She opens her mouth to object but he holds his hand up. ‘I agree Norman’s no bonny.’ He shakes his head. ‘But he is a good man, I would not give you to him otherwise.’
‘No, no, no,’ she screams. ‘I won’t marry him, I won’t. I’ll never be safe from Wardlaw.’
‘There, there, my child – you must trust me to know what’s best for you.’ Father looks to Mother. ‘Perhaps a purge for the bad humours?’
‘I will get Agnes to prepare an emetic, we have some mushrooms dried and ready chopped, which are most efficacious.’
‘I won’t take them, I won’t,’ hisses Bethia, through gritted teeth.
‘Be calm, my lass,’ says Father, patting her again.
Bethia hits his arm away. ‘You take it. I was vomiting for days the last time Mother fed me red caps.’
‘I think some time for quiet reflection might be best,’ Mother says. She places her arm around Bethia’s shoulders and leads her out of the room and to her chamber. Then she closes the door behind them and thrusts her face close to Bethia. ‘You will wed Norman Wardlaw tomorrow and with no more skittishness. I married the man my father chose for me, as girls the world over must. You will do your duty.’
She whisks out of the room and Bethia hears the key turn in the lock.
‘Fatherrrr,’ she screams banging on the door. “Fatherrrr….’ But he didn’t come.
She tries the door, tugging the handle and rattling the latch. It is as firmly locked as the last time she tried it. She looks out the window again, it’s very dark out there now and the street below is deserted. She hits the shutters off the walclass="underline" bang, bang, bang, bang. If she can’t sleep, she doesn’t see why anyone else should.
There’s a tapping at the door.
‘Grissel?’
‘Aye, it’s me.’
Bethia kneels on the floor and whispers.
‘I canna hear ye.’
‘Kneel down.’ She can see Grissel’s eye glittering through the gap. ‘Can you get me out?’
‘There’s no key, it’s gone.’
‘Mother must have it.’
‘What do ye want me to dae?’
‘Wait, I’m thinking.’ She sits up and rubs her eyes, dare she do this? Then memory of Mother screaming in her face returns. ‘You will marry Norman Wardlaw tomorrow, my girl, just see if you won’t.’
She lies down, whispering. ‘Go to the house by Greyfriars and ask for Gilbert Logie. Tell him I have need of him.’
‘What, at this time o’night?’
‘Please, Grissel.’
‘You want me to tell him you have need of him?’ says Grissel loudly, ‘and wake his whole house to do it?’
‘Shush! No, of course not.’
‘Well, how am I to tell him anything at this hour, without banging on the door first?’
Bethia sighs. ‘You’re right, it is impossible. I must think of another way.’
‘I’ll go,’ says Grissel and the eye withdraws.
‘Grissel,’ she hisses.
The eye re-appears. ‘What now?’
‘Take care that the front door doesn’t stick and make a noise when you open it.’
‘Aye, of course. I’ll go out through the back.’
Bethia sits on the bed, hands folded in her lap and one leg twitching. Grissel returns sooner than she expected.
‘He’s no there.’
‘How do you know, did you find out where he is?’
‘I got in their back door and a servant, his name is Tam and a good looking one he is too…’
‘Grissel! What did he say?’
‘I’m getting to it. Tam said they’re all meeting – and drinking – with Arran and the Italian lad with the curly hair.’
‘You mean Strozzi.’
‘Aye, that’s the one.’
‘So you couldn’t pass on the message.’
‘No – but ye ken, your father’s right. Norman’s no sae bad, and it is a bonny house.’
‘Go to bed, Grissel.’
She falls back onto the bed herself and gazes up at the curtain looped over the bed frame, all colour seeped out in the grey light. She is trapped, there’s to be no escape. She feels as though a weight is pressing down on her chest and her breath seems loud in her ears. She listens to it and her eyes flutter and close, she can’t fight anymore. She’ll marry Fat Norman tomorrow and pray that he will guard her from Walter Wardlaw.
She opens her eyes and sits up. What’s that noise? A rustling at the door, then it slowly opens and her small brother stands in the doorway.
‘John, how…’
He waves the key at her, a cheeky grin on his face. ‘You need to hide?’
She nods.
‘Come on,’ he whispers. ‘I can show you the best hiding place ever. Even God won’t find you there.’
She slides off the bed and follows him, the wedding dress swinging in the draught as she closes the door behind her.
Chapter Forty-Three
The Mine
The streets are silent. They stay close to houses where the darkness is deepest. The cathedral rises before them, blocking out the starry night sky, and John leads Bethia across the broad expanse towards it. They creep along the side of its high wall until he stops, and Bethia trips over him.
‘Shush!’
He tugs her in behind one of several towers built into the wall and they crouch low, covering their faces. She can hear them now, voices loud and breathless as they climb the slope from the harbour. One of them starts to sing ‘The Frog cam to the myl dur,’ and the others join in, roaring out ‘Froggie was a courting, a courting.’
John covers his ears. ‘They’re not Frenchmen,’ he whispers.
‘Nor choristers!’
The men stagger past, swords clanking against their legs. Bethia and John slowly stand up, and then they are crouching again. There are men moving silently through the cathedral gates; dark shapes – their arms heavily laden.
‘It is the French soldiers,’ John hisses in her ear. ‘They are good thieves.’
‘Our town will soon have nothing left,’ Bethia hisses back. ‘But where are we going?’, she asks as they stand up.
‘You’ll see.’
She grabs his arm as they follow the soldiers, but he tugs her into Northgait, and around the back of a house. There is a guard on patrol but they crouch again, hidden by the darkness, until he passes. She stumbles over a bucket and John grabs her arm. They stand still for what seems a long time, but no one comes. John lets go and creeps away. She can’t see him.
‘John?’
He takes her hand hissing, ‘be careful of the rubble.’
She can see the darker outline of a mound piled higher than any midden before them. He leads her around it and into a byre, then points.
‘You can stay hid down there, for everyone has forgot about it.’
Her eyes grow large in disbelief. ‘The siege tunnel – don’t tell me you’ve been inside it.’
John blows air though his lips. ‘Me and the fellows have been down many times. We chase the ghosts away, and you can get into the castle easy. If the soldiers all weren’t so stupid, this siege would be over already.’
‘Oh, John!’
‘Come, it is the best place to hide – ever.’
She shivers as though someone is walking over her grave, and backs away. John takes her hand. ‘You will be surprised how big it is. They dug it wide, at least at the beginning. Come see.’
She shakes her head.
‘Shall we go home then?’
She shakes her head harder and he tugs on her hand, leading her inside.
The boys are so well prepared they even have a tinderbox and candles stored by the entrance, which is as well, for it’s black as Hades inside. She stumbles down the broad uneven steps as John holds the candle aloft, and marvels at how high and wide the tunnel is, especially given it was dug in such haste.