Gemini - Dorothy Dunnett [343]
Three days later, encamped in the blazing uplands round Coldingham, the Duke had recovered his temper, but Harry Percy was losing patience with Albany. The southern commanders had had none to begin with, but he had been asked by Dickon Gloucester, in his most winning manner, to do what he could. They needed the man. Only, quartering the March north of Berwick, they had been treated every few miles to a fresh complaint—these farmlands belonged to Jamie’s cousins; that church provided income for Ellem; if they burned that township, they would alienate John, Sander’s father. Albany had destroyed all the joy of destruction. And to cap it, he was shocked to the point of disbelief at the amount of support he wasn’t getting. He had always maintained that, once they saw him on the road, East March lairds—and the Middle March, and the masters of Annandale—would flock to him. Even Dickon had compelled himself to believe it, or he would never have got the money out of the King. But it wasn’t true. There were English sympathisers—there always had been. There were men who thought the King was madder than Albany. But there were more who trusted not just James or his brother but the tight circle of men who were James’s advisers. And it was not clear, yet, whom they favoured.
Or at least that had been the position until recently. Then a message had come, originating in Haddington, and addressed to the right noble and worshipful lord, his grace Richard, Duke of Gloucester. The sender, an accredited herald, asked leave for himself, with a temporary Usher, to join the Duke for an informal parley, under flag of truce, at a place of the Duke’s choice. Coldingham, then two days away, had been suggested. The name of the Usher was not mentioned. It was signed: Marchmont Herald.
The Duke had quizzed Albany. ‘Who is Marchmont Herald?’
Even when told, he was not much the wiser. The man was called William Cumming, and had business in the north-east and Fife, and lodgings in Edinburgh. His alliances were with the rich merchant families: the Prestons, the Napiers, the Bertrams, the Meldrums, the Errols.
So. A royal herald, but not from the King, since the King was immured and this message had not come from the Castle. It could be anything. It was worth taking further. A message was sent back, agreeing, and the men who carried it were followed discreetly to Haddington. Watchers reported that the sender was indeed Marchmont Herald, and that he had immediately set out, with two grooms and an official companion. Someone with good local knowledge and better eyesight reported who the accompanying officer was.
Hearing, the Duke of Gloucester sent for Harry Northumberland. His face was dark. ‘The effrontery! They are proposing to send Nicholas de Fleury to parley!’ His voice sharpened. ‘Let him come. We shall send them our reply with his head.’
The Percies all had reddish-fair hair and tall brows, which wrinkled when they were perplexed. Northumberland said, ‘Certainly, my lord, de Fleury deserves to be killed. He has escaped punishment once. His arrival now would be an insult to England.’
‘But?’ the Duke said.
‘But, however tempting an execution might seem, it might be best to forgo it. I would advise that you refuse to receive him. If de Fleury came, Albany would be involved. And we cannot be sure what the Prince would find tolerable.’
The Duke looked at him. ‘We shall never be sure of Albany under any circumstances,’ he said. ‘As for de Fleury, I suspect that he is being sent as a warning. We are being invited to think again, since they know all our plans. This is a cynical message, sent not by the King, but by clever men. We all have options, they are saying. You can pretend to leave. Albany can pretend to stay. As matters develop, you can continue to bluff, or find the money and men to do something quite different. So may we. He fell silent, discontented.