"Madam—you cannot, before God, be suggesting that His Majesty would, would ... !" Heriot shook his head helplessly.
"Not James himself, perhaps. But his minions, it might be. That vicious Carr, or Rochester, as he now calls himself. Who never fails to insult me. He, and his governor, Overbury. Would these two hesitate to dispose of my Henry? As they have done with others ?"
"Not so, Madam—I swear! Not poison. Not the Prince of Wales!"
"No ? Knowing that the King hates him, fears his popularity with the people. James's own mother was deposed, to set him up as king. Why not Henry? Moreover, Henry despises Carr, and resents the slights he puts upon me—and shows it"
"There could be ill will, yes. But poison... !"
"Carr and Overbury have already used poison, I am told. Powdered glass. Carr learned of it at that she-devil's, Catherine de Medici's Court in Paris. She is dead, but her methods linger on! And now, this latest death. Also to James's advantage."
"What death, Madam?"
"Why, the odious Dunbar. The hateful Doddie Home. Surely you have heard?"
Heriot drew a long, quivering breath. He did not trust himself to speak.
Alison did. "We heard that he had died. Suddenly. While more or less prisoner, in Whitehall. After his ... examination. Your Majesty thinks it was poison?"
"Half the Court thinks so, girl."
"I cannot believe it, Highness !" the man got out "Not poison. Or, not at the King's behest His Majesty ... is not so. I swear it! I have known him long, been honoured with his confidences. That is not King James."
Anne shook her head. "I hope ... I pray... that you are right. But... Carr! That evil youth whom James cherishes in preference to me, his wife, would do anything. I am going to Hampton Court, to be with Henry. To watch over him. I must and shall. God's curse on all unnatural catamites, and those who suffer them!" With an obvious effort, the Queen sought to calm herself and forced her voice to a more even tone. "But... I did not summon you both here to speak so, to pour out my woes on you. I have two purposes, Master Geordie, one pleasant, one less so. The first is to offer the appointment of Extra Woman of the Bedchamber to Mistress Alison, here—who was once my Maid in Waiting. And to express my sorrow at the . . . misunderstanding which came between us."
It was Alison's turn to have difficulty in finding words, something which seldom afflicted that young woman. "Oh, Majesty ... I thank you! You are too good, too kind. I ... I am greatly honoured. Unworthy. But... I fear... forgive me, but..."
"It will not demand much of you, or your time, girl," Anne said, just a little sharply. "I have attendants amany. I know that you have Master Geordie's house to keep. Aye, and no lack of money! But it is more of a symbol than a task. And will give you the entry to Court again, at will. Not always to be brought by your husband. An Extra Woman, I said."
"Yes, Majesty. I understand. And thank you deeply. From my heart. I... I will accept, gratefully."
"I too, Madam, thank you," Heriot said. "It is generously done."
"Good. And now to the less pleasing purpose," the Queen said. She stooped and drew out a quite large leather bag, obviously heavy, from under her seat. "Take this, Master Geordie—and think better of me, the Queen, than I do myself !"
Heart sinking, he took the bag and opened it, guessing something of what was within. The glitter and gleam of diamonds, rubies, emeralds, sapphires and the sheen of gold, glowed in there. He saw a slender crown of gold, inset with pearls and enamel-work, amongst the rest He closed the bag again.
"I am at your service, Madam," he said flatly. "You wish me to take charge of these? As your Court Jeweller?"
"I wish to pawn them, Master Heriot! That is all."
He swallowed. "Not pawn, Majesty I Never pawn ..."
"Why not ? I must have money. I am desperate, man! I have nothing left I owe you what? Eighteen thousand pounds? Twenty thousand pounds? I still owe Herrick. And Gresham. I have not paid any of my household for long. I must have money. James will give me no more. I know that I am extravagant—but God held me, I am Christian's sister. Daughter of Frederick the Splendid."
"Your debt to me need occasion Your Majesty no concern at this juncture. I can wait..."
"You are patient, kind, as ever. But I must have money. It is not to be borne that I, the Queen, should be penniless. James is, as ever, away hunting. At Sherborne, this time. He has much money, these days, from the Ulster business—but talks only of asking parliament to increase my income. As though those creatures would! I must have it, Master Geordie. Even to pay for my move to Hampton Court"
"How much, Madam?"
