THE PALACE OF Whitehall seethed like a pot on the boil, crowded to overflowing. Not only was it Christmastide, with all its attendant activities, and both the King's and Queen's households were for the occasion joined, but Duke Ulric of Holstein's Danish entourage was also in residence. Add to that, the Earl of Orkney and his party of Scots were making a delayed appearance in London-having been held up hitherto at Royston, hunting buck, coursing hares and carousing, with the King. And the installation of Prince Charles, as Duke of York, was on the programme. Moreover, this day, 27th December 1604, Sir Philip Herbert had actually been married, in the palace chapel, to Lady Susan Vere, grand-daughter of Elizabeth's William Cecil, first Lord Burleigh, and the banquet now to be held was in the nature of a wedding feast, with all the wedding guests present also. Whitehall was by no means the largest of the royal homes, and its resources were strained to the utmost
Herbert's wedding might have caused a great uproar. Apparently he had been secretly betrothed to Susan Vere, daughter of the Earl of Oxford, for months, and was planning to be as secretly married, when Lennox got to hear of it and warned him that such a thing would grievously offend the King. James was a little strange about bis favourites; he did not mind them having relations with women as long as they told him all about it and indeed regaled him with choice and intimate details-and of course granted their favours to no other men. Philip Herbert was not the man normally to listen to good advice, but in this instance he had taken heed, and gone and confided his romance to his loving monarch and sought blessing on the match-with the required revelations and embellishments. The Lady Susan was a bold piece inevitably-or Herbert would not have been involved. James had been intrigued and delighted, and had insisted on naming the wedding day, providing the venue, giving the bride away, donating the marriage bed and contributing the wedding feast That was James Stewart, a man of large affections.
George Heriot was present. It would have been strange had he not been, since he it was who was paying for all. Parliament still at odds with the King, had not yet agreed to any increase in James's income, and the royal finances had got quite out-of-hand, money even having been sent from Scotland. Duke Ulric's visit was costing a lot for he was a man who liked to do things in style; as were the suitable entertainment and accommodation for the new ambassadors of Spain and the Vatican, and James's general efforts to spread amity and concord around Christendom. Peace had its expenses as well as war-only parliament was less prepared to pay for them. In theory, of course, Heriot was only making one more large loan, for this day's activities; but he doubted very much whether he would ever see any repayment
That did not mean, to be sure, that he might himself sit anywhere up near the dais end of the palace hall, amongst the seats of rank and privilege, even had he wished to do so. This being an official occasion, Duke Ludovick would have to be up at the royal table, unfortunately. Heriot would have liked to sit beside Alison Primrose, in a modest place amongst the Queen's junior staff, but restrained himself firmly, sufficiently to select only a seat directly across the left hand long table, where he could look at the girl and smile occasionally-although he quickly recognised that smiles were likely to be in short supply, on his part at least, owing to the antics of the two young bloods, pages, who sat on either side of Alison, vying with each other for her attentions and favours. The tables were disposed in a great inverted U, with the long wings stretching down each side of the hall from the dais table and twin thrones at the top, leaving an open space in the centre for displays and entertainment.
For once James was not late; at least, although not openly present as yet, he could be observed by the keener-eyed, hiding not very effectively behind curtains at the back of the minstrels' gallery half way to the roof, tankard in hand, watching what went on below. He would not make an entry until all others were in their places, of course.
Trumpet flourishes heralded each of the official entries, when all more ordinary guests stood-if they could. The first entry consisted of the eleven young nobles who were tonight to be created Knights of the Bath-an important group, for they and their parents had to pay dearly for the honour, although unfortunately the proceeds were already long spent According to the laws and rules of knighthood and chivalry, these should have spent the day, indeed the entire previous night, in prayerful vigil and vow-taking; but James, Sovereign of the Order, although a bishops' man, was less sacredotally inclined than his wife, had declared that attendance at a religious service-namely Philip Herbert's wedding-would do excellently well for preparation. Having spent the interim since noon wassailing and celebrating, this party made a spirited entry, some riding on each other's shoulders, others leap-frogging-although two required Yeomen of the Guard to support them. They made their round-about way towards a special table near the top of the hall, to hooting and cheering, Bath King-of-Arms and the Dean of Westminster, Dean of the Order, following on in full fig and looking distinctly disapproving.
