“You blaspheme, woodsman!”
Will had not moved since this exchange began, holding the reins in his left hand while the other gripped the teamster’s whip loosely, but now he raised the long whip and pointed its drooping end at the black-clad Bishop, and his voice took on a biting, steely edge.
“No, Churchman, I do not. You are the blasphemous party here, wearing the robes of sanctity and episcopal privilege while playing the serpent. Your very presence here is a lie that turns to blasphemy as you pursue it.” He glanced down at his own men and indicated the black-clad prelate with a jerk of the head. “Watch him. Watch all of them. If any of them tries to speak again, pull him down and stifle him.”
A number of his own men, several of them his lieutenants, had already approached the Bishops’ wagon, and now some raised their bows at full extension towards the trio in the cart while others lowered theirs to rest their arms. As they did so, Will shook out the reins and cracked his whip expertly between the heads of his team. The animals leaned forward instantly into their harness and Will handled them surely, bringing them around easily until the two vehicles were wheel to wheel, though facing in opposite directions. The younger Bishop opened his mouth to speak, but Will cut him off.
“Did you not hear what I ordered done to you if you dare to speak? I meant it. Shut your mouth, Englishman, and keep it shut.”
The man froze, his mouth gaping, and he made no other attempt to speak, though his face writhed with fury and loathing. Will’s eyes moved to the Scots priest on the rear bench.
“You,” he said. “In God’s name, man, what are you doing? Have you no honour, no self-worth? How can you lend yourself to such a travesty as this and yet call yourself a Scot, let alone a priest?” He tilted his head sharply to one side as he saw something in the man’s eyes, something I had not seen because I had been watching Will.
The other man’s answer was swift and forceful. “I do not know what you are talking about, fellow, but I have done nothing other than my duty. I was dispatched by my superior, Bishop Henry of Galloway, to meet their lordships when they arrived in Berwick, my function to assist them in their dealings with whomever they might meet upon the road from there to Whithorn. You are the first person we have met since then, and it shames me to be named a fellow Scot with such as you.” He looked around him at the faces of the crowd staring up at him. “It’s evident that you are thieves and outlaws—the Greens of whom I have heard spoken. But most of you are masked and unrecognizable, and to this point you have done nothing irremediable. You are misguided, and I regret having witnessed your folly, but you might yet escape from this error without blood being shed.” He looked back at Will. “Let me ask you once again to stand aside and permit us to pass unmolested.”
I could see Will nibbling at his inner cheek, an indication that he was thinking rapidly, and when he spoke again his tone was less accusatory.
“You’re no craven, Priest, I’ll grant you that. But do you truly not know what’s afoot here? Is that possible?” He watched the Scots priest, and then nodded. “Aye, it would appear it is. Well, listen closely, Father. What’s your name? Father what?”
It looked for a moment as though the priest would refuse to answer, but then he shrugged slightly. “Constantine.”
“Constantine … A distinguished and imperious name. Listen then, Father Constantine, and do not interrupt me until you have heard everything I have to say. You will know when you have, because I will inform you. Do you understand me?”
The priest inclined his head and Will returned the gesture.
“Good. Scotland is teeming with English soldiery. You were aware o’ that, of course. They swarm like fleas on a hedgehog and they are causing us Scots much grief. They should not be here at all, no matter how the English try to justify their presence, for we have a King of our own again, King John of Scotland, of whom you must have heard, since he is from your own diocese of Galloway, as was his mother, Devorguilla. Well, see you, the fact that John now rules in Scotland means that Edward of England has no lawful place here, save as an invited guest bound by, and beholden to, the laws of hospitality. Yet Edward maintains an army on our soil and in defiance of our country’s ancient laws.”
Will paused, gazing directly into the priest’s eyes before continuing. “Edward is facing mutiny today, though, because his mercenary dogs have not been paid. Three times now his quartermasters have attempted to bring English money into Scotland to pay their troops, and three times have those quartermasters’ trains been intercepted and—taxed—their contents confiscated. I know that to be true, Father Constantine, because it was we who took the money, levying the taxes against Scotland’s future needs.