He had proved brighter than she had feared, and the doctors agreed that the elder Prince, and perhaps even the second (also called James) might have escaped the blight of the Stewarts. The baby, even at eighteen months, gave less promise. The middle child, who was five, had recently been allotted the forfeited earldom of Ross, which effectively denied it to any adult and ambitious baron. Had she been the King, she would have presented the title to their oldest son, but it was not of great moment. That Prince was already Duke of Rothesay and further advantaged, although she said it herself, by his mother’s meticulous supervision. If the King did not always see it that way, it could not be helped. Education for kingship could not be left to chance.
Today, but for her mourning, the Queen would have dressed for the Burgundian in the steepled headdress and sumptuous gown which had just been returned from overseas, where her portrait was being painted for the Trinity altar-piece. It annoyed her that the Provost’s picture had been completed first. Of course, Bonkle had travelled to sit for the artist, whereas her own likeness and that of the King must depend upon drawings. Because their children were young, and God’s will for their family was unknown, it had been decided to depict the King’s continuing dynasty in the form of a kneeling young man, with what might be termed Stewart attributes. It could represent any child who survived. If all of them died, it could, at a pinch, represent the next incumbent, her good-brother Sandy, who had certainly won through to his prime. If he hadn’t, she wouldn’t be giving this audience to Nicholas de Fleury.
The Burgundian was really enormously tall, although he knelt at once, and then slid into the seat that was proffered him. His eyes were steady and large, and he had the engaging habit of resting them for longer than most people did on the faces of those with whom he was speaking. She wondered if he did that with the French King, and in the countries of the East where, she had heard, it was a crime to meet the eyes of the lord. He had something Northern about him that was reassuring. She liked his shipmaster, Crackbene, for the same reason. It was good: it made transactions easier; it did not mean that they were your equal.
She said, ‘We are obliged to you for coming. You understand that we are about to discuss nothing that is not fully known to our serene lord, the King. We merely spare him the sorrow of referring to his beloved brother, Duke Alexander of Albany, in the context of recent changes in France.’
‘I understand, my lady,’ said the Burgundian. He used the language of Scotland, as she had done.
She glanced at her hereditary seneschal, who nodded. Sir Robert Colville, from Ayrshire, was a business-man as well as a courtier: all her advisers were. She respected that. Arranging this beforehand, they had agreed that she should do this herself. She said, ‘You know the King’s brother. You have shown yourself to be his friend and ours. What do you think he will do?’
‘Frankly?’ he said. He didn’t glance at Colville.
She said, ‘That is why you are here.’
Then he looked down, as if collecting his thoughts before he addressed her again. Once more, looking up, he ignored Colville. ‘He has several choices, your grace. His situation we know. He is in France because he opposed your sovereign lord’s friendship with England and tried to break it, even inviting French forces to help him. They did not, but offered him shelter, and a well-born wife, who has now given him a son. My own reading, from my conversations in France, is that this was not something that King Louis especially sought, and that he would have been reasonably pleased had our King sent to invite his brother back, with forgiveness and honour. Failing this, France is sufficiently content to hold the Duke and his family at the moment, as other rulers keep by them the dissident heirs to foreign thrones. There may be no immediate occasion to use them, but they act as a control, and a threat.’
She was not sure what to say. She waited, and let her seneschal intervene.
‘And the Duke’s view of that?’ Colville said. ‘Or did he not recognise the true situation?’
The Burgundian looked at him. He said, ‘That, as ever, is the difficulty, sir.’
‘You talked to him about it?’
‘Both then and before, at Dunbar. His hopes were unrealistic. He saw himself as a national leader, breaking the perfidious friendship with England. His Scottish friends encouraged him to think so.’
Colville glanced at the Queen as she moved. She said, ‘And now, when the peace with England has been broken with the help of those same friends, what does my lord of Albany think to do? The war he wanted has come, and he is not here. His grace my husband demands that he comes back to answer for what he has done, but does not offer assurances. Should he do so? Forgiven, would the Duke in his zeal come back and lead us to victory?’
The Burgundian said, ‘That is the most important question of all. The King would give you one answer, and I would give you another.’
‘You are here to give me yours,’ she said. She waited.
He said, ‘The Duke of Albany is a man who values friendships, and forms attachments. He has before him, as well, the example of the Duke of Gloucester, the English King’s brother, and in his mind, his counterpart. My lord of Albany has sent messengers to those he trusts through all the months of his absence. If he thought he had enough friends to win a massive victory against England under his personal banner, and thereafter enchant Parliament into granting him all the land and appointments he would like, he would come back tomorrow.’
Colville said, ‘But he has not applied to come. It would appear therefore that he is not sure of his personal following, as his conduct at Dunbar would suggest. That is, he hesitates to come without a French army. Do we think he may have been promised one?’
The Burgundian said, ‘The King your husband has asked France for help against England, and France has not replied. My lord of Albany will have been promised, I am sure, anything that the King of France believes will keep him content until France knows which way to turn. This winter, France will do nothing. Louis is ill. If he dies, there will be a regency, and all his enemies will pounce when the season opens in spring. Then the Duke of Albany might be glad enough to come home, and accept whatever crumbs he may be given. That, I am sure, is what my lord your husband hopes.’
