Unicorn Rampant

by Nigel Tranter

  Allowing himself to catch no one's eye, James Stewart shambled down to his horse, mounted and spurred off round the archway, cleaving the crowd and heading for the Netherbow Port. After that Holyroodhouse was only some hundreds of yards, sanctuary indeed. After him streamed his court.

  Father and son eyed each other, the Provost, the magistrates and Council, the ladies and the rest.

  "Well, well," Ludovick said, at length. "God's will be done! Or His Anointed's, which is much the same thing! Congratulations, Sir John. Who would have thought it? And to you, to be sure, Sir William. That was a notable contrivance!"

  The Provost was still too shaken to utter coherently, John still more so.

  The Duke shook his head. "I am to find a sack, for this money. By royal command! Who will find me a sack, in Heaven's name? Someone—come to my aid! Johnnie—you had better get back and find your mother. Lord knows where she will be now. Tell her that I'll be up to your lodgings so soon as I may. James will want to eat and drink and sleep, after all this—so I should hope not to be very long. Off with you, and give her the news that she has got a knight for a son! I see you have lost your fine horse! Steenie Villiers won't forgive you for that! Now—this sack, of a mercy ..."

  It was later that evening than he hoped for before Duke Ludovick managed to make his way up from Holyrood-house to the Lady Tippermuir's lodging in the High Street, to fall into Mary Gray's arms, John looking on with a somewhat embarrassed grin. It was a while before anything very sensible was said.

  The woman it was who first recovered her composure, she being a notably composed character normally.

  "You will have eaten, I suppose, by this time? I had a meal prepared."

  "Aye, Murray, the Treasurer-Depute had a great banquet awaiting us—I could not escape it. James actually had me counting out all that money at the table. He appears to look on me as Geordie Heriot's successor, as man-of-business, Heaven help me—for as you know I cannot add three to five and win the same result twice! You heard about the ten thousand merks?"

  "Yes. It was a strange device. It is said that Tam Hamilton—or the Lord Binning and Byres, as now we must call him—concocted it all, to ensure that the King partook in all the ploys. If he had been given all that gold at the start, we would not have seen hide nor hair of him' thereafter until he had it all safe stowed away in Holyroodhouse!"

  "It could be so. A dire reputation for our lord and master to have! He is a great fool, but. . ."

  "But you still love him, nevertheless, Vicky?"

  "I would scarce call it love, my dear! But I have an affection for him, yes. And there is much that is admirable about him, as well as the rest. His virtues outweigh his vices, I swear. Kings cannot be as other men, but James, whatever his faults, is no tyrant and has a heart. Aye, and a head too, however he looks and sounds. He is shrewd, the shrewdest man in all his court. I have little doubt..."

  "Dear Vicky—you are ever loyal! But ... we are not come together again, after so long, to talk about James Stewart, are we? There is so much I want to hear—and have to tell. And Johnny was as full of questions for you as an egg of meat—only this odd knighting has driven it all out of his mind, I think!"

  "Not so," their son denied. "The knighthood is nothing. Or . . . not exactly nothing." He was a fairly honest young man. "It is . . . good to have. Agreeable. And could be useful, I think. I had never dreamed of this. But it, it changes nothing that is important. I am just the same. And you both are just the same. That is what is important. And, oh—I am glad to see you home, Father!"

  "Well said, lad!" Ludovick nodded. "Excellent sentiments. But knighthood is important—or should be. James has made too many knights—and often for the wrong reasons. But it is an honourable state, a standing which should set you apart from other men in some measure. There is more to knighthood than being called Sir John Stewart!"

  "Dear me, we are serious tonight," Mary complained, but smiling. "Come, sit to, my solemn duke and knight— we can at least drink a little wine to celebrate our long-delayed reunion. You were not wont to be so sober, Vicky. Of course, you are two years older . . .!"

  "Aye—I am growing aged! Whereas you, my heart, grow younger each year! It is unfair, I say!"

