IT WAS, in fact, late the following Spring before George Heriot got away on his jaunt to the North. His position as Court Jeweller, with all its additional banking and financial ramifications, was one of considerable advantage and influence; but it had its drawbacks, one of which undoubtedly was that, like all other Court appointments, no major travel or absence beyond the King's ready call was allowed without express royal permission. And James kept a notably close grip on his entire entourage- extraordinarily so for so apparently haphazard and casual an individual-and especially on his banker.
There was another aspect of the position. Heriot was still in the Queen's black books over Alison Primrose and Margaret Hartside, the more so, it seemed, in that he had discovered the blackmail by Orkney. Whether that particular situation was improved, or no, he was given no indication; but he was no longer summoned to Somerset (or Denmark) House, and Anne had bestowed her custom and favour on Sir William Herrick. This was a veritable financial relief to Heriot-but the man regretted his estrangement from the Queen, with whom he had had great sympathy in the past and whom he had served for long. Whether Anne positively intrigued to keep him from going to Scotland was not to be known; but he suspected it. How much influence she had, in fact, on the King these days was a doubtful quantity, for the Courts were almost entirely separate, and there were many days when James did not see his wife.
Will Shakespeare got up to Scotland before Heriot did, he and his King's Players company travelling North to present a series of plays at Edinburgh, Perth, Dundee and Aberdeen. Whether this would result in the financial profit James fondly hoped for remained to be seen; for the Presbyterian climate in the northern kingdom was less than favourable towards play-acting, except against a good religious background. The King's Players ransacked their repertoire for suitable themes, but departed doubtful.
Heriot's permission to depart, as he had expected, coincided with his involvement in another errand for James Stewart The Master of Gray's case had been heard before a secret commission of judges, and he had been awarded nineteen thousand, nine hundred and three pounds against the King. Admittedly this was within the suggested sum for settlement-but the fact of having to pay at all rankled with James. The judges had been much too open-handed with other folk's money, he contended-especially as one of them was James Elphinstone, Lord Balmerino, Lord President of the Court of Session as well as Chief Secretary for Scotland. The same Balmerino was holding back eighteen thousand merks, or twelve thousand pounds Scots, of the price of Robert Logan's estates he had bought, was he not? Patrick Gray was one of Logan's heirs general, as a first cousin, and the King strongly suspected that his Chief Secretary and Gray had done a deal-and at the royal expense. This would by no means do. Gray was a proven scoundrel, of course; but it looked as though Balmerino might well be one also. Moreover, there was another matter. There was a complaint to the King, personally, from the old Lord Gray, the Master's father-a donnert auld fool by all accounts, but one who had served the Crown in his time. He declared that his eldest son had violently entered his house of Castle Huntly and cruelly driven him out, dismissed his servants and consumed all his victuals and fodder, with the intent shamefully to bring his grey hairs to the grave that he might inherit the sooner. He had appealed to the Scots Privy Council, but to no avail. Now as a last resort, he sought the royal intervention.
When Heriot demurred that this did not sound in the least like Patrick Gray's style of behaviour, a man of infinite subtlety, James overbore him. The old lord would not be likely to write so if he had not been evicted from his castle. And if the Scots Privy Council were refusing to do anything about it, might it not be because they were looking after the Master's interests in more than the nineteen thousand, nine hundred and eighty-three pounds! Indeed, might not Patrick Gray be getting a grip on more than Balmerino? What about Sandy Seton himself, Chancellor Dunfermline? They had ever been friends. He had asked Vicky Stewart about that-but his ducal cousin could see no further than a mole in sunlight. So Geordie Heriot was to go to Scotland, and make quiet enquiries. Find out what he could about Balmerino, and Dunfermline too. Search out what was at the back of the eviction of the old Lord Gray. Discover whether the nine-teen thousand, nine hundred and eight-three pounds need in fact be paid-to a possible felon who might conveniently be outlawed. And while he was at it, see if he could learn whether those fell Casket Letters were indeed now in the Master’s hands.
No protests on the part of the reluctant enquirer that this was turning him into little better than a spy and secret agent, had any effect on the monarch, who did not fail to invoke the sacred ties of friendship, as well as the simple duty of a loyal subject, throwing in the royal command when the other looked unconvinced.
Before heading northwards, Heriot went to see the Duke of Lennox, not long returned from his quite prolonged vice-regal stay in Scotland settling the new bishops into their places in the state, if not in the Church. Lennox was full of the oddity of this situation, and very doubtful as to the wisdom of it all-for James was antagonising much of the nobility, by taking back from them the bishopric lands they had gained at the Reformation land-grab to bestow again on the restored prelates. Moreover, the Kirk would have none of them. Nor did the strong Catholic influence, which still remained a force, consider these bishops as anything but frauds. So, according to the Duke, James was uniting the three warring factions of nobles, Kirk and Catholics against himself, by this episcopal imposition, and gaining nothing save a superficial appearance of unified church polity as with England-a concordat, James called it-and of course the important matter of the bishops' votes in the Scots parliament.
"And, do not forget, a totally reliable, educated and continuing corps of leadership in Scottish affairs," his friend pointed out. "From whom the King may choose ministers of government, high officials, secretaries of state, to carry out his policies, nominated by himself, wholly dependent on his goodwill. The bishops are only an instrument in that policy. However unpopular and ineffective as churchmen, they will be an enduring tool in the King's hands."
"You may be right," Lennox admitted. "James has no interest in popularity. Or indeed in doctrine, I think-although he likes to argue and debate dogma. Efficacy is all he is concerned with, I swear! Divide to rule has always been his policy. Religion, I think, does not come into the matter, so far as James is concerned. Myself, I have little use for doctrine-but I mislike being so unpopular as I am now, in Scotland. I have spent months settling and imposing these bishops-and ended up being hooted at in the streets! George Home does not appear to care-but I mislike it, Geordie."
