by Jean Plaidy
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 recently 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.
With James rode his son by Marian Boyd, Alexander Stuart, a handsome youth in his teens who had already been appointed Archbishop of St. Andrews. Glancing at this handsome youth, Margaret was glad that her own small son was safe in the care of David Lindsay at Linlithgow; but Alexander was glowing with health and high spirits, eager to prove himself in battle, and there was no doubt that James was delighted to have his son with him.
They arrived at Dunfermline where they stayed the night. It had been decided that Margaret should go no farther but return to Linlithgow to be with the young Prince.
That was a tender night which Margaret was to remember. James had said to her: “Margaret, let us forget all rancor. Let it be as it was when you first came into Scotland.”
She had been gentle too; and as they lay clasped in each other's arms James let her know that he bore no grudge against her for the tricks she had played on him; nor had he told anyone of his suspicion that she was involved in them. “For I know,” he said, “it was but wifely concern which prompted you to act so. And, if all should not go as I hope, I have left orders that you are to be tutrix to our heir as long as you remain a widow.”
Margaret cried out in horror: “Do not say such things. It is unlucky.”
“Ah,” he murmured, “it is you who are the superstitious one now.”
“We are all superstitious where our feelings are concerned,” she told him; and she wept a little, not only because he was going to leave her, but because he had never been all that she had once believed he was.
He comforted her with soft words and told her that he would be back victorious within a few weeks. “Why, the land will be undefended. A few battles—and England conquered forever, a vassal of Scotland. And then, my love, in years to come it will be said: ‘That was the work of James IV of Scotland… and his Queen, Margaret Tudor, who was a good wife to him.'”
“And to whose counsels he paid no heed!”
“When this is over I will pay heed to all you say.”
“Ah,” she murmured, “when this is over!”
Then they made love, first tenderly, and then with rising passion.
As though, thought Margaret, they who had done these things so often now did them for the last time.
So Margaret returned to Linlithgow and James continued the march south.
It seemed that James had been right. The Border was unprotected. The flower of English chivalry was indeed in France with the King. All along the line the Scots were victorious and all through those preliminary skirmishes James kept Alexander Stuart beside him and rejoiced in his young manhood.
He wished the boy had been his legitimate son. What a king he would have made!
He told Alexander this and was delighted to see the horror dawn in the young face. “But if I were your legitimate son how could I be King while you lived? And if you are to die, I would as lief die with you, as take your crown.”
Wonderful words from a son to a father. And thus it would have been with my father, thought James, had he treated me as a father should, as I have sworn I will behave to all my children.
Those were glorious days, and James felt young again. Each morning to ride to fresh conquests, teaching his son to make war as a man, with victory crowning all their efforts. Pleasant too to watch old Bell-the-Cat fighting as one would expect such an old warrior to fight, but sour because he had not believed in the war.
He was too old for battle, too old for lovemaking. Perhaps Janet had realized that by now.
And so the war went as Scotsmen could wish. Then they came to the frontier castle of Ford.
The castle stood on the east bank of the Till stream in the north of the county of Northumberland. Alexander, riding beside his father, said: “It's a grand place, but it'll fall to us as easily as the others.”
James looked toward the two towers at the east and west fronts of the edifice and replied complacently: “More easily, my son, for the castellan is already our prisoner. He is Sir William Heron who now lies in a dungeon at Fastcastle for his part in the murder of one of our Scottish knights. I do not think this castle will hold out long against us.”
“Then here is yet another conquest!” laughed Alexander.
They were right. There was little resistance at Ford Castle. Into the courtyards rode the Scots, where the defenders of the castle were on their knees begging for mercy.
“Take me to him who is in charge,” he cried.
He stepped into the great hall where, her head high, the color flooding her cheeks, dignified yet unafraid, stood a woman and with her a young girl.
The woman was remarkably beautiful; the girl fresh and charming, scarcely out of her childhood. James's expression softened immediately, and the gallant took the place of the soldier.
