The Gowrie Conspiracy

by Alanna Knight

  Watching him consume a large slice of game pie, Will looked at him and said, ‘I can hardly believe that you were so ill. It is like a miracle.’

  And the business of miracles was very much to the taste of the king’s chaplain, Reverend Patrick Galloway in a sermon delivered at the Mercat Cross.

  ‘On Tuesday last, Alexander Ruthven came to Falkland to his Majesty and found him at his pastime. And so he leads him from Falkland to Perth, as a most innocent lamb to the slaughterhouse. There he gets his dinner, a cold dinner, yea, a very cold dinner – as they know who were there.’

  He then went on reiterate the king’s account of an armed man with a drawn dagger and Alexander’s accusation,

  ‘“You were the death of my father; and here is a dagger to be avenged on you for that death.” Judge, good people, what danger your David was in. An innocent lamb, he was closed in twixt two hungry lions thirsting for his blood, and locked doors between him and his friends.

  ‘What sort of delivery got he? It was wholly miraculous. Five or six things which you will all call and acknowledge to be miracles. First of all, his Majesty standing between two armed men, he at his entry should have been astonished at the sight of an armed man to take his life. Yet on the contrary this armed man was so astonished that he might neither move hand, foot nor hand. Was not this miraculous?

  ‘Yet further when Alexander had taken him by the gorge and had held the dagger to his breast, so that there were scarce two inches between his death and his life, even then by his gracious Christian and most loving words, he overcame the traitor. The words so moved the heart of the traitor that he began to enter into conditions with the king.

  ‘And so he went forth to his brother, from whom he received commission to despatch him hastily. He then coming up again brings a pair of silk garters in his hand. After he had locked the door he says, “You must die, therefore lay your hands together that I may bind thee”, to the intent, no doubt, that the king being bound, they might then have strangled him and cast him in a cave or pit which they had prepared for that use.

  ‘Now here is the third miracle. The King answers the traitor, “I was born a free prince, I shall never die bound.” With this each grips the other’s gorge till in wrestling the king overcomes and get him under him.

  ‘Now is this not miraculous? The Master of Gowrie, an able young man in comparison with the King, I am assured had strength double, yes threefold greater. And yet is overcome and cast under.

  ‘Now yet another miracle. When they are thus wrestling up comes John Ramsay by the black turnpike and, at the King’s command, gives the Master a death stroke.

  ‘Now yet a miracle. Into the chamber with the King gather four. My Lord Gowrie comes up and eight with him. At first he drives all four into a corner and never rests. But John Ramsay chanced to cry “Fie, cruel traitor, have you not done evil enough? You have got the King’s life, must you have ours?” At which he drew a little back, and in back going he got the stroke whereof he died.’

  While preaching by royal command, the body of a man named Henry Younger was brought to Falkland Palace. Suspected of being the man with the dagger and on his way to prove his alibi, but finding a party of armed searchers making their way towards him, he decided they might not be interested in his alibi after all and took to his heels.

  They cornered him in a cornfield where one Henry Bruce put a rapier through him, for which he was made a colonel by royal command. As for Galloway never wishing to lose a chance of drama, he had spread his arms above the human sacrifice and proclaimed to the King.

  ‘Thank God. The traitor that should have slain you could not be taken alive, but there he lies dead.’

  But they got the wrong man. This was a new candidate for the role of the quaking man who was given out in proclamation as a ‘black grim man’ where in fact Henderson who had rapidly removed himself from the scene, had a ruddy complexion and a brown beard.

  Shortly after Galloway’s recitation came a dramatic announcement that he had that very day received a letter from the missing witness to the miracles, none other than Henderson, the real quaking man with the dagger in the turret who was to have aided the king’s dispatch.

  There were some caustic remarks concerning Galloway when he repeated his performance in Glasgow, miracles and all, declaring to the skeptics, ‘God forgive them that say the King cannot be believed.’