"At least you are an open agent of the Crown-not a spy, as I am to be. I had rather be hooted at than considered an underhand informer"
"We are all spies for James. It is his method of government. He does not go to war, slay men by the thousand. He is the first king to use wits, intelligence and the weaknesses of men, instead of the sword and the axe. Mountebank Royal-with, I am coming to believe, the keenest wits in his two realms!"
They contemplated that proposition for a little, in silence. Then Heriot mentioned the King's suspicions of Secretary Elphinstone, Lord Balmerino, and, to a lesser extent, Dunfermline the Chanceller, and the charge to himself to discover what he could.
"I have never trusted Elphinstone," Lennox conceded. "He is cunning and able, but I think crooked. And, of course, a Catholic but thinly disguised. He pays only the barest lip-service to the Kirk. Duiifermline is Catholic also, of course-all the Setons are -though he makes a show of conforming. But he is otherwise fairly honest, I believe. Indeed, Patrick Gray too is a Catholic at heart-if he is anything 1 Perhaps James fears those three, and others, overturning Reformed Scotland and his throne!" "Some call you Catholic!" his friend reminded.
The other smiled "I say a man's religion is his own business! I do not, and will never, make mine a matter of the state's."
"Would all were so wise." Heriot changed the subject. "What of Margaret Hartside?"
"There has still been no trial. The Queen is playing cat-and-mouse with her. She is living quietly in Stirlingshire, as ordered. But they say that her husband visits her secretly from Orkney- and makes no attempt to take her back with him, as he might, where she could be beyond Anne's clutches. And so saves you your surety money I"
"Which means, then, that the Earl of Orkney still believes that he can make use of her?" "So I would think." "And the Casket Letters?"
"Of those I learned nothing. Or whether Orkney is still being paid mail."
"The King wishes to know if Gray has them. So he is still concerned, on that score. Moreover, he is seeking to avoid payment of the moneys awarded by the judges."
"That is folly. He should not make more of an enemy of Patrick Gray than he must."
"My own opinion." Heriot sighed. "Well-have you the letter for me to carry to your Mary?"
George Heriot arrived in Edinburgh, to discover that Will Shakespeare and his company were meantime playing in the city of Perth. Before proceeding thither, however, he had other fish to fry. He sought out James Primrose, in his town house at the top of a high tenement of the Lawnmarket, but was part disappointed, part pleased, to learn that Alison was not with him there, but was staying with Mary Gray at Methven-which, he knew from her letters, she often did. Primrose, although his visitor pumped him gently, discreetly, revealed nothing of interest regarding Balmerino, Dunfermline or other members of the Scots Privy Council, nor why nothing had been done about the old Lord Gray's complaint-save to mention that the Master of Gray was still Sheriff of Forfar, the county in which Castle Huntly was situated, and so, in theory and possibly practise also, was the law there. Heriot could get little more out of him; perhaps he recognised that he had been somewhat indiscreet previously. He was, however, prepared to talk about his daughter's wedding. He proposed that the ceremony might be held at the very least a year hence when, he considered, Alison would be of a fit age-and before which he could by no means spare her. Nor would he be in a position to produce her dowry before then. The bridegroom-to-be could not have been less interested in the proposed five thousand merks dowry, but recognised that the decencies had to be observed. Moreover, although his heart, like his whole body, wanted Alison now, his head told him that he would have had to have made his peace with the Queen before he could bring the young woman back to London-or, at least, to Court circles; and he was not going to put her in any position where she was likely to be slighted or snubbed. If this Scottish mission of his' was in any degree successful, he ought to be able to make overtures to Anne from a position of some strength. Next summer, then, let it be.
His brother James was not of much use to Heriot regarding hints and rumours of what went on below the surface in Scottish affairs; but the lawyer, Adam Lawtie, his Edinburgh 'doer, was a shrewd and busy little man with an ear very close to the ground, and from him the enquirer gained some relevant information, or at least the avenues to explore. For instance, that the Earl of Dunbar, still in Scotland as Lord Treasurer and commissioner, and Lord Balmerino the Secretary, had reputedly fallen out, and that the Chancellor Dunfermline, was taking part with Balmerino. That these two crypto-Catholics were, strangely enough, in ever closer touch with the Calvinist leaders of the Kirk That Balmerino was said to have arrested the Eyemouth lawyer George Sprott, 'doer' for the late Logan of Restalrig, and was holding him hidden away secret somewhere. That the Master of Gray was very active visiting and being visited by a great many of the nobility. And that the King's proposed Act of Union between Scotland and England, together with the bishops who were thought to be the main instruments for bringing it about, were likely to be resisted by a for once almost united Scotland.
Thoughtfully, Heriot went seeking his cousin, the Lord Advocate.
He found Sir Thomas Hamilton in better health, entirely affable, but less forthcoming as to confidences even than previously. It seemed obvious to Heriot that he was being more than habitually close and careful-and therefore presumably had something to hide. This was reasonable enough for a man in his high office; but he knew that his cousin came straight from the King, however unofficially. Even Heriot's suggestion that James might possibly be considering making a peer of him did not open the King's Advocate's thick lips to any extent.
Disappointed in this, the discreet enquirer sought out Master Thomas Hope, the advocate not of the King but, men said, of the King's enemies. He found him more difficult of access than the other, for he had become the busiest practitioner in the Scottish High Court, with everywhere his ability, independence of mind and fearlessness recognised. The caller had to wait almost two hours at the Court of Session, and took the opportunity to sit-in on a couple of cases in which the advocate was involved-being left with an enhanced respect for Hope and a recognition that this was a man whom he could much prefer to have for than against him. He gained the impression that the judges in the cases felt the same way.
