The Beauty of the Mist

by May McGoldrick

  Isabel nodded in response. “Certainly not in the company of the very people you were trying to escape. And I’ll make sure that my friends will not reveal having seen me in Antwerp. It’s not so uncommon for me to come and go at my leisure, but I’ll see to it that they tell no one.”

  “What do you think Charles will tell the Scots when they arrive looking for me? It will look quite odd when I am not there to greet them.”

  “Bah, he and his advisors are bound to come up with something.” Isabel shook her head. “I imagine it will be something along the lines of him having sent you off to pray. Meanwhile, a whole fleet of the Emperor’s new galleons is probably bearing down on your poor mother at this very moment. He’s sure to have her questioned on your whereabouts.”

  “Juana la Loca can hold her own.” Maria put in. “Mother is the only person that Charles truly fears, I think.”

  “It’s true. She’s quite content wearing the title he has given her. Joan the Mad, indeed. The woman has better use of her faculties than any of us!”

  Maria tried to think through everything they’d just said. With Isabel’s plan, there was hope, a slim hope, that perhaps someday she could see him again. Perhaps if he valued her, or somehow grew to love her as she loved him now...well, perhaps someday he could come after her in Castile. She would leave him a letter. She would try to explain everything. Once he knew the truth of her situation, once he knew her motives and her reasons for running, he would understand. He had to understand. There was a hope. In spite of the years that might intervene, Maria knew that there was hope.

  “I want you to understand, Maria, that finding passage to Castile is not the end of our troubles,” Isabel added. “No question, Charles’s men will be there before us, and once we reach Spain, we will still have to deal with them. But there’s no sense worrying about that now. We have enough to contend with here.”

  Maria only nodded in response. She no longer could hear anything her aunt was saying. Her mind was on John Macpherson. On leaving this ship to be by his side. On the difficulty of walking away the next day. But it could, perhaps, only be for a short time, she promised herself. He’d come after her. She knew in her heart that he would.

  “Do many Scottish ships make it to Castile?” Her hand flew to her mouth. She hadn’t meant to ask the question aloud.

  Isabel stared at her for a moment. When she spoke, her voice was gentle.

  “Maria, you must resign yourself.” Her aunt’s words, softly spoken, still had the effect of daggers sinking into an open wound. “You will never see him again!”

  Maria stood and went to the open window. The salt breeze filled her lungs and stung her eyes.

  “Resolve yourself to the fact, child. And then make the best of what remains of your time with him.”

  Maria whirled around, opening her mouth to argue, to reason with her aunt about the future that still they might share, but then she closed it again. Isabel stood and walked stiffly to her, taking the young woman’s hands in her own. Maria knew her aunt had more to tell.

  “I don’t know what your understanding is of the kind of man John Macpherson is, but you should know what Janet Maule told me about Sir John.” Isabel led her back to the chairs and sat her down, keeping hold of her hand. John Macpherson has a faithful following of seamen and nobles who worship the ground he walks on. According to what Janet knows of him–through her father, I expect–even those who disagree with his politics respect him and admire him. But at the core of those politics, John Macpherson has for years been the hero, the champion, and the devoted supporter of Stuart crown. His prowess as Lord of the Scottish Navy is the sole reason that King Henry of England has never attempted to control the coasts of Scotland.”

  Isabel leaned back in her chair. Every king, every emperor has men like him. They are the true powers behind every throne. They are the fighters behind every cause.” Isabel looked steadily at her young charge. “Sir John is the kind of man who will sacrifice his life without a second thought for what he believes in. He is a man who, while still no more than a boy, took a sword in his hand and stepped into the fray beside his king at the Battle of Flodden Field. And he is the man who, as an adult, will do anything to further the interests of that ill-fated king’s son. Maria, John Macpherson will never be anything but a man for Scotland, and a man for the Stuart kings.”

  “I am not asking him to change who he is or what he believes in!”

