The Green Man

Seventeen

I was appalled.

‘My lord, you can’t do this!’ I was moved to protest with greater vehemence than I had ever used, either to him or to anyone in his exalted position. ‘This is sheer folly! You speak as though I have offered you incontrovertible proof of Master Buchanan’s guilt. I haven’t. It’s a theory, nothing more; a theory that might prove to be correct, I grant you, but that’s all. I beg you, don’t persuade yourself that the Grassmarket house holds the answer to this puzzle. You are most likely only storing up disappointment for yourself — and for Master Sinclair — if you do.’

My voice had risen urgently and I discovered to my horror that I was actually thumping with my fist on the table. I broke off and stood nervously awaiting his furious reaction.

Nothing of the sort happened. Albany simply smiled at me; a smile full of pity and condescension.

‘You don’t understand, Roger,’ he said. ‘I have a feeling about this. As soon as you told me that Aline Sinclair could have passed the diary to her brother, I knew it was the truth. Come! You of all people should know what I mean. You have the “sight”. I, too, have these flashes of certainty that amount almost to glimpses of the future. This is such an occasion. Oh, I don’t boast about my gift.’ This was a fact: I couldn’t recall him ever having mentioned it before. He went on, ‘But it’s there, waiting to serve me when it’s needed.’

I hoped I didn’t look as sceptical as I felt.

‘My lord,’ I said desperately, ‘I wish you could disabuse your mind of this belief that I have, or ever have had, the “sight” in the way you mean it. I’ve tried to explain to you several times in the past that what I get are dreams caused by my mind working through sleep and reminding me of facts which my waking self has forgotten. My mother occasionally was gifted with what you are pleased to term the “sight”, when she seemed able to foretell the future, but even so it was not often and rarely of things that were important. She didn’t foresee my father’s death, for instance, when he fell from the ceiling of Wells Cathedral nave. Otherwise, she might have kept him at home that day and prevented it.’

Still smiling, and not at all put out by my insubordinate tone, the duke patted me on the shoulder.

‘I can see that you are ignorant of the manner in which the “sight” operates, Roger. It is not given to us for our own benefit, to advance our own designs, but to promote the wishes of the gods.’

‘The gods?’ I queried nervously, recalling that he had used the same words a short while previously, when the Duke of Gloucester had accused him of blasphemy. ‘What gods, my lord?’

He laughed softly and shrugged. Once again the candlelight rippled across the satin of his doublet, this time turning the scarlet to flame. I had the oddest impression that he had suddenly grown taller, that his head was almost touching the ceiling and that there was a strange aureole of light, like green fire, surrounding his whole body. His eyes, too, whose colour I was normally unaware of, were like two chips of emerald between his narrowed lids …

Albany was gripping me by the shoulders and forcing me into a chair. He was himself again and I noticed that his eyes were in reality a pale, indeterminate blue. Or were they brown? And why couldn’t I be sure?

‘What … What happened?’ I asked.

‘My dear fellow, you very nearly fainted,’ Albany said and smiled. ‘I’ve been working you too hard. You’ve been running about the whole day and I daresay you haven’t even had your supper yet. Sit here quietly and I’ll see that food and drink is brought to you. No one will be returning to the Council Chamber this evening. We’ve finished our deliberations for the day.’ His tone had turned sour once more, reminded of his grievances.

But I was not to be deflected by talk of food and rest, although I was feeling in need of both.

‘What gods were you referring to, my lord?’

‘Did I say that?’ He attempted a look of surprise, as though it was something I had imagined. And indeed I might well have thought so, had I not heard him use the words earlier.

‘You did.’ I spoke positively, giving him no room for argument.

He wriggled his shoulders uncomfortably and grimaced. ‘It was just an expression for Fate or Chance or whatever it is that rules our lives and makes each one of us what we are; that equips us with the gifts life doles out to us.’

‘You don’t think we owe all that to God?’ I was being far bolder than I should have been, but I felt intuitively that Albany would not reprimand me. He appeared uneasy, like a man who had allowed his tongue to run away with him and was now wondering how he could retrieve the situation.

