The Wisest Fool
Series: Master of Gray [4]
Published: 1976
Tags: Historical Novel
Historical Novelttt
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THE WISEST FOOL
'Mr Tranter can be relied on for a broad sweep of historical detail and pages full of bustling, well-etched characters... an enjoyable novel ... readable and amusing'
Scotsman
'As compulsive and as abundantly satisfactory as you have come to expect... guaranteed really good value'
She
'In its sweep of character and action, the novel is a considerable achievement... let me hasten to congratulate Mr. Tranter on the vitality and colour of his narrative and on the scope of his historical research'
Scots Magazine
Also by the same author, and available in Coronet Books-Robert the Bruce: The Steps to the Empty Throne The Path of the Hero King The Price of the King's Peace Black Douglas Lord and Master The Courtesan Past Master
Montrose: The Young Montrose Montrose: The Captain General MacGregor's Gathering The Clansman Gold for Prince Charlie
The Wisest Fool
A Novel of James the Sixth and First
Nigel Tranter
CORONET BOOKS Hodderand Stoughjton
Copyright © 1974 Nigel Tranter
First published in Great Britain 1974 by Hodder and Stoughton Limited
Coronet edition 1976
This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the publisher's prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which this is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
Printed and bound In Great Britain for Coronet Books Hodder and Stoughton, London by Hazell Watson & Viney Ltd, Aylesbury, Bucks
ISBN 0340202998
PRINCIPAL CHARACTERS
IN ORDER OF APPEARANCE
GEORGE HERIOT: Merchant Burgess of Edinburgh. Jeweller and man-of-business to the King,
KING JAMES THE SIXTH OF SCOTS: Son of Mary Queen of Scots,
recently succeeded Elizabeth Tudor on the throne of England likewise.
LUDOVICK, SECOND DUKE OF LENNOX : Second cousin of the King.
Lord High Admiral of Scotland.
PATRICK, MASTER OF GRAY: Heir of fifth Lord Gray, Sheriff of Forfar, former acting Chancellor of Scotland, the 'handsomest man in Europe'.
LORD HENRY HOWARD :' Later Earl of Northampton. Younger brother of executed Duke of Norfolk, member of the most powerful family in England.
MARY GRAY : Illegitimate daughter of the Master of Gray. Mistress of Duke of Lennox.
JEAN, DUCHESS OF LENNOX : Wife of the Duke. Great heiress.
ALISON PRIMROSE : Maid-in-Waiting to the Queen. Eldest of the nineteen children of James Primrose, Clerk to the Scots Privy Council
QUEEN ANNE: Wife of King James. Daughter of Frederick the Second of Denmark.
HENRIETTA, MARCHIONESS OF HUNTLY: Principal Lady-in-Waiting. Wife of the Catholic Gordon chief, and sister of the Duke of Lennox.
PRINCESS ELIZABETH: Daughter of James and Anne. Later the famous Queen of Bohemia, 'The Winter Queen' and 'Queen of Hearts'.
ANNABEL, COUNTESS OF MAR: Mother of Earl of Mar. Foster-mother of the King.
PRINCE HENRY FREDERICK, DUKE OF ROTHESAY: Later Prince of Wales. Eldest son of James and Anne.
ALEXANDER SETON, LORD FYVIE : Chancellor of Scotland. Later Earl of Dunfenriline.
JOHN, EARL OF MAR : Great Scots noble. Foster-brother of the King.
HARRY WRIOTHESLEY, EARL OF SOUTHAMPTON : English courtier and favourite of the King.
SIR ROBERT CECIL : Chief Secretary of State. Later Earl of Salisbury.
PHILIP HERBERT : Brother of the Earl of Pembroke. Favourite of
the King, and later Earl of Montgomery.
LADY ARABELLA STEWART: Cousin of the King. Daughter of King Henry Darnley's brother.
THOMAS EGERTON, EARL OF ELLESMERE: Lord Chancellor of England.
PRINCE CHARLES, DUKE OF ALBANY : Second son of the King. Later Duke of York, and eventually King Charles the First
DUKE ULRIC OF HOLSTEIN : Brother of Queen Anne.
PATRICK, SECOND EARL OF ORKNEY: Eldest son of the King's illegitimate uncle.