  "Well seen that you have been biding in France, to teach you such flattering speech, my lord Duke! My father used to say that they all were deceivers ever, there—and he should have known, the greatest deceiver of them all! Tell me, have you brought home a new Duchess from France? I am told that French women are very . . . enticing!"

  "No, I have not! Think you that I would? I found them mostly painted hizzies! I look for my new Duchess a deal nearer home than that. Here, in Edinburgh, in fact—or at least, in Methven!"

  "Ah, Vicky, my dear—that nonsense again! How often have I told you, it is not possible? I thank you, with all my heart—but you must know that that is a dream, no more. It cannot be. You must know it... ?"

  "I know no such thing. I am not a simple youth, any more, to do as I am told. I am a widower, of middle years, and can marry whom I will."

  "You are the King's cousin—the only, male and legitimate. If you were one of the others, it might be different. You are the only duke in this United Kingdom. James would never allow it."

  "I am James's cousin and friend, yes—not his slave! I serve him faithfully, but..."

  "You are his representative and envoy, Vicky. You were Viceroy, and High Commissioner to Scotland. Think you that he would send you, as such, with Mary Gray as your wife? The bastard daughter of Patrick, Master of Gray, his enemy? Mother of your own ..." she baulked at that word as applied to their son who stood, listening, "... your own offspring."

  "I would not ask his permission. Think you that I care whether I am ever Viceroy or envoy again . . . ?"

  "Perhaps not. But he cares, the King! And his word is law. He relies on you. He will not let you go. He trusts you, and almost only you. See how he sent you as his special ambassador to the King of France. Could Mary Gray have gone also? You know that I could not. In France you would associate and treat with all the great ones. Would they have accepted such as myself? So, enough of this. Tell us what you did in France, who you saw and what you achieved ...?"

  "No—you will not change the subject so easily, Mary. I want you to marry me. I should have insisted when Jean died, five years ago. You talked me out of it then . . ."

  "And must do again, my love. James would have the marriage annulled, nothing more sure. He could do. He is head of the Church of England. And up here his archbishops would leap to do his bidding. We would be wed for only days, I swear. But ... let us have done, for now at least. Have pity on poor Johnnie, who should not have to spend his first evening as knight listening to this sad old story."

  "I think that you should do as Father says, Mary." She had always asked him to call her that, not mother. "If the King did insist on the marriage being annulled, at least you would be wed in the sight of God ..."

  "We always believed that in the sight of God we were man and wife, anyway," she asserted. "Always we held to that, John."

  "There at least we agree," the Duke declared vehemently.

  "Then why all this to-do if our true union means so much to us? Another marriage would be but for show. We have each other, and John here. And our home at Methven. Is that not sufficient? Is it not what we agreed on, so long ago . . . ?"

  It was indeed the arrangement made between these two away back in 1597 when they had fallen in love, she only seventeen and he already wed in an arranged child-marriage to a daughter of Scotland's Lord High Treasurer. When John was born, he had made over, in the boy's name, the fine estate of Methven in Stratheam, really for Mary, and installed there mother and child. James had insisted that his cousin accompanied him to London, to take over the throne of Elizabeth, in 1603, and to set up the United Kingdom; Mary and the boy had to be left behind. Ludovick had come back to them as often as he could, but the King was demanding and piled many duties on his cousin, decl
aring that there was none other whom he could trust in the same degree. There had frequently been long periods of separation. In fact, the Duke was no courtier and would much have preferred to act the country laird and family-man at Methven. But it was not to be.

  "Am I to be bound, always, by what we decided when we were little more than bairns?" he demanded. "But— we will talk of this anon. I want to hear of your doings, both of you. Of what goes on at Methven. Of all that has happened ..."

  So he was told of the new stabling and other extensions being added to the castle on its shelf above the loch; of the great drainage project on Methven Moss and the Cowgask Burn; of the timber extraction in Methven Wood and the tree-planting to replace it; of the parish minister and his lengthy sermons; of the MacGregor raids on the farmers' cattle and the counter-measures; of the great heather-fire only the previous month, which had destroyed much grazing; and all the other matters of concern to a large lairdship on the verge of the Highlands. This was mainly of John's recounting. Mary told of the state and doings of their neighbours, friends and unfriends.

