That afternoon's sport was as productive as earlier but two at least of the sportsmen now lacked enthusiasm.
At least the day's proceedings confirmed John's claims as to the deer, so far as it could go at this stage. Next day reports came in from all over mid-strath of large numbers of the animals being seen in various localities and coverts. Clearly denial of Methven Wood had not caused them to flee the strath as yet. Whether this would last, of course, remained to be seen; but it was a hopeful start.
The following morning the Stewarts reluctantly set out for Perth, Mary Gray deciding to accompany the two men. Since the King was going to be attending the parliament in Edinburgh, the possibility was that he might remain in that city for some little time—although James being James, he might at any time decide to cut short his visit without notice, and depart. At any rate, Mary felt that the opportunity to have a few more days in which she might see at least something of Ludovick was not to be rejected. So it was to be Lady Tippermuir's lodgings again. John would have liked to get a message to Janet Drummond, but did not see how it could be effected with any dignity in the circumstances.
Actually Mary did rather better with Vicky than she had anticipated at Edinburgh; for, after a day at Perth and another at Stirling, with much public laudation and spectacle and banqueting, James was glad to escape to the Douglas Earl of Morton's castle of Dalkeith, some six miles south-east of Edinburgh in the valley of the Esk. From there he could ride into the city in under the hour for sundry appearances and activities, but could get away again when he had had enough, which was a notable attraction. Also there was good hunting to be had in the vast park and up the Esk valley into the skirts of the Pentland Hills. But Morton's castle, although quite large, could by no means house any major proportion of the royal entourage; so the King was able to leave most of the unwieldy company at Holyrood, or in whatever quarters they had been able to find in the city, to his great relief, and surround himself with only his special cronies and drinking companions. Indeed, at this stage quite a number of the great crew were missing anyway, for, not desiring to spoil the hunting at Falkland by large numbers, nor anxious to expend much good money on catering for them at the hunting-palace and vicinity, James had got rid of many, especially of the English courtiers, by sending them on ahead on the long road north to Aberdeen. The fact that he changed his mind about going there himself—if he had ever truly intended to do so—worried him no whit. They would find their way back to Edinburgh in course of time, undoubtedly.
So, with accommodation at Dalkeith at a premium and hunting still the preferred order of the day, the Duke and John found themselves but little in royal demand, and were able to spend much time and most nights with Mary at her lodgings in the High Street.
They had a full week of this before repercussions from Aberdeen developed to interrupt the pleasant pattern. The missing English courtiers arrived back, somewhat disgruntled—but nothing to the disgruntlement of the Aberdonians who came with them, the commissioners for the parliament, the Town Clerk, the deacons of trade guilds, and oddly, the Rector of the Grammar School. These came to protest, in no uncertain terms, that the northern city, seat of learning and torch of episcopal probity, had been insulted. King James had visited Edinburgh and Dundee, Perth and Stirling, even Linlithgow and lesser places still—not visiting Glasgow, a mere bishop's burgh, hardly counted—but had avoided Aberdeen, preferring to chase four legged brutes in Fife. It was to be deplored. Great celebrations had been prepared, no expense spared and a notable presentation arranged. In fact, the senior Englishry arriving had all been made honorary burgesses and freemen of the city, and were loud in their praise of Aberdeen hospitality and generosity—which only made matters worse.
Not that James himself was greatly concerned. He did not think that he had missed much—Aberdeen, although fond of bishops and fish, he had heard, was a cold and draughty place and too full of Gordons for his liking. However, he was a little worried about that notable presentation which had eluded him; and, hearing that the deputation had brought something for him south with them, he was persuaded to put on a special reception and entertainment for them at Holyroodhouse. Sundry other ceremonies and presentations could be effected at the same time and got out of the way, and it would be a full-scale royal occasion. The Duke and his son were commanded to attend.