  “But don’t you see, child?” Isabel argued. “That’s exactly what you are doing. This marriage between you and James V was not contrived solely for the benefit of your brother and his wild dreams of ruling the world. This marriage is as much for the benefit of the Scots. I might not be completely up to date on what has been taking place in that corner of the world, but since the death of this king’s father at Flodden Field, Scotland has been a country in complete disarray. This boy-king you are...you were to marry hasn’t yet taken control of his own land. A kingdom held by factions of nobles, each vying for power, will never thrive.”

  Maria held back her tears, but the knot that was burning in the back of her throat would not go away.

  “Your marriage would have united Charles and the Scots against Henry of England. It would have given the Scots a position for trading with the rest of Europe. France, their old ally, is becoming more and more alienated from the rest of the world. The Scottish people need a new ally, and your marriage would have provided that. Now, I’m not saying that it is possible for you to change what we have done, but you mustn’t fool yourself into thinking that you can have a future with John Macpherson without the man turning his back on all that he believes! On the king that he has dedicated his life to serving.”

  Maria closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Life was so complicated; every turn tore at her insides. She opened her eyes and gazed steadily into her aunt’s.

  “Isabel, I will never again be a sacrificial lamb for some other land’s prosperity. No matter how much Charles desires it or how badly James V needs it, they will have to find another way...or someone else. It won’t be me. I won’t do it.”

  Isabel reached in and held on to Maria’s hands. “Don’t misunderstand me, my child. I concur with all you say. You have already done more than your share for the Holy Roman Empire–and for your brother–by marrying Louis of Hungary. You have already paid a high price for your freedom. Now it is someone else’s turn.”

  “Then why do I feel a guilt that is about to crush the breath out of me? Why do I feel like a deserter and a fugitive?”

  Isabel paused a moment before she spoke again. “It is difficult to turn your back on your brother. You care for him–perhaps more than he deserves. But now, at least, you understand why he treats you as he does. An empire needs a ruler like Charles. As he is.” Isabel squeezed the young woman’s hand. “But we need not let him ruin our lives, now, should we?”

  Maria shook her head. “But, to be truthful, all that you’ve said about Scotland...and about John...worries me more.”

  “I would hazard a guess that you worry about what he think of you once he learns the truth?”

  “I already know the answer. He’ll hate me,” she whispered, turning her head away from her aunt. “He’ll never want to see me again.”

  “But you don’t really want to change John Macpherson, do you?” Isabel’s fingers gently took hold of Maria’s chin and turned it to face her again. “Don’t plan for the future, child. As it stands now, what the future might bring is out of your hands. You must plan and act on your own behalf, and you must plan for a future without him.”

  Maria could no longer hold back her tears, and they coursed freely down her cheeks.

  “Enjoy what remains of your time with him,” Isabel whispered. “Live all you can today, because tomorrow you’ll need these memories–of each moment you spend with him–to take you through all the days of your life.”

  Chapter 15

  The wharf beside the Great Michael seethed with the energy of
a thousand human onlookers.

  Lashed soundly to the end of the stone quay, the giant warship was indeed a spectacle for the people of Antwerp, and the shifting horde quayside pushed and shoved for a better view of the Scottish leviathan. Rows of armed sailors stood at the foot of the gangplank keeping the townspeople at bay, while dock workers carried crates and trunks of gifts for the Emperor Charles and the Queen of Hungary to carts waiting nearby. Aboard ship, the gaily dressed Scots delegation awaited an escort to the Palace. The gray light of day was fading into darkness, and a light rain began to fall.

  From the uppermost stern deck, John Macpherson gave a satisfied nod as the Eagle, the last of the Scottish warships, was safely tied off beside the Toward. He could see the Scottish nobles had already assembled on the deck of the Christopher. Glancing out into the wide mouth of the River Scheldt, he stared through the gathering gloom at the four galleons that had been escorting them since the previous day. They had taken up positions in the harbor that would allow them clear shots at the Scottish ships, should the need arise. John could feel the eyes of the galleon commanders on him at that very moment.