‘I think the Almighty may need help now and then, don’t you? No! Don’t answer me. This is neither the time nor place to enter into a theological discussion. You need that rest and food I promised you, while I must go and sup with my beloved kinfolk and my erstwhile allies.’ The bitterness was back in his voice with a vengeance and mixed now with an underlying anger, all the more potent for being carefully suppressed. He paused for a moment, controlling his rampant emotions. When he spoke again, his tone was smooth. ‘Do as I bid you. Stay here and I’ll have supper sent to you.’ Suddenly he smiled as though his mind had been wiped clean of all care and worry in an instant. ‘And on that other matter, trust me. You will find, tomorrow, when we ransack Master Buchanan’s house that the diary will be found.’

‘My lord-’ I began, half rising from my seat.

But Albany pushed me down again, his irritation once more floating to the surface.

‘I want no further argument, Roger. Believe me when I tell you that I know my premonition is correct. I repeat, trust me!’

He was gone. I heard the outer door of the ante-room close behind him and I was left alone in the empty Council Chamber that still seemed to echo to the sound of his voice. The watery twilight of the August day was seeping through the room, and long shadows inched their way across the rush-strewn floor. A small log fire, which had previously gone unnoticed, smouldered on the hearth; then, with a sudden explosion of noise that made me jump, a tempestuous squall of rain beat against the window. The fire spurted and flared. A bubble of resin burst with a little splutter.

I suddenly felt unutterably weary, my whole body like lead, my mind stupid and confused. There was nothing to be surprised at in this, I told myself. It had been a long day; a very long day. It was only this morning that we had ridden into Edinburgh, although it seemed more like half a week away; only this morning, in the guest chamber at Holy Rood Abbey, that Donald had informed Albany of Rab Sinclair’s arrest, a name totally unknown to me then, but now burned into my consciousness with letters of fire; only this morning that I had first set eyes on this castle perched on its great rock, hanging, or so it seemed to me, halfway between heaven and earth. And since then, I had trotted busily around the city, questioning, observing and generally being lied to. Well, someone was lying. He, or maybe she, had to be.

But these things were not really the cause of the lassitude that suddenly held me in an iron grip. There was something more; something that had its roots in my recent conversation with Albany perhaps, or even in his actual presence. But surely that was foolishness. I had never before felt disturbed by his company. I had always known him to be arrogant, self-satisfied, concerned with no one but himself and his own desires. But then he was a prince. What else could one expect of royalty, bred up as they were in conceit and self-importance from the earliest age? And yet, until now, I had found him easy-going enough, although there had always been an invisible line across which one dared not step. But that was so with most people, king or peasant. He was unwise in many ways. Then again, who was not?

There was another burst of rain against the window and a spattering of hail came down the chimney to sizzle and melt among the dying flames on the hearth. Shadows leaped up the walls, then retreated silently, succeeded by an almost eerie stillness. I found myself shivering although I was not conscious of feeling cold. I remained bodily tired, but not sleepy. In fact the earlier confusion of mind was beginning to clear.

I thought once more about the reason given me by Albany for my presence on this expedition; this military invasion that had fractured and splintered apart, descending, as far as he was concerned, into one of those farces played out at fairs to the ribald laughter of the crowds. I had been selected as his protector to guard him from assassination attempts from either ill-wishers within the English camp, who considered it a poor decision to try to enthrone him as King of Scots, or — and this, it seemed, had been Albany’s main fear — from one of the late Earl of Mar’s adherents who was really in the pay of his brother, King James. And yet, when I looked back over the past weeks, it appeared to me that this fear came and went at his convenience. When it had suited the duke that I should be elsewhere, he had never jibbed at being alone with any one of the five.

All the same, there had been attempts on Albany’s life. There was the incident of his horse at Fotheringay Castle when Pegasus had nearly thrown him, and the attempted stabbing at York … I was growing confused again, not sure what to think. The rain had decreased to a steady drumming against the oiled panes of the chamber window, like ghostly fingers beating out a tattoo; rhythmic, sleep-inducing. My eyelids began to droop …

I glanced up and saw Albany standing in front of me, but as I watched, his head gradually sprouted leaves and branches until it became that of the Green Man. The foliage began to spread, shoots writhing and coiling out of his mouth, filling the room, reaching towards me; then one, longer than the rest, snaked around my neck, tightening its grip, choking me so that I could no longer breathe. My heart was hammering against my ribs as I gasped for air …

Someone was shaking me.

‘Wake up, Master Chapman! Wake up! You’re riding the Night Mare!’ It was Davey’s voice, half laughing, half concerned. ‘What a noise you’re making. As if you’re being strangled.’

