The Wisest Fool mog-4

by Nigel Tranter

  So George Heriot, tradesman, was left with the awkward task. He could not feel that the right moment for it was the mother's reunion with her handicapped child after more than a year's parting, so he sought Alison Primrose's advice. She said that the Queen was going to watch an archery contest at Hampton Court the following afternoon, and when she came back a quiet talk with her probably could be contrived. She also confirmed that Anne was indeed pregnant

  Next afternoon, then, the man presented himself again at Somerset House, to find that the royal party was not yet back from the archery. Alison was prepared to act hostess meantime, however, and conducted him to a rose arbour overlooking the palace orchard where, as she observed frankly, tongues might clack about them but at least ears would not overhear them.

  A little troubled, Heriot considered that, and her. "Lassie," he said, "do you have to suffer a deal of talk and raillery on account of me? Qf our… friendship? A man old enough to be your father."

  "None that I cannot deal with," she answered lightly.

  "That is beside the point. You should not have to suffer any. It is wrong, unsuitable. At my age…"

  "Your age again! Your great age appears to worry you, sir. Years. So old a man! Did we not finish with this matter before? At Wilton?"

  'Talk will not alter the twenty-five years between us-our own talk, any more than others'."

  "I grow older every day. But, goodness-by your talk you grow older every minute And yet, you look not a day older than Duke Vicky, who is ten years younger. What must I do to wipe out those twenty-five years, Geordie?"

  He smiled-and certainly his grin could be very boyish. "Even the nimble-witted Alison Primrose would have difficulty in doing that! Perhaps, if you found an entirely suitable young Scots laird to bestow your affections upon, and went back to Scotland, out of my ken, I might start forgetting about my great age, lass." "You would wish me to do that?" "No," he said. She tucked her arm in his companionably.

  "I spoke with your father when I was in Edinburgh," he told her, after a pause. "He sent you his affectionate greetings."

  "He could have sent me that, by letter, many a time," she observed. "After all, he can write. He is Clerk to the Scots Privy Council, is he not? Never a letter has he sent me."

  "M'mm." Heriot did not mention that it had not been his daughter in London that James Primrose had been mainly concerned about, but the possibilities of raising a loan, and the lowest figure King James would be prepared to accept for a knighthood. "He is a busy man. With much on his mind-including your eighteen brothers and sisters I But he spoke warmly of you, and is much concerned for your welfare at this scarcely moral Court He asked me to, h'm, keep an eye on you."

  "Ah! And you told him that you were much too old for such an onerous task?"

  "What I told your father is not for your ears, young woman I But…" He paused, to a stir and the clatter of hooves from behind them. "Ah-here comes Her Majesty, I think. As well, perhaps." But he sighed a little. "Will you convey my humble duty to the Queen, my dear?" "If I must!" the girl said shortly, and stalked off.

  The man, waiting to be summoned to the royal presence, was surprised when quite soon, Alison returned to the rose arbour with the Queen in person.

  'Primrose tells me that you wish private word with me, Master Geordie," Anne said, accepting his salutations. "Here is as secure from prying ears as anywhere, I vow. Come-sit here by me. Girl -go yonder by the pear tree and watch. None to disturb us."

  "You are gracious, Majesty. It is not my wish to detain you for long."

  The Queen sighed. "No doubt it is my debt to you," she said, "I am sorry. I know well that it is far too large. I spend overmuch, yes. But what am I to do? James keeps me shamefully short of money. I have three houses to maintain. I must pay for my own household. I spend much on masques, yes…"

  "Madam," Heriot dared to interrupt, "do not concern yourself. I am not here to speak of money, believe me. I understand Your Majesty's difficulties, have always understood them." He coughed. "Far from dunning Your Highness for money, I have here brought you a little gift. From my booth in Edinburgh. If you will do me the honour to accept it." And he produced from a pocket a small crucifix on a chain, gold studded with sapphires and Tay pearls, the Christ-figure in silver.

  Anne was entranced. She was inclined towards devotionalism, some calling her a secret practising Catholic, and Lady Huntly her confessor-amongst other things. When she had sufficiently exclaimed over the gift, the man coughed once more.

