GEORGE, 6th Earl of Huntly, Chief of Clan Gordon, Cock o' the North, principal Catholic of the realm – and now, curiously, to be the Kirk's Commendator-Abbot of Dunfermline – red-faced, haughty, arrogant, leaving his tail of five-score mounted Gordons stamping and clattering in the forecourt of Holyroodhouse, strode past all wary-eyed and circumspect guards and officers in the various palace doorways and corridors without so much as a glance. Behind him his five bonneted and plaided Gordon lairds were scarcely less proudly overbearing, hands on their broadsword hilts, so that the sixth, David Gray, wrapped in Gordon tartan and with bonnet crammed hard down over his brow, stiff and sore as he was, had great difficulty in keeping up with this fierce Highland stalking. And, Heaven knew, he did not want to fall behind, to become in any way conspicuous, to become other than just one plaid-wrapped supporter amongst six, for keen-eyed watchers, to consider. It was a blessing that these Highlanders always kept their bonnets on, save when actually in the royal presence; also that his face was still swollen and discoloured enough to be barely recognisable.
Huntly's shouted demands as to the whereabouts of the King brought them expeditiously to the library of the palace -Huntly always approached his sovereign in this fashion, as a matter of principle, considering himself practically a fellow-prince. In the ante-room, the young Earls ofBothwell and Mar sprawled at ease with tankards of ale, and deliberately did not rise to their feet at the Gordon eruption. The older man snorted loudly as he passed, but otherwise ignored them. Their mocking smiles were discreedy kept below the level of laughter which might reach Gordon ears. They did not bother to look at Huntly's following.
At the door of the library, an officer of the guard stood on duty. He made no attempt to halt the oncoming party, but on the contrary threw open the door and announced that the noble Earl of Huntly, Lieutenant of the North, sought audience of His Grace. Reinforced by a growled pleasantry from the noble suppliant himself, the party swept inside, David in the midst, It was as easy as that. The last Gordon in, turned to close the door with something of a slam
The King was sitting alone at a table in the musty-smelling, booklined room, surrounded by open volumes, pen in hand, scratching away at a paper. Next to the hunting-field James was happiest when in a library. He looked up, frowning, with no relish for being disturbed. Moreover, he had always been a little afraid of the potent and fiery Huntly.
'Ha, 'Grace,' the latter cried, doffing his feathered bonnet at last 'At your books again, I see! Man, I would not let the books take a hold of you, see you. They are worse than women or the bottle for sucking the marrows out of a man!'
James rose, trembling with his earnestness. 'My lord, books are the finest gift of Almighty God to men!' he protested. 'Without them, we should be as the beasts that perish.'
'Bah!' the Gordon snorted. 'Without them, many men would be the happier. Many men now dead would be alive. Mother o' God – show me a bookish man and I will show you a rogue… with due respect to Your Grace! Yon Maitland, for instance. William Stewart The bladder o' lard, Davidson, whom you miscall a Bishop! George Buchanan, that fount o' bile – aye, and most of the rest of his Bible-beating kin!'
'My lord, you speak amiss! Och. man – yon's no way to talk. You should think shame o' yoursel' to speak o' godly men so. I'll no' have it. I'll no' listen to such ill speech. What… what do you want with me, Lord Huntly?'
'For myself – nothing, Sire. Save maybe that you get rid of the pack of yapping lap-dogs of the Kirk that yelp around you, these days! No ho – for George Gordon – nothing. It is Davy Gray, here, who seeks your ear. Eh, Davy
David stepped out from behind his protective screen of Gordon lairds. 'Yes, Your Grace,' he said.
'Master… Davy!' the King gasped. 'Man – is it you? Waesucks – your face! Man Davy, how,.. what… what has become o' you?'
' 'Tis nothing, Sire. The methods of your new Chancellor Maitland, that is all! In search of… information, on Your Majesty's behalf! Heed it not I seek Your Grace's ear on a much more important matter. In clemency…'
'Na, na – I canna do it, Master Davy!' James interrupted him, pulling at his ear in agitation. It's no possible, man. I canna do anything for Patrick – for the Master o' Gray. Dinna ask me to…'
'But I do so ask, Your Grace. I ask you, of your royal clemency, to pardon him. Or, at the least, to commute the sentence of death.' 'No. I canna do it, I tell you.'
'You can, Sire – if you will. For you are the King. You can sign a pardon if you will – and none can gainsay it.'
'They'd.,. they'd no' allow it They'd no let me. And they'd no' let him go, man.' James babbled, slobbering copiously in his distress. They watch me, all the time. I canna do it'
Huntly growled. 'You are afraid of a coven of upstart clerks and lawyers, Sire – you, the King of Scots?' His scorn was undisguised.
