by Jean Plaidy
Margaret awoke. It was night and, stretching out her hand, gently she touched the sleeping body of her husband. So near, she thought, and yet so far away.
She remembered then riding into Scotland and how she had changed her dress on the roadside because she had wanted to look her best for him; then she had fallen deeply in love with him and for a time had believed herself to be loved.
It seemed now that the whole of her married life had been an affront to her pride.
She began to weep.
“What ails you?” It was James’s voice in the darkness.
“Oh, have I awakened you? I crave pardon for that.”
“But tears! Why?”
“It was an evil dream.”
James, who was almost as superstitious as his father had been, was alarmed. He believed fervently in the significance of dreams.
“What was this dream?”
“I dreamed that you were standing at the edge of a precipice and, while I watched you, men came running. They were soldiers and they seized you and threw you down.… I saw your body mangled and battered, and I could not bear it.”
James put his arms about her. “You are overwrought,” he soothed.
“Nay, but this dream was vivid. And it did not stop there. I was sitting in my chamber looking at my jewels—my coronet of diamonds and my rings; and as I watched, my diamonds and my rubies all turned to pearls. And pearls are the sign of widowhood and tears.”
Being aware of her desire to turn him from his purpose, James was not as impressed by this dream as she had hoped he would be. “It is clearly a meaningless nightmare. Go to sleep and forget it.”
Margaret withdrew herself from his arms and sat up in bed.
“What I tell you is of course of no account,” she cried bitterly. “Now if I were the Queen of France you would listen to me. Alas, I am but the Queen of Scotland…your own wife whom you have constantly deceived and ignored.”
James was tired; he disliked such scenes at any time but at night they were doubly distressing. He lay down and began breathing as though he were sleeping.
“Oh, you can pretend to sleep,” stormed Margaret. “Let us hope you have pleasanter dreams than I. Let us hope that you dream you are reading love letters from the Queen of France…fighting her battles for her like her own true knight.”
“Margaret, be silent. You will arouse our attendants.”
“What matters it? They will only hear me say what they know already. Do you deny that you have made yourself the knight of the Queen of France? I wonder you did not go to France instead of Lyon. Then you might have had a chance of sharing her bed.”
James did not answer, but Margaret was not going to be silenced.
“The Queen of France!” she cried scornfully. “Twice married by means of divorces! A fine lady to arouse the chivalry of her Scottish knight. But she must be served while the mother of your son is cast aside.”
James rose quickly and seizing her pulled her down beside him.
“Be silent!” he commanded, and there was an angry note in his voice.
“I will not! I will not!” she sobbed.
“You are being foolish,” said James gently.
“Why? Because I have loved you too well? Because I have wanted to have a share in your life?”
“Have you not had a share in my life?”
“I have had my moments…and then I have been forgotten. I have been here merely to bear your children. Your mistresses have had more of you than I. And now this woman…this Queen of France…beckons you and against the advice of your ministers you are ready to do her bidding. This old woman—and everyone knows she is in a decline—says, ‘Be my Knight,’ and you are ready to serve her.”
“Surely you cannot be jealous of an old woman who is in a decline?”
“I can be jealous of all who take you from me.”
“Oh, Margaret, why cannot you be calm…serene…?”
She cried out: “Like that other Margaret. She was always so calm, was she not? She was so understanding! Well she might be! Grateful for the attentions of a king. But I was the daughter of a king before I was the wife of one…and I demand…I demand…”
She was choking on her sobs again; he stroked her hair and laid his lips on her forehead, and for some minutes they lay silent.
Then at length she said: “James, you are really going to march across the Border?”
“Yes.”
“My sister-in-law, Katharine of Aragon, will gather together an army to meet you.”
“That is very likely.”
“James, when you go south, let me come with you. Let me meet my sister-in-law. Together we will talk and make peace. There is no need for war.”
James remained silent.
“James,” she went on, “will you let me come with you? Will you let me talk to Katharine? She will not want war any more than I do.”
“Nay,” agreed James, “she will not want war. Nor will your brother. They would prefer to wait until he returns from France with the full strength of his army. Then, wife, they will not hesitate to march across the Border. By sweet St. Ninian, have you forgotten that he has declared he will take the best of our towns for himself if we break not our alliance with France?”
“You should have broken your alliance with France. You should never have sent ships there.”
“I see,” he said ruefully, “that you are an Englishwoman still, and the English were always enemies of the Scots.”
“Should I be an enemy of my husband…of my son?”
“Poor Margaret! It is sad that your brother and your husband should be at war. But for this you must blame your brother.”
She was angry again. “Nay,” she cried, “I blame my husband. My husband who, because the French Queen flatters him into becoming her Wild Knight, turns from his true wedded wife to give her pleasure.”
“Nay, Margaret, this is not so. Never should I have taken up arms against your brother if he had treated me as a friend.”
“I could have made friendship between you.”
“Never!”
