A King Uncaged Read online

  "Any feudal holder of lands shall produce his charter thereof before the king's Sheriffs to prove right of possession—"

  A hubbub of shouts drowned his words out. Every noble in the hall was on his feet, some shouting, and others turned to a neighbor, hands and arms working as they gesticulated and exclaimed, but James noted that the burgher in blue was chuckling. Bishop Dunbar crossed his arms and looked thoughtful while the other clergy nodded and exchanged whispers. James looked at Bishop Lauder. The uproar was unseemly for the greatest in the land, but James knew they needed to express their outrage before he had them reined in. When James finally nodded, the bishop hammered with his gavel and bellowed for silence. Even when Lauder pounded with his gavel and used his impressive voice yelling for silence, it took several minutes for order to be restored. "There shall be a levee of one shilling in each merk of land value on all landowners whatsoever, toward payment of the king's ransom in order that the hostages now held in England maybe returned."

  The nobles looked at each other, some glaring, others not meeting their neighbor's gaze. Nearly every noble family likely to object had a son or brother now a hostage. James had seen to it. He stood, his head beginning to throb from the tension. The four trumpets sounded an ear-shattering blast, and the silence was thunderous as the men stared open mouthed. "The morn we will discuss these proposals and the following day vote upon them. And I shall have good order or shall have the High Constable and his men enforce it. Do I make myself clear?" He strode from the refectory with his chancellor on his heels.

  In his chamber, he scrubbed his face with his hands, and Lauder let out a gusty breath.

  "How did it go?" Joan asked.

  James would have liked her to have been able to hear the proceedings, but there was no gallery where she could have listened. He motioned for Sanderis to pour him a mug of ale. "Leave us," he told the lad and took a deep drink. The ale was dark and thick and strong enough that his eyes stung, but it began to ease the thudding in his forehead. When the door was closed, he sank into a chair next to the hearth. "I thought not ill. None were happy, but there will be enough divisions that I can turn each to my advantage."

  "As we discussed," Lauder said, nodding. "But it will nae be easy, Your Grace."

  James barked a brief laugh. "The nobles will fight hardest against proving their estates. Too many of them received estates they had no right to. I mean to have back those that Albany gave up without right. And the taxes are a bitter potion, but if they have any hope of return of the hostages, then they'll agree to them."

  Lauder coughed. "Not that you intend for all to return…"

  "I don't understand," Joan said as she sat. "Not all?"

  This was a part of his plan he had yet to share with her. She might not approve, but he knew she would come to agree when he explained the value of seeing that least some of their enemies being outwith the kingdom. But with his head still throbbing and a long day of wrangling on the morrow, he didn’t want to argue, so he said, "So large a ransom to pay, many will be a long time in returning."

  She gave him a narrow-eyed look, but the bishop offered her a cup of malmsey and asked James if he thought the Earl of Atholl would support him in the vote, so the subject was dropped.

  Chapter Eleven

  August 1424

  The jennets pulling the litter were led by their horse master on a well-made gelding. He, like the rest of their escort of fifty men, wore the king's livery with the Lion Rampant. The riverside road cut its way along the gorse- and bracken-covered braeside of Gilmerton down on Edinburgh. James saw the shape of Edinburgh rising before them, dyed gold in the afternoon sun.

  James called for a halt and stepped down from his mount. Joan pushed back the curtain. Before he could offer her his hand, she leapt out in a flurry of silken skirts. James caught her arm in his hand with an anxious, "Be careful, love."

  She laughed at him. "I'm not so far gone, Your Grace, that I cannot descend from a stuffy litter." She gave a tiny shrug. "And I needed the fresh air."

  "Are you feeling ill?" He couldn't help that he was anxious even though she laughed at him. She was five months gone, and he had no experience of women with child. "Are you sure you feel well enough to ride a horse into the city?"

