Game of Kings - Dorothy Dunnett [263]
Erskine said uninformatively, “At the Castle,” and glanced at the top table. Buccleuch’s face was turned toward him and the black circle of the mouth shaped the words “Where’s Will?”
Having no desire to answer that either, Tom stabbed a finger several times in the air due west, and as Sir Wat continued to look expressively at him, mouthed the word “Later” and turned overtly to the centre of the floor.
“You arrived in London,” the Queen’s Counsel was saying, “along with a thousand others taken prisoner in 1542 after the battle of Solway Moss. At that time, as we all know, the late Henry VIII of England had declared war on our King his nephew and was attempting to prove his title to Scotland by force. Unlike others of your own rank you were immediately given preferential treatment in being lodged in a private English house.”
“After three days in the Tower. Not very preferential.”
Lauder looked at his notes. “We have that point quite clear. All but yourself were noblemen of the first rank, and all those with whom you say you had contact are now unfortunately bearing witness in higher courts than these. The Earl of Glencairn died last year; Lord Maxwell two years ago; Lord Fleming and Mr. Robert Erskine at Pinkiecleugh.”
“The nation’s subsequent failures in the field,” said Lymond gently, “are my misfortune, not my fault. Sir George has already told you that I stayed at his brother’s London house under no special concession.”
The Bishop of Orkney cleared his throat. “And why, Mr. Crawford, did you not then return to Scotland ten days later as did the great majority of such boarded prisoners? Were your scruples such that even tongue in cheek you could not bring yourself to sign the necessary oath of allegiance to King Henry, as your compatriots did? Men of honour, it seems to me, must be prepared like them to sell that honour for their country’s good. Why did you not sign?”
“I wasn’t asked,” said Lymond, and a fleeting regret slipped through the pleasant voice. “Only prelates and barons were thought to have sufficient tongue and sufficient cheek.”
Richard swore. It was Lord Herries who saved the situation with a brusque and bass inquiry. “Since he’s a younger son, there would be little point, surely, in asking Mr. Crawford to sign a bond to serve the King in Scotland?”
The Bishop said, breathing heavily, “I disagree. He was, in sort, his brother’s heir. If he were innocent he would have contrived, surely, to return on some pretext.”
“The thing reeks of ineptitude, doesn’t it?” said Lymond. “If I were a spy, it was shockingly careless of the English to capture me in the first place. And if I were a spy, my first thought would have been to return to Scotland as fast as I could. According to the Bishop, my treason lay in not promising to work secretly in Scotland against the Queen. If that’s treason then let’s make an end. I admit it.”
Lauder was undisturbed. “You made King Henry no promise to serve him?”
“No.”
“You had in the past performed no service for him?”
“I had not.”
The Lord Advocate looked mildly regretful. “And the presentation to Francis Crawford, Scottish gentleman, of the manor of Gardington, Bucks, was an elaborate ruse to make us believe you had done these things? King Henry must have thought you very important to us, Mr. Crawford. You did, I suppose, receive the deeds of this lordship and manor?”
“Yes. I did.”
“And can you suggest why, if it was not in gratitude for favours received?”
“Europe’s most Christian Bachelor and I had nothing in common,” said Lymond. “He had a fancy to control my tongue. And also to restrain his niece.”
“Ah, yes. The Lady Margaret Douglas, now the Countess of Lennox. Are we to take it that, seduced by your charms, the lady asked for Gardington as her dot?” George Douglas, he saw,