Anne stared at them, greatly annoyed by their seeming indifference. “Have you nothing to say upon the matter? Am I to be insulted… and you too? To say nothing of Elizabeth Tudor? Dear God! You are a cold fish, James!” she exploded.
“I’m thinkin’ yon Blake mannie has ower stepped hi’self. No! Annie! I’ll no’ stand by and hae thee insulted frae yon pulpit. The man shall apologise publicly frae the said pulpit. Aye, publicly!”
Anne’s choler abated somewhat. “Thank you. I cannot understand why I have suddenly become the target of their spleen!”
“Dinna tak’ it too much t’ heart. I hae been slandered mysel’ and I dinna think auld Elizabeth will be ower pleased either! ‘Atheist’ she that considers hersel’ the champion o’ the Reformed church!”
“James… please?” Anne hissed, noting the smirk on the face of Marr at James’ disrespectful description of the Queen of England.
“Johnnie Marr was correct in his assumption. The divines of the Kirk are seething with discontent,” Ludovick Stuart, Duke of Lennox, reminded James.
“I’ve good cause to know that, Vicky Stuart! Hae I no’ just put them in their place ower the stramash o’ yon English players? When I gave them permission t’ perform their plays an’ ordered Geordie Elphinstone to give them timber to build you playhouse, did they no’ pronounce the playermen excommunicate an’ accursed? Did ye ever hear o’ the like? A direct affront to mysel’ God’s Anointed! I ask ye, who is more fitting than mysel’ t’ judge whether yon plays be sinful or no? I sent Willie Forsythe to th’ Mercat Cross wi’ a proclamation stating that it be ma pleasure that the elders and decons o’ the hail four sessions should annul their act concerning the English playermen and that it be ma pleasure that the said playermen use their plays in ma capital!”
“Did the proclamation have the desired effect ?” Ludovick Smart enquired politely, already aware of the outcome of this latest clash of wills between James and his church.
“Oh, aye! An’ just t’ gi’ the matter more weight I intend t’ go to yon playerhouse mysel’… wi’ Annie!”
Go he did, in company with the Queen and most of the court, much to the disgust of the ministers of the Kirk who considered such goings on to be the work of the devil. As to Pastor Blake, he absolutely refused to recant or to apologise and was subsequently banished. Once again James proved himself master of the realm.
* * *
Anne once more found herself pregnant and on Christmas Eve, 1598, at Dalkeith palace, gave birth to another daughter. The baby was christened by David Lindsay in Holyrood Chapel and given the name of Margaret but it was obvious that the child was weak and sickly. Anne watched with concern as daily the little mite seemed to grow weaker. She had been fortunate in her children so far, for so many died either at birth or shortly after.
After the christening the Princess Margaret seemed to gain a little weight and Anne began to hope, but the following week the child took a fever and died. The effect upon Anne, still weak from childbirth, was traumatic. She wept long and passionately and no amount of soothing on the part of her devoted maids or the exhortations of her husband could quiet her.
In vain did James beg her to think of her health, to thank God for her son and daughter who were quite healthy, but thinking of Prince Henry-Frederick far away from her she refused to be comforted.
“But lassie, you’re fell young yet! There will be more bairns! Ye canna fly in the face o’ God, ’twas His will to tak’ yon bairn!”
“But it is your will that keeps my son from me!” she replied angrily, raising a tear-stained face.
“He’ll no’ come t’ any harm.”
“But if he does, I’ll not be in time to reach him!” she cried and dissolved once more into passionate tears.
She recovered slowly but soon the gulf between them was to be widened. A number of things contributed to the storm when it finally came to a head in the form of what was afterwards to be called ‘the Gowry Plot’.
For some time past Anne had noticed that James had displayed a certain amount of affection towards the handsome young men of the court. At first she had shrugged aside these disquieting thoughts as mere imagination upon her part but the rumours and innuendo grew until she could no longer close her eyes. The day she caught her husband fondling Sir Thomas Erskine opened her eyes to the truth in all its enormity!