HENRY HOWARD, EARL OF NOTTINGHAM : The former Lord Howard of Effingham, Lord High Admiral of England.
THOMAS HOWARD, EARL OF SUFFOLK : Lord Chamberlain. Another brother of the late Duke of Norfolk. WILLIAM PARKER, LORD MOUNTEAGLE : A Catholic English peer.
GUIDO FAWKES : Catholic adventurer and conspirator.
MARGARET HARTSIDE : A chambermaid to the Queen.
KING CHRISTIAN THE FOURTH OF DENMARK: Brother of Queen Anne.
SIR THOMAS HAMILTON OF BINNING: Lord Advocate. Later first Earl of Melrose, then Earl of Haddington. THOMAS HOPE : Edinburgh advocate. Later Lord Advocate.
JAMES PRIMROSE: Alison's father, Clerk to the Scots Privy Council.
SIR GEORGE HOME OF MANDERSTON : Favourite of the King. Created Earl of Dunbar and Great Commissioner. WILL SHAKESPEARE : Actor and playwright.
ANDREW MELVILLE : Presbyterian divine. Leader of the Kirk party in Scotland.
TAMES MELVILLE : Nephew of above. Also noted divine.
RICHARD BANCROFT, Archbishop of Canterbury.
LADY MARIE STEWART: Wife of the Master of Gray. Sister of the
Earl of Orkney and niece of the King.
ROBERT KERR, or CARR : Brother of Kerr of Ferniehirst King's favourite. Later Earl of Somerset.
JAMES ELPHINSTONE, LORD BALMERINO : Secretary of State for Scotland, and Lord President of the Court of Session.
JAMES HAY, VISCOUNT DONCASTER: An earlier favourite of the King, Later Earl of Carlisle,
PART ONE
1
THE THUNDER OF the cannon from Berwick's castle and walls stopped abruptly—presumably these having run out of powder after nearly two hours of gleeful banging such as the old grey town had not heard since Edward Longshanks' days. In the sudden hush, the chatter of hundreds of tongues, necessarily unpraised previously to counter the din, as hurriedly dropped away, abashed, and only the wailing of the gulls, wheeling everlastingly above the Tweed's estuary, sounded over all the brilliant and colourful throng.
Men and women might stare, even though chatter would probably be considered unseemly—and certain unseemlinesses were frowned upon in no uncertain fashion, though others were not; one could never be quite sure, majesty being an unpredictable quantity and quality. Stare the great company did, then, with varying expressions—and to the keen eye it could have been noteworthy that the variations might be classed under two main heads, the amused and the shaken. Moreover, these categories themselves could be allotted to the two constituent groups, almost exactly. The Scots mainly tittered, and the English looked astonished, alarmed, even appalled. It was as simple as that, on the Spittal shore of Tweed, at the southern end of Berwick Bridge.
One Scot there, watching, neither tittered nor looked shaken, however. A man in his late thirties, dressed richly but not with the extravagance of padding, clashing colour and ornamentation which was prevalent around him, he was stockily built, sandy-haired, with no very distinguished features but shrewd alert eyes which missed nothing, a quietly watching, assessing, steady man whose expression was nevertheless redeemed from anything of stern self-interest by the upturning corners of a firm mouth above a small beard, which hinted at humour never far away. George Heriot was apt to see the amusing side of life, without necessarily bursting into laughter over it all, and sought not to be mocking about it—difficult as this frequently was in his circumstances.
But he
did not smile now, whatever the attitude of most of his compatriots present, for his sympathies were engaged, strangely enough.
