The Wisest Fool mog-4

by Nigel Tranter

  "I have not got it, sir. I assure you, I do not have so much money. I came but on my father's orders. With the key…"

  'Your note of hand will serve very well, Sir John. A simple matter." As though by sleight of hand, the Scot produced a paper from within his cloak and from the richly-chased silver cylinder which hung from his belt in place of a dirk, a neat quill-pen already wet from the ink-hom within.

  Unhappily Peyton wagged his tired head, looking from his monarch's back to Heriot.

  "Sir," the latter reminded, with a slight smile. 'You have just received an honour without price. Are you, and your father, of insufficient means and gentility to support it? No? This fee but assures his Grace that you are, as is suitable. See, I will write it for you my own self." Using his padded sleeve as a board, he penned, in a firm hand: "At Berwick, 23rd day of Aprile 1603. Promised to the King's Grace One thousand pounds Sterling." He dipped the pen again into the encased ink-hom. "Sign, Sir John. The Duke of Lennox here, will act witness, I have no doubt." Swallowing, the young man scratched some sort of signature.

  Ludovick Stewart, Lord High Admiral of Scotland, a mixture of commiseration and amusement on his blunt features, took the pen and initialled the paper, and George Heriot did the same, and coughed.

  Almost immediately King James broke off his converse with the others, and turned round. "Aye, well," he said. 'Time we werena here, or we'll no' win to yon place-what was it? Widdrington, aye Widdrington, this night. It's a long gait to London. Johnnie Ramsay-my horse. We'll no' waste more o' our royal time at Berwick Brig…"

  "Would you say that His Grace had wasted his time here?" Lennox asked his tradesman friend, as they mounted, after the King.

  "Does His Grace ever waste his time?" the King's goldsmith, jeweller, banker and creditor, gave back in response.

  2

  "WEALTH, MAN," JAMES said, low-voiced. "Riches. Beyond telling. More than ever I believed. This England is fat, Vicky-fat!" The King glanced around him in the saddle, warily, those great liquid eyes rolling, to see that none of the English notable riding behind heard him. "Being king o' a' this will serve me right well, I think!"

  "Do you think to spoil the English as well as reign over them, Cousin?" the Duke of Lennox asked, grimly.

  "Not so, Vicky-not so. Hold your tongue, man. But… a monarch in a rich land can do more than, than in a poor place, see you. For the folk, you ken-the good o' the folk. Look at those beasts. Have you ever seen cattle the like o' that?"

  "They are fat and sleek, Sire. And the folk grow like them, I think! How do you esteem your new subjects, then? Apart from their so evident wealth?"

  James eyed the speaker sharply. He never could be quite sure whether or not his cousin was cozening him, mocking-and he was very averse to being mocked. He stood more from Vicky Stewart than he would stand from others only because he knew him to be honest, utterly reliable and quite without ambition- and moreover was the only son of the first man he had ever loved, Esme Stewart of Aubigny in France, first cousin of his father, Darnley. But that did not mean that he could twit him, the Lord's anointed, with impunity. 'They are… civil, right civil," he said, cautiously. "I thought that you must like them passing well." "Eh? Why?"

  "You see fit to honour them, Cousin, in a fashion that you never did at home! I have already lost count of all the gold rings you have bestowed and all the knighthoods created, in seven days, all the offices you have given away, the promises you have made and prisoners freed…"

  "Houts-knights cost nothing, man. Or, only to themselves!" James tee-heed a whinny of laughter-and then looked round again quickly, in case he had been overheard. "Offices can be taken away, forby. And we'll soon fill the jails again 1 But, d'you no' see, man-it behoves a liege lord to bind his new subjects to his sacred person wi' stout bonds o' love and gratitude. That he may rule them the easier. Use your wits, Vicky."

  'That is not a policy Your Grace made great efforts to follow in Scotland, I think!"

  "Scotland? Guidsakes-Scotland's a different kettle o' fish. You ken that-you who acted Viceroy for me when I was off in yon Denmark The Scots are a crabbit, contrary race, man-aye at each others' throats. The only way to rule them is to keep them that way, to set one lord against another, one faction against the next Waesucks-I learned that in a fell hard school!"

  "And you think that the English lords and squires are so different? That they have no factions here?"

