by Jean Plaidy
Albany himself had been a friend of François for many years, all during that time when as Duc d’Angoulême the latter had lived in constant fear that Louis XII would produce a son who would oust him from the succession.
But there had been no son and now François was firmly on the throne; and he was honoring his old friend with a visit, which Albany knew meant that the King was going to give him some command.
Albany was eager to serve François, for the friendship between them was a true one; he enjoyed the witty conversation of the young King—the discussions on art, literature, and architecture, for François, lecherous and a keen sportsman though he was, prided himself first of all on his intellectual leanings.
He arrived at the château and was greeted with respectful affection by his friend. The banquet was almost comparable with those served in François’s own palaces and châteaux; and it was the next day, when they hunted together, that Albany learned the purpose of the King’s visit.
When they were riding side by side, François said: “My dear friend, I am afraid I am going to ask you to do something for France which may not be to your taste.”
“My liege, whatever was asked of me by François and France would immediately become to my taste.”
“Spoken like a Frenchman,” answered François with a light laugh. “You are more Frenchman than Scotsman, my dear Jehan. That is why it grieves me to ask this of you.”
“Sire, you are asking me to go to Scotland?”
Francois nodded mournfully. “I have received a plea from the Scottish Parliament. Your presence is needed there.”
Albany was silent, looking at the country about him which he loved, thinking of his wife whom he would have to leave behind, for her health was giving cause for great anxiety, and the rigors of the Scottish climate would surely kill her. He thought of the pleasures of his visits to Court which, now that François was on the throne, would be more enchanting than ever.
“My dear fellow,” went on François, “this is my sorrow as well as yours. I shall miss you. But see what is happening in your barbarous Scotland. The Regent Queen will be her brother’s vassal shortly. She has alienated the majority of the noblemen, but they dare not rise against her for fear of that young coxcomb below the Border. He is an irritant, that young cockerel. We can never be sure when he is going to strike, and the last thing we can afford is a harmonious relationship between England and Scotland; so it is necessary that Henry be in perpetual fear of attack from the North. Scotland must therefore be the friend of France and, if you were Regent, my dear friend, I could happily believe that you would never forget that half of you belongs to us. It is for this reason that I ask you to leave at once for Scotland, to take the Regency.”
“Sire, you have spoken. It is enough.”
“Thank you, my friend. I knew I could rely on you. The English Margaret must be stripped of her power, and the best way of doing this is to take the young King out of her charge. Let that be your first duty. Then, when you are the guardian of the little Princes, when you are Regent of Scotland, Henry’s sister will be powerless to move against us; and the friendship between France and Scotland will be firm.”
“I shall endeavor to obey my master’s wishes.”
“Faith of a gentleman!” cried François. “This might have been a most happy day but for this sad necessity. Would I could prolong my visit. But I must not delay you. You will have some preparations to make for your journey. This day I shall return to Paris and you will be making your way to Scotland. But we shall meet again…erelong.”
So now there would be no avoiding this unpleasant duty. Now he would not be able to send a deputy.
Within three days John Stuart, Duke of Albany, set out for Scotland.
It was on May 18 of that year, 1515, when Albany landed at Dumbarton.
Margaret had been forced to agree to his coming because, apart from the Douglases, she had scarcely any supporters in Scotland; and there was one great fear that had come to her, which was that when Albany took over the Regency he would attempt to take her children from her.
Margaret loved her sons devotedly and the thought of losing control of them terrified her. The Parliament had pointed out to her that, although James IV had appointed her Regent and tutrix of James V, he had not known that she would so insult his memory by marrying again before he had been dead a year.
In her anxiety for the future of her children she forgot her desire to cling to power. She was an emotional woman before she was a ruler. Her love for Angus had put her into this difficult position; her love for her children was now making her frantic.
One of her greatest enemies was that Border baron, Lord Home, and when Albany arrived it was Home who set out to welcome him accompanied by ten thousand horsemen of his clan.
Home was magnificently dressed in green velvet, and he believed that by greeting Albany thus immediately as he came ashore, he would find himself highly favored by the new Regent.
But before the meeting between Albany and Home, the Regent had received his old friend de la Bastie, for he was anxious, before committing himself to any promises or friendships, to hear what his deputy had to report of affairs in Scotland.
De la Bastie told him of the conflict which was raging throughout the land and suggested that he be particularly wary of Lord Home who was now eager to greet him, for like most Border barons he was capable of changing his coat at the first opportunity. It was whispered that Home had not supported the King as he might have done at Flodden; and it was because Margaret had voiced a suspicion of this that he had set himself up as the chief enemy of her and the Douglases. Albany would do well to beware of Home.
Thus, when the two men came face-to-face, Albany did not extend that cordiality which Home was expecting, and as Home rode forward with a smile of welcome, Albany’s gaze was cool.
“I’m Lord Home, Your Grace,” explained Home. “I have most humbly come to place myself and my men at your disposal.”
