The Wisest Fool mog-4

by Nigel Tranter

  "Ho-so that's the style o' you, minx! The Queen's service must have changed since my day! Aye, then, goldsmith-to what do I owe this courtesy? No' love on Queen Anne's part, I wager."

  "It is more on the King's behalf that I come, than the Queen's," Heriot said carefully. "His Grace was uneasy in his mind, and sent me North. I have discovered, with some reason."

  "So? But it was his goldsmith that he sent North. Not one o' his Council, or lords. Such as my son. So I'm thinking that His Grace wasna just sae greatly concerned."

  "I agree that he might have sent a more, er, resounding servant had he known what I now know."

  "Come man-no riddles. I am ower auld for suchlike. Out with it. What have you come for? " "Seeking the safety of Prince Henry, Countess. That is what." "Prince Henry is very safe in Stirling Castle." The old woman leaned forward. "Was King Jamie concerned about that? In England? Has he been hearing stories?"

  'Perhaps His Court ever seethes with rumours, as your ladyship well knows. And you? Have you been hearing stories?"

  "What stories would I hear, up on this bit rock halfway to heaven?"

  "I should think plenty. At Stirling. Where all men must come to cross Forth. And only thirty-five miles from Edinburgh-where stories start!"

  'You'll need to be mair explicit, man. A deal mair explicit." It was not difficult to see where King James had picked up his fashion of speech.

  "Very well. But I think that you will know of what I speak. There is a plot to take Prince Henry and declare him King of Scots. In room of his royal father. On the pretext that the King has deserted his Scottish kingdom for another."

  She considered him steadily, from beady eyes. "You tell me so? And does King Jamie know o' this supposed fell plot?"

  "I think not. Not yet But… I have little doubts that you did, Lady." She made no answer. "It is a damnable plot. And might well succeed." "Not while I hold the laddie here in Stirling Castle, goldsmith." He fingered his little beard thoughtfully.

  "Perhaps that is why the Countess would not yield the Prince up yesterday." Alison Primrose put in, smiling. "Perhaps she believes the Queen also to be in this plot!" They both stared at her.

  "Insolent jade!" the old woman said, but as it were automatically, without vehemence.

  "Her ladyship would not think that!" Heriot declared, frowning-

  "Would she no'?" the Countess snapped swiftly. "I've heard stranger ploys. All ken Anne cares little for her husband. Her sire, in yon Denmark, was a tyrant. She has the same spirit in her, I swear, the woman. She would perhaps prefer to be mother o' a powerless king who would do her will, than wife o' one who will not!"

  "But…" The man floundered. "You do not truly believe that? That the Queen, in child again, could plot to bring down her own husband 1" "Mary did-James's mother."

  Such a thought had just never occurred to George Heriot. Quite shaken for a moment, he groped in his mind. Then he shook his head.

  "No. This is folly. The Queen desires only to win back her children into her own care, have this new baby, and then rejoin her husband in London. She is appalled by word of this plot" Annabel of Mar said nothing. "How do you see it, lady? This conspiracy."

  "I see it as wholly evil," the old woman said. "And moreover, highest treason. Men should hang for this."

  Heriot tried to swallow a sigh of relief. "Then… then you will yield up the boy to none? Until the King commands it, in writing?"

  "None-the Queen, or other." The Countess hesitated. "Save for my son, to be sure. My Lord of Mar. He is the Prince's lawful guardian, no' myself. I but hold the laddie and castle in his name."

  Heriot's intaken breath this time was scarcely of relief. "The Earl's loyalty… is not in doubt," he got out. "I thank you for the expression o' confidence, goldsmith!"

  "I but meant, ladyship, that the Prince therefore is in no true danger. Since only the King and the Earl can win into this great fortress without breaking the walls down with cannon. Which even the Master of Gray, I think would scarce contemplate." "That popinjay!"

  "He is no popinjay, Countess-but the most dangerous man in two kingdoms. Not to be underestimated." He paused, and considered the other speculatively. "See you, Countess-here is a thought. The Queen's main desire, I know, is to be with her firstborn, the Prince Henry. She pines for him. This castle is a royal palace. She has as much right to be here as at Linlithgow or Holy-roodhouse. I know that you do not greatly love her, nor she you. But if she was here, biding in this castle with the Prince, she would be better and the King's cause nothing weakened."

