The Courtesan mog-2

by Nigel Tranter

  Mary's trill of laughter was spontaneous, mirthful. 'Do not be daft, Vicky!' she told him.

  Immediately abashed, shamefaced, he looked down. 'I am sorry,' he mumbled. 'But… I do not want you to go.'

  'I shall come back, never fear.'

  'I shall come – come to you, then. To Castle Huntly. Or not to the castle itself, but nearby. You cannot stop me doing that, Mary – none can stop me. I shall leave Bothwell to read the papers and do the signing. He will like it well enough. I shall come to the Carse of Gowrie. Or to Dundee…'

  'M'mmm – one moment,' Patrick intervened, carefully. 'I think, Vicky, that would be foolish. To hand over the rule to Bothwell. You owe the realm, and James, better than that. Bothwell is quite irresponsible. He might do anything. There would be trouble with Hamilton, for certain. No – you are Duke of Lennox and the King's lieutenant, and must bear the rule.'

  The other set his chin obstinately. 'I go to the Carse if Mary goes,' he said.

  'Then… then come to Broughty Castle with us, and bear the rule from there, Vicky.' Even Patrick Gray could scarcely keep the ring of excitement out of his voice. 'It is but a dozen miles from Castle Huntly.'

  Quickly, searchingly, the Lady Marie looked at her husband, and then to Mary. She said nothing.

  'That I should like very well,' Ludovick agreed.

  'Sir Robert Melville's house in Fife is just across Tay from there. He acts Chancellor, they tell me? Nothing could be more convenient.'

  'For whom?' his wife asked, somewhat tensely.

  'For the Duke, of course, my dear. For the good governance of the realm. For Scotland,' Patrick answered easily. 'We go at once, Vicky – so soon as I can find a vessel to carry us. Secretly. For I fear for the King's siller that I have brought from Elizabeth. But you – you must come to Broughty later, with no undue haste. And not directly. Calling on sundry lords on the way – calling at your own house of Methven. It will look better so. None must consider your visit to Broughty, your sojourn there, to be aught but casual, innocent… '

  'Aught but innocent! There we have it!' Marie took him up. 'And if this is not innocent, then – is it guilty, Patrick?'

  'Tush!' he exclaimed. 'You have the vapours, my love. You jump at shadows. Come, Vicky – accompany me down to Leith, to enquire of the shipmen. Then, if there is talk of me removing this money, the King's representative himself will be known to be privy to it. The more reason for him to follow it to Broughty, i' faith!'

  Reluctantly, after a longing look at Mary, the Duke followed the Master.

  When they were gone, Marie went over to the baby in the crib by the window, and stood gazing down at it. 'I do not like it, Mary,' she said, shaking her fair head. 'I know that look in Patrick's eye. I fear more intrigue, more conspiracy. And therefore trouble. I see Patrick reaching out again for power…'

  'He was made for power, Lady Marie. There is good in power, as well as ill. You will never stop Uncle Patrick reaching for it, I think. It is for us to be ever near him, to seek where we can that the power works for good. As we have done before.'

  'As you have done, Mary. Lord, child – I believe that you were made for this power as much as was Patrick! And delight in it but little the less!'

  The younger woman considered that gravely for a moment or two, and then shook her head in turn. But that was as far as her denial went.

  And so, with scarcely believable ease and minimum of manoeuvre, Patrick Gray slipped quietly and inconspicuously into the rule of Scotland once again. Only a mere five months after the banished felon's uninvited return from exile, he was, temporarily at least, back in the saddle of supreme authority, operative if not titular – for he held the Viceroy of the realm in the hollow of his hand and took the decisions which Lennox promulgated. Scotland, for so long without a strong king or settled central government, swiftly if cynically recognised and accepted the familiar pattern of power, and all men with favours to seek and causes to further, concessions, exemptions, sanctions, positions, must come to seek them at Broughty Castle. In this Patrick was most effectively aided and advantaged by the very virtues of the acting Chancellor; Sir Robert Melville's unimaginative honesty, lack of ambition, and peaceable disposition, played into the Master's skilful hands. He went out of his way to seem to consult and defer to the older man, making many journeys himself and sending couriers daily over the Tay to the Melville house in Fife. He had his reward.

