Gazing toward the gateless barbican of Bothwell Castle a short distance ahead, I ordered our men to dismount and set up camp. I dismounted and tossed my reins to a horse boy. Within moments, there was practiced confusion and noise. Sacks were unloaded from sumpters, men shouted and cursed, horse picket lines were set up and mounts led to them. The thump of men chopping small trees and brush for fires and crude shelters joined the cacophony. Gil shouted for my tent to be set up.
Och, the life of an army on the move. I would have a cold bed this night in my tent. A man became accustomed to awakening in a feather bed with his wife's body welcoming beside him, as I had. She had not been my choice for a bride, but I had grown fond of her. Stroking a light, possessive hand down the curve of her soft body… I shook my head—there was no point in thinking about that. If I had mayhap grown more than fond, that was for another time and place.
My cousin James clapped me on the shoulder. “Why the long face?”
I thrust my chin at the gaping maw of what had once been a castle gate. “Let us see how bad it is.”
We trudged up the slope and through the opening. The bailey had been taken over by grass and heather. Tangles of gorse grew in the corners. The prison tower remained intact, but most of the round keep tower had been knocked down. I walked through the gap where the wall of the keep had been and looked down the sharp slope. At the edge of the River Clyde below, in the scrubby trees and reeds, a few of the stones they tumbled had remained down. It had been planned as an enormous castle, but I would rebuild it larger still.
James turned in a slow circle in the middle of the overgrown yard. “What do you think?”
“I think I need a good mason.” Hands on hips, I twisted my mouth. It would be an even larger task than I had realized. “I want a larger keep than before, at least four stories high. And a kirk.”
“And repaired gates and walls, I should think.”
“Aye. I can see it all.” I strode to where the new keep would stand, picturing how it would be. “This is a defensible spot. Some of the stone can be reused, too.” I had never admitted even to my closest friends that I had spent those long, landless, untitled years dreaming and planning the castles I would one day build, observing the best designs, and noticing the weaknesses of the castles we captured. Even I had not thought it would truly ever come to be. “We should wash and don clean clothes before we go to Glasgow.”
The French maister-mason John Morrow was there, and I hoped to hire him. Besides, I needed to pay a courtesy call to the Bishop of Glasgow. So Gil heated some water over the campfire, and James and I washed off the travel soil and put on presentable clothing for important calls. We rode out with only a score of men-at-arms in our tail.
“'Tis enjoyable, pretending to be terribly important.” James chortled.
“That we are nae pretending is the best part.” I chuckled and adjusted the fall of my fur-lined cloak over the claymore at my hip. I had oftentimes worn fine clothes and armor, but now it was paid for by my own baronies.
It was less than an hour's ride into Glasgow, a larger and more spread-out city than Edinburgh. The city was oddly not walled but had ports on the main thoroughfares where customs or dues were levied on goods entering the burgh. I asked a guard at the Waulkergate Port where to find Maister Morrow. Instructions to find the towering pink sandstone walls of the Bishop's Castle were not needed. The guard assured us that Waulkgate Street became High Street, and if we continued toward the Bishop's Castle past the mercat cross, we would find the mason's rambling stone-built home through an arched pend on the east side. He added if we came to Blackfriar's Monastery, we had gone too far. James rolled his eyes.
We set out, clattering up the street, followed by a chilly wind that pushed scudding clouds before it. The street was bustling. Beggars whined for alms near the mercat cross. Shops had their shutters down, forming counters. We passed houses where working people were stepping out after their dinner to return to whatever work earned their daily silver. When we arrived at an arched entry through a building with an apothecary on one side and a cordwainer on the other, I said, “I believe that is it.”
We turned into the tunnel-like pend. The cobblestone courtyard was empty, but the flagstone forestairs to the upper floor led to the sought-after house. I gave the men permission to dismount and went to rap on the red door. It was opened by a spare man of middle years clad like an upper servant in a simple but well-made hose and tunic.
“Is Maister Morrow in? Tell him Archibald, Lord of Bothwell seeks him.”
The man's eyes widened, not an unusual reaction to the name, and he blanched. He opened the door, bowed low, and ushered us into a hall with a sweep of his arm. “I… I… I will get him, my lord.”
Rugs covered the floor instead of rushes. A small fire added its light to what came through the glass windows. It was a comfortable home for a prosperous master craftsman.
The master of the house strode down the stairs. He was a big man, wearing a fur-trimmed gown with a neat black beard threaded with gray. “Welcome to my house.” He bowed courteously. “Please tell me how I may aid you.”
“I recently came into possession of the Bothwell baronie. Do you mind the castle?”
“A short way southeast of Glasgow, I believe? The castle slighted during the war?”
“Indeed. It is half torn down, with thorny gorse covering much of the bailey. And now I intend to rebuild it. For that I need a maister mason and you were recommended.”
“Ah, that would be a large undertaking.” He turned to the servant. “Have Luke bring refreshments for my guests.”
Once we were seated, I launched into telling my plans. “The original castle covered a great deal of ground. There is little of it left, but there is stone that mayhap be re-used. It will be more building anew rather than repairing.” I smiled as I warmed to my topic. “I intend the keep to be large, four stories, and strongly built, the walls at least an ell thick. There must be towers over the barbican and at least one more in the wall for defense. ,” I stroked my short beard into a point. “Perhaps a separate tower for the garderobes.”
His eyes brightened, and he rose to pace around the room. “That is a large project. It will take much planning. My work at Saint Mungo will be completed within two weeks. But I will need to look over what is there. Then I can tell you what would be needed!”
“Excellent!” I slapped my thigh. “Meet me there tomorrow. I hope you can make suggestions for the chapel. And then we can discuss costs.” With five baronies now mine, cost should be little problem.
“My men can work without me tomorrow afternoon. I will be there before terce.”