‘Dinna come here again Bethia. I’ll not leave my fellows; we’re in this to the end, whatever may happen. Look around, they will not easily dislodge us.’
A crow circles above them, a black witch cawing. She looks out upon the courtyard, no doubt once well kept. It’s ankle deep in muck from rain, animal excreta and probably human too. A couple of rats are leaping across it.
She points to them. ‘If the stocks of food run low, you’ll not starve.’
Will rolls his eyes. ‘Don’t be so stupid.’
She shrugs. Even this high above, the stench scratches at the throat. Clearly they have no servants, or at least none willing to clean up. A man is capering over the muck trailing red satin and bowing low, his fellows chortling as he sweeps the cardinal’s hat from his head. She cannot imagine Cardinal Beaton, in all his grandeur, travelling with his own bed with its trap to let fresh air in, living amidst this stinking midden.
She wants to scream at Will for his foolishness but instead says, ‘you Castilians must take charge of cleaning this place, or else you’ll have pestilence among you.’
He tugs on his scraggly beard in a gesture reminiscent of Father.
‘You already have sickness, don’t you?’
‘Only a couple of our lads, it is nothing, something they ate.’
‘Well, I hope it wasn’t the fish I saw rotting in the stanks while I was waiting and waiting for you yon day in the gardens.’
‘Do ye think we’re fools?’ he shouts, but she can see from the way his eyes shift that she is not so wide of the mark.
He takes a breath and speaks quietly although his lips are drawn tight across his teeth. ‘We are low on supplies now we cannot move so freely around the countryside, but we expect some to arrive any day.’ He humphs. ‘And, anyway, you know I hate fish.’
She refuses to be distracted. ‘Oh Will, have the English been here? If Henry has sent a delegation, you’ll have caught something from them; they say the sweating sickness is bad in England this summer. Please come home and we’ll look after you.’
‘Enough Bethia!’ He pauses. ‘Come and meet the Regent’s son, he’s a good lad.’
She knows he’s trying to distract her but she’s curious. ‘You’ve spoken with him?’
‘Of course. He’s given us his surety he’ll not try to escape, so we let him roam freely within the castle.’
‘It’s as well you have his bond, for his father is finally come and there are plans afoot.’
‘I am sure there are.’ He takes her by the arm as they walk, ‘what can you tell me about the Regent’s preparations; how does he plan to break the siege?’
She hesitates, one foot on the stairs, not sure she wants Will to know how little activity there has been so far. She runs down the turnpike to give herself time to form a reply.
‘This way,’ he points. The corridor is lined with fine paintings and she wants to stop and look, but Will has her by the arm again and is waiting for an answer.
‘Troops are arriving all the time and he has huge cannon – but I am not in the Regent’s confidence.’
This is a slight exaggeration, some troops have come, though Father says there is much havering amongst the Regent’s supporters and little action, but she won’t tell Will that. He’ll never leave if he knows how chaotic the siege-breakers are; and how reluctant.
He screws up his face. ‘You’re only a girl, what would you know anyway.’
She glares at him. They’re outside a heavy oak door, the wood badly scorched along its base. He knocks and enters. The boy sitting by the fire rises and smiles when he sees who it is.
‘My Lord, this is my sister, Mistress Bethia.’
She smiles in response and makes her curtsey, and the young lord bows in return. There is a weary sadness about him, and she wants to give him a hug – just as she would if he were John.
‘Is that a chess set I see?’ she asks, nodding to the board.
‘Aye, do you play?’
‘Yes I do. I often beat my youngest brother.’
Young Arran grins. ‘Unfortunately it’s not a game this brother loves.’
‘No, he’s more the man of action.’ She can see, out of the corner of her eye, that Will has puffed his chest out. At least she’s said one thing today to please him.
‘Play with me, my lady, if you will.’
He looks at her, appealing from under his fair brows and, even though she wants to get home, she agrees. It may be better anyway to wait and leave under cover of darkness, there will be less chance of being seen – although greater chance of being attacked.
‘I will be happy to oblige you.’
‘There’s a chess game in the gardens,’ he says as he pulls up stools to the small table where the board sits. ‘We used it regularly. It was fun to play with giant pieces. But I cannot go there now.’
‘Oh yes, I noticed it the other day, while I was waiting…’ She glances at Will, but he’s suddenly absorbed in studying the arras tapestry of unicorns and knights.
‘Are you really expecting England to send supplies?’ she asks later as Will walks her along a passageway, lit only by the fading dusk.
He rubs his head. ‘So we have been told.’
‘You think that wily old king, who’s beheaded two wives and disposed of two more that he judged unsatisfactory, cares whether you starve?’
‘You don’t know anything about it.’
She shakes her head. ‘He wants something, doesn’t he? What do you have to give him in return?’
‘We haven’t got anything he’d want,’ says Will tugging on his beard.
‘It’s that laddie.’ She knows from the way he won’t meet her eyes that she’s right. ‘He wants you to give him that innocent wee laddie who’s trapped here only because he’s Regent Arran’s son.’
‘He’s no so young as he looks, and no so innocent either. He’s next in line to the throne, after all.‘
‘That’s not his fault. He is an innocent. How can he help the frailty of infants should Queen Mary die, and that he is his father’s son?’
‘The sins of the father,’ says Will.
She restrains herself from whacking his arm. ‘Get me out of here. I’m ashamed to call you brother.’
They are half-walking, half-running towards the garden gate when she remembers. ‘Young Arran isn’t second in line to the throne, not anymore.’
‘What are you blethering about, of course he is – the Regent Arran is next in line and then James, as his eldest son.’
‘You haven’t heard.’
‘I’m shut up in this mouldering castle, how would I hear anything? I’m almost as much a prisoner as James Hamilton.’
‘At least you’re free to leave.’
‘Aye, right.’ Will stops and takes a deep breath. ‘There must always be sacrifices for a true cause. I will never leave my fellows.’
He evidently thinks he’s in some Chaucer’s tale of brave knights. ‘So you’ve mentioned, several times,’ she says, her voice dry as well-seasoned hay.
‘What’s the information you have about the Regent’s son?’ he demands.
Now they are by a narrow gate, leading to the castle gardens, but the stout iron yett is closed. Next to it a young man stands guard, long pike in hand.
‘Oh, you do have some guards,’ she says.
‘Don’t be so daft, of course we do.’
‘I thought everyone here was too important to take a turn at the common work.’
She can see he’s ready to shake her, if they didn’t have a witness. She doesn’t know why she keeps provoking him, it won’t achieve anything except his further estrangement, but she can’t seem to stop herself.
She grabs his sleeve. ‘Arran’s son is no longer second in line to the throne.’