The Courtesan mog-2

by Nigel Tranter

  Mary reached for a new cloth, and hotter water. The oil was very hard to lift. It seemed to impregnate the very skin, as it had done the clothing. It seemed, also, to be of a singularly sticky and viscous consistency, and of a penetrating and unlovely smell.

  It would be hard to say who had won the battle of the anointing oil. Master Robert Bruce, of Edinburgh's High Kirk of St. Giles, faced with the King's furious commands and threats, and with bishops only too anxious to do the work for him, had at length consented, at the climax of the Coronation ceremony in the Abbey, to anoint with oil. But when the Countess of Mar, James's sour old foster-mother, had somewhat opened the neck of the Queen's gown for the application, Bruce had roughly jerked the opening wide, to bare her pathetic padded bosom, and therein emptied the entire ampulla of oil. Thus, soaked and humiliated, Anne had had to wait through a further two hours of ceremonial, including another sermon, with the oil running down her body to her very feet, and ruining the splendid jewel-sewn dress and all below it.

  A loud and impatient knocking sounded at the locked door on the other side of the bedchamber. Alarmed, the three young women looked from their naked mistress to each other. Anne gave no sign, made no move. Lady Jean giggled.

  'The door, Your Grace…?' she began. She was interrupted by renewed banging.

  'Open!' the King's well-known thick voice cried. 'Annie -it is I. James. Your Jamie. Open, I say.'

  The Queen shrugged thin shoulders. 'Let him in,' she said, in her stilted foreign accent.

  Uncertainly the Lady Katherine went to open the further door, flushing, whilst Mary reached for a robe to put round her mistress.

  Impatiently Anne shook it off. 'Finish your work,' she directed shortly.

  Jamie came pushing in, a paper in his hand. At sight of his unclothed wife amidst the steam, he halted, peered sidelong, and leered. 'Hech, hech,' he chuckled. 'Are you no' right bonnie that way! Aye, bonnie. I… I dinna like fat women.' He glanced over at his voluptuous cousin Jean, who sniggered.

  'I care not how you like,' Anne said sharply. 'I am insulted. I am made a fool before all. In my country that man would die! He must be punished.'

  'Houts, lass – wheesht you! Here's no way to take it. You mustna speak that way about ministers o' the Kirk. It was a mishap, just…'

  'It was no mishap. The man Bruce looked at me, as he did it. He must be punished. And before all.'

  'Na, na, Annie – it canna be. You hae it wrong. It was a victory, see you. The Kirk anointed you wi' oil, when it didna want to. What's a wee drappie ower much oil? Better than nane, lassie – better than nane. A victory for the Lord ower Satan. Christ's Kirk brought in…'

  'I like not your Kirk, James.'

  'Wheesht, girl – dinna say it! The Kirk's strong, powerful…'

  'More powerful than the King?' 'Na, na. But it doesna do to flyte it.'

  'As it has flyted me! I think my lord of Moray to be right. He says that it is the Kirk that rules in Scotland, not the King!'

  'Waesucks – Moray shouldna hae said that! It's no' right. The King o' Scots is head o' the Kirk. But it's a gowk that smites his ain left hand. The Chancellor and Council is my right hand, see you – but the Kirk is my left. My lord o' Moray should watch his words. Aye, and his ways! I'd thank you to see less o' him, Annie.'

  The Queen's sniff, though eloquent, more aptly matched her childish appearance. She looked down. 'Are you finished? Is it all gone?'

  'I think it,' Mary told her. 'I see no more.'

  'Save on Your Grace's feet,' Jean pointed out. 'There is some even down between your toes!' That was a further cause for giggles.

  'That can wait. My clothes.'

  'Look, lassie – forget the oil for the nonce. See – I hae a letter here that tells me that a coven o' witches meets at North Berwick. A score o' miles, just down the coast. A right convenient place, eh? For raising storms against me. We passed it in the ship – you'll mind where yon great muckle rock rises frae the sea. The Bass. Ooh, aye – this could be maist significant.'

  Anne did not so much as glance at his letter. 'I care naught for your witches,' she exclaimed. 'Is this dme for such foolishness? I much more mislike your Kirk.'