It got off to a good start when, after a moderate meal— when James was host he did not approve of squandering good siller on filling clamorous bellies—Sir Thomas Hope of Craighall, a notable lawyer, Advocate-Depute to Tam o' the Cowgate and likely to be that magnate's successor when he could be persuaded to relinquish the lucrative office of Lord Advocate, presented a handsome book of his own verses to the monarch, with a flowery oration in mellifluous Latin which even James could find no fault with. There followed a lengthy poem, also in Latin, by Patrick Nisbet of Eastbank, another advocate, which the King had his doubts about, and said so. Then the Earl of Morton asked leave to present the Dalkeith parish minister, Master Andrew Simpson, who had an offering to make. When Majesty graciously acceded to this request, a burly individual was produced, obviously by pre-arrangement, who in a broad Lowland Scots voice declared that he was Andrea Simonedes and would gie them Dalkethensis Philomela, of his ain compose.
There followed another lengthy dissertation, in execrable Latin, which soon had much of the company groaning through it and talking to their neighbours, to James's outraged cries of Shush! Shush! and beatings on the table with his tankard—ale was being served at Holyroodhouse, not wine, in the interests of royal economy. Whether the homespun composer actually finished his rendering, or merely gave up in the face of competition, was not clear, but at any rate James thereupon took the opportunity to expand upon the superior virtues of Scottish education whereby even rustic, groundling folk such as this could compose and expound in excellent Latin for their edification.
Even John Stewart, whose Latin was only moderate, swallowed somewhat at this attribution of excellence by one whose critical faculties were to say the least pronounced. The English present no doubt groaned again, if only in spirit.
At a sign from the King the Lyon King of Arms announced that the worthy citizens of Aberdeen now had something to say.
Some shuffling took place down near John's fairly lowly position toward the foot of the palace's central courtyard— for this affair was being held in the open air of a warm June evening—and the group from Aberdeen moved out and up to front the monarch's table. After waiting for quiet, the Town Clerk, a tall and dignified individual, declared in an accent which many of the southern visitors failed to understand and assumed to be probably more Latin or even Hebrew, that he was privileged to represent the ancient and important metropolis of the north, the largest centre of population beyond Forth. Unfortunately the Provost himself was unable to attend on this occasion, he having arranged to go hunting in the Forest of Glentanar. The Bishop of Aberdeen also was at this great hunting. But no doubt the King's Grace would recognise the conflicting demands of the situation, and understand?
There was an appalled silence from at least the Scots present at this extraordinary announcement—a hush which was broken, to the surprise and relief of all, by a cackle of laughter from the monarch.
"Hech, hech!" he cried. "Droll—aye, right droll! Continue, man—continue."
The Town Clerk bowed stiffly. "Aberdeen, however, has sent the Rector of the Grammar School—since the Chancellor and Rector of the University were unfortunately detained—to present Your Majesty with a token of the city's esteem. We had, to be sure, arranged great things at great cost. But. . ."
"Well, man—well?" James was looking wary now, one eyebrow raised doubtfully. Of the row of Aberdonians only one appeared to be carrying anything, a small but substantial man with a small but noticeably insubstantial satchel.
This character stood forth, and announced that he was David Wedderbum, Rector of Aberdeen Grammar School, and drew from his satchel a roll of parchment. This he unro
lled and began to read—one more ode in Latin.
James glowered and a shudder and moan ran through the assembly.
The Rector's eloquence went on and on, for this was a very long poem indeed. The Latin was good too. But the subject matter was different from usual, a deal less florid and flattering. Indeed it reserved its encomiums for Aberdeen itself rather than its liege-lord, and, while not specifically criticising the King, went into some detail as to how other monarchs had esteemed and favoured the northern seat of learning, how loyal it had always been, how firm in its adherence to the episcopal authority, all calculated to make James uncomfortable. There was even a reference to the superlative hunting available in the neighbourhood and enjoyed by previous royal visitors.
