He reverted to English. ‘He’s in the castle dungeons, you say?’ Donald nodded. ‘And likely to be brought to trial?’ Another nod. ‘How did you learn this?’
‘From one of the lay brothers here. It’s common knowledge.’ The squire, taking his cue from his master, also lapsed into language I was able to comprehend.
‘Do you know any details of the murder? Does Master Sinclair protest his innocence?’
The squire shook his head. ‘No. Quite the contrary. Apparently he admits openly to the crime, but claims it was done in self-defence.’
Albany drew in his breath.
‘Let me understand this properly,’ he said, his fingers plucking restlessly at the hem of the sheet. ‘Rab Sinclair confesses to stabbing his wife — his unarmed wife — but says it was done in self-defence? This informant of yours, this lay brother, is sure of his facts?’
‘He swears to it. It only happened the day before yesterday, on Monday afternoon. Master Sinclair made no effort to escape and was arrested almost at once with the knife still in his hand.’
The duke swung his legs out of bed and demanded his bed-gown.
‘I must see my Cousin Gloucester,’ he said. ‘I must find out if my uncles and the Council mean to open negotiations with us or whether they intend to make us lay siege to the city. If the latter, it might be weeks before we are inside the walls, and by then Rab could well have been hanged.’
He hunched himself into the furred velvet gown that Donald fetched for him and disappeared through the bedchamber door. The squire made no move to follow him, so I seized my opportunity to ask questions in my turn. Whether or not I would receive any answers was another matter.
‘I’ve gathered the gist of the story,’ I said. ‘But who is this Master Sinclair?’
Donald looked round at me in surprise, as though he had forgotten my existence, or, more likely, been unaware of it so anxious had he been to impart his information to Albany.
‘Oh, it’s you, is it? Of course! I should have thought. You’re still guarding His Grace.’
The words could have had a sting to them, but somehow they didn’t. They were uttered in a flat, dry tone that was almost one of indifference.
‘Yes, I’m still here,’ I snapped back, ‘although what good I’m doing continues to be a mystery to me. I’m hoping that once my lord and the rest of you are safely inside the city, I shall be allowed to return to my home. Now that King James is a prisoner of his nobles, surely there can be no impediment to the duke assuming the crown?’
The squire laughed. ‘I wouldn’t be too certain of that, chapman. No Scot worth his salt is going to let himself be manipulated, or have his king chosen for him by a Sassenach. Your countrymen have tried it before, several times during the course of the centuries, and, eventually, have always been worsted at their own game. No; if anything, I would guess that my lord’s chances of the crown are slimmer now than they would have been had King James and his army been beaten fairly and squarely in battle.’
‘Then-’
‘Oh, have no fear! His Grace will take his own measures to ensure his coronation.’ And again, Donald Seton laughed.
‘What are they?’ I demanded.
The squire raised his eyebrows. ‘Do you really think he confides in me?’
I had to admit to myself that it seemed unlikely, but the man had spoken with such authority that my suspicions were aroused. Moreover, his words echoed something that Albany himself had once said to me. But I decided to let the matter drop, knowing that even if I pursued it, I should get no satisfaction. I returned instead to my original question.
‘Who is this Master Sinclair who is in the castle dungeons on a charge of murdering his wife?’
My companion hesitated for a second, then shrugged.
‘No reason why you shouldn’t be told, I suppose. Master Sinclair is a close friend of the duke and was one of my lord’s most faithful servants before he — my lord, that is — was forced to flee the country after the murder of my former master.’
‘The Earl of Mar?’ I queried, and he nodded. ‘Then why,’ I went on, ‘did this most faithful servant not join you, Davey and the others when you escaped to France to offer your services to my lord Albany?’
Donald snorted. ‘What a damnably curious, long-nosed fellow you are.’
‘So people tell me,’ I answered coolly. ‘Nevertheless, I should like an answer.’
The squire hunched a shoulder. ‘Well, for one thing, he had no notice of our intention. We kept that a secret between the five of us. We had no wish to be arrested and executed on a charge of high treason or, more likely, clapped in the dungeons of Craigmillar Castle and murdered like poor Mar. And for another thing, Master Sinclair is — or rather was — a married man who doted on his young wife. I doubt very much he’d have left her, even for my lord’s sake.’
‘And yet now he’s killed her without, it would seem, any provocation on her part?’
The squire frowned. ‘According to my source of information-’
‘The lay brother.’
‘The lay brother, yes. According to him, Master Sinclair is pleading self-defence.’
‘Strange …’ A thought occurred to me. ‘Is this man the one my lord was referring to when speaking to Earl Rivers yesterday? The one whose distant kinsman built the chapel at … oh, I forget the name.’
‘Roslin. Yes, this is the man.’ Donald’s tone was suddenly curt, as though he had had enough of my questioning, and he made for the bedchamber door, no doubt feeling that only by his absence could he stem the flow of my insatiable curiosity.
And there is no doubt, either, that he was right. Unfortunately for him, he nearly collided with Albany in the doorway as the duke came back into the room, an expression of dissatisfaction marring his handsome looks. The squire’s retreat was necessarily checked.
‘What news, my lord? Good or bad?’
Albany shed his bed-gown and chewed a thumbnail for a moment or so before replying.
‘I’m not sure. The arrival of a messenger from my uncles and other members of the Council coincided with my own. Indeed, he was shown into Gloucester’s bedchamber a second or so before I was.’
‘And, my lord?’ Donald prompted when the duke broke off, staring absent-mindedly into space.
‘What?’ The duke gave a start as if recalled from a long way away. ‘Oh, yes. The Council is offering to negotiate. I gather that a part, at least, of the Princess Cicely’s dowry is on offer, to be repaid immediately, with a promise of further instalments later on.’ He chewed his nail again. ‘There will be no siege, no conquest. My Cousin Gloucester, together with certain chosen lords — myself included, naturally — will be admitted peacefully to the city tomorrow morning to be received in state at the castle, where we shall be housed. The English army will remain encamped in the valley, to be victualled at the Scots’ expense until such time as they withdraw from Scottish soil. Gloucester has agreed, of course. He’d be a fool not to.’
Albany again appeared to be distracted by his own thoughts, and this time it was my turn to recall him to himself.
‘But surely, this is no bad thing, my lord. Negotiations are better any day than the death and destruction of war. Think how many lives will be saved.’
For my own part, I could scarcely conceal my relief and joy that the end of this madcap adventure must now be in sight. A week, perhaps less, could well see me on the long road home in the wake of the retreating English army.
I wasn’t certain that the duke had been attending to my words, but he suddenly spun round to face me, his eyes narrowing.
‘And where do you think these negotiations will leave me, Roger? Not crowned king of Scotland, you may be sure. I shall be one of the bargaining counters. Let me guess. On behalf of King Edward, Cousin Gloucester will not press my claim to the throne, while the Council, acting in my brother’s name, will leave Berwick to its fate, allowing it to become once again an English town, one of the main aims of this expedition. I am no longer necessary to your countrymen, you see.’