The Gowrie Conspiracy (6 page)

Ramsay’s bow failed to hide his furious countenance which delighted his rivals for the king’s favours, gratified to witness the young upstart’s humiliation at the hands of a common man – and one old enough to be his father.

The score was counted. Tam had won by twelve points and the king applauded

‘I have won my wager,’ he said eagerly, snatching his purse back from Lennox.

Meanwhile Tam approached Ramsay to gallantly offer his hand to a defeated opponent whereupon the boy turned his back rudely and strode off the court. Watching him, Tam realised sadly that he had made an enemy; an unforgivable insult for a king’s favourite to lose face by defeat.

He was surprised when the king came forward humbly carrying his shirt and jerkin over his arm. Smiling broadly he came close enough to touch Tam.

‘Well done, Master Eildor, well done. And ye won our wager for us. Here, put it on,’ he said holding out the shirt. ‘Ye’ll catch a fever,’ he added anxiously. ‘Ye’re too heated.’

Not as heated as Your Grace, thought Tam wryly, regarding James’s flushed countenance. The brooding eyes misted with excitement and Tam tried not to wince as his bare arm was gently caressed by the royal hand as it emerged from the
sleeve of his shirt.

‘Good strong muscles there, Master Eildor. Aye, fine indeed,’ James added with a sigh, smacking his lips. ‘But what have we here – this mark? Have ye been hurt?’ he said anxiously, touching a dark triangle on Tam’s forearm.

‘A mere bruise, your Grace,’ said Tam, thinking quickly.

‘A bruise, is it?’ James asked doubtfully. ‘It looks ugly.’

‘It will soon heal, your Grace,’ was the consoling reply.

James continued to look concerned. ‘We trust so, Master Eildor. We would not wish for you to take ill from such a bruise. We could have our physician bleed you, just to make certain.’

Tam shook his head. ‘That will not be necessary, Your Grace. Please rest assured it is nothing.’

But the king’s discovery was calamitous for Tam. The
crystal
charmstone formerly worn around his neck had been superseded, as too obvious and potentially dangerous, by a tiny microchip under the skin marked by a triangle, his sole connection with the life he had temporarily abandoned.

His first instinct had been to inform the king that this was a birthmark. But thinking quickly, he had thought better of it. Mention of birthmarks might have aroused thoughts of witchcraft in King James’s mind.

Tam looked around anxiously. He did not think that any had witnessed the scene but he could not be sure about Lennox who hovered nearby within earshot.

Although Lennox gave no indication that he had overheard or had been interested in the king’s concern, Tam realised that he must take care to keep his arms covered in future.

James was gesturing to the courtiers. ‘Go you ahead. Master Eildor will escort us.’ And leaning heavily on Tam’s arm, Tam was very conscious of the angry looks in his
direction
by both Lennox and Ramsay, united for once in their
distaste
for the king’s obvious infatuation.

‘Still bide wi’ Mistress Scott, d’ye?’ the king asked
conversationally
.

‘I am, sire.’

James frowned. ‘That will no’ do. We would wish to see you in better lodging.’

‘Sire?’

‘Aye, Master Eildor. In our royal apartments yonder. There is rom enough.’

‘As Your Grace wishes.’ Tam hoped that his bow indicated gratitude and his voice expressed enthusiasm for this honour but he was secretly dismayed.

To be in close and convenient daily contact with the king and under the watchful jealous eyes of his court was the last thing he desired. As well as unpleasant and embarrassing , it could be extremely dangerous.

James delighted, beamed on him. ‘We will arrange it
forthwith
.’

And that will not add any to my popularity either, thought Tam grimly. Being courted by King James when one thing was certain. In the life that was temporarily lost to him, sodomy had not played a role, since in his quest period he remained true to his nature, a young man who was
susceptible
to females.

Especially to Tansy Scott, to whom he was irresistibly drawn, but who, sadly for him had a happy and long-term relationship with Will Hepburn.

