Belly packed tight with a hot pottage and more ale Young Hutchin said goodbye to his relatives and started back up the Soutergate towards the Townhead and Maxwell’s Castle. He felt very proud of himself for never mentioning the water-bailiff’s rather older wife that he had left in Carlisle.
As he picked his way between the heaps of dung and the men playing dice and drinking at every corner, he realised that someone was keeping pace with him. Narrow-eyed with new suspicion, he looked sideways as he drew his dagger, saw a stocky youth a little older than himself, but well-dressed in a wool suit and wearing a sword, though not obviously a courtier. His face seemed a little familiar, but Hutchin couldn’t place it.
“Good afternoon,” said the youth cheerfully. “Are you Hutchin Graham?”
“Who wants to know?” demanded Hutchin, backing to the wall and looking around for ambushes.
The youth took his cap off politely. “Roger Widdrington, second son of Sir Henry,” he said, and then added, “Lady Widdrington sent me.”
Young Hutchin relaxed slightly. He could hear easily enough that this Roger Widdrington was no Scot, but did indeed come from the East March.
“Ay,” he said. “I’m Hutchin Graham.”
“Sir Robert Carey’s pageboy?”
“Ay. What about it?”
Roger Widdrington moved closer, ignoring Hutchin’s dagger, so that they were under the overhang of an armourer’s shop. “Ye know that my Lady Elizabeth has been forbidden to speak to the Deputy?”
Hutchin nodded. He had carried the letter, but had not been able to read it. However, it was easy enough to guess what it said from the Deputy’s reaction to it.
“Well,” said Roger Widdrington with a knowing grin, “my stepmother still likes to hear about him. Will ye tell me anything you can about him while he’s in Dumfries?”
“The Deputy doesnae take me into his confidence much.”
Roger Widdrington nodded wisely. “Whatever you can tell me,” he said. “And my lady will pay you of course, sixpence for each item of information.”
Hutchin nodded cannily. That made sense and Lady Widdrington was a sensible woman. God knew, he sometimes thought the Deputy needed a nursemaid to keep him out of trouble.
“Ay,” he said. “I can do that.”
“What can you tell me now?”
“Not much. I havenae seen him since last night, for I left the Castle before him this morning.”
“How are his balls?”
Hutchin suppressed a grin. “Not bad, not bad at all, considering some bastard tried to swing on them, though he doesnae ken who, it being too close and too quick. He didnae need the surgeon, though Dodd was all for sending for one, but the Deputy said most of the surgeons he knew were ainly interested in what they could cut off, and that wasnae what he had in mind.”
Roger Widdrington laughed. “I’ll tell her he’s better,” he said, and handed Hutchin a silver English sixpence as proof of his integrity.
“Meet me here tomorrow at noon,” said Roger Widdrington. “Can you do that?”
“I reckon I can.”
“Excellent. Oh, and don’t tell the Deputy about this-Lady Widdington doesn’t want him worrying about what might happen to her if Sir Henry finds out.”
“Ay,” said Young Hutchin, well pleased with himself, pulled at his cap and went on up to Maxwell’s Castle.
***
King James had finished his repast, mainly of brutally tough venison, and was well into the Tuscan wine when the English Deputy Warden was announced. Beaming happily he rose to greet the man and found him down on one knee again.
“Up, up,” cried King James. “By God, I had rather look ye in the eye, than down on ye, Sir Robert. Will ye sit by me and take some wine? Good. Rob, my dear, fetch up some of the white Rhenish and some cakes for my good friend here.”
King James watched his page trot off dutifully and sighed a little. At that age they were delightful; so fresh-faced and rounded, but King James was a man of principle and had promised himself he would have nothing to do with children. Poor d’Aubigny had been clear in his contempt for those who did and besides, as he had also said in his delightful trilling French voice, how could one tell that they would not suddenly erupt with spots or become gangling and bony? Beauty was all to d’Aubigny, beauty and elegance, things in precious short supply in Scotland.
King James turned back to Carey and smiled. “It’s such a pleasure to meet someone newly from the English court,” he said. “Can ye tell me aught of my esteemed cousin, Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth?”
Carey, who was extremely tall once off his knees, had sat down at once when invited to, tactfully upon a low folding stool by the King’s great carven armchair. He spoke at length about the Queen, from which King James gathered that the old bitch was still as pawky and impossible as ever; that she was spending money like water upon the war in the Netherlands and the miserable fighting against the Wild Irish led by O’Neill in the bogs of Ireland; that if James’s annual subsidy was actually delivered he should be grateful for it, since there was no chance whatever of an increase-a sad piece of news to King James, but not unexpected.
“Och, it’s a fact, Sir Robert,” he said sadly. “There is nothing more stupid than a war. If I have a hope for the…for the future, it is that I may one day become a means of peace between England and Spain.”
Sir Robert took this extraordinary sentiment like a man. Not a flicker of surprise did his face betray; instead he managed to bow from a sitting position and say “Her Majesty is often heard to say the same thing: that the war was never of her making and that she fought against it with all she had and for as long as she could, but that at the last you cannot make peace with one who is determined to fight.”
“Ay,” said the King. “That’s true as well and well I know it.”
“What Her Majesty deplores most of all is the waste of gold to pay for weapons. She says it is like a great bottomless pit, and if you tip in cartloads of gold, still you never hear them so much as tinkle.”
King James smiled at the figure, but felt he could improve it. “Or the mouth of an ever hungry monster, a cockatrice or a basilisk, perhaps.”
“It’s not surprising,” continued Carey. “For weapons are expensive, above all firearms.”
“So they are, so they are,” agreed King James affably as the young Robert came trotting back with a silver flagon and two silver goblets. The wine was better than most of the stuff swilling around Dumfries, but still not up to its surroundings, and Carey had some work to swallow it. King James was more used to the rotgut that the Hanseatic merchants had been unloading on thirsty Scotland until the Bonnettis arrived, and knocked his own drink back easily.
“We had a strange accident in Carlisle upon the Sunday,” said Carey after a moment’s pause. “A number of newly delivered firearms were stolen out of our very armoury while we were at muster in readiness to assist you.”
“Never?” said King James. “Well, I am sorry to hear it, Sir Robert, sorry indeed. Such dishonesty…”
“It was thought that they might have come to Scotland, perhaps brought by an ill-affected noble?”
“Och no, to be sure, they’ll have been auctioned all over the Debateable Land by now,” said King James. “The surnames might well be a wee bit concerned with myself in the district to do justice and the hanging trees all ready with ropes. It’s not to be wondered at that they might try a thing like that to arm themselves better against me. Not that it will do any good.”
“And then there was the rumour of a Spanish agent at Your Majesty’s court.”
“Never,” said King James very positively. “Now why would we do a silly thing like that, harbouring an enemy of England, considering the manifold kindnesses and generosities to us of our most beloved cousin, the Queen of England.”
“Not, of course, with Your Majesty’s knowledge,” said Carey, managing to sound very shocked, slipping from his stool to go on one knee again. “Such a thought had never crossed my mind. It struck me, however, that some among your nobles might have…designs and desires to change the religion of this land, or something worse, and the Spanish agent might be a part of it.”