"They need not know – not until it is too late to stop it,' David declared hurriedly. 'Keep the matter secret, Highness. Your signed pardon, in the hands of my Lord Erroll, the Constable, and presented to the Governor of Edinburgh Castle…! He could do no other than release Patrick. Then my lord of Huntly's men would escort him to a ship at Leith, within the hour. None could challenge them'
'Challenge Gordon?' Huntly hooted. The Saints defend them, if they did!'
The King plucked at his lower lip. 'But… treason is no' a thing I can pardon, man. Conspiring the death o' my royal mother…'
Set-faced David eyed him. The Queen was sentenced to death, Sire, before Patrick ever went to London.'
'Aye. But you'll no' deny that it was an ill thing to do, Davy -to aid Elizabeth to the death…'
'I do not deny it, Sire. It was a shameful and wicked deed. I only cast myself and Patrick's life upon your royal mercy.'
'Ummm. Ooh, aye – do you so, man?' Always, any implication that James was all-powerful and in a position to grant or withhold life or death, was apt to be well received. And clearly the frank admission of guilt left him at something of a loss. 'Well, well, now…'
David sought to pursue his advantage. 'I do not ask for more than his life, Highness. He deserves to suffer much, I do not deny – though it may be true that he believed that he did what' he did for the benefit of this realm. Punish him, yes-forfeit him, take away his offices and estates, banish him the realm. But spare his life, Sire, I beseech you.'
James moved round the Uttered table at his shambling walk, touching papers, frowning, darting, glances here and there. 'I… I… no, I canna do it, Master Davy,' he declared. 'Can
I, my lord? As ambassador o' this my realm, Patrick betrayed his trust. To pardon that would never do – never do, man. My ambassador speaks for me – he is my royal voice, see you. If thy tongue offends thee, cut it out, the Good Book says…'
'It also says forgive, until seventy times seven, Your Grace. Moreover, has not your own mother, Mary the Queen, ordained forgiveness on all concerned with her death, even with her dying breath? You would not have her noble wish made of no avail, Sire? You wrote kindly enough to Queen Elizabeth, who ordered the execution; can you not at least spare the life of him who but advisedit?'
'Och, that is altogether different, Davy. Dinna harry me, man – I'm no' to be harried. You shouldna do it…'
'Sire, he is my brother. I will do much, say much, even that I should not say or do, to save my brother! ' I failed Queen Mary also, in England. I could have attempted her rescue. I spoke of it, once, but allowed myself to be dissuaded. I was weak. I believe, had I been strong, that I could have saved her. At Wingfield. I shall never forgive myself…'
'Mercy, man – what havers is this? How could you have saved her…?'
The way that I saved you, Sire, at Ruthven. By force and guile and fast horses. By deeds and not words… '
'Waesucks, Davy – are you crazed? Yon would never have done – never. Dinna speak o' it. In Elizabeth's England! Yon would have meant war!'
'I wonder. Now I look back on it, I think not. Sire. But;.. it is done now, past. I failed the Queen. My eyes are open to it, at last'
'Never say it,' the King told him. 'Violence and swordery -yon's no' the way to conduct the affairs o' the realm, man.'
'It gained you your freedom, Sire, once.' David took a step forward. 'I pray you now, not to forget it If it meant anything that I saved Your Grace then, spare Patrick now! I have asked for nothing – would have accepted nothing. But now, Sire, I do so ask. For Patrick's life.' He paused. 'It was a long time ago, but surely you owe me something for that? And for other services, since.'
Even Huntly frowned. 'Davy – here's no way to speak to your King!' he protested.
'I know it, my lord. I said, did I not, that I would do and say things for my brother – things that I should not do?'
James was biting his finger-nails. 'Aye, Davy, I was beholden to you for yon business. And for others, aye. I should have rewarded you. I've thought o' it, man – more than once. Oh, aye – it was featly done. A… a knighthood, man Davy? Eh? Aye, I could knight you. There's many a bastard been knighted. I could do it here and now – with my lord's braw broadsword, there. Sir David Gray, Knight…' James was almost eager, for the first time.
'No, Sire -I am not of the stuff of knights. Save that for Sir John Maitland and Sir William Stewart and their like! I have tasted their knightly prowess, and want none of it. I am just plain Davy Gray, schoolmaster…'
'A grant o' lands, then? Estates? An office under the Crown…
'Thank you, no,Sire. Nothing – save my brother's life.'
'A curse on you, Davy Gray!' the harassed monarch exclaimed. 'Hard, stubborn as a Hieland stot! I told you – it's no' possible. The folk, the people, would decry me, if I did. They would have my mother avenged.'
'Forfeiture and banishment would be vengeance enough for them.'
'Who rules in Scotland, then – people or King?' Huntly scoffed. 'Besides, Sire, the people will have other matters to think on! Very shortly.' That was grimly said. 'Good Catholics, in especial. And what did the other sort care for Mary?'
James's jaw dropped. 'You're, you're no' meaning, my lord…? You wouldna, wouldna…'
'… Say that I would advise Your Grace not to fash your head about what the folk will say. They will be a deal too busy shouting for Christ's true religion!'
