Gemini - Dorothy Dunnett [376]
At the table, the Chancellor’s clerk dusted the last of the signatures, and the Lord Clerk Register and Master Secretary Whitelaw shared a glance of mild satisfaction. Sandy Albany and the Bishops shook William Ruthven and his son by the hand, and the older Ruthven was slapped on the back by his kinsman by marriage, Earl Davie. They waited, as courtiers must, for the King, whom they could see, standing motionless, now attired in his robe. Then he started to move. He came towards them, his mouth open, his face red, his gown surging behind him, crashing between stools, chests and chairs and oversetting the table in a great swathe of glistening ink. Then, sweeping up to Albany, the King knocked his brother to the ground and, standing over him shouting, kicked his half-dazed body until his toe was red with his blood.
By the time the doctors were there, Crawford and Erroll and Borthwick had pulled back the King, and Kennedy and Leitch had lifted Albany and prevented him, as he recovered, from rushing in his turn upon his brother. The words the King was shouting were incoherent, but the paper crushed in his hand was quite explicit. The doctors recognised it, because they had privileged information, as had Master Whitelaw, and Nicholas de Fleury, sent for and arriving at speed. Sandy Albany himself knew it better than anybody:
The Duke of Albany, styling himself Alexander, King of Scotland, promises to do homage to the King of England when he obtains his realm of Scotland, to break the alliance between Scotland and France, and to surrender the town and castle of Berwick within fourteen days after entering Edinburgh.
It was the first of the treaties signed at Fotheringhay Castle in June, before the army of the Duke of Gloucester marched upon Scotland. Below it was the second, detailing the Scottish lands the King of England would acquire, and offering Albany his daughter Cecilia.
James, his arms held, had fallen into a chair and was choking with laughter. ‘What did you say? It was my lord of Albany there who saved us all by crossing back to your side. Oh, he saved us all. He crossed back to kill me. He crossed back to take the crown. He crossed back to become a vassal of England, and give England whatever she wanted. Kill him.’
You could see Sandy, his face bleeding, fighting his rage. He said, ‘They are forgeries.’
He was looking at Nicholas. And Nicholas, steadily returning the look, said, ‘My lord Duke, forgive me. I know, as you do, that they are not forgeries, but a promise exacted from you, which you did not intend to keep.’
Albany’s lips opened, but he did not speak. The King said, ‘You knew? De Fleury, you knew and said nothing?’
James was shivering. Tobie released him, and glanced at Andreas. Someone—Whitelaw—made a movement. Nicholas said, ‘I said nothing because it was only one of many plots and counterplots. To publish them all would have done nothing but cause alarm. In the event, my lord Duke did make it possible for the English army to leave Scotland without greater damage. Nothing could have saved Berwick.’
‘So you say,’ said the King. ‘And now he is here, he will be content to be Duke of Albany? Or does he not plan still to become Alexander Rex?’
‘Your grace must ask him,’ said Nicholas. He sounded calm and reliable. Tobie, kneeling by the sick King and waiting for the next outburst from the Prince his brother, thought of Johndie Mar, and all that Nicholas, with his patience and self-control, had done and tried to do for this family. If ever a man had made good his mistakes, it was this one. And he was taking the blame. Whatever the King might suspect, he must not have his confidence in his senior ministers destroyed. And, somehow, an illusion about