The Wisest Fool

by Nigel Tranter

  James had been waiting for this. After a little he obtained approximate quiet by the usual methods. "My friends," he said, "it is my pleasure and satisfaction to mak twa pronouncements. One is that the Queen and mysel' are to be blessed wi' another bairn, to be born, God willing, in the month o' March, to our notable joy, aye joy. The bairn was conceived between us here, in this England, in this very house o' Whitehall—and so is your very ain prince, or again princess. It is our royal wish and intention suitably to mark the occasion some fashion. Aye, in some fashion no' yet decided. Accordingly, my friends, I therefore seek your kindly suggestions to that end. In due course. You will pleasure me and the Queen by thinkin' o' some worthy design, mark or employ, to grace the occasion o' this notable birth o' the first prince o' our Great Britain. Think on it, and inform me."

  Far apart as they were placed, Duke Ludovick and George Heriot managed to exchange glances of mixed admiration, relief and amusement However uncouth, it was no fumbling hand which steered this so doubtfully united ship of state.

  When the cheering died down, James went on. "My second pronounce concerns my guid and loving cousin Patrick, Earl o' Orkney," and he waved a cousinly hand towards the Stewart table, "and his brothers, forby. It pleases me much to gie them welcome to this my Court in London. Mind, they're no' a' here—the brothers. I canna just mind how mony there are 1" He chuckled, to emphasise the genial tenor of his remarks.

  "Ower mony!" Patrick Stewart interpolated briefly, into the laughter.

  "Eh? You say so, Pate? Aye, well—maybe. We can a' hae too much o' a guid thing, even. My Cousin Pate—he's a swack lad, as you'll see. And guid on a horse or a woman! He'll maybe teach you a thing or twa, Philip!" He paused. "But it grieves me right notably to say that I've got something against the guid Pate, aye. A small matter, just—that maybe needs put to the test. My Council in Scotland, see you, is getting fair deluged, aye deluged, wi' complaints and protests frae the guid folk o' Orkney and Zetland anent oppressions, extortions and depredations—aye, and rapes too, mighty rapes—committed they do say by my said Cousin Pate, Earl thereof. Och, unpleasant, unpleasant! It's maybe a' lees, mind—untruths. But it will hae to be enquired into."

  The sudden silence was dramatic. All sober enough to recognise what was happening, sat up in various stages of alertness.

  "What is this?" Orkney demanded slowly, quietly.

  "A small matter, Cousin," the King answered easily. "We'll hae my Scots Privy Council investigate. Och, they will likely assure me there's nae truth in it. Or no' much. Or you'll explain, to our royal satisfaction. But we maun enquire, see you—when so mony complain. You'll no' think ill o' me for that, will you, Patrick man? It'll no' tak that long."

  The Earl's ravaged features were set like stone, his cold eyes icy.

  "Meanwhile," James went on affably, "I'll need to keep you under watch and ward, eh ? To show your island folk that they've still got a king to look after them—though six hundred miles awa'! Ooh, aye—my duty, nae less. We'll no' ward you right straitly, mind, Pate—no' in the Tower, or the like! But you'll consider yoursel' under my royal care and keeping. Aye—and you'll no return to Orkney, nor yet Zetland, until I say so—as precaution, just But, man—you'll be gey little inconvenienced."

  Patrick Stewart was entirely still, motionless—and, strangely, infinitely more dangerous-seerning, menacing, than if he had risen and stormed in wrath. There was dead silence for long moments. Then he gave a single nod. "We will speak with Your Grace on this, after," he said evenly, authoritative still.

  "Do that, my lord," James agreed. "Meanwhile, hold yoursel' in ward, just Answerable to our cousin the Duke o' Lennox. That's best." He smiled round on all, a man entirely at his ease. "Well—that's my twa pronouncements. The Queen's bit masque will be starting—and we'll need to gie it due attention, mind. But the night’s young yet. So drink up, my lords and gentles. Eh, Philip—the night's young yet, man ?"

  "I am at Your Majesty's disposal, any hour," the bridegroom called back, hiccuping, amidst relieved laughter.

  "Aye—you're time will come..."