The next arrivals could be heard coming from some distance through the palace corridors, to the tune of sweet fiddle music. The trumpeters drowned this, of course, as the doors were flung open-but the heavy man in the lead quickly silenced them with a gesture of sheerest authority, and the two fiddlers, drunk both of them but playing divinely, proceeded into the hall in their stained and ragged tartans. Many guests ostentatiously held their noses. Behind the musicians, light-footed despite his weight, almost tripping to the jigging metre, came this stocky individual, with seven others at his back of the same sort but of a great diversity of ages, plus a pack of perhaps a dozen graceful deer hounds, loping, long-limbed and shaggy. The leader was swarthily handsome in a ravaged way, in his nnd-thirties, with a scarred cheek which drew up one corner of his mouth in a permanent leer, odd under the thin down-turning long moustaches. But it was the eyes which held the attention, steel-grey, level, unwinking, utterly assured, peremptory, intolerant, with no sort of leer about them. He was oddly dressed also, in what had been the height of fashion some dozen years before, all black and silver, but with a tartan plaid wrapped across his chest and pinned on a wide shoulder by a great, gleaming jewelled clasp of Celtic ornament-Patrick, second Earl of Orkney and Lord of Zetland, son of one of Mary Queen of Scots' half-brothers and illegitimate son of James the Fifth, and therefore the King's cousin. His seven followers were all his brothers, some lawfully begotten, some otherwise, but without any distinction of identity or style, a notable assortment, ranging in age between twelve and thirty, dressed in every style known to fashion, or mixtures of styles, from Highland to hunting rig, or no style at all. They all carried themselves like antique princes, and all were quite drunk, like their brother-Patrick Stewart was always drunk-but unlike the embryo Knights of the Bath, none of them showed it, even the youngest. They strode towards their places at another special table, the King's kin, as though Whitehall and all else belonged to them, only they were too much lost in contemplation of fine fiddling to notice it They did not swagger; there was no need for that. These, however poverty-stricken, were the Stewarts. Their deer hounds, which never left their heels, bore the same stamp.
The succeeding party required no heralding either, for they did their own trumpeting in roaring bibulous song and laughter. At entry, the first an enormous, youngish man, built like an ox, clad in yellow satin slashed with green, grabbed one of the trumpeters' instruments, and raising it to his lips blew a mighty and discordant blast of noise from vast lungs, before hurling the trumpet with a clatter to the floor and staggering onwards, a train of belching, cheering Danish notables after him-His Serene Highness Ulric, Duke of Holstein, Bishop of Schwerin and Schleswig, brother of Christian the Fourth of Denmark and of Queen Anne. He bore no resemblance to his sister, a man of unpredictable moods and large appetites-he boasted that he was the biggest eater in Christendom, and seldom sat down to less than eighteen courses at a meal. He made his unsteady way towards the dais table, scowling at something suddenly.
This noisy eruption safely disposed of, a more grave and dignified group made its appearance, escorted by the Captain of the Gentlemen-at-Arms as marshal and led by Signor Molin, the Venetian envoy. This was the corps of ambassadors, including the new representatives of Spain and the Vatican, attending their first large-scale Court function. Magnificently dressed, their ruffs fresh-starched, their stars and Orders glittering, they made an impressive sight. They had some difficulty, however, in maintaining their sober dignity when they had to pass through a sort of tournament of would-be Knights of the Bath, mounted on each others' backs and jousting with table cutlery, while the Bath King flapped his tabard at them like a hen-wife with recalcitrant poultry. The deer hounds also, now decently settled on the floor, had to be stepped over.
There followed a pause. James, it could be seen, had left his vantage-point. Then a rather longer flourish of trumpets introduced a very small party indeed, no more than two persons, one carrying the other. This was Henry Howard, Earl of Nottingham, Lord High Admiral of England, bearing in his arms the four-year-old Prince Charles. The latter was decked out in splendid purple and ermine robes, his small wizened features and big eyes peering out like a monkey's. There was a dutiful cheer at this, drowning some sounds of altercation up at the dais.
Still louder trumpeting ushered in Prince Henry, all in white and gold as usual, an upright, heartening figure, ten years old this day, full of life and youthful grace with the Garter round his slim, left silken leg. Escorting him was another Lord High Admiral, that of Scotland, the Duke of Lennox. The cheering for the popular Henry was loud and prolonged.
A resounding fanfare cut it short, and produced the monarch and consort. But not only these two. Flanking the King were the day's bride and bridegroom, each supporting a royal arm, while Anne, a little to one side, had to carry her husband's stick for him -managing to do so in entirely regal fashion, despite being somewhat over-dressed and over-feathered. The Queen's taste in clothes tended towards the flashy side and tonight she was wearing more jewellery even than usual. George Heriot had had to deliver a casketful to Somerset House that morning, on loan for the day from his stock, most of it now decorating Anne's person wherever room could be found for it
The Lady Susan scarcely could be accused of over-dressing, at least The bodice of her pearl-seeded gown was so low as to be practically non-existent and her already prominent breasts underpinned with whalebone to thrust them up and out, the currently fashionable blue veins thereupon enthusiastically inked in, the nipples' aureoles painted scarlet. King James rather rolled expressive eyes in some distaste at this colourful display so close under his royal nose and tended to lean more to the other side on the resplendent but distinctly dishevelled bridegroom in the azure, crimson and white of his house. It was hard to say who was supporting whom.
The knightly tournament, still proceeding, was forcibly stilled by Yeomen of the Guard to allow the royal party passage to the dais table. Up at the head of the hall, Orkney's fiddlers started to play a lively measure, to which their lord beat time with a flagon on the table-but to which his cousin found difficulty in fitting his own and his supporters' somewhat unsteady steps, although he nodded his large, high-hatted head in genial approval.