The page was standing by my chair, looking down at me, his hand on my shoulder. On the table was a tray, and I could smell the rich aroma of the stew that had obviously been served up in the servants’ hall for supper. There was also a jug and beaker alongside the wooden bowl and spoon and a hunk of bread. Albany had sent my meal as he had promised.

I was sweating profusely. I could feel it coursing down my back underneath my shirt, but at the same time, I felt cold. I passed a hand across my forehead. It came away soaking wet. I sat up straighter in my chair, trying not to look foolish, and gave an awkward laugh.

‘Davey! I must have fallen asleep. I was dreaming.’

‘It must have been a pretty horrible dream,’ my companion condoled. ‘Never mind, you’re awake now. Here’s your supper. My lord said I was to bring it to you. When you’ve finished, come across to the common hall. Donald’s kept you a space and a blanket. Not that I think any of us will get much sleep tonight. Too much snoring. And too much farting,’ he added, ‘especially after that pottage. It’s full of beans, so be warned. By the way, the duke’s very pleased with you. I heard him telling Donald and Murdo that you’ve solved the problem — whatever that is.’ He gave me a suddenly impish grin. ‘So it’s been worthwhile bringing you, after all.’

‘Davey,’ I began, but stopped. He had no influence with Albany. I doubted if he even knew what was going on. ‘No, nothing.’ I shook my head as he raised his eyebrows enquiringly. ‘I’ll be with you when I’ve eaten this.’

He nodded and left. I drew my chair closer to the table and picked up the spoon, only to find that my hand was trembling. The dream had been too vivid for comfort and was still haunting me. I found myself glancing uneasily around the room as if afraid that the apparition had been real and was lurking somewhere in a corner.

I told myself sternly not to be a fool and started on the rapidly cooling broth.

Davey’s prediction about the night ahead proved to be all too accurate.

Goodness knows how many of us there were bedding down in the common hall; fifty perhaps, possibly a great deal more. And of course there is always one rowdy section of any all male gathering; those overgrown schoolboys who want to dice the night away or sit around telling bawdy stories, recounting tales of their sexual prowess (boasting extravagantly about the size of their manly assets) until their hapless listeners fall asleep with boredom and disbelief. And the page had been right about the bean stew, as well. After an hour or so, it was a worry that someone might get out his tinder box and strike a light: there was a good chance, I thought, that the place might go up in flames.

I spent most of what was left of the evening trying to convince Donald and Murdo that Albany’s plans for the following morning were likely to prove a grave mistake and should be discouraged.

‘I have offered my lord no proof,’ I kept reiterating, ‘that John Buchanan holds the missing diary, but the — ’ I nearly said the fool, but checked myself just in time — ‘the duke has, for some inexplicable reason, taken it into his head that this is the answer to its mysterious disappearance. For God’s sake, one of you must try to drum it into him that nothing will come of this idea.’

Murdo grimaced and laughed. ‘He won’t listen to us,’ he grunted, and Donald agreed with him.

‘Once he gets a bee in his bonnet, he won’t listen to anyone. Lord Alexander was always the most headstrong of the brothers, everyone says so.’ Donald squashed a flea that had hopped out of the floor rushes to bite him and flicked its remains towards James Petrie, who sat with his back propped against the wall, withdrawn as always and unable to understand what we were saying. (The groom, John Tullo, was absent, presumably sleeping in the stables with the horses.) The squire added, with a malevolent grin, ‘My lord will make you free of his displeasure when he finds he’s disappointed.’

Murdo chuckled. ‘He will that.’

‘Well, it will do no good getting angry with me. I’ve warned him.’

I shifted uncomfortably on my patch of floor, wondering if it was worthwhile settling down to sleep with all the noise, the laughter and conversation, going on around us. It suddenly occurred to me that it was a very long time since I had slept on anything other than a mattress, and that from the time of my leaving London, just on two months ago, I had become used to the best beds on offer. Why, therefore, had I been so abruptly banished from Albany’s company? Had he nothing to be afraid of any longer?

I put the question to my companions. ‘And why aren’t you two on truckle cots in his ante-chamber?’

Murdo guffawed, Donald gave his superior smile and even Davey giggled. (James Tullo just snored: he had fallen asleep.)