“Lord Home?” said the Regent. “I thought one so handsomely attired must be a king. Such a band of followers, such fine raiment, are scarcely suitable for a subject who wishes to display his humble desire to serve.”
With that he turned away, leaving Home discomfited.
Not that Home would accept such an insult. He rode back to his men, savage anger showing on his face.
He had made up his mind. In those few moments he had ceased to be the friend of Albany; and since he was Albany’s enemy he must be Margaret’s friend.
Margaret, in Edinburgh Castle, knew that she must make a pretense of greeting the Regent. She had agreed that he should come, albeit she had been forced to do so; but she must hide her rancor and pretend to welcome him. She wondered what kind of man he was. He was a royal Stuart—that much she knew—and they were notorious for their fascination.
She was faintly disappointed, though she would not admit this, in her handsome Angus. While they were enjoying their secret honeymoon he had been all that was wonderful; but now that he saw the strife their marriage had made all about them, he was beginning to be afraid, and instead of the conquering young husband there were times when he betrayed himself as a frightened boy.
He was vain enough and ambitious enough to enjoy being the Queen’s husband; but he did not enjoy finding himself at the mercy of powerful enemies such as Arran who quite clearly hated him because of his new position.
But Margaret refused to face this aspect of her husband’s character for she was still deeply in love with his handsome body.
At the same time she allowed the women who were doing her hair to chatter about Albany.
“They say he is a great hero in France, a friend of the King and noted for his bravery in battle. And there’s something else they say. He is furious because of Your Grace’s marriage.”
“My marriage is no concern of his,” declared Margaret.
The women laughed. “Oh, but he has seen Your Grace’s picture. And it has been said that he fell in lov
e with it and hoped that there would be a marriage waiting for him in Scotland.”
“What nonsense! He has a wife. I have a husband.”
“But, Your Grace, he did not know of your marriage…and they say his wife is ill and cannot live long.”
“Well, even if he had such plans, they must come to naught.”
Margaret smiled at her reflection in the burnished metal of the mirror. She placed her hands on her stomach and reveled in the slight swelling there. His child, she thought, and mine.
She hoped for a boy who would look exactly like her handsome husband, but she could not but be sorry that with all this trouble rising around her she must also suffer the inconvenience of a pregnancy.
It was time for her now to ride out to greet Albany; and she had decided that she would be gracious, for he was her late husband’s uncle and a Royal Stuart; but she would be wary, and if he attempted to take her babies from her she would fight with everything she had.
When she saw him she was struck by his handsome looks. There was no doubt of the Stuart blood; that indefinable charm which seemed to be their birthright was there in the broad face with the humorous eyes; his hair and beard were dark, as were his eyes, and his manners were more courteous than those she had come to expect from the Scottish lords. He appeared to be in his midthirties, the prime of life, she thought.
“Welcome to Scotland,” she said; and he answered: “I thank my gracious Queen.”
Then they rode to Holyrood House where the Regent was to have his lodging; and later that day Margaret went back to the Castle.
For all his charm the Regent acted with sternness and speed. His first victim was Lord Drummond who was called before the Council and sentenced to imprisonment in Blackness Castle for his conduct toward Lyon-King-at-Arms. Gavin Douglas was also imprisoned for aspiring to the Primacy; and in fear Margaret awaited the next blow which she was certain would be the removal of her children from her care.
Those Scottish lords who saw the beginning of the downfall of the Douglases, deserted her, and the only supporters she now had were her husband, Angus, and the disgruntled Lord Home who might so easily desert her for the other side if she were to offend him in any way. Still, she must make the best of what she had, and if Home was untrustworthy he was also powerful.
Margaret herself went from the Castle to Holyrood House to plead for the release of Lord Drummond, an old man, she explained, who had acted impulsively when he had struck the Lyon King. Albany, eager not to alienate Margaret too strongly, at length agreed to pardon Drummond; this was done, and his estates were restored to him.
But Margaret was growing more and more uneasy because, when his powerful grandfather and uncle had been imprisoned, Angus had become really perturbed. He often thought with remorse of the way in which he had treated Jane Stuart; and he longed to see her, to explain how he had been carried away by his powerful family and the Queen’s insistence. Margaret sensed his lack of ease, and although not aware of his thoughts about Jane, she wondered how strong he would be in a dire emergency. She excused him on account of his youth—the very quality which so appealed to her. She comforted him and told him that all would be well for them if they were loyal to each other.
“As I shall always be to you,” she told him tenderly.
But the Regent and his Council were determined to take her sons from her care, and it was arranged in the Tolbooth that four peers should be chosen to go to the Castle and demand that the children be handed to them.
Margaret’s castle spy brought this information to her and, being warned, she was determined not to let the children go without a struggle.
She went to the nursery where young James was being amused by David Lindsay who was singing one of the old Scotch ballads known as “Ginkerton.” The young Duke of Ross was sleeping in his cot in a nearby room.
“My son,” she cried, “come here to me.”
“But Davie’s singing,” James told her.
