'Is it not as good as a puppet show, Davey?' the Lady Marie asked, nodding her coifed golden head forward 'An entertainment, no less. Even here, on the high top of Lomond, they're at their mumming… with Patrick pulling the strings.'
'Aye,' David said briefly. 'I see them.'
'One day, Patrick is going to get his strings entangled I' she added.
He companion made no comment, but shook his horse into a trot, to keep pace with their leaders. The young woman did likewise.
They were high on the green roof of Fife, on a crest of the long ridge of the Lomond Hills, tar above the tree-level, with the land dropping away below them on either side in great brackeny sweeps, northwards into the strath of the Eden, wherein Falkland nestled amongst its woods, and southwards over rolling foothills and slanting fields to the sandy shores and great guttering estuary of Forth, beyond which Lothian smiled in the noonday sun and Edinburgh was discernible only because of its soaring castle. They had been hunting, from the Palace of Falkland, almost since sunrise – for James loved hunting, and was but a poor sleeper into the bargain. They had raised and killed three times in the forested foothills of Pitlour and Drumdreel, and then had put up a notable fourteen-point woodland stag, and all else was forgotten – at least by the King. For two hours they had run it, as it twisted and turned and sought sanctuary ever higher up out of the glades and thickets of the wood, up through the birch scrub and the whins, on to this high bare ridge where the larks sang and the curlews called, James and Lennox ever in front because of the fine Barbary blacks which they alone rode. And on the very crest they had found the hunted brute dead, its poor heart burst -for woodland life makes a stag heavy if nobly headed – and James had wept in vexation, for he had thought to shoot the killing bolt himself Now they rode back along the heights, seeking a spot where they might water the horses and eat their picnic meal, a colourful and gallant company – though not all of them as fond of this sort of thing as was their monarch.
It was extraordinary how James had changed in the months since Morton's death. He was a different youth altogether, like some plant long hidden under an obstruction which blossoms up and swiftly spreads itself.whenever the obstruction is removed. Not that all held that the transformation was for the better. He had taken to asserting himself, erratically rather than consistently; he would have no more of Master Buchanan; he indulged in sly tricks and devised cunning traps for all but his beloved Esme; he sought to spend as much of his time as he might in the saddle, where undoubtedly he made a better showing than on his spindly knock-kneed legs. Morton's shadow had been potent indeed.
More than James burgeoned, of course, under the smiling sun that the Douglas's lowering threat had for so long obscured – in particular Esme" Stuart, Captain James, and the lady – who had been Venus, the Lady Lovat, and Countess of March, and now was none of them. Unfortunately, to a large extent their burgeoning was mutually antagonistic. The Captain had blossomed to best effect, most assuredly. He was now James, Earl of Arran, Privy Councillor and Gentleman of the Bedchamber. He had known the price to ask – and when to ask it. On the very day before Morton's trial he had announced his terms: the Hamilton Earldom of Arran and the rest, or he would not testify. Since all depended upon his impeachment, at that late hour there could be no denial, Patrick had pointed out -though Lennox would have risked disaster fighting him. So the legitimate holder of the title had been hastily and judicially declared to be insane, and the honours and lands transferred to his illegitimate third cousin. And on the same happy day that his patent of nobility was signed, the Captain had the Court of Session declare the Earl of March to be frigid and incapable of procreating children, with the fortunate consequence that his marriage of less than a year earlier to the Lady Lovat was esteemed to be null and void. The pair were married the very next day – which enabled the lady's child by the Captain to be born legitimate a couple of weeks later – excellent timing, as all had to admit. The Earl and Countess of Arran were riding high – and would ride higher.
And yet, the Lady Marie Stewart suggested that it was Patrick Gray who pulled the strings.
Esme, Earl of Lennox had not looked on entirely idly, of course. James, with a little prompting, had gladly created him Duke of Lennox, almost the first non-royal Scottish dukedom in history; moreover he had convinced Argyll that he was getting too old for the tiresome dudes of the Chancellorship, and could well transfer these to the elegant shoulders of the new Duke. So now dear Esme was Chancellor of the Realm, President of the Council, and first Minister of State. Also, he had taken over Morton's magnificent palace at Dalkeith.
David, for one, doubted whether these were strings of Patrick's pulling.
Such were the puppets that the Lady Marie exclaimed over on West Lomond Hill.