‘He’s home now, isn’t he?’ Donald condescended to answer. ‘Not on the march.’ He saw I was still puzzled and said impatiently, ‘The duke’ll be bedding down with one of his uncle’s whores, lent to him for the occasion. He’s been living like a monk for weeks — not that monks do live like monks, you can take it from me — and now he’s going to make up for lost time. He wouldn’t indulge himself with any of the camp followers, naturally. Might get a dose of the pox. As for us — ’ he nodded at Murdo and the other two — ‘he’s forbidden us to have too much to do with him for the moment. It will be remembered in some quarters that we were Mar’s retainers before we escaped to France to join my lord. All the same, no one, as yet, has insisted that he dismisses us, nor has there been any suggestion of our arrest. So the duke has told us to stay near him. We have our uses, like Davey taking you your supper this evening, and Murdo and myself accompanying him to Master Buchanan’s house tomorrow. And then, when he becomes king …’ He broke off, shrugging.

‘Reward time.’ Murdo spat into the rushes and his blue eyes glinted at me from beneath their heavy lids.

‘You really believe that he will be made king?’ I asked scornfully. ‘Well, I can tell you that he won’t.’ And I repeated the conversation between my lord of Gloucester and Albany that I had overheard in the Council Chamber.

To my astonishment, this revelation was received very calmly, as though it was something they had known already. Smiles were exchanged; small, secret, sly smiles suggesting that they knew something that I didn’t. Perhaps they thought I was making it up to annoy them. But somehow I didn’t think so. Yet what it was they imagined they knew that could alter a situation already decided upon by both English and Scots, and at the very heart of the peace negotiations, I had no idea. Whatever it was, it was a bag of moonshine, but it was no good telling them so. Albany must have managed to convince them that he had some trick up his elegant sleeve and they believed him. I might as well go to sleep.

I lay down, pulled my blanket over me so that it partially covered my face and did just that.

In spite of the discomfort, I must have slept for some hours. When I did at last jerk awake the hall was in darkness, all the candles and wall cressets doused. But the heat was horrendous and the smell even worse. The concentration of bodies, together with the bean stew, had created an atmosphere that was stifling, not to mention the groans and snores that filled the room. After a moment or two, I realized that the heavy weight on my chest was Davey’s outflung arm, and also that one of Murdo’s feet was resting on the crown of my head. Slowly, I eased myself into a sitting position, returning Davey’s arm to him as gently as I could. He murmured a little in his sleep, but did not wake. Murdo also muttered what sounded like a curse as his foot was dislodged, and I thought for a second that he opened his eyes, but then decided that I was mistaken.

By this time, I had also realized that my bladder was at bursting point. I had to get outside or relieve myself where I lay which, judging by some of the odours filling the hall, was the course that many of my companions had already taken. I decided that such embarrassment was not for me and heaved myself upright.

Picking my way between the sprawled bodies was a more difficult task, and as, inevitably, I stood on hands and tripped over feet, I was roundly cursed in both English and Scots. But no one challenged me or showed any inclination to accompany me outside, for which I was truly grateful. They all seemed to be worn out by the rigours of the day, and dog-tired.

The torrential downpour of the previous evening had given way to a gentle drizzle, but if there was a moon, it was hidden behind the wrack of low-flying cloud that veiled the stars. There was a cold wind blowing, tearing at the standard on the top of David’s Tower and chilling me to the bone in spite of the fact that it was now the second day of August. I fumbled sleepily with the strings of my codpiece and pissed against the nearest wall, heaving a long sigh of satisfaction as I did so. Then, having straightened my breeches, and feeling hot and clammy in clothes that I had worn all the preceding day, I took a short stroll to where one of several gaps in the curtain wall gave a view into the valley below, where the tents of our army were pitched. I could see a few camp fires starring the darkness and heard, faint and far away, the cries of the sentries on watch, but other than that there was little stirring. The castle guards were out of sight. An owl swooped low over Saint Margaret’s chapel, making me start, but reassuring me, also, with the foolish thought that it was a sign from the saint herself that she was indeed looking after me. Then all was quiet again except for the moaning of the wind.

As I made my way back to the common hall, I turned my face up to the fine spray of rain. It was cool and refreshing and I stood for a moment or two, letting it wash over me. I closed my eyes to savour the experience all the better. When I opened them again, it was to find someone looming up in front of me.