Not that the scene lacked anything to make a cat laugh. To see a knock-kneed, over-dressed, slobbering little man down on the said knees kissing the beaten ground amongst the horse-droppings at the bridge-end, and mumbling wetly, high beribboned hat tipped forward over his nose, was a sight seldom to be seen. And when the individual so engaged was Christ's Vicar here on earth —or so he confidently asserted—the Lord's Anointed, James, by the grace of God King, not only of Scots but, since exactly two weeks previously, of England also, the first ever so to be, the thing became the more extraordinary. What added to the general Scots appreciation, of course, was the evident upset and confusion of the English notables most close to the monarch, who, unused to the ways of their new liege lord, did not know whether to get down on the earth with him, pray with him—if that was what he was doing—seek to raise him up, look the other way, or merely wring their hands and look unhappy. When the King stands, all men stand—in England certainly, and presumably in Scotland also. And they were in England now—just. But did it also apply to kneeling, kissing and mumbling? The Earl of Northumberland, representing the Privy Council and both Houses of Parliament, looked at the Bishop of Durham, representing the Archbishops of Canterbury and York before the new Head of the Church of England, but got no help there, and turned to his brother, Sir Charles Percy, who had been escorting their sovereign lord all the way from Edinburgh and ought to know the form. Sir Charles spread his delicate hands helplessly, looking pained in dignified fashion. He had been a courtier of Elizabeth's for thirty years, and never had had to face a problem such as this before.
George Heriot still did not smile, but he scratched his small beard in anticipation.
James Stewart solved the problem in his own way. As abruptly as he had collapsed on his spindly, knobbly knees when he had tottered off the bridge, he stopped his prayers and praise for safe delivery, tipped his very odd and high hat to the back of his head, to look up and around him. And those great lachrymose but lustrous eyes, possibly the only inheritance he had, other than a kingdom, from his beauteous mother Mary Queen of Scots, were searching and shrewd as Heriot's own. The Wisest Fool in Christendom missed little of what went on around him.
"Man—have me up, can you no' ?" he demanded, at Northumberland. "Standing there gawping like a great gowk! Aye, and you, my lord Bishop—what way's that to bide? Have you no' a word o' thanks to your Maker for winning us ower this Jordan?"
Even as Earl and Bishop burst into comprehensive apology for any seeming neglect, either of their liege lord or their Maker, a score of eager hands hastened to raise Majesty to its feet, each jostling all others in the process.
A voice spoke quietly at Heriot's shoulder. "I swear I am sorry for these English, Master Heriot—tears that I had never thought to shed!" That was Ludovick Stewart, Duke of Lennox, at present the only duke in two kingdoms, the King's far-out cousin and intermittent friend if not favourite. "Their education commences, I think!"
The other shrugged slightly. "Ours also, perhaps, my lord Duke. Who knows ? There is change in the air."
"Change, aye. But... for the better ?"
"We must make it so. If we can. And we at least have this advantage—His Grace will not change, whatever else may!"
King James had turned round to face the bridge again, and was pointing, arm and finger still trembling from his alarm and emotion. He spoke thickly—always he spoke thickly, wetly, for his tongue was too large for his mouth and the spittle ran constantly down his straggly beard, as adequate an excuse for a permanent thirst as might be devised. To steady himself, he grabbed Sir Charles Percy's richly padded sleeve, with the other hand.
"Yon's a right shameful brig," he declared. "Your brother, this Northumberland, should have done better, for me, man It's no' right and proper, I tell you. I... we are much disappointed. Yon's a disgrace. We might have been submerged in the cruel waters— aye, submerged. It wabbles, sirs—it quakes. It'll no' do, I say."
"To be sure, Sire. As Your Majesty says. But I assure Your Majesty that it is safe. Entirely safe." Northumberland, still clutching the as yet undelivered address of welcome from the Privy Council in London, was earnestly placatory. "It has always been thus. I have ridden across it a hundred times..."
"It shoogles, sir—it shoogles. And creaks. Are you contesting my royal word, Englishman?"
"No, Sire—no! I swear! But... but..."
The Bishop gallantly, if rashly, came to the rescue. "Your Majesty, old wooden bridges do creak. In especial long ones. And, er, quiver somewhat But it has survived a thousand storms..."
"Each more weakening it, man—weakening it Guidsakes, you came here, to bide this side, waiting on me, me your prince, to take his life in his two hands, and cross yon death-trap to you! What like a people and nation is this I've come amongst?"
"But, Highness—this is the English side. Where it was our duty, our joyful duty, to wait and greet you. On setting your royal foot on our, h'm, on your English soil. For the first time. Berwick Bridge, therefore, is only half in this realm of England. Your Majesty will not hold us responsible for, for the Scots end...?"
