“And I assure you he is not here under duress,” Hugh concluded. How many times had he stated that in varying forms this past hour? To think, he’d halted his day’s march to speak with this man.

The emissary bowed yet again. “Most assuredly my lord, the King of Scots, would never accuse his most esteemed ally, the King of England, of such a thing.”

His lord, the King of Scots, had by proxy accused his most esteemed ally, whom he finally granted the title of king after using every possible alternative, of precisely that repeatedly during this interview. Hugh tried not to let his irritation show. “Then I am afraid I still do not see what troubles my ally, the King of Scots.”

“My lord, the King of Scots, has but the concerns common to every father.”

Hugh smiled thinly. “I have taken his son and heir into a place of honour in my household. I train him myself, in all that befits a prince. Prince Malcolm’s position here strengthens our alliance, I believe. It fosters understanding and goodwill between our families.”

“Yes, yes, this is true,” the man hastened to agree. “However my lord, the King of Scots, has those concerns natural to a father.”

It was an effort not to cover his face with his hands and groan. The man would not speak plainly. Hugh could not answer plainly without appearing to consider the very things he denied. Polite answers failed to satisfy the man. They would be here until dark! Mustering his patience Hugh tried once more. “It was the prince’s own request.”

The emissary dipped into a shallow bow, hands clasped before his chest. “Yes, yes, truly we understand that, myself and my great lord, the King of Scots, and place no blame whatsoever upon you. The prince is, well, he is what he is, and let that be all that needs to be said.”

Which said precisely nothing. Hugh rested his elbow on the arm of his chair and propped his chin on his fist. “I still fail to see the cause of my noble ally’s concern.”

Prince Malcolm shifted restively at his place in the background, perhaps contemplating braining this plague in fancy clothes with the pitcher he held. Hugh stilled him with a single glance.

An exquisite fluttering of hands made up half of the man’s reply. “I am most distressed at my inability to make my lord, the King of Scot’s, thoughts clear to you. The failing is mine alone, and I take full responsibility.”

No, the failing was in the instruction not to accuse Hugh of anything while simultaneously accusing him of everything. Very nearly he permitted himself to sigh. “There is no need to apologise, please. Be at ease. Perhaps some more wine?” He waved to Malcolm, and the prince stepped forward to refill the man’s goblet.

Malcolm had made considerable progress in this simple art which, by rights, he should have mastered before the age of seven and had not been introduced to until last month. He managed to pour the wine in a graceful arc, and did not get so much as a droplet on the emissary, purposely or otherwise. That, too, was a kind of progress.

The emissary sipped at his drink. “If I might be so bold as to offer a suggestion of my own?”

Hugh indicated that he should.

“Perhaps all would be smoothed if the prince were returned home, and then the arrangements made in the traditional manner?”

Malcolm caught his breath, and he didn’t retreat back to his place near the wall, instead lingering of the edge of Hugh’s vision.

Traditionally meaning that Hugh would approach Malcolm the Elder and offer to train his son. A face-saving measure, allowing the King of Scots to give his blessing to something which had been arranged without him. “I can see some merit in this,” Hugh said carefully.

The emissary visibly relaxed. “I am pleased to have been able to be of this most very slight service to you, and to my lord, the King of Scots. Perhaps, then, the prince might accompany me as I return?”

“No!” Malcolm dumped his pitcher onto the cloth-covered floor of the tent and hastened forward. “No.”

The emissary regarded him from under hooded eyes. “I do not recall you being a named participant of this meeting, prince Nefastus.”

A muscle in Malcolm’s cheek spasmed. “I will speak where I will, by virtue of my rank. I know you, Duncan FitzDuncan. I know where your lands are, I know who your family is, and I know you’re a bloody sight more than a glorified messenger who can’t get his point home because he’s too busy spewing pretty words!”

Hugh bolted to his feet. “Malcolm!”

The boy dipped a curt bow. “With all respect, my lord, this is a matter more than this fucking flowery-boy would tell you. It’s a matter of home, of politics. It’s more between us than you and he.”