My hand flew at once to the haft of the dagger Donald had given me the previous afternoon and which I had failed to return to him. (Indeed, he had not asked for it back and I looked upon it in the light of a loan for the short time now that I and the rest of my countrymen remained in Edinburgh.)

‘Who’s there?’ I demanded. It was too dark to see the man’s features, but his lack of stature and slight build made me suspect the truth before he answered.

‘Oh, it’s you, is it?’ grumbled Timothy Plummer. ‘I might have guessed. It could only be you, Chapman, traipsing about in the dark and putting the fear of God into honest people.’

‘I might well say the same about you,’ I retorted, but without heat. It was so good to hear a familiar voice and words spoken in a comfortable southern accent — even if it was that nasal London drawl — that I could almost have embraced him. ‘Where have you been hiding yourself since Nottingham?’

‘I haven’t been hiding myself anywhere,’ he snapped. I had obviously ruffled his feathers, which, I have to admit, had partly been my intention. (Baiting Timothy and watching him bridle was one of the great pleasures of my life.) ‘I’ll remind you, Roger, that I am Spymaster General to my lord of Gloucester and have been at my lord’s beck and call throughout the whole of this expedition. And it’s not desirable that I should be too visible. My work is often extremely secret.’

‘That doesn’t explain why you’re prowling around in the dead of night,’ I said. ‘Or does it? Who are you spying on now?’

‘More importantly,’ he rapped back, ‘what are you doing out and about? Why aren’t you guarding my lord Albany?’

I laughed. ‘The duke has better things to do tonight than allow me to share his bed. My services have been dispensed with for those of a castle whore. His long abstinence on the march has made him randy. I’m in the common hall with the rest of his menie. Even his squires’ services have been dispensed with. Well, I suppose he needs some consolation, now that he’s not to be king.’

‘How do you know that?’ The spy’s tone was sharp with suspicion. And by the time that I had finished explaining how I came by my knowledge, he was trembling with indignation.

‘You could, and should, be severely punished for eavesdropping on my lord’s private conversations. If I had my way-’

‘Settle down,’ I hissed angrily. ‘I had been told to report to my lord Albany in connection with a private investigation I’ve been ordered to undertake for him. That’s why I happened to be in the ante-chamber. Neither he nor my lord Gloucester made any move to close the door in spite of the fact that one of Gloucester’s pages was also present. True, the boy was asleep, but-’

It was Timothy’s turn to interrupt. ‘What investigation for Albany?’ he demanded.

The rain had suddenly increased as the wind blew more strongly. I put out an imperative hand and drew Timothy towards the shelter of Saint Margaret’s Chapel. Once inside, in the musty-smelling darkness, I told him the whole story, including the itinerary of my past twenty-four hours in detail. It was a relief to be able to unburden myself to someone I knew well, and he listened intently, only interjecting a question or two here and there where my narrative became a little garbled. Somewhat to my surprise, when I had finished, he made no comment, merely lapsing into a thoughtful silence. Finally, when he did speak, it was on another subject altogether.

‘Tell me,’ he said, ‘do these retainers of the Earl of Mar, who have attached themselves to him, realize that Albany will not now become king?’

I nodded. ‘I’ve told them what I overheard. But the strange thing is that they don’t seem unduly downcast by the news. In fact they shrug it off as though they think I’m mistaken. And odder, still, Albany himself, although very angry about what he sees as betrayal by his English allies, also behaves as though the game’s not played out yet. I find it difficult to understand. I feel he’s planning something, but what it could be, I can’t imagine. I believe he might have made a move already but for this business of Rab Sinclair.’ I shivered as a gust of wind rattled the door behind us and threatened to slam it. I put out a foot to wedge it open. ‘At least he seems to be a man loyal to his friends.’

Again, Timothy said nothing, but I could tell by the quality of the silence that he was thinking hard. But eventually he made no comment except, ‘We’d better get back to bed. We’ll catch our death of cold standing out here.’ He made to move away, then swung round and seized me by the shoulders. ‘Take care, Roger! Take care!’ Then he was gone and the darkness had swallowed him up. I realized that he had still offered no explanation of what he was doing out in the middle of the night, prowling about alone. I felt annoyed that he had prised everything out of me and given away nothing in return. But I suppose that was what made him a good spy.

I went back to bed.