When eventually Hope had time to see him, it was to find the tables turned rather, and Heriot himself in the role of examinee and witness.
"I played my part, Master Heriot, and convinced my client, the Master of Gray, to agree to a private commission of judges, and to accept their award. Within the twenty thousand pounds limitation. That award has not yet been paid. That would be a serious defraudment, besides being extremely dangerous, I think. Moreover, a failure in confidence and good faith towards myself, sir."
"But… I think that you go too fast, Master Hope," the other answered, carefully. 'The payment of large sums is ever apt to be slow-as I know to my cost. Would it were only nineteen thousand pounds Scots wherein I was outlaid, on the royal account! There is no reason, is there, to believe that it will not be paid in due course?"
"Is there not, sir? Then why has the Lord Scone, Comptroller, whom the Lord President Balmerino authorised to pay the award, been stopped from making the payment? Presumably by the Lord High Treasurer, the Earl of Dunbar, on the King's command."
"He has? I knew nothing of this. His Majesty did not say so. It may be, perhaps, that this is a matter between Dunbar arid Balmerino? I am told that they are at odds."
"All Scotland knows that. But I scarce think that even Dunbar would halt payment of the court's award without royal sanction."
"I do not know. I am sorry, sir. The Duke of Lennox and I approached you in all good faith. The King acceeded to it all. This must be looked into…"
"It must indeed, Master Heriot-and swiftly. Or I, for one, will not be responsible for the consequences. I need not tell you that the Master of Gray is an ill man to cross. And there is much in Scotland today for ill-will to harness and exploit The realm needs a resident king and government-not one four hundred miles away, dealing through venial underlings!"
Heriot did not attempt to deny that "Might not the Master of Gray use the moneys awarded to further stir up that ill-will, Master Hope?" he countered.
"That is no concern of mine, sir. Nor of yours, I say. The award has been made by the King's judges, and accepted. It must be paid. Any further delay, I warn you, could result in most serious consequences. Consequences much more expensive than twenty thousand pounds Scots" "You have reason to state that?"
"I have my God-given wits, sir! As, I swear, have you! Do not tell me that you are unaware of the fire that could blaze in Scotland today-requiring only a spark!"
"And you conceive the Master of Gray to be ready to strike that spark?"
"I have not said so. Others may strike it. But my client has just grievances. And much influence in Scotland. As he has shown in the past."
"And as his father, it seems, has recently discovered to his cost! He has, I understand, turned him out of his own house. And he a Lord of Parliament"
"As to that, I am not informed, sir. But… I advise that the Master be paid. And forthwith." "I shall inform the King of your advice, Master Hope." "That, I fear, may be too late."
Quickly Heriot searched his face. "You think so?" he asked, after a pause.
"I do. I have no wish, sir, to see this realm in any disturbances. There are follies enough lacking that. And the King cannot plead either ignorance nor lack of money. The English parliament has given him four hundred thousand pounds for his personal use, I understand." "So you knew of that?"
"It is my business to know things. The Master of Gray knows of it also! Twenty thousand pounds Scots is a very small sum compared with four hundred thousand pounds Sterling. Is it worth Scotland aflame?" "You judge it as serious as that?" "In present circumstances, yes." "If I knew just what those circumstances were, sir…?"
"I advise that you find out, then, Master Heriot But-not from me! I am my client's advocate, nothing more."
"I see." Heriot perceived that he would get nothing more from this man. He changed the subject, and asked about the Hartside case in which, since it was his money that was retaining Hope's interest, he had every right to enquire. But the advocate could tell him little that he did not know already. The next move was up to the Queen, either to call for trial or to declare the charges abandoned-as was advisable.
With that, George Heriot had to be content But he left the Court of Session premises in the High Street with much on his mind.
Next morning he rode off, west by north, for Linlithgow, Stirling and Perth.
The arrival at Methven Castle the day following was such as to banish all his anxieties, national and personal, from his mind- at least for the moment Colour, young, verdant greenery and blossom was just beginning to paint the land after the long winter, although the snow still coated in gleaming white all over two thousand feet, to add depth and contrast and challenge to every vista. Strathearn was an utterly different world from London, or even Edinburgh, not only in its scene but in its values and tempo. Here was little of power and authority, of destiny, intrigue and momentous events; here, however, were the enduring verities, the essential rhythm of the seasons, the unchanging land, simple but basic things. As ever when the man entered into his ambience, he asked himself why he did not resign his Court appointments, sell his business and responsibilities to others, come up here and buy himself a landed property, to settle down as a country laird. He could well afford it, for he was by any standards a rich man. He could put up with the royal disapproval. And he had no ambitions, that he was aware of, to fulfil. Why not, then?
At the castle, he discovered that Mistress Gray and her guests had gone riding to the ravaged Inchaffray Abbey, some five miles to the west, with young John Stewart; and in no mood to sit waiting for them, Heriot went spurring on. Half-an-hour later he found them among the roofless aisles, seeking to unearth from the rubble fine carved work cast down by the over-zealous Reformers of half a century earlier, his unannounced appearance on the scene setting off an eruption as overwhelming as it was joyous and incoherent. At sight of him, Alison emitted a yell of sheer delight, and abandoning all pretence at ladylike behaviour, came racing, bounding over fallen masonry, blackened timbering and weeds, setting scores of pigeons into alarmed, flapping flight from the broken clerestoreys and wallheads, laughing aloud as she came. Mary Gray began to follow her, then restrained herself, and also her son who had started to run also, and turned instead to the fourth member of the party, in explanation.