  Moreover, despite his wife's fears, the Master of Gray was very good at the business. As had been the case three years before, when for the best part of a prosperous and peaceful year Patrick had largely controlled the destinies of his native land, so now, for those winter and spring months, Scotland was well-managed, discreetly guided, and comparatively tranquil. Admittedly Bothwell rampaged about the Borders, burning and slaying unchecked – but then, that was ever his habit, and neither James nor Maitland had found any method of stopping him. Huntly was feuding with his neighbours in the north, and taking the opportunity to devastate the Keith lands while the Earl of Marischal was still overseas – but that also was chronic, and at least he kept his activities well north of decent settled country. No doubt the far-flung Highlands seethed with strife and endemic clan warfare, but it was to the advantage of all good men that such barbarians should kill each other off as vigorously as possible. For the rest, a moderate calm prevailed, the grosser corruptions were discouraged, some notorious ill-doers were brought to justice, certain judges brought low, and the campaign against witches came almost to a full stop. There were growlings and snarlings from sundry nobles, inevitably, and carpings from the Kirk that Papistical influence was in the ascendant; but such broke no bones. And although tales were rife that a vast sum in English gold for the King was being salted away shamefully in Broughty Castle instead of in the royal treasury, the presence on the premises of the Viceroy himself largely tied the hands of any who might have sought to do more than talk. The Lord Treasurer, the Master of Glamis, at any rate, kept his distance – even though that was not so very far off, in his castle of Aldbar, near Brechin.

  Broughty Castle itself, and the little town that lay under its frowning walls, flourished in consequence as never before. Very considerable improvements had been made to the stern and battle-torn fortalice since the previous July, despite dire lack of funds, but now the place blossomed like the May. Suddenly there was no dearth of money – though whence it came was by no means clear. Broughty would never be a palace nor yet a ladies' bower; but at least it was made habitable, even moderately comfortable, umber outbuildings sprang up within the courtyard, whitewashed harling set the massive masonry gleaming, tapestries and hangings graced the bare interior walls – even a painted picture or two. Servants multiplied about the place, and from Dundee came a steady stream of furnishings, fabrics, provender and wines. And above the topmost tower fluttered proudly in the sea breeze no fewer than three standards – the silver lion on scarlet, of Gray; the fess chequery of Stewart quartered with the golden lilies of D'Aubigny and the red roses of Lennox; and the rampant lion of Scotland itself.

  By no means could Patrick Gray force his father to come from Castle Huntly to see it all; but at least each day at noon an old cannon, put into commission for the purpose, thundered out a viceregal salute from the battlements, that must have been heard from one end of the Carse to the other and over half of Fife and Angus, proclaiming for all to hear that here on this barren rocky promontory, was authority, jurisdiction, rule.

  There was much coming and going between the two castles, of course, even though Patrick would no more darken the door of the one than would his sire the other. Ludovick seldom let a day pass without covering the dozen miles of coastline. The Lady Marie was a frequent visitor at Castle Huntly, ignoring as best she might her father-in-law's jibes and jeers. Davy Gray went often to Broughty, and Mariota occasionally. As for Mary, she was almost as much in the one house as the other, a laughing lightsome figure, apparently reverted wholly to country ways again.


  The trouble that Marie feared did not materialise.

  The Duke's pursuit of Mary Gray was now frank, determined in a quiet way, and continuous. Though perhaps pursuit is no accurate description; attendance upon and following after would be more apt, for there was nothing of the hunt, nothing of attack and flight about their relationship. The girl remained wholly, if modestly, inconspicuously, in command of the situation, with Lennox the faithful, humble but persistent suppliant. He was quite without pride or self-esteem in the matter, not pressing his cause other than by displaying his devotion and seeking perpetually to be in her company, content to be her squire, her escort, her constant but undemanding companion.

  That the young woman did not object to his company and attentions, she made no attempt to hide. She was kind, suitably respectful in public, not at all so in private, but considerate always. That he much preferred to be with her than to concern himself with affairs of state, she accepted – though not infrequently she gently urged him towards his duty, and sought to discuss with him the problems which he tended to avoid or dismiss.

