As I made my way back to the common hall, I turned my face up to the fine spray of rain. It was cool and refreshing and I stood for a moment or two, letting it wash over me. I closed my eyes to savour the experience all the better. When I opened them again, it was to find someone looming up in front of me.
My hand flew at once to the haft of the dagger Donald had given me the previous afternoon and which I had failed to return to him. (Indeed, he had not asked for it back and I looked upon it in the light of a loan for the short time now that I and the rest of my countrymen remained in Edinburgh.)
‘Who’s there?’ I demanded. It was too dark to see the man’s features, but his lack of stature and slight build made me suspect the truth before he answered.
‘Oh, it’s you, is it?’ grumbled Timothy Plummer. ‘I might have guessed. It could only be you, Chapman, traipsing about in the dark and putting the fear of God into honest people.’
‘I might well say the same about you,’ I retorted, but without heat. It was so good to hear a familiar voice and words spoken in a comfortable southern accent — even if it was that nasal London drawl — that I could almost have embraced him. ‘Where have you been hiding yourself since Nottingham?’
‘I haven’t been hiding myself anywhere,’ he snapped. I had obviously ruffled his feathers, which, I have to admit, had partly been my intention. (Baiting Timothy and watching him bridle was one of the great pleasures of my life.) ‘I’ll remind you, Roger, that I am Spymaster General to my lord of Gloucester and have been at my lord’s beck and call throughout the whole of this expedition. And it’s not desirable that I should be too visible. My work is often extremely secret.’
‘That doesn’t explain why you’re prowling around in the dead of night,’ I said. ‘Or does it? Who are you spying on now?’
‘More importantly,’ he rapped back, ‘what are you doing out and about? Why aren’t you guarding my lord Albany?’
I laughed. ‘The duke has better things to do tonight than allow me to share his bed. My services have been dispensed with for those of a castle whore. His long abstinence on the march has made him randy. I’m in the common hall with the rest of his menie. Even his squires’ services have been dispensed with. Well, I suppose he needs some consolation, now that he’s not to be king.’
‘How do you know that?’ The spy’s tone was sharp with suspicion. And by the time that I had finished explaining how I came by my knowledge, he was trembling with indignation.
‘You could, and should, be severely punished for eavesdropping on my lord’s private conversations. If I had my way-’
‘Settle down,’ I hissed angrily. ‘I had been told to report to my lord Albany in connection with a private investigation I’ve been ordered to undertake for him. That’s why I happened to be in the ante-chamber. Neither he nor my lord Gloucester made any move to close the door in spite of the fact that one of Gloucester’s pages was also present. True, the boy was asleep, but-’
It was Timothy’s turn to interrupt. ‘What investigation for Albany?’ he demanded.
The rain had suddenly increased as the wind blew more strongly. I put out an imperative hand and drew Timothy towards the shelter of Saint Margaret’s Chapel. Once inside, in the musty-smelling darkness, I told him the whole story, including the itinerary of my past twenty-four hours in detail. It was a relief to be able to unburden myself to someone I knew well, and he listened intently, only interjecting a question or two here and there where my narrative became a little garbled. Somewhat to my surprise, when I had finished, he made no comment, merely lapsing into a thoughtful silence. Finally, when he did speak, it was on another subject altogether.
‘Tell me,’ he said, ‘do these retainers of the Earl of Mar, who have attached themselves to him, realize that Albany will not now become king?’
I nodded. ‘I’ve told them what I overheard. But the strange thing is that they don’t seem unduly downcast by the news. In fact they shrug it off as though they think I’m mistaken. And odder, still, Albany himself, although very angry about what he sees as betrayal by his English allies, also behaves as though the game’s not played out yet. I find it difficult to understand. I feel he’s planning something, but what it could be, I can’t imagine. I believe he might have made a move already but for this business of Rab Sinclair.’ I shivered as a gust of wind rattled the door behind us and threatened to slam it. I put out a foot to wedge it open. ‘At least he seems to be a man loyal to his friends.’
Again, Timothy said nothing, but I could tell by the quality of the silence that he was thinking hard. But eventually he made no comment except, ‘We’d better get back to bed. We’ll catch our death of cold standing out here.’ He made to move away, then swung round and seized me by the shoulders. ‘Take care, Roger! Take care!’ Then he was gone and the darkness had swallowed him up. I realized that he had still offered no explanation of what he was doing out in the middle of the night, prowling about alone. I felt annoyed that he had prised everything out of me and given away nothing in return. But I suppose that was what made him a good spy.
I went back to bed.
Eighteen
But not, immediately, to sleep.
When I returned to the common hall and picked my careful way across the sleeping mass of bodies, it was to discover that Murdo, Donald and Davey were missing. Only James Petrie remained, still propped against the wall and snoring rhythmically. Without compunction, I shook him awake.
‘Where are the others?’
He stared at me stupidly for a moment or two, unsure of his surroundings, then slowly shook his head.
I indicated the empty space and, as though I were addressing an idiot, mouthed again, ‘Where are they? Donald, Murdo, Davey?’
I was uncertain whether or not he could understand English, but he really wasn’t a fool, and the substance of my question was obvious. After a few more seconds of playing dumb, he mumbled something in the broad Scots dialect in which the word ‘piss’ was clearly recognizable, even if he hadn’t mimed the act itself. Then he belched, farted and went back to sleep again. Well, he closed his eyes, although there was something about his bodily posture that suggested tension. I felt sure that he was not as relaxed as he would have me believe.
I lay down and once more pulled my blanket over me, but sleep refused to come. It seemed to me a little unlikely that all three would have gone outside to obey a call of nature together. On the other hand, I knew from sleeping with Adela that if one of us got out of bed to use the chamber-pot, the other would almost inevitably follow suit. And it was the same with the children. If one was disturbed, he or she would very likely wake the other two. I recalled thinking that Murdo had opened his eyes when I went on my own errand, so perhaps I had started a chain of events.
But where were they? The minutes ticked by and still they did not return. What were they doing? Playing the old game of seeing who could aim highest against the wall? Or the comparison game? (‘Mine’s bigger than yours.’) Somehow I hardly thought so, not on a night of wind and rain. And in any case, why hadn’t I seen them? I had been detained by Timothy Plummer, so the chances were that we should all have been returning to the hall at about the same time. Yet I had not had even a glimpse of any one of them … And that prompted me to wonder once again what the Spymaster General had been doing soft-footing his way around the darkened buildings of this northern acropolis. Had he been expecting some such movement of … of what? Conspirators? But who was conspiring with whom? And against whom?