This much Hugh had known since the opening minutes of this most private meeting. Why else had he fetched the prince here to wait upon them? Still, appearances must be met, and now they had been. After a show of hesitation he resumed his seat. “Very well. I see this is so.”

Duncan blazed, “You will allow him to threaten me?”

Malcolm bared his teeth in answer. “That wasn’t a threat. A threat’s when I say I’ll fucking gut you and hang you with your own entrails, you lanky stream of piss!”

This time Hugh did allow himself to sigh. “Language. Please. Perhaps all business in Scotland is conducted in such terms, however here we are in my dominion and a more civilised mode is the norm.”

Malcolm strode up to Duncan, one hand resting carelessly on his dagger. “I’m not going back now, not with you and not with anyone else. I know I’ll never leave again if I do. I’m a smart lad, see.”

“Scotland is your home.”

“And it’s currently occupied by a bearded old coward who’s terrified I’ll take his place. So he’ll keep me stuffed away again, making sure I don’t learn what I need to. I’m not having it.” Malcolm raised his voice, “I’m not fucking well having it! I will not get fucking killed because that old shit lost his balls along with his beauty in his first fucking battle!” He leaned in closer and shouted in the other man’s face, “Do you understand?”

Duncan turned his face away deliberately. “Your breath is as foul as your words.”

Nefastus nodded slowly, one lip curved ever so slightly. Right next to the man’s ear he said with utmost gentleness, “Mint does not make a man’s breath foul.”

Now it was Hugh’s turn, and he played it to the best of his ability. “This is news to me,” he exclaimed. He fixed the prince with a glare. “You said nothing of this!”

Malcolm abandoned the emissary and dropped to his knees before Hugh, head bowed. “Forgive me my lord. I didn’t want to deceive you but I knew you’d never take me if you knew the truth.” He raised his head, wretched with hope. “I’m in fear of my life. I came to your aid for the honour of my blood and realised too late that it’d make my father see me as a threat.”

Not bad, not bad at all. He’d given the youth an guideline for what to say but hadn’t expected anything so convincing. “You deceived me – you could have caused bad feeling between your family and mine.” Hugh gripped the arms of his chair so hard his knuckles shone white. “You could have caused a war!”

Malcolm’s head went back down. “Forgive me.”

Hugh turned to the emissary. “I had no idea. Of course he must return home immediately.”

“They’ll kill me!” Malcolm threw himself forward and clutched at Hugh’s feet. “They will kill me.”

“That is a serious charge.” Hugh said, at the same time as Duncan exclaimed, “Nonsense!”

“They will kill me. I won notice at Alnwick and now he fears me even more – he’s bloody well said I raised an army without his permission, even though I went to your aid and for the honour of our family.” Still clutching at Hugh like the most desperate of supplicants, Malcolm said, “I’ll disappear into the background and one day fall from my horse or some other such shit. Doesn’t matter how – I’ll be dead, and they’ll have arranged it.”

Hugh addressed the emissary, “Is there any truth in this? I demand a fair answer – should I return the prince and find myself to have been deceived there also there shall be no limit to my fury.”

To his credit Duncan hesitated before answering. “Through his own nature the Nefastus is not popular.”

That said far more than it did not; Hugh’s estimation of the man increased mightily.

At Hugh’s feet the prince cried, “I claim sanctuary!”

Hugh laughed. “I am not a church!”

“A man might claim protection from his liege lord. You’re by rights my father’s lord, and so mine.” Nefastus raised his chin.

Duncan leapt in instantly, “With regards to that, the lordship, I mean-”

Hugh interrupted softly, “In the time of William the Bastard Scotland’s king did homage for his lands, and thus it has continued until our own day with but the most minor break here and there. The right of the King of England still stands.” He tapped the fingers of his right hand on the chair to appear nonchalant. “Do you deny my right?”

That gave the emissary pause. Here, scant miles from where men fought with merciless fury in pursuit of Hugh’s rights it would take a foolhardy man indeed to deny them. Duncan dipped his head. “No. Of course not. Neither I nor my lord, the King of Scots, denies your right.”

