'D'you say so, Vicky? Mysel', I reckoned she'd be going back wi' her begetter, Patrick Gray!'
There was a sudden indrawing of breaths and silence from all near enough to hear. Men stared from the King to each other.
James licked his lips, eyes rolling, and whinnied a peculiar excited laugh. He looked round to where Patrick stood behind him. 'Aye, Master o' Gray,' he said. 'I'm thinking this is where we part company!'
Blank-faced, the blood draining from his handsome features, Patrick stood, hps parted, as though stunned. For moments he, the most eloquent man in two kingdoms, found no words. None other spoke.
'I… I do not understand, Your Grace,' he stammered out, at length.
'No? Do you no', Patrick? Yet it's simple, man – simple. I go on to this London – and you turn back. You understand now, my mannie?'
Patrick's fine nostrils flared, his eys narrowed. 'Your Grace means that you wish me to return to Edinburgh. Meantime. To complete some business of the state there, before coming to London?'
'No – my Grace doesna mean any such thing. We left a' things well arranged in Edinburgh, you'll mind. Ooh, aye – Edinburgh will manage fine.'
'Then, Sire, I repeat -I do not understand you.'
'It's no' like you, Patrick, to be so dull in the uptak! Most times you're quick enough – aye, ower quick, by far! What's come ower you, man?'
'I think, Sire, that I must ask that of your royal self!'
'Oho! Testy, eh? Vaunty! Paughty! To me, the King! Aweel, Patrick – I needs must discover you the matter, since you'll have it so. And now's as good a time as any. You are a rogue, Master o' Gray – and I've aye kenned you were a rogue! But I needed a rogue, see you. A great rogue, to berogue the lesser rogues around me! And I had them in plenty. Ooh, aye – it's a great place for rogues, is Scotland! But I intend to leave them there, Patrick man – no' to take them with me! The English are honester folk – eh, my lord Bishop? My lord o' Northumberland? And if they have a rogue or two in London-town – waesucks I'll find me one o' their own breed to berogue them! I'll no' need the likes o' you in London, Patrick, Master o' Gray! Now you understand me?'
So quiet were all those about King James, that the shuffling of his feet and the tinkling of ornaments on his person sounded clearly.
Patrick Gray said nothing. He looked his monarch in the eye until the royal gaze faltered and fell. Then he bowed low, but with a thin smile and the elaborate flourish of sheerest mockery. Thereafter he turned his back on the King.
'My horse!' he called out. 'And quickly. I mislike the stink of this place!'
'Master o' Gray!' James cried, his voice quavering with anger.
'I've no' finished wi' you, yet. Wait you. You're… you're deprived o' your offices, man. You understand! You are no longer my Sheriff o' Forfar. And there's no wardrobe to master
now, in Scotland! D'you hear…?',
But Patrick Gray was not waiting. Without another glance round, he strode over to his horse, and mounted, the beast's head turned towards the bridge and Scotland. 'Where is my wife?' he asked of the silent watchers. 'Where is Marie?'
'Here, Patrick, my dear. Here…'
King James plucked at his lower lip, watching. Then his frown faded, and he actually chuckled. 'Alea jacta est!' he said, and dug the Bishop of Durham in the ribs with his elbow. 'Or, more properly Jacta est alea? Aye. Is that no' apt, man? Apt. Hech, aye – Caesar crosses the Rubicon, and I cross Tweed! Aut Caesar out nullus!' He looked round to discover how many recognised his learning and wit. Disappointed in what he saw, he sniffed. 'Come, Vicky – to horse,' he commanded.
Ludovick, aiding his cousin to mount, looked over to where Mary Gray stood watching. Their eyes met, and as though of a single volition turned to consider the receding elegant figure of the Master, already upon the bridge. When their glances returned, and held for a long moment, it was as though a spate of unspoken eloquence flowed between them, sombre and joyous both. Then the Duke mounted, raised his hand high, and spurred after the King.