Heriot had only time to jump from the saddle before his betrothed was upon him, a vehement, uninhibited assembly of urgent limbs, fluttering clothing and streaming hair, to be caught, lifted high, whirled round and hugged close, all in one continuous, sweeping motion, amidst a breathless and disconnected babblement of words and exclamations, until lips met lips and at least the noise was stilled-scarcely behaviour apt for the Master-Elect of the 'Worshipful Company of Hammermen of the City of London, and in consecrated premises, moreover.
Mary and the boy came to present themselves in smiling welcome, after a due interval, while Alison, clutching the man's doublet sleeve wove to and fro on tip-toe at his side, unable to stand still and blinking tears of joy from her eyes, still seeking an intelligible pattern of words. It was Mary Gray however, who enunciated the required phrases of greeting, gladness, affection and question, after bestowing her own generous kiss full on Heriot's fortunate lips. John Stewart of Methven had difficulty in obtaining a hand to shake.
The newcomer, less than fluently, was commencing to explain his arrival on the scene when he perceived that there was another person present, lingering behind a little, a tall, flaxen-haired and serenely beautiful older woman, in her late thirties, grey-eyed, fine-featured, dressed in notably rich riding-clothes, who waited with a half-smile and a calm dignity. He paused.
Noting the look, Mary turned. "Marie," she called, "here is Master George Heriot, Alison's betrothed and the King's man of business. Geordie-the Lady Marie Stewart, Mistress of Gray. Whom I suppose you might name my step-mother"
Heriot contrived a bow of sorts, his wits for the moment all agley. This was the Master's wife, Orkney's sister, the King's cousin, and Mary Queen of Scots' niece-in the circumstances hardly the person he was best prepared to meet. . The other effortlessly put him more at ease. "The famous Master Geordie himself " she said, in a voice melodious as it was warmly assured. She came forward. "My loss that I have never met you until this. But I feel that I know you well-and like what I know. These two never fail to sing your praises, sir."
"My lady," he said. "I… ah… am greatly privileged. Your servant. I know your husband…"
"Ah, yes. Who does not? And Patrick ever speaks of you with great respect-which he does not of all men. Moreover, Patrick, whatever else, is a shrewd judge of character. As, I think, is our Alison here, in different fashion! I understand that she wanted only you, of the whole King's Court"
"And had a mighty task to convince him that he was not altogether too far gone in years for this babe-in-arms!" The girl had found her voice again-although still she clung to him.
"You have not brought my man with you, Geordie?" Mary Gray asked. "That is too much to hope for." "Only a letter, I fear…" "Have you come to wed me, Geordie?"
He swallowed. "Not this time, lass. Next year. I have seen your father. Next year…"
"A year!" That was a wail "Another whole year! Oh, Geordie, how can you say that? How could you?" Alison flung away from him. "I believe that you do not truly love me, at all!"
"I do, I do! Am I not here, to prove it, my dear? But… your father would have it so. And I agree that it would be wiser…"
"Wiser! Is that the kind of betrothed I have 1 Is it wisdom that I've to wed?" He bit his lip.
Mary took his arm, instead of the other. "Look not so cast down, Geordie," She smiled. "Women are ever thus. Give them the world, and they want the moon and stars! Alison would count the days, rather than the weeks and months. Were she quite content to put off for your year-then, I say, you might well look glum!"
"Yes. Perhaps. But it is necessary. I do not wish this delay, God knows. But… in London, the Court… where we must live… the Queen… it would be difficult."
"Difficult Is it for ease that you would wed me?" Alison demanded. "I have waited all these long months already. Must the Queen's spleen date our marriage?"
"It was your misjudgment which roused the Queen, Alison my dear," Mary reminded. "And caused Geordie to fall from her favour-to his much cost, I am sure. If you would wed the King's jeweller you cannot afford the Queen's spleen, deserved or other."
"You would take his part! It is easy for you…" Alison stopped, and drew a deep breath. "Ah, well-at least he is here. And did not say, this once, that I was too young " And she came back to the man's side.
He put his arm around her. "Forgive me, lass. Would that we might be wed tomorrow! Nothing in this world would rejoice me so much. But this, I fear, is part of the price I have to ask you to pay, in marrying an older man-only a part, indeed. I cannot throw responsibilities to the winds, as once I might-my responsibility towards you, most of all."
"Yes, but…" She looked up at him, and smiled again. "I am sorry, Geordie. No more of this. For I am happy, truly-very happy. And proud, too."
"You should be." That was the Lady Marie. She came over and kissed the girl on the cheek. "I think that you are the most fortunate young woman in all Scotland, my dear!"
"When are we going home?" the bored John Stewart of Methven asked. "I am hungry."
The laughter provided the necessary and welcome break. Mary Gray took charge. They would be on their way, she decided. But the Lady Marie and Johnnie and herself would ride ahead, with the grooms-for the two betrothed would wish to be alone together, with much to say to each other after the months of parting. Let them follow on to Methven in their own good time.
And so, presently Alison Primrose was riding pillion on Heriot's horse, her arms tightly round the man, in fact singing liltingly if somewhat jouncily in his right ear to the rhythm of the trot, as they followed a bridle-path along the alder-grown banks of the Pow Burn, a quiet route eastwards advised by the young woman as unlikely to yield any fellow-travellers.
"The Lady Marie?" the man said, presently. "I had not thought to encounter the Master of Gray's wife here. I had hoped to speak with Mary about him, her father. Having the wife present may prove difficult."
"I think not," Alison said. "The Lady Marie is not difficult. She is good, understanding. She and Mary are like sisters-better friends than most sisters."