It was all Hugh could do not to sag in relief and let out his pent breath. He waited a time, as though giving the matter considerable thought. “I have a right, and with it a duty. I shall mediate between the prince and his lord father. It will be my greatest pleasure to restore harmony.”

Malcolm kissed Hugh’s shoe. “Thank you.”

The emissary said very carefully, “While your offer is most generous, my lord, the King of Scots, would be distressed to have you bothered by such a triviality. Especially at such a time, when you have a great many more pressing matters to attend to.”

Hugh held up a hand. “Not another word. My beloved ally, the King of Scots, is close to my heart, and I owe him a debt for the aid he has given me. It would be to my lasting shame if I did not lend my attention to this matter, and do my all to restore his relationship with his son.” He set his palm over his heart. “It will be my pleasure to return a small part of what I have been given.”

Seeing he would make no headway there, Duncan turned to the prince. “We have no liking between us, there is no point in pretending otherwise. But please, heed my words. If you insist on staying here - however right or wrong it is – your father will consider you to be in rebellion.”

Malcolm scrambled to his feet, flushing. “He has no bloody reason!”

“He has asked you to come home and you have refused, claiming he threatens your life.” Duncan spread his hands. “He may even express a desire that you no longer be considered his heir.”

“I will fight for my crown if I have to – I’m not a fucking coward like him.”

“Fight with what? My prince, you will have no lands, no money, no followers.” Duncan raised his eyebrows. “Unless you mean English aid? But I think the King of England too honourable to lend his support to an effort to overturn the rightful succession.”

“Rightful?” Malcolm pounded his chest with a fist. “I am the firstborn! I am the rightful heir! No other can be while I live!”

“Whatever my lord, the King of Scots, wills is rightful.”

Malcolm spat on the floor. “Stop repeating his fucking title like that – we all know who the fuck he is and that he’s important. We don’t need fucking reminding every fucking five words! Makes the conversation take for-fucking-ever.”

This was getting out of hand; Hugh rubbed at his scarred forehead. “Peace. Please. The more words spoken between you the greater the harm grows, or so I see it.” He lowered his hand and resumed his most regal posture. “Thus is my will. The prince will remain with me for the time being as I cannot with honour send him away if there is but the slightest chance his words have truth in them. If there is not, well then it gives both time to reflect and cool from their present temper. It will be my pleasure to mediate, as I have said, and thus I invite his father, my beloved ally, the King of Scots, to meet with him on ground neutral to them both, to discuss their complaints and settle in peace. I offer myself as guarantor of the harmony of this meeting, and suggest that the meeting be held on church land some days before my coronation, which of course my ally, the King of Scots, shall attend.”

The emissary said regretfully, “Ah, with that there is a problem. My lord, the King of Scots, cannot possibly leave his realm for any prolonged period. There is much there which demands his presence, and an absence would overtip all to the detriment of his people, to whom he has a sworn duty, as my lord, the King of England, will understand.”

In short: they recognised he had gathered enough power to make him dangerous, but did not fear him sufficiently to accord him the full dignity that had been granted to many of his ancestors. It would have been unrealistic to expect anything else. Hugh inclined his head graciously. “I understand, though I grieve that my beloved ally will not stand at my side on my great day. I had suggested this as it brought us together sooner. However, recognising that this is not possible, I suggest instead that the meeting be held on the border. I intend to tour the north once again in the second week after my coronation. Lord Fulk is known and trusted by both of us, and thus I propose we meet on his lands, and that there peace be restored between the prince and his father.”

Duncan bowed. “I expect this will be acceptable. I shall indeed mention it to my lord, the King of Scots, with all haste on my return.”

Good. “At this time also it would be my pleasure to receive the homage owed to me.”

“Yes,” he replied after a moment, bowing once again and with obvious reluctance. “Yes, I expect this shall also be so.”






After many more pleasantries the Scottish emissary departed, quoting a need to relay Hugh’s words to his lord with all speed.

“That didn’t go too badly, did it?” Malcolm asked, faintly smug.

Hugh agreed, “Not so badly.” Another step along the way completed, countless thousand steps left to go. “Who was this man? From your first words there was something more to him than one might assume.”