It took some considerable time thereafter, because of the delay imposed by the constriction of the narrow bridge, for Mary and the Earl of Argyll to come up with Patrick Gray – by which time he had won free of Berwick town on the long road northwards. He was riding at a fast trot, the Lady Marie at his side, his children with the servants and all their baggage falling behind, apart from any other group or company.
Without a word spoken, Archibald Campbell drew back a little, as they neared the Grays, so that Mary might overtake them alone. The girl thanked him with her glance, and cantered ahead.
Patrick was staring fixedly in front of him as Mary rode up at the other side from his wife. He made no sign or greeting as she came up. The two women exchanged looks, but did not speak.
So the trio rode on in silence.
It was fully a mile further on before Patrick spoke, abruptly. 'Who was the greater fool?' he demanded.
Neither of the women presumed to answer him.
'That is what cuts deep,' he went on tight-voiced, as though to himself. 'Not the insult. Not the loss of place and position. Not the ingratitude, even – although he would not now be riding to London had it not been for what I have done. It is the knowledge that I have been fooled by a fool! How could it be?'
Slowly Mary replied. 'Perhaps, Patrick, only a fool could have fooled you? Perhaps it required that.'
He turned in his saddle to consider her and what she said. Then he actually laughed, a short bark of a laugh. 'Aye,' he said,'it may be so.'
It was the girl who spoke next, as abruptly, briefly. 'And now?' she asked.
'Now, yes. What, you may well ask, Mary. This, at least – I am done with statecraft.'
'I thank God!' his wife said, deep-voiced, at his other side.
'You may say that my task is done,' he went on, still as though to himself. 'For years I have worked for this day. To make a unity of these two realms. To end the shadow of war and hatred between them. It is done – whether I go to London or not. That work is finished. I should rejoice, perhaps – like you, Marie? For, heigho – am I not a free man? At last!'
'I have prayed for this day, Patrick, for long years,' Marie said unsteadily.
'Have you, my dear? Is that how you love me?' He did not say that harshly, however.
'Yes, it is. God bless James Stewart, I say! We can now start to live again. Live as man and wife should, in trust and sanity…'
'In a stone tower on a bleak rock in the Tay! Can you think to roost in Broughty Castle, Marie my love?'
'You know that I can. I can live anywhere with you – so long as it is you, Patrick. And not… the Master of Gray!'
'Was he so ill a husband?'
'He was, I sometimes think, the Devil himself!'
Into the silence that followed, Mary spoke again. 'Why Broughty, Patrick? Why not Castle Huntly? Where you belong. My lord is but a shadow. A shadow that is fading fast. It is too late to alter that. But you will be the Lord Gray before long. That task is just beginning. Lord of great lands and many folk. Is it always to be Davy Gray's burden? Davy – who is so excellent a steward. And a father. But… no lord of Gray!'
'Dear Davy!' Marie said.
'Aye – there you have it!' Patrick nodded, smiling wryly. 'Dear Davy! Davy dear! Dare I take my wife back to Castle Huntly – who loves Davy Gray?'
'I love Davy Gray, yes – always have done and always will. But not as I love my husband!' Marie said simply. 'You may safely take me to Castle Huntly, Patrick. It is my hope that you will.'
'It is my hope also,' Mary agreed. 'For I go to Methven. With Johnnie. There to await Vicky. It is Methven for me.' ' Oh, Mary dear -1 am glad, glad!'
'So that is the way of it, lassie, in the end? You have it all plotted and planned and arranged! The daughter of the Master of Gray!'
'That is the way of it, Patrick. In the end.'
Slowly he said it. 'Tell me then, girl,' he wondered, looking at her sidelong, 'Who spoke back yonder at the bridg
e-end of Berwick? James Stewart? Or Mary Gray?'
'Say that a higher voice than King James spoke there, Patrick -for it was time.'
'God saving King James?'
'Rather, I think, God saving Patrick Gray!'
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Past Master mog-3 Page 46