‘And glad enough you were to get the daughter of an earl.’
Bethia slides out of the room. It might not be so bad to be married and have her own home, rather than listening to an endless repetition of the same arguments. But if Father is thinking of marrying her off to a local merchant, she’s not so willing, for there are none under forty years of age. No, better to stay where she is; he’ll not send her away if she doesn’t want it.
She stands by the casement in her chamber gazing out, and spies the top of Will’s head below. There’s dust on his cap; she’ll make sure and brush it for him when he returns. He strolls away, tossing a ball in one hand and his club over his shoulder. He’s off to play at the golf, no doubt in the streets, even though it’s been banned. She feels oddly disappointed in him. After all his shouting he should be thinking higher thoughts – not indulging in a boy’s game.
Chapter Five
The Great Michael
Will, leaning against the workroom wall awaiting Father’s pleasure, can hear him grinding his teeth. The noise makes him grit his own. He tries to shut his ears to it, but Father, bent over his books, keeps on.
‘What’s got you all perturbed, Father?’ he asks, hunching his shoulders up to his ears and awaiting a bellow of “mind yer cheek”. Unusually, he’s given a full answer.
‘Those blethering fools on the town council have decided all merchants must plant trees. What are trees to me? I cannot make any profit from planting something that’ll be full grown long after I’m dead.’
‘I can see that is a difficulty.’
Father glares at him from under bushy eyebrows. ‘I can do without the sarcasm, laddie.’
‘When I was a girl and first came to Fife, it had so many beautiful oak trees,’ says Mother, appearing in the open doorway.
‘Aye and they were all taken for King James IV’s grand folly, to make his big ship.’ Father pauses and a faraway look comes into his eyes. ‘Ye’ve never seen such a sight as yon ship. The Great Michael they called it, and my it was big, like a fort at sea. Bigger than yon wee carrack Mary Rose which Henry of England built.’
Will blinks.
‘You ken, King Henry’s ship that was sunk last year by the French.’
He shrugs.
But Father’s in full flow. ‘All the ships that Columbus went to the Americas in coulda fitted inside the Great Michael, and room to spare. I saw it myself; your grandfather took me to Newhaven for the launching. There was a grand fanfare with music and trumpets blaring and all the people cheering and the king smiling all over his face.’
Will glances at Mother, who’s leaning forward no doubt waiting to interrupt. It’s a relief to see Father in a good humour, and he hopes she’s not about to spoil it.
Father’s done anyway; the absent look leaves his face to be replaced by one of more customary annoyance. ‘Aye, the king’s smile didn’t last long. He chopped down all the woods in Fife to build it, excepting he didn’t cut down any trees around his palace at Falkland mind; oh no, wasn’t going to spoil his hunting. Left the rest of the countryside raped bare, spent 30,000 merks in a time when people were starving from war and poor harvests, and then he went off and got hisself killed at Flodden.’
‘What happened to the ship?’ He’s not much interested, but it’s better to keep Father talking about ships and trees than be instructed on trading and ledgers.
‘It was sold to Louis of France and I heard tell lays mouldering on some French beach. So rests Scotland’s folly in wanting to be a grand power and not enough food for its people, and the upshot is now I have to waste my hard-earned money on planting trees.’
Will rolls his eyes. ‘I heard tell that the reason we’ve still one of the largest navies in all of Europe is to stop King Henry blockading our ports.’
Father leans forward, twisting a long eyebrow hair between his fingers. ‘Aye, and you would do well to remember it. Henry Tudor is no friend to Scotland. Your ane mother, as you well know, has suffered at the hands of England. Her family was expelled from there for no other reason than being Scottish, and all their property confiscated – so tread carefully, for the Tudor king can never be trusted.’
‘That is very true,‘ says Mother. ‘We were a wealthy family of high repute, and were left with nothing.’
Will humphs. He’s heard this story many times.
‘But Thomas,’ says Mother. ‘I wish to speak to you of which maxim can be writ large upon the ceiling, for I think it would look very fine to have one.’
Will stifles a laugh at the expression on Father’s face.
Mother continues regardless. ‘Verbum emissum non est revocabil, is most suitable,’ she says, stumbling over the pronunciation. ‘It means, “a word once uttered cannot be recalled”.’
‘I know what it means,’ growls Father.
Mother can barely read and certainly doesn’t know Latin. It’s most likely Bethia who’s feeding her this, although Mother does not encourage his sister’s learning. He’s heard her tell Bethia many times that she need know only how to figure out simple transactions, enough to run a household, and write her name, and it does not make a woman desirable to be overfull of learning – but no one can keep his sister away from books.
‘Can it no wait, I’m ower busy to talk about this just now.’
Mother continues as though Father hasn’t spoken, ‘Or is this better, pietas filorum in parente; “duty and respect to parents”? Shorter too. Yes, I prefer it, it will look very fine.’
‘The maxim to go upon my ceiling will cover a wife’s duty to her husband, and especially to hold her tongue,’ Father roars. ‘Christ’s death woman, give us some peace.’
Mother turns on her heel, slamming the door behind her and Will sighs; the work is tedious enough without having Father in an ill humour.
‘Stop your indolence and get over here.’ Father bends over his ledger and Will glowers at his bent head, but comes to stand next to him. Father looks up. ‘I am going to say one more thing and then we will get on with the work. I don’t know what those protesting friends are telling you but they’re all being played by Henry Tudor. A trickster he is, a trickster with a long life. He’s outlived two of our kings and will no give up till Scotland is fully in his power.’
Will shakes his head and goes to speak, but Father is off again, pointing his finger at Will. ‘You maun take care son; here’s a man burnt at the stake because of his heretical words. This is no some laddies’ game.’ He sighs and slumps onto his seat.
Will feels a rush of rage. ‘How can it ever be a laddies’ game to have a man die in agony for wanting reform?’
Father sits up again. ‘You think this is about reform, well you’re wrong. It’s got nothing to do with reform.’ He stands up and pokes his finger in Will’s chest. ‘Most of those great friends of yours, the lairds, are in Henry’s pay. After we lost the battle of Solway Moss, and Flodden too, half the gentry of Scotland swore fealty to him in exchange for their freedom – his ‘assured Scots’ he calls them.’
The finger pokes once more and he steps back; if Father touches him again, he swears he’ll swing for him. He glares down, thrusting his face close to Father’s. ‘If Henry wants Scotland so much he’d have taken us by now, after all they defeats. The lairds are for reform of the kirk, not for Henry.’
‘It’s France Henry wants,’ Father bellows, spittle flying. ‘He’s just getting us out of his way, like an annoying wee dog.’
‘And what of France, who aye wants Scotland to do her bidding?’ Will shouts back, wiping his face with his sleeve. ‘There’s the Queen Mother sitting like a spider in the centre of her web, pretending all is for her daughter when she is only about promoting the interests of her French relations.’ Will takes a deep breath to calm himself. ‘But what has this got to do with George Wishart and the true words he spoke on the need for change?’ His voice trails away. ‘It should have nothing to do with it… nothing.’