‘You are welcome, Englishman.’ The voice was low, devoid of any accent.
Matthias got to his feet. James III of Scotland was of medium height. His red hair was hidden under a black velvet cap that was decorated by a huge gleaming amethyst. The King’s face was covered in freckles, his moustache and beard were straggly. He had watery blue eyes, a loose-lipped mouth, from which his tongue kept flickering out to one side as if to lick an open sore. A weak man, Matthias thought, frightened of Douglas.
‘You are most welcome.’
The King tried to sound courteous and calm but Matthias sensed his tension. James studied Matthias as if he hoped to glimpse something else.
‘So, you are Fitzosbert, an English clerk?’
‘Yes, Your Grace.’
‘And do you have secret powers?’ The King was staring open-eyed as if Matthias might sprout wings and fly round the chamber.
‘I think he has, Your Grace,’ Douglas gruffly interrupted. ‘And, knowing Your Grace’s interest in such matters, I thought it best to bring him to you.’
‘Yes, yes, quite.’ James waved his hand. ‘You, my Lord of Douglas, will retire.’
‘Your Grace, I’d best stay with you.’
‘Ach, tush man!’ James’s voice became plaintive. ‘The man’s not armed and I’ve always been told,’ James’s eyes became mean, his mouth twisted into a vicious smile, ‘that it will be a Scot who kills me.’ He pushed his head forward. ‘You are not Scots, are you, Fitzosbert?’
‘I am of English stock, sire.’
Matthias was glad to see Douglas, the author of his present troubles, so summarily dismissed.
‘Come now, come on.’ James clapped his hands like a child, his voice growing high and plaintive. ‘My Lord of Douglas, I am not your prisoner.’
‘I shall stay outside, sire.’ Douglas deliberately turned his back on the King as a gesture of contempt.
The King looked over Matthias’ shoulder, waiting until the door was closed. He then grasped him by the arm and pushed him to sit in front of the fire.
‘Sit there, man.’ The King went to a small table where he poured two goblets of wine. He gave one to Matthias and sat down beside him. ‘I know what you are thinking, Englishman, but, God be my witness, I trust nobody. I pour my own wine. I even cook my own food. I trust none of them, not even my own son.’ The King sipped at his wine. ‘My queen’s dead. My boy hates me. As for those nobles,’ the King started to cry, to Matthias’ astonishment, the tears rolling down his cheeks, ‘I had a great friend, young Cochrane, but they hanged him. Throttled him with a silken cord! Now they want to hang me.’ He wiped the tears from his cheeks. ‘Douglas is a leading wolf of the pack, busy on his raid into England, wasn’t he? Och aye.’ The King nodded. ‘I’ve heard all about that. Went to collect gunpowder, did he? Now he comes trotting into my presence with an Englishman. Do you, Fitzosbert, have magical powers?’
‘No, Your Grace, I do not!’
‘Not a bit?’ The King held up a little finger.
‘No, sire, I am a clerk, a scholar of Oxford. I was at Barnwick-’
‘Tush, man, I don’t want to know your life.’ The King waved a hand. ‘I ask you again.’ He put his cup down on the floor and drew a long Italian stiletto from the sleeve of his gown.
Matthias froze as this madcap king pricked his neck, just beneath his left ear.
‘You are telling me you have no powers? None whatsoever?’ He leant closer. ‘I have a mirror, you know,’ James whispered. ‘And if a Black Mass is offered in the room, and you say the Lord’s Prayer backwards, you can see the future. Can’t you tell me the future, Matthias Fitzosbert?’
‘I know two things, sire,’ Matthias replied, not daring to move his head.
‘About the future?’
‘Yes, sire.’
‘So, you do have powers?’
‘I can tell you two things from the future,’ Matthias repeated. ‘You are going to die and so am I.’
The King stared unbelievingly at him, then he giggled like some old maid, fingers over his mouth. He dropped his hand, the dagger disappeared back up the sleeve of his gown. James struck Matthias gently on the shoulder.
‘You answered well, Englishman.’ His smile faded. ‘If you had replied any different, I’d have hanged you.’
Matthias let out a deep sigh.
‘So, you say you are a clerk?’
Matthias answered his questions and realised that, beneath the madness, James was weak and suspicious, with a deep interest in the sciences, particularly the work of bookbinders and parchment-makers.
They sat and chatted for a while. Matthias didn’t really understand if the King was genuinely interested or just wanted to make Douglas kick his heels for as long as possible. An hour passed. James turned the conversation to Barnwick. When Matthias mentioned the haunting of the north tower and Douglas’ destruction of it, the King beat a fist against his spindly thighs.
‘He shouldn’t have done that! He shouldn’t have done that! I would have liked to have visited such a place.’ James leant closer. ‘They say this abbey is haunted,’ he whispered, ‘by a monk who didn’t say his Mass properly. I have spent many a night sitting on my arse in that cold place but I’ve glimpsed nothing but moonbeams and rats. What hour is it?’
‘Sire, I don’t know. It must be late in the afternoon.’
‘Is it now, is it now?’ the King murmured, his fingers to his lips. ‘I must go to the abbey and say my prayers.’ He glanced slyly at Matthias. ‘I’ve still got Cochrane’s body here, you know,’ James declared, referring to his dead favourite. ‘I had him embalmed and laid out in a splendid coffer. I hear Mass, then I talk to Cochrane about all of my troubles. I’ll ask him about you. I know he’ll agree I shouldn’t hang you. You don’t like the Douglas, do you?’ James grasped Matthias’ wrist. ‘So you can stay with me.’
The King got to his feet, tossing the rest of his wine on to the fire. He walked to the door and threw it open.
‘Ah, Douglas, I didn’t think you’d wait, man.’
Lord George came into the room, biting his lip in anger. He was followed by the captain of the guard.
‘Take this Englishman.’ The King pointed to Matthias. ‘No, I don’t want him hanged. Give him a chamber here in the household. He’ll have three marks a month and fresh robes at Easter. He can eat at the royal board. I’ve got to go to church now.’
The King went to leave but paused in the doorway.
‘Oh, Douglas, the plunder from Barnwick: I’m your king so, by law and ancient custom, I’ll have half of it.’
Douglas bowed stiffly from the waist but the King had already left, shouting at his guards to follow.
The royal officer led Matthias and Douglas out of the King’s chambers and up some stairways. Matthias was shown into a small, white-washed room. The captain of the guard gestured round.
‘This is yours, Englishman.’ He grasped Matthias by the shoulder. ‘I’ll get servants to bring sheets and blankets for the bed. I’ll also give you some advice, lad. Never anger the King. Never contradict him. If you do,’ he snapped his fingers, ‘as sure as my name’s Archibald Kennedy, he’ll have you hanged!’
The captain left. Douglas closed the door and leant on it.
‘So, what do you think of our king?’
Matthias sat down on a stool and stretched his legs. He felt weak after such a fraught meeting.
‘A most gracious prince, my lord.’
‘Spare me your sarcasm, Englishman. The man’s as mad as a moonstruck hare. You know he’ll kill you?’
‘My life is in God’s hands, my lord.’
‘He’ll kill you.’ Douglas played with the hilt of his dagger. ‘One day he’ll remember how you were brought into the royal presence by one of the hated Douglases and you’ll die.’
‘So, why did you bring me here?’
‘Well, Englishman, if the King doesn’t kill you, I will.’
Matthias stared at this wolf amongst men.
‘Or else what, my lord?’
‘Well. .’ Douglas opened the door and glanced down the gallery.
‘Well, my lord? I am sure there must be something else.’