"No—on that I can set your mind at rest, Master Heriot, at least! As well as counselling you never lend to folk of the play and theatre anyway—for their own good! I come to you because His Majesty sends me."
"The King? To me? Here's a strange charge, surely? I know nothing of plays or playwrights, nor yet of masques or costume either..."
"But you do of Scotland, sir—which is to the point." The other looked round him. "I come of a sacrilegious, not to say impious profession, I fear, and I find a church scarce the place for discussion of my craft. I did call at your premises at the Exchange, and your man sent me here. Perhaps we could speak more freely there?" The man had a Midland countryman's accent, overlaid by an actor's emphasis and intonations.
"As you will. It took some time for me to accustom myself to doing business in this church, I assure you. It is not so in Scotland. Let us move out, yes—but better than my shop, there is an ale-house just beyond the churchyard here..."
Seated in a corner of a dark, low-ceiled tavern, with beakers of ale before them, the man Shakespeare came to the point. "King James is concerned to improve—or perhaps I should say, correct —the view, the notion, of the Scots and Scotland held here in England," he said, picking his words. "You, I have no doubt, knew well that in truth your fellow-countrymen are scarcely loved, sir! The fault may not all be their own, but there is little question but that most Englishmen would fain see them all back in Scotland tomorrow—and rejoice! This is unfortunate, lamentable—but a fact, whatever the reasons."
"I know it well, never fear," Heriot nodded. "I could scarcely help doing so. But I am interested to hear that the King is so concerned. I had not thought that it would much trouble him."
"It seems that it does. Sufficiently for him to seek the aid of such as myself. He would have me to write a play, which would make folk here see Scotland and the Scots in a kinder light, make them better aware of the virtues of your nation, its antiquity and history. He believes that this would benefit his united kingdom."
"You surprise me, sir—or at least, His Majesty does. But then, he seldom fails to do that! A monarch who would think of such a thing is something new! Could a ploy have such effect?"
"I know not But the King believes it so. I have never written one with such an object But staged and enacted, many see and speak of such productions. Who knows what their influence might be? Who am I to refute our illustrious and so erudite sovereign?"
Heriot ignored the thinly veiled mockery in that. "This play, then, is to be about Scotland's history? That I fear, is a bloody one, sir, from first to last. I do not know whether this is the stuff of plays and entertainment 1"
"Tragedy can be as entertaining as comedy, Master Heriot—I can move people to tears more easily than I can make them laugh. And they will remember the sorrow long after they have forgot the merriment."
"As to theme—has the King any notions for you, Master Shakespeare?"
"Yes, indeed. He would wish me to magnify and extol the antiquity of his own royal line, as is to be expected. But he is concerned to emphasise the nobility of the Scots—since he perceives that the impression made here in England by many who have come South in the royal train is scarce of that quality!"
"That I can understand. I fear my countrymen, as a whole, who have followed the King, make but a poor showing. But then, it is seldom the best who leave their own land. Nor who form princes' courts. I sometimes think that I myself should have remained in Scotland."
"If the others were all like you, sir, I think King James would have little need of my services 1 No—I do not flatter you. Your reputation stands high in this city for honest dealing, shrewd wits and a modest bearing and civility, less than usual in such of your compatriots as we find amongst us."
"You exaggerate, Master Shakespeare—as perhaps playwrights will tend to do. Both the good and the ill. But—how can this paragon of shrewdness and modesty aid you, since I know nothing of your craft?"
"It is the King's belief that you can help me to know the Scots, the true Scots. He say that I will learn little of them, or of Scotland, from the nobles and courtiers that flock around him. But Geordie Heriot, as he names you, is different, it seems. A man of the people, who has yet his roots deep in the soil of Scotland— for I understand that you come of a landed family, sir? The King thinks most highly of you."
"Sometimes you would scarcely suspect it. But I will help you if I can. What is required ?"