  "Majesty-may I further trespass on your kindness and goodwill? It is presumptuous, I know. But you will perhaps bear with me?" He drew out another trinket, a slender gold bracelet bearing a curling feather contrived in turquoise. "Could I prevail on you to give this toy to Mistress Alison, one day? Not now. As a gift from you, not from me. It is unsuitable that such as I should offer gifts to a young woman. But she is kind, friendly, a pleasing child. And she has no jewellery, in this Court where all wear it. Her father is much pressed for money, with his over-large family. I think that she would like this."

  The Queen looked from the bracelet to the man, interestedly. "You are a strange man, Master Geordie. She will like it very well, I swear I As well she might. But-give it to her yourself, sir. Why not?"

  "No, Majesty-of your pardon, no. There would be talk, unkind talk. She would be asked whence it came. A young woman must not receive gifts of this sort from a man of my years. From Your Highness it would be different She is your good servant, deserving of reward."

  "Very well. If so you will have it." Anne hid the bracelet away in her bodice. "You have no small liking for my Maid-in-Waiting, I think, my friend?"

  The man was very stiff. "She is very young. But true. And kind. I promised her father that I would look to her welfare…"

  'To be sure." The Queen smiled. "How long is it since your wife died, Master Geordie? I have forgot"

  "That has naught to do with it," he said, all but snapped. Then recalled, "I crave your royal pardon, Madam. Forgive me. My wife died eight years ago. We were wed young."

  "As was I, to be sure. I was little older than this Primrose. "Would you wed her?" "At my age? Dear heaven-no! Not to be thought of."

  "And yet you think of it, I swear! Not infrequently, eh? I think that you are too modest, too concerned with what others say, Master Geordie. You would make a good husband for any woman, young or not so young, I do vow. Better than most, I think!"

  'Your Majesty is too kind." Heriot drew himself up, sought to change his tone of voice. Having got the Queen into a suitable and grateful frame of mind for his difficult task, with his gift and intimate request he was now in danger of throwing all away, indeed coming almost to verbal blows over this unfortunate and unprofitable subject "I have something other to speak to Your Majesty on. With your gracious permission?" "Ah, yes. You would change the subject sir! Very well."

  Now that he was faced with it he did not know how to begin. He made three or four false starts, and Anne, amused now, helped him nothing. At last he blurted it out. "I understand, Highness, that I have to congratulate you. On being… on having… on going to have another child. Another royal prince. Or princess, to be sure. I… ah… yes."

  Raising her brows, she considered him, and then nodded. "I must admit it," she conceded. "Do you consider it cause for congratulation?"

  "M'mm. To be sure." That might have sounded a little doubtful, so he added, "Of course. What else, Majesty?"

  "Yes, what else, Master Geordie?" she returned. "For there is something else than congratulations, I am certain."

  "Yes. Your Majesty must bear with me. What I have to say is difficult, unpleasant. But you have unfriends. Not many perhaps, but potent Although, to be sure, they are the King's unfriends rather than your own. These can say ill things, evil things, in their endeavours to hurt His Majesty." He paused. "Go on," she said.

  "There are, Highness, rumours to be spread, wicked tales. That this child which Your Majesty carries is not the King's.
But… but another's." He was sweating, but he had got it out "Ah," the Queen said.

  He stole a quick sidelong glance at the woman beside him. She had sounded calm, unshocked. He nodded, unspeaking.

  "You are but newly back from Scotland," she said. 'This rumour, then-it comes from there?" "Yes. It is damnable."

  "Do not look so unhappy, my friend Heriot This is but part of the price of being Queen. There are other prices-worse, on my soul 1 My unfriends in Scotland who contrive this, and so quickly, would be… whom? The Master of Gray and the Earl of Mar?"

  "Of Mar I know nothing. Nor indeed do I know anything of Gray. It is all supposition, hearsay. But it was Mistress Mary Gray who told us. The Duke and myself. As before."

  'Yes. She is a strange young woman, that. You trust her? Vicky does, of course. But you?" "I do, yes. Wholly." "And does she say whom rumour makes my lover?" 'Yes, Majesty. The Earl of Orkney."

  He heard her breath catch. But when she spoke her voice was still cool, unflurried-and she was not a cool-tempered woman. "Clever," she said. "Shrewd. Patrick Stewart!" "A careful choice, yes."

  They sat silent for a few seconds. The man could by no means probe.

  "Patrick Stewart would not declare that, to my hurt, I think," the Queen went on, at length.

