Unicorn Rampant

by Nigel Tranter

  John was suitably shocked and declared his lack of faith in all physicians, leeches and blood-letters. But what about his own position, he wondered, somewhat warily? What was the Queen's attitude towards him now?

  Laughing pityingly, the young woman told him not to think so highly of himself as to imagine that, in her present state, Anne was in any way concerned with him. Her mind was wholly on her own state. Margaret had not heard John's name so much as mentioned since they came to Oatlands. Why? Was he anxious to come back to the Queen's service?

  Not so, he asserted, probably too hurriedly. The King was altogether too demanding of his time. He did not go into details of his activities and the young woman did not enquire.

  Margaret, in fact, was concerned about her own future. The Queen's illness might well prove fatal, she admitted— and then what was to happen to her? This household would be broken up and she would be without employment. She would have to consider what she was to do. She might even consider marriage!

  John still more hurriedly changed the subject, or at least its direction. Something would turn up, he asserted. Was not her uncle the Earl of Abercorn, a great man in Ireland, practically ruling in the north there?

  She dismissed her uncle. He had no concern for her, with innumerable sons and daughters of his own to settle; moreover he was said to be failing in health. Besides she had no desire to go to Ireland, nor even to leave London, where life was to be lived. Oatlands was quite sufficiently countrified for her, thank you! No, it might have to be marriage. Had he any suggestions?

  John definitely had not. He asked urgently whether there was not some other great lady's household where the Queen's Maid-in-Waiting would be welcome? What about the Marchioness of Winchester? She was rich and powerful enough.

  Margaret snorted indelicately over the Marchioness, a puling, fushionless creature! To be in her household would be as bad as being buried alive! No, it was marriage for her—unless some opening could be arranged in the King's court? Since John was so far ben with the King, could he not contrive something for her?

  That young man's mind worked quickly, assessing, balancing. He had to get her off this talk of marriage, somehow. So far as he knew, there was no position at James's establishment for women, save as mere servants. There were women about the court, of course, but these were only there as the wives of courtiers and visitors. On the other hand, this might be the opportunity he required to introduce the subject of the Queen's will. He had been wondering how to bring it up without making the point too obvious. This might serve—and possibly James might be persuaded to show some gratitude towards the girl thereafter?

  "I do not know," he answered carefully. "But there is one matter which occurs to me, in which you might be of use to King James. And which might cause him to favour you in some way. He is concerned about the Queen's health, naturally, even if he does not show it openly! But he is also concerned about her affairs. He does not know what she aims to do with her properties, her lands and moneys. Apparendy she has not told him. He does not know even whether she has made a will. Nor what her debts may be. You will understand that it is important for him to know. If he is responsible for her debts ..."

  "Oh, I can tell you that," Margaret interrupted, without more ado. "Anne will not make a will. She has said that, often. Declared that it would be as good as signing her own death-warrant! Some of her countesses have urged her to it, saying that otherwise the King will take all. But she refuses to set anything down on paper."

  "You are sure of this?"

  "Oh, yes. They rally her on it—the ladies. But-all know that she intends that Prince Charles shall have all her properties. Including this Oatlands, I suppose. Her jewels will be shared out amongst us, I think—if Danish Anna does not get to them first!"

  "So-o-o!" In these two brief sentences, surprisingly, John had practically all that he had come for. He nodded. "Then, if you learn more of a will being made, or any word of bequests, let me know. I think that the King will be grateful."

  "You will speak to him, of me, John?"

  "Yes. But, of course . . . this may be all a, a beating of the air! The Queen may recover and live for years yet. She is none so old—still not fifty years, James says. Then you would need no new position. And this talk of wills unnecessary."

  "Perhaps, yes. We shall see. But still I might be wise to find a husband . . .!"

  They left it at that, meantime.