He wished them both well. And he cursed the veil chance that had made him irresistible to the amorous King who stared up into his face with such adoration.

King James did not relinquish his grip on Tam’s arm as they reached the entrance to the royal apartments and Tam realised that his hopes for a speedy release were to be
thwarted
.

Accompanied by the courtiers a short distance behind them, the king led the way through saluting guards and
bowing
servants up a handsome staircase and along a corridor into the royal bedchamber, where servants awaited to remove his outer garments and dress him in a less restricting robe.

Tam, feeling the king’s eyes resting upon him during this procedure, turned his attention to the contents of the ornate furnishing of the vast room, dominated by the king’s bed on a raised dais, ornamented with the royal coat of arms and curtained in crimson velvet.

The bedchamber was also King James’s informal room of state and this throne-like object of furniture provided the acme of royal comfort. His bed was also the centre of his
kingdom
; in whichever royal palace he lived the massive bed accompanied him. And from its depths of floating pillows, James wearing his high hat with its ostrich feathers, held audience and received ambassadors from England, France and Spain.

Here he planned his days, read and wrote learned works and poems and in moments of leisure commanded
entertainment
by the court jester whose bawdy jokes and suggestive contortions were very much to James’s taste.

When the candles of evenings were lit, it became a
background
for more intimate scenes of carousings and caressings accompanied by considerable amounts of food and wine. Music was provided by a small orchestra of frustrated
musicians
, whose flutes and fiddlers were seldom audible above
the raucous sounds of merriment.

Tam was anxious to be gone, exceedingly embarrassed and out of place under the glaring, resentful eyes of James’s courtiers while trying to remain oblivious to their
behindhand
whispers concerning this shabby interloper.

How had such a wretched man managed to worm his way into His Grace’s affections? Such poor, unfashionable clothes, with breeches and shirt as the poorest peasants wore. Not even the meanest of royal servants would have been seen in public in such attire.

That such a lowly ill-dressed creature was capable of attracting His Grace’s attention. Most of the courtiers were of royal blood or young noblemen and all were swift to
recognise
this newcomer as a threat to their personal futures, their jewels and favours, not to mention their security at court and ultimate honours and estates. In that moment they were
united
and John Ramsay’s injured pride was soothed as they gathered protectively around him.

For his part, Tam would have been only too delighted to give the courtiers reassurance that, much as they wanted rid of him, he would be glad to be relieved of the king’s favour.

With some misgivings as to what was coming next, he watched servants bring wine, fill two goblets and silently withdraw. A royal gesture signalled dismissal for the courtiers who bowed out of the room.

Last to leave were Lennox and Ramsay. If looks could have killed then Tam Eildor would have been spread out at their feet. Instead, what was almost equally as unnerving as
sudden
death was for Tam to know that he was now alone with James.

He took a great gulp of air as he was handed a goblet of wine.

Here was a situation out of nightmare, Tam thought, as James indicated a seat at the window by his side.

‘Sit ye doon, Master Eildor. Nae need for formal manners when we are alone. Ah now – here’s health to you.’

Tam inclined his head. ‘And to you, sire.’

James drank deeply, put down his goblet and regarded Tam thoughtfully. ‘We have a thocht to invest ye as our
cupbearer
, Master Eildor. What think ye to that?’

Tam could not think of anything that terrified him more than such an unexpected honour and it was certainly the last thing, or almost the very last thing, he wanted in this world.

Conscious of James awaiting an answer, Tam smiled vaguely. ‘Sire?’

This was taken as assent. ‘Aye, that would please us
mightily
.’

As James proceeded to explain the duties involved, Tam hardly listened. The prospect of close confinement with James was unbearable. This new honour would not please him nor fit in with his plans. His mind in turmoil, for he had no idea how long the quest would last and could only
presume
that it was not only the murder of Mistress Agnew – which he suspected was merely a curtain-raiser, the prologue to some bigger ploy – that had been selected as his challenge to solve.

