The Wisest Fool

by Nigel Tranter

  "I would have done, had I known that your ladyship was with the gentleman." The newcomer dipped the merest sketch of a curtsy to the Duchess. There was nothing pert or unsuitable about it, but undoubtedly her answer had been quick and could have borne more than one shade of meaning. She beamed an almost impish smile on the man. "Her Grace is ready to receive you, Master Heriot," she added.

  The Duchess drew a deep breath, to raise her splendid bosom, opened her lips to speak and then thought better of it With a glare at the girl and a mere nod at Heriot, she swept out of the room as proudly as she had entered.

  The man cleared his throat, blinking his surprise.

  The girl was very young to have got rid of so formidable a lady, little more than a child indeed, of a slim, boyish figure, great lively eyes, not really pretty but with a gamin attractiveness and a most engaging and ready smile.

  "This way, if you please," she invited.

  "H'mm. You are surprisingly, er, effective, young woman," he said. "You accomplished in two moments what I had been unable to do in ten minutes !"

  She grinned widely, showing excellent, regular teeth. 'The Duchess is perhaps less successful with her own sex than she is with yours, sir!"

  "Indeed " Absorbing the implications of this, and from a chit of a girl who looked scarcely past school age, Heriot followed her out into the arras-hung corridor. "You are new in the Queen's service, I think? In fact, I am sure of it I would scarce have overlooked you, i' faith!"

  "Yes, sir. I am Her Grace's newest Maid-in-Waiting. Alison Primrose by name."

  'Primrose? That is not a common name. Are you sib to James Primrose, Clerk to the Privy Council, perhaps ?"

  "My she, sir. As he is to eighteen others!" And her laugh rang out along the corridor, clear and uninhibited.

  "Ah." Heriot had heard of the little lawyer's abounding brood —no doubt an excellent whetstone on which this child had had to sharpen her wits and polish her assurance.

  She seemed to read his thoughts. "After my family, Mistress Gray told the Queen that I would find her service but little trouble," she confided. "Duchesses and countesses the least of it!" "Mistress Gray ? She was in this ?"

  "Why yes, sir. She is my good friend. And has no little weight with Her Grace."

  So this was Mary Gray's contact within the Queen's household? As adept as her father, probably, at gaining information and influencing events—a shrewder choice than the Duchess of Lennox, for sure. He would keep an eye on Alison Primrose—and no great hardship, either.

  A blast of hot and distinctly stuffy air met him as the girl threw open the door of the royal bedchamber and announced him cheerfully.

  The large room was as untidy as it was overheated, with a huge log fire blazing in a twelve-feet-wide open hearth, despite the warm April morning, clothes, furs and women's things littered everywhere, chests open and spilling, small dogs squabbling and yapping, and the great bed itself a heap of disarranged linen, covers and pillows, in which Anne and two dogs sat.

  "Master Geordie, good Master Geordie!" the Queen cried, in the thick and guttural accent she never quite lost. "Why you are come I do not know. But you are welcome. It is good to see an honest man's face, a man I can trust" And she extended a be-ringed hand to him, over the dogs and bedclothes.

  He bowed deeply and moved forward to take and kiss the outstretched hand.

  George Heriot was a noticing man, but he did not have to be to wonder what the Queen had been doing while he waited for her to be ready to receive him. For her long hair was still in an uncombed cascade about her shoulders, and under the loose and gaping purple bed-robe she was most evidently entirely naked, her swollen breasts and distended belly very visible and not particularly enticing. Admittedly she wore bracelets as well as the many rings, which flashed with diamonds, rubies and sapphires—of Heriot's own providing—but they might well have been on all night. She was a thin-faced, sharp-eyed, long-nosed and chinned young woman, still only twenty-seven, with a high brow, not beautiful but with a very white alabaster skin, a lively manner and an air of breeding. Heriot noticed something else. The pillows and bedclothes to the Queen's left clearly showed that she had had a bedfellow until very recently. He did not really suspect it to have been a man.

  "You may go, Primrose," Anne said, and the girl bowed herself out. There was however a faint hint of movement, of a presence, from an open-doored dressing-room adjoining.