  "Perhaps not, Madam. Though Mary Gray thinks him a man who would stop at nothing. He has a bad name." "Yet good enough to link with mine own, thus?" He did not answer.

  "You believe that he would stoop to this? Make such a statement?"

  "He would not require to, Highness. Enough for him not to deny it A mere rumour. Or to do so in such fashion that folk were scarcely convinced. It is cleverly thought on."

  "No doubt I see that full well. Many might believe it, yes. But not James, I think-not the King." He did not comment

  She turned to look at Mm directly. 'You, you do not think that the King would heed such a tale? Could doubt the matter?"

  Embarrassed, he eyed the ground. "The King must know the truth," he muttered. "He should not have any doubts. But…?"

  She did not respond to his implied question. "I will speak with James."

  'Yes, Madam, to be sure. That is the most important of the matter. That Your Majesties are at one in this. None can stop rumour and talk. But that may not greatly harm you, I think. The object of it all is to harm the King, to cause his marriage to seem to fail, to lose him the respect and esteem of his people. The English still have not forgotten their Henry the Eighth, and his marital troubles. They want no more of that They esteem you greatly. And, any seeming break between Your Majesty and the King could greatly injure the throne. And therefore the realm." "And that is what our enemies seek?" "So Mary Gray believes. Revenge."

  "I would trust that one better were she anyone but her father's daughter."

  "Yet she considers herself Your Majesty's faithful servant still. An Extra Woman of the Bedchamber. And she was right, about the plot concerning Prince Henry. She looks for trouble when the Earl of Orkney comes to London in the autumn." "He is coming?" "She says it. With his brothers."

  "I knew not that he was coming." The Queen rose suddenly, seeming more concerned, almost agitated. He jumped up.

  "I shall speak with the King," she repeated. "He could perhaps forbid Patrick Stewart to leave Scotland."

  "That might not be the wisest course, Majesty. Cause for added talk…"

  "You think it? We shall see. I thank you, Master Geordie, for your good-will. Kindly intentions. And also for the jewel. That was most friendly, amiable. I shall not forget" Quickly she gave him her hand to kiss, and turning, hurried away.

  Surprised, he gazed after her, saw Alison start up from her seat under the pear tree, hesitate, raise a hand to him, and then hasten dutifully after her mistress.

  Thoughtfully he made his own way out of Somerset House, and back to the Exchange.

  10

  THE PALACE OF Whitehall seethed like a pot on the boil, crowded to overflowing. Not only was it Christmastide, with all its attendant activities, and both the King's and Queen's households were for the occasion joined, but Duke Ulric of Holstein's Danish entourage was also in residence. Add to that, the Earl of Orkney and his party of Scots were making a delayed appearance in London-having been held up hitherto at Royston, hunting buck, coursing hares and carousing, with the King. And the installation of Prince Charles, as Duke of York, was on the programme. Moreover, this day, 27th December 1604, Sir Philip Herbert had actually been married, in the palace chapel, to Lady Susan Vere, grand-daughter of Elizabeth's William Cecil, first Lord Burleigh, and the banquet now to be held was in the nature of a wedding feast, with all the wedding guests present also. Whitehall was by no means the largest of the royal homes, and its resources were strained to the utmost

  Herbert's wedding might have caused a great uproar. Apparently he had been secretly betrothed to Susan Vere, daughter of the Earl of Oxford, for months, and was planning to be as secretly married, when Lennox got to hear of it and warned him that such a thing would grievously offend the King. James was a little strange about bis favourites; he did not mind them having relations with women as long as they told him all about it and indeed regaled him with choice and intimate details-and of course granted their favours to no other men. Philip Herbert was not the man normally to listen to good advice, but in this instance he had taken heed, and gone and confided his romance to his loving monarch and sought blessing on the match-with the required revelations and embellishments. The Lady Susan was a bold piece inevitably-or Herbert would not have been involved. James had been intrigued and delighted, and had insisted on naming the wedding day, providing the venue, giving the bride away, donating the marriage bed and contributing the wedding feast That was James Stewart, a man of large affections.

