“What’s he got against King James?” asked Carey after a moment.
“The Earl?” Jock laughed shortly. “I think he had a similar problem wi’ the King to yours. Only he took it harder.”
“And what are his plans if he captures the King?”
“Och, I think it’s the Earl of Bothwell for Lord Chancellor and Chamberlain, and Chancellor Robert Melville and his brother for the block. After that…” Jock shrugged as far as he could. “I dinna think he knows himself.”
“Do you think he will-capture the King, I mean?”
Jock looked at him thoughtfully. “Why? What do ye care?”
“Curious. Come on now, I can hardly warn his perverted Majesty from here, can I?”
“I think he’s got a verra good chance of it, with us and with…” Jock shook his head, “…with his other advantages.”
An inside job, thought Carey instantly, there are men at the Scottish Court who will help the Earl. Lord above, what am I supposed to do about this? What can I do?
“And of course there are the horses,” said Carey, pursuing a line he had started earlier.
“Ay, ye mentioned them. What horses?”
“Falkland Palace is a hunting lodge. I’ve been there, the stables are enormous.”
“Oh ay?” Jock was pretending indifference, but Carey knew how passionate the Borderers were for horseflesh.
“The King keeps most of his horses there so they’re ready for him to ride when he takes a fancy to go hunting.”
“What are they like then?”
“Well,” said Carey consideringly, “Caspar wouldn’t stand out among them.”
“No?” Jock didn’t believe him.
Carey shook his head. “King James is very particular about his mounts and he has them brought in from France by sea. They’re the best horses in Scotland, and perhaps even England too.”
“Oh?” Jock was struggling with himself internally. Pride lost and curiosity won out. “How many are there?”
“About six hundred.”
“What?”
“It could be more.”
“What’s the King want with 600 horses?”
“Not all of them are his, a lot belong to the people at Court. But that’s the nearest number, I’d say.”
“Jesus,” said Jock, and Carey could almost see the thoughts whirling past each other in his brain. Clearly Bothwell had neglected to mention the living treasure trove at Falkland: far more valuable than gold to Borderers, because horses could run. Jock coughed and shifted his legs a little. “Would ye happen to know if they’re heavily guarded?”
“Not very heavily.”
Jock was suspicious again. “Why not? Are they hobbled?”
“No, they’re not hobbled. In fact, during the summer most of them are out in the horse paddocks round about the Palace.”
“Not inside a barnekin?”
“There’d be no room for a herd that size.”
“Why aren’t they guarded?”
“Jock,” said Carey sadly, “you wouldn’t understand if I tried to explain to you what a law-abiding country is like, so I won’t try. They’re not guarded because no one thereabouts is likely to steal them.”
Jock snorted disbelievingly.
“Does Bothwell know about these horses?”
“Of course he does, he’s been at Court, same as I have. I expect he didn’t want you distracted from King James.”
“No,” said Jock, a little uncertainly, “he’s nothing to worry about anyway. We’re going to reive the King out from under the noses of his bad counsellors.”
“Of course,” said Carey, “and I know you don’t care about a charge of High Treason…”
Jock’s eyes narrowed.
“Well, that’s what it is, isn’t it?” said Carey, “You live on the Scottish side of the line. If you go out in arms against the King, it’s High Treason.”
“We’re rescuing him from bad counsellors,” insisted Jock.
“He’s agreed to be rescued, has he? Rescued by Bothwell, I mean, whom he hates because he thinks the Earl’s King of the Scottish Witches. He knows all about this scheme, does he?”
“Are ye trying to turn me against the raid?”
Carey leaned forward. “Listen Jock,” he said, making sure he stayed out of head-butting distance, “I don’t give a turd what you do. If you want to make an enemy of the King-who has a very long memory, by the way, and has been kidnapped before-that’s entirely your affair. If the raid goes wrong somehow, and the King comes out to Jedburgh with blood in his eye and an army behind him to hunt down the Grahams and wipe them off the face of the earth, that’s nothing but good news to me, alive or dead. If you want to pass up the chance of reiving 600 of the best horses in Scotland in favour of Bothwell’s lunatic scheme, I’m not the one to stop you. I just hate to see a man put his head in a noose without knowing the full story.”
Jock grunted. There was silence from him, so Carey made another circuit of the parapet. Below he could see smoke and flames licking from near the door. He took the bow from his shoulder, nocked an arrow and waited. Sure enough, six men holding bucklers over their heads appeared from one of the sheds nearby with a battering ram between them, and charged at the door. He shot off four arrows, but they bounced off the shields and after two attempts there was a splintering crash and a chorus of cheers as the door finally gave way.
He went back to Jock, who was staring into space, looking very thoughtful.
“They’re into the tower,” said Carey. Jock said nothing. Thuds and bangs and a screech of metal below, feet pounding up the stairs, another outburst of clanging and crashing.
In his mind’s eye Carey could see the scene one floor below. They’d have released Alison Graham and yes, there was wailing and Wattie yelling threats up through the trapdoor.
He’d been calm before, talking to Jock to keep his mind off what was happening. Now his mouth was dry again and his stomach clenched into a knot. He was no longer hungry.
“Carey,” said Jock.
“Hm?” His eye had caught movement over on the hills to the east, a glitter of spears, movement of men. Had the Grahams brought in more of their men to help retake Netherby?
“Do ye think the Earl knew what happened with Sweetmilk?”
Carey shrugged. “I’ve no idea. He might, he might not. Whichever it is, he won’t have told you, you know that.”
Jock nodded.
“Would ye agree to be ransomed?”
“I thought you said there’d be no chance…”
“I’ll pledge for ye. Well?”
Carey laughed, a little desperately. “I’ve never been ransomed before, but yes.”
“He’ll likely chain ye up in the dungeon until your family’s paid up. It’s no’ a very nice place.”
Carey licked his lips. The whole thing was a disaster. Then he shrugged. “Better than hanging though.”
“Untie me then,” said Jock. Carey hesitated. “Come on, man, ye havena got all day.”
Men with bucklers over their head were trotting in and out of the tower carrying turves and faggots of wood.
Carey undid the ropes holding Jock to the beacon post, but left his hands strapped behind him. He drew his dagger and put it to Jock’s neck, then let Jock go over to the trapdoor.
“Bothwell,” yelled Jock. There was a pause in the activity below.
“Ye’re still alive,” said the Earl’s voice.
“Ay, of course I’m still alive, if I was dead, I wouldna be speaking to ye, now would I?” snarled Jock.
“What a diplomat,” muttered Carey.
“Shut up, ye. Bothwell.”
“What do you want, Jock?”
“The Deputy Warden will surrender himself to me if ye’ll ransom him after the raid and he’ll not talk about it after.” Jock glowered at Carey, daring him to disagree. Carey felt his shoulders sag, but nodded.
“How much?”
“A thousand pounds, English.”
“No.”
“And why the hell not?”
“I’ll have him in half an hour anyway, why should I negotiate? You’re getting soft, Jock.”