15. David

D AVID Cawfields, Northumberland, England, 7th May 1613

T HE LAD WAS NERVOUS. Understandably enough, since they had ridden more than thirty miles, and darkness was now drawing in to steal the last of the day's sun and leave instead uncertain shadows. A grown man, being weary from such travel over difficult terrain, might be forgiven if he conjured ghosts within his mind at every sound or breath of wind that stirred the long grass in the fading light.

And Hector, for his cloak of borrowed bravery, was not a man.

The Messenger had shown uncommon patience, even kindness. When they had stopped an hour ago to make another meal of the provisions that their Armstrong guide had given them before they'd parted ways, the Messenger had watched the lad a moment, then divided his own portion into thirds. One part he gave to Westaway, who protested half-heartedly, but being tired and hungry and presumably not used to riding so long in one day, accepted it and ate it.

For the second part, the Messenger had crossed to Hector. ‘Here, lad. Get this down ye. I am full enough, and ye are growing still.'

As always, the presence of the Messenger brought new life to the lad, who'd wolfed the food and asked, ‘D'ye think I will ever grow as big as you?'

The Messenger, thought David, had a pleasant laugh. ‘'Tis possible,' the young man had replied. ‘Although your horse will never thank ye for it.'

Hector said, ‘Then I will have to get a horse as big as Brutus.'

‘Aye.' They'd looked together at the massive beast, who with the other horses was content to stand and graze within the limits of his tether alongside the shallow rivulet whose waters swiftly ran and chased across its stony bed. ‘We'll let him and the others drink and rest for a few minutes more, and then we'll carry on.'

Hector had sagged. ‘Why cannae we bide here the night?'

Some men might have returned, ‘Because we can't.' Instead, the Messenger had taken time to give his reasons. ‘Here, we're too exposed. Ye see the way the land is? Low, with all the hills around us?'

‘Aye.'

‘Well, anyone might be up on those hills now, watching us, and we'd not ken it. And if they attacked us, we'd be at a disadvantage. Ye should always seek the higher ground.'

Hector had thought about this. ‘Like those crags, there?'

With a smile, the Messenger had said, ‘Exactly like those crags. Good lad. That's where we're headed.'

Hector had seemed briefly cheered to know their long day's journey would soon end. But when they reached the steep rise of the cliffs that stretched to either side of them in an unyielding line, Hector lost confidence.

The climb proved a fair challenge, and the Messenger had everyone dismount to climb on foot and lead their horses riderless, to ease their load. Which was how David came to be now walking side by side with Hector, who was looking all around them with unease.

David sought to reassure him. ‘We are not the first who sought these heights for safety. See that wall, or what remains of it? The Romans built that for protection, centuries ago. It was the great frontier, and ran from sea to sea, to guard the towns of Roman Britain from the Picts who ruled the north.'

‘The who?'

‘Well, us,' admitted David, with a smile. ‘The Scots. The Romans looked upon us as their fiercest enemies, for we would not be conquered.'

Labouring behind them, Westaway put in, ‘'Twould be more accurate, I think, to call the Picts your distant ancestors. They were not Scots.'

‘They harboured the same sentiments,' said David, proudly. ‘Rome could not defeat them.'

Westaway appeared amused. ‘You had best sleep with one eye open, then,' he said, ‘lest any of the Romans left their ghosts behind to settle that old score.'

They'd reached the top. The ground was level here, if slightly sloped to face the south, and close against the remnants of the Roman wall a large, rough square of tumbled stones and turf lay open to the wind and weather, overgrown with blowing grass.

The Messenger, well satisfied, saw to it that the horses were securely tethered in one corner of this square of stones before he loosed their girths and started to unstrap the portmanteaus they carried.

Hector asked him, ‘Are there truly ghosts here?'

‘No,' the Messenger replied.

The wind struck Hector and he shivered. ‘Are ye sure?'

The Messenger glanced over. While his hands kept up the movements of his work, uninterrupted, he looked all around and said, ‘I'm very sure. There's none but us.'

David, who'd confirmed this fact by studying the view in all directions from the crag, found it of little comfort. All day he'd been forced to run from those who might have saved him, and unlike the others, he'd have been relieved to see his cousin Patrick's men approaching.

He had known the king too long to harbour any doubts about what lay in store for him in London. For God's sake, do not come home , William had warned him. Your life is in danger . As if he'd not already known that he'd never be granted the peace he desired, for the king could not ever allow him to live.