"Five thousand pounds. In coin. These are worth... more than that?"
"You shall have it tomorrow, Majesty. But... never in pawn." He stooped and pushed the bag back under her seat. 'Your Highness will keep these safe for me ? It will be a loan On very good security and without interest. My humble duty. And when I have opportunity, I shall speak with the King. He calls me his Fiduciary, his man-of-affairs. I shall make bold to offer His Majesty some fiduciary advice!"
Anne shook her head, wordless.
As they took their leave, the Queen said that Alison at least would not be sorry to be safely out of Scotland, in this troublous time, with all the news from the North grievous. That wicked man Gray was able to twist poor Vicky Stewart round his little finger— thanks to his infatuation with the man's bastard daughter, Mary. Patrick of Orkney was actually issuing proclamations from his cell at Dumbarton. Talk of rebellion and war was on all lips. The only virtue in it all was that Vicky at least would be less harsh on the poor and harmless Catholics than had been the evil Dunbar.
The Heriots made their way back to Cornhill and the Exchange in a state of considerable unease.
25
ONCE AGAIN, ALL the river traffic seemed to be heading for Hampton Court Blessedly, the May sun shone brightly and the fresh green of the trees was a joy, though there was a cool, easterly breeze—for the day-long festivities were to be held mainly out-of-doors and rain would have been something of a disaster and a move indoors a pity indeed. But the King had assured all that it would be fine weather—his colleague, the Deity and Prince of Peace, would ensure that in the circumstances—and now the May sunshine did not fail to exact tribute to the Lord's Anointed's close links with the King of Kings, his faith and claims justified. It was in every way a most auspicious occasion.
George Heriot was present partly in a professional capacity and well guarded in one of the royal barges—for he was bringing with him a very valuable cargo of goldsmith-work and plate for the monarch to present to the principal foreign guests, princes, envoys and ambassadors. For months now he had been at work on these —indeed, so large and important was the order that the Earl of Suffolk had, at the monarch's express command, issued a proclamation instructing all mayors, sheriffs, justices, bailiffs and constables to aid Master George Heriot, His Majesty's Jeweller, in finding workmen and artificers to enable him to complete his manufacture of these most important gifts and mementos in due time, a task quite beyond the resources of any one workshop or group of craftsmen. When all would be paid for was not stipulated in the said proclamation.
So, amidst the stream of barges, wherries, shallops, pinnaces and yawls, Heriot, Alison at his side and with an escort of scarlet-coated Yeomen of the Guard, bore down on Hampton Court, sitting on his precious iron-bound chest and with one last-moment additional passenger, the unpronounceably-named envoy of the Duchy of Cleves, a thick-necked, hairless little man who ho-ho-ed at everything he saw, with much pointing and waving, frequently breaking off to kiss Alison's hand ecstatically. If all the other foreign guests were as appreciative, it augured well for the day's success.
Hampton Court had been chosen for the venue for various reasons. Partly because its gardens and pleasances were much more spacious than at any of the London palaces—and it had the added advantage, for set-piece entertainments, in that there were no fewer than five internal courtyards or quad
rangles, paved and with windowed balconies around, which, if absolutely necessary could be roofed over with ship's canvas to give protection against weather; partly because a whiff of the plague was again proving a nuisance in London, so that James felt in duty bound to keep his royal distance—and it would never do to have distinguished foreign visitors going home plague-stricken from His Pacific and Britannic Majesty's realms, even worse, dying on the spot; and partly in that it was necessary that a united royal front should be presented, and Queen Anne flatly refused to leave Hampton Court, where the still ailing Prince of Wales was presently confined. The Pax Britannica, therefore, would be celebrated suitably there.
It was just before noon when Heriot's party arrived and already the place bettered Clerkenwell Fair. Large crowds were normal at James's entertainments, as many as five hundred sitting down to a banquet on occasion; but this affair outdid all—as it was meant to do. It after all represented triumph, peace in Christendom—at least, as far as treaties, promises, signatures and deals could make it—for the first time in the memory of men. And all achieved by James in Majesty, God's determined and ingenious Lieutenant and Vice-Regent Admittedly it might not last, but that was all the more reason for celebrating while it did. Carpe diem etcetera. So, apart from the foreign representatives, almost everybody who meant anything in England had been invited. If there was a rather notable lack of members of parliament, that was because James had summarily dismissed that recalcitrant and awkward body of men in February and did not intend to call them together again. He had managed to find an expert financial juggler in royal prerogative powers, to raise hitherto unexploited taxation, called Sir Julius Caesar, appointed him Chancellor of the Exchequer and thankfully consigned the parliamentarians to limbo as no longer necessary. It was a pity that the Duke of Lennox and none of the Scots governmental team could be present—but they were for the moment preoccupied elsewhere.
