Chapter 21
Chapter
Twenty-One
STIRLING
A s dawn broke a lone horseman emerged from the gate at the bottom of the wall of the castle. He slowly rode down the hill toward the English encampment.
A call went out among the English guards and William Marshal emerged from his tent. Across the encampment beneath a black banner, Blackwood also appeared and strode purposefully toward the edge of the heavily fortified line of English soldiers.
The growing daylight glinted at the steel gray that flecked his beard, once as black as his name and the bloody reputation that went with it. Wakened by one of his guards, there had been only time to don his tabard and grab the sword that gleamed deadly in the new dawn as the lone rider approached.
Blackwood frowned. At a glance, the man carried no sword only the banner of the Scottish king, a banner that would soon be crushed along with the man behind it and the clans that were no more than nomadic tribes in this cold, forbidding place where the mist hid enemies behind every tree and rock.
The rider drew his horse up before Marshal, his expression completely emotionless. But uneasiness was there in the restless movement of the horse as it chewed at the bit and continuously pulled its head against the restraint of the reins.
The horseman, a man of many winters, jerked the reins and immediately brought his restless mount under control. He lowered the reins and wordlessly slipped a gloved hand inside his tunic. The parchment was secured around a scroll with the royal Scottish seal in wax. Just as silent, the rider extended the scroll to William Marshal.
When Blackwood would have drawn his sword, Marshal stayed him with a warning look, then slowly approached the messenger. He nodded in acknowledgement to the rider and took the scrolled parchment.
The rider then spoke. "I am to take your answer to the king."
Marshal looked up at the man. The different inflection, the smoothness on a word unmistakable.
"You're English?" he commented with more than a little surprise.
The rider nodded. "Oxford," was the only reply.
"And you serve the Scottish king?" Blackwood said with disgust, the implication clear--that the man by his very presence was a traitor to the English crown.
There was still no outward sign of emotion, no reaction other than the gaze that angled past Blackwood to Marshal, and the simple request he repeated.
"Your answer, sir."
Marshal broke open the seal and scanned the parchment. His expression shifted from disdain to curiosity, then speculation.
"I agree to meet," he finally replied, still wondering at this unexpected move on the part of the young Scottish king.
"And the terms?" he messenger reminded him.
Marshal glanced briefly at Blackwood, then nodded. His duty was first to his own king, not his war general.
"Agreed."
"By God, I will not agree!" Blackwood exploded angrily. "Unarmed would be like walking into a lion's den!"
"Then you will remain in camp," Marshal informed him. "I have given my word that it will be so. I would remind you that we both serve King Henry, not our own ambitions."
"I have always served the king," Blackwood reminded him. "Countless times in the past--including four years past at the border lands."
"And Calais?" Marshal countered. "That costly campaign that gained nothing, but lost a precious foothold and alliance in Normandy by striking before the other ships arrived. A disaster that cost the crown too much gold in men, weapons, and horses that he could not afford to lose!"
"This is not the same," Blackwood dangerously argued. "We have men and weapons more than enough to take Stirling that is barely defended. The old man they sent as a messenger is proof of their lack of protection."
"That' old man' is English and of an age as yourself. And yet, he give his loyalty to the Scottish King. How many others might there be who serve him?" Marshal slammed is fist down at the table that held the scrolled invitation.
"You will not interfere in this, though I know well your ambitions for lands you have made no secret that you desire through your wife.
"I carry the orders and words of King Henry and will deliver them as he would. Do I make myself clear?"
Infuriated, but not unwise, Blackwood eventually nodded. "But you cannot know if there is treachery in this invitation." He chose his words carefully.
"I would go with you, for your own protection and that of King Henry."
Marshal was no fool. He served the king in such delicate and often dangerous matters. There was a measure of truth in Blackwood's words. The humiliating defeat at the borderlands was proof that the Scots were not easily outmaneuvered or beyond some treachery. And if he failed, they must both answer to their king.