Phoebe Westaway said, ‘I feel half dead, myself.' She passed close beside David, her pretty face showing the strain of the day. ‘'Tis a good thing there aren't any ghosts here, for after that ride, I have no strength to face one.' She sat on the nearest stone, stretching her feet out in front of her.

David said, ‘Nor I. Although in perfect honesty, I would not mind so much to meet a ghost, if it were Roman. Think of all that I could ask, and learn?'

This puzzled Hector. ‘But I thought ye said they were our enemies?'

‘Time marches onwards. Those who were your enemies one day become your allies, or your friends. And apart from waging war, which they were very highly skilled at, the Romans had many good qualities. They were fine statesmen, and philosophers and builders of important things. This wall, for example.' He took some moments then and tried to reconstruct it with his words for Hector, so the lad might see the great wall as it had been, with its watchtowers and roads. ‘The wall had forts at either end and in the middle, but along it there were towers built at every Roman mile to house the soldiers who were stationed here to watch the north and stand on guard.' He gestured to the open square surrounding them, of tumbled stones and turf, and added, ‘Mayhap this was one of those. It sheltered them,' he said, ‘when they had need of it. And now its ruins shelter us.'

‘They might have left a roof,' said Phoebe, with a rueful smile.

Her father's gaze found David's, and he lightly said, ‘The young Prince Henry did admire the Romans greatly, I believe.'

David looked away. ‘Aye, so he did.'

He was not reconciled yet to his grief. It caught him unprepared, as always, but he pushed it firmly down into the hollow place where once his heart had been.

The wind rose like a thing alive, and David heard a voice upon it.

‘Everything that happens,' said Prince Henry, ‘happens as it should. That's what the Emperor Marcus Aurelius says.'

And David knew then that the Messenger had been mistaken.

For there was at least one ghost now walking with them, here upon this hill.

Stirling Castle, Scotland, 13th May 1599

‘But why me?' David asked his aunt, still trying to make sense of it. She'd met him at the gate and they had crossed the inner court together. Now, as they came in from the outdoors to the dim passageway that opened to the king's guard hall, he paused to let his eyes – and thoughts – adjust. ‘I'm hardly qualified.'

His aunt found that amusing. ‘If it were required that those at court be qualified to do the work assigned to them, I daresay every post would be unfilled.'

He shared her smile. ‘Except yours.'

‘Naturally.'

His aunt had always been a force of nature. Even though the management of Stirling Castle had technically passed years ago to her son the Earl of Mar and his wife, who had become the new countess, David's aunt had continued, in her role as Dowager Countess of Mar, to counsel and direct as she had always done, and one had but to see the way the guards all drew themselves up to attention when she entered the king's guard hall, like a row of bairns seeking approval, to know who was truly in command here.

‘I am old,' his aunt said. ‘That is what they call me – the old countess. Never to my face, mind, for I'd make them pay, and well they know it. But'tis true, my body is now wasting from my years of service, and I cannot say how long God will allow me to remain before he takes me to him. In that time, I have one purpose, and that is to see my family settled comfortably.' The look she sent to David bordered on defiance. ‘I have managed to find places for your mother and your brothers.'

‘Leaving only me.'

‘You've always been a challenge, David.' In the centre of the room, his aunt stopped walking. Faced him with a look of fondness. ‘We do share that aspect of our character.'

‘You flatter me,' he told her.

‘No, I mean it. From your cradle, you have never sought the easy path. But choosing the less-travelled one,' she said, ‘can leave you lonely, and that's not a fate I wish for you.'

‘I am not lonely.'

‘Neither are you happy.' She seemed certain of the fact. ‘You're not still pining for that girl, the French one?'

‘Celia? No.' The lie came easily.

It satisfied his aunt. ‘Good. It's been three years. Time you were married, too. You need to find another woman.'

David could not help but point out, ‘I'm hardly likely to do that here.' To his aunt's raised eyebrows, he explained, ‘Did you not say yourself that all these changes are now taking place because the king has ordered that Prince Henry be removed completely from the care of women, so that he's surrounded by the influence of men?'

‘Yes, but—'

‘Then if you would seek to match me with a future wife, you should not have proposed me for a place within the prince's household, for I will not find one here. Your plan,' he said, ‘does have a flaw.'

‘My plans are never flawed,' his aunt assured him, not allowing him the point. ‘And I did not propose you for the place. You were requested.'

