‘Land? Cattle? Women?’
‘Nothing so simple, see ye, Uncle Jimmy,’ said Hutchin. ‘Ay, he wants something, but I dinna ken for sure what it is.’
‘When ye find out, will ye pass the word to your Uncle Richie, Hutchin? God knows, it’s why we paid to put ye in the Keep in the first place.’
‘Of course.’ Hutchin was offended. ‘I know that. But it’s no’ so simple as I thought. It’s... well, he doesnae treat me like ye’d expect, and he doesnae think like a Borderer. I’m no relation of his at all, but there it was, he came after me.’
Surprisingly, Uncle Jimmy nodded. ‘Your Uncle Jock o’ the Peartree was saying something alike the other day. He’s as puzzled as ye are. But dinna forget, Carey’s got his price, same as any man. All ye need to do is find out what it is and we’ll do the rest.’
Hutchin smiled. ‘Whatever it is, it’ll be high. Have ye seen the velvets and silks he wears and the way he treats ’em?’
Uncle Jimmy laughed. ‘Och, we’ll even pay his tailor’s bills for him, if he wants. Uncle Richie’s a businessman, no’ a headcase like Kinmont Willie.’
Belly packed tight with a hot pottage and more ale Young Hutchin said goodbye to his relatives and started back up the Soutergate towards the Townhead and Maxwell’s Castle. He felt very proud of himself for never mentioning the water-bailiff’s rather older wife that he had left in Carlisle.
As he picked his way between the heaps of dung and the men playing dice and drinking at every corner, he realised that someone was keeping pace with him. Narrow-eyed with new suspicion, he looked sideways as he drew his dagger, saw a stocky youth a little older than himself, but well-dressed in a wool suit and wearing a sword, though not obviously a courtier. His face seemed a little familiar, but Hutchin couldn’t place it.
‘Good afternoon,’ said the youth cheerfully. ‘Are you Hutchin Graham?’
‘Who wants to know?’ demanded Hutchin, backing to the wall and looking around for ambushes.
The youth took his cap off politely. ‘Roger Widdrington, second son of Sir Henry,’ he said, and then added, ‘Lady Widdrington sent me.’
Young Hutchin relaxed slightly. He could hear easily enough that this Roger Widdrington was no Scot, but did indeed come from the East March.
‘Ay,’ he said. ‘I’m Hutchin Graham.’
‘Sir Robert Carey’s pageboy?’
‘Ay. What about it?’
Roger Widdrington moved closer, ignoring Hutchin’s dagger, so that they were under the overhang of an armourer’s shop. ‘Ye know that my Lady Elizabeth has been forbidden to speak to the Deputy?’
Hutchin nodded. He had carried the letter, but had not been able to read it. However, it was easy enough to guess what it said from the Deputy’s reaction to it.
‘Well,’ said Roger Widdrington with a knowing grin, ‘my stepmother still likes to hear about him. Will ye tell me anything you can about him while he’s in Dumfries?’
‘The Deputy doesnae take me into his confidence much.’
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.’
