The Courtesan mog-2

by Nigel Tranter

  'Admittedly, Highness. Nor have I ceased to point it out. But His Grace had reversed his decision before ever I reached Scotland. Indeed the selfsame day that I arrived there, the Earl Marischal was being sent to Denmark with betrothal gifts.'

  'Your prince is advised by fools, I swear! How shall little Denmark serve him? I am much displeased, sir. God help this sweet realm of mine should he and his advisers ever have the ruling of it!'

  At her back the two English earls made hurried and fervid protestations that the Queen should even for a moment consider the possibility of such a disaster. Elizabeth, if not immortal, undoubtedly would outlive them all.

  Mary shot a troubled glance at the Master, whilst Moray frowned and tugged at his beard.

  Patrick seemed nowise upset however. He laughed. 'So far distant an eventuality need scarce trouble us today, Your Grace,' he declared. 'By which time, who knows how much additional wisdom King James will have gained… and how much better advisers!' With something of a flourish, he tossed back the tiny scarlet-lined white satin cloak which hung from one shoulder of his padded doublet, to reach into a deep pocket therein. 'At least in this matter, Madam,' he went on, 'I deem that you will consider His Grace well advised – since I myself was consulted! From King James, Your Highness, with his esteem and devotion.'

  Elizabeth's eyes narrowed and then widened, as she stared at what the Master held out to her. Too swiftly for dignity her hand reached out to grasp it. 'A-a-ah!' she breathed.

  A great diamond, as large almost as a pigeon's egg, set in a coiling snake of amethysts, hung on a golden chain composed of delicately-wrought smaller serpents, each in its tail clutching a pearl.

  The Queen, thin lips parted, held the jewellery up to the light, turned it this way and that so that it all flashed and glittered, as did the rest of her sparkling, shimmering display, stroking her finger-tips over the polished surfaces, weighing, assessing, gloating, her breathing heightened, her hands trembling a little.

  'Whence… came… this?' she got out.

  'It was one of the late Queen Mary's gifts from her first husband, the Dauphin of France,' Patrick answered easily, without the flicker of an eyelid. 'It was found in one of the houses of the deplorable lord of Morton, but recently.'

  'It was… hers!'

  'Aye. Who more fitting to have it than yourself, in consequence, Madam?'

  Elizabeth's eyes met his for a long moment, her lips moving slightly. But no words issued therefrom.

  It was Moray who broke the silence. He too delved into a pocket and brought forth a little gold casket, cunningly wrought to represent a beehive which, when its tip was pressed, opened on hinges to reveal a brooch sitting in a velvet nest within, in the lifelike form of a great bee, fashioned wholly in gold and precious stones.

  'Also from King James,' he announced, but omitted to proffer with it any message of devotion or regard.

  Almost absently the Queen took the casket from him with one hand, whilst in the other she still caressed the diamond and chain. 'I thank you, my lord,' she said, more or less automatically. 'You will thank His Grace for me, for his munificence… ' But her glance returned almost at once to the Master's face, to the first gift, and back again.

  Moray cleared his throat. 'I shall do so, Highness,' he agreed brusquely. 'Now – as to the subject of our visit, it is our prince's request that you…'

  'In due course, my lord – in due course,' Elizabeth interrupted. 'Not now.'

  The earl blinked. 'But, Madam – we have waited… waited…'

  'A mere day or so, my lord. Is King James in such pressing need that we must discuss his rescue at my good lord of Oxford's entertainment?' Suddenly the Queen was her commanding, assured self again. 'So do not I the state's business, sir. Anon, I say. I shall inform you of a suitable occasion.'

  Before Moray could reply, Patrick spoke, quickly. 'We are grateful for this gracious audience, Highness, for your royal acceptance of these toys and of our master's fair wishes. We shall wait your further summonses assured of your kindly goodwill towards our prince… and even perhaps towards our humble selves?'

  'Do that, Patrick,' Elizabeth agreed, cryptically. 'My thanks for these… tokens. I shall consider the quality of your advice to King James.' Her pale eyes flickered over diem all -and came to rest on Mary Gray. 'You have given me food for thought,' she added. 'All of you. You have my permission to retire.'

  They bowed, and backed out, Raleigh still with them.