But, beyond the Bath postulants the ranks of dignified couchant deer hounds posed a problem and one which even the Yeomen of the Guard were a little doubtful of clearing a way through. James gave his attention to this, paused thoughtfully, and suddenly turning, disentangled himself from the clutches of the so-blooming bride with some appearance of relief-whom Anne promptly and efficiently shouldered aside-and pushed Philip Herbert away with a sort of playful exasperation.
"Man, Philip," he said wetly. "Bide a wee. We'll get rid o' these laddies. We might as well get this by wi'. They're getting gey rough. Aye, it's been a long day, mind." He raised his voice. "Vicky! Vicky Stewart-your bit sword, man."
It was not Lennox's Scots accent which answered him however but the louder and thicker Germanic accent of his brother-in-law of Holstein. Ulric complained, and vehemently. He had been insulted. The ambassadors' party had come in after his own, according them precedence over himself. And now the wretched Venetian envoy was in a seat nearer to the thrones than was his own. It was not to be borne. At least, that seemed to be the gist of his complaint; Ulric's English was not good at the best of times.
James looked somewhat taken aback, opening his mouth and licking slobbering lips. He peered at Anne, suspiciously. She it was, indeed, who, having quickly become tired of her brother's manners, habits and conversation, had ordered that the Venetian Nicolo Molin, whom she found witty and amusing, should be inserted between Ulric's seat and her own. She could hardly explain this there and them The King muttered something placatory and gestured vaguely.
This would by no means do for Ulric who was drum-full of wine. He raised his unclear voice higher.
The royal party exchanged accusatory glances and looked unhappy.
"Quiet, man! Sit doon!" A great roar suddenly exploded upon the company. "Doon, I say. The King's Grace commands it." Surprisingly, that was the Earl of Orkney, pointing a forceful finger at the Serene Highness. And at the pure and simple menace in that order, Ulric gulped to silence and sat down heavily-before recalling that one did not sit in the presence of a standing monarch, and heaved himself to his feet again, but unspeaking.
James cast a doubtfully grateful glance at his cousin. "Aye, well," he said, and turned to find Lennox at his shoulder with the drawn sword. The Duke was still the only man allowed to draw a sword-even though it was a specially blunted one-in the royal presence indoors. Gingerly the King took it, and swung on the candidates for knighthood.
But the interlude with Duke Ulric had allowed these high-spirited and semi-intoxicated sprigs of nobility to revert to their playful antics. In anticipation of their new status they were now busy knighting each other with knives and forks, and making an increasing noise about it, assured of the well-known forbearance of their liege lord where young men were concerned. The King's genial injunction that they should come and kneel before him went unheeded, probably unheard.
James repeated his summons, waving the sword about unhandily-but to scant effect.
Abruptly, without warning, the entire situation seemed to explode in their faces. A bellow from the dais was followed immediately by a paralysing crash as a full flagon of wine, hurled with accuracy, smashed into the midst of the posturing postulants, shattering into a hundred fragments and splashing the contents over them all. And promptly the deer-hounds rose in savage baying threat.
"Silence, bairns-for the King's Grace!" the Earl of Orkney yelled. "Doon, I say! Doon, by God!"
Whether the last command was to his hounds or to the knights-to-be was not clear-but complete silence and stillness descended forthwith on man and beast alike.
All but holding their breaths, everyone including the monarch stared up at Orkney. In two brief gestures, Patrick Stewart had established himself as master of the great unruly gathering. He flicked a stubby finger at his cousin to continue.
"Ooh, aye," James said, goggling at his shaken and wine-splattered young friends. "Just so. You're no' hurt? Any o' you? Kneel you, then."
Ah eyes warily on the dreadful ogre from the North, and his dogs, the eleven candidates hurriedly knelt in a ragged row, nervously dabbing wine from faces and persons, evidently much sobered. Taking the sword in both hands, James tottered down the line not so much striking blows on each bent shoulder as dragging the blade indiscriminately over heads and bodies muttering 'Dub thee knight, dub thee knight, dub thee knight,' as he went. He said it approximately a dozen times, and it is probable that most if not all of the postulants received some touch of the steel, some to their dire danger. At the end of the row, panting, the King added, "Arise-aye, arise all o' you. Guid knights… to life's end. Up wi' you. Now-where's our Charlie?"
The Dean of Westminster stepped forward, fine in his Bath robes, bowing, with an open book, to proceed with the rest of the ceremony-for there was a great deal more to the investiture of Knights of this ancient Order than merely bestowing the accolade upon them. But James had other things on his mind and was in a mood for dispensing with unnecessary ceremonial. He shooed the Dean away, and then turned to do the same for the now standing eleven.
"Off wi' you," he said. "That's it. Awa' wi' you. I want Charlie." "He is here, Sire," Lennox assured, from behind.
The new members of the Most Honourable Order of the Bath, finding themselves no longer the centre of attention, and thus dismissed, were only too glad to escape. Making a variety of bows to Majesty's padded back, they hurried away. However, both Bath and Garter Kings of-Arms perceived difficulty, and exchanging glances, hastened after the new but departing knights, gesturing for them to halt. They managed to stop them near the door.