  As an interesting postscript he brought in the powers of darkness. ‘If the Earl of Gowrie had bidden still in Scotland he might perchance not have attempted such a treason. But when he went to Padua there he studied necromancy. His own tutor, Mr Rynd, testifies that he had those characters upon him that he loved so much that if he forgot to put them in his breeks he would run up and down like a madman.’

  Reading the broadsheet distributed so widely containing the king’s “Discourse on an Unnatural and Vile Conspiracy”, Tam found it much as he remembered, except for the lie about the pot of gold coins which had been carefully substituted for the real reason of James’s visit to Gowrie and the tragedy that followed.

  The Casket Letters and the secret document.

  Rumour was, according to Will and Davy, that not all ministers were convinced by the king’s epistle, or Mr Galloway’s miracles. Most brought reluctantly to heel only by the threat of permanent banishment and the loss of their livings, they had it on good authority that Robert Bruce remained firmly sceptical and defiant.

  All was quiet in Perth. Danger and terror no longer stalked its streets and in Davy’s house plans for a journey were being made. In Methlour, Martin and Simon appalled, like most honest folk, by the murder at Gowrie House understood Will and Tansy’s decision to abandon their proposed visit to Edinburgh and Dirleton.

  Tansy had received a message from her foster-mother that, while bringing no relief to bitter grief, brought joy that the two younger sons, William and Patrick, had escaped King James’s vengeance. Warned in time, Lady Gowrie had seen them across the Border to England just hours before the king’s men came to arrest them.

  The plan was now to travel to Falkland Palace with Tam and once Tansy had retrieved her possessions, Will and she would return again to Kirktullo to pick up the threads of their life together.

  There were tearful scenes when the time came to leave little Jane and Davy but promises were made of future visits to the Hepburns. It was harder for Tam to bid them farewell, knowing full well that he could give no such promise of any future meeting.

  And so the three set off once again in Will’s coach. The groom, disappointed at the cancelled jaunt to Edinburgh, had been compensated by a promising romance with the innkeeper’s niece.

  They avoided Gowrie House and at the end of their twelve mile journey found Falkland Palace similarly deserted since the court had returned to Edinburgh. The Keeper of the Gatehouse gave Tansy the keys to her lodging. Sad and strangely silent, she knew she would never return.

  And neither would Tam. He need fear no more encounters with the amorous king. King James had no doubt forgotten all about the simple fisherman by now. But of one thing he was certain. The king who had taken so many lives had, by his intervention, spared him from John Ramsay’s death-stroke. While Will and the groom carried out her possessions to the waiting coach, Tansy walked with Tam into the garden, both silent, absorbed by their own sadness. So much tragedy that had begun with the murder of Margaret Agnew. Even that would never be fully explained without the document for which Davy Rose’s home, as well as Gowrie House, had been ransacked in vain.

  At last they reached the seat where they had first met – oh, what seemed so long ago.

  They sat down together. Tam’s arm was still bandaged in a sling and saying, ‘It is almost healed now, but you will take care,’ she took his hand in hers.

  ‘Before you go there is something you should know, Tam Eildor.’

  He smiled. ‘We are brother and sister, is that it?’

  She shook her head, looked at him earnestly. ‘No, Tam. I bel
ieve I am your daughter.’

  ‘How can that be?’

  ‘Janet Beaton was not my granddam. She was my mother, well past fifty. My aunt, her daughter, died in childbirth so she passed me off as hers.’ ‘Surely no woman in this age can have a child so old,’ said Tam.

  ‘What about the Bible?’ asked Tansy wryly. ‘And sometimes they didn’t count very well. But Janet had extraordinary powers. She told me that I was her daughter and that one day my father would come back.’

  She paused. ‘She told me his name. And if I hadn’t guessed that very first day we met, then my mirror would have told me and everyone else – except you – the truth.’