David looked at her. ‘By whom?'

‘By Queen Anna herself.'

David couldn't think why. ‘I have met her but once, on the night of the christening.'

‘Well, you apparently made an impression.' His aunt's weathered features, if just for a moment, showed something like pride. ‘She wishes for you to take care of her son, David.'Tis a great honour. You would be the first gentleman of his bedchamber. Sleep at his bedside, and dress him and tend to his needs. There's no man who'd be closer than you to the prince.'

David felt a frown tighten his brow as he thought those words through. ‘Then it should be his choice.'

His aunt stared as though she'd not heard him correctly. ‘What?'

David made it clear. ‘The prince should have some say in choosing who will be that near to him.'

‘He's a child.'

‘He's a prince. Let him meet me and judge me, and if he approves of me, I will accept the position.'

His aunt said, ‘You cannot say no to the queen.'

David told her again, very calm, ‘Let him meet me, and judge me.'

The sigh his aunt gave was identical to those he'd heard all his life from his mother. ‘You'll get on well, you and the prince,' she decided. ‘You're each of you as stubborn as the other. Come.' She started walking again, towards the door that led into the presence chamber. ‘He is not like his father. When I raised the king, when he was small, it was no easy thing to see his mind at work. This lad is different. All he feels is plainly writ upon his face, and it will cost him dearly if he cannot learn to hide it.'

‘Surely honesty is something to be fostered in this world?'

They'd reached the door. His aunt looked back at him, her eyes both wise and pitying. ‘In this world?'Tis a weakness.'

The young prince was in the presence chamber, waiting for them.

Slender for a lad of five, and serious, he had been dressed for the occasion in a suit of velvet that was too warm for the day. His cheeks, though pale, were lightly flushed. But his large eyes were clear and steady, watching David bow and staying fixed on him with interest through the introductions following.

David could not help but be reminded of the night he'd held the prince five summers past in this same chamber, when the prince had ceased his weeping and looked up at him with much the same expression.

David's aunt said, ‘I shall leave you two alone, to get acquainted.'

They weren't entirely alone, of course. A prince could never be alone. The guards remained, one each against the four walls of the presence chamber, standing at attention. They were silent and discreet, but ever present.

Young Prince Henry took no notice of them.

David watched the war of curiosity and shyness wage across the prince's face, and understood then what his aunt meant by her claim that the prince hid not his feelings. Curiosity emerged triumphant.

‘I am told,' the prince said, ‘this is not the first time we have met.'

‘No, it is not, Your Highness. Though you'd not recall our first meeting, as it was at your christening.'

‘I'm told you made me cease my crying when none else could.'

‘I performed no magic,' David told him. ‘I suspect you were astonished by my beard.'

The prince considered this as though it were a serious suggestion, not a joke. ‘You have red hair, like me.'

‘I do, Your Highness.'

That earned little but a nod. And then, in one of those blunt, sideways turns of conversation common to the young, the prince asked, ‘Do you like this chamber?'

David wasn't sure if there were a right answer to the question, but he chose to answer honestly. ‘I do, Your Highness, very much. It is, in truth, my favourite in the castle.'

‘Mine as well.' The prince's smile transformed his face. ‘I like the faces on the ceiling.'

David agreed that the carved and painted faces were the room's best feature. He craned his neck to look at them, then said, ‘They're best observed another way, if you'll permit me?' When the prince's nod allowed him leave to do so, David lay upon the floor, stretched at his full length, on his back, his hands linked casually beneath his head.

The prince, after a moment's hesitation, joined him, and they lay together, looking up at the rows of brightly painted profiles.

David felt the quiet disapproval of the guardsmen at their posts, but he ignored them. To the prince, he said, ‘I did spend many hours here with my brothers in this manner, trying to decide what sorts of lives these people led.'

Prince Henry asked, ‘Who was your favourite?'

‘I don't know that I ever had one. Who is yours?'

There was no hesitation. ‘Him.' The prince's small hand pointed to a Roman with curled hair and beard, his commander's cloak pinned with the head of a lion. ‘He has red hair, too.' In a tone of discovery, the prince added, ‘He looks like you.'

David said, ‘I am flattered you think so, Your Highness, for that is a great man.'

‘I know.'

‘Do you, now?'

‘Aye, that's Marcus Aurelius Antoninus Augustus,' the prince told him, carefully. ‘He was an emperor, and a victorious general.'