  "I rejoice to see Your Grace. And looking well," the man said. "I bring you a letter from the King. Also messages of His Grace's love and warm attachment His wishes that all should go most well with your affairs."

  The Queen took the proffered letter but dropped it on the covers. "His Grace is but little concerned with my well-being, I think," she said briefly. "That is not why he sent you, I swear."

  "H'rr'mm. Your Grace must not think that. It is wholly because of his thought and care for you that I am here, I promise you..."

  "Has he sent orders for my son Frederick to be delivered to me? From that wicked old woman. My first-born. Only if he has will I believe in his love and attachment, Master Geordie."

  Heriot cleared his throat. "Er, not yet. Not exactly that, Madam..."

  'Then his messages are of no interest to me!" Passionately she said it. "He is a cruel and wicked man, and no true husband. How can he separate a mother from her children so? He is a monster, a heartless monster!"

  "Your Grace—he is none so ill as that! Because Prince Henry is heir to the throne, the King is concerned lest men of ill will lay hands on him, use him for their own ends, against the Crown. As indeed they did to himself, as a boy. At Ruthven. He cannot have that to happen. So he keeps him in the secure fortress of Stirling, in the care of the Mars. Lady Mar was his own foster-mother, her son, the present Earl, the King's oldest friend, almost as good as a brother..."

  "And both of them hate me, the Queen! Frederick's mother." It was one of the oddities of the Scottish Court that the Queen Insisted that her older son was named Frederick, after her father the King of Denmark, while James named him Henry as gesture towards Elizabeth and her father Henry the Eighth, in his gropings towards the coveted English succession. Which had come first at the christening, only Bishop Cunningham of Aberdeen knew for sure, who had diplomatically mumbled the names.

  "Highness—I do believe that you mistake. It is not so..."

  "You think not? Then why will the woman not allow me to see my son? In Stirling Castle. Deny me, the Queen I Her son Mar is with the King, in England. And she forbids me I My little Frederick—in that she-devil's clutch!"

  Heriot drew a deep breath, and came to a decision. He lowered his voice, glancing towards the open dressing-room door. "Madam —have you had any word of a move to, er, take your son out of Stirling Castle?"

  "What Jeg forstar ikke. Hvad er der i den? Take him? Who? When? What is this?" She leaned forward urgently, uncaring for her more fully displayed nakedness.

  Satisfied that Anne, who was no dissembler nor actress, could by no means fabricate this surprise and eagerness, he went on. "Has the Master of Gray had word with Your Grace? Or the Mistress Mary, indeed?"

  "Gray ? Saints protect us—if that man is in it, then no good will come of it. He is, I believe, the Devil himself!"

  "So I have heard others declare. Your Grace knows nothing of this?"

  "How should I know? The Master of Gray does not confide his plots to me! What is it? What has my son to do with it?"

  "Highness—there is someone in your dressing-room. I can hear it. What I have to say is not for other ears..."

  "Mercy—it is only Henrietta! My good confidante and bedfellow." She raised her voice. "Hetty, sweeting—come. I have no secrets from Hetty." A tall, pale young woman came out, rather guiltily, her bed-robe wrapped considerably more tightly around her than was the Queen's, pretty in an anaemic way, Henrietta Stewart, Marchioness of Huntly, sister of the Duke of Lennox.

  Heriot bowed. He was not as relieved as he might have been. For thi
s young woman, brought from France to marry Scotland's premier Catholic noble, the Gordon chief, George first Marquis of Huntly, was herself strongly Catholic, a notable entertainer of Jesuits and credited with seeking to turn the Queen to the old religion. And, according to Mary Gray, the Master looked for support for his plot from the Catholics. She had even named Huntly, himself a notorious schemer.

  "Hetty—you know Master Heriot?" Anne said. "My true servant and friend."

  The other nodded, silent

  "I know her ladyship's husband, my lord of Huntly," the man said. "We have had, h'm, dealings."

  "Ha—I swear he owes you money, like all the rest As do I, indeed!"

  "His lordship is, I am sure, an excellent risk, Highness. It is my privilege..."