  Tension eased as it became apparent that the Earl of Orkney had a firm grip on himself and his brothers, and obviously intended that there should be no scenes or trouble meantime. None doubted his capacity to make such trouble, in his own time. That superficial harmony was not in fact achieved there and then was not his fault, the trouble starting elsewhere. Attendants were now wheeling in scenery and backcloths for the entertainment to follow. Master Inigo Jones, a serious and rather self-important young man, who had learned his craft of painter in Italy, where he had had the Medicis as patrons, came hurrying in to speak to the Garter King, as Master of Ceremonies, declaring that they must have more room, and that at least one of the lengthy side-tables would have to be cleared away if the masque was to be properly staged. Also a corner of the dais itself, if that was possible.

  Good-naturedly the King agreed, and there followed a major upheaval, for a while, as furniture was moved about, and guests likewise. The deer-hounds presented a problem, and had to be manoeuvred into a corner with much tact Various new groupings formed amongst the company, and Heriot found himself able to stand at Alison's side, where Lennox presently joined them. They had just begun to exchange appreciative comments on James's remarkable handling of the Queen-Orkney situation, when high words drew all eyes to the dais again. The table there had been moved back and sideways, and a rearrangement of seats became necessary—various dais guests being already on the floor and no longer requiring chairs. The Duke of Holstein had apparently come rather poorly out of this readjustment, precedence-wise, and now was placed further from the King's chair than heretofore— although in the same position relative to the Queen's empty throne. The fact was that James was getting to that stage of the evening when he liked to have his especial hard-drinking favourites close around him, regardless of rank and precedence—and although Ulric was sufficiently hard-drinking, the King was getting a little tired of his brother-in-law, more especially with the labour of conversation in a mixture of Danish-English-Latin-Doric. So now Ulric was on his feet, making protest loud and long, assisted by his Danish aides, all roaring drunk anyway. Ludovick hurried away again, fairly certain that the monarch would soon be railing upon him to pour oil on troubled waters.

  "That Ulric is a fat stot!" Alison observed succinctly. 'The sooner he sails back to Denmark, the better. The Queen has had quite enough of him. What would the King do without Duke Vicky?"

  "He has been doing notably well without him, or anyone else, this evening, I swear I" the man returned. "James has achieved more than I would have believed possible, since coming into this room."

  "Yes. But when aught goes amiss, he calls for the Duke. Or you. This masque will never succeed tonight It is too late. Folk are too drunk. Too much has gone before. Moreover, Master Jonson and Master Jones are at each others' throats. It will come to grief. Heigho—there will be worse upsets than Duke Ulric's ruffled pride for Duke Vicky and you to deal with, before the night is out!"

  'You do not sound unduly cast down at the prospect I" She laughed. "Should I? This Court itself is a better show than any masque! I am sorry for the Queen. But she ought to have let Lord Pembroke have his masque tonight, for his brother's wedding. Sakes—look at yon bullock from Denmark!"

  James was not greatly trying to placate his brother-in-law. His suggestion that Ulric should sit in his sister's throne, since she would not be requiring it, apparently did not commend itself; and thereafter, with a wave of his hand, the monarch left the matter to Lennox and the Garter King. In a lull in the general hubbub, the former could be heard explaining soothingly that if His Serene Highness would draw his chair in just behind the King's own, he would be sufficiently close for converse and dignity both- to which Ulric declared in conglomerate eloquence that if he was denied his due and proper seating, he would be forced to stand throughout, in protest

  It was at this awkward juncture that the clash of cymbals
drowned all other sounds, and a large blackamoor emerged from the scenery at the foot of the banqueting-hall to announce in a deep bellow that the Masque of Blackness now commenced, by order of her Imperial Majesty the Empress of the Niger. Let all be silent

  Duke Ulric, caught at something of a disadvantage, had either to swallow his words or remain standing. He stood, if not firm at least stubbornly. Unfortunately his aides from Denmark felt bound to stand with him.