Malcolm sloshed some wine into an abandoned goblet and drank it down. “He’s in thick with my father’s spymaster. Apprentice, right hand, best friend, something like that – I can’t get the details.”

Hugh found that he needed a large dose of wine himself. And Nell had let the man walk on in, uncommented! He would have words with her about this at a later date.

Malcolm refilled Hugh’s goblet, and then his own. “I am grateful. For what you’ve done.” He swirled the liquid around in his cup, watching it flow and eddy intently. “I mean, I know it plays to your benefit too. But it’s not like you had to do any of this.”

“It is the things a man does not need to undertake but chooses to which indicate his quality.” Hugh took a mouthful of wine. “And also the way in which a man grasps the opportunities presented.”

Malcolm set down his drink, and stood before Hugh. “They say I’m demon’s spawn. They see what they want no matter what I do, so that’s what I’ve been and become. Maybe it’s what I really am. My father’s done his best to keep me ignorant. He fears me because he knows I will replace him unless I die first, and the damned fool makes so many mistakes-” Malcolm caught his breath, held it for the count of four, and let it out slowly. More calmly he continued, “I’ve the passion for it. The talent. I appeal to those who want a proper king, not a coward who stabs with words and hides behind ceremony.” He grimaced. “Or I’d appeal if I weren’t the Nefastus. And now I’ve proven my valour. Faced the same trial which broke my father, and I’ve passed. If the lords won’t accept me they’ll kill me, and right now they’d gut me happily. I’ve a much younger brother to fill my place, to the cheer of many.” Malcolm gave Hugh a bleak smile and perched on the edge of the small table. “Even my own sister thinks I’m evil. She heard the legend and never looked further. I’ve always tried to be nice to her. So I’m pretty much fucked, and not by a pretty girl, more’s the pity. My only hope is to stay away for a few years, learn everything I can, and gain a reputation for changing.” He snorted, half in amusement. “Saintly king Hugh making a decent man out of the Nefastus, eh? Should do wonders for your own reputation. Then I’ll head home and start gathering support.”

In the time he had known him, Malcolm had said very little about his position at home, his reputation, or any of this. Hugh took it as a sign he had gained some of the prince’s trust. “I will not help you overthrow your father,” he warned.

Malcolm Nefastus downed another few swallows of his wine. “I don’t ask it. The opposite, really. I’ll do it myself. If I don’t then I’m still royally fucked; I’ll just die later instead of sooner.”

“Stop swearing,” Hugh instructed. Then, because this felt poor reward for the boy’s extended trust, “I thank you for your help. This would have been more difficult without your aid.”

Malcolm drained the last of his wine. “I told you they’d be happy to blame me if given chance. So. Now there’s little chance of them accusing you of nasty things, and you don’t need to wage war to get them to recognise you, and I get to stay. Everyone’s happy.”

“Will your father do as his emissary agreed?”

“Oh, he’ll bitch and whine and try to wriggle out of much of it, but he’ll give in. At least on most points. He’s terrified of war, and you’ve made a pretty demonstration here of what will happen if he doesn’t.”

Hugh grunted something akin to an agreement. In the North he would not be able to inspire his lords with the excuse of vengeance. He would be hampered by Fulk’s position as a Scottish lord. Above all he would be facing a larger, richer and more unified enemy than the Welsh. “I need to get across the Narrow Sea. I do not have time to spend on the north.”

“You won’t have to. My father will shit himself at the first sign of an attack.”

“Whatever may be, it will be some weeks from now. Close to victory is not yet victory, and then I must be crowned. The north is some way down in priority.” Hugh stood. “You will help pack this away; I will be outside Chester’s walls before dark.” Hugh strode from the tent, calling orders that his force of knights should prepare to resume the march.







You may or may not remember that the King of Scots has been behaving like Hugh’s superior and then his equal, and generally wringing as much as he could from Hugh’s uncomfortable situation.

Heh, I got a little absorbed in a few things and didn’t realise how long it had been since I’d last written some Eleanor. Then I got a nudge from Hugh.


Molbo, if you remember where you left off I’ll see if I can find it in my manuscript. That should give me a rough ideas of where in the topic it is.