Do I need to tell you that, in the short, sharp skirmish that followed, Albany somehow mysteriously vanished? Was allowed to vanish, you can be sure of that. It was no part of Timothy’s brief to arrest the King of Scotland’s brother so that he could publicly be accused of witchcraft and sorcery. These things were better dealt with in the dark, as the Earl of Mar’s death had been. But the other five were arrested and taken back to Edinburgh under armed guard. I was cut free of the so-called apprentice’s pillar, and a sorry state I was in for a couple of days afterwards as I recuperated in the castle under Timothy’s watchful eye. He proved to be a surprisingly good nurse.
‘What made you suspicious of Albany’s real intentions?’ was one of the first questions I asked him.
He snorted indignantly. ‘For heaven’s sweet sake, Roger, I’m a spy! I know all sorts of things about people that I daresay I shouldn’t. I knew, for instance, that that bevy of beauties who had fled to France to join him, had been deeply implicated in the charges of sorcery that had been levied — although never, of course, proved — against Mar. I knew, too of Albany’s deep interest in the cult of the Green Man. It was he who requested — no, insisted — on the masque of the Green Man and Mother Earth at Fotheringay. That was where I stole one of the mummers’ masks and wore it when I tried to warn you.’
Deeply grateful as I was for my eleventh-hour rescue, I couldn’t help asking bitterly, ‘Why, in God’s Name, didn’t you just come out and tell me, man to man, what you suspected?’
‘Because,’ he snapped back, ‘I didn’t really know what it was that I did suspect. Only that you might be in some sort of danger. Which you wouldn’t have been if things had gone according to plan and Albany crowned King of Scotland. I didn’t want you rampaging off home, or storming off to confront Albany, or, worse still, my lord of Gloucester, all on the strength of my unfounded suspicions. I repeat, unfounded. I should have been in the shit up to my neck.’
I agreed he had a point. ‘And what will happen to Albany? The others must be for the fire or the hangman’s noose.’
Once again, Timothy snorted. ‘That one will dig his own grave without any help from me. Meanwhile-’ he clapped me on the shoulder — ‘news has come that the citadel at Berwick has surrendered. We’re for the homeward march, my lad, the day after tomorrow. Negotiations here are completed.’
And so we were. But before I shook the dust of Edinburgh and its castle off my feet, I went to give thanks and homage to my fellow west countrywoman, that descendant of the kings of Wessex, Saint Margaret of Scotland.