  But Joan was staring at the city in the distance with a smile of delight brightening her face. "Could we not visit more often? It is amazing." Within the narrow confines of the walls, every building heaved several stories upward into a crazy skyline of tall steeples, gables, and towers surrounding narrow streets. From the green of the surrounding plain and the blue of the Firth of Forth to the north, it thrust upward before them like a mailed fist. The capital city of the realm was built on a constricting ridge so that the walled city was scarcely a mile long and only half that in width, and the height of Castle Rock glowered down Edinburgh Castle over all.

  "Aye, if you like, of course." He was much minded to give her anything she wanted, though this visit was purely business to oversee his nobles presenting the charters to their land. Few of his laws had caused so much resistance and anger. "Bring Her Grace's horse."

  The gates were opened, awaiting them, when they reached them, and the church bells sounded. The Provost met them with bows and a greeting in his broken Latin to escort them into the city. The streets were jammed with crowds shouting greetings to their brawny king and his satisfactorily expectant queen, whilst amongst them bakers' boys shouted, "Hot pies!" and on one of the corners a Franciscan mendicant in gray robes and a rope belt was praying loudly.

  Joan, as always, was untroubled by riding even with her belly visibly swelled with their first child. He should have known he was worrying for nothing, James thought, as she smiled and waved. She was healthy and blooming as a primrose in spring. Beginning to relax now he felt sure she was untroubled, James did the same, but when he looked up at the dark castle that was their destination, he scowled. He would never love staying in this place nor any other castle. They would always remind him too much of a prison. No, as soon as might be, he would have builders at Linlithgow, which had been much neglected of late and in need of repairs, but the lochside palace would be a fine place to show his people what a king's court should be.

  "They are coming to love you," Joan said as they rode through the wide space of the Grassmarket that was now packed with people. Their outriders had to clear a way through the press with shouts of "Make way for the king!" pushing people back with the weight of their horses. Soon their horses' hooves rang on the cobbled street up the steep hill to the east side of the castle.

  The gates to Edinburgh Castle were open and the guards armed with pikes lowered their points and stepped aside when James and his Queen came trotting up.

  An hour or so later, after Joan admitted she was weary from the journey, James escorted her to their chamber. Tired and dusty from the journey though he was, he said the business of state was too important to wait and sent word to his chancellor and his new secretary, John Cameron, to meet him in the council chamber. He turned from the door, and the sunlight caught in her hair like a nimbus. "Joan?"

  "What?"

  He held out his hand. "Kiss me first."

  The council chamber was sparsely furnished, the floor covered in rushes and the walls hung with threadbare banners, with a rather plain council table in the center.

  James took the chair at the head of the table, a Lion Rampant embroidered on the lumpy cushion, when Bishop Lawler came in, looking even more drawn than usual from their long journey and followed by John Cameron, a youngish cleric with dark hair clipped short around his tonsure and a beak of a nose, his arms full of papers.

  "Your Grace," the chancellor said, "forgive the delay, but I kent you would want the lists of those who had proven their claims and even more importantly those who have…" He cleared his throat. "…those who have refused."

  "How refused?"

  "They have not appeared with their charters and turned away my men from their castles. Others are still slo
w to respond, but only two have defied your commands."

  "Who?" James said with a chill in his voice.

  "The Earl of Lennox and Sir Robert Graham. Others who are, I think, waiting to see the outcome number a score."

  James was stunned. "A full score forbye to those two?"

  "Many hold alienated crown lands that Murdoch or his father sold or gave away to curry favor. Others are simply stubbornly resisting like a horse too long left without a rider."

  "And if I allow those two to defy me, the rest will follow."

  "Graham is easily enough dealt with," John Cameron said mildly. "But Lennox is another matter, as Your Grace must see. He's an old man, stubbornly holding to power to which he's accustomed, and Murdoch's goodfather, Buchan—Murdoch's brother. He has at least four thousand men at his back in France, and the Douglas would doubtless side with Buchan and Murdoch. They may be in France, but their army has to be considered."

  "And yet Wigtoun has consistently sided with me."