She had gazed in horror upon the scene and then turned and ran from the chamber, her cheeks bright red with shame. She had reached her own chamber out of breath and flushed, to find Anka sitting alone in the window seat.
Anne closed the door and leaned against it, her breasts rising and falling beneath the tightly laced bodice.
“Madam! Madam, what is wrong?” Anka cried, dropping her needle and silks and rushing to the Queen’s side.
Anne could not speak; she could not put into words the feelings of disgust and nausea that washed over her.
Anka took her by the arm and led her to a chair. “Who has upset you? Is it the King?”
Anne nodded and then covered her face with her hands.
“Is it Prince Henry-Frederick? Will His Majesty not let you see him?”
“No! No! ’Tis not that!” Anne choked. Suddenly, she found her voice. “Oh! Anka! How could he… it is so foul… so sordid… so unnatural!”
Anka’s bewildered expression changed to one of concern. She, too, had heard the rumours but had discredited them, but now it was apparent that Anne had witnessed something which proved beyond doubt their authenticity.
“How… how could he behave so horribly?” Anne raised her head. “It makes me feel unclean… defiled… debased! To see him with that creature… kissing and fondling…” she choked again and for a minute Anka thought she was going to vomit.
“Come and lie down, I will fetch you some wine. Dearest Madam… Oh! What can I say?”
She helped Anne to the bed and poured some wine into a goblet and made Anne sip it while searching for some words of comfort, her own feelings sickened and outraged.
“My mother warned me that he might take a mistress! Oh God! She never thought to warn me that he would take a… man! I cannot bear to think of him touching me ever again, Anka! I cannot bear it!”
“What did he say?”
“He did not have time to say anything, I fled! I never, never want to see him again!”
Anka sighed helplessly for unless Anne separated herself entirely from him and returned to Denmark, there was little she could do.
“Madam, you will have to see him. For the sake of appearances you must try to ignore the matter. It is what your mother would have wished, I know! It will not be easy, but do not demean yourself by confronting the youth in question—ignore the whole matter, it may just be an isolated occurrence!” she advised.
“Ignore it! How can I ignore it? The truth is, Anka… he prefers that pimply-faced, painted, perfumed pimp to me! To me… Princess of Holstein… his wife and the mother of his children! Oh, Anka, what am I to do?”
Anka reasoned, advised and comforted her for hours until at last she half-heartedly agreed that to ignore the matter was the best course of action for she would thereby at least maintain some dignity.
She had found it almost impossible at first to even speak to James and any advances he made towards her were met with icy disdain. After a time her attitude began to soften and she eventually found that she could live with the knowledge, but she was never to reconcile herself to the fact that her husband was capable of making love to her one night and to one of his favourites the next, and she treated these young men with utter contempt.
To add to the ever widening rift in their relationship came the Gowry Plot and its consequences that were to drive the wedge deeper. The name of ‘Ruthven’ had been associated with treachery and murder in the annals of Scottish history well before the birth of James VI. It was a Ruthven who had taken part in the brutal murder of Rizzio, Mary Stuart’s secretary—a deed performed before the very eyes of that Queen whi
le she was then carrying James and it had been a Ruthven who had led the infamous raid in which the young James himself had been seized and held captive. That Ruthven had been executed but his eldest son had been educated in France and his other children brought up at the Scottish court.
Two of these young Ruthvens had been placed in Anne’s household upon her arrival in Scotland and having watched Alexander and Beatrice grow from childhood, she was very fond of them.
As the century drew to its close the Queen of England’s health was causing concern and James found that his influence was growing daily with certain nobles of the English court. It was at this time that the young Ruthvens sought to revenge themselves upon the King for the death of their father.
On the 3rd August, 1600, Anne was awakened by James noisily moving about the bedchamber.
“What hour is it?” she asked sleepily.
“Ha’ past three or thereabouts.”
“What in the Name of Heaven are you doing astir at this hour—or have you not been to bed?”
“I’m away t’ the chase, I hae it in ma mind t’ kill a prime buck afore noon.”
Anne grunted and turned over, she had long become accustomed to James’ passion for hunting and the unearthly hours he kept.