  John, of course, had no room allotted to him at Oatlands, but it was late to ride the near thirty miles to Theobalds that night, and Margaret appeared to take it for granted that he would share her bed. The great house was sufficiently large for privacy, and she had elected to occupy a wing well removed from the rest of the now reduced household, no doubt advisedly, being the young woman she was. Without ever making his presence known to the Queen herself nor to her elderly attendants, and eating in the kitchen premises, John more or less inevitably spent the night with Margaret—and would have been hypocritical to assert that he had not anticipated it or that he did not enjoy the proceedings. Free with her favours she might be, and not altogether to his taste in some other ways—but she was very good in bed and whole-hearted in her physical enjoyment.

  Not too early in the forenoon following he set off on his return to Theobalds.

  James, still abed, was delighted with both items of information brought by John, although as ever he hedged about his satisfaction with reservations. He declared that he could well believe that his Annie would be feart to make a will—women were right irrational creatures at best. But John was still to keep his lug to the ground—or at least to the person of the lassie Hamilton, which he gathered would not be too. unpleasant—in case the Queen changed her mind, if that was the right word.

  When John tentatively suggested that perhaps His Majesty might wish to remember Margaret Hamilton, if it came to the Queen's household being broken up, James eyed him shrewdly and declared that, if he was so concerned for the lassie's future well-being, would the best thing be not to just marry her? Marriage was a lottery, mind—but most men had a try at it, if only to produce lawful heirs. And at least this quean was bedworthy, by all accounts, and well-connected, if penniless. Johnnie could do fell worse.

  This subject seeming to dog him, John made noncommittal noises and reverted to the matter of Master Vandervyk at Dartford. Did His Majesty not think that this royal charter, which the man held from Queen Elizabeth, might present a problem?

  The King agreed that steps would have to be taken to deal with it. He would consider the matter and decide what was to be done. Meanwhile, perhaps Johnnie Stewart should likewise do some considering on the subject of marriage and his future. After all, as Governor of Dumbarton, and who kenned what else might follow in time, he would look better as a married man, less of a laddie. Forby, the Hamiltons were a well-doing lot and could prove useful to have links with. Such matters deserved serious thought. Aye, and while he was at it, he should tell his ducal father that he too should be thinking about marrying again. He had no right heir to the royal dukedom, save for a brother in France whom nobody knew, and said to be an arrant Catholic at that! Which would not do. A lawful son was what was required. So Ludovick Stewart should marry again', some suitable woman to be a royal duchess. Yon Mary Gray was all very well for a concubine, but in bastardy she could not be a duchess.

  Tight-lipped, John withdrew.

  Later, indignantly, he passed on to his father the King's comments—without mentioning the marital advice to himself.

  "Ah—so James was at that again, was he? He keeps reminding me," the Duke said, casually enough.

  "You would not marry again, would you? Or . . . anyone but my mother?"

  His father shrugged. "I have no desire to, John—-none at all. But, you know the position. Mary will not consider marrying me—never would. I suppose that she is right in that. It would not serve. For a royal duke. James would never accept it—have it annulled if we were to do it. The marriages of members
of the royal family are subject to the King's authority, to be lawful. Yet James wants me to produce an heir to the dukedom. I am, after all, third in line of succession. Charles is not married yet—and his sire, who scarcely dotes on him, doubts whether he could produce a son! And Elizabeth, his only daughter, is wed to the German Elector Palatine, and James is by no means sure that his kingdoms would accept a German as heir to the throne. So it would much strengthen his dynastic position if I, a Stewart, had a son born in wedlock."

  "That may be so. But he cannot make you wed again!"

  "Perhaps not. But he could make life very comfortless for me! He could strip me of revenues and position. He could banish me the realm, both realms. He has put folk in the Tower for less. He could even forfeit Methven, if so he thought fit. James may usually seem something of a simpleton and a figure-of-fun, but never forget that he has enormous power if he chooses to wield it. And, in a matter such as this, where his dynasty is concerned, I think that he would not hesitate."