  "Would he if Douglas, his own father, attacked you?" Bishop Lauder asked. "Though returning from France with their army would not be an easy or quick matter. Yet I fear they would feel they had to support Lennox if you act against him. Already there are rumors that Buchan will return to raise additional men."

  "Which I cannae allow," James said, perhaps too sharply from the look the two men gave him. He should remember that both were on his side, so he said in a softer tone, "I'm weary from the journey. I must think. We will resume the morn, and I'll hear your advice then."

  He stood, nodded to the two men who scrambled to their feet, and made for the door. Cameron opened it for him. He was walking toward the stairs when a guard came hurrying in from the bailey yard followed by a filthy man-at-arms with unkempt beard and in battered armor.

  "Your…Your Grace," the guard stuttered. "He says he is messenger from France."

  The man bowed awkwardly to James, who rubbed his forehead wearily with a sigh before he asked the man's name.

  "Patrik, My Lord, of Dalkeith."

  "Your Grace, man. You're speaking to the King of Scots," the guard snapped.

  The man grimaced. "I was supposed to give the news to Wigtoun, the earl's son." He glared first at the guard and then at James. "But I suppose I might tell him first."

  "How dare you?" The guard lowered his pike but paused at a gesture from James, and another stepped threateningly toward the messenger.

  "Of course Wigtoun must have any news of his father." James softened his words with a slight smile. "Aye, and I'll see you rewarded for bringing it. What news is this, then?"

  "There was a battle at a place called Verneuil."

  James nodded. "I ken the place you mean."

  "We took the town. I dinnae ken why the French charged when they did. But the Duke of Bedford cut them to pieces. The French broke. Routed. That left us surrounded. It was a slaughter. They were out for revenge, and they had it. We made a stand but…the whole Scottish army. The Earl of Douglas with them. The Earl of Buchan. Sir Walter Lindsay. I dinnae ken who escaped, but I was left for dead on the field. There was nothing to do but bring back the news to Wigtoun." The man shook his head. "Nae, he's the Earl of Douglas now."

  James took a deep breath and said not a word. His chancellor and secretary and the guards had fallen quiet as the man told his tale. The only sound came from the shout of a sergeant out in the bailey yard. James thought of his own battles in France, the many times the English had done the same when he was with them. It could have been him killing his own subjects. But it hadn't been and this changed—much.

  "Buchan and Douglas both dead then," James whispered. "You're sure of it? They weren't taken prisoner?"

  "I saw them fall in the last charge."

  "God have mercy on their souls," the chancellor said.

  "Aye," James responded absently, and then shook himself from his reverie. "See that Patrik is given a bed and a warm meal." He turned to Cameron. "We must send word to Wigtoun at once by the fastest courier possible. And send for William de Hay, the High Constable. There are two men in the realm whom he must bring into custody."

  "Into custody? You mean—"

  James cut his secretary off. "The two are to be held in the strong castles, there to await trial. At my pleasure. Let others learn from it for the nonce. And whilst I decide what they will forfeit for their defiance." James strode for the stairs.

  Chapter Twelve

  December 25, 1424

  Joan awoke, the chamber cloaked in shadows. She tried to raise herself on one elbow but fell back with a moan. Her lips were so dry that when she moaned, she felt them crack. At once, James was beside her, kneeling on the edge of the bed, softly stroking her hair back from her forehead.

  "What do you need, love?"

  "Thirsty," she croaked.

  He lifted her with an arm behind her shoulders and held a cup to her lips and she sipped. The watered wine felt wonderful as it slipped down her throat. She ached all over. No one had ever told her how much birthing hurt. She felt tears prickle her eyelids. "I wanted you so much," she whispered. "I begged them to let you come to me even though I knew it wasn't fitting. I'm ashamed."

  He breathed a soft laugh. "I would have come if they'd have let me. I fought in France, have seen things I'll never speak of, far worse things than a bonnie lass being born."

  "Where is she? I saw her…but it's all so fuzzy in my mind." She tried to push herself higher to see where her baby was, a feeling of panic going through her like a spark. "Where is my daughter?"