"Well enough," he agreed. "But no weapons. I will not have the Scottish King threatened by a show of weapons.
"I will leave word that if we are not returned by midday that word is to be sent to London that all has failed, and then my men will attack."
Ruari stood at the high wall as riders approached from the English encampment. His gaze narrowed at sight of one of the riders.
Robert DeBrus followed that icy stare.
"Blackwood. The serpent rides with Marshal."
Still his friend said nothing, but continued to stare at the half dozen riders who approached the gates of Stirling castle. If a single long was a weapon, Blackwood would already be dead.
"Our purpose is to avoid a war," he said as a reminder. "Not your personal quest for revenge where all might be lost." Still there was no response, no outward sign that his friend had heard anything he said.
"You must not jeopardize others in this--James, the other clans, innocent families! Do ye hear me?" he demanded.
He needed to make certain Ruari Fraser would not throw away the opportunity to bring this meeting to a peaceful conclusion that all could live with because of what happened at Calais.
"Fraser! If you'll not agree, I'll have the king put ye in irons until this is ended."
"Ye play politics, Robbie," Ruari finally replied, his voice low, contempt barely disguised.
"And ye forget that my kinsmen and more than five hundred Scots are near as we speak.
He wasn't finished. "While murderers, like Blackwood enforce the English king's brutality and would enslave our people. I'll not stand for it, nor would James."
"Politics, aye, if that is what you call it. But there are times ye must think of the many, rather than the few! I know yer feelings and right you are to them for what Blackwood did at Calais, and then left ye for dead." He grabbed Ruari's shoulder. He had to make him understand that there were times when words must prevail over swords.
"This is not personal and ye cannot make it so with so many lives at stake, including James', yer kinsmen, and the clans."
"You trust Marshal to keep his word in these matters?" Ruari demanded again.
Robert DeBrus took a deep breath. The man before him was true Scot no matter the past years or where they had taken him--fierce, experienced in the things that put men against each other, and with the scars to prove it.
Gone was the carefree mask and reckless demeanor that he'd first known, now stripped away, changed. So he told Ruari Fraser needed to hear and he believed to be true.
"King Henry has no appetite, nor gold, for a costly war with Scotland. He prefers his books. He will follow Marshal's counsel in this. If given, I would trust Marshal's assurances that the English will not remain on Scottish soil. But first we must have that assurance."
Ruari made a crude sound. He trusted Robbie but few others beyond those of his blood. He had learned that from James.
"If yer wrong... "
DeBrus cut him off. "Once given, I trust his word!"
"If yer wrong," Ruari repeated, his expression dark with promise. "If he refuses, Marshal will be the first to die."
Robert DeBrus had no doubt who would be the second one to die as riders drew up at the gates, that black banner snapping on an ominous wind.
"Blackwood is not to be trusted."
"I'm no fool, Ruari Fraser."
When Ruari nodded, he added. "You and yer men hold back. I would have this conversation with Marshal and the king. Do I have yer word ye'll not interfere?"
He nodded. 'I'll not interfere." That cat-like gaze narrowed.
"Unless you need me too."
Alexander sat at the massive carved oak wood throne chair that had been his father's throne, and now his.
His choice to remain seated was not lost on those who awaited Marshal. Nor was it lost on King Henry of England's powerful military advisor or the imposing knight, dressed in black battle armor, as they entered the great hall at Stirling castle. Like a great chess game, the pieces lined up in the great hall.
DeBrus knew that much depended on appearances--the appearance that Alexander was no stripling lad who would cower at their presence, his command of the conversation as Marshal and Blackwood arrived with an English army waiting on the slopes below the castle, and on the presence of one that neither expected. Surprise was a powerful weapon when confronting an enemy of greater numbers.
The others seated beside Alexander, no less, played their parts--the queen consort, Joan, Henry's daughter, silent, a reminder that there was much to be lost in a confrontation, and the queen mother, Juliana de Beaumont with her cool demeanor and powerful connections in France, who had confronted Marshal's father, of the same name, twenty years before to free her husband, King William of Scotland, from the Tower prison in London.
