Exiles in Time (The After Cilmeri Series) (6 page)

“
He wavers,” Robbie
said.

“
Does he?” Callum kept his
tone as unconcerned as possible. James didn’t attempt to stop his
squire from speaking anymore, just gazed stonily ahead. As Guardian
of Scotland, it was his role to remain neutral in the current
dispute, but his family was closely related to the Bruces. Callum’s
crash course in Scottish history had told him that in the old
world, James had supported his squire’s claim to the throne of
Scotland in the war against King Edward.

“
He lacks fire and thinks
the crown is his by right of birth when it is my grandfather’s.”
Robbie pushed out his lower lip, making himself look more like a
twelve-year-old than the man he wanted to be. “And Balliol is not a
warrior.”

That was probably the most damning
thing the boy could think to say about a Scottish nobleman, or any
nobleman for that matter. Hadn’t Callum found acceptance into this
society far easier because he knew what it meant to be a soldier?
What would he have found if he’d come to the Middle Ages having
spent his life as a computer technician? Or if he hadn’t been
blessed with a tall stature and broad shoulders? How would his mail
armor have hung on him then? Callum didn’t want to think about
that. He was having a hard enough time as it was.

“
Your leaders, with King
David’s help, will make the right decision,” Callum
said.

Robbie’s chin jutted out in defiance.
“The people should decide. If they were given a chance they would
choose my grandfather.” Maybe Robbie really did mean the common
folk—the men anyway—when he said ‘people’, but Callum doubted it.
Real democracy for Scotland was centuries away. Regardless, Robbie
would have been disappointed to learn that in the old world, the
consensus among the barons of Scotland had been for
Balliol.

The company finally passed through
Carlisle’s southern gate following the old Roman road. Once inside,
they had to ride the length of the city before they reached the
grassy expanse that separated the castle gate from the city walls.
A grassed moat that could be flooded by the nearby river protected
the inner gatehouse. They crossed it without difficulty and entered
the castle’s outer bailey, which was the size of a football field.
The sight of Carlisle had Callum comparing yet again a living,
breathing castle to the ruin that was Chepstow in the twenty-first
century. It was like comparing a Ferrari to a Chevy Nova that had
been stripped for parts.

Sir John de Falkes himself strode from
underneath the inner gatehouse tower. Four men paced behind him.
Kirby got down from his carriage and came forward, accompanied by
two fellow churchmen and three English noblemen, all of whom David
had perceived to be relatively impartial towards the Scottish.
Falkes greeted Kirby in French and together the men headed into the
inner bailey.

The outrageous snub left Callum
laughing to himself. Kirby wasn’t obsequious, Callum had to give
him that. The bishop, though he had accepted Callum’s presence
readily enough, hadn’t ever given him the attention his title
merited as the newly designated Earl of Shrewsbury. At the same
time, Callum had endeavored to keep a low profile, not wanting to
be viewed as a jumped-up earl even if he was. He found the
hierarchy of the medieval world annoying much of the time anyway,
and in this case, he wasn’t sorry to be ‘overlooked’. Callum’s job
was to snoop around, not sit on display at the high table listening
to other men preen and pontificate.

“
He didn’t wait for either
of you.” Robbie had dismounted immediately upon entering the bailey
in expectation of James being invited into the castle. The boy
looked up at Callum. “I might have expected such insolence from an
Englishman towards a Scotsman, but doesn’t Bishop Kirby know who
you are, my Lord Callum?”

“
Oh, he does,” Callum
said.

“
Never you mind, Robbie.”
James dropped to the ground beside his squire.

Callum clapped a hand on Robbie’s
shoulder. “Listen to your master. It is better to be
underestimated. It leaves one’s options open.”

A stable boy took the horses away. At
least Callum wasn’t so low as to have to care for his own horse,
though he often did because he wanted to. Callum caught Samuel’s
eye as his friend led his horse towards the enormously long stable
built against the curtain wall. Samuel nodded back. They would meet
later to discuss anything of interest they’d learned from their
respective sources. Callum turned back to his Scottish
companions.

“
Am I wrong or did King
David, your ancestor, take this castle from the English during his
reign?” Callum said to Robbie.

James snorted laughter. “Don’t—don’t
get him started again.”

Robbie gave James an evil look and
stalked on ahead.

“
What about you?” Callum
asked James. “You don’t share our young friend’s beliefs or
aspirations for his grandfather? Or for yourself, for that
matter?”

James stopped walking, allowing Robbie
to get another ten paces towards the inner gatehouse. He studied
Callum’s face for a moment and then said, “If you are to be of
service to your king, you need to understand us. Will you come with
me now?”

“
Of course.” Curious,
Callum followed James to the steps that led to the battlements
above the curtain wall that surrounded the castle. A gatehouse
tower allowed them to overlook the whole castle and the city. James
gestured towards the north. “This is what I believe in. I would die
for Scotland without a second thought.”

Callum gazed to where James pointed.
On the other side of the River Eden, Scotland stretched before
them. Without the A7 highway heading north and a built-up
countryside, there was nothing to see but patches of farmland and
stands of trees, with hills in the distance. This was good country.
No wonder it had been fought over for so long, though even eight
hundred years after the Romans had left, the land to the north of
Hadrian’s Wall had few settlements.

“
I believe in Scotland—a
Scotland separate from England. It is my hope that your new king
believes in it too,” said James.

“
I don’t pretend to know
all that goes on in my king’s mind. I can’t speak for him beyond
the matter of the succession,” Callum said, “but he has no designs
on Scotland for himself.”

“
But what of his ancestry?”
James’s hands tightened into fists as they rested on the stones of
the battlement. “His claim is as real as many who seek the throne,
even if through an illegitimate daughter. He is closer by blood to
the throne than either Bruce or Balliol.”