  There was talk, of course – much and scandalous talk. That the Duke should require a mistress was only to be expected; but with all the cream of Scotland to choose from, that he should select the ostensible daughter of a mere land-steward, and moon after her as though she were a princess, caused grave offence. That it was all a disgraceful plot of the Master of Gray's, of course, could be taken for granted; he was using this brat to enthrall Lennox and so control the realm.

  If such talk worried none of the three principals, the same could not be said of Davy Gray.

  One crisp sunny December afternoon, with rime almost as thick as snow upon the ground, my lord of Gray came riding into his courtyard of Castle Huntly, hoof-beats ringing metallically in the sharp frosty air. Davy Gray was crossing from the keep to his own sanctum in the north-west tower. My lord hailed him over peremptorily.

  'You taught the wench this folly o' skating, Davy – this sliding about on ice. Bairn's play. I said it wasna suitable in a lassie, in a woman. I said she'd break a leg, or the like. But you kenned better – ooh, aye, Davy Gray ay kens better! Well, maybe you'll now change your tune…'

  'Mary? She is not hurt? Skating? She has not broke…?'

  'No' her legs, no – it's mair like her maidenhead's in danger! If it's no' gone already!' the older man returned coarsely. 'She's out there on Sauchie Loch, clutching and hugging her precious duke to her, like any tavern trollop! I wonder we're no' hearing their skirling from here!'

  The other eyed his father searchingly. It was not like Lord Gray directly to criticise Mary. 'I think that you are mistaken,' he said evenly. 'Mary behaves not so.'

  'You say not? You give me the lie? Then go and look, man. Go to Sauchie Loch. She is sold to yon puppy Lennox. And it is Patrick's doing, God's eternal curse on him! The lassie is ruined, turned into a strumpet. And by yon evil devil in human shape that I had the mischance to beget!'

  Davy Gray shook his head wordlessly. There was no profit in arguing.

  'Dinna glower and wag your head at me, you ill limmer! It's the truth. I've been to Kinnaird. Going, I went to the smiddy with a loose shoe, and there was the pair o' them sitting by his fire watching yon great dolt o' a cousin o' yours, Don Affleck, fashioning two o' these skating irons for Lennox. God's body, but I gave him better work to do – and a flea in his ear in the by-going! But, coming back, here's them both sliding about the Shauch… Sauchie Loch, clasping and nuzzling each other!' My lord was having some difficulty with his enunciation. Abrupdy his tone changed, and his flushed, florid and dissipated face fell ludicrously, the heavy, purple jowls seeming almost to quiver. 'Och, it's no' right, it's no' decent, Davy. She used to be my ain lass. She was canny and she was kind – my ain fair bit lassie, my ain troutie. You let her awa' to yon Court, to Patrick. You shouldna ha' done it. I told you. And now… now she's nae mair than a toy, any man's toy. Aye, and a broken toy at that, I'll warrant…! A pox on you!' My lord, who had been drinking, was all but in maudlin tears as he stamped off. His son frowned after him.

  Yet in only a few minutes that same son was making for the Sauchie Loch. It lay about half-a-mile away, between the castle and the village. It had been ice-bound for days, he knew – all fresh water had been frozen. After the winds and storms of summer and autumn, the winter had so far been one continuous frost, bright and still. King James would have cried witchcraft, indeed.

  Sure enough, the man heard laughter ringing in the crisp air long before he reached the loch amongst the birch woods. It sounded clear, uninhibited and innocent enough, certainly.

  He halted at the loch shore. They were out in the middle of some five acres of ice. There was some degree of truth in my lord's assertions as to hugging and clutching. The girl was holding the young man round the waist indeed, with both arms. But even as David watched, Ludovick's feet slid from under him and he went down on to the ice with a crash that would have been a deal harder had it not been for those encircling arms. There was much laughter once again, as she aided him to his unsteady feet. It was the Duke's turn to grasp his mentor.

  As a turn, largely involuntary, in their erratic but hilarious progress, faced the pair in David's direction, the girl perceived her father standing there and raised a hand to wave. Even such withdrawal of support was enough to upset her pupil's precarious balance, and promptly his skates took the opportunity to slide away in almost opposite directions. Down he went once more, pulling Mary with him.