Nobody missed the Scots however, in the glitter and pageantry of the numerous European contingent—who fortunately had come at their own expense. Here were princes, dukes, electors, counts, grandees, cardinals, bishops, legates and generals, from the Empire, the United Provinces, Spain, France, the Vatican, Portugal, Denmark, Sweden, even Poland and Russia. Largely by means of James's tireless engineering, the Twelve Years Truce had been signed in February—and though this was basically between the Dutch United Provinces and Spain, most of the rest of the warring nations of Christendom were linked to one or other through alliances, marriages or mutual interests. James's objective of forming a noble confederacy of states, pledged to maintaining peace, had not eventuated, but at least here was a sort of conglomerate patchwork truce. Parallel with this he had at last managed to reconcile the Danes and the Dutch and the Danes and the Swedes, thus strengthening the Protestant interest without actually antagonising the Catholic states. To emphasise the fact he was proposing to betroth his daughter Elizabeth to the Protestant Elector Palatine and one of his sons to whichever of the Infantas of Spain King Philip selected—though naturally he would prefer the eldest It would have to be young Prince Charles, Duke of York, of course, since the Prince of Wales was hardly in a state to attract matrimonial gestures.
The first of the non-stop series of entertainments was already in progress, in the natural amphitheatre of a sunken garden, when the Heriots arrived. It took the form of a carnival of animals, the players dressed realistically in the skins or feathers of the various national beasts, supporters and emblems, or representations thereof, appertaining to the states of Christendom, decked with their national colours, all pacing and dancing and miming a succession of tableaux, these displaying the sequence of attitudes of the said realms, from challenge and outright war down to the present happy state of peace and amity. Much ingenuity had had to be evidenced, for there was a certain lack of variety amongst the nations' chosen beasts, eagles and lions, the kings of birds and beasts, tending to predominate—though some of the eagles were of the two-headed variety, and the lions were variously coloured. James himself, or at least his United Kingdom, naturally represented by the largest and noblest-looking lion, its coat gleaming with gold-dust; a nice touch, it remained throughout arm-in-arm with a pure white unicorn, upright and with a long silver horn. This symbolic parade and demonstration was to go on throughout the day, as reminder to all of what they were celebrating.
There was no sign of James himself, so the Heriots and escort, two Yeomen staggering under the weight of the heavy chest, had to go searching the far-flung gardens and pleasure-grounds and then the endless corridors, courtyards and galleries of the vast palace, before finally running the monarch to earth in a disused kitchen of the domestic wing. Here, with the Palatinate ambassador and the new Viscount Rochester, he was busy assembling an elaborate dolls' palace which the envoy had brought as a gift for the Princess Elizabeth from his royal master, the Elector Frederick Henry—and which had come packed in sections and pieces, complete with furnishings, even to miniature pictures, hangings, carpets and tapestries. James was wholly engrossed in this intriguing task, despite the agitation of sundry officials and notables outside. He welcomed Heriot, but showed little interest meantime in what he called his last o' gewgaws'; but insisted that Geordie and his bit lassie, who were sure to have nimble fingers, should come and help with the task of assembly. It seemed that the tapestries were particularly ticklish to hang and the King's fingers blunt. The envoy from Cleves, who had tailed along with them, exclaiming at all, found himself saddled with a stable plus many model horses and coaches and ordered to sort it all out, Carr the while being catechised on the Latin names for all the items represented and alternatively slapped and kissed as a consequence of success or failure.
This prolonged and fiddlesome process appeared as though it might well occupy the Crown for much of the day and Heriot took his turn in seeking tactfully to remind Majesty that many illustrious visitors and deputations were waiting, to say nothing of the full and elaborate programme of events devised for the occasion. James tutted all such interpretations away, with the sage counsel that one thing at a time was recommended policy; and Carr, laughing lazily, added that all would wait very nicely, since by God, it must.