"Aye-but this of her husband. I can scarce speak of it before her. His relations with the King…"
"I think that you may. She is fond of the Master-but so is Mary. They have long united in seeking to keep him from the worst of his mischiefs. Or what they consider so. He is a strange man, with much good to him as well as ill, they say. These two are at one in seeking to counter that ill Neither, I swear, will ever betray him. But they will strive to prevent his wickedness where they can. For his own sake, I do believe, rather than the King's, or others'."
"I still would be loth to speak freely of him, before her." “Yet she knows more of the Master's affairs than anyone else, of necessity, Geordie." She jerked at him, from behind. "Is that what you came for? I had hoped that it was to see me!"
"As you know very well, my dear, I need excuse to leave the Court. I could not be come to see you had I not an errand to fulfil for the King. But… I am here, to see you, first and foremost The rest is but the price I have to pay for that joy." He pointed. "See yonder trees? I will prove what I came for, there. By your leave!"
Her laughter trilled at his ear. "Remember your age-and mine -sir I A man of great responsibilities. And, and wisdom " "Wait you! "he told her.
There was not much of waiting on the part of either of them, indeed, when they reached the little copse of wind-blown pines and whins and bracken at the west end of Methven Moss. They were into each other's arms almost from the moment their feet touched the ground, Heriot's horse left to its own devices. With mutual eagerness they clutched each other, lips and hands busy, bodies urgent, words all but dispensed with, in compensation for the weary months of parting. Last year's bracken offered all the couch they sought, and Methven Moss and Tippermuir were transformed for these two, thereafter, into the very anteroom of paradise. Time, like everything else extraneous to themselves, was no longer relevant
They had much to say to each other, in more eloquent language than mere speech.
When eventually they rode on eastwards across the moorland, both were equally silent, lost in the aftermath of delight, savouring, sifting, sounding but by no means satiated, glowing with a foretaste of the promise of deeper fulfilment so richly promised back there. It was going to be all right, better even that they had hoped, a splendour. They could wait now, assured, certain, however superficially impatient Every now and again they squeezed each other, and sometimes the man looked back over his shoulder into her shining eyes, unspeaking.
That evening in Methven Castle, Heriot’s mission with Will Shakespeare, the actor and playwright, greatly intrigued the women. Mary and Alison had recently been to nearby Perth to see the King's Players in a comedy called Love's Labour's Lost, and though they had not particularly noticed Master Shakespeare, they were full of the excellence and delights of the entertainment, and enthusiastic over the idea of a Scottish play. As for the Lady Marie, she proved to be very knowledgeable about King MacBeth and his period-he was an ancestor of her own, of course. She was able to advise Heriot as to locations which the man Shakespeare ought to visit, in the Perth area at Dunsinane and Collace and Forteviot and Bimam, up in Moray at Forres and Elgin, and in Aberdeenshire at Lumphanan and Kildrummy. Only, she did introduce a complication when she pointed out that the tradition of the witches, who were so prominent in the MacBeth story, had an alternative location to the Hardmuh of Forres-namely, a heath much nearer at hand, only some ten miles away from Methven indeed, across Tay and west of the Dunsinane area. This was the Eastmuir of Cairnbeddie-the Beddie but a corruption of Beda or Beth-and there they would find the Witches' Stone and other named relics of MacBeth a hundred miles from the Forres scene. The man promised to investigate. Presumably King James had not known about this, for in his preoccupation with the witches, he had mentioned only Forres.
From James and Shakespeare the talk moved to Margaret Hartside's case and the Queen's attitude and intentions. The Earl of Orkney, behind it all, inevitably came into this; but Mary Gray made no bones about referring to him as an unscrupulous and very potent firebrand, which the Earl's sister not only did not contest but implied full agreement Not that she had any suggestions as to what his ultimate intentions were, or how he might be countered. She did indicate, however, that her husband's constant traffic with his brother-in-law seemed to have stopped, meantime.
This brought them to the verge of Heriot's more secret mission, which he was in grave doubts about airing in front of the Mistress of Gray. But, whether or no Alison had had a word with her, Mary Gray clearly had no such doubts. As the man cleared his throat, preparatory to a complete change of subject, she spoke.
"Geordie-the Lady Marie is no stranger to many of the problems which concern you, on the King's behalf. She is as anxious as am I that Patrick Gray should not be involved in further plots or actions against the Crown-we have had more than sufficient of such! She is entirely to be trusted, I do assure you. You may speak freely before her."
"That is so, Master Geordie," the older woman agreed, quietly. "I love and cherish my husband-but that makes me the more concerned for his welfare and best interests. He is an inveterate and most skilful plotter-always I have known this, and have worked to save him from the worst consequences of his plotting. To save the victims also, if I might That makes my fondness for him none the less. I shall not reveal any secrets." He still hesitated. Obviously this woman already knew much of his own part in the affairs of the King versus her husband, with Mary evidently confiding in her entirely. But if it came to a vital clash of interests, a matter of life and death-as it easily could do, with treason in the air-where would her ultimate sympathies he? Where Mary's also?
As though she read his thoughts, Mary added, "The Lady Marie and I will ever seek to save Patrick from the most grievous effects of his activities. Where that is possible. But we prefer that we do so by helping to halt such activities before they go too far, rather than afterwards 1 Which, I think, is your own intent, Geordie?"
He nodded. "Which means, does it not, that you believe that the Master is indeed at present planning some new devilment?" "We fear so, yes." "And do you know what it is?"
"Only in part We think that he intends to oppose the King's policy of setting up one realm, a United Kingdom to replace the ancient kingdoms of Scotland and England." "Many oppose that I do not know that I myself favour it"
"But not many are prepared to go as far as Patrick in opposing it, I warrant." That was the Mistress of Gray. "My husband seldom merely expresses his disfavours. He acts upon them. And in no small fashion." "And in this case, he has started to act?"
