Roger Widdrington nodded wisely. ‘Whatever you can tell me,’ he said. ‘And my lady will pay you of course, sixpence for each item of information.’

Hutchin nodded cannily. That made sense and Lady Widdrington was a sensible woman. God knew, he sometimes thought the Deputy needed a nursemaid to keep him out of trouble.

‘Ay,’ he said. ‘I can do that.’

‘What can you tell me now?’

‘Not much. I havenae seen him since last night, for I left the Castle before him this morning.’

‘How are his balls?’

Hutchin suppressed a grin. ‘Not bad, not bad at all, considering some bastard tried to swing on them, though he doesnae ken who, it being too close and too quick. He didnae need the surgeon, though Dodd was all for sending for one, but the Deputy said most of the surgeons he knew were ainly interested in what they could cut off, and that wasnae what he had in mind.’

Roger Widdrington laughed. ‘I’ll tell her he’s better,’ he said, and handed Hutchin a silver English sixpence as proof of his integrity.

‘Meet me here tomorrow at noon,’ said Roger Widdrington. ‘Can you do that?’

‘I reckon I can.’

‘Excellent. Oh, and don’t tell the Deputy about this—Lady Widdington doesn’t want him worrying about what might happen to her if Sir Henry finds out.’

‘Ay,’ said Young Hutchin, well pleased with himself, pulled at his cap and went on up to Maxwell’s Castle.

***

King James had finished his repast, mainly of brutally tough venison, and was well into the Tuscan wine when the English Deputy Warden was announced. Beaming happily he rose to greet the man and found him down on one knee again.

‘Up, up,’ cried King James. ‘By God, I had rather look ye in the eye, than down on ye, Sir Robert. Will ye sit by me and take some wine? Good. Rob, my dear, fetch up some of the white Rhenish and some cakes for my good friend here.’

King James watched his page trot off dutifully and sighed a little. At that age they were delightful; so fresh-faced and rounded, but King James was a man of principle and had promised himself he would have nothing to do with children. Poor d’Aubigny had been clear in his contempt for those who did and besides, as he had also said in his delightful trilling French voice, how could one tell that they would not suddenly erupt with spots or become gangling and bony? Beauty was all to d’Aubigny, beauty and elegance, things in precious short supply in Scotland.

King James turned back to Carey and smiled. ‘It’s such a pleasure to meet someone newly from the English court,’ he said. ‘Can ye tell me aught of my esteemed cousin, Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth?’

Carey, who was extremely tall once off his knees, had sat down at once when invited to, tactfully upon a low folding stool by the King’s great carven armchair. He spoke at length about the Queen, from which King James gathered that the old bitch was still as pawky and impossible as ever; that she was spending money like water upon the war in the Netherlands and the miserable fighting against the Wild Irish led by O’Neill in the bogs of Ireland; that if James’s annual subsidy was actually delivered he should be grateful for it, since there was no chance whatever of an increase—a sad piece of news to King James, but not unexpected.

‘Och, it’s a fact, Sir Robert,’ he said sadly. ‘There is nothing more stupid than a war. If I have a hope for the... for the future, it is that I may one day become a means of peace between England and Spain.’

Sir Robert took this extraordinary sentiment like a man. Not a flicker of surprise did his face betray; instead he managed to bow from a sitting position and say ‘Her Majesty is often heard to say the same thing: that the war was never of her making and that she fought against it with all she had and for as long as she could, but that at the last you cannot make peace with one who is determined to fight.’

‘Ay,’ said the King. ‘That’s true as well and well I know it.’

‘What Her Majesty deplores most of all is the waste of gold to pay for weapons. She says it is like a great bottomless pit, and if you tip in cartloads of gold, still you never hear them so much as tinkle.’

King James smiled at the figure, but felt he could improve it. ‘Or the mouth of an ever hungry monster, a cockatrice or a basilisk, perhaps.’

‘It’s not surprising,’ continued Carey. ‘For weapons are expensive, above all firearms.’

‘So they are, so they are,’ agreed King James affably as the young Robert came trotting back with a silver flagon and two silver goblets. The wine was better than most of the stuff swilling around Dumfries, but still not up to its surroundings, and Carey had some work to swallow it. King James was more used to the rotgut that the Hanseatic merchants had been unloading on thirsty Scotland until the Bonnettis arrived, and knocked his own drink back easily.

‘We had a strange accident in Carlisle upon the Sunday,’ said Carey after a moment’s pause. ‘A number of newly delivered firearms were stolen out of our very armoury while we were at muster in readiness to assist you.’

‘Never?’ said King James. ‘Well, I am sorry to hear it, Sir Robert, sorry indeed. Such dishonesty...’

‘It was thought that they might have come to Scotland, perhaps brought by an ill-affected noble?’

‘Och no, to be sure, they’ll have been auctioned all over the Debateable Land by now,’ said King James. ‘The surnames might well be a wee bit concerned with myself in the district to do justice and the hanging trees all ready with ropes. It’s not to be wondered at that they might try a thing like that to arm themselves better against me. Not that it will do any good.’