  A painted curtain drew back to reveal a cunningly devised lake, real water in front held in shallow trays, magnified by mirrors and merging into a painted background of meres, woods and mountains, all flanked by growing reeds and potted palms which rippled in a fan-made breeze, most realistic. On to this lake, to the sound of weird and barbaric music never before heard in the land, thin fluting and wild jangling and clanging, came a great scallop-shell which seemed to float on the water, drawn by white sea-horses, setting up an effective splashing. Escorting this were six swimming sea-monsters, very terrible and spouting steam, each bearing on its back two torch-bearers, naked but for loin-cloths, from which torches, at intervals, spouted firework stars. 'Within the scallop, on a throne of shells, sat the black Empress Euphoria —Anne herself—ablaze with jewels on turban and corsage. Behind her stood the Countess of Bedford as slave, clad only in a breastplate and loin-fringe, both of threaded pearls, and waving above her mistress a great fan made of two entire peacocks' tails. Around them were grouped half-a-dozen more ladies, all, like the Queen, blackened on all visible parts of their bodies—which was most of them, for they were in me main scantily clad.

  Loud cheering and stamping greeted this vision, mixed with guffaws, and also a certain amount of censorious outcry from those who disapproved of the highest in the land demeaning themselves as naked blackamoors. Duke Ulric was the most vehement of these. It was a considerable time before quiet could be restored, though the cymbals achieved it in the end.

  At a signal Yeomen of the Guard now extinguished the candles and torches in the main part of the hall—which, although it certainly highlighted the masquers, was probably a mistake in the circumstances, since all else was left in darkness. This, coinciding . with the start of recitation, poetic declamation and singing, not all of it of a professional standard to match Inigo Jones's decor, soon produced stir, catcalls and anonymous goings-on amongst a high-spirited, drink-taken audience which had been waiting for too long. When young Prince Henry came on the scene, as a white slave in clanking chains and little else, to dance for the black ladies, there was a certain restraint for the heir to the throne. But after his part was over, all quickly degenerated into pandemonium and licence in the darkness of the banqueting hall. Everywhere women began to squeal and yelp as they found themselves being kissed, embraced, man-handled and their clothing interfered with. A shout that sounded suspiciously like the bridegroom's called for skirts to be removed—echo of the other occasion at Wilton—and nothing loth, no lack of others took up the cry.

  Heriot found Alison being assailed by two youths—whether the pages who had flanked her at table or others he could not be sure in the gloom—and laid about him with clenched fists and no little fury. Lennox, the Garter King, and others shouted for the candles to be lit again—but this was a much slower process than the extinguishing. Chaos reigned, with no attention paid to the masque any longer.

  The deer-hounds bayed loudly—but no peremptory master's voice cried them down.

  Light was eventually produced, to reveal an extraordinary scene. Chairs and even tables were overturned, dishes, wine flagons and beakers strewed the floor, amidst spilt liquor and clothing. Young men were waving women's garments in triumph, some actually wearing them—while their owners screamed, wept or giggled, sought to flee the hall, hide in corners or boldly strut, according to temperament Many ladies, however, discovered more serious losses than their clothing or modesty—jewellery, necklaces, chains, purses had been stolen Deafening was the outcry.

  Only one oasis of calm and normality was there in all the turmoil. Up on the dais the King and his close companions sat drinking methodically, watching, interested, amused but unconcerned. And at their nearby table the Orkney Stewarts eyed all with unconcealed contempt, disdain. Ulric of Holstein still stood, prominent eyes goggling.

  In this chaotic situation Queen Anne, perhaps recognising that her orders to extinguish the lights might have been responsible for touching off the ferment, made a gallant effort to retrieve the situation. Abandoning the remainder of the masque, she summoned her musicians from the wings, and ordering them to play a quadrille, led the better clad of her ladies out on to the main hall floor to seek partners for the dance, assured that her royal presence there would tone down the wilder excesses. She herself perceived the new Spanish ambassador, Don Juan de Tassis, standing alone and distinctly bemused, and went to him offering her hand. He kissed it, thereby obtaining a blackened face, and found himself whisked away in somewhat feverish romp.

  In some degree Anne was justified, for the worst horseplay died away, and many followed her lead. Others took the opportunity to slip away, improper as this was while King and Queen remained. But nothing could restore the evening to anything like order now —especially as the monarch himself made no attempt to do so. Bowing to the inevitable, the Queen took leave of her partner, and beckoning to her ladies to follow her, swept doorwards.

  Alison Primrose grimaced at George Heriot, and reluctantly trailed after her mistress. Heriot was wondering whether to accompany them as escort when he saw that some of the Yeomen had detached themselves for that duty.

