Carey almost grinned, but not quite. ‘No, Your Majesty, saving your grace’s pardon, I would reserve the figure of the pale virgin of the moon for my liege and Queen, Your Majesty’s good cousin.’
‘And so I should hope. Well, Apollo will do for the present.’ It was nice that Carey remembered the courtly games and masques they had played years ago, with King James taking the role of Apollo the Sun God and much ribaldry on the subject of that Virgin Moon as well.
Having emptied the goblet, King James made a move to hand it back, but Carey stepped away and spread his hands gracefully.
‘How dare mere mortal lips touch that which has refreshed the Sun God?’ he said with a fine rhetoric. Over behind his left shoulder in the pressing knot of courtiers, James heard someone mutter that if every fucking Englishman was as prosy as this one, it was no fucking wonder their Queen could never be brought to decide on anything.
King James sighed again, and examined the silver goblet, which was nicely chased and inlaid with enamel and a couple of reasonable garnets. There was no question but that his court could do with some polish.
‘Ay,’ he said. ‘It’s a mite melted round about the rim. I’ll keep it and have my silversmith mend it for me.’
‘Your Majesty, may I ask a boon?’ added Carey, once more with his knee crunching in the leaf-litter. No doubt all the fucking Englishmen would have terrible rheumatism of the kneejoints with all the bending and scraping they must do at the Queen’s court, continued the commentary behind the King.
‘Ay, what can I do for ye, Sir Robert?’
‘Would Your Majesty favour me with a few minutes of your time?’
So he wanted audience and knew how to ask for it prettily. Lord, it was a lot easier on the nerves than some of the earls about the King who tended to march up to him and begin haranguing him at the least opportunity. And perhaps... who knew? Perhaps they could be friends? Or more? King James positively beamed at his cousin.
‘Ay, of course, Sir Robert. It would be a pleasure. This afternoon, I think, when I have refreshed myself after the hunting.’
‘Your Majesty does me the greatest conceivable honour.’
‘Ay, nae doubt of it. Farewell, Sir Robert.’
King James rode off with his goblet tucked into his saddlebag, chuckling to himself and wondering idly was Carey still as much of an innocent as he had been? Surely not. Lord Spynie was riding close by, but casting looks like daggers over his shoulder at Carey. Well, it was always a pleasure to see a well-looking man with a bit of polish and a nice smooth tongue on him, it reminded him of poor d’Aubigny in a way that none of the ruffianly heathens and sour-faced Godlovers that generally surrounded him could ever do. Certainly not Spynie, whose polish was thinly applied and increasingly gimcrack.
The King began to look forward to the afternoon’s audience.
***
Young Hutchin had spent the morning finding the house of the Graham water-bailiff’s woman, in the unhealthy part of town near the Kirk Gate. His curiosity to see the court had completely left him, but he had a more urgent desire now. In the little wooden house he had discovered the water-bailiff, well settled in and dandling a baby on his knee while a plump girl laughed and stirred a pottage on the fire. Round the table were two other cousins of his, and his Uncle Jimmy.
There was some ribald cheering when he came in and his cousin Robert asked if he was planning to join the court and if he thought King James would like him too. Uncle Jimmy cuffed his son’s ear and asked if it was true what he had heard, that the Deputy Warden had gone after him alone with his sword.
Beetroot at the thought of the story getting back to his father, Young Hutchin nodded.
‘He shouldnae have let ye come here,’ opined cousin John, who was the elder and took his responsibilities seriously.
An innate sense of fairness forced Hutchin to explain. ‘I came after him meself and I wouldnae go back to Carlisle though he told me to,’ he said. ‘Ye cannae blame the Deputy for the mither.’
Uncle Jimmy grunted. ‘D’ye want us to do anything?’ he asked.
Hutchin thought about this for a while. It was a serious matter. If he said the word, he could be sure that every man in the room at the Red Boar would have a price on his head and the whole Graham surname after his blood. It was a warming thought, that, but would it be as satisfying as seeing them die himself?
‘Nay,’ he said at last. ‘I’ll kill them all meself when I’m grown. I can wait.’
Uncle Jimmy exchanged looks with the water-bailiff who nodded approvingly.
‘That’s right, lad,’ said Uncle Jimmy. ‘Allus do the job yerself if ye can, and be sure it’s done the way ye want it. And what’s the Deputy doing here anyway?’
‘He’s looking for the guns that were reived out of Carlisle Keep on Sunday, for one thing,’ Young Hutchin told him. Uncle Jimmy laughed shortly. Everyone knew what had happened to them, except the Deputy of course. ‘And he keeps asking after a German he saw arrested on the Border the Saturday as well, wants to talk to him.’
‘Why?’ asked Uncle Jimmy.
Young Hutchin frowned. ‘How would I know?’ he said. ‘He might want to make friends. Can ye keep an eye out for him?’
The other Grahams sighed deeply. ‘That’s ticklish, Young Hutchin,’ said his other cousin. ‘What if this German doesnae want to meet the Deputy?’
Young Hutchin shrugged. ‘I think he’ll be as bitten by curiosity as any other man,’ he said. ‘Would ye not at least go to gawk, Cousin Robert, if ye were not at the horn, that is?’
Cousin Robert snorted.
Not one of the Grahams, other than Young Hutchin and the water-bailiff, was legally there, because at least one of the stated reasons for the King being in Dumfries was to harry the evil clan of Graham, that had lifted so many of his best horses, off the face of the earth. The evil clan knew this perfectly well and were anxious to hear about it when the King finally decided what to do with his army.
So there were the Johnstones who were old friends and with the town as packed as it was, a few extra louring ruffians in worn jacks were hardly noticeable. Uncle Jimmy and his sons promised to look out for the German, and gave Hutchin news of his father and his Uncle Richard of Brackenhill, who were finding that people were even slower with their blackrent payments than usual. According to Uncle Jimmy, Richie of Brackenhill blamed the new Deputy Warden who was shaking everything up so well, and wanted Hutchin’s estimate of what it would cost to pay him off and how he should be approached.
Hutchin blew out his cheeks and drank some of the mild ale poured by the water bailiff’s woman. She had pretty brown hair and a lovely pair of tits to her; Hutchin found his attention wandered every time she passed, and when she sat herself down on a stool to feed the babe, it was all he could do not to stare. God knew, it was older men and weans had all the fun. None of the maids he met would let him so much as squeeze their paps.
‘Young Hutchin?’ pressed Uncle Jimmy, looking amused. ‘How much for the Deputy’s bribe?’
‘It’s hard to tell,’ Hutchin said slowly. ‘I dinnae think he thinks like other men.’
‘Och nonsense,’ growled Uncle Jimmy. ‘Every man has his price.’
‘Ay, but I dinna think it’s money he wants.’
‘What d’ye mean?’ demanded cousin Robert. ‘O’ course he wants money, what man doesnae?’