"Guidance, first as to theme, and then as to scene and character. For I am all too well aware of my own ignorance in this matter. We need a dramatic situation, where a great evil is committed, but by a man for whom the playgoers may feel some sympathy, some understanding of his lapse and fall into temptation. It must be an ancestor of His Majesty. And there must be a strong part for a woman, or women—this all insist upon. Though not the King! Moreover, as you will understand, since it is to please and edify the English, battle and intrigue against England will not serve—and, to my mind, most of Scottish history seems to be concerned with that! So the great Bruce and his successors, or any of the Jameses until this one, tend to fail us .. ."
"The death of James the First? Our James the First. Murdered by the Graham, before his English Queen's eyes—Joan Beaufort? At Perth With Catherine Douglas barring the door against his assassins with her arm, broken to try save her liege. That has nothing to do with England."
"Aye—that would make notable drama. The King did indeed suggest it But assassination of monarchs by their subjects is scarce suitable theme, he feels! After Guido Fawkes his plot Moreover, he is greatly interested, it seems, in witchcraft He has written a volume upon it—as you will know. He believes that
Scots witches are of an especial sort, with great power of divination. He would have me to bring this in—indeed purposes to instruct me in the matter! The which I hope to escape! He therefore suggests the case of King MacBeda the usurper—he who, it seems, slew King Duncan whose general he was, and ruled in his stead. Witchcraft, King James claims, was partly responsible. His wife, Grula or some such name, was closer to the throne than was MacBeda himself, and spurred on her husband's ambition. The chronicler Holinshed tells of this, the King says. It seems a likely theme. You know of this MacBeda, Master Heriot?"
"To be sure. Though most in Scotland call him MacBeth. And his wife was Gruach, grand-daughter of Kenneth—Kenneth the Third. I would not call MacBeth usurper, any more than half the kings before him. He was of the royal line, as was his wife, and strong where Duncan was weak Scotland has always needed strong kings. And he reigned well, for many years. As to witchcraft, I know not."
"Ah that is nothing harmful to the drama of it King James sees it not as a subject slaying his lawful monarch so much as a fellow prince replacing another, under the dominance of an evil woman. He is strong on this—the sin of women dominating men, especially in the rule of a state. Only ill can come of women with overmuch power, he says—which will scarce please those who loved the late Gloriana, I fear! So the murderer must die—but the woman to suffer the worse fate. And at the hands of the murdered King's son. From which son, of course, our liege lord claims descent"
"In somewhat round-about fashion! But the throne descends from that Malcolm, yes. If you think this so old a story—for it was five hundred years ago and more—will make a play to cause the English better to love the Scots, then I will aid you the best of my poor ability. But, sir—I do not see in what I may be of use?"
"You can keep me right on matters Scottish, customs, titles, lands. And the King says that, perchance, we might go to Scotland hereafter, so that I may learn something of the true scene and setting."
"Ah I Now, sir, you speak to the point! I ever seek excuse to return to my native land. Or royal permission to do so, which is something different."
"So His Majesty indicated! He said that I would find you nothing backward."
"When do we go?"
"That I know not The King did not make it clear, for certain. I am
acting, myself, just now, in a comedy at The Globe—Love's Labour's Lost You may have heard of it? It would not be convenient to go until the run is ended. Besides, King James, I think, has the Scots virtue of thrift well developed! He does not wish me to travel to Scotland at any great cost to himself. His suggestion is that I take the company of the King's Players with me and that we play in Edinburgh and other Scottish cities and so earn the price of our journey"
"That certainly sounds like James Stewart!" Heriot admitted. "When will this be, think you ?"
"Our comedy should run for six weeks yet Mid-autumn— October. Would that be too late for travel to Scotland? Snow? Ice?"
"Scotland is not Muscovy, sir—nor yet the Arctic wastes! Our West has a gentler winter than you have here in London, our East drier. October will serve very well."
"I learn, Master Heriot—I learn! And where should I best go, then, to learn of this MacBeda? To set the scene of the play?"
"That I shall have to think on. As I mind it, Perth, Dunsinane, Birnam, come to mind. Lumphanan on the Dee. MacBeth was Mormaor of Moray, and Elgin his capital, I think. I must refresh my memory."
"Very well. And if you can think of aught where I may read more of all this ancient story, pray inform me. Meantime, I shall seek out the chronicles of Holinshed. I thank you for your courtesy, Master Heriot"
"Another mug of ale, sir?"