  "Have her here I Under my feet 1 That that…" Looking at the Primrose girl, Lady Mar all but choked. "No, sir!" she croaked.

  "Could you deny her? If she asked. You will not deny that this is a royal castle-not an Erskine one? You but keep it for the Crown. If the Queen were to demand to stay in one of her husband's houses-as distinct from you yielding up the Prince-could you refuse?"

  "Share the same house wi' me? God's death, young man-hae you taken leave o' your wits?"

  "That was not my question, Countess. Could you deny admission?"

  The other gulped in her scrawny throat. "I'll answer that, goldsmith, when I see Anne o' Holstein come chapping at my door seeking lodging! No' before." 'That means you would, and must, admit her, I think." "She'd never come."

  "Perhaps not But it would solve some problems. And the King would be relieved, I swear, to have both wife and son-and possibly the other bairns also-under the eye of one whom he can trust absolutely. Yourself."

  "Do not seek to cozen me with such syrup, man. I'm ower auld for that!"

  "It would also save His Grace the cost of keeping another palace open. Linlithgow. For the lying-in. And he might prefer to have his fourth child borne in his major Scots citadel."

  At these shrewd thrusts the other glowered. Then adruptly she rose to her feet, small but imperious. "We have other matters to attend to, goldsmith. You shall be conducted to your horses."

  'To be sure. We thank you for your courtesy of this meeting. But-would it be possible for us to see the Prince? For but a moment. That we may inform his royal mother as to how he seemed." "The laddie's well. Nothing wrong wi' him."

  "We do not doubt that you cherish him well, Countess. But no harm in seeing him. To reassure Her Grace."

  Muttering something, the old woman stalked stiffly to the door and out. Exchanging glances, the visitors followed.

  They did not have far to go. At only the third doorway along the vaulted corridor the Countess turned in, and there was a nine year-old boy sitting at a table with a young man, at books and papers. The Prince was tall for his age, well-formed and good-looking, delicately featured and mtelhgent-seeming. Getting down, from his chair he ran to the old woman, remembered his manners sufficiently to halt and bow gravely to the two strangers, and then went to take the Countess's hand.

  "Here is Master Heriot, the King your father's jeweller, Henry," she said. "And one o' the Queen's ladies." There was something of a sniff about that. "Make your duties to them, lad."

  "A good day to you, sir. A good day to you, Mistress. I hope that I see you well." And, in a different voice: "Master Andrew says that my Latin is better today."

  "Aye, that'll please your royal father, lad. Master Heriot left him but a day or two agone." "My royal father is well, sir?"

  "Indeed yes, Highness. He sent you his affectionate greetings." That was not precisely a fact, but would bear saying.

  "Your royal mother the Queen also sends her fond greetings," Alison Primrose added.

  ‘I thank you, Mistress. And my royal mother. Is she also well?" He still clutched the Countess's hand. "Well, Highness. And… and not far away."

  "I do not like Latin much. But Master Andrew says that it is important" "Yes. The King is a great Latin scholar."

  "Greek also, sir. And French. And Spanish. Hebrew also. But… he does not know Danish, I think." "H'rr'mm. Perhaps not…" "Back to your lessons, then, lad." Annabel of Mar gave him a
little pat on the head before pushing him gently towards the table. The visitors bowed themselves out

  "I thank you, Countess, for your help," Heriot asknowledged. "He is a fine lad. His parents have reason to be proud of him, I think. We shall tell the Queen how well he does." "And how content he is? " "Well-that he does not pine, at least. Also that he is safe here. And will in nowise be given up. To any." "By me. So long as I command here." "You mean…?"

  "I told you, young man I am but my son's deputy. He is the Prince's keeper, not myself. Remember it."

  George Heriot opened his mouth to speak-and then thought better of it.

  They took their leave of the old lady rather less stiffly than when they had greeted each other.

  ***

  That evening, George Heriot sought to convince the Queen that it was to her advantage to swallow her pride and go to be with her son at Stirling, assured that Lady Mar could not refuse her, however reluctant she might be. Anne maintained a posture of outrage and shock at the very suggestion. Alison Primrose came to announce that Master Heriot's groom had just ridden in from Edinburgh, and brought this letter.

