‘Brother Oswald,’ said Hugh de Tracey. ‘You took your time.’
They were standing in the cloister of Durham cathedral, listening to rain drip from the eaves. ‘I ran into Brus,’ said Oswald of Halton. ‘He asked me to carry some letters for him. I thought it would be a chance to find out what he is doing.’
‘And?’
‘He has the Disinherited by the balls, I don’t know how or why. Brus’s friends raided their lands to put pressure on them. When they fought back, he rebuked them, and they cringed like little girls. I saw it myself.’
‘Where are they now?’
‘Vanished. But here’s the important bit. Brus is grabbing land, from the Knights of Saint John and from the church. And according to a rumour I picked up in Newcastle, he is making a play for the town as well.’
‘Newcastle!’ Hugh had kept his voice low, but his tone was vehement. ‘What do you mean, making a play?’
‘Exactly what I said. Some of the merchants are planning to open the gates when the Scottish army comes. They’re already bribing officers of the garrison. I heard something similar in Berwick too, but in Newcastle they were definite. Brus is planning to take the town for his own.’
‘Then he is exceeding orders,’ Brother Hugh said.
‘He damned well is. The instructions were clear. We parcel out the spoils at the end, to make sure everyone gets their fair share.’
Hugh made an impatient gesture. ‘What about the herald?’
‘I lost him for a while when Brus got his hooks into me. He had some rendezvous out beyond Hexham, I don’t know who with. Then he tried to win over the Disinherited, and failed. Last I heard he was riding off to Jedburgh to try and persuade the Scots to extend the truce. Oh, and Brus is trying to kill him, too.’
‘That’s not in the plan either,’ Hugh said sharply.
‘What about your nephew, Gilbert? The word among the religious houses is that he is trying to curry favour with the king. Does that mean he wants out?’
‘That is what I am trying to discover.’ Hugh looked at the friar. ‘Who do you work for now? Myself, or Brus?’
‘Brus pays better.’
‘I’ll double whatever he paid you. Now listen.’ Hugh leaned forward until his voice was next to the other man’s ear. ‘This is what I want you to do,’ he said.
It was raining north of the border too, the hills above Teviotdale shrouded in silver mist, the burns rushing and roaring with water pouring down the slopes towards the dark river. ‘And so, after one day, the glorious campaign of 1346 judders to a halt,’ said Sir William Douglas of Liddesdale.
Brus turned on him. ‘Don’t be ridiculous. You know we can’t get the army over the hills in this weather.’
Douglas shifted a little. Like Brus he was in near constant pain, from a wound taken during the attack on Carlisle the previous year. The pain did nothing to sweeten his temper. ‘You mean, we can’t get the king’s baggage over the hills, or the ladies and their pretty gowns. My hobelars travel in worse weather than this.’
Rain pattered steadily on the roof of the pavilion, painted with Brus’s red and gold saltire. ‘Then get them out into the field,’ Brus snapped. ‘The eastern march of England is already reduced to ashes. Let’s burn the west next.’
‘Patience,’ said Niall Bruce of Carrick. The bruises on his face were turning dull red and yellow, matching the colours on the canvas. ‘Nothing will burn in this weather. A day or two’s delay won’t kill us.’
‘Since when have you been the voice of reason?’ Douglas demanded.
‘He’s right,’ Brus said. ‘For God’s sake, Douglas, the archbishop’s force is a hundred miles away. Shorn of the Disinherited, and of the Percys and their friends, he will be lucky to raise three thousand men. We have four times that. All the nobles are falling into line now, even the Dunbars.’
‘Why?’ asked Guy of Béthune, the fourth man in the room. ‘What did you offer them?’
‘Something they couldn’t refuse. We’ll take Northumberland and Cumberland without a fight. We’ll have Durham too, unless the priory cooperates with us. It’s all turning out exactly as we planned.’
‘Exactly as we planned?’ Douglas said sharply. ‘We were supposed to seize Berwick yesterday, and that failed. We still don’t know why. This is not exactly an auspicious start, Brus.’
‘Berwick was one element in the larger plan,’ Brus said. ‘Give it time. When the rest of Northumberland falls into our hands, Berwick will fall too. We have come too far, gentlemen. Let’s not start doubting each other now.’
‘It’s not each other we’re doubting,’ Douglas said, still with an edge to his voice. ‘I want what I was promised, Brus. And if you fuck this up, it’s you I’ll be coming after.’
Béthune held up a hand for silence. Walking to the pavilion door, he looked out into the rain but saw nothing apart from a female camp servant carrying a pail of milk from the dairy. Closing the canvas sheet, he turned back to the others.
‘This is no time for disunity,’ he said. ‘We took oaths that we would make this happen. When England is destroyed we will refashion Scotland. That is what we promised, remember?’
Douglas said nothing. Béthune nodded. ‘Good,’ he said. ‘Now, let’s go over the plan one more time.’
‘I could not hear everything,’ Tiphaine said. She had shed her nun’s habit and wore a shapeless brown kirtle with her hair tucked up in a scarf. ‘But they were falling out among themselves. Douglas is unhappy.’
Agnes of Dunbar nodded. ‘Nothing new there,’ she said. ‘But this could prove useful. Go on.’
‘I thought they were just discussing the army’s strategy. But then they checked to see if anyone was listening and closed the door. I dared not linger long after that, but I heard Béthune refer to an oath the three of them had sworn. To destroy England, which I understand, but also to refashion Scotland. I don’t know what that means.’
