'Let it suffice, now, that His Majesty knows that such men there are, and in whose service they labour. The rest can wait,' He turned back to James. 'Your love for your mother must instruct you, Sire.'
The King frowned, staring at the floor. 'How is it possible for me to love her, man? Or to approve her proceedings? Did she no' write to the French ambassador here, that unless I conformed mysel' to her wishes, I should have nothing but my father's lordship o' Darnley? Has she no' laboured to take the crown off my head, and set up a regent? Is she no' obstinate in holding a different religion, man?'
There was a considerable stir at the King's outburst, Men, hardened men who had never hesitated to decry any cause but their own, to name Mary harlot and Messalina, to savage any who stood in their way, looked askance at each other in discomfort at the expression of these unnatural sentiments of a son towards his mother. Half-a-dozen lords began to speak at once. Strangely, it was the calm and measured tones of Monsieur de Courcelles, the French ambassador, that prevailed.
'My master, the Most Christian King, is gravely perturbed, Sire,' he said. 'He urges that you make the most vigorous, the most stern representations, the most vehement of which Your Grace is capable. Even to the moving of an army to your borders. I would remind Your Grace that the lady your mother is also Queen-Dowager of France. This threat to her life and affront to her name and state, is equally an affront to my royal master. I am to say that any failure on Your Grace's part to uphold her honour and assure her safety, must be looked upon as an attack upon His Most Christian Majesty – and indeed upon all Christian princes.'
Strangely enough, even the Protestant lords growled fierce commendation ofthese strong sentiments.
James gulped, and looked unhappily at the Master of Gray, seeming even younger than his twenty years. 'But… but what can I do, sirs?' he gasped. 'She'll no' heed me. She's a hard, hard woman, yon Elizabeth. I canna put soldiers at her. She has more o' them than I have, Monsieur. What can I do, sirs?'
'You can denounce this shameful alliance!' de Courcelles said briefly.
'But, man – the cost! The cost o' such a process! I canna suffer it'
Bothwell snorted. 'If Your Majesty suffers this other process to proceed, I think, my liege, that you should be hanged yourself the day after!'
A shocked silence fell upon the Throne-room. Only the slightly crazed young Hepburn, who was also James's cousin, could speak in such fashion – but even so, he had gone too far. Patrick judged that it was time to take a hand, a decisive hand.
'My lord of Bothwell is carried away, Sire, by his new-found love. You must forgive him. He misjudges more than the occaision, I think. Far be it from me to suggest that these good lords, His Excellency of France, and the most Christian King are all mistaken. Such would be unthinkable. This matter is all no doubt a question of degree, a question not of right and wrong, of statecraft or government – but of understanding character. One woman's character. I hatter myself that I can read Queen Elizabeth's character as well as any here present – even my Lord Bothwell and Lochleven! – having talked with her, debated with her, even danced with her. And I do believe that she will not warrant another Queen's death. It is not a matter of her hardness of heart, nor yet her anger and fear. It is much more than these – her whole life and outlook and situation. She is Queen of England. Dog, they say truly, does not eat dog. Queen does not execute Queen. Elizabeth will commute the sentence.'
'We know that is your opinion, Monsieur de Gray,' the Frenchman demurred, 'Others think otherwise. Is this lady's life – possibly the fate of Europe: to hang on so slender a thread as one man's opinion? Your Highness – is it, mon Dieu!'
Patrick answered quickly. 'No – indeed no. I would be the last to suggest it. I could be mistaken. His Grace would be unwise, wrong, to ignore the advice of so many good councillors, so great a weight of wisdom and experience.' He turned to the King. 'Your Highness must send forthwith another envoy to Elizabeth.'
'Another envoy will win the same reception as the first – as Keith!' Angus objected. 'Elizabeth will not even see him'
'I think that she will. More particularly if that envoy is myself, my lord.'
No one spoke for a few moments – a silence that was at length broken by James himself
'Aye, Patrick – that's it, man! That's it!' he exclaimed. 'You go. You tell her. You tell Elizabeth of our feelings. That we are much perturbed. That we canna' be unmoved by our royal mother's fate…'
'My God – you will have to tell her more than that!' Bothwell burst out 'Tell her that if she does not denounce this monstrous sentence, we sound the call to arms!'
