; indeed, I did my fair share of complaining. But now, the arrears being promised, I stand to clear the estate and perhaps a little more.’

  ‘There is talk of opportunities in Ireland for those whose grip on Scotland may not be as firm, nor as profitable, as they might desire.’

  ‘I had some thought of looking to Ireland it’s true, but that must needs wait till James gains the English Crown and who knows how long that will be.’ Hugh noted the narrowing of Robert’s eyes and wondered if he would, after all, have been wiser to keep his own counsel. Perhaps this young cousin of his had designs of his own in Ireland. If so, it mightn’t be politic to set himself up in his way.

  Robert rubbed his hands up and down his legs, as if it helped his concentration. ‘There are perhaps things that could be done beforehand, to sweeten your position. When the time comes, all will be round James like bees at a honeypot. Much may be gained by establishing advantage now, if it be done in the right way.’

  The tone was so sage, the words so perfectly contrived, that Hugh almost laughed.

  ‘My brother George has offered to send intelligences from Elizabeth’s court. And he is well placed to hear much gossip.’

  ‘George is now . . . ?’

  ‘Vicar of Cheddar. Though I don’t think that Cheddar sees much of him. Nor will it while there is something to be gained by remaining at court. Not of course that he neglects his spiritual duties.’

  There was a glint of humour in Robert’s eye, but when he spoke, his tone remained formal. ‘A word of advice then. See to it that the intelligences are useful to James,
and take care to remind him from whence they come. Let your face be seen around court. However little you enjoy the company you find here.’

  Patrick said, ‘See, I’m not the only person to watch your face.’

  ‘Indeed, Patrick, there are plenty who watch and would make capital of another man’s falling.’ Robert turned back to Hugh. ‘We are not so far off kin, that I lack an interest in your affairs, but there are few who can afford to cause offence in the wrong quarters, and I’m not one of them. I will give you all the help I can to rise, but if you fall, you fall alone.’

  There was a silence, a measure of the serious turn of the conversation, and, as is so often the way, all of them tried at the same moment to break it, then stopped: Hugh and Robert deferring to each other, Patrick to them both.

  Another awkward pause, then Hugh, throwing away all attempt at formality said, ‘We are become a pair of old men, cousin, and wear our positions like new clothes, so stiff that we can’t yet be comfortable. We are in private now. Can we not discuss things like the old friends we are?’

  A third pause, a relationship hanging in the balance, then, ‘You know I had no thought of this. I liked fine to be a second son, and though ‘Master of Eglintoun’ can hardly be considered a trial and likely temporary, . . .’ there was no doubting the mischief in his eyes, ‘. . . this new weight of responsibility will be the easier to bear knowing that I am not the only one whose wings are clipped.’ He moved across to the table and poured another round of drinks, raised his glass, adroitly changing the subject. ‘But what of Grizel?’

  Hugh raised his glass in return. ‘She’s bravely. And has proved herself these past months an able steward. We none of us imagined, with a husband of five months’ standing, that she would have our affairs to look to. But our mother’s death coming hard on her unexpected widowhood, and our father . . . he didn’t recover his spirits as one might have hoped. Grizel took it upon herself and rightly, for there was no one else to hand, to see to the estate and troubled him as little as she could. I’m grateful for it and, although she hasn’t said so, were I to take charge of matters entirely, I think in some ways she would wish me gone again. For the meantime, she has found herself a place in the world and it would be a pity to take it away from her.’