  "They are softer, Vicky. Fatter. Richer. Smoother. Aye, softer. Or that auld besom Elizabeth couldna have kept them in order a' yon time. And frae a sick-bedchamber, these last years." "She had a nimble and strong mind…"

  "She was a woman! A weathercock. Like the rest o' them. She blew hot and cauld. Women have no minds to speak of. Reason is the attribute o' men-or some men! Logic, logomachy, enthymeme -o' such she kenned nothing, the creature. If she could rule these English…" "At least she did not make knights by the score!"

  "She had no right to make them, at all, man I A woman canna be a knight. As sovereign, she could appoint, but no' make. But- what's a' this havering about knighthoods? A plague on you, Vicky-what's to do?"

  "It is that I have always respected the standing and status of knighthood, James. It is a noble order and estate. You made me knight once, and I esteem it a higher honour than this dukedom which I but inherited like a house or goods and chattels. But now, you make knights of any and all who come thronging." "Not all man-only those who can pay for it!"

  "Which, I say, is worse. Selling what should be a cherished honour for base gold and silver!"

  "Vicky Stewart-will you hold your ill tongue! I'll no' be preached at by you or any man. I will not." "I crave Your Grace's pardon."

  "Aye-well you may I" James looked at his cousin sidelong from those soulful eyes. "See you-what's the harm in dubbing a wheen knights, man? These English like it fine-for they havena proper lairds and barons like we have. And what for should they no' pay for it? They have the siller-and I need it. Man, each o' these high-nebbit lords has more siller than have I, their liege lord! You ken the state o' the Scots Treasury-empty, man, empty! Would you have me penniless, when I get to London? D'you ken how much I owe Geordie Heriot? Eh… some sixty thousand pounds Scots." "So much?"

  "Aye. Or I did, when we set out frae Edinburgh! But we're cutting down the score, man-as is only right and proper. Geordie gets half, you see He keeps the account-he's good at that. Have him up, Vicky-we'll see how it goes. Send for Jinglin' Geordie."

  Lennox reined round to call for one of the royal pages to go fetch Master Heriot, His Grace's jeweller-and immediately the Earl of Northumberland and the Lord Henry Howard pressed forward, one on either side of the King, from the rank just behind, both speaking at once in the clipped, authoritative English fashion.

  James, slumped like a sack of chaff in his saddle-though, oddly enough he rode well if not handsomely-eyed them unfavourably. "My lords," he said, "you're fine chiels both, I've no doubt But when I'm needing your lordships' company, I'll ask for it"

  Abashed, mumbling hasty apologies, the two proud noblemen fell back

  Lennox returned to say that it might be some time before Heriot could be located and brought forward-for the royal train had swollen to well over a thousand and spread back along the road northwards for well over a mile. He had sent Sir Thomas Erskine to go find him. The Duke announced that with a barely smothered grin; the pampered favourite Erskine would certainly not appreciate being sent to look for a mere Edinburgh burgess like George Heriot Lennox did not like Erskine, the man who had taken the leading part in the murky Gowrie conspiracy of three years before -any more than he liked most of the King's beautiful young men.

  James tut-tutted testily. "A mile you say? De'il take them! I mislike crowds," he complained. "Folk thronging me. Where have they a' come frae? Guidsakes-I never asked all these!"

  "Your loyal English subjects, Sire. Coming to bind themselves to your sacred person in love and gratitude, perhaps? And probably seeking knighthoo
ds!"

  "Now see here, Vicky Stewart-enough o' this! What's come ower you, man? You're as crabbit as one o' thae Kirk divines. If you canna keep a respectful tongue in your head in my royal presence, you've my royal permission to leave it! Aye."

  "I am only concerned for Your Grace's royal dignity," his cousin assured, earnestly now, low-voiced. "On this your first visit to England. It is entirely necessary for you to make a good impression, before your new people. To cast honours about too freely, to seem to sell them, will but lower your knightly dignity in their regard…"

  "You leave my royal dignity to me, impertinent 1 What right have you to hector me so?"

  "Not hector, Sire-advise. I do so out of love for you. As for right, I am of Your Highness's Privy Council…"

  "In Scotland, Vicky-in Scotland. And we're no' in Scotland, now. Mind it. And, meantime, I have no Privy Council in England -until I choose it Aye-and I'd advise you, and others, no' to forget it!"

  Lennox bit his lip. He was a pleasantly plain-faced young man, almost boyish-looking for his thirty years, with as little of the great lord about him as his master and kinsman had of regality. But at least he was not laughably overdressed in grossly padded and clashing-coloured magnificence.

