Free Unicorn Rampant by Nigel Tranter Page A

not far from the Hamilton house to the head of the Cowgate, and according to the major-domo there was only the one alehouse in between. John insisted that he come along with him to enquire there.
    After considerable banging at the door of a low-browed den in the basement of a tall tenement decorated with a handsome coat-of-arms and godly motto, a slatternly old wife, wrapped in a tartan shawl, eventually opened up, screeching abuse. She toned down at the sight of the major-domo however, whom she obviously knew; but assured that she had no young men sleeping within, no man of any sort, hers being a respectable house—as Mr Purves knew well. When Mr Purves looked sceptical at that, she added that, if it was that sort of house they were looking for, they need not go further than round the comer into Candlemaker Row where there were no fewer than three stews for their inspection.
    Cowgatehead, in a mere fifty yards, opened on to the Grassmarket, with the West Bow ascending on the right and Candlemaker Row on the left. Where to look in all these? The Grassmarket was full of ale-houses and taverns, as became a major marketplace. But where to start?
    John had an idea. Villiers, with the rest of the royal party, had apparently come down Libberton's Wynd from the City Chambers, in the first place. If he was in something of a drunken stupor when he left the Hamilton house alone, then he might be vaguely looking for a narrow street climbing up on the left, Libberton's Wynd. Candlemaker Row did that, on this other side. He might well have turned up there by mistake.
    Mr Purves admitted the possibility, shaking his head censoriously. No doubt it ill became such as himself, the Secretary of State's chief servitor, to go rapping on the doors of houses of ill-fame at this or any other hour of the day—and apparently all the hostelries in Candlemaker Row approximated to that description. But John was adamant— and this was on the King's business.
    So they went to knock at the first door, semi-subterranean, steps down from street-level. It took much thumping before they got any answer, when a bleary-eyed creature, very obviously female however unappetising, came, part-covered by a dirty blanket, to demand their business. Snores from within, on a blast of hot and foul air, indicated at least one male presence; but the lady denied with cackles the custom of any young English gentry. They were entertaining some lords' men-at-arms, but did not aspire to their masters.
    Taking her at her word, they went further up a nd across the street to a slightl y better-looking establishment known apparently as Lucky Broun's. Here the door was opened quite promptly and by a much more trim, indeed buxom woman, adequately dressed, who greeted Purves like an old friend, calling him Dand and urging him and his young gentleman inside for a sup of ale. The major-domo, embarrassed somewhat, hastened to point out that this was an ale-house and Mistress Broun a most respectable matron. John cut all this short, to ask the necessary question.
    Mistress Broun eyed him warily. "A young gentry Englishman, is it?" she repeated. "Now, I wonder? Mind, they come and go, sir. English, you say? And young . . . ?"
    John produced a silver merk.
    "Ooh aye, now. It is coming to my mind, sir. Up the stairs, there and the bit door facing you. It's maybe no' your friend, mind ..."
    "Mr Purves-—you have that sup of ale with Mistress Broun. I pay." John started to climb the steep stair.
    There were four doors up there, three closed. Knocking on the one facing the stairhead, and getting no response, he opened it—and his eyes widened to an unusual sight. Six breasts very much met his gaze, directly opposite. The two in the middle were very feeble masculine ones on a white, hairless and not notably brawny chest. But no such criticism could be levelled at the pairs on either side, all large, round and satisfying, bulging over the rumpled blanket, one with brown aureolas, the other pink.