He realised that if faced with the matter of satisfying the king’s lust for him then he would have to abandon the quest and seek an emergency recall. He had never done so
willingly
, but his present predicament added another dimension, a moral dilemma.

He considered the king, a man of his own age who looked considerably older. Had he been more attractive and cleaner in his person, for he smelt abominably at close quarters on a hot day, Tam wondered if he could have abandoned his own scruples for the sake of finding the solution to an event that had baffled historians.

At last James paused with a flourish of Latin quotations none of which Tam understood, to ask again, ‘Weel, Master Eildor, what think you? Are ye no’ pleased to serve your king?’

As Tam had not been paying attention, he could only
respond with, ‘I am glad to serve Your Grace, but alas, this honour is too great for me – ’

‘That is for your king to decide,’ James interrupted sternly.

Tam bowed his head. ‘Sire, I have no noble background. I am …I am only a humble scholar.’

James’s narrowed glance, sharp and shrewd, told Tam that he had made a mistake.

‘Humble, indeed, ye may well be, Master Eildor, and
sichlike
modesty becomes ye well. But a scholar who kens no Latin taught to every lad in the village school?’ he added
softly
. ‘An erudite man ye are, your origins well-bred too, oh aye.’ A pause for comment which Tam chose to ignore. Rubbing his chin, James frowned. ‘So whereabouts was it you came by your learning? Was it in some place beyond our realm?’

‘I had a learned tutor, near Peebles,’ said Tam and went on hurriedly. ‘To where I must imminently return – ’

At that moment there was an interruption in the shape of Vicky Stewart. Tam greeted his appearance with a profound sigh of relief. Never had he imagined that he would have occasion to bless the Duke of Lennox for deliverance.

‘Sire,’ Lennox bowed.

James made an irritated gesture. ‘No’ this meenit. Later, Vicky.’

‘Sire, there are messengers waiting.’

‘Aye, then let them wait,’ said James huffily turning back to Tam with an encouraging smile.

‘Sire,’ Lennox persisted, ‘they are from Elizabeth of England, Your Grace’s godmother.’ And with a sour look at Tam, he came between them leaned over to James and
whispered
, ‘Her Majesty has been unwell this fortnight and there are matters serious and urgent concerning the succession which they must discuss with Your Grace.’

James sighed. This was one matter certain to receive all of his attention. Nothing on earth was more important than the fact that when Elizabeth died he was her sole heir and stood to inherit the throne of England. His one dream, his every
scheme since boyhood, led to the fulfilment of the burning ambition which obsessed him. To be king of Scotland and England, to unite the two countries.

He sighed, nodded. ‘Ah, weel, let it be so. We will see them.’ To Tam, ‘We will talk again when we have prepared a place for you, Master Eildor,’ he said, holding out a grubby hand for Tam to kiss.

That act of submission performed, Tam bowed and hurried away reeling from the scene, with the nearest he had ever
suffered
to a blinding headache of mammoth proportions. The heavy wine so early in the day was only partly to blame.

Walking quickly towards the gatehouse, he had more pressing matters to concern him than how he was to deal with the king’s invitation – nay, command – to be the royal cupbearer.

For instance there was the urgent matter of why Mistress Agnew had been murdered and of tracking down her killer as soon as possible. What troubled him most was Tansy’s
revelation
that the cloak Agnew was wearing had belonged to her, a gift from Queen Anne. And that suggested to even the most unintelligent that the assassin had made a mistake. He had killed the wrong woman. In the dim light of the turnpike stair, his dagger’s deathblow had been intended for Mistress Tansy Scott.

Tam sighed deeply. However he resolved the situation of the king’s infatuation he could not quit while Tansy was in any danger. And at the back of his mind something he had heard but which he could not quite get into focus. Tansy’s story of the king’s bitter reaction to any reference to his birth.

Was it possible, could the fatal connecting link between Agnew and Tansy be that both their grandmothers had been in attendance on Queen Mary during the period of her
lying-in
and delivery?

From Tansy’s directions. Tam had little difficulty in finding the house Mistress Agnew had visited. He knocked on the
door, which was slightly ajar. There was no reply.