James finished his meagre toilet and left but the reason he had given her was not entirely the truth for Alexander Ruthven had informed him that a Jesuit with a hefty bag of gold (no doubt to be used to persuade his subjects to revert to the faith of their fathers) had been seized near Perth and detained in Gowry House until James could interrogate him. The thoughts of the gold and a subversive Jesuit were too much of a temptation and at noon James eluded his party and with only one attendant, a page named James Ramsay, made his way to Gowry House. Here he was greeted amiably by the young Earl of Gowry, Alexander’s elder brother, who had just returned from the English court. James was cordially invited to partake of dinner which he did, but once the meal was over Alexander requested his‘ master to accompany him and James followed him up the narrow, winding staircase, his thoughts absorbed by the gold which would swell his depleted pockets, until he found himself in a circular, stone room with a heavy oak door and one window which was barred. Here to his increasing uneasiness he found himself confronted not by a Jesuit priest, but by a figure in black armour! In panic James turned to flee but found himself face to face with Alexander Ruthven whose eyes blazed with fanatical hatred.
“You’ll not escape this time! You were the cause of my father’s shameful death and now you will pay!”
James backed away. He was completely unarmed and alone. “I was a bairn under restraint o’ a regent when your father was executed!”
“You could have stopped them, if you had wished to!”
“I could do nothing! Think how fond the Queen is o’ ye, laddie! Aye, an’ Beatrice too! What will happen to the lassie Beatrice?” James cried, grasping at anything which would hopefully divert the boy from his purpose.
The boy advanced and James backed away, eyeing the dirk young Ruthven held. The figure in the armour had not moved and James began to realise that it was only a dummy, put there to lend menace to the situation.
“Hae I no’ treated ye with kindness all these years?”
“’Twas a stricken conscience that suffered you to do so!”
The boy lunged at him and James tottered back, crying in pain and fear as the dirk slashed his arm, missing his throat by inches. Ruthven lunged again but as James’ cries became louder the boy’s attention was diverted by the sudden appearance of young Ramsay who had found an unguarded back stair leading to the chamber.
Ramsay charged at Ruthven and a violent tussle ensued during which James ran to the window shouting for help. Into the room dashed the Earl of Gowry with two servants who dragged Ramsay off Alexander whom Ramsay had managed to wound in the chest.
James stood rooted to the ground, his eyes wide with terror, the saliva drooling from his lips. “Guid hae mercy on us! Ye fell traitors, will ye kill your ain King?” he all but shrieked.
One of the Ruthven servants was obviously affected by his cry for he came instantly to James’ side and held his sword before him, protecting his sovereign. To James’ relief a loud hammering came to his ears and above the tumult he recognised the voices of Ludovick Stuart and Johnnie Marr.
“Open up! Open up! If ye hae harmed him I’ll smash your craig’s t’ pulp, ye murdering dogs!” Johnnie Marr’s voice thundered over the rest.
“Open this door or it will be the worse for you all!” Ludovick Stuart ordered.
Pandemonium reigned. James shouted loudly that he was being murdered while Ramsay rolled upon the floor locked in combat with the elder Ruthven and the battering upon the door grew louder. The next instant it was smashed open and Marr, Thomas Erskine, Lord Home, Ludovick Stuart and Lord Huntley dashed in to find James in a state of abject terror, Alexander Ruthven dead and his brother dying from wounds inflicted by James Ramsay.
“Thank Guid, Jamie! Are ye harmed?” Marr cried.
“A bit scratch on ma arm but yon Ruthvens would hae murdered me!”
“Take them away!” Ludovick Stuart ordered and James watched as the lifeless form of Alexander Ruthven was dragged from the room followed by his brother who was bleeding profusely from his wounds.
“What possessed you to come here, of all places, alone?” Ludovick Stuart asked.
“A fell treacherous story of yon Ruthven, Vicky!”
“Did you not suspect him, after the treachery of his father?”
“Dinna lecture me, Vicky Stuart! O’ course I trusted the lad, has he no’ been wi’ me from a bairn?” James cried irritably.
“All Ruthvens hae black, murdering hearts! Aye, even the bairns!” Marr growled.