  Only as they were disappearing through the doorway, with Master Inigo Jones appearing weeping therein, did a trumpeter sound a belated and perfunctory flourish for the Queen's retiral.

  It was as though James had been waiting for this moment Hardly had Anne passed out of sight than he raised hands above his head, to stretch largely. Then he clapped on his feathered hat.

  "Aye, then," he announced. "Enough's enough. Time for the bedding. Philip lad —you in guid fettle ?"

  "Never better," that stalwart declared thickly. "Ready for aught!"

  "Let us hope the lassie can say the same, then!" "Susan will do very well," Southampton called out "I can vouch for her!"

  There was a shout of laughter, in which the Lady Susan's high-pitched wliinny overtopped all.

  The King got to his feet. "We'll see," he said. "Gie's your arm, Philip. And you too, girl. Tut—pu' up your bodice, woman. We're no' in the bedchamber yet! Now Cousin Pate—your fiddlers, heh?"

  Orkney stared for a moment bleakly, and then nodded, but shortly. He jerked a hand at his two musicians. They could now hardly stand—but they could still fiddle. They moved unsteadily forward to pace before the King. The Earl and his brothers, however, remained unmoving, sitting at their table, tankards in hand. Everyone else left in the hall, and sufficiently sober to be so, was upstanding.

  Ignoring his peculiar cousins, arm-in-arm with bride and bridegroom as before, James started on his tottering way to the door, fiddlers ahead, courtiers falling in behind. He seemed in a state of entire felicity, but as he passed where Heriot stood, he nodded his head at him.

  "Come, Geordie," he said.

  "Pray to be excused, Majesty," that man requested, bowing.

  "Nonsense, man—be no' so delicate! Come you." And as he passed on, he threw a word or two over his shoulder to Lennox, who came close behind.

  Heriot following on unenthusiastically after the noisy crew, found the Duke at his side.

  "This may not be to your taste, Geordie," he murmured, "but James says you had better be there. The bride, it seems, is wearing certain jewellery belonging to you. When she takes it off, James thinks that you had better be there to claim it, or it will vanish away!"

  "He thought of that? In this ploy!" As he went, Heriot marvelled anew at a monarch who could, and would, consider one of his servants' interests at such a time.

  They wound, shouting and singing, along corr
idors and up stairs, to one of the great state bedrooms prepared for the occasion. Here, all looked like degenerating into complete riot, when James obtained a partial quiet by someone beating one of the cymbals from the masque. He declared that all must be done decently and in order, for his friend Philip, in the proper tradition—which might have seemed a curious way of describing such proceedings.

  The company divided roughly into two, according to taste, to undress the bride and groom, although in scarcely orderly fashion. The women—and quite a few had survived the evening—not unnaturally gravitated towards Sir Philip, as of course did the King; but Lady Susan's disrobers undoubtedly outnumbered them, the bride wisely assisting. George Heriot managed to grab a string of pearls, warm from the flesh, and two gemmed bracelets, before anybody else could do so, and then stood back.

  Quickly, amidst much acclaim, the two protagonists were reduced to a state of mother-nakedness—although they did not appear quite, perhaps, as on the day they were born, the man's highly positive masculinity rather remarkable in the circumstances, and the woman's slight improvements on nature much commented upon. Then they were picked up by such of their supporters as could manage to get a hand upon their persons anywhere, and carried to the great bed. There was some argument here as to who should be set down on top of whom, the principals proclaiming the matter immaterial—but James's plea for natural seemliness prevailed, and Lady Susan was lowered first on the bed.

  Thereafter no urgings, counsel or guidance as to the next stage was necessary, or indeed could have been found time for, as Sir Philip settled himself into his due and effective position, for these two were obviously experienced practitioners, possibly more so than most of their assistants. In one way, perhaps, it was a little disappointing for habitual attenders at wedding-beddings, since the encouragement, schooling and manipulation of less confident performers could on occasion provide considerable interest, not to say hilarity. These two went at it, from the start, with expertise and enthusiasm—to their own very evident satisfaction, whatever else. It was all over before the best epigrams and flights of wit had really got going—and Philip Herbert has disproved that a surplus of wine was necessarily any handicap to bedtime prowess—and his bride that an audience need be an inhibiting factor.