  Tam sat up sharply. So that was what Janet Beaton meant. He thought rapidly. Will claimed that they had met when he was four years old – thirty-four years ago. That would be 1566, the year before Tansy was born.

  ‘She wanted you to tell me,’ he said.

  Tansy looked bewildered so he told her about the wise woman and his dream vision of Janet Beaton.

  At last she smiled. ‘I am glad you met again. I think she loved you very much. Maybe we – ’

  ‘Tansy!’ Will was calling.

  ‘Say goodbye to him for me,’ said Tam. ‘Explain if you can, what you think he might understand.’

  They embraced and Tansy whispered, ‘One minute of our own out of time. Is that is all we will ever have together, Tam Eildor?’

  Kissing her, he said gently, ‘Who knows, Tansy, who knows.’

  And turning swiftly, fighting back the tears, she ran back down the path to where her love and her life, Will Hepburn, awaited her, leaving Tam Eildor to travel on that next journey through time.

  Not quite The End …

  The Scotsman, 11 August 1830

  SENSATIONAL HISTORIC DISCOVERY

  Two workmen, engaged on renovating the royal apartments at Edinburgh Castle after a fire, have made the gruesome discovery of a tiny coffin. Nearly in line with the Crown Room and about six feet from the pavement of the quadrangle, the wall was observed to return a hollow sound when struck.

  On removing a block of stone, a recess was discovered measuring about 2 feet 6 by 1 foot, containing the remains of a child enclosed in an oak coffin, evidently of great antiquity and very much decayed. Wrapped in a shroud, a cloth believed to be woollen, very thick and somewhat resembling leather, and within this the remains of a shroud of a richly embroidered silk and cloth which suggested some portion of a priest’s vestment, most likely used in the Masses secretly held in Queen Mary’s oratory. Such a sanctified garment would be approved as suitable for the interment of one of royal blood, a little prince, born and baptised in the Popish faith, rather than for the hasty disposal of some Court lady’s indiscretion. Further evidence being two initials wrought upon the shroud, one alas, was indecipherable, but the other, the letter ‘J’ was distinctly visible.

  From the coffin’s concealment in the wall, secrecy of the closest character was evidently the object, and being wainscoted thereafter, no trace remained.

  By order of the Castle officials the remains were restored to the coffin and the aperture closed up.

  To the two workmen who made the discovery, dragging out a box immediately gave rise to exciting thoughts of hidden treasure. When its true identity became apparent, however, the apprentice, an Irish lad and a devout Roman Catholic, was in such a panic at the sight of a coffin that, crossing himself, he let it fall to the floor.

  Cursing the lad, gibbering with terror, for his clumsiness, the older man in charge of the renovation work scrambled about trying to put it together again. The results were not very encouraging and he decided they had better break off their work and inform the Castle authorities of their find.

  There was some argument as to whether the coffin should be carried with them, but considering its now fragile condition the man in charge decided that wasn’t a good idea and that it had better be left where it was.

  The clumsy apprentice, quaking, swore by the Mother of God that he wasn’t going to be left alone with any coffin. There might be ghosts. The other workman laughed. A big strong fellow, he could fight anything or anyone. No ghost would bother him. Besides it was just a wee bairn’s bones. What harm could they do anyone?

  Telling the lad to go with the message instead, and be quick about it, he would stay and watch the coffin. Truth to tell, he’d be glad of a wee break and taking his clay pipe from his pocket, cursing, he realised the lad had gone off with the matches.

  No matter, since they had needed extra light for the job in the dim recess, there was a candle on the box beside the wall.

  But what to light his pipe with?

  Looking round he saw on the floor a piece of rolled paper, yellowed with age, stained and torn.

  Picking it up, it crumbled in his fingers and as he tried to unroll it, spread it on the table, he saw there were some words written on it, but he had never learned to read.

  Besides he was dying for a smoke.

  So he held it to the candle and used its bright flame to light his clay pipe.

  Puffing away happily he became aware through the smoke of a tall man standing near the entrance.