“Will ye all stop blatherin’ an’ send for someone t’ see t’ ma arm, lest ye want me to bleed t’ death!” James cried, then catching sight of James Ramsay he called, “I’ve ye t’ thank, laddie! Aye, for ma vera life, ye’ll no’ go unrewarded!”
His arm attended to, James and his party set out. News of the fracas had travelled swiftly and the citizens of Perth turned out to see the King who providentially had been saved from an early grave. To their cries of “Guid be praised! Our Jamie’s safe an’ well!” James managed a shaky smile as he rode on in the darkness and the rain to Falkland.
It was Lady Huntley who brought the news to the Queen.
“Madam, Alexander Ruthven and his brother, the Earl, have been slain by the King!”
“Why? Why? What did the poor laddie do?” Anne cried. “Oh! My poor Beatrice!”
Beatrice Ruthven had uttered a brief cry and was swaying upon her feet.
“Quick! Katrine, catch her! Hetty, fetch some wine!” she bade Lady Huntley. “Oh, you poor child!”
Beatrice was laid upon a couch and revived slowly.
“Madam… it cannot be true!”
“I am afraid it is, child, I do not know the details but an attempt was made upon the King’s life!” Henrietta Huntley said gently.
“Nonsense! That boy would not harm a fly! Why, he is fond of James, he has lived with us since he was a child!” Anne replied firmly.
“I, too, find it hard to believe, Madam,” Henrietta concurred.
“Lie still, child, I do not believe these lies and I shall find out the truth of the matter!” Anne promised Beatrice. She straightened up and signed to Lady Huntley to follow her. When they were out of earshot of the little group around Beatrice, Anne continued. “What is all this, Hetty? Is young Ruthven dead?”
Lady Huntley nodded.
“I refuse to believe that he would harm James. Oh, I know of the history of that family, Hetty, but I have known Alexander for eleven years and I cannot believe that James would kill him—or have him killed!”
“As I have said, I do not know the full story, but there was an attempt upon the King’s life.”
“Where is James?”
“On his way back here, Madam.”
“Then we shall await his return.”
By the time the King’s party arrived it was long past midnight and Anne had dismissed all her ladies, bar Anka, young Beatrice having been put to bed with a sedative earlier.
As James entered Anne jumped to her feet, signing for Anka to leave them. “James, what is all this? Is young Alex Ruthven dead?”
James sat down wearily. He was cold, wet, tired and still suffering from shock. “There’s no cause for alarm, Annie. I’m no’ harmed—just a bit scratch on ma arm—but aye, young Alex is dead an’ his brother Gowry—fell murdering bastards!”
“Alex would not harm you!”
“Would he no’? I tell thee, Annie, he lured me to Gowry House wi’ a lying tale about a priest an’ a bag o’ gold, an’ then he set upon me wi’ a dirk! Is that the way t’ repay ma kindness? D’ ye see ma arm? That’s yon Alex Ruthven’s work! I would no’ be here now but for James Ramsay!”
“I refuse to believe it… he was forced to do it! He was put up to it!”
“Ye dinna believe it? Ye dinna believe me, yer ain husband? The little bastard was bent on slittin’ ma throat!”
Anne stared at him in silence. James was quivering with rage and indignation.
“I would hae expected a wee bit o’ sympathy an’ loyalty from ye, Annie!”
“I’m sorry, James, but nothing will induce me to believe young Alex was capable of such treachery—someone else is behind it!”
“Guidsakes, woman! There was no one else, except his brother Gowry! I should hae had a wean more sense! Vicky Stuart was right, I should no’ hae trusted a Ruthven!”
Anne compressed her lips tightly together, still unable to accept the fact that the young, gentle, affectionate boy she had known could turn into the vengeful monster James portrayed him to be.
“I see I am wasting ma time wi’ ye! Mayhap ye would hae been happy if I hae been murdered, yon Henry-Frederick’s been a thorn in your flesh! I can see now that ye hae no love for me!”
“You talk of love to me? You, who have humiliated me with your… your… unnatural habits!” Anne spat at him.
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