There was a long silence, broken only by the steady drumming of the rain. ‘Brus has some vision for making Scotland into a great power,’ Agnes said finally. ‘That is the notion he has put into the king’s head, that the country can be restored to the same position it occupied in its years of glory. Except those years never existed. Two hundred years ago, when England was racked by civil war, David I tried to seize and hold the north of England, but he failed. We tried again thirty years ago in the aftermath of Middleton’s rebellion, and seized part of Northumberland, but again we failed.’
She stirred a little, thinking. Black corkscrew curls of hair framed her face. ‘But this may be what Brus is imagining,’ she said. ‘These events may be his inspiration.’
‘But if so, why the secrecy?’ Tiphaine asked. ‘As you said, the king himself must be aware of Brus’s plan.’
‘Perhaps,’ said the countess. ‘But perhaps not all of it.’ She turned to Mora of Islay, standing by. ‘There is more to learn here, I think.’
Mora nodded. ‘We will keep working on it,’ she said.
The rain had churned the roads to mud and the going south from Berwick was slow. It took two days for Merrivale and his companions to reach Warkworth, and by the time they arrived the wind had come up, blowing rain horizontally across the road. They could hear the surf booming on the bar at the mouth of the Coquet.
There were tents and pavilions in the fields around the castle, and lines of horses wrapped in blankets standing miserably in the rain. Merrivale looked around, doing a quick calculation of numbers. Riding beside him, Peter said quietly, ‘There’s Yorkshire coats here, sir, as well as Northumbrians.’
Merrivale nodded. The Percys had lands further south in Yorkshire too, and judging by the evidence they had stripped their estates of men. They were determined to fight, he thought. The question is, for whom?
He answered his own silent question. For us, of course. And it is my task to ensure that they do.
Lord Percy received them in his solar, granite-faced and silent. Dull light shone through the red and white diamond panes of the windows. A servant brought a jug of warm hippocras and Merrivale stood by the fire, his clothes steaming as he sipped his drink. ‘You have mustered a strong force,’ he said. ‘What about the other northern lords? Has Lord Neville called up his men as well?’
‘So I understand,’ Percy said.
Merrivale took another sip. ‘This must be costing you a great deal, to raise so large a retinue. The crown will reimburse you, of course, but you will have needed a lot of money up front. Even more difficult, now that Gilbert de Tracey is no longer your banker.’
Percy waited; by his face, he knew what was coming. ‘But of course, I am forgetting,’ Merrivale said. ‘Your new banker is the Seigneur de Brus. How much money have you had from him already?’
‘Damn you!’ Lord Percy said angrily. ‘I have never taken a penny from the French, or the Scots!’
‘I could order an inquisition to see if that is true,’ Merrivale said. ‘However, we are short of time. You were promised even more money if you joined the Scots, and more estates too. The towns of Berwick and Newcastle would be handed over to you.’
‘Mary told you.’ Percy stared at him, eyes still hard with anger. ‘I presume she also told you we rejected the offer. Turned it down out of hand.’
‘Ah,’ the herald said. ‘But did you?’
Percy said nothing. Merrivale banged his cup down hard on the table. ‘Because if you did, my lord, why is your army sitting here at Warkworth rather than marching to join the archbishop at Richmond? Because as I distinctly recall, those were your orders!’
‘Because it’s no good going to Richmond,’ Percy said. ‘It’s too far south, you know it yourself. Zouche has bungled it. He should have called the muster at Barnard Castle, or even further north. By the time we march all the way to Richmond and back again, it will be too damned late.’
‘So you’re going to stay here and protect your own lands,’ Merrivale said. ‘And if things go badly wrong, you can always take up Brus’s offer.’
‘That will never happen,’ said Percy.
‘Never is a long time, my lord. Incidentally, Brus has also promised Berwick to the Count and Countess of Dunbar, but I rather suspect he intends to keep it for himself. Berwick was bait. Once it was safely in his hands, Brus intended to invite you and your son to join him. Once you were inside the trap, you would be killed.’
‘How do you know this?’ demanded Percy.
‘One of the plotters confessed to me, just before he died. And after you were dead, I believe, Brus intended to seize your lands as well. The name and estates of Percy would be snuffed out. He will betray you, my lord, utterly and finally.’
The herald waited for this to sink in. He saw Lord Percy’s face change, and knew he had won. ‘You knew all along that this was a possibility,’ he said.
‘Yes,’ Lord Percy said finally. ‘Yes, I did. But I don’t trust Zouche to run a Whitsun fair, let alone command an army in the field. And after the last eight years of bungling and neglect, I am not even certain I trust the king. I decided to put my own interests first and yes, I believed what I wanted to believe. What man wouldn’t, in my position?’
‘The Wardenship of the March should belong to you and Lord Neville,’ the herald said. ‘I shall recommend this to the king. I believe the archbishop will be grateful to lay down this burden. Send word to his Grace that you will wait for him at Barnard Castle.’
‘I will need to leave some men to guard Alnwick and Warkworth. I cannot leave them unprotected.’
Inwardly, Merrivale sighed with relief. ‘Of course,’ he said. ‘That is understood.’
Silence fell. ‘How much does London know?’ Percy asked finally.
‘You may expect a rebuke for not mustering your men quickly enough,’ said the herald. ‘Otherwise, there will be no further consequences. You have my word on it.’
‘Thank you.’ Lord Percy regarded him. ‘You’re a clever fellow. Perhaps the king should make you Warden.’
Merrivale smiled a little. ‘No,’ he said. ‘I’m only a herald.’