‘The King keeps most of his horses there so they’re ready for him to ride when he takes a fancy to go hunting.’
‘What are they like then?’
‘Well,’ said Carey consideringly, ‘Caspar wouldn’t stand out among them.’
‘No?’ Jock didn’t believe him.
Carey shook his head. ‘King James is very particular about his mounts and he has them brought in from France by sea. They’re the best horses in Scotland, and perhaps even England too.’
‘Oh?’ Jock was struggling with himself internally. Pride lost and curiosity won out. ‘How many are there?’
‘About six hundred.’
‘What?’
‘It could be more.’
‘What’s the King want with six hundred horses?’
‘Not all of them are his, a lot belong to the people at Court. But that’s the nearest number, I’d say.’
‘Jesus,’ said Jock, and Carey could almost see the thoughts whirling past each other in his brain. Clearly Bothwell had neglected to mention the living treasure trove at Falkland: far more valuable than gold to Borderers, because horses could run. Jock coughed and shifted his legs a little. ‘Would ye happen to know if they’re heavily guarded?’
‘Not very heavily.’
Jock was suspicious again. ‘Why not? Are they hobbled?’
‘No, they’re not hobbled. In fact, during the summer most of them are out in the horse paddocks round about the Palace.’
‘Not inside a barnekin?’
‘There’d be no room for a herd that size.’
‘Why aren’t they guarded?’
‘Jock,’ said Carey sadly, ‘you wouldn’t understand if I tried to explain to you what a law-abiding country is like, so I won’t try. They’re not guarded because no one thereabouts is likely to steal them.’
Jock snorted disbelievingly.
‘Does Bothwell know about these horses?’
‘Of course he does, he’s been at Court, same as I have. I expect he didn’t want you distracted from King James.’
‘No,’ said Jock, a little uncertainly, ‘he’s nothing to worry about anyway. We’re going to reive the King out from under the noses of his bad counsellors.’
‘Of course,’ said Carey, ‘and I know you don’t care about a charge of High Treason...’
Jock’s eyes narrowed.
‘Well, that’s what it is, isn’t it?’ said Carey. ‘You live on the Scottish side of the line. If you go out in arms against the King, it’s High Treason.’
‘We’re rescuing him from bad counsellors,’ insisted Jock.
‘He’s agreed to be rescued, has he? Rescued by Bothwell, I mean, whom he hates because he thinks the Earl’s King of the Scottish Witches. He knows all about this scheme, does he?’
‘Are ye trying to turn me against the raid?’
Carey leaned forward. ‘Listen Jock,’ he said, making sure he stayed out of head-butting distance, ‘I don’t give a turd what you do. If you want to make an enemy of the King—who has a very long memory, by the way, and has been kidnapped before—that’s entirely your affair. If the raid goes wrong somehow, and the King comes out to Jedburgh with blood in his eye and an army behind him to hunt down the Grahams and wipe them off the face of the earth, that’s nothing but good news to me, alive or dead. If you want to pass up the chance of reiving six hundred of the best horses in Scotland in favour of Bothwell’s lunatic scheme, I’m not the one to stop you. I just hate to see a man put his head in a noose without knowing the full story.’
Jock grunted. There was silence from him, so Carey made another circuit of the parapet. Below he could see smoke and flames licking from near the door. He took the bow from his shoulder, nocked an arrow and waited. Sure enough, six men holding bucklers over their heads appeared from one of the sheds nearby with a battering ram between them, and charged at the door. He shot off four arrows, but they bounced off the shields and after two attempts there was a splintering crash and a chorus of cheers as the door finally gave way.
He went back to Jock, who was staring into space, looking very thoughtful.
‘They’re into the tower,’ said Carey. Jock said nothing. Thuds and bangs and a screech of metal below, feet pounding up the stairs, another outburst of clanging and crashing.
In his mind’s eye Carey could see the scene one floor below. They’d have released Alison Graham and yes, there was wailing and Wattie yelling threats up through the trapdoor.
He’d been calm before, talking to Jock to keep his mind off what was happening. Now his mouth was dry again and his stomach clenched into a knot. He was no longer hungry.
‘Carey,’ said Jock.
‘Hm?’ His eye had caught movement over on the hills to the east, a glitter of spears, movement of men. Had the Grahams brought in more of their men to help retake Netherby?
‘Do ye think the Earl knew what happened with Sweetmilk?’
Carey shrugged. ‘I’ve no idea. He might, he might not. Whichever it is, he won’t have told you, you know that.’
Jock nodded.