Admittedly they had been behaving ridiculously in front there, all morning, Lennox and Arran bickering with each other when they thought that James was not looking, very civil before the King's face and aiming slights and insults behind his back, ever jockeying for position, seeking to pull the boy this way and that. And the Lady Arran made her own contribution, ogling the King – and indeed all others so long as they were male – managing to have her riding-habit slip aside with marked frequency to reveal great lengths of hosed, gartered and well-turned leg, fetching a lace handkerchief regularly in and out of the cleft of her remarkable bosom with much effect, and laughing in silvery peals the while.
The Master of Gray, smiling, debonair, equable, but watchful always, rode beside and amongst them, occasionally coming back to where the Lady Marie chose to ride with David, but never leaving the principals for long.
An entertainment, that young woman called it; she had, perhaps, a mordaunt sense of humour.
The chief huntsman had found a suitable hollow, with a bubbling spring, and had come back to guide the royal party thereto, when the drumming of hooves drew all eyes northwards. Up out of the low ground rode a single horseman on a gasping foam-flecked mount. It was Logan of Restalrig, red-faced, rough, untidy as usual. He doffed his bonnet perfunctorily to the King, but it was at Patrick that he looked.
'Sire two embassages have arrived at Falkland, for Your Majesty, misliking each other exceedingly! One is from Her Grace the Queen, your mother. The other from Her Grace Elizabeth of England. I left them nigh at blows!'
'My, my mother…?' James faltered, biting his lip.
'From Elizabeth!' Arran cried. 'An embassage you said, man – not a courier?'
'Sir Thomas Randolph himself – one o' the Queen's ministers.
Yon one who was once ambassador to our Queen Mary. Talking exceeding high and hot.'
Arran glanced sidelong at Patrick.
'And the other? From Queen Mary?' Lennox demanded. How comes it that she can send… that she…?' He paused. 'She is not released? From her prison?'
'I think not,' Logan answered. 'It is Monsoor Nau, Her Highness's secretary. But he has my Lord Herries with him, and a troop o' Catholic Maxwells. They have ridden neck and neck frae Edinburgh – and are no' speaking love to each other!'
'Sire, with your permission, I shall ride fast to Falkland to welcome these, er, notable visitors,' Patrick proposed. 'To see to their entertainment until such time as Your Grace is pleased to receive them,'
'Aye. Very well, Master Patrick…'
'I will come with you,' Arran announced briefly.
'As Chancellor, it is meet, surely, that J should greet the Queen of England's envoy, James,' Lennox put in. 'Ascertain his business…'
'No need,' Arran interrupted. 'I am acquaint with Randolph.'
'I rather feared so…'
'Let us all go, Your Highness,' Patrick said quickly. 'You can outride us all, anyway, I doubt not.'
'Ever the one who minds his mark,' the Lady Marie mentioned, low-voiced to David. 'Observe how much attention poor Queen Mary's embassy receives! I wonder why Arran is so anxious to see the Englishman first?'
David did not put forward any suggestions.
So they all rode hot-foot, without stopping for a meal, down through the miles of woodland to Falkland, that most remotely rural of the royal palaces. James this time did not attempt to outdo his supporters. Always the mention of his mother's name set him in fear and alarm.
In the end, all three contestants for the duty saw the two ambassadors together in the great hall of Falkland, prior to the formal interview with the King – and for makeweight Patrick invited a fourth, his Uncle William, the Treasurer, never now called Greysteil, Lord Ruthven no longer, but Earl of Gowrie, so created by a grateful monarch who still feared the sight and sound of him. William Ruthven was another who had burgeoned and blossomed since the fall of his old colleague Morton; having once chosen the right course, he pursued it single-mindedly, and being the darling of the Kirk and idol of the godly, his nephew found him exceedingly useful on occasion. The fact that neither Lennox nor Arran liked nor trusted him by no means always invalidated his usefulness. As now.
The two ambassadors, with their trains, were already waiting at opposite corners of the hall, eyeing each other like packs of angry dogs, when James's representatives filed in. Immediately there was an unseemly scramble as to which should be first received. Monsieur Nau, small, dapper, excitable, claimed the right as his, as representing the sovereign lady of this realm of Scotland approaching her own son. Sir Thomas Randolph tall, dyspeptic, disapproving, asserted that as representing the reigning Queen of England, he took precedence over all others soever, especially one whose principal was a mere guest of his lady.
Her prisoner, shamefully, monstrously held, you mean, nom de Dieu!' the Frenchman cried.
'Watch your words, sirrah, when you speak of my lady!' Randolph exclaimed.