Polite, calm, but with the memory of that history between them, King Alexander greeted them, then made formal introductions.
"Archibald Campbell," he gestured to his first guest, and a piece at that imaginary chess board moved.
"But it seems you are well acquainted."
When Campbell would have denied it, Marshal calmly acknowledged the introduction, along with another acknowledgement.
"DeBrus. Our last encounter was... "
"At Calais," Robbie interjected, with no need to say more of the crushing defeat to the English. That roused the attention of the man beside him. When Blackwood would have made a move to speak, Marshal stopped him.
"And the loss of many good men," Marshal replied. "It is with the hope of avoiding just such a situation that King Henry has sent me to Stirling. There are troubling matters that must be discussed, and put an end to."
Marshal was making a defensive move rather than the offensive one he had hoped for. The Scottish king was young, but he was not rash, nor was he foolish. In a surprise move, he had sent an invitation to meet, and now received them as if they were politely discussing recent events with no apparent concern that a sizeable English army stood at the gates of Stirling.
He had expected uneasiness, perhaps even weakness, then easy capitulation for it was no secret that the young Scottish king was untried in such matters, and inexperience could be a valuable weapon in the right hands. And there was the connection to Henry himself through the marriage of his daughter to the young king--an alliance any man would be a fool to risk when there might be greater advantages at stake. But he sensed no fear, no uncertainty in the young man seated before him.
"Indeed," Alexander replied. "Troubling matters that must be settled, but surely there is no need to such a show of force as my people see on the hillside below." Alexander's expression was emotionless.
"One might think that your king, in sending both his most trusted advisor and his war general," he didn't use Henry's name, but chose to refer to him as he would any other enemy at the gate.
"Means harm to the Scottish people."
When Blackwood again would spoke, Marshal stayed him with a look.
"No harm may be necessary," Marshal replied in carefully chosen words. "If an accord may be reached that is acceptable to all."
Acceptable , by force if necessary Ruari thought, from the alcove where he, the handful of men and two royal guards, watched and listened as DeBrus had asked of him.
Words, with different meanings, depending on who was speaking them. Years before he had learned a hard lesson about words--easily spoken, then used for a man's own purposes, no matter the cost to another.
He knew Blackwood from the battle at Calais, and others who knew of the man. Brutal, they said, with no thought for another whether it was an enemy or his own men. And no honor. Only the greed for power and wealth.
Very much like Campbell, who saw something to be gained from other men's misfortunes; or that of a monk with his twisted morality who willingly sacrificed those innocent in his care, and then absolved himself of any guilt through confession of his sins.
Two sides of the same coin, in the two men? One not unlike the other, in the sacrifices they were willing to take for their own purpose.
He had sent the one to hell with no regret even all these years later and what it had cost him in the loss of family and home those years he was forced into exile.
The other, he would gladly send the same way if it came to that. Even now as he watched Blackwood from the shadows of the alcove, his left arm tingled with the need to hold a sword and cut the man down. But he did not.
Unless it became necessary to protect the king and the royal family.
"Let us speak then," Alexander told his guests. "But first, some wine... after your long journey," he added, and gave a signal to one of the servants who led several servants with goblets and carafes of wine.
From where he stood in the shadows, Ruari saw the subtle move Juliana made, the hand that fanned herself against some discomfort, then the direct look she made in his direction before suddenly standing.
Marshal immediately inclined his head toward in her a show of respect. Blackwood, however, simply glanced at her then glanced away dismissively. A faint smile curved Juliana's lips. She made a gesture and rolled her eyes, as if everything was too boring for her, and Ruari's interest immediately sharpened.
In all their time in France, he had never known her to be disinterested in anything at court. She had once told him that it was in what was not said that told one everything they needed to know when men of power gathered.
"Watch their eyes ," she once said with more than a little experience in such things.