When at last it was over, all who had understood what was said were eyeing the King. This was something new, for him and for them all.
James tipped forward his high hat. "Are you finished, man?" he demanded. "Is that all you have brought me frae Aberdeen? Words? Aye, and ower mony words! Is that the best you can do? You have come a gey long way to bring me that!"
"Yes, Sire. We have made the journey that others failed to make, at great expense. We ..."
"Ooh, aye—great expense! Like this entertainment and gastrosophy, aye. Gid Murray—where's Gid Murray o' Elibank, wi' the siller? Gie them fifty merks, Gideon, for their trouble. To see them back to their precious Aberdeen! Fifty, just." Abruptly he rose. "Noo, I'm for my bed. I've had plenties o' this—aye, plenties. Steenie, you come wi' me. .."
All rose in some confusion—especially William Douglas, Earl of Morton, who had been expecting the King to return with him, as usual, to Dalkeith for the night.
After this sudden royal departure, as often happened, the evening's proceedings rapidly deteriorated, as men relaxed— James's entertainments tended to be all-male gatherings. There was noise, horseplay, raillery, squabbling. The English, in especial, had frustrations to work off, having had to put up with endless Latinity, uncouth accents and the alleged superiority of Scottish education. Now, restraint removed, they sought to get a little of their own back—and they were, in fact, in the majority there. And the ale was now circulating freely.
So there was argument and invective and contumely. Duke Ludovick, up at the royal table, sought to catch his son's eye to signal a discreet retiral, when a group of young English courtiers of the second rank began to shout for Tony Weldon to favour the company with his panegyric on Scotland and the Scots. Loudly they clamoured and presently a slender young exquisite was hoisted up on to the table-top, down near John's seat, clutching a paper. Sir Anthony Weldon, from Kent, was Clerk of the Green Cloth, and had been knighted only at Berwick-on-Tweed on the way north. He boasted literary leanings.
Beaten tankards gained him approximate quiet, and with pretended reluctance and in fashionably weary tones and clipped voice, the more emphasised in that he was slightly drunk, announced that they had had to listen to a devilish lot of utterly incomprehensible oratory and endless articulation in foreign tongues. It would do them all a power of good, he swore, to hear some simple sentiments in good English, Queen Elizabeth's English if not King James's, on the subject of this curious northern kingdom, by a long-suffering visitor. He did not accord his blank verse a title, anything such was beyond him quite. They could all choose their own titles hereafter. He commenced to read, with frequent pauses and hiccups:
Scotland—too good for those who possess it,
Too bad to be worth conquering. Its air might be wholesome,
But for the stinking people who inhabit it. Their beasts are small, women only excepted.
Of which there are none greater in all the world . . .
Noise prevented further delivery for a while, fury from the Scots and cheers and laughter from some, though not all, of the orator's fellow-countrymen. He managed to continue:
They set great store of fowl, as foul houses, foul sheets and shirts, Foul linen, foul dishes and pots, foul trenchers and napkins,
With which sort we have been forced to fare,
As the Children of Israel did with their fowl in the wilderness . . .
The pauses became more frequent and prolonged as the reactions mounted. Soon half of the distinguished company were on their feet shouting and fist-shaking and the other half on theirs egging Weldon on. This looked like developing into the most serious international clash since the Union of the Crowns, and in Holyroodhouse of all places.
As for trees, had Christ been betrayed in this country,
As doubtless he would have been had he come here as a stranger,
Judas had sooner found a tree of repentance, Than a tree to hang himself on . . .
John found his father at his elbow, in the uproar. "Time we were out of here," the Duke said. "Better to know nothing about it, in the morning, when James gets to hear."
As they made their way out, with fisticuffs breaking out all over the courtyard, it was to be noted that not a few of the guests, English as well as Scots, were like-minded. The hotheads were being left to fight it out.
Lady Tippermuir's lodging seemed a good place to be in.