  Although Patrick might have remained to partake of more of Lord Oxford's hospitality, none of the others were so inclined. Moray was seething with ill-suppressed rage, and caring not that Raleigh perceived it.

  When they were safely out of Greenwich House, and alone, the Earl burst forth. 'The bitch! The arrogant, grasping, ill-humoured bitch! Fiend seize her! This is not to be borne. To be insulted thus! Mocked at – by that barren harridan! I'll thole no more of it, Gray, I tell you. It's home to Scotland for us – forthwith. I'll not stay to be spat upon by yon Jezebel..!'

  'We must first perform what we came for, my lord…'

  'How shall we do that, in God's name? She will have none of us, the harridan! She will snatch at your gifts, but give us nothing in return. She is set against us, man. Even you must see it. There is no profit for us or King Jamie here.'

  'I think that you misjudge the matter somewhat, my lord,' Patrick declared, soothingly. 'I believe our case is less ill than you imagine. I know Elizabeth…'

  'Then I do not congratulate you, sir! You may swallow her insults and play toady to her – but I will not. Not for King James, or Christ God Himself! I ride for Scotland tomorrow. We have wasted too long here already.'

  'As you will, my lord. I cannot stop you. But I think it unwise. I have a card or two yet to play…'

  'Play them then, sir – but play them without me!'

  'I shall, if I must

  Later, in the privacy of her own room, it was Mary's turn to speak. 'Is not my lord of Moray right?' she put to Patrick. 'This Queen will serve you no good. She hates Scotland, I think – or she would not treat its envoys so. She hates our King, her heir though he is. She basely slew his mother. Will it indeed serve any purpose to wait on her longer, Uncle Patrick?'

  *Why yes, my dear – I believe that it may. Do not judge Gloriana too sorely. She is not just what she seems, as I have discovered. And recollect that we are the beggars – not Elizabeth. We desire much from her – and she knows it. She needs nothing from Scotland – save only peace…'

  'And our Queen Mary's jewels!'

  'M'mmm. Jewels are her weakness, yes – and thank God for it! Jewels and young men.'

  'She did not greatly esteem my lord of Moray.'

  'She might have done – had he played her aright. For he is good to look at. But he was too hasty. I fear he has no gift for statecraft… '

  'Why did you advise King James to send the Queen that great jewel, Uncle Patrick? Surely that was ill done? The good Queen Mary's, whom this Elizabeth murdered…'

  'Hush girl – watch your words! In Walsingham's England, even walls have ears! And what you say is foolishness. Queen Mary has no further need of such. They are the King's now. And this was the finest – the most apt to please Elizabeth and bring her to think kindly of our embassage…'

  'But your embassage is but to gain money from her – this pension. Surely the jewel itself is worth a great sum? To give it to her, when it is worth…'

  'It is worth a great deal, yes – but only what men will give for it. In money. The King needs money, siller, not jewellery. No lord in all Scotland has sufficient to buy yon toy – even if he wanted it. Scotland is ever short of money, lass. It is the blight of the land.'

  'I see. Only one of the blights, I think.' She shrugged slender shoulders. 'So you think that the Queen may be kinder to you hereafter?'

  'That is my hope.'

  'It may be so,' the girl said slowly, thoughtfully. 'I think that she may have misjudged you – as she said. I think that my
presence with you has harmed you with her, Uncle Patrick – and I am sorry. No doubt she was informed that I was close to you. She would believe that I was your doxy, bedding with you – as I think do many. That she would not like, for she is foolish enough to desire that all men around her think only of herself, I do believe. But now – she has seen me, seen us together. She knows the truth of what is between us -for her eyes are sufficiently sharp. I think that she will relent, perhaps, towards you. If that is what caused her to keep us waiting.'

  Stroking his chin, the Master looked at her wonderingly. 'You… you continue to surprise me, Mary,' he said. 'Where did you get the wits in that pretty head of yours? Heigho – it

  must have been from myself, I suppose, for your mother, though fair and kind, is scarcely so gifted! Yes – you may well be right. It may be as you say..'

  A knocking at the door of Patrick's adjoining room interrupted him, and drew him through thereto. A servant stood there, and beside him a messenger in the royal livery.

  'The Master of Gray?' this functionary enquired. 'The Queen's Grace commands your presence in her private apartments forthwith, sir.'