  The King stole another glance at his friend and sucked in saliva wetly-for he slobbered especially copiously when under any sort of emotion. He spoke more placatingly-for he was a man who required approval of his policies, however little he cared in the matter of personal behaviour.

  "As to making an impression, Vicky, I'd remind you that's no' necessary. No' for me. I am the Lord's Anointed, Vicar o' Christ on this earth. Forby I am their master, these all my servants now -as are you, Duke Vicky Stewart! Keep it in mind, I say." Suitably chastened, Lennox held his peace

  George Heriot came riding up, and Sir Thomas Erskine of Dirleton, good-looking in a bland, foppish fashion, looked less than bland when he was waved back whence he had come by the King, with scarcely a glance, while the tradesman was welcomed with a genial grin.

  "Geordie-where have you been, man? Hiding away, some place. Is the company so good, back yonder, that you desert your auld gossip, Jamie Stewart? Is it the English you're after favouring?"

  Heriot was careful-as he was wise to be, when the King adopted this wheedling, fakely-familiar tone. "Far from it, Sire- although I find them well enough. A trifle simple, perhaps, after our Scots ways. They seem less… devious, than we are. I have been looking to Your Grace's interests, since somebody must " "Eh? My interests? How mean you?"

  "Hundreds join this your royal train daily, Sire. If this goes on, it will be an army by the time you reach London-thousands. An army that eats and drinks its head off-at Your Grace's expense. I am not Your Grace's Treasurer, nor yet your purse-bearer. But I can add up placks and groats and merks and turn them into pounds sterling I Which is more than some folk seem able to do!"

  "But, Geordie-the English will pay for this. Their great Treasury in London. My great Treasury! It'll no' come out o' my pouch!"

  "Are you so sure, Sire? These English lords do not seem to think so. All consider themselves your guests! It seems that when the late Queen made her progresses about this kingdom, all her train were paid for from her privy purse." "Guidsakes!"

  "Moreover, I hear hints to the effect that the English Treasury is in no very good state. That during the Queen's long ailing, matters have been mismanaged, allowed to go amiss. Taxes left ungathered-or, at least, those who farmed them failing to be brought to account for them. Certain of the Queen's favourites dipping their hands deep into her coffers…"

  "Waesucks-enough! Enough, I say! You're cozening me, man. I'll not believe it, Geordie Heriot. It's no' what I've been given to understand."

  "Likely not, Sire. But that is what I have picked up, by keeping my ears open. These fine lords and gentry will talk in front of me, a mere merchandiser, say things they would not mention to Your Grace."

  James groaned, slumped in his saddle, all the brightness suddenly gone out of his day.

  Lennox cocked an eye at Heriot. 'You reckon we should turn and go home, my friend?"

  "Scare that But it behoves us all, I think, to gang warily. At this stage."

  "Lest the Englishmen spoil us! I swear you break His Grace's heart!"

  "Be quiet, Vicky Stewart!" James cried loudly-and then glanced quickly, almost furtively behind in case any of the illustrious party riding immediately at his back should have heard. Lowering his voice, he went on, "Man-d'you now see how wrong you were? About the knightings. He's aye complaining, Geordie- my lord high and righteous Duke o' Lennox, carping at me for making knights o' ower many o' these English bodies. Sakes-he doesna ken the elementals o' it! You tell Irim, Geordie. Why I sent for you. How many knights have I made since I crossed yon brig at Berwick, eh? How many, aye-and how much. You'll ken"

  "How many…? Ah… thirty-four, Sire. No, thirty-five, counting that Forester at Widdrington, after the hunt."

  "Na, na-forget him. That was just to show yon man Carey that he canna badger me into honouring him. He wants to be a Lord o' Parliament He canna abide his father-most unduteous. The Lord Hunsdon. So Sir Robert wants to be one better-a viscount, no less! Never ceases to deave me for it, the man. A' because he brought me word first o' auld Elizabeth's death I was for showing him that I can raise up who I will, see you. That I'm no' dependant on the likes o' Robert Carey! Thirty-four, say you? How much, then, man-how much?"

  "Well, Sire-I have had to gang warily likewise, mind. Your Grace will not want talk, a comparing of costs, as you might say. And I must judge the fleece before I clip it! Not all you have chosen are rich men…"

  "A pox on you-we ken a' that! Are you failing me, Geordie Heriot? Making excuses? How much, this far? Out with it."