On the morrow, when the Stewarts presented themselves at the palace again, at a respectable hour, it was to find matters already well advanced. The King, up with the sun, had announced that he was going to visit St Mary's College, seat of learning and enlightenment at St Leonards, and to take the wretched Aberdeen schoolmaster with him to perhaps improve his Latin. But first he had had business to attend to at the palace, where his royal bed-going had been shamefully disturbed by Satanic noise and wicked bedlam from the central courtyard. Displeasure had been pronounced, and investigation made. Anthony Weldon had been promptly sent packing back to Kent, with one or two of his friends— apparently they were gone already. It was gathered that a new Clerk of the Green Cloth would be appointed, soon.
The Duke, who had anticipated something of the sort and timed their present arrival accordingly, set off with John for the university.
Thirty-four years before, in 1583, Edinburgh had decided that, as now the accepted capital city, it could no longer give place to St Andrews, Aberdeen and even Glasgow in matters academic, and must have a university. This had been started in a modest way, using the old Romish church of St Mary's in the Fields and its grounds, near where James's reputed father had been blown up, and no longer required, between the Cowgate and St Leonards. With a bequest of 8,000 merks from Robert Reid, Bishop of Orkney, they had begun with one professor and five lecturers. James himself had been a supporter of the project. Now it had grown considerably and required larger premises, the King's aid being called for.
They found James, typically, lecturing the lecturers, and on the subject of meteorology allied to astrology, with asides on Egyptology, Assyrian and Babylonian culture and other matters little more obviously related. Most of his hearers were looking dazed, Master Wedderburn from Aberdeen lost.
At sight of the newcomers, the monarch broke off his discourse, censoriously to accuse them of the sin of sloth, of lying like hogs in their beds when more well-doing folk were up and about God's work. They had missed much enlightenment on the sciences, of which he had small doubt they were in considerable need, and would be well advised to bestir themselves betimes in future—especially a young man with his way to make in life. Having delivered himself of this rebuke, James returned to his theme. Ludovick murmured that they had got off lightly and that it was well worth this to have escaped the morning's upheavals at Holyroodhouse.
The dissertation had reached the first manufacture of papyrus in the valley of the Euphrates and the probability that its inventors would speak the Gaelic, this being undoubtedly the site of the Garden of Eden and Gaelic the language of Heaven when—this appearing to remind the Lord's Anointed—he announced that he had expended enough rime on them already, he hoped to good effect, and he must be off to inspect the paper-mills of the Water of Leith. When the Principal of St Mary's pointed out, in some distress, that a spec
ial meal awaited the royal visitor and his company, he was informed that the last thing that dedicated academics should be concerned with was the stomach—besides which, some of those present could only recently have finished breaking their fast. With which thrust he headed for the door, only pausing therein for a moment to call back that, in future, the establishment would be called King James's College instead of St Mary's—and let all make fell sure that they did credit to the name, and put yon so-called university at Aberdeen in its place.
No one could say that the monarch's interests and concerns were not catholic, all-embracing. Paper-manufacture was now the theme. James had, in 1590, introduced paper-making into Scotland, importing two German experts, and had established mills at Dairy, a village a mile or two to the west of the city, near the Water of Leith. To these he had given the contract—at a price—for the supply of paper for his many books, indeed providing them with a monopoly which was very profitable, and in which he made sure of sharing. He even had his own personal watermark. Finding paper-making almost non-existent in England, when he went south, he had not been slow to perceive the opportunities of the Scots' monopoly, and ordered extension of the Dairy mills. This was to be inspection-day.
He was not, of course, going to have a lot of Englishry, nor Scots either indeed, ferreting out the processes of this valuable trade. So he forthwith dismissed such courtiers as had attended him to the college, with the wretched Aberdonian, back to Holyroodhouse or wherever they liked to go, taking with him only Steenie, Fyvie, the Duke and John—with whom presumably he considered the paper-making secrets safe.
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