Meanwhile James found the Earl of Nottingham behind him, bearing his small wide-eyed son. He grinned at the mite, tweaking its ear. "So there you are, my mannie. Bide you still, now-and we'll get this by wi'. Nae bother, mind. Toby, man, are you there?" "Here, Sire." "Aye, well. You got a guid hold o' him, man Nottingham?" "I have, yes," the Lord Admiral declared stiffly.
James, who had been using the sword to lean on, now brought it up to waver about his little son's head. Nottingham jerked his own grey head back sharply, with the point only an inch or two from his eye.
"Stand still, man," his lord commanded. "This is fell difficult Dinna jink about, that way. Now-Charles Stewart Duke o' Albany, my son, I do dub thee knight o' this maist Honourable Order o' the Bath, preparatory, aye preparatory, to your investiture as Duke o' York." By this time he was resting the sword partly on the child and partly on Nottingham's shoulder. "Arise, Sir Charles. Stewart-and be thou a guid, true and proper knight until thy life's end. Aye." Thankfully he lowered the blade-and Lennox had to be quick to catch it before it fell altogether. "Now, you, Toby Mathew, man. And guidsakes, be short about it!"
Dr. Tobias Mathew, Bishop of Durham, deputising for the Archbishop of York who was old and ill, was a genial and witty cleric-the same who had greeted James at Berwick Bridge. He recognised that prolonged histrionics and the normal ceremony of investiture were contra-indicated here and now. Nevertheless the occasion called for certain form and dignity, however abbreviated. He raised a beringed hand, therefore, and launched into prayer, with a fine cathedral intonation. Not everyone was. prepared for this, and there was some background noise, especially from the new knights held up near the door, and also from a group near the head of the right hand table, where Philip Herbert had abandoned his bride to get involved in a card game with certain other courtiers. Fearing that Orkney might feel called upon to intervene again, James coughed loudly-and the Bishop, assuming this signal to be aimed at himself, brought his invocation to an even swifter close than intended, and proceeded in a more conversational tone to the next and indispensable stage of the programme. This consisted of a number of formal questions put to the new duke anent his good intentions towards the people and province of York, his support for the archiepiscopal see, his steward ship of the secular revenues thereof-large, which was why James was in such haste for this investiture of his second son, when the first was not yet created Prince of Wales-and so on. To all which questions the Lord Admiral answered in the affirmative, for the child, in a bored voice. Finally, he repeated the ducal oath, made to dukedom and monarch, after the Bishop.
This over, James himself took the ducal coronet, gold-studded with gems, and placed it on the little boy's head, where it settled to rest on his ears. "Geordie's made it ower big," he observed-to add jocularly, "Och, but you'll grow into it! There you are now, laddie-you're Duke o' York."
"Hail, Duke of York 1" Bishop Toby cried-though only one or two took up the salutation.
The child, who had been entirely docile throughout, smiled beatifically when his mother gave him a kiss-however much the Lord Admiral puffed disapprovaL
At a sign from Garter King, the trumpeters blew a fanfare, and to the notes of this the Admiral paced away with his charge, flanked by Yeomen, to join the other waiting Knights of the Bath, and so to march out of the hall in some sort of procession.
The King sighed his relief, and grabbing his stick from Anne, used it to poke a route through the deer-hounds on his way, at last, to his seat up at the dais table, where the flagons stood ranked.
He took off his high hat and sat down-and everybody else was thankfully looking forward to doing so likewise once the Queen was seated, when Anne, escorted through the dogs by Lennox, reached her husband's side and stooped to whisper in his ear.
"Eh? Eh? Waesucks-to be sure. It had escaped me-aye, clean escaped me." fames looked round for something convenient to bang on the table, but his queen tapped his shoulder and pointed to the trumpeter behind his chair. "Blow, man-blow," he commanded.
So once again the imperative summons to attention rang out- and retained everyone on their feet. Lolling in his chair, the monarch waved a vague hand. "See you," he announced, "there's another matter. Important. It's my royal pleasure to welcome to this my Court a man you'll hae heard tell o'-aye, a notable man. Frae Ireland. Hugh O'Neil, Earl o' Tyrone. He that would ca' hansel' King o' Tyrone, if I would let him!" He chuckled, and raised his voice. "Enter, Tyrone," he called. "Wi' another."
A side-door opened at the foot of the hall, and, from where they had been waiting all this time, two men marched in, arm-in-arm. They made an odd pair, for one was a red-headed giant with a bushy beard flecked with grey, and a wild eye, his clothes hung about him anyhow-the principal leader of the long Irish campaign against domination by Elizabeth's England; the other, a slender, dapper dandy of a man half his age, in the extreme of fashion, with a supercilious cast to his pale features-Charles Blount, eighth Lord Mountjoy, Elizabeth's Lord Deputy of Ireland, who had succeeded the ill-fated Essex. They had difficulty in adjusting to each other's step, these two-as to much else, indubitably- but continued to pace forward arms linked nevertheless, by royal command.