  "Twenty-eight thousand, five hundred pounds, Sire. Leastways, notes of hand therefor." "English money? Sterling?" "Sterling, yes." Lennox whistled below his breath.

  James grinned, chuckled. "Aye, well. No' bad, Geordie-no' bad. For two-three days. And how much does my Annie owe you now? Can you mind?"

  "Seventy-five thousand pounds, Sire, more or less. Pounds Scots, of course."

  "Guidsakes-so much as that I Save us-women are the devil! What does she do with it all? Does she eat jewels, man? I blame you, Geordie-aye tempting her wi' your gewgaws and trinkets. It's no' right Vanity it is. There'll be a judgment on such vanities, mark my words." "Her Grace is generous towards others, Sire…"

  "Ooh, aye-generous! Fine, that! But-och, well this will more than pay for it, eh? How much is that in Sterling? Seventy thousand pounds Scots?"

  "Seventy-five thousand pounds, Sire. Say six thousand pounds Sterling-since it is Her Grace. But, h'm, may I remind you, Sire, that Your Grace owes me more than that? One hundred and eighty thousand pounds Scots, indeed." "Dear God!" A single hoot of laughter erupted from the Duke of Lennox.

  James glared at his cousin. "Here's no laughing matter. One hundred and eighty thousand pounds Scots! Na, na-you exaggerate, Geordie man. It's no' possible."

  "No mistake, Sire. One hundred and eighty-four thousand, seven hundred and fifty pounds to be exact. Or, if you prefer it, fifteen thousand, three hundred and thirty-three pounds Sterling."

  The King raised his heavy head with an accession of dignity. 'You have the mind o' a huckster, Master Heriot Pounds, shillings, groats and placks!" "Precisely, Your Grace. But then, I am a huckster!"

  "M'mmm. Aye. But, man-it canna be so much as that? But a month past it was little more than half o' that."

  "Your Grace perhaps forgets the chestful of rings which you ordered. And give out to all and sundry, on this your royal journey."

  "Rings? Them? Och, but they're no' real gold, Geordie. Just covered wi' gold."

  "Nevertheless, they cost money, Sire. So many. And engraved with your royal sign."

  "Aweel, if you say so. But, Geordie-there'll still be something left for me, out o' a' these knighthoods, man? You'll no' swallow it a'?"

 
"To be sure. Even with due and proper interest, Your Highness is five thousand pounds in credit. Sterling."

  "There! You see, Vicky? And you berate me. Guidsakes-what would you have? Your king a pauper? Indebted? Aye-and how much does the Duke o' Lennox owe you, Geordie Heriot? Eh? How much our righteous Duke?" "That, I fear, I am not at liberty to say, Your Grace. You would not have me break the confidence of those who deal with me? But this I can say, that my lord's indebtedness is but a small sum, a mere trifle. Not like many of Your Grace's Court that I could name!"

  "Ha! You say so? But-more o' this anon. There's some-to-do ahead. Here's a mannie coming…"

  A gallant was riding back from the Captain of the Guard's advance party. He doffed his bonnet low.

  "Your Grace-a deputation from York. Has Sir Andrew your royal permission to present them?" "Ooh, aye. York's a fine rich town, they tell me. Have them up."

  The magnificent towers of the mighty cathedral, with all the lesser spires and massive walls, had been looming before the cavalcade for long, in this flat, green country, and by now they were only some three miles off. A party of richly-robed and bejewelled citizens were brought up to genuflect before the monarch, who considered them assessingly from those knowing gazelle's eyes of his, while the royal trumpeter blew a flourish to halt the mile-long column behind.

  "May I present to the King's Grace three gentlemen of the city of York?" young Sir Andrew Kerr of Ferniehirst, Captain of the Royal Guard, said. "Sheriffs, they say. And those, behind, sergeants or something such."

  "Not so," a tall, thin and stately elderly man declared, his bow as dignified as his voice and carriage. "I am Sir "William Ingleby, High Sheriff of this entire great county and duchy of York. These two are the Sheriffs of the city, George Buck and John Robinson. The Sergeants behind are of, h'm, a different sort We come to pay our proper respects to Your Majesty, seek your gracious goodwill for duchy and city, and your royal confirmation of our ancient charters and privileges."