  'Och, hold your tongue anent the Kirk, Annie, I tell you! I need the Kirk to fight Auld Hornie. These witches and warlocks arc belike his earthly instruments. And so his weakness. Satan's soft side, see you. It wouldna do to neglect this.'

  But the Queen was not listening. With only her shift on she pushed aside the other clothes being held out for her, and hurried into the main bedchamber adjoining. The Ladies Jean and Katherine, after a glance at the King, followed her. Mary was left to clear up the towels and the steaming pots.

  James tut-utted. 'Och, she doesna understand,' he said. 'She's ower young, belike. Mind, she's wiselike too, in some matters. Ooh, aye – she's no fool. But she's no' acquaint yet wi' the powers o' darkness, Mistress Mary. Och, it's no' to be expected.'

  'No, Sire. It is not.' Mary looked up. 'Does Your Grace not fear this world of witches and warlocks is an invention? Of idle men? Or mischievous!'

  'Guidsakes no, lassie! Witchcraft is a right serious matter. The Devil is never lacking his minions. And he's no' backward in this Scotland o' mine, I warrant! I hae been reading about witchcraft and the like. Plenty – aye, plenty. A' the signs are there. I must root them out.'

  Mary bit her lip. 'Witches, I think – true witches – will not be easily found.'

  'Hech, but you're wrong Mistress Mary. There's aplenty o' them – and I'll soon hae my hands on them, never fear. There's a worthy bailie o' Tranent laid godly hands on one.' The King glanced at the paper. 'Seton, his name. He's put her to the question, maist properly, and she's given the names o' plenty mair. Waesucks – I'll hae her here and see what my questioners can do! Aye, I'll uncover the Devil's work, I promise you.' She was silent

  'I'll get your… I'll get Master Patrick to help me. He has the kind o' wits to pit against Auld Hornie. They hae much in common, eh?' James whinnied a laugh. 'Nae offence, mind, Mistress Mary. Where shall I find the man? He's no' in his quarters.'

  'I do not know, Your Grace…'

  'This new folly of the King's?' the Lady Marie charged her husband. 'All this of witches and spells. Might not this cause much evil? Much cruel wrong?'

  'Tell me anything that a king might do that could not?' Patrick answered.

  'But this in especial. Anyone may cry witch. Proving innocence may be less easy.'

  'No doubt. But that may have its advantages also, I think.'

  'For whom, Patrick?'

  'For those who would preserve the King's peace, my dear.'

  'Preserve…? You do not believe such nonsense? Such bairn's chatter about spells and incantations brewing unchancy storms?'

  'The longer I live, my heart, the less I would declare what I believe and what I do not!'

  'You do not speak plain, Patrick – so that I mislike it all the more!'

  'You are a hard, hard wife to have, Marie Stewart!'

  Mary joined in. 'This of North Berwick, Uncle Patrick? Can there be anything of truth in such a tale?'

  'There could be. I have heard strange things of North Berwick ere this. That is what we must find out.'

  'We…?' his wife echoed.

  'Why, yes. His Grace seeks some help in the matter. You would not have me deny my King?'

  Marie sighed, and shook her fair head. 'I know you when you are this way, Patrick. There is nothing of worth to be had from you. But this I do know – if you are for aiding James in this foolishness, it is for your own advantage.'

  'Say to our advantage, my soul's treasure. For are we not one? Doubly one, if such a thing were possible, since we were wed by both Catholic and Reformed rites! And, to be sure, for the advantage of many others also. That is the great comfort of statecraft. I find. Whatever is done must of necessity advantage almost as many as it injures!'

  'I desire no advantage at the cost of others' suffering and sorrow, Patrick.'


  'Think before you speak, my heart. All that you do, all that you are, all the food you eat, the very threads that you work in your frame there – all come of the sorrow, pain and toil of others. So our Maker made us. It is all a matter of degree. All acts of man have more consequences than one. There is black and white to every picture, to every man. I but seek to choose the lesser evil. The compromise between black and white.' He laughed aloud. 'Not for nothing am I named the Master of Gray!'

  'I have heard your philosophy before, Patrick – and have seen where it has brought you.'

