Gemini - Dorothy Dunnett [233]
By the time Edinburgh learned of it, and Angus had been located and brought in for appalled interrogation, the news had reached London. A response was dictated by the King of England himself and sent north, carried by the accustomed if not overjoyed hand of Master Alexander Leigh.
Through many reigns, the measured language of diplomacy had been developed to convey, with the utmost suavity, the outraged demands of the sender. What Master Leigh brought was not a secretary’s work. It was an explosion of anger from Edward himself, abjuring diplomacy and even, perhaps, commonsense.
Nicholas carried the news of Edward’s demands to Lord Cortachy’s house, bursting into the office where Adorne held his weekly meetings with Wodman and Gelis. ‘Listen! Listen!’ He began to collapse into laughter and then caught himself. ‘No. Really. Listen.’
All three looked up from where they sat. Gelis kept her face grave. Adorne closed his ledger with care, and clasped his hands on the table before him. ‘We are listening. King Edward has made his complaint about Angus’s raid?’
‘You could say that,’ Nicholas said. He had come to a halt. By mustering all his considerable height, he had somehow assumed the massive, corpulent form, vast in belly and buttocks, of the once-golden monarch of York. His eyeballs bulged like peeled eggs, and his English accent was conspicuously accurate.
‘Edward to James, right high and mighty Prince and dearest brother and cousin, go to hell. Before leaving, you will kindly note the following injuries and make reformation. Item, despite the great and notable sums of money received for the assured marriage of his son, the King has allowed his neighbour’s subjects on the Borders to be invaded, murdered and slain, without cause and against all honour, law of arms and good conscience. This is intolerable. Heads must fly. Item, after all our many reminders, James of Scotland wrongfully occupies many of the King’s towns and seigneuries, such as Berwick, Coldingham and Roxburgh, having no right nor title to these. We require them to be returned. Item, we notice that the King has not done homage unto the King of England, as his ancestors have done in time past. What is he thinking of? Item, having received lavish annual payments towards the marriage of his son to the Princess Cecilia, James of Scotland is required to deliver the Prince into the hands of my lord of Northumberland by the last day of May for the accomplishment of the said marriage. (How old is he? Six?) And final item, if, my lord, you are so conscienceless as to object to these demands, we—in our noble reluctance to spill Christian blood—will reduce our requirements to two. Send us the Prince. He’s Cecilia’s. And hand over Berwick-upon-Tweed. It’s ours.’
He crashed down. Gelis clapped. Wodman said, ‘Christ!’ And Adorne, stirring, said, ‘Well, at least he moderated towards the end. It’s rhetoric, of course, but perfectly understandable, after what Angus did. What will the King reply?’
‘They’re still discussing it. Chilly disbelief followed by a counterclaim of previous provocation, followed by an offer of compensation, I should think,’ Nicholas said. ‘There’s also an old charge dating from Lisle’s death, you remember, and the temporary capture of Henry Northumberland, whose family think Berwick is theirs anyway. And yes, it was chiefly a stroke in response to the King’s well-advertised longing to travel to Amiens. Don’t get too friendly with France, or I can make things really awkward. Bishop Spens agrees, but isn’t too happy.’
Gelis said, ‘Angus is obeying Albany, then?’
‘Angus is probably obeying the dead voice of Davie Simpson,’ Nicholas said with sudden annoyance. ‘And Albany, of course, is the woolly face on King Louis’s left glove. Do we worry? I don’t think so.’
‘Or not yet,’ Adorne said. ‘Meantime, I do congratulate you on the performance. Can you do Archie Whitelaw?’
In their state of confidence at the time, it seemed amusing. In no possible way could England execute