For how long the Palatinate dolls' house would actually have detained them, there was no knowing. But in time James's old favourite from Scottish days, James Hay, Viscount Doncaster, turned up in a sort of jocular bad temper, to declare that either Majesty came forthwith to the great dining hall to partake, or all the notable provision he had assembled—at the cost of three manors no less—would be taken to the stables and thrown to the pigs, since that would be all it was fit for. This ultimatum coming at a moment when James had slightly cut his finger with the tiny glass pane of a window-frame, to the effusion of alarming blood, had its effect and a move was made, jewel chest, escort and all.
Doncaster had some reason and right to be thus firm. The King had devised a highly satisfactory arrangement whereby the cost of large and complex entertainments should not always fall entirely upon his own shamefully meagre Treasury. A relay of wealthy individuals were given the privilege of providing the banquets, the entertainers, the masques and scenery and so on— and moreover encouraged to be competitive about it Hay, although he had come south as poor as a church mouse, being only a younger son, had recently married his second rich wife, this one enormously rich, and was to be created Earl of Carlisle. Today the catering was his responsibility.
On arrival at one of the many great dining halls, the newcomers, heralded at last by a trumpet fanfare, found the Queen, Prince Charles and Princess Elizabeth awaiting them, the former in no genial mood and the place packed with hungry guests, all separated from the groaning tables by a solid line of liveried servitors, cooks and scullions, in the red and white Hay colours. The King beamed on all—as well he might, for it was a most noble company, with a most noble spread laid before them. Hay had done them proud. From the dais at the top end of the great chamber, the royal party—which, purely by chance, included
the Heriots, the hairless man from Cleves, the Yeomen of the Guard with chest and sundry other nonentities—could look down on a bewildering array of fare, delicacies, comestibles, viands, savouries, confections and dainties on tables stretching from one end of the hall to the other, piled high as a man could reach, on splendid plate, stands, epergnes, salver-frames and silver wiskets. There were the favoured dishes from every realm and country represented at the gathering, besides as many from stranger lands farther afield, the Indies, Barbary, Arabia, the Caliphate, even from frozen Iceland, meats and sweets formed in the lively shapes and colourings of the animals, birds, fish and vegetables from which they were concocted, cauldrons and puncheons of rare wines and spirits, some actually contrived to be on fire with blue licking flames, a half-sized cow squirting thick cream from its udder and other conceits too numerous to mention.
The King nodded approvingly, "Aye, Jamie Hay—a right comforting provide," he commended. 'Your new Viscountess maun hae mair than just double-chins and a noble bum. Yon looks right tasty. Eh, Annie? It's maybe worth having yon Cardinal-man to say a grace ower this lot, I'm thinking. Where is he?"
"Wait, Sire—of your gracious patience," Doncaster intervened, with much boldness. "One moment more—and it please Your Majesties." And he banged a gold ladle on a piece of plate as a signal.
Immediately all was transformed. Like a regiment of maniacs the hitherto so disciplined and motionless line of servants hurled themselves upon the laden tables. Grabbing up the piled dishes and platters of meats and confections, they flung all to the floor at the far side of the tables, in a rain of ruined refections, smashed sweets, damaged delicacies and spilt spirits, spattering the wall-panelling, piling up in heaps, spreading over the floor. On and on the servants went, as though frenzied, while the great company shouted and yelled and groaned, even wept, in pain and fury, until there was not a dish nor sweet nor receptacle left on the line of tables. Pandemonium reigned. Then, with the enraged guests surging forward and the attendants turned to fight them off, a single trumpet-blast sounded, the hall doors were thrown open, and, led by fiddlers playing a jigging Scots air, in marched a new and seemingly endless regiment of cooks and scullions bearing trays, salvers, platters, cauldrons, flagons, larger and finer model animals, birds and fishes, soups steaming richly, a whole ox roasted, still with its horns and hooves, peacocks with spread tails and a host of similar provisions, to more than fill those emptied tables. And, bringing up the rear, carried by four young pages all in white satin, was a twice-life-sized naked woman, sculpted in sugar, flesh-tinted, nipples coloured, hair contrived, where proper, in gold-leafed toffee tendrils.
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