  "Whist, love. She's well." But Joan clutched his arm, her eyes burning with tears. Perhaps he was only soothing her and there was something wrong with the child. Newborn babes often died. He motioned and the wet nurse approached the bed. James took the sleeping lass and laid her in Joan's arms.

  She kissed the top of the babe's head, her hair reddish-brown fuzz as soft as silk. She had never felt what was in her breast now, a tenderness that was overwhelming. "She's beautiful. Isn't she beautiful?"

  James chuckled and Joan looked up at him suspiciously. Was he laughing at their beautiful girl? But he reached a finger to stroke the wrinkled little hand and tiny fingers curved around it. "Of course, she is bonnie. She's your daughter."

  Joan's stomach made a nervous jump when she remembered that she wasn't supposed to be happy for having a daughter. "I was afraid you were disappointed that it's not a son."

  "In a bonnie lass? Nae, love." He settled her back on her pillows and kissed the corner of her mouth.

  "She seems strong and sturdy." The fear returned. Newborn babies died so often, even ones that seemed strong sometimes. They mustn't wait a moment longer than necessary to be sure that she was under God's protection. "Bishop William will do the christening, will he not, James? Tomorrow?"

  "Aye, on the morn, Love." He stroked her hair back again. "The Douglas godfather and his lady wife as godmother. I'll tell you about it after it's done. You have my word."

  Joan kissed the baby's forehead. "We haven't chosen a name. Have you thought of one? We must do that before she's christened."

  "I thought if you like we could call her for your mother. Margaret."

  Joan felt tears prickle her eyes. She tried not to let James know how much she missed home and her mother. She was trying so hard to feel that Scotland was home, but often it seemed so strange and foreign, and sometimes they looked at her with such suspicion in their eyes. "You'd do that for me?"

  He smiled. "We might not mention that it's for your mother. Everyone will think it is for St. Margaret. But you'll ken, and that is all that matters."

  She managed a smile though her lips trembled. "It can be for both, can it not? St. Margaret was a queen the English sent to the Scots, so…it seems right somehow that she be named for both."

  Chapter Thirteen

  March 1425

  The main business of the parliament was over, and a long, boring business it had been, however necessary. Eight days of it to salvage
the work of his first parliament, for too many of those laws had been ignored and flouted, so that he'd forced through a provision that his laws were to be kept and that any who broke them were to face severe punishment.

  James knew he couldn't be too forward in clipping the wings of his out-of-control nobles, but he would see it done. There were other matters: he had thought John Cameron's idea of having a wise and loyal advocate for the poor who were taken before a judge was an excellent idea, though no realm James had ever heard of had such a law. They had wrangled for hours over that, over penalties for stealers of greenwood and destroyers of dovecotes. They'd especially squabbled over his own revenue being increased by customs on woolen cloth and salmon exports, but he had fought them until he won the funds that would give them a royal court that could be kept in decency. Damned if he would live like a savage.

  As before, James had saved the most contentious for last when he had to hope they were all to weary to fight him.

  Bishop Wardlaw droned on about the inquisition of heresy and that all so charged should be punished under the law of the church. The throne was damnably hard in spite of a thin cushion, and James shifted because his arse had long since gone numb. He could almost understand why Albany had not held parliaments whilst he was regent. Sweat trickled down James’ back in the moist heat of a May afternoon. He hitched at the sleeves of his red velvet doublet, adjusting them so the yellow silk lining showed.

  James had no intention that the Church would run Scotland. Just as he was reining in the rule of the nobles, so he would that of the Church. He waited until a pause in Wardlaw's rant on punishing heretics to nod to Cameron, who stood and bowed respectfully to the primate. "Of course, all children of Mother Church know that such deception must be put an end to, Reverence. But in order to control the flow of preachers and others who might bring disorder to the realm, The King's Grace proposes that any churchman or his embassage proposing to enter or leave the realm must first gain permission of the crown. As well, all appointments to benefices within the realm must first receive approval of the crown." Cameron gave a tight, smug smile. "Thus, disorder may be prevented."