David frowned. He drew out a paper from his doublet within the plaid, and smoothing it out, laid it on the table before the King. 'Here is a pardon, all written out ready, Highness,' he said. 'It declares the Master of Gray forfeit, dismissed all offices, and banished from Your Grace's realm. But his life spared. These provisions may be amended with a scrape of your pen…'
'Master Gray, you exceed yoursel' – you greatly exceed yoursel'!' James declared, drawing himself up with a pathetic dignity.
'No doubt, Sire,' David nodded, and fixed the huge, limpid, royal eyes with his own direct grey ones, however red-rimmed and bloodshot. 'But you will mind that I was in yon small room, not so far from this, when you gave my brother his instructions, his secret instructions, as to what he was to say in private audience with Elizabeth! You mind? About the terms on which you would overlook certain matters relating to your royal mother?'
'Hey, hey – what's this, Davy?' Huntly demanded. 'What's this, in the name of God?'
James sat down abruptly on his chair.
'Just a small matter, my lord, that His Highness may have forgotten. That may lead him to think more kindly of my brother on the matter of his amends…'
The King croaked something unintelligible.
'Amends? What mean you, man? About Mary the Queen, you said?'
'Small matters, yes – but which perhaps were not irrelevant to Patrick's behaviour. If I had thought to mention it at his trial, perhaps His Grace might have judged… differently. I blame myself.'
'No!' James got out, in strangled voice, 'No.'
'What of the Queen, man? Stop speaking in riddles,' Huntly commanded. 'Are you seeking to say…?'
'Only that, if His Grace will not sign the pardon, at least he may grant a stay of execution. So that this matter may be brought before the Council, You, my lord, might consent to bring it?'
'Not, by the Powers, until I know what it is, fool!' the Gordon cried.
James reached out his hand for his quill, dipped it tremblingly in the ink, and scrawled JAMES R. at the foot of David's paper. 'My God…!'
'My sincere thanks, Your Majesty!'
Huntly looked hard at David. 'This matter was none so small, I think!' he said. 'Do not tell me that the King…?'
'It is not for me to tell you anything, my lord – unless the King so will it'
'I do not!' James cried, his voice cracking. 'Nothing, do you hear? It was a, a private matter. Between Queen Elizabeth and mysel', A matter relating to my privy purse. Expenses, just…'
'M'mmm,' the Gordon said
'No' word o' this will be spoken – by any!' the King declared breathlessly, staring from Huntly to his five perplexed-looking lairds, and back to David 'This is my royal command. D'you hear – my royal command? No' a word. And as for this…' James pointed a quivering finger at the signed pardon. 'It is for life. For life, d'you hear? Banishment for life. Put that in, man – put it in. And no' to England. I'll no' have him in England, making trouble. I never wish to see his face again. Nor yours either, Davy Gray! You are an ill graceless breed, and I'll be quit o' you both! Begone, now – and mind, never let me set eyes on you again.'
David bowed stiffly, and picked up the paper. 'Your command shall be obeyed, Sire – most exphcitly,' he said.
'Aye. See to it, then. And you, my lord – you have my permission to retire.'
'No doubt, Sire' Huntly nodded. 'No doubt. And I shall not linger, for I do not like the smell o' this, by the Mass!'
'Go, then…'
So the tartan-clad party backed perfunctorily out of the royal presence, clapped on bonnets, and went striding through Holyroodhouse again, David Gray anonymous once more in the midst Huntly exchanged no word with any of them..
Indeed he did not speak until, at the head of his mounted retinue, he drew rein outside his great mansion in the Canon-gate. He turned to David, at his back.
'It is done, then,' he said.
'Aye.' David drew out the pardon from within the folds of his enveloping plaid. 'Relays of your fastest gillies to get this to the Constable, my lord – riding day and night. We have less than forty-eight hours. When my lord of Erroll rides up to Edinburgh Castle, the deeds and charters of Dunfermline Abbey will be ready awaiting you.'
The Earl took the paper, but his eyes never left the younger man's battered face. 'Davy Gray,' he said slowly. 'You are a hard man to cross, I perceive. I'd liefer have you as friend than enemy, by the Rood! I vow you should turn Catholic!'
The other shook his head. 'You are wrong,' he returned. 'I am not a hard man, at all. Would to God that I was! It is just that… my, my daughter believes that I can do anything that I set my hand to. I had to prove it. Heaven forgive me, I had to prove it! A good day to you, my lord.'
Leaving Huntly to enter at his front door, David, with the rest – of the clattering horsemen, rode down the side vennel to the stable entrance in the South-Back Canongate. There, dismounting, discarding plaid and bonnet and clad as just plain David Gray again, he slipped away by back-courts and wynds, to approach his own house in the Lawnmarket up the hill.
No song of triumph lightened his heart