'Aye – tell her that I myself will lead five thousand lances across her march!' the Lord Claud Hamilton cried.
'Tell her that I will burn Carlisle!' Bothwell declared. 'Thousands shall die!'
'I suggest, my lords,' Patrick intervened, with his faint smile, 'that what I tell Queen Elizabeth is for His Grace's Privy Council to decide.'
'But when, man? There must be no delay.'
'Fortunately, with so many of the Council here present, we can meet forthwith. Today, if it is His Grace's pleasure'
'Aye, aye, Patrick…'
'And when will you go to the south? The matter is of great urgency…' 'This very night, if it is the Council's wish.' 'Tonight, yes. That is straight talking.' To this Council then, gentlemen.. ' Patrick Gray did not miscalculate twice.
After the Council, the King, with much secrecy and gesticulation, beckoned Patrick, and David with him, into a private room. Locking the door behind them, he listened at it for a few moments, and even went poking behind the hangings and tapestries of the walls.
'Ears' he muttered. 'Ears everywhere. Aye, and eyes too. They're aye listening, aye watching me, Patrick. I've none I can turn to, but you. They took Cousin Esme from me, and Captain Jamie. We'll have to watch that they dinna take you, man.. '
'I think that Your Grace need not fear for me.. '
'Aye, you've aye got Master Davy to look after you. Man, there's times I thank the Lord God for Master Davy – so sure, so strong! Never let him frae your sight, man Davy – d'you hear me? That's a command, mind – my royal command. Or they'll get you, Patrick…!'
'Do not fear. Your Grace is overwrought…'
'I'm no' overwrought. And I ken fine what I'm saying. Davy's to go with you to yon London, mind – to watch over you. The man Walsingham… and Leicester…'
David cleared his throat. 'I will see that my brother is enabled to fulfil his mission; Your Grace – God aiding me!'
Patrick smiled sardonically.
James shambled about the small room, throwing uncertain glances at the two brothers. 'After you have seen Elizabeth,' he said in a different voice. 'You must seek a private audience. Private, see you. Could you do that, Patrick? Think you could you win her ear, privily?'
Gravely Patrick nodded. I think that it might conceivably be arranged, Sire.'
'Aye, good. Good. Then, in her privy ear, man, you must tell her that this is a bad business and I must have my amends. My amends, see you. You'll tell her that?'
'Amends, Your Highness? You mean…?'
'Aye – amends, man. Compensation. As is only just and suitable. The woman has laid a great insult upon me and my kingdom. A monarch canna do the like to another monarch, and no' pay for it! Na, na – she will have to recompense me. And richly. You will insist on that, Patrick. In her private ear, mind.'
Patrick stroked mouth and chin thoughtfully.
David was less controlled. He could not hold himself in. 'You mean money Sire?' he gasped.
'That would be best, aye. It is a matter o' principle. Just and fair indemnity for hurt done. Without the like there would be no decent commerce between realms and princes. It will need to be a goodly sum, mind – for our honour isna' to be lightly spat upon. Or maybe an increase to our pension – a substantial increase.'
Patrick's glance flickered over to his brother. 'I shall essay what may be achie
ved, Highness,' he said solemnly.
'Aye, do that. And another matter. It is time that there was an Act of her Parliament naming me Second Person to Elizabeth, and successor to her Throne. High time. Tell her privily that if she will have siklike an Act passed, I will overlook yon other ill Act they passed. You have it?
'M'mmm. I do not know, Sire, that Queen Elizabeth will bear with talk of that kidney – even privately. She is a woman of notable spirit. But… I will do what I may.'
'This is an opportunity, man Patrick – a great opportunity. And I have great faith in you. Aye, and in you, Master Davy, to look after him. There's no others that Pd trust with an errand o' siklike delicacy. No' a word o' this to Sir Robert, mind. He's gey thick in the head, yon soldier-man.' Sir Robert Melville, brother to Sir James and Sir Andrew, was the second envoy whom the Council had chosen to accompany Patrick on his mission, one of an honest family, and an uncompromising Protestant.