She said, ‘But King Louis may recover. What then?’
‘Then,’ said the Burgundian, ‘he may find himself facing a combined assault by the Archduke and England, and will expect Albany to fight for his keep. Or there is the possibility that England and Flanders both falter, and King Louis sees profit in sending an army to Scotland, with Albany as a popular leader, to waste northern England, and drain it of money and men. Again, this is something that I am sure the King our lord would encourage.’
‘But you would not?’ said the Queen. ‘Why?’
‘Because if they come,’ the Burgundian said, ‘the French will expect to occupy fortresses. You would lose Berwick, Lochmaben, Dunbar, as you would otherwise have lost them to the English.’
‘The King would not allow it,’ she said.
‘The King might not have a say,’ answered the Burgundian. ‘In my opinion, if the French come with the Duke of Albany, they will expect the Duke of Albany to give them all that they wish. And if the King stands in their way, they will expect the Duke of Albany to countenance his removal. Which he will.’
She stared at him. Colville said, suddenly dropping all the stipulated formality, ‘You’re talking of Sandy.’
And the Burgundian said, with unexpected violence, ‘I know I’m talking of Sandy. He acts on impulse. Everything I have been saying may turn out to be rubbish, because he will fall into a temper and do something that makes no sense at all. But I do tell you this. He is fond of his sisters. He is proud of Scotland. He didn’t really mean to go to France at all, in his better moments. But he does seriously believe that he is brighter, better, braver than any one of his siblings, and if he is frustrated, he will simply invite all his allies to help him make himself King.’
She said, ‘And m
y lord? And the Princes?’
The Burgundian said, ‘My lady … At every Court, there are dynastic struggles: the strong prevail over the weak; rivals and siblings are killed. Scotland has had its full share. But this time, as I have said, I think that there is some feeling between the two Princes. His grace of Mar’s death was an accident, even though it may not be perceived as such by everyone. I think the King would go to great lengths, when in health, to avoid harming his remaining brother. With Albany, there is a difference. He is ambitious, he is easily swayed, and he does not think clearly. He would depute the King’s dethronement to others; he might even stipulate and hope that his brother would abdicate and live on without harm, and would be distressed when others proved less temperate. The outcome is that there is no sacred barrier between the Duke of Albany and his brother. Were France to invade, the King’s life could not be assured. His sons, on the other hand, have value as hostages. They might lead secure lives at the French Court.’
She studied him. He was right. It was what the others had said, more obliquely. Colville, choosing the moment, led from that topic to the second they had selected. ‘It is, in any case, hypothetical. There will be no army from France. At the same time, we do require to know what is happening there. You say his grace of Albany writes to his friends?’
‘This we have also heard,’ said the Queen. ‘And, of course, to his sister in particular. You were once closely acquainted with the Princess Mary, M. de Fleury, and your wife and son have both served in her household?’
‘Sadly, we see less of her now,’ the Burgundian said. ‘And my son, as you may know, is now back in Edinburgh.’
‘An excellent child. Jordan. We remember. You must bring him with you next time: he and the Prince have made sport in the past with the Princess’s children. How then would you answer if I suggested that Jordan should return to his post with the lady Mary and report what he hears?’
‘I should reply,’ said the Burgundian, ‘with regret, that my son is too young to spy, and I should not permit it.’ His voice was calm. He was used to opening moves. He was not, in fact, taking it seriously.
Colville said, ‘In that case, the Queen would be the last person to compel you. We have, indeed, already thought of a substitute. Lord Cortachy’s niece served the younger Princess, who often stays with her sister. It will be natural for the demoiselle Katelinje to take an appointment in the princess’s household. While there, she can tell us when the lady Mary hears from her brother.’
The Burgundian said, ‘I can see that it would be useful. As a friend of the family, I confess to the same misgivings that I felt over Jordan. It is not a pleasant assignment, and it could be dangerous. Is there no other way?’
‘Several,’ she said. ‘Were you less squeamish, you could renew your own friendship with the Princess, for example.’ They were talking of state matters. She had no patience with foibles. She knew, anyway, that Rob Colville would intervene, as he did.
‘My lady. Of course, it would be a valuable gesture. But M. de Fleury could not serve both the Princess and your grace, and he has already proved, in this room, how much he can help us. I am sure Mistress Katelinje will come to no harm with the lady Mary. It is a busy household. There are children. Their nurses know one another.’
They certainly did. Every ruler she knew of had to come to terms with that sinister international sisterhood of children’s nurses, heaped with honours, pensioned off into comfortable old age to encourage their successors. Nanse Preston, her merchant husband and clever young son drew the revenues from royal land close to Linlithgow which had previously succoured a needy kinsman of Colville’s. The nurse’s grant was annually renewed by her small charge, as were the words of noble thanks and affection which had been annually placed in his mouth since his infancy. Indeed, James had grown fond of the woman, and would certainly not cancel them now. No one ever offended a nurse in royal circles.