“You would not let me try.” She sat up in bed and abused him for all that he had made her suffer. She taunted him with his infidelity—the lies and subterfuge during those first months of their married life when he had feigned to be occupied by state affairs and was in truth with his mistresses.
“What sort of marriage is this…for the daughter of a king!” demanded Margaret.
She was a little hysterical, because she was afraid. She had related a dream to him which had not occurred that night, but her sleep had been uneasy of late, and although her dreams had taken no definite shape they had been filled with foreboding.
She could not analyze her feelings for this man. There were times when she hated him, others when she loved him. She loved him for his virile body, for his graceful and expert lovemaking; but she could never forget that he, who had awakened her to the full sensuality of her own nature, had deceived her, had made her foolish in her own eyes. She had dreamed of an idyll; if he had only seemed a little less perfect during the first days of their marriage it would have been easier to bear. She would have come to a sense of reality before she had built a romantic ideal. She believed that as long as she lived she would feel cheated—and he had done this.
She wanted to tell him so now, because she had a notion that this was the time to tell him. Perhaps she hoped to make him relent toward her, to take her with him into battle. For suddenly she was terrified to let him go.
He had taken her trembling body in his arms and the intensity of her passion communicated itself to him. There could only be one climax for them in such a situation.
When they lay silent and exhausted side by side, Margaret stared into the darkness.
She was certain that that night she had conceived again.
The King was preparing for the march south. The Queen was subdued and silent.
She had taken the young prince to Linlithgow and James was
with her; but he would not stay long. The country was ready for war.
She did not plead again to be allowed to accompany his army, because she knew it would be fruitless. He was particularly kind and gentle but adamant on that point.
“I feel our son will be safe with you,” he told her. “I shall make you Regent of my kingdom and guardian of our heir while I am away.”
She nodded sadly and lowered her eyes for fear he should see the resentment which she did not believe she would be able to hide.
He told her that he had called a council to be held in the Palace and that during it he hoped to complete his plans.
“It will not be long before I am back with you,” he said. “I pray you take counsel with English Cuddy and Scotch Dog. I shall expect good entertainment on my return.”
English Cuddy! Scotch Dog! As though she were a child to be amused with their trifles.
But she did not give up hope of persuading him.
Help came from an unexpected quarter, when the Earl of Angus, old Bell-the-Cat, presented himself to her.
Margaret felt stimulated at the sight of the old warrior because she was interested in the Douglas family for two reasons: one that this man was a rival with James for the affections of Janet Kennedy; and the other that he was a grandfather of his namesake,Archibald Douglas, who had so caught her fancy and whom she could not get out of her mind.
“Your Grace,” said Bell-the-Cat, “I have heard that you sought, most wisely, to turn the King from his intention to attack England, and I have come to ask your permission to work with you in this endeavor.”
Margaret flushed with pleasure. “You are very welcome, my lord,” she told him. “I am sure your experience and reputation should be of great help in changing the King’s mind.”
“That is what I wish to do, for I am of the opinion that this is not the moment to engage in war.”
“I will ask the King’s permission to go with you to him now that you may talk to him.”
The old man bowed his head, and Margaret called to one of her attendants to go to the King and ask if he would receive her and the Earl of Angus who had come on a mission of great importance.
James sent a reply immediately that he would be pleased to receive them in his apartment, and when the Queen presented the Earl, he regarded him with distaste.
He could not help picturing him with Janet, and he knew that Angus felt the same about him. They were rivals—and they always would be, for Janet was a woman whom it was difficult to forget.
Angus too suffered from tormenting jealousy. The Stuart was one of the handsomest fellows in Scotland. Such looks and charm, and a crown to go with them! No wonder Janet had been tempted,
“What is it you wish?” James asked.
“To add my pleas to those of the Queen on this matter of war,” Angus told him.
“My mind is made up,” replied the King coldly.
“Sire, the English have always been a formidable enemy.”
“I am well aware of the strength of my enemy, my lord. But as it happens the flower of the English army is at this moment engaged in attacking my friend and ally, the King of France. And this seems an opportune moment for me to wipe out old scores. As you doubtless know, I have already declared war on the King of England.”
“Sire, will you not call together your old counselors?”
“Your friends?”
“They will set their reasons before Your Grace, as I will do.”
The King shrugged his shoulders. “I am in no mood to listen to your advice, Angus. My plan shall go forward.”
“At least,” put in Margaret, “Your Grace should listen to what these tried and trusty men have to say.”
“Very well,” replied James. “I will hear you. Let there be a council meeting of those who share your views, and I will attend it; but I warn you, I shall not agree with your arguments and you are but wasting your time and mine.”
“Your Grace is good,” murmured Angus. “I will bring to the Palace certain members of my family and my friends who share my views, that we may parley with Your Grace.”
“As you will,” said James, but his lips were set in the obstinate lines which Margaret understood; and she knew that he had already made up his mind.