Astonished, enthralled, the huge company stared at the great and terrible rebel of the line of Ulster, bogey for so long to the English, destroyer of cities and armies, slayer of the innocent; and at the elegant who had gained eventual victory over him, where Essex and all others had failed.
Stalking unevenly, they came up to the dais, and bowed in approximate unison.
James put on his hat again, and nodded to them genially. "Aye," he said. "Right satisfactory. A symbol o' happier times. Cedant arma togac. Welcome, Hughie. Welcome, my Lord Mountjoy. Here you see the kindly fruits o' peace and amity. Sic volo, sic jubeo For thirty years there has been stupid war in Ireland, wi' thousands dead. Now, on my royal command, that's by wi'. There'll be nae mair o' it, I tell you. And these twa are the sign and seal o' it. Loving each other!" Even James himself could not but grin at that interpretation of the pair's attitude before him. "Aye, love we'll hae, no' hate and bicker, in my realms. Mind it. Wars and bloodshed I'll no' abide. In token whereof I make proclamation, proclamation d'you hear that, Hugh O'Neil, Earl o' Tyrone, has my fullest, freest pardon and remission, and a' styles, titles and lands declared forfeit are restored to him. A' men will show him fullest respect-on penalty o' my wrath. Aye, and Charles, Lord Mountjoy-you I hereby appoint and create Earl o' Devonshire, for your guid services. Your patent and bit belt you'll get later." He took off his hat once more. "Aye, then-that's it. Awa' to your places. God be thankit, that's done. We can now set to. This is by way o' being a wedding feast, mind. For my honest gossip and guid friend, aye amicus usque ad aras, Philip Herbert, and his bit lassie. We'll set him on his way, and right warmly. Bring on the meats…"
As a banquet, perhaps it was less successful than some-whatever else it was. The prolonged delay had not improved the cookery; moreover it was possibly a mistake to have had the wines on the tables beforehand, for hungry folk had had to fill in the time and put something into empty bellies. As a result, many had lost interest in the food by the time it arrived, and some were not in the best state to appreciate the good things to come. And there were very good things to come, undoubtedly. It was a fairly late hour before the last of the twenty-odd courses was over, and not a few, including James himself, would have been glad to forgo the masque to get down to the final climax. But this was Anne's contribution to the evening, and she had spent upwards of three thousand pounds upon it, with the newcomer Inigo Jones, talented protege of the Earl of Pembroke, designing the setting and decor for Ben Jonson's theme. Moreover, there had already been something of an upset about it all, for the Earl, a man with cultural leanings, had himself written and designed a masque for his brother's wedding, called Juno and Hymenaeus, unaware that the Queen was intending the other for this night It was unthinkable that all should be abandoned now-especially as it was important that royal marital harmony should be seen to be maintained, at present.
Towards the end of the feasting, then, with performing bears dancing to the music of a gipsy band, the Queen and some of her ladies, who were to take part in the masque, slipped away.
James had been waiting for this. After a little he obtained approximate quiet by the usual methods. "My friends," he said, "it is my pleasure and satisfaction to mak twa pronouncements. One is that the Queen and mysel' are to be blessed wi' another bairn, to be born, God willing, in the month o' March, to our notable joy, aye joy. The bairn was conceived between us here, in this England, in this very house o' Whitehall-and so is your very ain prince, or again princess. It is our royal wish and intention suitably to mark the occasion some fashion. Aye, in some fashion no' yet decided. Accordingly, my friends, I therefore seek your kindly suggestions to that end. In due course. You will pleasure me and the Queen by thinkin' o' some worthy design, mark or employ, to grace the occasion o' this notable birth o' the first prince o' our Great Britain. Think on it, and inform me."
Far apart as they were placed, Duke Ludovick and George Heriot managed to exchange glances of mixed admiration, relief and amusement However uncouth, it was no fumbling hand which steered this so doubtfully united ship of state.
When the cheering died down, James went on. "My second pronounce concerns my guid and loving cousin Patrick, Earl o' Orkney," and he waved a cousinly hand towards the Stewart table, "and his brothers, forby. It pleases me much to gie them welcome to this my Court in London. Mind, they're no' a' here-the brothers. I canna just mind how mony there are 1" He chuckled, to emphasise the genial tenor of his remarks.
"Ower mony!" Patrick Stewart interpolated briefly, into the laughter.
"Eh? You say so, Pate? Aye, well-maybe. We can a' hae too much o' a guid thing, even. My Cousin Pate-he's a swack lad, as you'll see. And guid on a horse or a woman! He'll maybe teach you a thing or twa, Philip!" He paused. "But it grieves me right notably to say that I've got something against the guid Pate, aye. A small matter, just-that maybe needs put to the test. My Council in Scotland, see you, is getting fair deluged, aye deluged, wi' complaints and protests frae the guid folk o' Orkney and Zetland anent oppressions, extortions and depredations-aye, and rapes too, mighty rapes-committed they do say by my said Cousin Pate, Earl thereof. Och, unpleasant, unpleasant! It's maybe a' lees, mind-untruths. But it will hae to be enquired into."