'Yes. How far he has gone, I cannot tell. But he believes this policy to be the probable ruin of Scotland as an independent realm, the betrayal of all that Scots have fought for since the great Bruce. And, God knows, he may be right 1 He has I believe three principal fields of action. Here in Scotland-where he is forming a party, a strong party, to oppose union. In England, where he seeks to stir up the English parliament against it And in France, where he has friends in places of much influence." "So much? For one man to attempt?" 'Patrick ruled Scotland more than once, you will recollect. The power behind James's throne. And he does nothing by halves." "What can he gain from France?"
"James sees himself the peace-maker of Christendom. He requires the good will of France. And France is Catholic Patrick would use Catholic support for maintaining the separate kingdoms." "Ah!"
"Yes. If Scotland could be turned Catholic again, even only in name, there would be no support for James's policy in England, where they fear Catholics like Satan himself!" "I see. And you think this is possible?"
"It matters not what I think. Or others. It is what Patrick thinks that is important. And few know what goes on below the surface, in matters of governance and rule, as does he." "Does the Earl of Orkney come into this?"
"My brother? No. Such affairs concern him no whit. He is interested only in his own advantage. To be left to rule Orkney and Shetland as a small king-or misrule them. Untrammelled by law or aught else."
"It is not Patrick Stewart you need concern yourself with, Geordie," Mary put in. "But Patrick Gray. He is as a rapier to a woodman's axe! Do you realise how strong the Catholic faction has become since the King went to London? James used it to keep the Kirk in its place-and now it holds the real power here. And indeed works with the extreme Kirk ministers. It dominates both the Privy Council and the Court of Session-Dunfermline, Balmerino, Montrose the former Chancellor, Argyll, Linlithgow, Crawford, Glamis, Ogilvy. These do not call themselves Catholic, but are. Then there are the true Catholics, who never renounced the Papacy-Huntly, the Lieutenant of the North, Erroll, the High Constable, Angus, Maxwell, Sanquhar, Fleming, Seton, the Chancellor's brother, and many more. And all the Highland chiefs. Many of these hate each other. Some are at feud. Few have ever worked together. But if Patrick can unite them, even for a little…!" "And is he in touch with English Catholics also?"
"No-not so, I think," the Lady Marie said. "It is the English Protestants he is concerned with. Particularly those in parliament To some he sends money…"
"Money! The Master does? To bribe English parliament men will cost him dear! Pounds Scots will not go far with them!" "That is true. Patrick is spending money like water! Getting it wherever he may. Selling lands, raising loans…"
'This is why he wanted the King's debt repaid, after so long? To bring low the King's policy!"
"Yes. That is but one small source. He needs a deal more than that-for this is costly work, with more than the English parliament votes to buy! He needs money-and, being Patrick, does not scruple overmuch how he gets it, I fear. Many in Scotland owe place, position, lands, titles to him, when he stood at the King's right hand Now they must pay for it-for he knows secrets without number."
"Ha-more of the black mail! It is not only my lord of Orkney, then, who knows how to use such. The Casket Letters? Does the Master have them now? Are they also for use in his campaign?"
The Lady Marie shook her head. "I do not know. I know nothing of these, save what Mary has told me. Patrick has never spoken of them-though they were in my father's care once, I understand." "But… if he has them, would the Master use them also?"
"How can I tell? I think not, perhaps. If they endanger the King's right to his thrones. That might not serve Patrick's purpose, I think."
"I agree," Mary said. "Moreover, I believe he would be loth to assail the King in person, too hard, as yet. Until, until he succeeds his father. As a Lord of Parliament. It is within the King's power to declare him infamous, and to forfeit him from this, his birthright. He will not wish for that-for to be a peer of Scotland would give him more power. James has dropped him from the Privy Council. But as a Lord of Parliament, and Sheriff of Forfar, he would be entitled to a seat again. He could then dominate the Council, as he used to do."
"I see. So you would expect the old Lord Gray, your grandfather, not to live for much longer? But while he does, the King is safe from the worst of the Casket Letters?"
"Something of the sort. Granlord-I have called him that since a child-has been a sick and ailing man for long. He is very old, all but witless now. This last year he is so much the worse…"
"And so the Master, his son, turns him out of his own house I To speed his father's passing I"
"It is not quite so," the Lady Marie declared, quietly but firmly. "Although Patrick's enemies so represent it My good-father has been but a poor creature these many years, living close in Broughty Castle, seeing none but members of the family, attended to at Patrick's charges. He and my husband have little love for each other, I admit-but there has been no mistreatment. Now Patrick needs Broughty Castle-no doubt for this campaign of his. It stands on a headland on the coast, with its own secure haven, convenient for the coming and going of ships and messengers, secretly, by sea. From England and France. It has a ferry to Fife. Meetings can be held therein, with none knowing. Unlike Castle Huntly, our home. The old lord's presence there became difficult, an embarrassment. Not so much for his own sake, but in that his other sons visit him. And one of them, in especial, hates Patrick, and would do him disservice. So Patrick removed his father to another house inland-the House of Gray, indeed, near to Liff. A smaller place, but a deal more comfortable. That is all."
"And the letter? To the King. Complaining that the Master is bringing his grey hairs to the grave! Denying him his shelter and his servants?"
"Written by the brother, James Gray of Bandirran. Only signed by the old lord-who could be made to sign anything. If Patrick was to be forfeited and declared infamous, then, now that Gilbert is dead, James would be sixth Lord Gray when his father goes!"
"I see. I thank you. All this explains why the Privy Council took no action."
"I do not seek to make my husband seem greatly better than he is," the other concluded. "But nor will I keep silent when he is misjudged, or there is good to be said of him." "You could do no less," the man acknowledged.