‘Is someone there?’

Still no response, so cautiously he pushed open the door and found himself inside a large room, its gloomy depths only faintly livened by thin sunlight from one window.

As his eyes adjusted to the dim light he recognised the
outline
of a bed with straw mattress, a pillow and rough
blankets
, recently slept in for it was unmade. At a wooden table, two chairs sprawled at untidy angles.

An empty hearth. He went close, put out his hand. The ashes still gave out heat, adding to the significance of the unmade bed, that the occupant of the house had left recently and in some haste.

Tam set to right the chairs which uneasily suggested a struggle and that the occupant might have had unexpected and unwelcome visitors. It was then he became aware that the door of the press was open and some parchments lay
scattered
on the floor nearby.

As he picked them up, he felt sure that a searcher had been at work. The name on them was David Rose. They were legal documents, bills of sale relating to property.

Tam’s conclusions, based on this evidence, were not
difficult
to reach. The man he sought had fled, or been taken, but more important as far as he was concerned, the vital
opportunity
of extracting information from him regarding the possible reasons for Mistress Agnew’s death was also lost.

He considered the scene and again what the rifled
documents
suggested. That whoever induced the man to leave, willingly or not, it was the documents themselves which had concerned them. The state of the room also told Tam that they had been interrupted and had left in great haste.

Tam looked around carefully. The signs were that Mistress Agnew’s man, David Rose, was the owner of the house and most certainly an educated man who could read and write.

Closing the door behind him, he crossed the road to where a blacksmith of enormous dimensions was hammering at his
forge. He had observed Tam leaving the house and his look posed a question.

‘Is it Davy you seek, sir?”

‘It is.’

‘He’s no’ home at this hour o’ the morning.’ And as if Tam should be aware of this he said, ‘Ye’re no’ from these parts, sir.’

Tam hoped his vague nod was sufficient as the blacksmith said, ‘Ye’ll most like find him ower there,’ and pointing to the church, ‘He helps the minister wi’ his garden and sichlike’.

Tam would have liked to ask more questions but the man had already turned his attention back to his forge’s glowing iron.

Walking quickly through the kirkyard, Tam already had an ominous feeling that he would not find David Rose at work there.

The signs he had left at the house were sinister hints at an unexpected and violent departure rather than a man casually off to a day’s work.

The church was considerably older than Falkland Palace. A place of worship poorer and much less ornate than the chapel royal and serving only a small parish, it was overshadowed by the wealth and magnificence of the royal court, most of whom Tam suspected had never set foot in so humble a church.

The interior was cold and gloomy, but showed evidence of having seen better days. Niches that had once held holy water and sacred images were empty, sternly set aside when Scotland’s old Catholic religion had given way to the Reformation and the Protestant faith.

As for the minister, who approached Tam with faltering steps from the dim recess near the altar, his rusty black hat and robe with unstarched curling white linen bands implied, as did his church, that he had also seen more prosperous days.

Peering at him short-sightedly, so close that, despite the spectacles he wore, Tam suspected that the old man was almost blind, was confirmed by his question, ‘Davy, is that you?’

‘Nay, sir. It is Davy I search for,’ said Tam. ‘I was told I would find him here.’

The minister shook his head. ‘Alas, he failed to arrive this morning. A matter of great inconvenience for he was to help me with some parish affairs, accounts and so forth.’

Sounding rather cross and put out, he added, ‘Davy writes a fair hand, a fair hand indeed.’

His firm statement led Tam to speculate further that the minister also relied on the absent Davy’s superior eyesight.

However there were more important issues suggested by the man’s failure to put in an appearance which implied that Davy Rose was no simple crofter who could not read and write but a man of some education. A fact that further intrigued Tam regarding his connection with Mistress Agnew.

‘I cannot imagine what has happened to him,’ said the
minister
. ‘He is usually so reliable,’ and with a sigh, ‘Shall I inform him of your visit, sir?’