“Madam,” he said, “I could wish we had met in happier circumstances.”
She did not answer but regarded him steadily.
“Have no fear,” James went on gently. “It is not our custom to harm women and children.”
“We must at least be grateful for that,” she answered.
“My men are hungry and thirsty. Could you give them refreshment?”
“We are at your mercy,” she replied gravely, and, turning, signed to her servants that they must lay the great table and feed the conquerors.
James was at her side: “While this is being done, may I have a word with you in private?”
She led him into a small parlor, and as he followed her he saw with pleasure that Alexander was seeking to reassure the frightened girl as he, James, intended to reassure her mother.
When they faced each other in the parlor James brought forth all his charm, and he could not hide the speculation in his eyes as, connoisseur that he was, he noted the beauty of her face, her slim waist, her white bosom, her rounded hips. She was a beauty and it was a pleasure to be in her company.
James laid a hand on her arm. “First,” he said, “I must teach you not to be afraid of me.”
She lifted her enormous black-fringed eyes to his face and smiled suddenly. “No,” she said, “I do not think I shall need to fear you.”
James laughed. “Now,” he said, “we are friends?”
“Friends? My husband a prisoner in one of your castles! Our own home besieged and conquered!”
“Look upon this as a friendly call,” James urged.
“Listen to the soldiers in the courtyard. This is war, and however kind the King of Scots may be, nothing can alter that.”
He took her hand and before she could withdraw it—and he was quick to notice, being so practiced in these matters, that she had not in truth hurried to do so—he had kissed it.
“There are compensations in all things,” he answered, “even in war. Would it be possible for wine to be brought for me here, and would the lady of the house share it with me as though we were friends… which I hope we soon shall be?”
“You are in command,” she said.
“But nay!” he answered promptly. “I would not force my company upon you. I shall wait for you to invite me to share a goblet with you.”
She left him in the parlor, and in a short time returned with a servant who carried wine and two goblets.
“Serve first the King of Scotland,” Lady Heron ordered. “And then serve me.”
So they sat in the parlor and talked. He spoke of the horrors of war; the need for one country to take up arms against another; and how in the wretched business of wars there were now and then interludes which made of it a glorious adventure.
The soldiers lay about the castle grounds glad of a rest; Alexander had found the young girl a pleasant companion, and she was as attracted by him as he was by her.
Meanwhile the King grew more and more enchanted with the company of Lady Heron. She was young, beautiful, and was learning to trust him.
“You without a husband, I without a wife,” sighed James. “It would seem that we might offer comfort to each other.”
Lady Heron was not coy; she admitted that she found the King of Scotland charming even as he found her, and by nightfall their friendship was progressing so rapidly that it had all the appearance of courtship. The pursuit of a woman had always been a more fascinating project than that of any enemy, and quite irresistible to James.
By sweet St. Ninian! he thought. How glad I am that we came to Ford Castle, and what great good luck that Sir William Heron is imprisoned and so not present to spoil the fun.
James had a feeling that he would not sleep alone during his night at Ford Castle.
He gave instructions that the Lady Heron and her family and dependents were to be treated with the utmost courtesy. He and his men were guests in the castle, he would have them know, and any brutality would be severely punished. He asked the Scots to remember their chivalry. Lady Heron was to be free to come and go as she wished in the precincts of the castle; there was to be no suggestion of making any prisoners.
The long day was coming to an end and the friendship between the King and the Lady of the castle now seemed moving toward an inevitable climax. Alexander, who admired his father more than any man on Earth, sought to emulate his manners and habits by pursuing the daughter of the house with the same gentle yet persistent charm as his father used in pursuit of her mother.
Old Bell-the-Cat saw what was happening and gnashed his teeth in rage. The King seemed to forget that they were engaged in war. Since he had set eyes on Lady Heron he had behaved as though he were a friendly neighbor paying a visit.