  “Another day,” he muttered to himself, turning his attention quayside.

  Antwerp had an impressive port. The walls of the city rose up in the distance, and besides the well traveled carters roads that he could see leading up to city gates, there was also an extensive network of canals for barges running from the long row of quays lining the bank of the deep river up to and into the city. Merchant ships, many good-sized crowded the wharves and many more lay at anchor in the harbor.

  The Highlander peered into the noisy crowd, past the huge, smoky dock torches that were sputtering to life. A young man was fighting his way through the throng of people, trying to make his way back to his commander as quickly as he could. When he looked up, John waved to his navigator over the heads of the milling assemblage. In a few moments, David worked his way to the ship and quickly climbed the gangplank and steps to the stern deck.

  “There were two Flemish ships that they know of that went down last week.” David said breathlessly as he reached John. “Word is, the Emperor’s galleons spotted a number of French warships in the German Sea, but the French refused to engage, preferring to run. But the rumor is that the French sank the two merchantmen. And there could be more. They just don’t know yet. A number of ships that are up to a week late coming in, though that fog we were stuck in may be the cause for that. At any rate, that’s all I could find out. But the sailor I talked to said we could probably get more news–or rumor, anyway–at the Bourse. He says that the exchange opens every day for an hour in the afternoon and will open again for an hour in the evening. I saw a number of merchants coming off ships and heading directly into the city.

  “Heading for the Bourse probably.” John considered for a moment.

  “Aye, the exchange seems to be the center of activity.” David glanced at the Scots nobles on the deck. He could see Janet Maule standing with her father and Lady Caroline and casting surreptitious looks in his direction. Their eyes met and locked for an instant before the young woman quickly looked away. The navigator forced his attention back on his commander. “Would you like me to go there next?”

  “Nay, we haven’t time,” John answered, looking out at the commotion of torch carrying men entering the harbor area. The escort, no doubt, eyeing the troop of armored horsemen at the head of the line of soldiers. He had hoped to get some quick news for Maria and Isabel about any survivors of their ill-fated ship, but now he supposed it would have to wait until morning. He turned away and faced his navigator. “I would like you to escort Lady Maria to Hart Haus. Elizabeth and Ambrose sent a message ahead of us, so the house should be in readiness. The steward, Pieter knows you, but be certain he knows that she is my special guest, and is to be treated as such. And as far as Lady Isabel, take few men with you and deliver her to the home of her friends. She said she couldn’t recall the name of the place, but she assured me she knows the way.”

  David nodded to his commander.

  “I have to accompany this delegation to the Emperor’s Palace. As soon as I can get away without offending our host, I’ll go straight to Hart Haus.”

  “Do you have any idea how long our stay will be?”

  John looked down at the escort. The leader of the contingent was jerking hard at the reins of his spirited mount in a display of mastery over the animal. The Highlander shook his head and frowned. How long? He didn’t want to admit it loud, but he would have no objection to a prolonged visit. In spite of all the nonsense associated with this Queen of Hungary and the marriage, he was really looking forward to spending time with Maria, and staying here in the city gave him that chance. “I won’t know until we meet with the Emperor and his sister–or at least with the welcoming delegation.”

  The attention of the two men was drawn to the scene on the quay, as the leader began shouting at one of his soldiers who had made the mistake of trying to quiet the headstrong steed as the courtier dismounted.

  John chuckled at the display. “Well, it looks as if the forces of the Empire have everything under control here!”

  “Aye,” David chimed in, grinning. The navigator’s face grew serious. “Sir John, will she going back to Scotland with us?”

  “I sure hope, she is.” John answered, watching as the leading noblemen of the delegation made their way down the gangplank and toward the splenetic courtier. “I’d hate to think we made this journey only to go back empty-handed.”

