The Renegade(7)

“And? In God’s name, Murdo, what does this hae to do wi’ anything?”

“Rein in your horse, lassie, an’ listen. Each o’ these men sent a priest wi’ a message, to tell Earl Niall he would be comin’ within the week, and as it turned out, the fower messengers a’ turned up here on the same day, hours apart. So the earl knew he couldna board the fower o’ them—he had no more room than ye hae now, an’ yet he would hae to treat them a’ the same. For a day or two after that, frettin’ about what to do, he wasna fit to live wi’, until your mother, God rest her soul, came up wi’ the solution.”

“My mother?”

The old man nodded. “She told him the story o’ the three wise men. They were kings in their own lands, to be sure, but they were men first and foremost, and they were wise—wise enough to ken that lookin’ after them wasna somethin’ that the Mother o’ God should have to fret about. Forbye, they had come a long way, to see the Christ Child, so they had brought their own tents. An’ if the wise men set an example, your mother said, and found their own lodgin’s, how could these bishops complain about havin’ to do the same thing? An’ she was right, of course, but what she said reminded Earl Niall o’ somethin’, and he saw what to do.

“His father had been a great sailor when he was young, wi’ two fine galleys o’ his own. But when his father died and Nicol became Earl o’ Carrick himsel’, he quit the sea. He traded the biggest galley for a prime herd o’ sheep and then years later, when he was an old man, he lost the other one, destroyed at anchor right here, in a great winter storm. What Earl Niall recalled was that his father, who was a frugal man, had set his sailmaker to turning the big galley sails— there were six o’ them, huge—into fower great tents—pavilions, they called them—to sell to knights bound for a crusade. That crusade never happened, and the tents wis still in Turnberry, safe stored in the big stone bothy down by the pier.”

“You mean the oar bothy?”

“Aye. And so Earl Niall had them set up, on the lea outside the walls. One for each bishop. And nary a one complained.”

“Hmm. But how does that help me?”

Murdo grinned. “Same as it helped your da. They’re still there. I looked at them the month afore last, to see if they were worth keeping or if I should burn them. They were in fine shape, better than I had expected, poles and ropes and a’. And they’re big. I doubt even Edward o’ England will hae any bigger.”

Marjorie stared at him. “And we could use them for this?”

“Aye, ye can, lassie—one for each o’ them. We’ll set them up on the lea, same as before, as the corners o’ a square, a hundred paces apart. That way, they’ll all be equal and they’ll a’ hae plenty o’ room to stretch their legs.”

“My God, Murdo McMurdo, ye’ve saved my life. How long would it take to set them up?”

The old man shrugged. “If I set the men to work on it this afternoon, the tents should be up by this time tomorrow.”

“Pavilions, Murdo. We’ll ca’ them pavilions. I like that word. It’s French and it sounds grander than tents.”

“Aye, if ye like. The bishops can hae the two extra rooms and the earls and high-ups can a’ stay close to their various kings. And we’ll set up space for the sodgers and men-at-arms down by the river. Can I go now an’ get started?”

“You can, and God bless you. You’re an angel sent from Heaven.”

“No, lassie, I’m a factor who’s good at his job, that’s a’.” He stood up. “Right, then, I’ll be away.”

His mistress was suddenly radiant. “Young Rob will be thrilled. He’ll no’ soon forget the day he turned ten, surrounded by kings and barons and earls. Run, then, and do what ye must, for God knows I’ve a wheen o’ things to do myself.”





CHAPTER TWO

THE BOY

Less than fifteen miles southeast of Turnberry, just as the Countess of Carrick dismissed her factor, a horse and its rider stopped on a steep path up the side of a hill. The rider’s eyes followed the deep marks where another horse’s hooves had dug into the hillside as it fought its way up the high, sloping bank. He hesitated only slightly, then yanked hard at the reins, pulling his mount towards the close to sheer incline. The animal’s ears flicked at the insistence of the reins, then it turned obediently and launched itself at the steep slope, hooves digging firmly into the crumbling earth of the shale bank as it fought its way towards the crest. Its rider bent forward and murmured encouragement, his feet firmly braced in the stirrups, enjoying the thrust of the beast’s powerful haunches as it bounded upward, four and then five mighty surges before it gained the top of the incline and stamped its feet triumphantly on the heather-clad summit.