by horse and foot, though more than half couldnot speak each other’s language. But French and Scots are a grand mixture.’
‘We have good proof of that,’ said the Duc de Guise, with a smile at his niece.
Bothwell did not want any distraction in the way of feminine compliments; he hastened to tell of the night sorties he had led, riding down with his prickers from Edinburgh Castle under cover of darkness to cut off the English supplies as they came up from Berwick – ‘We Borderers have a good nose for plunder’; how he and Geordie Seton had led the sally last Easter Monday, the hottest bit of fighting in the whole siege; they had succeeded in spiking the enemy’s guns, and Bothwell in his furious charge had himself unhorsed and wounded the two best leaders on the English side – ‘we cracked their Easter eggs for them hard enough,’ he said gleefully, with no trace now of the regret for his own men that had enraged d’Oysel.
‘Easter,’ said de Guise thoughtfully, ‘when discipline was slack, the men drinking and gaming in their trenches. Then All Hallows’ E’en and wasn’t there a Christmas raid of yours which startled London into reinforcing her northern garrison?’
‘Yes, he told me,’ murmured Mary, but neither paid attention, and the Guise was saying:
‘You have the secret of guerrilla warfare, a sense of the season, the right moment at which to strike a surprise blow.’
He turned again to the girl who had been content to stand and listen, though accustomed to be the whole centre of attention: ‘Take note of that, my Reinette, to think always what your enemies may be thinking. But why are you not dancing? It is dull for you to hear of sorties and surprise attacks.’
‘It is what I like best in the world,’ she answered, and her eyes were shining. ‘I wish I had been in Edinburgh with my mother this spring’; and it was plain she saw herself fighting for her, riding down from the Castle at the head of Bothwell’s light horse.
Her uncle smiled at her indulgently, then told Bothwell, ‘You must have a talk with my brother the Cardinal de Lorraine about the situation in Scotland. I gather that my sister’s death has leftthe Protestant lords in charge of affairs there.’
‘Of whom I am one, Your Highness, though no longer in charge.’
‘Hey, what’s that? You a Protestant? I thought you a loyal man.’
‘So am I, sir, to my Sovereign and to my faith.’
‘Warning me not to try and change it, hey?’
‘I have too much respect for the value of Your Highness’ time.’
De Guise gave a short laugh. ‘I’ll take the hint. But I don’t like your creed.’
The young man stiffened. ‘Loyalty is my creed. It is also my line of action. I’ve no other to fall back on.’
‘It has done you no good with the bulk of your co-religionists.’
‘No, sir, they are my enemies, because of my allegiance to the throne. For that reason they sacked my house at Crichton; and for that reason I am unlikely to find further employment in Scotland.’
‘Humph, yes, and your diplomatic mission to Denmark pulled up in full course. Short of cash?’
‘Very.’
‘We must see to that. If you are still at a loose end later on, there’s always employment in France for men of your calibre. Remember that I should be glad to see to it, and if I’m not handy, I’ll leave word with my brother the Cardinal.’
He left them. ‘There!’ said Mary. ‘He is thinking of the Captaincy of the Scots Archers in France – I thought he would,’ and she nodded to Bothwell like a benevolent fairy godmother. He suddenly remembered that he owed this interview to her, and gave her a smile of real friendliness.
‘Your Grace has been kinder to me than my deserts.’
‘Now, that you know to be nonsense,’ said she, snatching at her momentary tactical superiority. ‘You do not honestly rate your deserts as lower than the last Captain’s!’
The last Captain of the Scots Archers had been the Earl of
‘We have good proof of that,’ said the Duc de Guise, with a smile at his niece.
Bothwell did not want any distraction in the way of feminine compliments; he hastened to tell of the night sorties he had led, riding down with his prickers from Edinburgh Castle under cover of darkness to cut off the English supplies as they came up from Berwick – ‘We Borderers have a good nose for plunder’; how he and Geordie Seton had led the sally last Easter Monday, the hottest bit of fighting in the whole siege; they had succeeded in spiking the enemy’s guns, and Bothwell in his furious charge had himself unhorsed and wounded the two best leaders on the English side – ‘we cracked their Easter eggs for them hard enough,’ he said gleefully, with no trace now of the regret for his own men that had enraged d’Oysel.
‘Easter,’ said de Guise thoughtfully, ‘when discipline was slack, the men drinking and gaming in their trenches. Then All Hallows’ E’en and wasn’t there a Christmas raid of yours which startled London into reinforcing her northern garrison?’
‘Yes, he told me,’ murmured Mary, but neither paid attention, and the Guise was saying:
‘You have the secret of guerrilla warfare, a sense of the season, the right moment at which to strike a surprise blow.’
He turned again to the girl who had been content to stand and listen, though accustomed to be the whole centre of attention: ‘Take note of that, my Reinette, to think always what your enemies may be thinking. But why are you not dancing? It is dull for you to hear of sorties and surprise attacks.’
‘It is what I like best in the world,’ she answered, and her eyes were shining. ‘I wish I had been in Edinburgh with my mother this spring’; and it was plain she saw herself fighting for her, riding down from the Castle at the head of Bothwell’s light horse.
Her uncle smiled at her indulgently, then told Bothwell, ‘You must have a talk with my brother the Cardinal de Lorraine about the situation in Scotland. I gather that my sister’s death has leftthe Protestant lords in charge of affairs there.’
‘Of whom I am one, Your Highness, though no longer in charge.’
‘Hey, what’s that? You a Protestant? I thought you a loyal man.’
‘So am I, sir, to my Sovereign and to my faith.’
‘Warning me not to try and change it, hey?’
‘I have too much respect for the value of Your Highness’ time.’
De Guise gave a short laugh. ‘I’ll take the hint. But I don’t like your creed.’
The young man stiffened. ‘Loyalty is my creed. It is also my line of action. I’ve no other to fall back on.’
‘It has done you no good with the bulk of your co-religionists.’
‘No, sir, they are my enemies, because of my allegiance to the throne. For that reason they sacked my house at Crichton; and for that reason I am unlikely to find further employment in Scotland.’
‘Humph, yes, and your diplomatic mission to Denmark pulled up in full course. Short of cash?’
‘Very.’
‘We must see to that. If you are still at a loose end later on, there’s always employment in France for men of your calibre. Remember that I should be glad to see to it, and if I’m not handy, I’ll leave word with my brother the Cardinal.’
He left them. ‘There!’ said Mary. ‘He is thinking of the Captaincy of the Scots Archers in France – I thought he would,’ and she nodded to Bothwell like a benevolent fairy godmother. He suddenly remembered that he owed this interview to her, and gave her a smile of real friendliness.
‘Your Grace has been kinder to me than my deserts.’
‘Now, that you know to be nonsense,’ said she, snatching at her momentary tactical superiority. ‘You do not honestly rate your deserts as lower than the last Captain’s!’
The last Captain of the Scots Archers had been the Earl of
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