The Wisest Fool

by Nigel Tranter

  She declaimed that in something of a hurry, as though before she might forget the words, but none found any fault, and the King nodded sagely.

  "Aye, well said," he commended, loudly. "Only—gain would ha' been better that get, mind. Aye, gain the glory."

  Ignoring his helpful suggestion, Pallas Athene turned graciously to greet the rising Somnus and with zigzag spear banished black Night into the deepest corner of the cave. Somnus made some answering statement, but with insufficient volume to be heard.

  "Speak up!" resounded from various parts of the hall.

  A stirring trumpet voluntary broke in, just a little on the fast side, and out from both flanks of the wings came two lively corps of goddesses, six on each side, one golden-clad, the other silver. All wore the short kilted skirts and sandals, and all were helmeted and masked. They pranced round amongst the trees, the music more or less dictating the antic pace, and came together around the pool, to sing in distinctly breathless chorus with much heaving of divine corslets. The singing was scarcely audible amidst the shouted debate of the audience as to who was who, going by shape, busts, legs and general carriage, with more wagers placed.

  Master Ben Jonson had been very busy, and had written a verse or two for each goddess to recite—and voices gave away identification where other attributes failed. The first two declaimers were accepted as Lady Bedford and Lady Rich, as Vesta and Venus respectively, amongst some spirited argument as to their entire suitability for these parts, with Lady Kildare or Cobham following on. But twelve soliloquies, however refined, cannot be guaranteed to hold the fullest attention of even the most patient assembly, and long before the end the audience was contributing a deal more to the entertainment than was the cast

  It was at this stage that Chief Secretary Cecil, never addicted either to entertainment or drinking, came limping through the crowd to mount the dais and whisper in the ear of the King, who nodded.

  A stately dance of the goddesses brought to an end the first half of the masque, and Nobody announced an interval.

  Hardly had the Queen retired from the scene when Sir Robert Cecil raised a hand, and over at the far door two of the King's tabarded trumpeters blew a prolonged and splendid fanfare. Then Yeomen of the Guard threw open the door and Garter King of Arms strode in, to announce in ringing tones, "By His Gracious Majesty's royal command—the Lady Arabella Stewart!"

  There was a gasping reaction, and then a profound silence. Into the hall stepped a slight figure dressed all in virginal white. Three paces in, she halted, and sank in deepest curtsy—and remained down.

  "Aye," James called, over all the heads. "Welcome, Cousin, to my Court. Come, you."

  She rose, bowed again, and then commenced her long walk across the crowded floor, the four Yeomen clearing a passage for her, Garter King pacing behind.

  Arabella Stewart was aged twenty-eight, with a natural dignity, pale, fair-haired but rather plain, with a firm mouth and determined chin but no especial physical attractions. She had good eyes, however—all the Stewarts had—and a serious, almost studious expression. She was as flat about the chest as a boy.

  That walk across the hall, under the battery of assessing, critical, wondering eyes, must have been an ordeal for a woman who was obviously not of a bold nature. But she performed it well, head held high yet modestly, looking neither right nor left. She carried a folded and sealed letter in her hand.

  It was deformed Cecil himself who came forward to hand her up the dais steps, and lead her round the table to the King, who was on his unsteady feet to receive her—as of course were all the others there, who could stand, though one or two were sprawled out witless and one was actually on the floor. She curtsied again over the hand held out for her to kiss.

  "So, Cousin," James said, and leaned forward to plant a wet kiss approximately above her left eyebrow. "You've come. Ooh, aye— you're here. And looking fine and well. We are pleased to see you."

  "I thank Your Majesty for your gracious summons," she answered, low-voiced, but clear. "Your very humble, grateful and entirely loyal servant." And she held out the paper in her hand.

  "And this, Cousin ?"

  "A letter. Addressed to me, Sire. And unopened. Another I received, under the same seal—and considered treasonable."

  There was a great in-taking of breath throughout the hall.