  "But you are his friend, as well as cousin . . ."

  "True. He might spare me. But he would probably say that friendship should cut both ways—that I, as his friend, owe him this, owe the Stewart line this. That it would be no great sacrifice—he has already said so, more than once. It would be a marriage in name only, make no real difference to Mary and myself. . ."

  "I say that it would."

  "But then you, John, are prejudiced. And, shall we say, not greatly experienced. I would be making a new duchess, that is all. And, hopefully, an heir to the dukedom. I have had duchesses before, two of them, and they did not come between Mary and me."

  "You are set on it, then?"

  "No, I am not. But it looks as though James is. I would prefer not. And have nobody in mind. I can satisfy my bodily needs, whilst I am separated from Mary, readily enough without marriage. As, it seems, can you!"

  A change of subject appeared to be advisable.

  John reverted to the matter of Dumbarton. What was he to do with the man Middlemas?

  The Duke shrugged again. "You must get rid of him, evidently."

  "He declares that I will find that difficult. Claims that he holds a commission from you which secures his position."

  "A commission granted can be revoked. Although you may have to pay him some compensation, since it is an office of profit—the tax-gathering. As he seems to be ensuring!"

  "M'mm. How much? How much compensation?"

  "Lord knows! That kind of man will ask much, I have no doubt. And you must needs beat him down."

  "Why did you appoint such a man?"

  "He was recommended by Johnnie Mar. And seemed none so ill, then. Myself being far away all these years, he has thought himself safe, no doubt. Perhaps I have been remiss. But I have over-many offices to grace! I am Lord High Admiral of Scotland—did you know that? Also Great Chamberlain. And Master of the Horse. Not to mention Keeper of the King's Falcons! Give me time and I will recollect others!"

  "All of which bring you profit!"

  "A little, lad—a little. Or, most of them."

  Not for the first time John felt at odds with his father's attitude to life. "Do you find all this to your taste, admirable?" he demanded.

  "Admirable? Perhaps not. But necessary, in the circumstances, John. The moneys and therefore the offices. I require all, for James's service is expensive—as you will find out! Parliament keeps him so short of money that he is in no state to pay his helpers and servants. So we must make what we can. A bad system—but the blame must lie with this English parliament."

  John was not entirely convinced, but he returned to the problem of Dumbarton. "How do I set about getting rid of Middlemas?" he asked.

  "Find a replacement. Someone whom you can trust with the task. Then send him to my Deputy-Sheriff of the Lennox, since Dumbarton is in the Lennox. That is Robert Napier of Kilmahew. I am Sheriff of the Lennox as well as Duke, and will write you an authority for Napier. He will then go to the castle and expel Middlemas and install your man."

  "You make it sound simple," his son said, grimly. "I fear that it will be otherwise."

  "Napier will have the authority. As Deputy-Sheriff he can call upon whatever force is necessary, if Middlemas proves difficult. Have you anyone in mind for the task? Your Deputy-Keeper?"

  "I have not thought on it. But—would Sandy Graham, at Methven, serve? The minister's son. He has always been my friend. He is honest and no fool."

  "Like yourself, on the young side. But, why not? If you think that he is sufficiently strong. For it is a task which calls for a strong hand."

  "I hope that I shall be there, or thereabouts, much of the time. To be my own Keeper."

  The Duke eyed him thoughtfully. "You do not think to remain at court, John?"

  "No. This is no life for me. I wish to be back in Scotland. I am hopeful that the King will let me go, before long. I long for Methven and the Highland hills. I am no courtier."

  "Perhaps you are right. I have often wished the same for myself. But I am saddled with a royal dukedom, and you are not."

  "Will you help me with the King, then? Convince him to let me go?"

  "If you wish it, I will try. But James is . . .James. It may not be easy, whilst he finds you useful here. It will be a question of choosing our time ..."