The Douglases came to Linlithgow in their strength. Margaret met the eldest son of Bell-the-Cat, George, Master of Douglas, who was the father of Archibald. She had a glimpse also of the younger Archibald himself, and there was an opportunity of exchanging a word with him.
“I rejoice to see your grandfather at Linlithgow,” she told him when she met him as if by chance on his way to the council meeting.
“I thank Your Grace,” murmured the young man, bowing over her hand.
“I pray that he will persuade the King from this enterprise.”
“I will add my prayers to those of Your Grace.”
“Thank you,” she said, and smiled at him in a manner which embarrassed him slightly because he was not sure of the meaning behind her looks.
It was said in the Palace that the Queen and old Bell-the-Cat were allies, more because of Janet Kennedy than the English.
But there was another thing which was said, and that was that there was a party in the country opposed to war; and this became known as the Queen’s and the Douglas faction.
James listened to the objections to war and swept them all aside. He had made up his mind. He was going to march against England.
The King had gone to the Abbey Church of St. Michael with some of his ministers to pray for a successful enterprise and was attending vespers in St. Katharine’s Chapel there when an extraordinary incident occurred.
James was kneeling in prayer when, out of the dimness of the chapel, a strange figure appeared. This seemed to be an aged man dressed in a blue gown, with a roll of white linen tied about his waist; his hair hung in yellow locks about his face and fell to his shoulders.
His voice rang through the chapel so that all could hear: “James, King of Scotland, listen to me and take heed. Sir King, I charge you—do not go where you plan to go. If you ignore this warning, you will not fare well—nor shall any that follow you. Beware. Follow not the counsel of women. Do this, Sir King, and you will be confounded and brought to shame.”
There was a brief silence and before any had time to detain the man he had disappeared.
James rose to his feet. “Who spoke then?” he cried.
His friends were clustering about him.
“Did you see a figure…a strange figure in blue and white?”
“I thought so.”
“Where is he now?”
“He was there one moment…and gone the next.”
Frightened glances were exchanged. None was as eager to go to war with England as the King was.
James said: “Bah! A madman.”
“Perhaps so, Sire, but where did he go?”
“We have other things with which to concern ourselves than the antics of madmen,” said the King.
Margaret awaited the return of her servant.
He was trembling, for he had feared he would not escape. He had planned what he would say if he were caught; he would tell the King that the Queen had commanded him to act as he had; and he knew the King well enough to believe that he would shrug his shoulders and laugh aside the incident.
But he had not been caught. The Queen had planned carefully. It had been possible to emerge from the shadows to say his piece; to step back; to slip behind the curtains and out through the little door at the side of the altar to the privy stairs which led to the Palace.
“Well done,” said Margaret.
She waited now to hear that her husband and his friends had been shaken by what they must have thought was a supernatural vision.
But she was disappointed.
James had gone to Edinburgh, there to supervise his artillerymen who were bringing the military equipment from the Castle where it had been stored. Among this was the great cannon which the King had rece
ntly had made and which was known as the Seven Sisters.
It was at this time that the second strange incident took place.
The army was now assembled on the plain of Borough Moor near Edinburgh, ready to march, when at midnight a voice was heard ringing out, it seemed, from the Market Cross.
“These men are summoned to the Bar of Pluto within forty days!” cried the voice. Then there followed a roll call of the names of certain illustrious men who were following the King into battle.
Many of the people of Edinburgh lay cowering in their beds as they listened to the voice; but some ran out into the streets and, although they made their way to the Market Cross, they could not discover whence the voice came.
This was an evil omen, they said. They had heard how a strange figure had appeared when the King was at his devotions. Clearly he was being warned against going to war.
When the King was awakened from his sleep at Borough Moor and told of the voice at Market Cross he merely yawned. “There are some who are misguided enough to attempt to divert us from our purpose,” he said, and he smiled, somewhat tenderly thinking of one.
Was she responsible for the voice, as he was ready to believe she had been for the mysterious figure in the chapel? He knew of the door beyond the curtain which led to the Palace. His Queen was a woman of imagination and she believed that she could unnerve him through his superstition. But he was only superstitious when he felt he had acted unworthily; and the more he contemplated the war into which he was plunging his country, the more right and logical it seemed to conquer the old enemy at a moment when, by conducting this foolish war on the French, he was at his weakest.
Of course it was a war against his own brother-in-law and Margaret could not bear that her husband and brother should be in conflict. It was a natural feeling. But there was no blood-tie between him and Henry, and if ever Scotland had had an enemy that enemy, he was convinced, was Henry VIII of England.
He would forgive Margaret her little essays into the supernatural. He knew them for what they were, and they were not going to move him one inch from his purpose.
On a hot August day the Scottish army began to move toward the Border. Margaret went with it, riding beside the King at the head of the cavalry. She had accepted the fact at last that it was useless to try to persuade him to give up the campaign. The light of battle was in James’s eyes and nothing would deter him now.