'There is one matter where you should tell us the truth of it, Geordie-not we you," Mary put to him. "We have heard it whispered that the King does not intend to pay the nineteen thousand pounds agreed upon and awarded by the judges. Certainly it is not yet paid, although the Lord Scone was ordered to give Patrick the moneys. Is this a fact?"
Heriot coughed. "The King is in two minds," he said. 'This is part reason why I am here. He also hears rumours, see you…!"
"But, Geordie-that would be the greatest folly! After all was arranged. Nothing is more like to make Patrick angry, truly angry. And Patrick angry is dangerous indeed! Nothing more calculated to cause him to hit at the King, in person. To the danger of the whole realm. Patrick calm, plotting yes, but cool, is one matter. But Patrick angry at broken faith is another. All for nineteen thousand pounds Scots! A nothing, where the King is concerned. Do you not see it?"
"I see it, yes. A folly, I agree. And to lower my own name and credit, who acted for the King."
"That too. Is it worth it? Geordie-you are the King's man of business. Can you not do something?"
"Twenty thousand pounds Scots is less than three thousand pounds Sterling," Alison mentioned, her first contribution for long. "The Queen would spend as much on a single masque. And out of your pocket, Geordie!"
Looking at her thoughtfully, he nodded, point taken. "But-if the money is to be spent to counter the King's policies-should the King then pay it?" he asked. "James is no fool, see you, however many think he is."
"That is not the point," Mary contended. "What matters in this is that the King should not make a dangerous situation worse. For himself, as well as others. Think of the effect on all Scotland, when it is known-as known it will be. The King, in London, in a breach of faith. Defrauding his former servant and Privy Councillor. Overturning the decision of his appointed judges. Will this serve the King's cause? It could blow up, like gunpowder. And time is important, surely?" "You are right. I will do what I can…"
That night, Mary and the Lady Marie retired, not early but sufficiently so to allow the other two an hour or so by themselves, undisturbed. Intrigue, plotting and affairs of state were forgotten, for the time being. It was late before they parted, reluctantly, at Alison's bedroom door.
Heriot spent two full and happy days at Methven. Then the Lady Marie left, to return to Castle Huntly at the other side of Perthshire, near Dundee; and the man surrendered to the pull of duty, to go in search of Master Will Shakespeare and his locations. Perth was only five miles east of Methven, and nothing would do but that the two young women should come with him, eager to inspect the actors as they were to traipse round the countryside sight-seeing.
There was no theatre or playhouse, of course, in St. Johnstoun of Perth, and the plays were being performed in what had been the refectory of the former Blackfriars Monastery, a large building now semi-ruinous and much the worse for the attentions of the Reforming mob of forty years previously. Here the visitors found rehearsals proceeding for another of Master Shakespeare's productions, called Hamlet, Prince of Denmark, with the playwright both acting and directing, a performance which greatly intrigued the ladies, who pleaded to be allowed to stay and watch. Heriot, who was not much of a play-taster, perceiving that there might be a couple of hours of this, mentioned that he had business of his own to see to in the Perth district, and if he might be excused, would come back for them presently. Wide-eyed at all that was going on in the refectory, they scarcely appeared to notice his desertion.
Scone, the former abbey and home of Scotland's famed palladium, the Stone of Destiny, had, since the Gowrie Conspiracy of 1600, been the seat of Sir David Murray of Gospetrie, Cup-Bearer to the King, and two years earlier created Lord Scone. It lay barely two miles north by east of Perth. Heriot was asking the best route thereto, across Tay, when the citizen he had accosted pointed out that if it was the Lord Scone himself who was sought, there was no need to go all that way, for his lordship had a town house in Perth-and in fact the speaker had seen him in the street that very morning. So Heriot found his way the short distance eastwards from Blackfriars, beyond the huddle of vennels and wynds of the craftsmen's sector of the walled town, to the wider North Port, where there was something of a cluster of Murray town houses, belonging to the Earl of Tullibardme and the lairds of Balvaird, Arngask, Abercairny and others,
The Lord Scone, who was meantime next door drinking claret with his kinsman Tullibardine, was not long in appearing when he heard the identity of his caller. As well as being Cup-Bearer and Master of the Horse to the King, in Scotland, he held the office of Comptroller of the Privy Purse, all offices of more honour than substance in the present circumstances. He was an old crony of James's, a man of middle years and no presence, with a curiously wide head and narrow chin, scanty hah and little twinkling foxy eyes, his carriage round-shouldered and paunchy. But Heriot did not mistake the shrewdness of the man.
"My lord," he said, "I crave pardon for coming upon you unannounced. But my business is something private, and were better not blazed abroad. You will understand, I am sure?"
"Is that a fact, sir? Come awa' in, then, Maister Heriot. Aye, I've heard tell o' you, mind. Och, aye-often. And what sort o' private business have you for Davie Murray, eh? Frae London?"
"Yes, from London, my lord. I am His Grace's jeweller and man of business, as you will know. And am come north on certain business of the King's own. My visit to you is in your capacity of Comptroller to His Grace." Heriot glanced around him, and lowered his voice in suitably conspiratorial style. "In connection with the matter of the Master of Gray." "Ha-that limmer!"
"Precisely, my lord. You have, I understand, withheld payment to him of the nineteen thousand, nine hundred and eighty-three pounds Scots awarded to him against the King's Privy Purse by the Court of Session in commission? On the instructions of the Lord Treasurer?" 'That is so, sir. Acting on King Jamie's behoof and command."
"Yes. Well-the situation has changed. It is now to the King's benefit that this sum be paid, and promptly. And, I may say, secretly."
"Sakes- what's this? Here's a right strange turn-around, Maister Heriot. Pay after a'?"