Callum sighed. David had told him not
to bother denying the documents attesting to Meg’s royal blood if
they came up. David would deny them himself as many times as it
took for people to accept he was telling the truth, but were Callum
to do so, it would look like he was trying to undermine David’s
rule.

“
Even if some Scottish
lords would accept David as king of Scotland, many would not,”
Callum said. “He would have to take the throne by force and he
doesn’t want a war with Scotland any more than you want one with
England.”

“
That is what I’d heard.”
James gazed straight ahead. “I wasn’t sure if I believed
it.”

Callum shrugged. “Before last year,
many wouldn’t have believed that the English barons could agree
with one another long enough to anoint a prince of Wales as King of
England either.”

“
His rule was better than a
civil war,” said James. “And again, he carries the blood of King
Henry in his veins through his mother. My fear is that some of my
peers will fear a claim from him, regardless of what he says
openly, and begin the war now rather than wait for it to come to
them.”

“
You know your peers better
than I,” Callum said, “but I hope you are mistaken.”

“
Regardless, I would not
want to see the two thrones united,” said James.

Callum’s mouth twitched, but he
restrained his laughter out of deference to James who was perfectly
serious. Callum’s lack of interest in history had dogged him since
he’d arrived in the Middle Ages, but he, like virtually every child
who spent any time in the British school system, couldn’t help but
retain one historical tidbit about James: it was his descendants,
the Stuarts, who had united the crowns of Scotland and England.
James Stewart could become a grandfather of kings.

The evening meal passed as it had in
every castle they’d visited so far. Their seventy men were a
sizable addition to the population of any castle, but for one night
they could be fed and housed without too much inconvenience to the
castellan. Falkes and Kirby kept their heads together most of the
evening. Watching them, Callum regretted not being included on the
dais. Kirby plotted and connived as easily as he breathed.
According to David, that wasn’t true of Carlisle’s castellan.
Falkes had crusaded with King Edward and had been rewarded with the
honor of Carlisle. He was a military man. It was Callum’s thought
that he might speak Callum’s language more than Kirby’s. Callum
planned to find out soon if that was true.

Meanwhile, as he had in every place he
stayed, he observed the diners in the hall. In the early days, the
upside of Callum’s ignorance of the language had meant that he’d
had to figure out what was going on around him by watching instead
of listening. What Callum had seen was people lying to each other.
He’d seen smiles that never reached eyes, shoulders that shifted
even as a man nodded agreement, and covert glances between diners
who were seated at the opposite ends of a table.

Callum had told himself not to be
surprised: Shakespeare hadn’t concocted his stories out of nothing.
And it wasn’t that modern people didn’t lie, cheat, steal, and
commit adultery. It was just that they didn’t tend to do it under
the noses of a hundred other people who were forced continually
into each other’s company.

Samuel sat heavily on the bench
opposite Callum. “All is quiet.”

“
You didn’t really expect
the Scots to march on Carlisle today, did you?” Callum
said.

“
You can never be too
careful.”

“
What about your lady
friend?” Callum said. “Doesn’t she live in the town?”

“
She does,” Samuel
said.

Callum eyed him. “And?”

“
And what?” Samuel said.
“Tonight is not the night for me to slip away from the castle to
see her. Besides, her uncle watches her closely these
days.”

“
I would like to see you
court her openly,” Callum said. “Her uncle will just have to
get over
the fact that
you’re Jewish.”

Samuel’s brow furrowed. “Men don’t
just get over such a thing.”

“
Well they should,” Callum
said. “Surely King David will vouch for you. That ought to count
for something.”

“
He has already said he
would,” Samuel said.

“
So what’s stopping you?”
Callum said. “Life is short, man. How much longer are you going to
wait?”

Samuel picked at the food on the
trencher in front of him. “I will speak to her in my own time, my
lord.”

Callum backed off. He’d been speaking
casually to Samuel—as a friend—but this was the Middle Ages and the
difference in their stations meant that some of what he had said
could be interpreted as an order. “I’m sorry,” Callum said. “It’s
none of my business. I won’t speak of it again.”

Samuel nodded and rose to his feet.
“I’ll make another circuit.”

Callum watched him go. The man was in
love and afraid of his feelings. Of course, Callum was hardly one
to talk. When was the last time he’d allowed himself to get that
close to anyone?

As an agent in the security services,
dating had always been fraught with peril. Callum had dated women
in pursuit of information more often than in pursuit of a real
relationship. Real dates were more challenging. Callum didn’t know
any coworkers who didn’t find the lies exhausting after a few
dates. For Callum’s part, he had gone back and forth. Sometimes
he’d preferred superficial interactions to telling lies. In the
months before he’d come to medieval Britain, however, he’d been
looking for something more.

Callum had been with his last
girlfriend, Emma, only a few weeks before he’d traveled to the
Middle Ages. It hadn’t been long enough to know how she would have
come to view his erratic schedule, less-than-helpful explanations
about his job, and lack of forthcomingness in general. Not to
mention his demeanor, which other women had occasionally described
as ‘wooden’. By the time he’d disappeared, she hadn’t yet caught on
to his obsession with how his hands smelled.

Emma had been expecting Callum for
dinner on the night he’d fallen from the balcony at Chepstow
Castle. He found it likely that it hadn’t taken long for her to
move on from him.

Darkness had enclosed the castle and
the meal was drawing to a close by the time Callum approached the
high table where Falkes sat with the other noblemen. For the meal,
James Stewart had found a place among them, with Robbie attending
him. Callum had taken a seat near the upper end of one of the long
tables, though not below the salt.