Colville was looking at her. She would, herself, have preferred to make the first interview more explicit, but it had covered the necessary points, and the next should be more instructive. She thought, as she drew the audience to a close, that she would invite the man and his son next time to Doune. He could stay at the castle, and meet the rest of her council. And even entertain her, perhaps, in the evening.
He left very soon, on his way, he told her, to the Priory of Elcho, to visit the orphaned daughter of a kinswoman. She had heard of the girl from Anselm Adorne, who occasionally passed through on his way to Dundee, or even once or twice further north to Cortachy, the Crown lands from which he received his baronial life-rent.
They hardly needed his attention, being looked after for him in absentia. She wondered if this unusual activity signified that Adorne was planning to make his stay permanent. Certainly she hoped his very capable niece would remain, and continue her surveillance of Mary. She had been surprised and pleased by the Burgundian’s stated objection to that, considering that there was nothing but friendship, she was assured, between de Fleury and the lady Katelinje Sersanders. They said that de Fleury’s wife had his undying devotion, and that other women considered her fortunate. As for herself, it required more than a good presence to impress her these days. It required political acumen. She was glad to see that he possessed it.
GELIS, WHO HAD her own opinion of the Queen, was charmed to find it justified in every nuance of the graphic account unleashed upon her by Nicholas, returned in a state of semi-hilarious exasperation from the north. ‘First her Danish grace, and then the German Bonne. It was like having dinner with Beowulf and supper with the Elector of Saxony.’
‘No sense of humour,’ said Gelis. ‘They didn’t laugh at your jokes.’
‘My God,’ said Nicholas, sitting down knee-deep in dogs. ‘If that were all. No. I agree with the others. If the King doesn’t kill her first, that grim determination is going to do more for his future than two dimpled knees and a pretty face. She’s got three good men; they’re telling her the truth, and carrying her along with their thinking as far as they can. She’s rigid; she hasn’t got their intellect, but she’s bright enough to do what she may have to do.’
‘But they think she needs you?’ Gelis said. ‘Or no. They want her to understand and agree with whatever you may have to do about the King.’
There was a brief silence. ‘About was a nice way of putting it,’ Nicholas said. ‘Better than to or for. Anyway, you have the situation in a bombshell. They also want me to help spy on Sandy, and produced several sticks and a carrot. You will be glad to hear that I refused to plant Jordan as a double agent in disguise with the Princess Mary. They’re going to use Kathi instead.’
She was very familiar, now, with the many ways in which Nicholas dealt with anxiety. She said now, ‘I know. Kathi came, while you were away. We both thought she should do it. It is important, and Mary and Sandy are really not very responsible. And anyway, you’ll probably learn far more from Julius’s remorseless pursuit of Liddell than she will at the Hamiltons’. She did say, if she found anything, that she’d tell you before anyone. So what about the Elector of Saxony?’
Again, it was one of the joys of her life to interpret him correctly, and she received her thanks, as now, in his face. He said, ‘All right. Farewell, Beowulf. Elcho was nothing by comparison. Muriella wasn’t there; she had pined, and been sent to stay with friends, with or without a chastity belt. Bonne is putting up with it all, while sardonically unsurprised that we have failed to find her a husband. She will have to come here for Yule.’
‘Julius should be back by then,’ said Gelis hopefully. ‘And John le Grant speaks German.’
‘And operates guns. He would need them with Bonne,’ Nicholas said. ‘I think a little pastoral guidance by Father Moriz is indicated in the near future. And that’s all the news.’
‘Is it?’ she said. She saw by his face that, until this moment, he had genuinely forgotten about Bel. When he bent abruptly to divest himself of the dogs, it was almost as if he was distractedly pr
essing back other oppressions. She said, ‘It’s all right. You wanted to put it away. I don’t want to disturb it. Just tell me that you found her, and she’s well.’
‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘Yes, she is well. A little surgical for comfort, but that’s my fault, not hers. She’s back in Stirling, tired of prevaricating, and quite willing, I think, to tell Julius anything he might want to know.’
‘Which would be disastrous?’ Gelis said. ‘To you? To us? To the world?’
‘No. It would just be sad,’ Nicholas said. ‘Otherwise, it’s of no importance whatever. Bel knows of nothing that will show me to be of legitimate birth. No one does.’
‘Oh. Good,’ said Gelis. She willed him to begin to laugh, and he did. Then she willed him to jump up, and he did that, too.
BY THE TIME Julius came back from the Borders, the fighting at Berwick had stopped, and all that was going on was the usual exchange of vicious raiding by the normal denizens of each side of the frontier, which continued into the New Year and increased the hardship already caused by bad harvests. Being Julius, he had a large, fresh fund of personal gossip, but no actual news of what Sandy Albany was up to in France. Nor had anybody else.
To please the King and themselves, Nicholas and Willie Roger filled the weeks before Christmas with the preparation of several small musical plays, aimed chiefly at children, and one large liturgical work by Whistle Willie, with the voices of his friends as his instruments of experiment. As at the time of the great play they once created together, the houses of the various friends and associated members of the projects became littered with paint and paper and illogical artefacts, and untrustworthy artisans such as Big Tam Cochrane and John le Grant and Nicholas himself were to be found in corners with heaps of wire, whistling and cursing.
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