  'Ah! She does? Then… then, sir, the Queen's Grace must be obeyed of course. Instanter. Give me but a moment… '

  Chapter Ten

  PATRICK was led through a garden and pleasance to a small side door at the extreme east end of the palace where, after a muttered exchange, a guard admitted them. His guide then conducted him, by a maze of passages, to a brightly lit and luxuriously appointed chamber, where instruments of music, embroidery-frames, part-worked tapestries and other signs of feminine occupation were evident, but which at this midnight hour was empty. Beyond was a spacious boudoir, all mirrors, with walls upholstered in quilted satin, in which a single weary elegant paced to and fro. He raised an eyebrow at the Master, sighed, and holding up a minatory finger as though to restrain further progress, turned and opened one of a pair of double doors, knocked gently on the inner one, waited, and then slipped within. When he emerged again it was to beckon the visitor forward, though with no expression of approval. He said no word.

  A puff of warm and highly-scented air met Patrick as he passed into the chamber beyond. Just within the doorway he paused and bowed very low – although he could barely distinguish at first what lay beyond, so dim was the lighting. Here was a small room, panelled severely in dark wood, but with a large fire of logs blazing on the hearth – which, apart from only a couple of candles, provided all the illumination. A great bed with canopy and rich hangings occupied much of the apartment, but it was unoccupied. On a couch by the fire, a figure reclined, clad in the loose and very feminine folds of a flowing bed-robe.

  'Come, Patrick,' a voice invited, low, companionable, warm as the room. 'This is better, is it not?'

  'Immeasurably, Your Grace,' he replied, as easily. 'I rejoice in it.'

  'Aye. But rejoice not too soon, my friend, nevertheless,' the Queen warned. 'Do not stand there, man, you were not always so backward! Come, sit here by me – for the night is plaguey cold.' Elizabeth was ever concerned about the temperature.

  She did not however move aside on the couch on which she was extended, so that the man, to sit down thereon, must needs perch himself uncomfortably on the edge. He chose carefully to sit approximately half-way down, part-turned to face the Queen.

  'Cynthia, Moon Goddess, Queen of the Night!' he murmured.

  'And a match for Patrick, Master of… Darkness!' 'Match, aye – what a match, Madam, there would be!' 'Bold!' she said, but not harshly.

  For a few moments there was silence, save for the splutter and hiss of the burning logs. The Queen drew up her knees a little, so that they pressed into the skin-tight silken hose of the man's thigh. He did not move away – indeed he could not have done so without leaving the couch altogether.

  'Your Mary Gray is… remarkable, Patrick,' Elizabeth said presently. 'I vow I must congratulate you! My good Moor, Walsingham, misled me, I fear. For once. How old is she?'

  'This was her seven teeth summer.'

  'Ah! Seventeen? You were an early menace to poor foolish women then, Patrick – as of course you would be!'

  'Perhaps. Or else their victim. But here was one indiscretion of youth that I have no cause to regret.'

  'No? You are proud of her, then? You would not have brought her here else, of course. Proud… but wise? I wonder, Patrick? That one is too like yourself for your comfort, I think.

  Take heed for yourself, my friend – for there is a will as strong as your own. And wits as sharp, I'll wager. Your Davy, who so long sought in vain to honest you, may have forged here sweet steel to tame you!'

  'I beg leave to doubt it. But I am flattered indeed at Your Grace's interest in my humble person and affairs! It augurs well… '

  'Tush, man – do not build on it! I am only the more wary.'

  'Hence, dear lady, this so privy audience? Such wariness is a delight, indeed…!'

  Sitting up, she leaned forward, and raising her hand, slapped the man's face – a sharp blow and no playful tap. 'Delight in that also, sir!' she jerked.

  Not only did Patrick not draw back, but he did not so much as change expression or tone of voice. 'I do, fair Dian -I do! As I must delight also in what my happy eyes behold!' And coolly, deliberately, he looked downwards.

  The Queen's face was very near to his own – for she had not sunk back into her reclining position after her blow. As a consequence of her forward-leaning posture, her bed-robe gaped wide before her, wholly revealing bare breasts, small but firm and shapely for her years, if flattered somewhat by the rosy uncertain flickering firelight. She did not move nor speak, although her lips were parted.