  'It has brought me back to the King's right hand,' he told her lightly. 'Which minds me – whither I must now go… with your permission, ladies.' Bowing deeply, and throwing them a kiss each, he strolled out.

  'God help me – why must I so dote on that man!' the Lady Marie exclaimed. 'When he is the most part knave, reprobate, as I know full well.'

  'Because he is… Patrick Gray,' Mary answered her, gently, briefly, but sufficiently.

  Chapter Fourteen

  IT was not really dark enough to suit the King. But truly dark nights are rare in Scotland in July. It requires heavy cloud, storm perhaps – the sort of weather with which Satan had plagued James heretofore. Now, of course, night after night, there were clear pale skies and never a breath of wind. Satan's adversary was not surprised.

  The royal party was congregated in a deep hollow of the sand-dunes at the west side of the great sandy bay of North Berwick. It was exactly half-past eleven, and the King was much agitated lest they be too late – for these affairs, he asserted, always started at midnight, the witching hour. But Patrick was adamant that they would spoil all by being too soon. The church was on what amounted to an island, a bare peninsula of rock jutting into the sea, offering only the one covered approach. To arrive there before all the coven had assembled would almost certainly end in their discovery, the abandonment of the meeting, aid therefore the ruin of their plans.

  'There is time yet, Sire,' he pointed out. 'We can cross this bay in but a few minutes. Let them be started.'

  'Satan will see us coming, belike, and warn them.'

  'If that be so, he could have warned diem any time since we left Edinburgh, Your Grace.'

  There were five of them in the royal party besides James; Lennox, Sir James Melville of Halhill who was Sir Robert's brother, Master David Lindsay the King's chaplain, and, much overawed by the company he was keeping, Bailie David Seton of Tranent. In a nearby and larger hollow was a score of the royal bodyguard, standing by their horses.

  James was actually trembling with excitement. The great round timepiece which he carried shook as he consulted it, unhappily raising it to his ear in case it had stopped.

  'Guidsakes, it's an unchancy business this!' he exclaimed, not for the first time. 'I pray the Lord God will see us right! It's His work, see you. Master David – will you gie us another bit prayer, man?'

  Nothing loth, the divine obliged, his stern voice a little less confident perhaps than usual. Patrick nudged Ludovick in the ribs, and grimaced.

  Their due devotion occupied them until midnight, the Kirk being equally strong on volume as it was on intensity. James was in major agitation, on the horns of the dilemma of offending God or being too late for the Devil, when Lindsay finally panted to a close.

  Leaving the escort and horses, with strict instructions as to what to do on seeing certain signals and flares, the six men emerged from their hiding-place. They did not head straight across the open beach, but crept round the side in the shadow of the dunes. It was not dark enough wholly to hide them, but undoubtedly at any distance they would not be noticed. Patrick led the way.

  Very soon he had to slow down. James, never very good on his feet, was stumbling and puffing. Melville and Lindsay were both middle-aged and found the soft sand heavy going. The bailie was a lean and hungry-looking character of a sour and sanctimonious expression, but nimble enough.

  It was nearer the half than the quarter-past midnight when they reached the rocks wherein nestled the harbour of North Berwick and on which stood its ancient whitewashed kirk. High above the tide it crouched, amongst scattered graves that were scooped out wherever there was sufficient soil in pockets amongst the rocks. The place was silent, seemingly closed up – but from its windows a faint flicker of peculiar light glimmered.

  4Up to the east end,' Patrick, who had prospected the site two days previously, whispered. 'Behind the altar.' He coughed, apologetically glancing at Master Lindsay. 'Behind the Communion Table. The windows are low. To see in. Keep away from the door, at the other end.'

  They crept up over the rocks and between the hummocks of the graves. They began to hear faint sounds of music coming from the church.

  Crouching under the easternmost windows, they gradually raised their heads, to peer inside.