Well, they would leave a few troops in Ford tomorrow and march on. But the amorous nature of his King—reminding him as it did of their rivalry—was galling to the old man, both as a soldier and a lover of Janet Kennedy.
Lady Heron looked out from the window of her apartment over the darkening countryside. She was excited because as a born intriguer and a woman of light morals, she found the position exciting.
She was expecting a message, for she believed this would surely come to her if the King of Scotland arrived at Ford Castle. She was hoping for it; it was going to give her the excuse she needed; but even without it she would not forgo her night's pleasure.
He was certainly attractive and would be an accomplished lover. She would feign reluctance…at first. But she would have to act with skill because, for all his outward charm, he was not without shrewdness and insight.
Her maid came to tie her hair and, as she passed the comb through those long curls, she bent close to whisper.
“The messenger is below, my lady. He came with stores for the castle, and he is not to see you for fear of arousing suspicion. He has told me what I must say.”
“Then say it,” said Lady Heron.
“The Earl of Surrey asks your help. He cannot be ready for several days. He wants you to hold the Scotsman here until he sends word that he is ready to meet him. If the Scots march south tomorrow they will find no real resistance, but a few days will alter that. So it is imperative that they are held here.”
Lady Heron nodded slowly. “You're a good girl,” she said. A lascivious smile played about her lips as she murmured: “What is asked of a poor woman in the service of her country!”
They were delighted with each other.
“Is there to be just this one night?” asked Lady Heron, her great eyes filled with brooding melancholy.
“I am at war,” laughed James.
“You are conquering all before you… the castles of England, the women of England. Must you go so quickly?”
To leave Ford Castle and Lady Heron, now that he had discovered what pleasure she could give him, would indeed be a blow. It had been a night of exciting discovery; yet he felt he had more to learn of the beautiful and willing lady of Ford.
What could one more night matter? He pictured the army camping that night in some cheerless field and he shivered with disgust.
No, as he had told her, it was episodes such as this one which made war a great adventure.
“Perhaps we might tarry one more day and night,” he murmured.
She laughed delightedly. It was so pleasant when one could combine the service of one's country and the satisfaction of one's bodily n
eeds. Surrey would be pleased with her.
And if he could dally one night, why not two and three?
So in the castle courtyards the Scots soldiers lay about playing dice, or following the royal example and flirting with the maidservants. They were happy enough in the delay.
Old Bell-the-Cat stormed into that apartment which had been set aside for the use of the King.
“Your Grace,” he cried sternly, “this is folly. We dally here while the English are mustering their forces to come against us. Already much precious time has been lost.”
“Nonsense!” retorted James. “The rest and relaxation we enjoy here are preserving our strength so that when the time comes to fight we shall be ready.”
“We are frittering away our strength on senseless pleasures,” retorted Bell-the-Cat, who was too disgusted with his King to mind his words. “I tell Your Grace, we are giving the English that which they most need: time. Had we gone forward we could have attacked them while their numbers were small.”
“I would be ready to fight the English if they were a hundred thousand more in numbers.”
“Your Grace, you could return to Scotland now. You have shown the English your warlike intentions. You have taken certain of their castles. That will suffice to keep your oath to the Queen of France. I implore you either to go forward now … or return. I have reason to know that the Earl of Surrey is gathering more and more men to his banner every day.”
“The Earl of Surrey is a friend of mine. You forget, it was he who escorted the Queen to Scotland.”
“He is now Your Grace's enemy, and he serves his King well.”
“The King of England is fortunate to have such good servants.”
“If Your Grace will either go on to attack or return to Scotland, you will find as good servants as those of the King of England.”
“You forget, Angus, that I am the commander of my own armies.”
“I'll not stand by and see the crown of Scotland placed in jeopardy.”
James's eyes blazed with an anger rare to him. Then he looked at Angus and saw before him an old man. Was he a little jealous of the pleasures shared by the King and the Lady of the castle? Did this remind him of what the King had taken from him when he had taken Janet Kennedy?