"You will always be able to see when they lie and cover up, or when they have been exposed for that lie. And then they begin to smell. Tis the fear that grows and causes the skin to lose color and dampen. It is true in those at court. You have seen it in battle, yes?"
He had seen it, more than once. It was said that a coward died many deaths, but a brave man died but once. Like the monk, Blackwood had many deaths before him.
"Come my dear," Julian said to the young queen consort. "These are tedious matters, and Campbell has promised to escort us about the courtyard." She turned then to meet Campbell's stunned gaze.
"Dear Archibald, you have not forgotten?"
Campbell glanced from Juliana to the young king. "Your grace... "
"Yes, of course," Alexander told him, rising in Ruari's opinion of him by several notches.
"I would trust no other with the queen mother and my wife, Campbell."
His meaning was unmistakable. There would be no further conversation about Campbell remaining for the discussions that were to follow.
"Come along then, Campbell," Juliana added with a gracious smile. Honey fairly dripped from her lips.
A smile curved Ruari's mouth. Sly like a fox she had called him. Who was the fox now, he wondered, as he watched them leave the great hall, a frown on Campbell's face as Juliana chatted away as if the most interesting thing for her lay in the gallery beyond, a sly smile at her face as she glanced back once over her shoulder, then led him from the main hall--like a sheep to the slaughter.
Goblets had been refilled and a platter of fresh fruits brought from the kitchens.
"Let us speak as honest men, your majesty," Marshal began from where he sat at the chair across from the king. He had laid aside his sword in a gesture meant to set aside any uneasiness or hostility.
DeBrus sat at the king's right, while Marshal sat across from them both. Beside Marshal, his long legs sprawled before him in a deceptively casual manner with the light from a half dozen large candles glittering off the sword at his side, sat Blackwood with four of his warriors standing against the near wall. Not a threat, Ruari thought, but a silent warning to any who might challenge him, including King Alexander.
Arrogant, dangerous.
Ruari had seen it all before on that day at Calais, the willingness to sacrifice anything or anyone, that stood in his way. Now he watched the man from the distance across the great hall. If not for Marshal, he was certain that Blackwood would already have ordered the attack on Stirling, no matter that it would have sent hundreds to their deaths. Fortunately, Marsh was there, a caution against Blackwood's anger and ambitions.
What were those ambitions for a man already supposedly wealthy in English lands, perhaps second only to the man who sat on the English throne? The promise of gold, more lands if he could bring the Scots to heel?
Listen, watch, learn, Juliana de Beaumont, had said. He listened, watched, and learned.
"King Henry is most concerned with incursions into England," Marshal began.
"Raids!" Blackwood interjected. "Butchering, murdering innocent men, women and children!"
As the English had been butchering and murdering innocent Scots, Ruari thought, and wondered what the young king's reply would be--denial, or some other response.
"I have heard this," he began thoughtfully. "Those on both sides suffering in these things."
"It cannot stand," Marshal replied, and then appealed to the young king's youth and inexperience perhaps in such matters.
"Too many deaths, people driven from their lands, children left without fathers, starving, women who have lost husbands, loved ones, with winter coming.
"The king is most distressed at these things."
Alexander nodded. "So distressed that he sends his trusted counselor and war general to discuss these matters."
Ruari glanced from one to the other, and wondered what Marshal's reply for such a show of force might be.
"For protection," Marshal replied. "So that others are not lost and to reassure your people that this lawlessness will not come to their doorsteps."
Ruari glanced at DeBrus where he was seated beside Alexander. He did not, could not believe such twisted logic. Yet, perhaps an indication of DeBrus' cooler logic, his expression was unchanged, unreadable.
"And to present a remedy to such things so that our peoples may live in safety and harmony," Marshal suggested, moving an invisible chess piece across that board in a move that was both risky and challenging.
Alexander nodded, a simple gesture, but Ruari saw the slight shift of his shoulders and the subtle change of expression.