  "Say you so?" The King peered at the seals, and then cracked them open and spread the paper on the wine-soaked table. "Ha!" he said, allowing himself time to have read only the first few words. "Here is an ill matter. Maist improper. Treasonable, as you say—right treasonable. This letter seeks for you to approach the King o' Spain, the Archdukes in the Netherlands, and the Duke o' Savoy, to assist you to become Queen in this realm, in return for tolerating the Catholic faith and making peace wi' Spain. And you no' to marry without the King o' Spain's consent. Guidsakes—and it says Sir Gervase Markham will carry your message. Aye, and it’s signed by George Brooke. That'll be him that's brother to my Lord Cobham here, Warden o' my Cinque Ports. Heh?"

  There was a deathly hush throughout the great apartment, broken only by a snore or two.

  James looked slowly round the great company. His strange, glowing eyes slid past where Cobham stood as though turned to stone, and Grey de Wilton beside him nibbled his lip anxiously, and on in unhurried survey. Then he spoke.

  "If George Brooke and Sir Gervase Markham be in this room," he rasped, "arrest them! On charge of treason against my realm and person."

  Into the stir Sir Robert Cecil raised his precise voice, to the stab of a pointing finger. "There! And there! Guard!"

  The four Yeomen of the Guard, who clearly knew just what to do and who the victims were, inarched straight over to the two men named, conveniently close to them and clamped stern hands on their shoulders. They offered no resistance, made no protest, and were marched off, men and women drawing aside to give them passage-way as though they were plague-stricken.

  James tossed the paper across the table to Cecil, who picked it up, and went through the process of reading it.

  "This letter contains the names of others besides these," he announced thinly. 'Two Jesuit priests, to act as intermediaries. And... others of more note!" He paused, orninously. "With Your Majesty's gracious permission, this might be best enquired into hereafter."

  "To be sure, Cecil, man," Majesty agreed genially. "Waesucks— is this no' meant to be an evening o' entertainment. Forby, Her Majesty will be getting right impatient again! And that'll no' do. But, before thae goddesses tak ower again, I've a bit word for the Lady Arabella, here. Aye." He turned to the young woman still standing there. "Cousin—I thank you for this notable and leal service for our weal, the realm's weal. And I'm right glad to hae you grace our Court In proof o' which I ordain you a pension o' one thousand pounds sterling each year—frae the Exchequer. Forby a diet frae our royal table—that's eighteen dishes per diem, you ken. And now, I present you wi' this token o' our cousinly affection and regard. Aye, regard." And groping in his doublet pocket, he brought out the chamois-wrapped jewel and handed it to her. Surprised and fumbling, Arabella all but dropped the substantial affair.

  "Mind, woman—it's heavy 1 If s a pendant, gaud or ornature, see you."

  As she gasped at the sudden revealed magnificence of the jewel, James grinned delightedly—at it, rather than at her. "It's real bonny, is it no'? And costly—gey costly." He snatched it from her again, stroked its brilliant surface lovingly for a moment, and then, almost reluctantly, leaned over and hung it round the young woman's neck, planting another slobbering kiss on her cheek. "Aye," he said, "that's it, then" And stepping back, made a shooing-away gesture with his hands.

  Cecil stepped forward, touched Arabella's elbow, and bowed. Obviously bewildered at it all, this abrupt dismissal not the least she curtsied hurriedly again, and was led off, supporting the heavy trinket in both hands.

  James waved vaguely towards the roped-off masque enclosure and sat down heavily to reach for his tan
kard. His own masque over, his wife's might now recommence.

  Wilton's hall buzzed like a hive of bees disturbed.

  The second half of the Masque of the Goddesses suffered rather from anticlimax, not unnaturally. The performers seemed hardly to have their minds on what they were doing, Pallas Athene especially. Moreover, some of the goddesses had most evidently been sustaining themselves during the interval with the divine juice of the grape and there was rather less nervousness but also less coordination, in consequence. The audience, too, had become not a little preoccupied with other things; likewise the dais table imbibings were having cumulative effect Many in the hall clearly decided that this would be a good time to be otherwhere, and, not always unobtrusively, slipped away.