  Clearly that time would not be in the immediate future. John did not doubt that he would be required for further errands on the subject of the paper-trade—and he had not long to wait. Two days later he was sent for by the King, still in bed. James was fond of his bed, and when not able to hunt was apt to spend much time therein—so that there were occasions when his alleged sicknesses might be no more than excuses to lie in. Indeed he transacted much of the nation's business thus.

  Buckingham was not present on this occasion; his orders were to be much with the Prince of Wales—which must in some ways have been a blessed relief for that young man, however much at odds he had been formerly with Charles. Now they were reputed to get on well together—by royal command.

  "Aye then, Johnnie—I have our ploy worked out for your mannie at Dartford—what was his name?" James greeted.

  "Vandervyk, Sire—a Hollander."

  'Hph'mm. Well, you're to go back down there and you're to tak him up to Scotland." John stared. "Scotland .»..?"

  "That is what I said. I have decided that is best. You're to take yon Will Alexander wi' you, to Dartford. No' to Scotland ... or, we'll see. As coming frae mysel'. The Hollander thinks you're in the paper-trade, mind. So you'll need someone who looks mair substantial, frae me."

  "But you'll dae the talking. You're to tell the mannie that I've heard well o' him, and that he's to go to Scotland to help wi' the paper-making there—help train new men. And then likely manage one o' the new mills on the Esk. Is that no' a right notable conceive? It gets him awa' frae his Dartford mill, so that nae mair paper will be made there—and at the same time aids in our paper-production in Scotland."

  "But..." Hastily John amended that. "He may not wish to go to Scotland, Sire."

  "Then you'll hae to see that he does, laddie. For that's where he's to go. Och, he'll like it fine, once he's there. You'll offer him compensation for his mill. And you'll get the woman Elizabeth's bit charter back frae him. You have it?"

  "And if he refuses to go?"

  "You'll tell him it's a royal command, whatever—or Alexander will. He's to go to Scotland—and there'll be nae mair paper-making in England. And that's that!"

  "Yes, Majesty." John was learning to keep his emotions under control, where his sovereign lord was concerned at least. Although, of course, concerned about how he was to achieve this latest task, he was lost in admiration for the cleverness of the scheme, and the wits which had devised it, bringing down two birds with one arrow. And delighted, to be sure, at the thought of returning to Scotland again so soon—although winter travel might be unpleasant.

  Sir William Alexander came to John next day, saying that he had orders to accompany him
to Dartford. When would they go?

  John was for setting off right away, but the other pointed out that it looked like rain and it would be sensible to wait till the morrow in the hopes of better travelling conditions—no point in making a misery of it. This was not John's reaction to royal commands, but the older man seemed calmly assured, and the Duke did not indicate otherwise.

  So the following morning they set off in slightly more favourable weather. They did not hurry, as John would have done by himself. Alexander, it seemed, seldom hurried. Nevertheless, November weather was not for lingering, and they reached Dartford in mid-afternoon. They went straight to the Bull's Head tavern, where they would stay the night. And there was Vandervyk sitting at the same table, tankard in hand, as though he had not moved since the other day. Obviously he was a man who took life very much as it came.

  If the Dutchman was surprised to see John again, and so soon, he did not show it, acknowledging their arrival by promptly ordering more ale.

  John, being the young man he was, plunged in right away. He introduced Sir William as Master of Requests to King James, who had a message for him from His Majesty. Vandervyk guffawed at that, but pushed the ale across to Alexander.

  "It is so," John insisted. "The King is interested in the paper-trade, and has sent Sir William to speak to you. He has an offer to make to you."

  "Indeed, yes," Alexander said, taking his cue. "Mr Methven has told His Majesty about you and your mill, and how you have insufficient trade, because of the monopoly, to keep it running as it should. Now in Scotland where we—and the King—come from, they make paper, and do not recognise this German monopoly. The King wishes you to go to Scotland and aid them there."

  "Me? Go to Scotland?" The Dutchman snorted.