‘That's so, Your Highness. But with respect, there were many men who ruled in Rome and won battles. What made this man great is how he lived his life while he was doing it, for he was good and virtuous, and left behind his writings so that we might learn from them how to be likewise. His book is a fine guide for life.'

The prince lay a moment and looked up in silence at Marcus Aurelius. Then he said, ‘You've read this book?'

‘Aye,' said David. ‘In Edinburgh, there is a gentleman I know who owns a copy of it, and he gives me free use of his library.'

The prince asked, ‘Would he sell it to me, do you think?'

‘If Your Highness desired it, I do not doubt he'd gift it to you, gladly.'

But the young prince shook his head with firmness. ‘I will pay him for it. It would not be right to take a person's book from them and not give payment. It would not be virtuous.' He said the word so solemnly that David's heart was touched.

‘Then I'll arrange the terms, Your Highness,' David promised.

‘Thank you. David? I would call you David – this does not displease you?'

Once again, that unexpected tug upon his heartstrings. ‘No, Your Highness.'

‘When you have the book, you'll bring it to me?'

‘Aye, of course.'

‘And read it with me?'

‘Aye.'

There was a pause, and David had the strong impression that Prince Henry held his breath. ‘Will you be staying here?'

He answered plainly. ‘I've been asked to serve you as the first gentleman of your bedchamber, but I'll not say yes unless you'd like me to.'

‘What does a first gentleman of the bedchamber do?'

David explained, and the prince brightened. ‘Then you would be with me all the time?'

‘Aye.'

The shyness had returned, and with it hope. Until he saw the blend of both emotions cross the prince's features, David hadn't fully seen the loneliness they masked. ‘Then I should like that very much,' Prince Henry said, and with the first trace of his father's blood within him showing, added, ‘You will tell them yes.'

He hadn't thought about that day for what seemed ages. Maybe it was Hector that was stirring up old memories, or the fact they were now lying on their backs, within the toppled walls of what had likely been a Roman tower at the Roman wall within the wilderness, beneath the stars, and looking up, in much the same way he had lain upon his back beside the prince those years ago.

‘Marcus Aurelius Antoninus Augustus.' Hector tried the name upon his tongue.

‘Well done,' said David.

‘And he was the prince's favourite?'

‘All his life. And this book' – David took the small book from his pocket, even though the moonlight did not give them light enough to see the words by – ‘was the very book the prince did ask me to obtain for him.'

Hector asked him, ‘Could I hold it?'

‘Certainly, if you are careful.'

Hector held the book as if it were a pane of window-glass. ‘Could I read it?'

David was about to answer him when Westaway, who'd come to sit beside them, cut into the conversation with the question, ‘Can you read?'

Hector looked hurt. ‘Of course I can. The mistress had me schooled in Leith.'

The older man said, ‘Very good. An education is a useful thing to have.'

But Hector was not finished. ‘I can read and write. I'm not a fool.'

The Messenger through all this had been sitting to the side upon a tumbled fall of stone, working to mend a bit of harness, but the lad's tone made him lift his head. ‘There's no one saying that you are,' he said. ‘But lads who might be minded to be Messengers must keep a watch upon their tempers and be aye respectful to their elders.'

The effect was immediate. Hector, in a quieter voice, said, ‘I beg your forgiveness, Master Westaway. I was very mismanerit.'

Westaway assured him there was no harm done, and took some of the blame upon himself. ‘For even I might be ill mannered if somebody were to question my intelligence.'

David said, ‘They're not the same, though, are they? Education and intelligence. A learned man can yet be witless in all other aspects of his life, while an uneducated man who's never set foot in a classroom can possess a fine and gifted mind. In that book, Marcus Aurelius says we ought to look at things below the surface, and not let their quality nor worth escape us.' Which in fact might be advice David would give Westaway's daughter, were he in a mood to give advice. But then again, her troubles with the Messenger were not his business, and he had enough to occupy his mind. ‘Sadly, the book isn't written in English, it's only in Latin and Greek.'

Hector passed the book back to him, ruefully. ‘I cannae read the Latin or the Greek.'

David looked a moment at the boy, thinking how life could sometimes work in circles. ‘No matter,' he said. ‘I'll read it with you.'

The silence held a moment, and then Westaway lay back until he, too, was stretched beside them on the turf and gazing upwards at the bowl of the night sky. ‘What does your Roman say,' he asked, ‘about the stars?'