  "Save us—you need not be afraid of miscalling Huntly in front of Hetty. She seldom sees him—nor wishes it otherwise! She had no more choice in wedding George Gordon than had I in wedding James Stewart! We are neither of us fortunate in our husbands 1"

  The man looked uncomfortable. "Your Grace jests. And I am a loyal subject and servant of King James also."

  "How loyal?" Anne jerked. "You were my servant, my jeweller, before you were James's, do not forget."

  He nodded. "I never forget it And am grateful," he assured.

  "Then—tell me of this plot You may speak out before the Marchioness. She is wholly trustworthy."

  "I was a d'Aubigny Stewart's daughter before ever I was a Gordon's wife," that young woman said quietly, her first contribution to the discussion,

  "Very well, Highness. There is nothing certain. But Mistress Gray believes that there is a plan to get Mar to yield up the Prince Henry, and to declare him King of Scots in place of his father, gone to England. The Master of Gray and sundry others, to rule the country in the boy's name."

  "Sweet Jesu! They would, would depose James? Impossible!"

  "Not so, I fear. After all, they deposed the King's mother, Mary. And King James is in no state to start his English reign by raising an army against Scotland and going to war."

  The women stared at him.

  "His Grace has grievously offended the Master of Gray, who so largely built up bis succession policy. And he is an ill man to cross. Moreover, there is no strong man, or strong faction, left in Scotland to support the King's cause. Most of his friends are gone south with him. The Catholic lords are here still, and strong, but..." He left the rest unsaid.

  "Aye—George would take a hand in this, I swear!" the Marchioness averred.

  "A mercy! The Master of Gray, it would be, to think of this! But—Mar? He is James's friend. No friend of mine, God knows. And an oaf! But would he betray James ?"

  "This I do not know. It is the one factor which makes me doubt. Mar is with the King now. He was never keen on the English succession, I think—but I have no reason to believe that he would turn against the King. Nevertheless, the Master of Gray seldom misjudges."

  "He is an unpleasant man," Lady Huntly observed. "I would not trust him."

  "What are we to do ?" the Queen demanded.

  "I think we must go to Stirling, Your Grace. If you are able to travel? Demand the Prince Henry from the old Countess."

  "I wrote a letter to her. Requiring her to deliver up my son to me. She sent reply that she would not. She would give him up only to the King."

  "If Your Grace went, in person. I with you. Saying that I came from the King. She might heed us. Lacking her son and the other Erskines."

  "If you think it. When? When shall we go?" "The sooner the better. For the Master may strike at any time." 'Today, then. We shall eat, and then ride. Hetty—my clothes..."

  "Ah, scarcely so soon, Highness. It is noon, and near twenty miles to Stirling. In Your Grace's present state you dare not ride fast. Tomorrow will serve, I think. Moreover, we need a tail of men. The Queen must ride properly escorted. How many have you here?"

  "A score. More."

  "Not sufficient, Highness. For this. You must appear strong. With authority."

  'Livingstone, the Earl of Linlithgow will find me men. At Haining Castle, but a few miles away. He keeps my daughter Elizabeth—but is no unfriend."

  "Good, I shall go speak with him. Tomorrow, then. In the morning. Highness—have I your permission to retire ?"

  'To be sure. Ring the bell for the Primrose girl, Hetty. She will find you a room and see to your comfort, Master Geordie."

  "I thank you. She looks to be a bright lass, that one."

  "Over-bright, perhaps. For her years. I do not know, yet, whether I may trust her. I trust few in Scotland, even in my own household."

  "Including my lusty good-sister" the Marchioness said, sniffing.

  Alison Primrose appeared, and Heriot bowed himself out.

  "Where would you wish to have your bedchamber, Master Heriot?" the girl asked, innocently, in the cooler corridor. "Near the Duchess's ? Or... otherwhere?"

  "Nearer yours, perhaps," he answered lightly. "Though— would I be any safer there... ?"