  So they sat, close together, considering each other, understanding each other.

  At length Elizabeth leaned back again, with a little sigh, and though she raised a slender white arm behind her turbaned head, she made no attempt to close up the front of her robe. Undoubtedly she wore nothing beneath it. Relaxed, she lay thus, a faint smile playing about her thin mouth.

  The man reached out and gently took her hand. She allowed him to stroke her long tapering fingers, occasionally to run his own up over her wrist and forearm. Once she shivered slightly, and for a moment his fingers gripped tight before resuming their unhurried stroking once more. Somewhere a clock chimed half-an-hour past midnight.

  'Blessed no-words, Patrick,' the Queen murmured, at length. 'I hear ever such a flood, a plague of words. So few may ever keep silent in my presence. Though you – you are eloquent indeed even in silence, my friend!'

  He smiled only, and raised her finger-tips, ringless now, to his lips, and kissed each individually before turning her hand over and kissing the narrow palm. His caresses moved on, over wrist and up white forearm, so that it was his turn to lean close indeed. She permitted him to reach the region of her elbow, and therefore to be within an inch or two of her pale bosom, before her other hand reached out gently but firmly to grip his ear, restraining him.

  'Linger a little, Patrick,' she murmured huskily. 'The night is young, yet.'

  He raised his eyes to hers. 'You are no woman to linger over.'

  Elizabeth smiled. 'Impatient!' 'Very, Diana!'

  'Then… in that case, I have you where I want you, Master of Gray! Pleading! On your knees.'

  'Have you not always?' he asked, and slipped down from the couch to kneel beside her. Still she held on to his ear.

  'I think not, Patrick. Your mind seldom pleads, I swear. Nor are the knees of your heart apt for bending!'

  'They bend to you, fair one.'

  She nipped that ear between finger-nails, almost viciously. 'For what does your heart and mind plead, Patrick? Your heart and mind, I say, not… other parts?'

  'Why is not that evident, indeed, Diana? All my parts are at one in pleading for… all of the loveliness before me.' He leaned still closer, against the pain of that ear, so that the warmth of her body actually reached his cheek.

  'Liar!'
she whispered. 'What did you come for, man?'

  'I came because you sent for me, and because of the love I bear you – in hope.'

  'Dolt! Not now. Why came you to me, from Scotland?'

  Patrick drew a long breath, 'My prince sent me… at my own urgent behest,' he said.

  'For what purpose?'

  'Not the purpose for which I kneel here, Lady.' 'I wonder! Think again, Patrick. You are here for money, are you not? For golden coin, and nothing more! Wait, man wait! And if you can come to the money more surely, more swiftly, through my woman's weakness – then so much the better!'

  'Your Grace – you wrong me! I vow you do – most sorely.'

  'I think not. You use all men – and women, also – for your own ends, Patrick Gray. Always you have done so. But you will not use me, by God! Up off your lying knees, man! If you must kneel, go kneel to my Lord Treasurer!'

  Slowly, reluctantly, Patrick rose to his feet. But he did not move away from the side of the couch. Nor yet did his beautiful features show any sign of emotion other than sorrow and a gentle reproach, allied with a hint of wonder.

  'You brought me here, to your privy room – only to tell me this?' he asked.

  'That – and to test you, sir.'

  'Aye – and to tease me, I think,' he added, slowly. 'To torment my manhood. They do say that such makes sport of a sort for some women – half-women. But not, surely not, for the Queen of the Night!' And he sighed.

  Elizabeth sat up abruptly, and whipped her bed-robe tight around her. 'How dare you, sir!' she said. But she seemed more put out than angry, searching his face in the flickering firelight.

  'I would dare much for your favour, Madam – to banish your suspicions of me.'

  'And to win my money, rogue! That damnable pension!'

  'The money I seek only for my prince,' he told her. 'For that I would dare but little. Your esteem and regard I seek, for myself – and for that I would indeed dare all.'

  'All, Patrick?'

  'All.'

  'Then dare you to go back to King James empty-handed, my friend. Dare to tell him that he must earn his own gold. Dare to tell him that my heir must be a true man and not a beggar! Dare that, and earn my esteem and love, Patrick Gray!'