  Someone in authority. That was quick. About to spring to his feet, footsteps announced the return of his clumsy apprentice.

  The officials were on their way to inspect the coffin.

  ‘Who was that then?’ asked the pipe-smoker.

  The lad looked blank.

  ‘You must have passed him coming in, he was standing by the door. Daft-like clothes, an old-fashioned white shirt and his arm in a sling.’

  The lad shook his head. He had seen no one. But Tam Eildor had seen enough. When the workman so obliging spread the faded document on the table, the almost illegible signatures of Janet Beaton and Margaret Agnew were for a moment faintly visible.

  From his talk long ago with Martin Hailes at Kirktullo, Tam knew the identity of the baby who had lain in the castle wall near Mary Queen of Scots apartments since 16 June 1566, and the reason for the ruthless search throughout King James’s reign that had cost so many innocent lives, including the slaughter of the Earl and Master of Gowrie.

  Now, seeing the workman so leisurely using the crumbling document to light his clay pipe and watching its charred fragments drift away into the Edinburgh skies, Tam saw that the irony was complete.

  The king’s secret was safe at last. The contents of the documents that had haunted him destroyed forever by ‘that vile custom’, the subject of his treatise, “A Counterblast to Tobacco”.

  He decided that King James would have approved.

  Author’s Note

  Four hundred years ago today, Queen Elizabeth died and James VI of Scotland became James I of England, his great ambition fulfilled in the Union of the Crowns. He reigned for twenty-two years and returned only once to Scotland in 1617 to attend the General Assembly.

  Perth County Council Chambers, with a commemorative plaque marks the site of Gowrie House, demolished in 1807.

  After the terrible deeds within its walls on 5 August 1600, the name and arms of Ruthven were extinguished and their estates forfeited. Ruthven Castle became known as Huntingtower, the name it bears to this day. Property of HM Office of Works it is open to the public.

  Regarding the fate of the two younger Ruthvens. William made his escape to France where he remained in exile and was to distinguish himself by his knowledge of chemistry.

  His younger brother was not so fortunate in escaping the king’s vengeance. As soon as James was crowned king of England and Scotland in 1603, he immediately had Patrick Ruthven hunted down and imprisoned in the Tower of London. There he remained for 19 years after which he was released and became a noted surgeon.

  By Queen Anne’s intervention, the Ruthven sisters Beatrix and Barbara were returned to her service.

  Meanwhile the key historical players in the slaughter at Gowrie House were suitably rewarded. Sir John Erskine of Mar who delivered the wounded Master of Ruthven’s de
athblow received the Lordship of Dirleton Castle and lands. John Ramsay who first daggered Alexander and then killed the Earl received a knighthood and was created Lord Haddington. Even Henderson, the armed man in the turret, was not forgotten. The king gave him a lifetime pension and his son was raised to the peerage as Lord Dunkeld.

  The heir to two kingdoms, Prince Henry died in 1612, aged 16. Ironically, on 15 November 1600 the day of the posthumous trial of the corpses of the Ruthven brothers, Queen Anne gave birth to a son, the future Charles the First who succeeded his father and was fated to die under the executioner’s axe.

  The king who became known as ‘The Wisest Fool in Christendom’ was a prolific author, scholar and poet. Despite his dubious reputation and the many scandals associated with his reign, his name was to be remembered with due reverence by generations for the King James Version of the Holy Bible.

  In this fictionalised reconstruction of an unsolved historic mystery, the key issues are as depicted in contemporary documents and letters and actual speech used where recorded.

  Tam Eildor and Tansy Scott are fictional. Not so William Hepburn, the illegitimate son of James Hepburn, Earl of Bothwell by Anna Throndsen, he lived as a child with Bothwell’s mother Lady Morham who mentioned him in her will. Details of his subsequent life are unknown.

  ALANNA KNIGHT

  Edinburgh, 24 March 2003

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