  * * *

  The next morning, escorted by the Earl of Linlithgow and sixty men-at-arms, the Queen and her ladies rode for Stirling, Anne carried in a horse-litter slung between two placid jennets, with George Heriot insisting on the most unhurried progress— for the last thing he wanted was for the King to accuse him of causing his wife to miscarry, as she had done once already. They went by the Roman Wall and the great Tor Wood, largely through Livingstone lands. On Heriot's suggestion Lord Linlithgow brought along his charge, the Princess Elizabeth, a lovely and vivacious girl of seven, all spirited grace, extraordinary to be the offspring of James and Anne, although not so extraordinary a grand-daughter for Mary Queen of Scots. She elected to ride with Alison Primrose, and together they lightened a dull morning.

  George Heriot rode with these two—save when he was summoned to the Queen's side—partly because they were the best company, partly in that he had, as ever, to be careful not to seem to presume on the Queen's friendliness. He was only an Edinburgh burgess, after all, and in the company of the Earl, Sir Harry Lindsay, Master of the Queen's Household, the Duchess of Lennox, the Marchioness of Huntly and other high-born individuals, he was of very humble status. Admittedly he came of lairdly stock, the Heriots of Trabourn, in Lothian, but that was three generations back, and his father had been a goldsmith, a tradesman, before him. Not infrequently his privileged position close to the Crown was an embarrassment.

  They came to the grey, climbing town of Stirling, above the silver coils of the River Forth but crouching beneath its soaring rock-girt citadel, in early afternoon. Queen Anne shook her fist at its lofty battlements.

  "My poor Frederick !" she cried.

  Through the narrow streets and up the steep hill they rode to the ancient fortress of Scotland's kings where so much of the land's turbulent history had been written. Their approach had been under observation for a long time, inevitably, and at the wide forecourt apron, high above the town and meandering river, the great gatehouse doors were found to be barred against them, the drawbridge up.

  "Who comes in armed strength to the King's royal castle of Stirling?" a harsh voice hailed them from the gatehouse parapet.

  "The Queen, fool!" Linlithgow shouted back. "Can you not recognise the royal standard of this realm?" And he pointed to the flag carried by one of his men. "Her Grace requires to see her son, the Prince Henry Frederick, Duke of Rothesay." A still larger royal standard than their own floated above the castle's topmost tower.

  "Wait you, while I inform the Countess of Mar," the captain of the guard returned.

  "Knave! Jackanapes!" the Earl roared. 'Think you to keep your Queen waiting like some packman at the door. Lower this bridge and open the gates immediately."

  There was no answer from the gatehouse.

  As the illustrious company fumed and fretted, the Queen swore that the guard-captain would hang for this.

  "He would hang the more promptly had he let us in, Highness," Heriot pointed out "The Countess
Annabel has a notably short way with her, I have heard. She only is of account here."

  "In my country she would be horsewhipped and then drowned I" Anne snapped.

  "She would still have to be caught first, Your Grace 1" The Duchess of Lennox pointed out

  Presently, a small shrunken figure appeared at the gatehouse parapet with the guard-commander, rather ridiculous-seeming in a high hat with ostrich feathers and an old tartan plaid hugged about her, Annabel, Countess-Dowager of Mar, who had reared King James with her own family. She made no gesture towards the waiting company.

  "Her ladyship says that she listens," the commander called.

  As the Queen exploded with something wrathful and presumably Danish, Linlithgow raised his voice.

  "Countess of Mar—Her Grace is much displeased to be kept waiting thus. She demands that you punish severely your insolent churl of a guard. And that you order these gates open, forthwith, that she may see her royal son."

  The Countess spoke to the captain, who began to answer.

  "Not you, fool! We do not speak with underlings."

  'The Countess says that she does not engage in unmannerly shoutings, sir." And as Linlithgow spluttered, "She says likewise that she will speak only with the Queen—if she is indeed present"

  In the ensuing uproar, Heriot moved closer to xthe Queen. "Wrath will achieve nothing, Your Grace," he said. "I urge that you move nearer to the bridge-end where we can speak without shouting."

  Reluctantly the Queen ordered it

  "Countess of Mar," she called clearly, from her litter. "I am Anne of Scotland—as you can see very well, unless age has blinded you I I require you to open these gates and deliver my son to me."