  The man took the paper, and seeking the Queen's permission to scan it, opened the sealed folds. It was only a brief note, obviously hastily penned. "Have just overheard the Master of Gray telling the Lord Sinclair that E. of Mar has left King and on his way back to Scotland. This may be important. M.G." "So-o-o!" Heriot breathed out. "Is it news?" Anne demanded. "Ill news? What it is?"

  "I cannot think it good news, Highness. The Earl of Mar is on his way back to Scotland." He caught the Primrose girl's eye.

  "A coarse oaf of a man 1 Scotland was sweeter without him! But does it concern us?"

  "I think it may. The Countess his mother was at pains to inform us that he was the Prince's lawful guardian, not she. He, the Keeper of Stirling Castle. She gave no assurance that the Earl would not deliver up the Prince. And Mary Gray, when she told me of this plot, believed that the Earl might be in it. Such was the rumour she had heard. It seemed unlikely, with Mar in England with the King. But now…!"

  'The King may be sending him. As he sent you," Lady Huntly suggested. "For some reason of his own." "Our letters cannot have reached him yet?" the Queen asked. "No, Highness. It cannot be that"

  "Mar comes to destroy m I know it He has hated me from the first. Ah, God-have mercy upon me!" Anne cried, and burst into tears.

  Troubled, the man sought to soothe and console her, but with no avail. The Queen's women hustled him out of the bedchamber. She had been weeping like this for most of the day, fretting herself into a fever, hysterics. It was that Countess of Mar's fault, insulting Her Grace. In the night, Queen Anne miscarried for the second time.

  5

  "MY LORD OF MAR," the Chancellor said, "I regret it-but it is not possible for you to see the Queen. Her Grace is very ill, and weak…"

  "I know that, man! God-all Scotland knows it! The more reason that I see her. I have a letter from her from her lord the King." "I will see that Her Grace gets it at once…"

  "No, sir! I will see her. The letter I will give into her ain hands -none other. His Majesty's instructions. And I've messages for her, forby. Frae the King. Take me to her, man." "I fear not, my lord. Her Grace's own royal commands."

  "What! She'll no' see me, Mar! Is that what you're after telling me, Seton?" A red-faced, gobbling turkey-cock of a man, John of Mar advanced a threatening step. Only in his early forties, he looked much older, harsh, overbearing, arrogant. 'The likes o' Sandy Seton'll no' keep me frae the woman!"

  "I must my lord. I cannot but obey the Queen's direct commands. She said that she would not see you." The Chancellor's voice quavered a little. Sir Alexander Seton of Pluscarden, recently created Lord Fyvie, was a dozen years the other's junior and scarcely a dominant character, slight, slender, modish, good-looking, with the face of an intellectual.

  "Christ's Wounds, she did! Well-I have the King's commands, Seton, d'you hear? Whose do you obey-heh? The King's Majesty's ain-or his silly bit puling wife's? Tell me that-you that ca's yourself Chancellor, King's Chancellor-no' his consort's!"

  From the background, near the doorway of Linlithgow's Great Hall, the Master of Gray came to his colleague's aid, but calmly, undramatically, as though all was a matter of course. "No call for contest, my lords," he said, coming forward. "Give me His Grace's letter, Johnnie. Her Grace, I hope will not refuse to see roe. Eh, Sandy? And I can, perhaps, persuade her to give audience to the Earl of Mar later, and hear the King's messages. A woman sick must be humoured, Johnnie." Mar grunted but no more; and Fyvie agreed eagerly.

  The Hall of Linlithgow Palace was crowded as it had not been for long. The Queen's miscarriage and subsequent grievous illness had brought important folk from the four quarters of the kingdom. The Chancellor had hastened from Dunfermline, the Earl of Orkney from the West, the Master of Glamis, the Treasurer, from Angus-and now the Earl of Mar, newly arrived from England, from Edinburgh with the Master of Gray. Should the Queen die, a totally new situation would arise, with interesting permutations for those in authority. This was the fourth day after the miscarriage.

  In a corner of the huge apartment, Mary Gray slipped away from George Heriot's side. "I will go warn Lady Huntly," she murmured. She had come two days before, as an Extra Woman of the Bedchamber whose services might be required.

  A small group, with Fyvie and the Master of Gray, detached themselves and made for the private stairway to the Queen's apartments. Unobtrusively, Heriot followed.