"Na, na, mannie—you'll no' win awa' with that sort o' talk, see you. Yon ill Richard Plantagenet stole Berwick from us lang-syne; 1427 to be precise—aye, 1427, nigh on two centuries past You've sat snug in our Berwick since then, have you no' ? Complain as we would. North o' the brig. So you'll no can jouk your responsibilities. Incidis in Scyllam cupiens vitarc Charybdim. You, a churchman, will ken what that means?"
"Er, yes, Sire." Tobias Mathew was as unused to a monarch as quoted Latin at him, as he was to one who gabbled in almost incomprehensible dialect, dribbled and prayed to his Maker in the public highway. He sought to change the subject "We have letters for Your Majesty. From the Convocation of Canterbury and York, and from the High Court of Parliament And, of course, Your Majesty's Privy Council..."
"Aye. But this brig," the King said. "It'll no' do. You'll just hae to build a new one. D'you hear? My command—aye, our first royal command on this our English ground. A guid new stout brig o' stone, see you. That'll no' wabble. Forthwith. See you to it, my lords. My... my Treasury in London will pay for it."
There was a moment of utter silence. Then a peal of silvery, musical laughter rang out, from the Master of Gray, sheer enjoyment, appreciation; and everywhere the Scots broke into grins and chuckles, while their brand-new fellow-subjects of England, until so recently such proud Elizabethans, exchanged ominous glances.
But James Stewart frowned. He was always suspicious of laughter provoked by himself, even though it came from the Master of his royal Wardrobe and the handsomest man in Europe.
"Hud your wheesht, Patrick Gray!" he commanded. "Every dog his day, aye—but your day's done!"
"Oh, I pray not, Sire," the gallant and debonair Master said,
easily. "Who knows—it may just be beginning. Like, h'm, some
others!"
"Na, na, Patrick man—no' so like some others!" The King whinnied a laugh of his own, and licked those slobbering lips. "I'm thinking this is where we part company, see you."
Suddenly blank-faced, the brilliant ornament of the Scottish Court stood as though stunned. For once the most eloquent man in two kingdoms found no words—and none other thought to raise his voice.
"I... I do not understand, Your Grace," he got out, at length.
"No? Do you no', Patrick? And you sharp o' the wits! Yet it's simple, man—fell simple. I go on to this London-town—and you do not You turn back. You understand now, my mannie?"
"Your Grace means that you wish me to return to Edinburgh ? Meantime. To complete some business of state there, before coming to London?"
"My Grace doesna mean any such thing, no. We left a' things well arranged in Edinburgh, mind, Ooh, aye—Edinburgh'll manage fine."
"Then, Sire, I repeat—I do not understand you."
/> "It's no' like you, Patrick, to be so dull in the uptak! Most times you're quick enough—aye, ower quick, by far! But since you'll have it so, I needs must discover you the matter. You are a rogue, Master o' Gray—and I've aye kenned you were a rogue! But I needed a rogue, see you. A great rogue, to berogue the lesser rogues around me." James paused, mouthing, his strange glowing glance making a slow half-circuit of all around him, the entire gorgeous throng, English and Scots. "Ooh, aye—it's a great place for rogues, is Scotland But I intend to leave them there, Patrick man—no' to take them with me. Like a dog shakes off its fleas! The English are honester folk, they tell me—eh, my lord Bishop? Save maybe where Berwick and brigs are concerned! And if they have a rogue or two in London—waesucks, I'll find one o' their ain breed to berogue them! I'll no' need the likes o' you in London, Patrick, Master o' Gray. Now, you understand?"
The handsome elegant with the flashing eyes said nothing. For a long moment he stared his monarch in the eye. Then he bowed, stiffly for so agile and courtly a man, and turning, pushed his way quickly through the throng, to his horse.
The King's laughter was not nearly so musical as the Master of the Wardrobe's and one-time acting-Chancellor's had been.
"Change, my God!" the Duke of Lennox gasped. 'This, this is beyond all! The man who put him where he is, no less. Cast aside like a done nag!"
"Quietly, my lord Duke!" George Heriot murmured. "English ears, they say, are long! And they learn quickly."
"But . . . Patrick Gray jettisoned. A rogue, perhaps—but the cleverest head in Scotland. Or in England either, for a wager! I swear my cousin can ill afford to be so nice! And look whom he does take with him! The Kerrs. John Bothwell. George Home, Erskine. Ramsay. Hay. The scum of Scotland!"
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