A Kingdom's Cost, a Historical Novel of Scotland (23 page)

Wat kept casting him worried looks and said
going to Berwick-upon-Tweed was too dangerous.

"Did you grow tits that you're my
mother?" James vaulted into the saddle, shoving his feet into the irons,
and laughed. He would hate the day he was so old he had to use stirrups. But
even the king as old as he was could mount without touching them so mayhap that
would never happen.

"Just keep the men busy. We'll have
work to do when I come back." He waved and rode away from the camp.

He rode east through the Forest. It was
dark with changing shapes of the shadows and smelled of spring. His horse's
hooves made soft thumps in the deep carpet of needles. The Forest stretched a half-day's
ride to the east--well past where he might be sought. He shrugged off that
worry. A lone man in leather breeches and jerkin was nothing anyone would pay
any mind. "On my way to sell this horse I raised--" he would say if
anyone questioned. But no one did. He wrapped his short mantle around himself
that night and made a cold camp, filling up on cold water from a stream. Eventually,
he slept only to wake, gasping when someone held a sword over Isabella's
slender neck and blood gushed when the sword fell. In the gray darkness, he
watched the stars moving across the sky and the North Star steady in its place,
wondering if he'd ever stop having such dreams. Once it had been the city ahead
of him and the screams whilst it was butchered that had haunted his sleep. A
priest would no doubt say they were a penance for his sins.

When he awoke, James took a breath of the
fresh morning air filled with the scent of heather and allowed himself to hope.
The eastern sky was pale gold at the horizon but dark gray higher and the North
Star still hung high in the sky.

Late in the afternoon, the high towers of Berwick
Castle came into view. He pulled up his horse and sat a long time looking at it.
He'd known the place as well as his own home when his father was governor there.
He'd been a page more given to climbing the towers than waiting on table.

It had been a happy time--until King Edward
of England turned his entire army loose on the people of the city. James heard
later, it was that some of the Scots had bared their arses at the English king
that caused him to butcher the city.

James had huddled on the parapet whilst his
father paced, looking down as the town burned, choking smoke engulfing the castle,
and people screamed below the walls. His father had cried that night. That had
frightened James as much as the screams. In his armor with a useless sword in
his hand, his father had turned his back so James wouldn't see. The next day he'd
negotiated a surrender, giving himself up if Edward released the garrison. One
of the men had held his hand over James's mouth to keep him quiet when they
dragged his father away in chains.

Now an English banner flapped above the
tower in the sea breeze. And somewhere on its walls, Isabella was caged. He
wondered if the castle was in need of horses.

James rode down the street below the high
gray walls. Even after ten years, every third or fourth house was a burned out
shell with weeds sprouting waist deep though the rotted ruins. Some boys with
dirty faces crouched behind a building and watched him as he passed. Further
on, a whore threw open shutters to yell an invitation down to him.

In the market square at the edge of the
port, he stopped. It still had a familiar smell of mud and fish guts but once
it would have been full of ships carrying wool to the Flemish and beyond. Now
one mast bobbed at the docks.

On the west, side of the market square
stood a modest inn with whitewashed walls and a sign painted with a mug of ale
above the door. He dismounted at the stables setting next to it and yelled for
a groom.

His horses tended, he went in. The blousy
dark-haired innkeeper smiled at the sight of him and set to teasing him. "Come
to town to comb the heather out of your hair, did you, lad?"

He wondered how long he'd have to grow his
beard before people decided he wasn't a lad. He was nearing nineteen.

She patted his cheek. "You're a tall
one, too. And look at that blush. But my Mabel can cure that for you."

"Thank you," he said, "but
all I need is a meal and a bed. And mayhap you can tell me who might buy a
horse hereabouts."

"Beds we got but no use for a horse,"
said the red-haired Mabel. She put her hand on James's arm and squeezed. "And
you want food, do you?"

"If you have it and I have the price,"
he said and his face going even hotter.

"There's some mutton roasting and I'll
send one of the girls to the baker for some fresh bread," the dark-haired
one put in.

He handed over a groat and sat in the
common room to eat his mutton with a mug of watery ale. A serving wench took a
customer up the steep creaking stairs. The man patted her rump as they climbed.

Mabel sat down on the bench beside James
and smiled at him. "Mayhap you're looking to do more than sell a horse."

"Just selling the animal is all."

"Well, nobody I know needs one." She
shrugged and her gown slipped even lower over her full breasts. "I bet I
could make you happy though. Want to?"

He sighed. "I said no." He
drained the mug and climbed the stairs to the sleeping room. There was only one
bed, a big one that he'd probably end up sharing with another traveler. It
filled the whole room with just enough space to squeeze around it. The musty
smell of the straw-filled mattress made him sneeze. He pulled off his boots and
lay on top of the blanket in all his clothes.

Sleep came as soon as he closed his eyes. He
dreamed of swords flashing as he hunted through dark woods. He killed and
killed, blood spattering until he reeked with it, but no matter how he called,
he couldn't find the king or Isabel.

He awoke to a man snoring loudly to his
left. Sitting up, he pulled on his boots. When he went out, the morning was
gray and overcast with a smell of rain in the air.

He chewed his lip. The horse would almost
certainly get him into the castle even if they didn't buy it. But he needed
information first so he strolled past the dock and up the slope. A baker yelled
out that he had fresh pies. James bought one, savory with meat and onion.

He licked the crumbs off his lips as he
tilted his head contemplating another. "My pa was at the castle when Lord
Douglas commanded it."

The man spit. "Old man didn't do
nothing to save the town, he didn't."

James blinked. What could his father have
done with not even enough men to hold the castle much less defeat Edward's
army? But he thought better of saying it. "I guess he didn't. Some
Sassenach commanding it now though."