'Your lady is a…'
'Your Excellencies,' Patrick intervened, smiling. 'My lord Duke of Lennox, my lord Earl of Arran, my lord Earl of Gowrie, and your humble servant, bid you both welcome in the King's name, I am sure that matters of precedence may readily be resolved by receiving you both at the same time. Then…'
'Not so, by the Mass – not so!' Nau contradicted. The Queen of Scots shares place with none, in Scotland!'
"The Queen of Scots is abdicate,' the Earl of Gowrie said brandy. He certainly should have known, for he had been one 'of those who put the abdication papers so forcibly before the hapless Queen at Loch Leven, seventeen years before.
Jamaisl Never!' Nau declared. That was done by force. It is of none avail. My mistress is Queen of Scots, yet'
'Then what is her son, man?' Gowrie demanded.
'He is the Prince James, Her Grace's heir and successor in the thrones of Scotland and England both, and…'
'My God!' Randolph burst out
'Och, you're clean gyte, man!' Gowrie asserted.
'Fool I' Arran muttered. 'Does he take us all for bairns?'
Even Lennox looked alarmed and uneasy, and glanced swiftly along at Patrick.
'Monsieur Nau,' that young man said courteously. 'These are matters for debate, are they not? How are your credentials addressed, may I ask?
'To James, Prince and Duke of Rothesay, from his Sovereign Lady Mary, Queen of Scots,' the other answered promptly.
'Then, Monsieur, I fear that they are in error. I would respectfully advise that you withdraw to yonder chamber and amend them. Amend them, Monsieur to James, by God's grace, King of Scots.'
'Tete Dieu, that I will never do, sir! Never! By Her Grace's command.'
Patrick shrugged one shoulder, sighed, and nodded along the line. Lennox took him up.
'Then, Monsieur Nau, I regret that you cannot be received,' he said firmly. 'It is impossible.'
'But Monsieur… my lord Duke! C'est impropre! The Prince's own mother…!'
'It is impossible,' Lennox repeated. 'If James is not King, then, then… No, no, Monsieur, you leave us no choice. Sir Thomas Randolph, you are accredited to King James, I take it?
'Naturally, Your Grace.'
Lennox bowed. Nobody in Scotland had yet been brought to term him Your Grace, which here was awarded only to the monarch or his regent 'And have you aught that you would say, h'm, privately, before you see His Highness?'
'No, sir.'..
'Very well.' Lennox signed to the hastily summoned herald, who threw open the double doors and cried,
'His Excellency the Ambassador of Her Grace of England, to the high and mighty James, King of this Realm and of the Scots. God save the King!'
'You failed the Queen – Queen Mary,' David repeated heavily, stubbornly. 'The Queen whose cause you came to uphold -and for which you have received moneys in plenty! Failed her just as surely and as openly as though you had slapped her face!'
'Tush, man, I told you! Do you not see? I could do no other. She is foolish, headstrong, the beautiful Mary – always has been. To have accredited her envoy only to Prince James… for us to have accepted that, in front of the English Ambassador, would have been to accept her as sovereign still, and her son as no King. And if he is not King, then nothing that has been done or signed in his name since his crowning is lawful and true. I am not of the Privy Council, Lennox is no duke, Arran no earl!' That would signify little – but what of greater affairs? What would the Kirk say? What would Elizabeth say?'
'I have not thought, of late, that you cared deeply what the Kirk said, Patrick! And should Elizabeth of England shape Scotland's policies!?'
'Lord, but she does, man! There's the rub -she does. So long as she holds in her hand the gift of the succession to the English throne, with Mary and James as the first heirs, so long can she take a part in shaping Scotland's policy. There is no avoiding it'
'Tell me, Patrick,' his brother said quietly, deliberately. 'Would you rather see James on Elizabeth's throne, and you, his minister, wielding the power of England – or Mary released from her bondage and back in her own country as the Queen she rightly is?'
Patrick frowned – and he did not often frown. The brothers were standing on the parapet-walk outside Patrick's room in the south round tower of Falkland, on the evening of the ambassadors' arrival. 'Fiend take you, Davy – that is no question! You talk nonsense. I am pledged to the Queen's interests – but her best interests, not such folly as this. Besides,' he laughed again, 'I see Elizabeth's cunning hand in all this, anyway!'
'Elizabeth…?'