'It shall be as you say, Your Grace…'
Chapter Twenty-nine
THE Master of Gray's second embassage to Queen Elizabeth was a very different affair from his first. There was no pomp and ceremony, no splendid gifts, no ladies, no impressive escort; only the two principals, David Gray, and two or three armed servants. They made the four hundred miles to London, in consequence, in little more than half the time that it had taken the previous entourage.
Elizabeth made much play about not receiving them, keeping them hanging about for days in the ante-rooms of various palaces, while demonstrations of popular wrath against the imprisoned Mary were staged for the envoys' edification, undoubtedly on Elizabeth's own instructions, decapitating the Scots Queen in effigy with gruesome realism, with the help of buckets of ox-blood. Sir Robert Melville blustered and swore, David fretted, sick with anxiety, but Patrick was an example of all that such an envoy should be, imperturbable, courteous, amused even. Play-acting, he asserted, should be enjoyed, not taken seriously.
When, at last, at Greenwich, the Scots embassy was admitted to the royal presence, Elizabeth interviewed them, flanked by a glittering array of her nobles and ministers, including Leicester, Oxford, Essex, Burleigh, Walsingham and Hatton, and treated them, while they were still bowing their entry, to a full and stirring ten minutes of impassioned oratory, brilliant dialectic and vicious vituperation such as few of her hearers had ever experienced, and which left them all dumbfounded and almost as breathless as the Queen herself.
All, that is, except Patrick Gray – and perhaps old Burleigh, who had weathered so many storms in his Queen's service. The former bowed low again,, and into the gasping hush spoke pleasantly, admiringly.
'Such eloquence, Your Majesty – such brilliance, such lucidity of utterance, leaves all men abashed and wordless. None may hope to prevail against such a tide of logic, wisdom and wit -least of all this humble spokesman from the north, with but a few uncouth words to jingle together. Yet speak I must, on behalf of your royal cousin, James, King of Scots, and his Council, if all unworthily.'
If you do… you waste… your breath, sir!' the Queen panted, her own breath all but gone, her superstructure of blazing gems heaving alarmingly. 'You… come to plead… for mercy for… that self-confessed murderess… Mary Stuart! You waste your time… and mine, sirrah!'
'Fair lady, can it be that you misapprehend?' Patrick asked, wonderingly. That you have been misinformed in this vital matter?' He cast a comprehensively reproachful glance on the serried ranks of England's advisers. We had thought Your Highness better served than this! For such is not the burden of our mission. I plead for nothing – save Your Grace's patient hearing. It is not mercy that we seek. Only justice.'
'Justice, sir!' Elizabeth cried. 'Have you the effrontery to stand before me and say that my courts do not dispense justice? In the presence of my Lord Chief Justice, who himself presided over that woman's trial! You can be too bold, Master of Gray -as I have had occasion to warn you ere this!'
'I speak but what I am commanded, Your Grace. Is it not one of the very elements of justice that the court which holds trial on a cause shall have due authority and jurisdiction so to do? Can your Lord Chief Justice, or any other, show that he had jurisdiction to try the crowned and anointed monarch of another realm – or even of this realm, indeed!'
'God's Passion, man – have a care!' the Queen exclaimed, jumping up from her Chair of State. 'Watch your tongue, sirrah, or you yourself will taste the power and authority of my courts!' Imperiously she waved aside the Lord Chief Justice who had stepped forward to speak. I myself will answer your ill-judged question sir. Mary Stuart is no longer Queen of Scots, nor crowned monarch of any realm. She abdicated eighteen long years ago, and voluntarily entered my realm as a private citizen, thereby placing herself under my authority and the laws of England.'
'Does not Queen Mary deny such abdication, Madam? And if an anointed monarch denies abdication, who shall declare her abdicate? How may you prove otherwise?'
'But… good God, man, if Mary did not abdicate, then your James, in whose name you speak, is a usurper! You have no authority to be here, troubling us!'
'Would you deny Scotland a ruler, because you have shut up her Queen these eighteen years, Highness? James and his mother are both anointed sovereigns of Scotland.'
'Lord, this is but wordy dissembling! Words, words, words! Mary, in England, has conspired the violent death of the Queen of England. And plotted the invasion and overthrow of the realm. For that she must pay the penalty required in law. That is all there is to it, sir. Tell you your prince that same.'