  Patrick Gray did not fail to notice it "Ha, Master Geordie-I heard that you came here. Promptly!" "I told you, sir, that it was to the Queen that I was sent."

  "Quite. You came at a bad moment I hope that you did not, h'm, worsen it, my friend!"

  Heriot could have slain the elegant Master for that-for it was precisely that thought which had dogged him for four days and nights. Had he not urged the royal visit to Stirling Castle, might this miscarriage never have occurred? It was a grevious question, and though Mary Gray, Alison Primrose, and even Lady Huntly all united in absolving him, he was not wholly reassured.

  At the bedchamber door Sir Harry Lindsay, Master of the Queen's Household would have denied them entry until, in the gloomy stone corridor he recognised the Master of Gray and they exchanged quick glances. Heriot noted that exchange.

  In the stifling room, Sir Hugh Herries, the royal physician, Lady Huntly, Mary Gray and Margrete Vinster, a Danish Maid-in-Waiting, stood round the great four-poster bed The Queen lay flat thereon, eyes closed.

  "Your Grace-I deeply regret to disturb you," Fyvie said, low-voiced. "But…"

  "I… will… not… see… Mar!" The words from the bed were weak, but measured and very definite.

  "No, Highness. I told him. But this is the Master of Gray. With a letter from the King's Grace." "I do not want it Oh him."

  "My Lady Anne," the Master said, at his silkiest, "as well as the letter, I bring words for your royal ear alone."

  A faint negative twitch of the sweat-damp head on the crumpled pillow. "About your son, the Prince Frederick Henry."

  That putting of the name Frederick first had its effect. The red-rimmed, heavy-lidded eyes opened, the pale lips parted just a little.

  "It is hot in here, over-crowded," the Master went on pleasantly. "Sir Hugh-I think the room should be cleared. Do not you?"

  Herries, who owed much, including his knighthood, to the Master of Gray, nodded, and gestured for all to leave.

  The Queen's eyes turned, in sudden alarm and appeal, to George Heriot He nodded.

  As most of the company moved to the door, three remained with the Master and the Chancellor-Lady Huntly, Mary Gray and George Heriot Coolly Gray eyed each of them in turn. None spoke.

  "May I remind all here that there is such a body as the Privy Council," he observed, almost conversationally. "In matters of state, the authority of its members is paramount. The Chancellor, my Lord Pyvie, and my humbler self, are of His Grace's Sc
ots Privy Council. And we would have speech with the Queen. Alone."

  "I am Henrietta Stewart, and do not leave the Queen's side, for any man," the Marchioness declared briefly.

  "I was sent directly to Her Grace by the King," Heriot said. "I shall leave her presence only if she wishes it" "No!" Anne jerked, surprisingly strongly. Mary Gray said nothing-but did not move.

  "Very well-since it is Her Grace's wish," the Master nodded -and smiled entirely affably at them all. "Here is the letter, Your Grace. As to the Prince Frederick Henry, I know how you wish to have him in your own royal care. His Grace has seen fit to command otherwise. But in the present situation, of your sad sickness and the King's absence, we of the Privy Council who are left in Scotland, deem that His Grace's royal wishes might well bear alteration somewhat, his commands be… ameliorated. Perhaps, with your royal permission, I could persuade my friend the Earl of Mar to prevail on his lady mother to deliver to him the Prince, out of Stirling Castle. And he to bring the lad here to Your Grace at Linlithgow. It is admittedly, directly contrary to the King's orders. But I personally, with the Earl of Mar and my lord Chancellor here, would accept responsibility."

  The swift indrawing of two breaths, the Queen's and Mary Gray's, drew Heriot's swift glance. With Mary he exchanged meaning looks. When he turned to the Queen, she was eyeing him with an agonised questioning, compounded of both hope and fear. Almost imperceptibly, he shook his head.

  There was a tense pause. Then Anne spoke. "No," she whispered. "No. Let him stay… where he is." That ended in a sob.

  The Master's eyes narrowed, but only for a moment "As Your Grace wishes of course. But… if the Prince knows that you are ill, his mother-and I cannot think that he will not have been told, in merest humanity-then he will be anxious, desirous of seeing Your Highness."

  She licked dry lips, her breathing uneven, fevered eyes searching all faces. "No," she got out. "No, no, no 1 Leave me, Master of Gray. Leave me-in God's name I"