'Aye. Elizabeth's hand. Or the heads of her two minions, Burleigh and Walsingham, the two cleverest brains in Christendom! How think you Monsieur Nau comes here in open embassage? Hitherto, Mary has been able to send to her son only letters smuggled secretly out of Sheffield Castle, these thirteen years. But now her secretary is permitted to leave her openly, to travel to Scotland Elizabeth knew what his errand was, that is why – and wished it accomplished, I swear.'
'M'mmm. And you know what that errand was?'
'Aye. I saw Nau later, privately – and soothed him somewhat
Though he is not to see the King – that we cannot permit He has come to propose an Association – a sharing of the Crown between Mary and her son. That they should rule as King and Queen together – or rather, as Queen and King, for she will grant the honour and be the senior.'
'As is only right and proper,' David said 'An excellent purpose, I would say.'
'Aye,' his brother commented dryly. 'I daresay you would!'
'But… what of the religious differences? What is purposed there?'
'That the Kirk remains supreme, with James as its head as now. But that Mary remains Catholic, and there shall be full freedom of worship.'
'As there should be. Surely these are good proposals – if Elizabeth can be made to release the Queen. You say that you think that Elizabeth knows of this, and would have it so?'
'I did not say that – quite. Knows, yes, I think – and would have Scotland consider and desire it So, heigho – she sends Randolph at the same time, threatening war!'
'Eh…? War, do you say? War with England?'
'Just that Such is Randolph's embassy. Threats of war, fierce railing over Morton's death, thunderings of vengeance. She does not like losing money, does Elizabeth – and she invested much in Morton, I fear!'
David shook his head. 'I do not understand. You have just said… How can she both approve of Nau's errand, and also threaten us with war?'
'We are dealing with clever folk, Davey – folk who understand statecraft as yon tranter down there understands falconry. They want James, and Scotland, to grasp at this Association with Mary, and the threats of war are to frighten him into doing it'
'But why?'
'Why does Elizabeth hold Mary prisoner?For a good purpose, you may be sure – all that woman does is for good reason. It is to have a hold over Scotland. To prevent Scotland joining her ancient ally, France, or Spain either, against England. Her nightmare – Burleigh's nightmare – is a war on two fronts: Scotland in the north and France in the south. This proposed Association would play into her hands, so long as she holds Mary. Scotland would want something from her, must woo her, to get Mary back. She would dangle promises before us, and the hope of the ultimate succession – but that is all Mary she will hold on to – and Scotland will not align herself with France. We beg our Queen back from her, and while we beg, Elizabeth and England are safe.'
'What then if we made the war? To get our Queen back.'
'Elizabeth is no fool, Davy. And she is well served with spies. She knows that we are in no case to invade England. We could mount a sally over the Border, yes – in conjuntion with a French invasion across the narrow seas and perhaps a Spanish attack from the Low Countries and Ireland. But war, by ourselves, no. And would not the first Scot to fall be Mary the Queen?'
David shook his head. 'It is too deep, too murky for me,' hedeclared. 'Who may resolve such a tangle, the de'il knows!'
Patrick bowed mockingly. 'Why, your younger brother may, Davy!' he said, smiling, 'if only Esme Stuart will keep his meddling fingers out of it, and the gallant Arran confine his undoubted abilities to his bedchamber…and if perhaps Davy Gray does not carp and cavil quite so determinedly!'
'You… you would set yourself up against Elizabeth of England? And Burleigh and Walsingham? At your years, Patrick?'
'Why not? What have years to do with it? In such a case, a clear.head, a nimble wit and a sure goal are worth many grey hairs!'
'And you believe that you have all these in sufficiency?' 'Thanks to God – and none at all, I think, to our esteemed father – yes! Have I failed hitherto?' 'Failed… whom?'
The two looked each other directly in the eye. – 'I think that you can be too nice, too delicate, brother!' Patrick said softly.
'And I that you can be too clever… and too much forsworn!'
'So-o-o!' Then, at the least, we know where we stand, Davy. I thank you for all your somewhat negative advice. Meanwhile, I fear, we must send the ambassadors home – both of them…'
'Saying…?'
'Ah, me – Nau telling his mistress that King James will consider her proposals fully, dutifully, and, h'm, at length. And Randolph, Randolph telling his that we shall do no such thing, that James alone rules Scotland, and that his mother is very well where she is… and that threats of war ill become so gracious a princess – who dares not carry them out anyway!'
'So it is out, damn you, Patrick – you admit it! Mary is very well where she is! There is our Queen's doom pronounced!'
'To your mind, it may be. To mine, it is the speediest way to win her home – if Elizabeth thinks that we do not want her. Go sleep on it, man!'