Page 11 of The Falcon Laird
“His cousin held it,” Edward said. “Sir Gavin, you will assess the situation at Kilglassie, then request men and supplies through Sir Oliver at Loch Doon Castle.”
“My liege,” Hastings said, “Loch Doon is not far from Kilglassie. I can easily command both sites.”
Edward turned a flat glare on Oliver. “Do you question my orders?”
“Sire, Kilglassie was burned and cannot house a garrison. It needs repair and supervision.”
“Faulkener will be responsible for that. Then he can help to quell the Scottish rebellion. The more Scottish castles we hold, the better the Scots will understand I am their overlord.” Edward stood to look down at the men from his considerable, if stooped, height. “Until I feel strong enough to ride at the head of an army, I must rely on my commanders to deal with the Scots as I would deal with them. You are all my sword arm.”
“Of course, your Grace,” Hastings answered.
“I have sworn upon my soul that Scotland will be conquered!” The king slammed a hand to the table. “I will not rest until ’tis done. I want you to raise the dragon. Raise it for every patrol, skirmish, and battle until Robert Bruce is defeated and Scotland falls to our might!”
“Sire,” Gavin said, “asking your garrison commanders to raise the banner of death each time they ride out is a declaration of no mercy. There is no political advantage to using theguerre mortellein this war. If I may say so, my liege.”
“On the contrary, that is exactly what is needed,” Hastings said. “The Scots need a fierce hand.”
“This will only encourage them to resist more than before,” Gavin said.
“Resistance whets our appetite. Raise the dragon banner in Scotland,” Edward said. “See it done.”
“Aye, Sire,” Hastings said, his face was a cold, stony mask. Gavin realized that Hastings, along with so many English nobles and knights, had become a merciless extension of EdwardPlantagenet’s vengeance, as eager and determined as the king to conquer and destroy the Scots.
And Lady Christian MacGillan was simply a prize in that war. Gavin sighed.
This was hardly the best moment to ask the king for leniency regarding the girl. He wanted to attend to it before Edward ended the audience and dismissed them, but he would have to go about it tactfully.
“Sire,” Gavin said, “Pope Clement is concerned about your actions toward the Scots. He has instructed the French bishops to make a private report to him.”
Edward tipped a brow. “He sent me a letter on that subject. But he has also directed the bishops to excommunicate Robert Bruce and his supporters, so his holiness is not entirely against me. The rites will be performed on the morrow.”
Gavin nodded. “The pope wrote to me as well, Sire, bidding me to remind you that he will excommunicate you as well if you do not ease your harsh policies toward the Scots.”
“I will not pull back. I trust my ambassadors will smooth the way with the Holy Church of Rome.”
“As one of those advisers, please allow me to suggest a small gesture that may reassure Rome.”
“What is that?”
“Sire, you hold Henry Faulkener’s Scottish widow prisoner at Carlisle.”
“She committed treason. She paid fealty for that land years ago, but last summer she captured the damned tower from her own husband when he rode out. Henry had to seige his own place just to get back in for his supper! Hah! Killed him, she did,” Edward said more soberly. “And so I have placed her where she will serve as an example of how Scotland falls to the English.”
Gavin leaned forward. “Sire, I suggest you reconsider her situation. The woman is seriously ill. ’Tis one matter to confine anoblewoman to a convent as a political prisoner. ’Tis another to allow such a woman to die of mistreatment in a cage, witnessed by the public.” He paused. “And the French bishops.”
“Christ’s blood. You have a point,” Edward muttered.
“A virtuous prince tempers his anger with clemency, sire,” Gavin said. “She is dying. Let me remove her to a convent.”
“If deaths weighed on my conscience, I would scarce be able to lift my head from my pillow,” Edward said. “Still, the bishops are here—” He frowned and scratched his silvery beard.
“One other point, sire,” Gavin said. “Remember her name.”
“Eh? Christian? Oh.” Edward frowned. “The pope will hardly overlook the death of a captive woman called Christian, just after Yuletide, and in one of my castles.”
“Exactly, Sire.”
“My liege,” Hastings interrupted. “You proclaimed that these Scotswomen were to be punished in accordance with the crimes of their male relatives. I captured this lady myself on your order.”