* * *
The anticipated summons came some ten days later, and Heriot duly repaired to Hampton Court, the vast palace which Cardinal Wolsey had built a century before and presented to his monarch—who had repaid him by dismissal. He found Will Shakespeare there already; but when the call to the presence came, it was for Heriot only, with the playwright left in the anteroom.
James was tottering alone about a great gallery lit by many windows, hung with crystal candelabra, the walls adorned with hangings and rows of stiff-looking portraits which had the appearance of being all painted by the same hand. There was a long central table, with many chairs drawn up to it, paper, books and scrolls spread, as though for a meeting.
"Aye, Geordie—it's yoursel'?" James greeted. "Shut the door behind you, man and come here." He was moving over to the far comer of the gallery. "See this, now. Easy seen this house was built by a churchman 1 It's a squint, see. Right cunning." He had pulled aside a tapestry of gods and goddesses beside a waterfall, to show behind it a narrow door contrived in the panelling, un-noticeable save to one who knew of its presence. Opening this, the King revealed a small dark chamber, cut in the thickness of the walling, only about six feet square, furnished but with a bench. Beckoning the other in, James pointed to the back of the door on which hung a sort of sliding shutter-device. Drawing this to one side, a series of oddly-placed holes, perhaps half-an-inch in diameter, were uncovered. Letting the tapestry fall back into place, amidst a puff of dust, and closing the door on them, he pointed. The darkness of the garderobe was illuminated by rays of light coming through these holes which the shutter had covered. "Have a peek through there, Geordie."
Peering, the other could see, through the various holes, about two-thirds of the gallery, including almost all of the central table.
"Holes cut in the arras," James went on. "Where the eyes o' thae shameless hussies are—so's they'll no' be noticed. I noticed it, mind. The holes. One time at a meeting. I kent it couldna be moths—no' just there. That's how I found this bit convenience. Right handy, on occasion. I use it now and again. So this gallery makes a suitable place for some meetings, see you !"
"Very interesting, Sire," Heriot acknowledged, warily.
"You can hear, too—och, fine and clear. There must be some kind o' laird's lug some place—though I havena found it!" The King opened the door very quietly, and peered round the side of the tapestry, to make sure that no one had entered the gallery. "Out wi' you—quickly 1 Aye, then. You'll ken where to go, Geordie. You'll no' have to cough or sneeze, mind. That wouldna do." As an afterthought, he added. 'The Privy Council whiles meet here. When I so order. Other meetings, forby."
"Ah—I see I Convenient, as Your Majesty says. And my Lord Salisbury and his spies have not yet smelt this out?"
"Eh? Cecil? Na, na—he kens naething o' it Or he wouldna have said some o' the things he has done at yon table 1 When he's been left to preside in place o' my royal self"
"H'mmm. And why me, She? Where do I come into this? You do not wish me to spy on Master Shakespeare, do you?"
"Sakes, no! But I dinna want him seeing it, mind. I can trust you, Geordie—but others havena to ken o' this. No—there's a Privy Council to be held here in an hour frae now. No' an ordinary meeting. I've commanded that limmer Andra Melville, and his Kirk cronies frae Scotland, to compear before me and the Privy Council here. He's a proud, upstuck and arrogant deevil, yon, as I ken well. I want him to deliver himsel' o' his sentiments and treasons before these English lords and bishops—so maybe they'll ken better what I have to contend wi' in Scotland frae these black corbies o' divines, and accord me the better support. But they'll no' ken one hah o' what he's at, being only English. And the Scots members o' this Council, Vicky Lennox and Geordie Home, are up at Perth for the parliament I canna invite the likes o' you, Geordie, to attend at a Privy Council, or any no' sworn into it. So you'll bide in yon bit squint-hole, and watch and listen. And there'll be twa o' us who'll understand what Maister Melville and his crew are at! You've sharp wits for some things, Geordie, and just the man for this."
"I do not know that I like the notion, She. Of spying on my fellow-countrymen..."