  Anne, with some dramatic sense, perceived that a winding-up was called for, and in the midst of a rather disconnected dialogue between Venus—who was finding it difficult to stand upright— and an even more skittish if substantial Jupiter preferring mime to recitative, possibly because his deep-set male voice unaccountably kept breaking through into the contralto, despatched her attendant to order the musicians to move on to the final dance sequence. This, after a little initial confusion, was achieved, to the relief of all; and the goddesses set themselves to prove the superiority of action over words. Led by Jupiter, a lively abandon prevailed. Not a few of the divinities began to beckon gentlemen of the audience to come and join them, particular and general.

  "I say one hundred pounds on Jupiter being woman—and Alethea Talbot at that!" Philip Herbert shouted.

  "Taken!" Southampton replied. "I say it's the boy Cavendish."

  "It's young Paget..."

  "Na, na—if s a woman. It's Jean Lennox. I ken her shape fine!"

  That was the Earl of Mar.

  "We'll prove it!" Herbert yelled, and tossing his still half-full tankard over towards a corner, leapt down from the dais platform and went weaving towards the dancers.

  Half-a-dozen young and not-so-young bloods followed his example—although not all completed the course, equilibrium being at a premium. Pallas Athene, perceiving the way that things were going, abandoned her nominal control of the dance and made a fairly expeditious exit

  Herbert reached the posturing Jupiter and reached out to remove the mask. As the god put hands up to protect it the young man, with remarkable swiftness considering his state, stooped instead and grabbed the kilted white skirt—worn apparently by Olympians of both sexes—and wrenched. It came away in his hands—to reveal undoubted femininity in the shape of a major golden triangle above choice thighs.

  "Jean Lennox as I said 1" Mar bellowed. "That's one hundred pounds you owe me, Herbert! Aye, and you shall hae half o' it, Jeannie."

  The buxom Duchess continued to dance.

  After that, the situation developed rapidly and predictably. Certain ladies fled—but more remained. Southampton, having lost one bet tried to recoup himself by chasing the curious Nobody around the enclosure. Hampered by the odd garb and limited visibility, this character was fairly quickly caught, upended and more or less efficiently de-breeched—proving to be another female, to royal shouts of satisfaction from the dais.

  The more prudent of the residual ladies decided to flee, squealing, and the sportive remainder accepted the progressive removal of their skirts philosophically. The musicians, not having been commanded otherwise, played on, James thumping on the table-top with his tankard.

  Lennox, abandoning his self-appointed watch over the Lords Cobham and Grey de Wilton who had taken no part in these proceedings, jumped from the dais, snatched up one of the many discarded draperies and ran to wrap it forcibly round his still capering spouse. She protested vigorously, but for once her husband was concerned, and with an accession of strength he dragged her, resisting all the way, off behind the wings, and out.

  George Heriot was also in some concern about Alison Primrose. Admittedly she had followed the Queen out in good time, but she might not have gone far, or might even have come back—and in the present climate of behaviour, even so self-possessed a young woman was unsafe in this part of Wilton House, chain-mail or none. He pushed through the cavorting, laughing, shrieking throng, to hurry after the Duke and Duchess of Lennox.

  Chaos to music reigned behind, as James Stewart watched, smiled a little, sipped, and beat time.

  Out in the long back corridor, where a mixture of dramatics, frolics and hysterics prevailed amongst players, guests and servitors, Heriot heard upraised Scots voices coming from an anteroom. He strode in at the open door to find Lennox, his wife, the Earl of Mar and Alison, the first three all very vocal. The newcomer's appearance had an effect Voices dropped somewhat, and Alison ran to his side, to take his hand.

  With an obvious effort, the Duke mastered himself and spoke more quietly. "My lord of Mar—kindly return to the King's side. In this folly, he may require aid. Aye, and keep an eye on Cobham and Grey. Master Heriot and I will conduct the Duchess to her quarters." He turned to Alison. "Where is the Queen?"

  "She has gone back to her own part of the house. With the Marchioness of Huntly and Margrete Vinster. And two of the Guard. She is well—but angry."

  "No doubt! Well, my lord?"'

  Mar, redder-faced even than usual, and perspiring, bowed stiffly and left

  "Jean, come with us. And no more fuss, if you please.''

  Jupiter, with a discarded toga wrapped round the middle and not a little drunk, was escorted to Wilton's west wing.