The sudden silence was dramatic. All sober enough to recognise what was happening, sat up in various stages of alertness. "What is this?" Orkney demanded slowly, quietly.
"A small matter, Cousin," the King answered easily. "We'll hae my Scots Privy Council investigate. Och, they will likely assure me there's nae truth in it. Or no' much. Or you'll explain, to our royal satisfaction. But we maun enquire, see you-when so mony complain. You'll no' think ill o' me for that, will you, Patrick man? It'll no' tak that long." The Earl's ravaged features were set like stone, his cold eyes icy.
"Meanwhile," James went on affably, "I'll need to keep you under watch and ward, eh? To show your island folk that they've still got a king to look after them-though six hundred miles awa'! Ooh, aye-my duty, nae less. We'll no' ward you right straitly, mind, Pate-no' in the Tower, or the like! But you'll consider yoursel' under my royal care and keeping. Aye-and you'll no return to Orkney, nor yet Zetland, until I say so-as precaution, just But, man-you'll be gey little inconvenienced."
Patrick Stewart was entirely still, motionless-and, strangely, infinitely more dangerous-seerning, menacing, than if he had risen and stormed in wrath. There was dead silence for long moments. Then he gave a single nod. "We will speak with Your Grace on this, after," he said evenly, authoritative still.
"Do that, my lord," James agreed. "Meanwhile, hold yoursel' in ward, just Answerable to our cousin the Duke o' Lennox. That's best." He smiled round on all, a man entirely at his ease. "Well-that's my twa pronouncements. The Queen's bit masque will be starting-and we'll need to gie it due attention, mind. But the night’s young yet. So drink up, my lords and gentles. Eh, Philip-the night's young yet, man?"
"I am at Your Majesty's disposal, any hour," the bridegroom called back, hiccuping, amidst relieved laughter. "Aye-you're time will come…"
Tension eased as it became apparent that the Earl of Orkney had a firm grip on himself and his brothers, and obviously intended that there should be no scenes or trouble meantime. None doubted his capacity to make such trouble, in his own time. That superficial harmony was not in fact achieved there and then was not his fault, the trouble starting elsewhere. Attendants were now wheeling in scenery and backcloths for the entertainment to follow. Master Inigo Jones, a serious and rather self-important young man, who had learned his craft of painter in Italy, where he had had the Medicis as patrons, came hurrying in to speak to the Garter King, as Master of Ceremonies, declaring that they must have more room, and that at least one of the lengthy side-tables would have to be cleared away if the masque was to be properly staged. Also a corner of the dais itself, if that was possible.
Good-naturedly the King agreed, and there followed a major upheaval, for a while, as furniture was moved about, and guests likewise. The deer-hounds presented a problem, and had to be manoeuvred into a corner with much tact Various new groupings formed amongst the company, and Heriot found himself able to stand at Alison's side, where Lennox presently joined them. They had just begun to exchange appreciative comments on James's remarkable handling of the Queen-Orkney situation, when high words drew all eyes to the dais again. The table there had been moved back and sideways, and a rearrangement of seats became necessary-various dais guests being already on the floor and no longer requiring chairs. The Duke of Holstein had apparently come rather poorly out of this readjustment, precedence-wise, and now was placed further from the King's chair than heretofore- although in the same position relative to the Queen's empty throne. The fact was that James was getting to that stage of the evening when he liked to have his especial hard-drinking favourites close around him, regardless of rank and precedence-and although Ulric was sufficiently hard-drinking, the King was getting a little tired of his brother-in-law, more especially with the labour of conversation in a mixture of Danish-English-Latin-Doric. So now Ulric was on his feet, making protest loud and long, assisted by his Danish aides, all roaring drunk anyway. Ludovick hurried away again, fairly certain that the monarch would soon be railing upon him to pour oil on troubled waters.
"That Ulric is a fat stot!" Alison observed succinctly. 'The sooner he sails back to Denmark, the better. The Queen has had quite enough of him. What would the King do without Duke Vicky?"
"He has been doing notably well without him, or anyone else, this evening, I swear I" the man returned. "James has achieved more than I would have believed possible, since coming into this room."
"Yes. But when aught goes amiss, he calls for the Duke. Or you. This masque will never succeed tonight It is too late. Folk are too drunk. Too much has gone before. Moreover, Master Jonson and Master Jones are at each others' throats. It will come to grief. Heigho-there will be worse upsets than Duke Ulric's ruffled pride for Duke Vicky and you to deal with, before the night is out!" 'You do not sound unduly cast down at the prospect I" She laughed. "Should I? This Court itself is a better show than any masque! I am sorry for the Queen. But she ought to have let Lord Pembroke have his masque tonight, for his brother's wedding. Sakes-look at yon bullock from Denmark!"