"Like everywhere. If the King Alexander
had left us a son--" He shrugged. "Guess they'll let us live if we
keep quiet. You want another pie?"

James shoved over a pence. "I hear
they have some woman in a cage over there."

"Oh, that they do. The MacDuff woman. She
was fucking Bruce and put a crown on his head. She'll not get out of her cage
after that."

James took a big bite of the pie and chewed
it. Nasty mind but mayhap people were bound to think that. Few women had her
courage or men for that matter. "Never saw no woman in a cage. Guess she's
inside the castle though."

"Nah. On top of the hanging wall, high
up. On bread and water, I heard. Have to feel sorry for her even if she did put
horns on old Comyn."

James worked a bit of gristle from between
his teeth with his tongue and nodded. "Mayhap I'll see her if I go up
there. Looking to sell a horse and thought the horse-master might look at it."

The man shrugged so James wandered away. He
walked around some more by the empty buildings where the Flemish merchants used
to be until Edward had them hanged. He passed a kirk where a priest used a hoe
in a garden. James stopped and thought about confession. No, he'd trust no one
but Moray or Lamberton with what he had to tell. This poor man would probably
shit himself with fright. Another inn up the slope a way where he drank a glass
of ale told him nothing. Finally, when the afternoon was half over with shadows
long and heavy he took the horse from the stable and led it up the wide stony
way to the castle.

He walked the horse along the road that
seemed strangely quiet except for the wash of the water against the shore. It
splashed and splattered against the wall.

High against the merlons, hug a square cage
from creaking wooden posts. Inside was a pile of cloth. James walked towards it,
his belly cold. The cloth moved and a sun-darkened arm reached out to grasp a
bar with stick-like fingers. The cage sifted. A face peered down at him, hair
sticking out from it, white as a bone.

The hardest thing he had ever done was to
turn his back and walk to the gate. He wondered if this was what it felt like
to die.

A man-at-arms stepped in front of him. For
a moment, James couldn't find his voice to speak. His throat had shut on a
scream, but he managed finally to say, "I seek to sell this." He
jerked his head towards the horse.

The guard pointed across the yard to the
stable. "Stable master's that way."

It seemed too easy to get in but the
fighting was far away--minor yet. Mayhap they'd not even heard of it. That
didn't mean that getting to Isabella would be easy. They wouldn't just let him
wander up on the parapets. And once he got there, Holy Mother of God, somehow
he must help her.

Crossbowmen paced the walls. A boy shoveled
horse droppings in the bailey. The sound of a hammer on steel came from a
smithy as he passed it, but behind it was in dark shadow. When he reached the
wide doors of the stable, a man's voice barked to bring hay down and hurry up
about it.

"Stable master around?" he said
into the dim interior.

A tall gray-haired man came out from a
stall. "That's me."

"Thought you might could use a horse. I
need to sell it."

The stable-master walked around the animal
and James crossed his arms. Take your time, he thought, the longer the better. By
now, shadows had engulfed the yard. Soon it would be dark except for spots
where torches and braziers lighted the walls.

The man mounted and gathered the reins. He let
the horse amble around the yard once and then again. "Not a bad animal,"
he said as he dismounted. "Might do for a man-at-arms with some work. I'll
give you a pound for it."

"I was thinking more like two,"
he said in a doubtful tone.

"Well, tell you what. I'll throw in an
extra shilling. Best I can do."

James nodded. "Done, then. And I thank
you, sir." He waited, propping up the stable wall whilst the horse master
went to get the money. On the parapet, a crossbowman paced near Isabella's
cage, looking bored. A servant climbed the steps carrying a hunk of bread and
bowl that she slid through a slot in the bars before she left. The horse-master
returned and handed James his money, taking the reins of the horse. James
nodded as he sauntered towards the smithy. In the half-dark, the man was
closing the door when James stopped. "Wouldn't happen to know a good inn,
hereabouts?" he asked looking beyond to see the horse led into the stable.

"One next to the square."

James nodded, pausing to straighten his
tunic and stepped around the corner behind the smithy. He smiled as he unlaced
himself and pissed--just in case. But no one appeared. The bailey had grown
silent. A horse whickered in the stable. He heard two men, laughing and talking.
A door slammed.

James slowly laced his breeches and slid
one of the dirks from his boot top. He backed into a corner and waited. The
night grew black and moonless, clouds hiding even the stars. A fine rain
started. He didn't move and it soaked him to the skin. Water dripped from his
hair down his neck. With no moon or stars, it was hard to judge the time but at
last, James slipped out of his hiding place.

He pressed against the wall and slithered
towards the stairs, watching the parapet. In the dense murk, he couldn't even
make out the crossbowman at first. Straining, he picked out an even darker
shape, hunched as it made its way to a corner of the tower. James crept up the
stairs, eyes fixed on the shadows where the guard hid from the rain.

When he was close, James saw the whites of
the man's eyes staring. He lunged.

"Wha--"

James' dirk went through his throat and
jammed in bone. Gurgles came out of the man's mouth and a gush of hot, sticky
blood. James caught his waist and lowered his body, working the dirk from side
to side to free it. He wiped the blood from his hands on the man's cloak. A
voice in the across the courtyard was answered by another. He waited in the
dark. Footsteps sounded and another slamming door, then quiet again. The rain
turned to mist and then stopped. He knelt and waited some more.

Finally, letting out a long breath, he rose
and went to the cage.

As he ran his hands over the bars searching
for the door, a hoarse voice croaked, "Who's there?"

Thin fingers touched his. He knelt. "Isabel,"
he whispered. "God's mercy, what have they done?"