'But, dear lady, that I fear is not all that there is to it. I fear…'
'By God, it is not!' Sir Robert Melville burst out, unable to contain himself longer. 'If we tell that to our Prince and Council, Ma'am, Scotland marches! Hamilton leads five thousand lances against Newcastle. Bothwell burns Carlisle. The Scots, the Kerrs, the Turnbulls ride. Your border flames from end to end, and the clans march south! Is that nothing to you, Ma'am?'
An outburst of growling wrath and consternation arose from the great company – an outburst that was speedily silenced, however, by Elizabeth's own high-pitched neighing fury.
'Christ's Holy Wounds!' she shouted. 'You… you threaten me! Threaten me with force, with swords, with bloody attack -here in my own house! Fiend seize you, fellow – how dare you!'
Blinking a little at the storm he had unleashed, the blunt soldier yet held his ground. 'I but warn you what the Council declared…'
'God's curse on your Council, then! Think you they can speak so to me – Elizabeth? Yapping curs! Penniless savages! Lord – what insufferable insolence…!'
'Madam – good lady,' Patrick intervened – and it took courage indeed to interrupt Elizabeth of England in towering rage. 'Sir Robert may have used injudicious words, but he only intended to indicate that passions in Scotland are much roused in this matter. It would be wrong, improper, for us not to have you know it The people here are roused, as you have rightly shown us. If the two realms and peoples are so equally roused, then, alas, blood may well flow, innocent as well as guilty. It becomes but the simple duty of all in whose hands are affairs of state, to act not only by law and rule, but with mutual care and compassion…'
'Shrive me – is that the Master of Gray preaching me a sermon, now!' the Queen broke in, impatiently. 'Are you seeking to teach me my business, sir? Have the pair of you come all this way but to insult and to preach? Have you nothing better than that to say? If not, 'fore God, you may go whence you came -and swiftly!'
Patrick, who indeed had but talked to gain time and a change of tune, nodded now. 'We have indeed, Your Grace. The compassion and care I spoke of, we do not seek only from yourself, noble as is your reputation. Our Prince suggests that his mother, if she were to resign her rights in the succession to your English crown to himself, would no longer endanger you, and so all might live in peace. He will vouch that she will so do.'
'What rights, man – what rights? Mary has no rights. She is a prison
er. She is declared "inhabil", and can resign nothing, convey nothing to her son.'
'If she have no rights, Your Majesty need not fear her. If she have, let her assign them to her son, in whom then will be placed the full title of succession to Your Highness…'
'What – by the Living God!' Elizabeth's voice actually broke, in her passion. 'Get rid of one, and have a worse in her place! Nay – never! That were but to cut my own throat, no less. For you – yes, you, Master of Gray – for a duchy or an earldom to yourself, you or such as you would cause some of your desperate knaves to murder me! And so secure your prince on my throne. No, by God, your master shall never be in this place!' And she banged her white fists on the wooden arms of her throne. 'The sentence stands!'
Patrick took a long breath. 'Even, Madam, if the League, the Protestant League which we so sorely wrought, were to be quite broken… through the passion of the Scots people?'
Tight-lipped Elizabeth nodded
Patrick looked away from her, then, all round the rows of watching, hostile faces, and from them to Melville, and back to David who stood half-a-pace behind them. And one shoulder faintly shrugged
David swallowed, noisily.
Sir Robert, at his colleague's gesture of failure, sank his grey head on wide old shoulders. 'Ma'am,' he mumbled, T beg of you… give us respite. Spare Her Grace… if only for a little. For fifteen days even. That we may have time to seek other instructions from our Prince.' The Melville brothers had always loved Mary.
'No,' the Queen declared
'Then… for a week, lady. Eight short days…'
'Christ-God – no! Not for an hour!' Starting up, Elizabeth stood trembling. 'This audience is at an end!' she cried, and turning about without another glance at envoys or hurriedly bowing lords, she stormed out of the presence-chamber in a swirl of skirts and a glitter of diamonds.
'The woman is a monster!' David declared. 'Crazed with her power, and without human feeling, without sympathy or even conscience. This realm is ruled by a mad-woman, puffed up with belief in her own greatness, her invincibility. Lord – and for her blind pride, our Mary must die…!'
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