James was not greatly trying to placate his brother-in-law. His suggestion that Ulric should sit in his sister's throne, since she would not be requiring it, apparently did not commend itself; and thereafter, with a wave of his hand, the monarch left the matter to Lennox and the Garter King. In a lull in the general hubbub, the former could be heard explaining soothingly that if His Serene Highness would draw his chair in just behind the King's own, he would be sufficiently close for converse and dignity both- to which Ulric declared in conglomerate eloquence that if he was denied his due and proper seating, he would be forced to stand throughout, in protest
It was at this awkward juncture that the clash of cymbals drowned all other sounds, and a large blackamoor emerged from the scenery at the foot of the banqueting-hall to announce in a deep bellow that the Masque of Blackness now commenced, by order of her Imperial Majesty the Empress of the Niger. Let all be silent
Duke Ulric, caught at something of a disadvantage, had either to swallow his words or remain standing. He stood, if not firm at least stubbornly. Unfortunately his aides from Denmark felt bound to stand with him.
A painted curtain drew back to reveal a cunningly devised lake, real water in front held in shallow trays, magnified by mirrors and merging into a painted background of meres, woods and mountains, all flanked by growing reeds and potted palms which rippled in a fan-made breeze, most realistic. On to this lake, to the sound of weird and barbaric music never before heard in the land, thin fluting and wild jangling and clanging, came a great scallop-shell which seemed to float on the water, drawn by white sea-horses, setting up an effective splashing. Escorting this were six swimming sea-monsters, very terrible and spouting steam, each bearing on its back two torch-bearers, naked but for loin-cloths, from which torches, at intervals, spouted firework stars. 'Within the scallop, on a throne of shells, sat the black Empress Euphoria -Anne herself-ablaze with jewels on turban and corsage. Behind her stood the Countess of Bedford as slave, clad only in a breastplate and loin-fringe, both of threaded pearls, and waving above her mistress a great fan made of two entire peacocks' tails. Around them were grouped half-a-dozen more ladies, all, like the Queen, blackened on all visible parts of their bodies-which was most of them, for they were in me main scantily clad.
Loud cheering and stamping greeted this vision, mixed with guffaws, and also a certain amount of censorious outcry from those who disapproved of the highest in the land demeaning themselves as naked blackamoors. Duke Ulric was the most vehement of these. It was a considerable time before quiet could be restored, though the cymbals achieved it in the end.
At a signal Yeomen of the Guard now extinguished the candles and torches in the main part of the hall-which, although it certainly highlighted the masquers, was probably a mistake in the circumstances, since all else was left in darkness. This, coinciding. with the start of recitation, poetic declamation and singing, not all of it of a professional standard to match Inigo Jones's decor, soon produced stir, catcalls and anonymous goings-on amongst a high-spirited, drink-taken audience which had been waiting for too long. When young Prince Henry came on the scene, as a white slave in clanking chains and little else, to dance for the black ladies, there was a certain restraint for the heir to the throne. But after his part was over, all quickly degenerated into pandemonium and licence in the darkness of the banqueting hall. Everywhere women began to squeal and yelp as they found themselves being kissed, embraced, man-handled and their clothing interfered with. A shout that sounded suspiciously like the bridegroom's called for skirts to be removed-echo of the other occasion at Wilton-and nothing loth, no lack of others took up the cry.
Heriot found Alison being assailed by two youths-whether the pages who had flanked her at table or others he could not be sure in the gloom-and laid about him with clenched fists and no little fury. Lennox, the Garter King, and others shouted for the candles to be lit again-but this was a much slower process than the extinguishing. Chaos reigned, with no attention paid to the masque any longer.
The deer-hounds bayed loudly-but no peremptory master's voice cried them down.
Light was eventually produced, to reveal an extraordinary scene. Chairs and even tables were overturned, dishes, wine flagons and beakers strewed the floor, amidst spilt liquor and clothing. Young men were waving women's garments in triumph, some actually wearing them-while their owners screamed, wept or giggled, sought to flee the hall, hide in corners or boldly strut, according to temperament Many ladies, however, discovered more serious losses than their clothing or modesty-jewellery, necklaces, chains, purses had been stolen Deafening was the outcry.
Only one oasis of calm and normality was there in all the turmoil. Up on the dais the King and his close companions sat drinking methodically, watching, interested, amused but unconcerned. And at their nearby table the Orkney Stewarts eyed all with unconcealed contempt, disdain. Ulric of Holstein still stood, prominent eyes goggling.
In this chaotic situation Queen Anne, perhaps recognising that her orders to extinguish the lights might have been responsible for touching off the ferment, made a gallant effort to retrieve the situation. Abandoning the remainder of the masque, she summoned her musicians from the wings, and ordering them to play a quadrille, led the better clad of her ladies out on to the main hall floor to seek partners for the dance, assured that her royal presence there would tone down the wilder excesses. She herself perceived the new Spanish ambassador, Don Juan de Tassis, standing alone and distinctly bemused, and went to him offering her hand. He kissed it, thereby obtaining a blackened face, and found himself whisked away in somewhat feverish romp.
In some degree Anne was justified, for the worst horseplay died away, and many followed her lead. Others took the opportunity to slip away, improper as this was while King and Queen remained. But nothing could restore the evening to anything like order now -especially as the monarch himself made no attempt to do so. Bowing to the inevitable, the Queen took leave of her partner, and beckoning to her ladies to follow her, swept doorwards.