  George Heriot was present. It would have been strange had he not been, since he it was who was paying for all. Parliament still at odds with the King, had not yet agreed to any increase in James's income, and the royal finances had got quite out-of-hand, money even having been sent from Scotland. Duke Ulric's visit was costing a lot for he was a man who liked to do things in style; as were the suitable entertainment and accommodation for the new ambassadors of Spain and the Vatican, and James's general efforts to spread amity and concord around Christendom. Peace had its expenses as well as war-only parliament was less prepared to pay for them. In theory, of course, Heriot was only making one more large loan, for this day's activities; but he doubted very much whether he would ever see any repayment

  That did not mean, to be sure, that he might himself sit anywhere up near the dais end of the palace hall, amongst the seats of rank and privilege, even had he wished to do so. This being an official occasion, Duke Ludovick would have to be up at the royal table, unfortunately. Heriot would have liked to sit beside Alison Primrose, in a modest place amongst the Queen's junior staff, but restrained himself firmly, sufficiently to select only a seat directly across the left hand long table, where he could look at the girl and smile occasionally-although he quickly recognised that smiles were likely to be in short supply, on his part at least, owing to the antics of the two young bloods, pages, who sat on either side of Alison, vying with each other for her attentions and favours. The tables were disposed in a great inverted U, with the long wings stretching down each side of the hall from the dais table and twin thrones at the top, leaving an open space in the centre for displays and entertainment.

  For once James was not late; at least, although not openly present as yet, he could be observed by the keener-eyed, hiding not very effectively behind curtains at the back of the minstrels' gallery half way to the roof, tankard in hand, watching what went on below. He would not make an entry until all others were in their places, of course.

  Trumpet flourishes heralded each of the official entries, when all more ordinary guests stood-if they could. The first entry consisted of the eleven young nobles who were tonight to be created Knights of the Bath-an important group, for they and their parents had to
pay dearly for the honour, although unfortunately the proceeds were already long spent According to the laws and rules of knighthood and chivalry, these should have spent the day, indeed the entire previous night, in prayerful vigil and vow-taking; but James, Sovereign of the Order, although a bishops' man, was less sacredotally inclined than his wife, had declared that attendance at a religious service-namely Philip Herbert's wedding-would do excellently well for preparation. Having spent the interim since noon wassailing and celebrating, this party made a spirited entry, some riding on each other's shoulders, others leap-frogging-although two required Yeomen of the Guard to support them. They made their round-about way towards a special table near the top of the hall, to hooting and cheering, Bath King-of-Arms and the Dean of Westminster, Dean of the Order, following on in full fig and looking distinctly disapproving.

  The next arrivals could be heard coming from some distance through the palace corridors, to the tune of sweet fiddle music. The trumpeters drowned this, of course, as the doors were flung open-but the heavy man in the lead quickly silenced them with a gesture of sheerest authority, and the two fiddlers, drunk both of them but playing divinely, proceeded into the hall in their stained and ragged tartans. Many guests ostentatiously held their noses. Behind the musicians, light-footed despite his weight, almost tripping to the jigging metre, came this stocky individual, with seven others at his back of the same sort but of a great diversity of ages, plus a pack of perhaps a dozen graceful deer hounds, loping, long-limbed and shaggy. The leader was swarthily handsome in a ravaged way, in his nnd-thirties, with a scarred cheek which drew up one corner of his mouth in a permanent leer, odd under the thin down-turning long moustaches. But it was the eyes which held the attention, steel-grey, level, unwinking, utterly assured, peremptory, intolerant, with no sort of leer about them. He was oddly dressed also, in what had been the height of fashion some dozen years before, all black and silver, but with a tartan plaid wrapped across his chest and pinned on a wide shoulder by a great, gleaming jewelled clasp of Celtic ornament-Patrick, second Earl of Orkney and Lord of Zetland, son of one of Mary Queen of Scots' half-brothers and illegitimate son of James the Fifth, and therefore the King's cousin. His seven followers were all his brothers, some lawfully begotten, some otherwise, but without any distinction of identity or style, a notable assortment, ranging in age between twelve and thirty, dressed in every style known to fashion, or mixtures of styles, from Highland to hunting rig, or no style at all. They all carried themselves like antique princes, and all were quite drunk, like their brother-Patrick Stewart was always drunk-but unlike the embryo Knights of the Bath, none of them showed it, even the youngest. They strode towards their places at another special table, the King's kin, as though Whitehall and all else belonged to them, only they were too much lost in contemplation of fine fiddling to notice it They did not swagger; there was no need for that. These, however poverty-stricken, were the Stewarts. Their deer hounds, which never left their heels, bore the same stamp.