The Redemption of Alexander Seaton

I nodded my head a little towards the provost in a gesture of thanks. ‘I will be of what assistance I can in this business. I can make no claim for great knowledge of the art of mapping, but what I was given to understand from Sir Archie you will know entirely. As to my discretion, Mr Guild need not fear: what is spoken of here will not be noised abroad by me.’ In enforced retreat, the minister favoured me with a look of practised contempt.

The baillie, paying him no heed, strode towards the chest. ‘Then let us bend our necks to the task, for enough time has been wasted already.’ For the next three hours, until the light began to fade and other duties called the attention of the notary, baillie, provost and minister, we pored over the maps. As our examination progressed, the question arose as to what military uses they might be put to. One or two suggestions were somewhat fantastical – the minister claimed to fear the burning and desecration of the marked churches by the idolatrous horde. I believed it more likely that the churches were indicated as landmarks, and that an invading force landing many miles from the centres of power would be unlikely to tarry in the presbyteries of Fordyce or Turriff to burn churches. Of greater concern were the great lengths to which Davidson had gone in describing the bounteous contents of the laird of Banff’s gardens and orchards, as well as the nature and times of the fleshmarket in the burgh and the location of the great barnyards of Delgatie and Rothiemay – brimful of corn and barley. An invasionary force coming by sea and with a long march ahead could provision itself well with such information. There was little doubt in any of our minds that the enemy would be papist – the question was simply from where. The minister and the baillie, united for once, suspected France. I, along with Thomas Stewart the notary, inclined towards Spain.

The baillie was in little doubt. ‘The French – long a godless people and ever the enemy of Scotland. France would have had us in her snare sixty years ago, when we had scarce yet freed ourselves from thraldom to Rome. The late king’s mother was but a pawn in their schemes. It grieves me greatly that her grandson should have fallen in with yet another French marriage, for no good will come of it.’ King Charles had only succeeded a year ago, yet within two months he had married himself a French bride. This ‘dabbling with Rome’ had made many uneasy, myself included.

The provost turned to Thomas Stewart. ‘You think Spain the more likely foe. What is your reasoning?’

The notary pushed one of the maps across the table to the provost. ‘We are agreed that a substantial landing force could be disembarked here or here?’ The provost nodded, and the notary traced a line with his finger slightly north and eastwards of the sea at Banff. ‘Any invasionary fleet would be most likely to come in here. A journey up the west of Scotland and around Cape Wrath or even the Orkneys would be fraught with navigational perils and could not hope to escape detection for long enough to surprise us. But that is the way the French would have to come, for they could scarce sail up the English Channel and hope to progress up the eastern coastline of England without attracting notice. But think of the Spaniards. Think of the Netherlands.’ What he said was true; since the revolt of the Dutch twenty years ago, Spain no longer held the northern Netherlands, gathered now into a republic under the auspices of their States-General. But they still held the south, and soldiers and ducats flowed from Madrid to Antwerp and Brussels, sustaining a network of Spanish spies and intrigue on a seemingly limitless supply of gold from the Americas. Perhaps Patrick Davidson had simply been one more cog in the great Spanish wheel that drove the Habsburgs’ will through Europe and beyond.