  The King's croaking gasp of alarm ought surely to have been heard within. Whatever any of them had been expecting, indeed, the sight that met their gaze was sufficient to catch their breathing – even Patrick Gray's. The church was almost full – fuller no doubt than the minister was accustomed to seeing it on a Sabbath. It was not a large church admittedly; there might however have been one hundred and fifty persons present. Of them all, fully nine out of ten were women. This was entirely obvious, for though otherwise fully clothed, indeed seemingly dressed in their best, their bosoms were wholly bare. It made a quite extraordinary sight, all those breasts, large and small, young and old – a scene most aggressively, intimidatingly female. The few men, in fact, seemed quite pathetically humdrum and feeble, looking painfully normal save that they all wore hats in the pews, and highly self-conscious expressions.

  Patrick had the temerity to hush his monarch, who was babbling something incoherent and disgusted about cattle; James never had been much of an admirer of the opposite sex.

  The church was lit with a ghostly light, by candles – ghostly in that they burned with a blue flame, the candles themselves being black, not white. Four burned on the Communion Table, where a cross stood upside-down amongst a litter of flagons, obviously empty.

  But it was towards the pulpit that all eyes were turned. There, flanked by two more of the black candles, stood an extraordinary apparition. Tall, commanding, clad wholly in black, with a cloak over tight trunks, a black mask over his features, a close-fitting hood over his head out of which rose two small curving horns, this individual was clearly reading aloud from a great book, by the light of the blue flames, although the watchers outside could only hear the murmur of his voice, deep-toned, sepulchral enough to be one of the luminaries of the Kirk.

  The King chittered and mouthed. Master Lindsay groaned deep within him, and Lennox crossed himself. Patrick Gray was less affected.

  'A pity that we cannot hear,' he mentioned. However, the reading stopped almost at once, and the congregation rose and proceeded to turn round and round before the speaker, all in their own place, widdershins – that is, contrary to the movement of the sun – in a slow and stately fashion, the women six times, and the men nine, most peculiar. Then a young creature with fair hair, notably well-developed, came forward to the pulpit steps and producing a tiny instrument known as a Jew's-harp, proceeded to thrum and twang a strange and haunting melody with a catchy and mischievous lift at the end of each verse. The entire company sang to this in hymn-like fashion, solemn and dignified – save that at the end of each stanza the women all lifted their skirts high and executed a skittish dancing-step and shook their breasts. The effect was quite original.

  Although the chanting was slow and in unison, it was difficult outside to follow the actual words. That it was a travesty of some sacred cantata, however, was apparent. Repetitions of the strange phrase:

  'Cumer go ye before,

  cummer go ye,

  Gif ye will not go before,

  cummer let me.'

  kept recurring. It was a pity that no sense could be made of this.

  When this was over, the masked individual in the
pulpit descended to the floor of the kirk, and moved forward to the table. There, with some ceremony, he removed his tight-fitting black trunks and hose before the assembly. And, lo – his flesh beneath shone as black as the rest of him. He thereupon hoisted himself up on to the table itself, clearing away up-ended cross and bottles to do so, and sat so that his sooty posterior projected a little way over the far or eastern edge, not a dozen feet from the wide eyes of the hidden watchers. Then he waved imperiously towards the congregation.

  'Christ God save us!' James gasped. 'See his… see his…!'

  'No tail, you'll note,' Patrick observed, more prosaically, to Ludovick.

  Led by the young woman with the Jew's-harp, the company now formed itself into a long and orderly queue, and moved forward in single file.

  The plump girl, rosy-cheeked and comely, came up to the table, turned widdershins six times once more before it, and then moving round to the rear, bowed low and kissed the out-thrust black bottom. One by one the entire assembly filed up and followed suit.

  Master Lindsay began to pray again, with muted fervour.

  This lengthy proceeding over, and everybody back in their seats, the satanic Master of ceremonies pulled on his trunks again, and returned to the pulpit. He raised his left hand, made the sign of the crooked cross, and loudly announced the curious text:

  'Many comes to the fair, and buys not all wares'

  This could even be heard by the watchers without. It was Patrick's turn to groan. He had never been an appreciator of sermons, and obviously one was now to follow.

  However, this sermon was mercifully brief, though not loud enough to be intelligible outside. From the deliverer's manner and gesticulations it seemed to be a rousing affair, with perhaps even a certain amount of humour about it. It ended very abruptly, with the preacher suddenly producing a black toad from under his gown, and pointing thereafter towards the door, clearly urging some action upon the company.