  After handing the Duchess over to her tiring-woman, Alison adopting the toga for herself, the trio repaired to the Queen's music-room, empty now and there sat down, to look at each other, silent for the moment

  "So-o-ol" Lennox said, at length. "A notable evening's entertainment! Right notable, as our lord would undoubtedly declare! A right royal occasion. What do you make of it all, Geordie?"

  "Which? This drunken cantrip and what followed? Or what went before?"

  'The last will be forgotten in a day or two at this Court. The other, no."

  Heriot nodded. 'To me it proves once again that we have a cleverer sovereign lord than we are apt to remember."

  "Aye—so think I. Clearly James knew of this plot, yet said nothing. For how long ?"

  "It is a full month since he ordered me to make that jewel. I believed that it was for the Queen. Now we know differently. It was made for a purpose. Only this afternoon he said that maybe it would be worth its great cost. He has arranged all for this night"

  "But why thus? This charade?"

  "That I do not know. Save that he is James and has a mind of much subtlety."

  "I think that he would have no more plots around the Lady Arabella," Alison put in, "Therefore, instead of locking her up in the Tower, as Queen Elizabeth would have done, he binds her to his side thus—and lets all the world see that he does so. It would be a bold faction, would it not that now sought to use Arabella against the King ?"

  "M'mmm. Yes, that could be..."

  "You heard it all, then?" Heriot asked.

  "Yes. We were behind the side-scenes. Watching through slits. The Queen. The Duchess. Many ladies. The Queen was very wrath. Over the Lady Arabella. In especial the jewel. She all but issued forth..."

  "That would have been foolish. The letter, that was strange. Think you it was a forgery? Planted to embroil the plotters. Brooke and the others?"

  "I think not," Lennox said. "I would not doubt that James would use forgery, if need be. Or Cecil. But if what Arabella said was true, that she had received another such letter, it might not be necessary. And forgeries are chancy things—they can be two-edged, when it comes to trial. A sealed and signed letter, displayed before all, would make dangerous evidence, forged."

  "How much do the seals mean? Clearly that letter had been opened before. James and Cecil had both read it"

  "Seals can be softened, opened, and hardened again, yes. All it means is that Arabella received it earlier, handed it over to James, or Cecil, but then was given it back to present
to the King thus strikingly. For better effect"

  "What I do not understand is why the Lords Cobham and Grey were not arrested with the other two?" Alison wondered. "We know that they were in the plot. They were there—and Sir Robert Cecil said that there were other names in the letter. Of more note. Why not arrest them then ?"

  'There would be a reason," Heriot assured. "Those two know what they are at. Possibly they are baiting their hook to catch still larger fish?"

  "You mean... Raleigh ?" Lennox asked.

  "It could be. Raleigh, if indeed he is implicated, could be hard to catch. A clever man, of notable fame. Idol of the people. Cecil hates him, they say although he used to be his friend, profited from his enterprises. They could be laying a trap for Raleigh."

  "Are they sufficiently clever for that ?"

  "Who knows? But I believe they may be. It seems the King scarce needed our good offices!"

  Alison laughed, with her unfailing enjoyment of most situations. "It is the English plotters who need help! They need the Master of Gray, I vow, to teach them how to plot! He would never have bungled it thus."

  Her companions did not contest that.

  PART TWO

  "VICKY," Queen Anne exclaimed, "of God's mercy, go get him! This is beyond all! I vow, if he does not come back forthwith, I shall return to Whitehall by boat! Now. Tell him so. It is cold. I will not wait here, thus. Aye, and as you go, have that woman Arabella's coach moved further back. I will not have her coming immediately behind myself, as though she was some great one. Tell Cecil he must change it"

  Lennox began to speak, checked himself, and sighing, shrugged. "As Your Majesty says." Signing to a groom to hold his horse, he bowed and strode off down the lengthy column. He did not catch his cousin Arabella's eye as he passed her white and gold open coach directly behind the Queen's. That was not difficult, for she looked at the Duke as little as possible, resenting the fact that he now held the Lennox lands in Scotland which she conceived should be hers.