‘What theory were ye talking about before? Your theory concerning Sweetmilk.’
‘You wouldn’t be interested.’
‘How the Devil do you know that if ye won’t tell me what it is?’
Carey peeked over again, saw Bothwell, shot at him, missed and ducked down again as two more arquebuses cracked down below.
‘I suppose the nearest cannon are in Carlisle?’
‘Of course they are,’ said Jock, ‘unless your friend Lowther’s bringing one up here.’
‘No, he wouldn’t have any powder for it.’
‘Is that a fact?’
‘You know it as well as I do. In fact, I’ll bet the powder they’re shooting at us with is Carlisle’s finest.’
Jock grunted. ‘It’s no’ very good quality,’ he complained, ‘and he charges something shocking for it. What theory?’
Carey sat down facing Jock, with his knees drawn up, examined the skinned knuckles on his right hand and flexed them. He hated punching people in the face, it always hurt your hand so much.
‘Did you ever hear of a man called Sir Francis Walsingham, Jock?’
Jock nodded. ‘Ay, the Queen’s Secretary. Sir John Forster in the Middle March did him a good turn, oh, ten, twelve years ago.’
‘I know. He’s dead now, but I was on an embassy with him to Scotland in the summer of ’83, it was the first time I went to King James’s Court.’
‘What did you think of it?’
‘It was well enough so long as I kept my arse to the wall and a table between me and the King.’
Jock laughed. ‘Took a fancy to ye, did he?’
Carey coughed and looked down. ‘You could say that.’
‘Jesus, man, what are ye doing here? Your fortune’s made.’
Carey shook his head. ‘I couldn’t do it. In fact I damn near puked in his lap when I finally worked out what it was he wanted.’
Jock found that very funny. ‘What did Sir Francis think of it?’
‘He was a strange man, you know, Jock. I’ve met my fair share of puritans, and most of them are hypocrites, but he was not. He was an utterly upright man. He worked night and day to keep the Queen safe, though he hated the thought of obeying a woman...’
‘Small blame to him,’ said Jock, ‘it’s unnatural.’
Carey thought of the iron grip most border women seemed to have on their menfolk, but didn’t say anything. He peered over the parapet and saw Bothwell and Wattie and the other men gathered together talking, while Old Wat of Harden walked up and down. To keep them on their toes he shot a couple of arrows at them. They scattered and dived for cover satisfactorily.
‘When I told him what the King wanted from me, he saw to it that I was never alone with him again without it seeming he was doing it, if you follow. And I never knew him to take a bribe.’
‘What, never?’
‘Never. When he died his estate was gone and he was deep in debt.’
‘Why was he at Court then, if he didna take bribes?’
Carey shrugged. ‘To serve the Queen, he said, because she was the best hope for the True Religion against Papistry. To his mind it was immoral to take money for giving her advice he knew was bad, and immoral to take money for giving advice he would give anyway.’
‘What’s your point?’
‘He always told me that truth belonged to God, it was sacred. Every lie, every injustice was an offence to God because it was an offence against truth. The stock of truth in this life is limited like gold, and every time you can dig out a little more of it from the mud and the clay of lies, you bring a little more of God’s Grace into the world.’
‘It’s a fine poetical sentiment,’ said Jock consideringly, ‘but aye impractical.’
‘He believed also, that like gold, truth was incorruptible and would always leave traces. And if you were prepared to dig and scrape a bit, you could find out the truth of anything.’
‘What’s this got to do with Sweetmilk?’
‘Somebody murdered him and got away with it. To me, that’s an offence against justice.’
‘Justice, truth. What are we doing up here, lad, we should be in church.’
Carey ignored him. ‘It happened I got a good look at his body and I went to see the place where Dodd found it. It was all very odd.’
‘Why?’
‘The shooting for a start. There were powder burns all over the back of his jack, no sign of a struggle. That gives you a bit of truth right there.’
Jock swallowed and blinked at the sky. ‘Why?’ he rasped. ‘It was a quick death, so?’