"I didna ask you if you liked it, man—I'm commanding it! A leal duty you owe to your monarch. I whiles wonder if you're no' developing ower delicate a stomach for an Edinburgh moneylender, Geordie Heriot I You'll look and listen, in there, and afterwards we'll have a bit crack about it. For the weal o' the realm o' Scotland! You understand? Aye—well, now go and tell yon guard to have the man Shakespeare in."
With the playwright bowed in, and obviously somewhat overawed by the company and surroundings, they had a further discussion on the proposed Scottish play. James was quite decided now that it should be on the theme of MacBeda—as he called him—Duncan and Gruath. He dismissed Heriot's suggestion that Malcolm Canmore, Duncan's son, and his Saxon-English Queen Margaret, might provide a more cheerful and profitable subject, as representing Scottish-English co-operation, on the grounds that tragedy was the real stuff of drama; moreover, Margaret had been much too strong-willed a woman, and had largely ruled Scotland through her husband and sons thereafter—an ill thing and unsuitable to be published abroad. Had she not well-nigh imposed Popery on Scotland, in place of their own good native Celtic Church? Well, then.
Will Shakespeare seemed quite happy with MacBeth and Duncan, delating a little on some of the scenes he proposed to introduce. He was not so sure about the witchcraft aspect, however, having no real knowledge of the subject, and not seeing how it was to be fitted in.
James allowed him to get no further than that, but plunged forthwith into a deep and lengthy exposition of witchcraft and warlockry, satanism and demonology, in all their branches, with illustrations back to the Witch of Endor and other Biblical references, quotations, largely from his own works on the subject, Latin interpolations and classical parallels. In a spate, a flood, this continued—and since subject could by no means interrupt monarch, and there was no pause, the thing developed into a major discourse and dissertation to an increasingly dazed and lost audience of two.
Their ordeal was only terminated by a knocking at the door and the entry of the Earl of Salisbury himself—who looked distinctly disapproving at finding the King closeted with two such low-born nonentities—coming to inform that the Privy Councillors were now assembled, as were the Scotch presbyters, and awaiting His Majesty's summons to the table.
Frowning, James flapped an unwashed hand at the newcomer. "Aye, well—they can just wait," he declared. "Awa' and tell them so, Cecil man. I'll have them in when I'm ready, and no' before. You'r
e interrupting me, sir—aye, intercluding and anteverting me, the King ! I'm expounding a serious matter. You should ken better. Experientta docet stultosl When I want you, I'll send for you."
Shaken, the Principal Secretary of State, and earl, tip-toed out —but he got in a venomous glance at the monarch's companions in the by-going.
"A right tiresome limmer, that!" Majesty commented. "And crabbit, too. Now—where was I?"
Heriot cleared his throat, greatly daring. "Sire—do you not think ... would it not be wise ... in the circumstances, to leave this subject meantime? I swear Master Shakespeare and myself have been given as much, and more, than our poor wits can take in, on this deep matter of witchcraft For the time being. We have not Your Majesty's profound and long-standing familiarity with the subject. We are but babes at this..."
"Aye—I can well believe that!" the King said severely. "I've been watching the pair o' you—and you've no' shown the interest and comprehension, aye the apperception and perpension I'd have expected frae men o' proper wits. But maybe you're right—and it would be wasting time to gie you mair, the now. Forby, there's the other matter," and he glanced conspiratorially from Heriot to the corner of the gallery where was the hidden chamber. "Maister Shakespeare—you have our royal permission to leave. I'll see you again, on this."
"Yes, Your Majesty. To be sure. I thank Your Majesty, I, ah, bid Your Majesty good-day and godspeed. If, if I may be so bold. With my deep thanks for your, your disquisition of these occult and difficult matters."
"Aye—then see you mak guid use o' what I've told you, man, in this stagery and dramaturgy. Our witches, mind, are to be maist notable and horrid, of a right powerfu' and diabolic quality. Nane o' your auld wifies wi' simples and herbs, drying up coo's udders and lassies' maidenheids, such as your dweebly English beldames go in for. Ours are otherwise in Scotland, Satan's ain sisterhood! So see you to it. Now—off wi' you. Geordie—you bide here."
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