  "When will you come to Methven, then, Vicky?" she asked. "How soon can you get away?"

  "Lord knows! James plans a progress round Scotland. He talks of Linlithgow, Stirling, Dunfermline, hunting at Falkland, St Andrews, Dundee, even Aberdeen. For how much of it all he will need me, or at least demand my presence, I have no notion. But he does demand me much, as you know. I will escape when I can, but. . ."

  "He surely does not need you all the time, Vicky? Has he not hundreds of others, all those courtiers . . . ?"

  "Not hundreds, thousands! Do you know, there were over five thousand in his train by the time we won to Berwick-on-Tweed? Home nearly died a death, meeting us there, when he learned how many mouths he had to feed! The same with Winton at Seton, where we lay last night."

  "Well, then."

  "The trouble is that James trusts so few, almost none. I mean, in arranging his affairs. He affects to despise the English, says that they could scarce manage a cattle-fair! Worse, they waste his siller—the greatest sin of all! Very few will he allow to manage what concerns his person."

  "But this is folly! You are not to be tied to him like some servitor, because of his childish distrust of the English. Forby, there are plenty of Scots."

  "You would think so. But he must have all done his way. Would you believe it, he had me send up from London, months ago, two black velvet cloaks, one with fur-trimming, as examples for the magistrates and Town Council to copy, for this visit. An improvement on those worn by the aldermen of the City of London."

  "And yet I swear that he scarcely looked at any of them today," John put in.

  "He would see, nevertheless, and note, lad. Not much eludes the royal eye, however short-of-sight. If there is aught amiss with those gowns, the new Sir William will hear about it tomorrow! James even sent up rolls of white satin for the Town Guard—and fools they looked in it, to be sure!"

  "But why, Vicky? For what purpose is all this done?"

  "He is eager, you see, that the English nobility, who think themselves superior to all, shall not come and consider Scotland backward or inferior in any way. They will, of course; nothing will change their belief that we are all barbarians up here. But James keeps trying. It is all part of his policy, you see, to maintain his ascendancy. The English lords gained altogether too much power during the last years of Elizabeth, when she was an ageing and ailing woman. All along, James has been seeking to bring them down a peg or two, so that the King remains supreme. He does not chop their heads off nor maltreat them, as did Henry the Eighth, and Elizabeth too when she was younger. But he appoints Scots to high places about him to humiliate them, he scoffs at their lack of education—for they care little for learning—he chooses Scots as ambassadors. And now he would show this great horde of Englishry that Scotland compares well with anything that England can show. He does not give in easily, does James Stewart!"

  "And when does this hero of yours start on his progress round the land?" Mary asked. "Do you come to Methven before or after?"

  "I do not know, lass. I believe that the intention is to pass tomorrow in Edinburgh, then the next day to proceed to Linlithgow. He may not require me when we get to Falkland. I should be free, at least, for when hunting I am not needed."

  "Then what do we do? Wait here another day or two, in the hope of seeing you on occasion? Or go back to Methven and await you there?"

  "I think that you must wait here meantime, my dear. For almost the last thing James said to me, when I sought permission to leave his table, was to tell that son of mine, 'my saviour' as he put it, that he expected to see him at court. That he was a swack chiel and he would see more of him. I am to bring you to Holyroodhouse tomorrow, Johnnie."

  "I do not think that I like the sound of that!" Mary Gray said.

  Ludovick laughed "John will be well enough. He is not the sort that is in danger from James. Or, I sometimes think that it is James who is in danger from these unpleasant youths and their scheming sponsors! Usually it is these who put the creatures his way—for their own advantage. You would scarcely believe the fine names behind George Villiers!"

  "Hateful! How you can bear it with all that goes on at court, Vicky, I do not know."

  "There is much to enjoy, also. Bacon, who is here with us, calls it the human comedy!"