  “What?” David asked, shooting him a questioning look before comprehending the misunderstanding. “Nay, sir. I didn’t mean Mary of Hungary. I was talking about Lady Maria. Will she be coming back with us?”

  John looked at his man steadily. He hadn’t asked her–not officially, anyway. But there were a lot of things between them that were understood without being said.

  “She is going back with us,” the Highlander growled. There was no reason why she shouldn’t.

  “If you’re looking for a place to hide,” Isabel offered, looking into Maria’s cabin from the doorway, “you’ll need to do a better job of it.”

  Maria swept her ebony hair back over her shoulder as she knelt upright and frowned at her aunt.

  “Very funny.” She surveyed the small cabin for the thousandth time, then looked again at Isabel. “That large wick lamp in your cabin. Would you be kind enough to bring it in here? Perhaps with a bit more light...”

  “What on earth are you looking for, my dear?”

  “I am looking for my ring, Isabel.”

  “Your ring?” Now it was the elder woman’s turn to frown. “You never wear a ring, Maria!”

  “My marriage ring,” Maria responded, going back to her search. “I wear it on a chain about my neck.”

  As her fingers carefully searched the spaces where the wood floor planks had separated, Maria crawled along the floor. Isabel shrugged and retrieved the larger wick lamp from her room. The older woman held it over Maria as best she could. The small cabin was considerably brighter with the additional light.

  “Thank you, Isabel,” Maria said, adding vaguely, “I wonder what’s beneath us?”

  “I thought you stopped wearing that ring when Louis died.”

  “Nay, I didn’t.” She had considered it carefully. When word came of the Hungarian army’s crushing defeat–and of her husband’s death–Maria had retreated to the solitude of her tower chamber in the grim, stone castle at Budapest. There, she had thought hard about her future. And about the death of Louis.

  Theirs had never been much of a marriage. But, as she held the ring to the fading light, Maria had wondered what the union had brought her. The intricately carved insignia had cleverly combined the crest of the Habsburgs with the crest of Louis’s family. The goldsmith had done exquisite work in creating the new design. Far better, she had thought with a pang of guilt, than she and Louis had done in creating an heir. But with the Ottoman Turks advancing from Mohács, Maria had ha
d little time for either guilt or self-pity. Deciding that the marriage had, at least given her some sense of identity, she had strung the ring on a gold chain, and hung it about her neck.

  “I didn’t put it away,” she repeated. “I’ve kept it with me.”

  A bit earlier, when she was putting together the few things that they had acquired while aboard the Great Michael, Maria had noticed, for the first time, her ring’s absence.

  Isabel sat on the edge of the bunk, still holding the lamp out. “Are you certain you didn’t lose it before we were picked up by the Scots?”

  “Nay, I was wearing it when we arrived.”

  “Then tell me, when was the last time that you saw it? And where did you last put it?”

  Maria sat back on her heels and looked up into her aunt’s face. “I removed it from around my neck the first day we arrived. And I thought that I placed it...nay, I’m certain that I placed it on the shelf. Here.” Her hands moved up and touched the empty surface of the wooden ledge. “But I haven’t thought to look for it since.”

  Isabel looked casually about her in the cabin. “Well, it doesn’t seem to be around any longer.”

  Maria pushed herself to her feet as she gave one last look around the room.

  “You don’t suspect anyone of taking it?” Isabel asked.

  Maria shook her head. “There is not much value to that ring. It is gold, but there are no gems set...”

  “Not much value?” Isabel choked. “A gold ring given by a king to his queen! I don’t think you have any idea of what constitutes wealth, my dear–particularly to people who don’t have it!”

  “Excuse me. I stand corrected.” Maria took hold of Isabel’s free hand. “Perhaps it would be more appropriate to say that my ring could not bring a thief anywhere near the worldly wealth that one of your rings might bring.”

  Isabel looked dumbly at the exquisite array of jewels on her own fingers. Finally, she nodded, mumbling, “What you say is true, my dear.”