Alison Primrose grimaced at George Heriot, and reluctantly trailed after her mistress. Heriot was wondering whether to accompany them as escort when he saw that some of the Yeomen had detached themselves for that duty.
Only as they were disappearing through the doorway, with Master Inigo Jones appearing weeping therein, did a trumpeter sound a belated and perfunctory flourish for the Queen's retiral.
It was as though James had been waiting for this moment Hardly had Anne passed out of sight than he raised hands above his head, to stretch largely. Then he clapped on his feathered hat.
"Aye, then," he announced. "Enough's enough. Time for the bedding. Philip lad -you in guid fettle?"
"Never better," that stalwart declared thickly. "Ready for aught!"
"Let us hope the lassie can say the same, then!" "Susan will do very well," Southampton called out "I can vouch for her!"
There was a shout of laughter, in which the Lady Susan's high-pitched wliinny overtopped all.
The King got to his feet. "We'll see," he said. "Gie's your arm, Philip. And you too, girl. Tut-pu' up your bodice, woman. We're no' in the bedchamber yet! Now Cousin Pate-your fiddlers, heh?"
Orkney stared for a moment bleakly, and then nodded, but shortly. He jerked a hand at his two musicians. They could now hardly stand-but they could still fiddle. They moved unsteadily forward to pace before the King. The Earl and his brothers, however, remained unmoving, sitting at their table, tankards in hand. Everyone else left in the hall, and sufficiently sober to be so, was upstanding.
Ignoring his peculiar cousins, arm-in-arm with bride and bridegroom as before, James started on his tottering way to the door, fiddlers ahead, courtiers falling in behind. He seemed in a state of entire felicity, but as he passed where Heriot stood, he nodded his head at him. "Come, Geordie," he said. "Pray to be excused, Majesty," that man requested, bowing.
"Nonsense, man-be no' so delicate! Come you." And as he passed on, he threw a word or two over his shoulder to Lennox, who came close behind.
Heriot following on unenthusiastically after the noisy crew, found the Duke at his side.
"This may not be to your taste, Geordie," he murmured, "but James says you had better be there. The bride, it seems, is wearing certain jewellery belonging to you. When she takes it off, James thinks that you had better be there to claim it, or it will vanish away!"
"He thought of that? In this ploy!" As he went, Heriot marvelled anew at a monarch who could, and would, consider one of his servants' interests at such a time.
They wound, shouting and singing, along corridors and up stairs, to one of the great state bedrooms prepared for the occasion. Here, all looked like degenerating into complete riot, when James obtained a partial quiet by someone beating one of the cymbals from the masque. He declared that all must be done decently and in order, for his friend Philip, in the proper tradition-which might have seemed a curious way of describing such proceedings.
The company divided roughly into two, according to taste, to undress the bride and groom, although in scarcely orderly fashion. The women-and quite a few had survived the evening-not unnaturally gravitated towards Sir Philip, as of course did the King; but Lady Susan's disrobers undoubtedly outnumbered them, the bride wisely assisting. George Heriot managed to grab a string of pearls, warm from the flesh, and two gemmed bracelets, before anybody else could do so, and then stood back.
Quickly, amidst much acclaim, the two protagonists were reduced to a state of mother-nakedness-although they did not appear quite, perhaps, as on the day they were born, the man's highly positive masculinity rather remarkable in the circumstances, and the woman's slight improvements on nature much commented upon. Then they were picked up by such of their supporters as could manage to get a hand upon their persons anywhere, and carried to the great bed. There was some argument here as to who should be set down on top of whom, the principals proclaiming the matter immaterial-but James's plea for natural seemliness prevailed, and Lady Susan was lowered first on the bed.
Thereafter no urgings, counsel or guidance as to the next stage was necessary, or indeed could have been found time for, as Sir Philip settled himself into his due and effective position, for these two were obviously experienced practitioners, possibly more so than most of their assistants. In one way, perhaps, it was a little disappointing for habitual attenders at wedding-beddings, since the encouragement, schooling and manipulation of less confident performers could on occasion provide considerable interest, not to say hilarity. These two went at it, from the start, with expertise and enthusiasm-to their own very evident satisfaction, whatever else. It was all over before the best epigrams and flights of wit had really got going-and Philip Herbert has disproved that a surplus of wine was necessarily any handicap to bedtime prowess-and his bride that an audience need be an inhibiting factor.
"Aye-very guid," King James commented, although perhaps just a little doubtfully. "Expeditious. Aye, right prompt,"
"That is one hundred pounds you owe me, Sire," came a contentedly languorous voice from the bed,
"Ooh, aye. But I'll might get it back yet, man. An hour later, you said? We'll be back up in the hour, then, to see if you can keep my hundred-or you can make another fifty. Come you, then, my lords and gentles-gie them a bit peace, for they hae a heavy night ahead o' them, I'll wager! Gie's your arm, Vicky. Geordie-you got what's your ain? Well-doon wi' us. There's plenty wine yet-unless yon Patrick o' Orkney and his crew hae drunk it a' while we've been doing our duty by these innocents. Come, you…"