  "If the Earl of Buckingham's name is George Villiers, why does the King call him Steenie?" John asked.

  "Because he looks like a picture of St Stephen which James has."

  "There are saints and saints!" the woman said. "You watch King James, young man . . .!"

  Next forenoon, when father and son presented themselves at Holyroodhouse, it was to find the monarch gone, and long gone. James had his own attitude towards the clock, as towards most other things, indeed. He was fond of his bed and would retire to it at any time of day or night; on the other hand, he would leave it at equally odd hours, to the confusion of more conventional sleepers. Where hunting was concerned, his great joy, no hour was too early to start; and apparently this morning he had been up before sunrise for a quite unscheduled hawking in the great park, which surrounded the towering bulk of Arthur's Seat that overlooked the city of the east. None being warned of this, indeed a very different programme having been arranged, James had gone off with only a small and not very enthusiastic group, none knew just where. Now the palace was thronged with folk, many thankful to be, as it were, off-duty, others agitated, especially those in any way responsible for the day's planned itinerary.

  Ludovick immediately found himself in much demand, as authority. Where was the King? When would he be back? Would the programme be re-arranged? If so, what items should be abandoned—for obviously there would not now be time for all? There was considerable competition and argument amongst the claimants, needless to say. As so often, the Duke objected that he should be the one to take the decisions—for already present were the Secretary of State, Lord Binning; the Chancellor or chief minister, the Lord Fyvie; the High Constable, the Earl of Erroll; Lyon King of Arms; and numerous members of the Privy Council, including a clutch of the monarch's illegitimate relatives. But none apparently dared to make decisions for their unpredictable liege-lord and unanimously put the onus on the Duke of Lennox.

  Ludovick called for silence, admitted that he himself had no notion as to the day's programme and asked for information. He was thereupon met by such a barrage of detail and engagements, interspersed by complaints from sundry English notables as to the quality of their lodgings, that he put his hands up to his ears. Perceiving there Sir Gideon Murray of Elibank, the Treasurer-Depute, and knowing him to be a level-headed and practical man, responsible for making most of the financial arrangements for this visit, he besought him for particulars.

  "His Majesty was to visit the Royal Mint, first. Then be received by the Constable of the Castle, with cannon-fire. Then to inspect the proposed site of George Heriot's Hospital. Then attend a mid-day banquet at the
Council Chambers, my lord Duke. All this after examining what has been done here at the palace in preparation for his coming. Then . . ."

  "Enough for a start, Sir Gideon—of a mercy! See you— the Mint will not go away. Nor will Heriot's Hospital. Nor yet the Castle. But this of cannon-fire—His Majesty would not wish to miss that, I think. He likes cannon-fire. When is he expected at the Council House?"

  "By an hour after mid-day, my lord—or as near as possible."

  "M'mm. It is little more than an hour to mid-day now.

  We have not got over-long. I think that the Council will have to be warned, Sir Gideon, that there may be some slight delay. And the cannon-fire put off until the afternoon. Can you see to this? Meantime, we must find the King..."

  "My lord Duke—I must make protest!" an authoritative English voice interrupted. "The quarters I have been given are entirely unsuitable. They are not even in this palace but in a squalid burgher's house out in the street. Where I have to share with some clerk. Named Laud, I believe—the Dean of somewhere. It is not to be borne. Some ridiculous mistake. It must be righted, forthwith!"

  "I too, Lennox .. ."another indignant noble voice began, when Ludovick held up his hand.

  "My lords—I beg of you. Not now. No doubt other arrangements can be made. But first things first. The King's day's business must be set to rights ..."

  "I will not be put off, Lennox," the first protester insisted. "I am Philip Herbert, Earl of Montgomerie, Lord of the Bedchamber. And I. .."

  It was Ludovick's turn to interrupt. "Extra Lord of the Bedchamber, my lord," he mentioned, gently enough. There were titters. It was always difficult to deal with James's former favourites, demoted. "Wait you, if you please. Much re-arranging may well be necessary. But later..."