‘And then there was the rumour of a Spanish agent at Your Majesty’s court.’

‘Never,’ said King James very positively. ‘Now why would we do a silly thing like that, harbouring an enemy of England, considering the manifold kindnesses and generosities to us of our most beloved cousin, the Queen of England.’

‘Not, of course, with Your Majesty’s knowledge,’ said Carey, managing to sound very shocked, slipping from his stool to go on one knee again. ‘Such a thought had never crossed my mind. It struck me, however, that some among your nobles might have... designs and desires to change the religion of this land, or something worse, and the Spanish agent might be a part of it.’

‘Och, never look so sad, man, and get off yer poor worn-out knee again. That’s better. Have some more wine. Nay, any Spaniard at the court, and I’d have had word of him from my lords here all at daggers drawn, quarrelling for his gold.’ He smiled wisely at Carey who smiled back.

‘Of course, Your Majesty, I was a poor fool to think otherwise.’

‘Ay, well, we’ll say no more on it. And when I go into the Debateable Land to winkle out Bothwell, that black-hearted witch of a man, I’ll keep a good eye out for your weapons, never fear.’

‘Yes, Your Majesty. If I might venture a little more on the subject: for God’s sake, do not try any that you might capture, for they are all faulty and burst on firing. You may tell one of the faulty guns by a cross scratched on the underside of the stock.’

King James nodded. ‘I shall bear it in mind,’ he said. ‘But personally I do not care for the crack and report of firearms no more than for the clash of knives or swords. Ye may have noted how most of the beasts we hunted this morning were slain by arrows or bolts or the action of dogs. So I’ll be in no danger from yer badly welded pistols, have nae fear.’

‘I am very happy to hear it,’ said Carey after a tiny pause. ‘Your Majesty’s life is, of course, infinitely precious, not only in Scotland, but also in England.’

Hm, thought King James, is this some message from the Cecils, I wonder? Do they see danger somewhere? I wonder where?

Gently he probed Carey, but thought that in fact the man was as he seemed: concerned at the lost guns from Carlisle and with the rumoured Spanish agent, but he had left London in the middle of June and was already a little behind with the court news. Also it transpired that he was one of the Earl of Essex’s faction, rather than with the Cecils, which showed he was disappointingly short-sighted.

Surely it couldn’t be much longer to wait, thought James as they discussed the merits of hunting par force de chiens as opposed to using beaters; surely the old battle axe would die soon. But it seemed that she was like the Sphinx: full of riddles and immortal, her health depressingly good apart from being occasionally troubled by a sore on her leg.

King James was sinking the wine as quickly as he usually did, with Rob already gone down to the butler for a refill. One of the clerks would be in soon with administrative papers for him to sign and letters to write: he knew he was getting a little tipsy when he slopped some of the wine down his doublet and laughed. Ever the courtier, Sir Robert fetched one of the linen towels off the rack by the fireplace and proffered the end to wipe up the spillage—something that would never even have occurred to Rob or the Earl of Mar or any one of his overdressed hangers-on.

James was full of goodwill and caught Carey’s wrist with his hand as he came close.

‘Will ye speak French to me?’ he asked. ‘I dinna speak it well mesen, but the sound of it always thrills my heart.’

‘Avec grand plaisir. Alas, Your Majesty, my accent is not what it once was and I have forgotten much,’ said Carey in that language. On an affectionate impulse, James kissed his cheek which was so near and so inviting. Only a kiss.

It was a mistake. Carey permitted the familiarity but no more. James felt the tension in him: damn the cold-hearted bloody English, they all bridled at a touch from him as if he was diseased.

‘Ye used to remind me so much of d’Aubigny, ye know,’ James said thickly, hoping as he looked into Carey’s handsome face that the man was either easily overawed or as sophisticated as he seemed. ‘Ye still have very much his style, Robin.’

Carey smiled carefully. ‘Perhaps from the French court,’ he said, in Scottish this time. ‘My father wanted me to learn Latin as well as French, but alas I was a bad student and spent most of my time pursuing sinful women.’ Yes, there was a distinct, if tactful accent on the ‘women’. Another man still in thrall to the she-serpent then. ‘My ignorance is entirely my own fault.’

James let go of Carey’s arm and drank down what was left of his wine. ‘My tutor George Buchanan warned me that the wages of sin is death,’ he said, wondering whether to be angry at the rebuff or simply sad, and also whether it would be worth having Carey to supper privately and filling him full of aqua vitae. He had known it work sometimes, with the ambitious, although that of course also contained the seed of heartache, in that the love could never be pure. How he longed for the clarity of the love and partnership between Achilles and Patroclus, or Alexander and Hephaistion. And David and Jonathan: it had been a revelation to him when he read how their love surpassed that of women, for how could the ancestor of Christ be guilty? Their love was never condemned in the Bible as was David’s adultery with Bathsheba.

‘Mr Buchanan was right, of course,’ said Carey softly, not looking at James, his face impossible to read. ‘We are all sinners and all of us die.’