“I know, my darling, but we’re going to play a game…you and I and your little brother. So David shall stop singing now.”
“I like ‘Ginkerton’ best.”
“Your Grace,” began David, who could see that she was in a state of tension, “is there aught I can do?”
“Yes, David. Go and tell the nurse to bring little Alexander from his cot.”
“It is his hour for sleep.”
“I know. I know. But this is important.” She drew him aside and whispered: “Albany is sending certain peers to the Castle for the children.”
David turned pale. “Your Grace…”
“Go and tell the child’s nurse to bring him to me. I am going to try to hold them off.”
“Why cannot Davie sing ‘Ginkerton’?” demanded three-yearold James.
“Because it is not part of this game.”
“I like ‘Ginkerton’ better than this game.”
“Never mind that now, my darling. We are going down to the portcullis. You will see a lot of people. You like seeing the people.”
James nodded and began to hum “Ginkerton.”
When the nurse had appeared, carrying the little Duke of Ross in her arms, Margaret said: “Follow me.” And she took James’s hand in hers and led the way down to the Castle gates.
She could hear the noises in the streets, for the four peers had set out from the Tolbooth and the townsfolk, guessing what was afoot, had followed them. On the way she was joined by Angus, looking very pale, and some of the ladies and gentlemen of her household. When they reached the portcullis Margaret demanded that it be raised, and when this was done, the four peers and all the people who had followed them saw the Queen holding the little King by the hand. A few paces behind her was the nurse holding the baby, while Angus and the members of her household formed a semicircle about her.
It was a charming and startling picture, and for a few seconds there was a breathless silence before the people of Edinburgh began to cheer wildly.
Margaret, her eyes seeming more brilliant than usual because of her high color, looked completely regal—but a mother as well; and as such she had on her side every woman in that crowd which had assembled, and almost every man. It was what she had hoped for.
The four peers were approaching, and she called to them to halt.
“I command you to state the cause of your coming before you take one step nearer to your sovereign,” she cried in a loud voice.
“Your Grace,” replied the spokesman of the four, “we come in the name of the Parliament to receive the King and his infant brother.”
There was absolute silence in the crowd as it watched the conflict of wills, as it speculated as to who would win this first round of a mighty battle—the Queen or the new Regent and his Parliament.
Margaret commanded: “Drop the portcullis.”
The great iron gate rumbled down between the royal group and the parliamentary representatives.
“The King, my husband, made me governess of this castle,” she cried in a ringing voice, “and I shall not yield it. But the Parliament of this country I must respect, and I ask that I be given six days in which to consider what they ask of me.”
Then turning, with her train following her, she walked back into the castle.
Angus was alarmed. The scene had been effective in the eyes of the spectators, but he was sure it had been an empty victory. When his grandfather and uncles had persuaded him to marry the Queen he had not visualized such alarming events. He had thought it was going to be all Court pleasures with himself at the Queen’s right hand.
He thought of the power which was massed against them, for it seemed to him that the only supporters the Queen had were the Douglases and the unreliable Lord Home. His grandfather seemed broken by what had happened to him, and well he might be, for he had come very near to losing all he possessed.
The thought of losing all his possessions alarmed Angus, so on an impulse he wrote to Albany telling him that it had not been his wish to take part in that affe
cting scene at the portcullis. He had wished to obey the Parliament’s mandate, and indeed had advised his wife to do so.
Sweating with fear, he called for a messenger and ordered him to take the letter to the Regent Albany with all speed.
Margaret could not rest. Her thoughts kept going back to an event in her family which suggested a parallel with the position in which she now found herself.
When Edward IV had died his widow, Elizabeth Woodville, had been asked to surrender the young King and his brother. This she had most reluctantly done and they had been lodged in the Tower of London. In that tower of many secrets they had disappeared, and none knew what their fate had been.
How could she give up her little James and Alexander? They were so young and tender. If they died, Albany could claim the throne. She had seen this man; his looks were noble, his manner chivalrous. Yet whom could one trust?
Six days to keep them while she pretended to consider handing them over. During those six days she forgot everything but the desire to keep her children with her.
On the fifth day she wrote to the Parliament telling them that if they would allow her to keep the little King and his brother in her care she would maintain them on her dowry, and that she would allow certain noblemen to share in their guardianship. She guessed of course that the Parliament would not agree to this and, on the fifth day, she told Angus that she dared remain in Edinburgh Castle no longer. “For they will come and take the children,” she said. “I know they will not accept my conditions.”
“Then there is only one thing you can do,” Angus insisted. “Give up the children.”
“Give up the children! I remember what happened in the case of other princes lodged in the Tower of London.”
“I believe Albany to be an honorable man.”
“I trust no man,” retorted Margaret, and she looked at him appealingly as though imploring him to allow her at least to keep her trust in him.
“You daren’t go against the wishes of the Parliament.”
“I dare!” said Margaret firmly. “We are going to leave for Stirling Castle tonight.”