  David was grinning before he recollected the unsuitability of all this, and switched to a frown instead. He paced out on to the ice, but carefully.

  'Is not Vicky a fool, father?' Mary called out, as he approached them. 'He will not keep his feet together. I vow the skates should be on his bottom! Then we might do better.'

  David did not relax his expression. 'Better still that you should consider my lord Duke's dignity – and your own repute, Mary,' he said sternly. 'Here is no way to behave… making a spectacle of yourself! You are not a child now.'

  'No, I am not,' she agreed, but still smiling. 'Nor is Vicky.'

  'Then remember it. This is unseemly. The realm's ruler should not be seen thus.'

  'Is he being seen, Father? By any but you? And how shall it hurt the realm if its ruler laughs a little?'

  'My lord saw you. And who knows what others. You can be heard afar off.'

  'And that displeases you?'

  He pursed his lips, for he was an honest man 'I… I fear it is unwise,' he said.

  The Duke was approximately upright now, but still having to hold on to Mary. 'I thank you, sir, for your concern for my dignity,' he declared jerkily. 'Perhaps I do not esteem it so highly as you do.'

  'That may be so, yes. But it is more Mary's name and repute that I think for, my lord Duke. As, I think, should you.'

  The younger man, balancing uneasily there, frowned. 'As I do, Master Gray. Indeed… ' – he blinked rapidly -'… indeed, I think of little else. She will scarce let me speak of it, but it is ever in my mind. I think so much of her name that, that…'

  'That he would have me to change it!' Mary laughed. 'And I am very well content with it as it is, thank you! Whatever its repute.'

  'Change it…?' David repeated.

  'I would change it to mine, sir. I would wed her – if she would have me.' 'God be good!'

  'Exactiy!' the young woman nodded, quite unabashed. 'So say I. And so would say all…'

  'But it is I that ask you to wed me, Mary – not all! Not others. I care not what others say.'

  'You must care what I say, Vicky, must you not?'

  'To be sure, yes. But all the time you are thinking of others…'

  'Myself also, I assure you.'

  'See you,' Davy Gray broke in. 'This is madness! You cannot be serious, man – my lord. Such talk is complete folly. You are the Duke of Lennox, second man to the King himself in this land. You cannot wed such as Mary. You are too important a man…'

 
; 'If I am so important, may I not choose my own wife?'

  'No doubt – but not the daughter of Davy Gray! It must be some great lord's daughter…'

  'I do not desire some great lord's daughter. I have seen aplenty. I want only Mary Gray…' In his emotion, Ludovick gestured with his arm – and it was almost his downfall again.

  His precarious equilibrium upset, he would have toppled had not Mary tightened her grip and her father grabbed a ducal arm likewise.

  The girl's laughter rippled. 'Perhaps Your Excellency should keep your mind on, on matters of immediate moment, sir!' 'Mary…!'

  'Come,' David said, urging the younger man towards the shore. 'We cannot discuss such matters thus.'

  'There is nothing left to discuss,' Mary declared, sighing.*We have discussed it all overmuch already.' But she helped to steer the Duke towards the bank, nevertheless.

  That young man laboured under an obvious handicap in expressing his point of view. 'I will wed none but Mary,' he announced, edging forward between them, with boyish set-jawed obstinacy.

  'But… cannot you see my lord? It would not be permitted,' David pointed out. 'The King would not allow it.'

  'James is not here. I am Viceroy. None could stop me.' 'Not even I, Vicky?'

  'The marriage would be annulled when James came back,' David insisted. 'You are not yet of age. King and Council would invoke your lack of years, for certain. Think what it means. You are next heir to the throne. Should James die -should his ship sink in a storm, coming home from Denmark – you would be King, and your wife Queen! Mary Gray, daughter of a bastard of no account!'

  'I care not. And if I am old enough to rule as Viceroy…'

  'But others care, my lord Duke, J do! And Mary is not of age, either. She is under my authority…'

  'While I am ruler of this realm, my authority is above yours, Master Gray!' the other announced heavily. They had reached the shore now. 'I can do what I will.'