"Just that, my lord. For reasons of state, this money should be handed over, quietly, privily-but forthwith. To the Master of Gray, at Castle Huntly." The other looked at him keenly. "On your say so, Maister Heriot? Against the orders o' Doddie Home, the Treasurer?"
"The Earl of Dunbar will no doubt be notified in due course. I have seen the King since he has-and have come straight to you, my lord. For this is a matter of some urgency. In the light of… developments." Heriot reached into his doublet-pocket and brought out a paper. "Here is my personal note-of-hand for twenty-one thousand pounds Scots-which will suffice, I think, to cover the payment-plus any small outlays your lordship is put to in the matter."
There was a pregnant silence in the stuffy little room, as Scone picked up and examined the paper. The sounds of the street were suddenly evident
"Ooh, aye," the Comptroller said, at length. "To be sure. Uh-huh." He carefully folded and pocketed the paper. "Very good, Maister Heriot" "Yes. You will have the payment made swiftly, my lord?"
"Yes, yes. The siller is here. It will be at yon Castle Huntly before this hour the morn." "That will serve very well. And the King well served in it" "Mmmm. You're no' telling me why this change o' tune, sir?"
"Policy, my lord. In connection with certain moves that are afoot. To contain certain Catholic ambitions!" Scone was a fervent Protestant "Hence the secrecy."
"Ah!" The other nodded. "I have heard tales, mysel'. Very good, Maister Heriot. Leave the matter to me. Aye. Now-a glass o'wine…?"
Walking his horse back to the Blackfriars thereafter, George Heriot felt somewhat cold about the back of his neck. James Stewart had not actually executed anyone for some time-but the Tower of London loomed with a chilly presence.
Will Shakespeare proved to be getting on famously with the ladies, and they were drinking ale and eating sweetmeats with him and certain others of the players when Heriot returned. It turned out that the playwright had been using his own initiative during his time in Perth, and had already visited Birnam Wood, Dunsinane and sundry other locations relevant to the theme of MacBeth, and was bubbling over with enthusiasm for the scale and wildness of the scenes, so much more dramatic than anything he had experienced hitherto. He had the entire tragedy all but plotted out in his mind, and had seen many curious and colourful characters here in Scotland on whom he might base his protagonists. He had but to see Elgin, Forres and the witches' moor there, and he would have sufficient for his purposes.
Heriot pointed out that there was more to the MacBeth story than these locations. He explained about the alternative witches's moor in the St. Martins-Dunsinane area, MacBeth's Castle at Cairnbeddie, and the fact that MacBeth's final defeat and slaying was at Lumphanan in Aberdeenshhe; but while the other agreed that he ought to see these nearby sites, unless they were infinitely superior to the Moray ones, for the play's purposes, he would prefer to hold to the ones the King had suggested, as a matter of policy. Moreover, it would complicate matters to introduce an entirely new location for the final battle-for a playwright had to consider the number of acts and scenes, with their backcloths, for his production, and discipline himself strictly. His duty was to entertain and instruct by demonstrating the spirit and essence of historical drama rather than by seeking to portray exact detail and sequence of historical events. His listeners accepted that
It was agreed, then, that they would all go to look at Cairnbeddie and the Eastmuh of Dunsinane, in Gowrie, only seven miles away, the next day; and then, in two weeks time, when the season at Perth was finished, Shakespeare would take his company north, to Elgin and Inverness. Whether they would have time to visit Aberdeen and this Lumphanan, would depend on developments. Heriot mentioned that he was doubtful about the profitability of play-acting in the North, which was in the main an Erse-speaking area-although Elgin, where the Old Church had been so strong, might provide audiences capable of understanding English actors.
So the day following, the young women once again very much present they picked up the playwright at Perth, and rode on, over Tay, east by north into Gowrie, towards the northern foothills of the Sidlaw Hills, a territory verging on the Angus border. There they saw the green mound rising out of an apron of broom-clad hillside, which was all that was left of MacBeth's Castle, his southern stronghold after he became king. They climbed Dunsinane Hill, and exclaimed at the magnificence of the far-flung vista, pointing out the Birnam and Dunkeld wooded hills to the north-west; and after much searching, and at grave risk of becoming bogged in a swampy, scrub-grown heath, discovered the extraordinarily-shaped Witches' Stone, like a great anvil, with its neighbouring stone-circles and standing-stones, a pleasant enough spot on a sunny May day with the gorse blooming golden, but undoubtedly eerie, even grim, of a winter's dust That was all that they had time for, as Shakespeare had to be back for the evening performance. This his companions thereafter attended, with much enjoyment; even Heriot, with Alison at his side to share in and savour the experience, found the evening a delight.
Thereafter, in the long gloaming of May in Scotland, the trio rode back to Methven in the shadowy yet shadowless half-light, wherein outlines had no certainty and distances no measurement, a world of jetty black, dove greys, sepia and the sheen of pewter, tired but happy. It was not often that King James's service proved so much to Heriot's taste.
Shakespeare clearly no longer required his assistance. It had been his original intention to visit Castle Huntly and seek interview with the Master of Gray himself. But in the circumstances, and on Mary Gray's advice, this was unlikely to be productive of advantage, face to face confrontations with Patrick Gray being seldom of satisfaction to other than himself. Better to be content, and let what had been set in train work its own results-with the Lady Marie's aid.
After two more halcyon days, the man took his grudging, heavy-hearted departure from Methven. Alison, at first, had thought to accompany him at least as far as her father's house in Edinburgh; but on consideration, despite the extra day or so it would give them, they decided that it was better to part here, on the scene of their happiness, than in the crowded city, where James Primrose and the thronging family inevitably would come between them, in some measure, and spoil the quality of their farewells. This did not make the parting any easier-but at least it was all their own.
The bridegroom-to-be rode off southwards, and the counting of the months could begin.