"By all means," he said. "A suggestion... Peace and harmony as my father sought throughout his reign."
Countermove. It was simply spoken and to any others it might have seemed as no more than a comment about King William's reign over the Scottish people. But Ruari sensed more in the simply spoken words.
Marshal leaned forward in his chair, hands spread before him at the great table, a gesture that was both conciliatory, and at the same time a warning?
"King Henry has pledged himself to the protection of the Scottish people. He has spoken of this to me, and with that pledge the need for unification, one people joined together in peace and prosperity. We are hindered by borders, yet we speak a common language and worship the same God. A joining of our peoples to bring peace."
"Unification, joining" Alexander repeated. "And how would your king propose this unification?"
The change was subtle, the change from speaking of Henry of England by name as before, and now as the English king .
"The joining of the Scottish people with English peoples, united, one land, one God... "
Ruari heard the change in Marshal's voice, the subtle inflection, the way the tone changed, the force gone and now the tone of wisdom and care. The man was a born politician.
"King Henry," Marshal added. "With yourself as Royal Counsel for the people of Scotland."
Ruari's gaze narrowed on the young king. It was an affront to be sure. One king--Henry of England-- over all of both England and Scotland with Alexander made Royal Counsel?
A bone, already stripped bare, offered by the hound that nipped at Henry's heels?
It would never stand. Ruari knew it, and he saw by the expression at his--the slight tightening of his mouth in the beard at his face, that Alexander knew it as well.
He nodded. "And what of the English garrisons and soldiers who raid our villages?" Alexander asked.
"With such an agreement, there would no longer be need for them."
"The garrisons remain!" Blackwood spoke for the first time, leaning forward in his chair.
Marshal angled him a cautionary glance.
"The garrisons protect the people," he explained, attempting to diffuse Blackwood's response.
"No less than your own ancestors when they first claimed this land, and will keep you and your families safe."
"Safe," Alexander replied thoughtfully. "I am safe now by my own people. Surely there would be nothing to fear."
"Not as long as your people abide!" Blackwood interjected.
"Abide--an interesting word," the young king replied. "We already abide , by laws that my father set in place after he was allowed to return home from imprisonment by the English king.
The cautious air within the hall suddenly chilled.
"Imprisoned for actions against the crown," Marshal reminded everyone at the table.
"Imprisoned for protecting our people," Alexander pointed out, still calm but there was an edge in his voice, to make certain the point was taken.
Ruari's gaze narrowed as he watched the king. Another move at the chessboard. And it was becoming more and more apparent that the young king was not about capitulation. Not at this point in the game--a game it was now obvious both intended to win.
Marshal's manner changed, became conciliatory.
"There have perhaps been mistakes made on both sides, we might agree, but now is not the time to air old grievances, but to move forward in what is best for all."
His choice of words was not lost on Ruari, or Alexander--what was best for all . What was best for King Henry of England.
"Old grievances?" Alexander asked. "Those years are not forgotten, sir.
"My mother was forced to seek refuge in France when my father was imprisoned. Our people were subjected to unspeakable brutality and taxation that forced most to the point of starvation.
"I remember the faces of children of my own age, with no fathers because they had been taken prisoner for merely trying to feed their families. I remember sheep and that might have fed them either stolen by the English or slaughtered in fields to prevent them from my people. I remember my sister raped by an English overlord, because it was his ' right '.
"These," he emphasized now standing, "are what I remember my people have endured under English protection , sir. What do you now offer for such unification? Protection? I think my people cannot survive such protection !"
When Marsh also stood and would have spoken, Alexander continued.
"What you offer, sir, I cannot accept."
Blackwood was on his feet now, his hand at his sword, his guard coming away from the wall there they had silently stood.
"You will accept!" Blackwood exclaimed.
Ruari had enough of hiding in shadows.
"Do you threaten the king?" He challenged, emerging from the alcove, a dangerous smile at his lips, the hand that he learned to use with the skill of his other hand, wrapped around the shaft of the claymore.