The Wisest Fool mog-4

by Nigel Tranter

  Heriot was waiting at the West Port, behind the Provost and Council-one of whom was brother James, representing the Incorporation of Goldsmiths and Hammermen. Mary Gray spotted him while the address of welcome was going on, and with tableaux to follow and prolonged delay inevitable, dismounted and slipped from her place at the Master's side-she would not ride with Ludovick, of course, the Duchess being present.

  "So, Geordie," she greeted, "you came to watch the show. It is good to see you." She had to shout to be heard above the bombilation of the cannon-fire from the castle directly above. "And you. You are the fairest thing I have seen in seven days I"

  "Tut-Geordie Heriot essaying flattery. Why? Do not say that you need Mary Gray? Did you get my message? About the new Queen's ladies?"

  "Yes. I sent word to have them held at Berwick Though I think that will scarce be popular. But, if there is to be trouble, let it be over the Border. Where, h'm, trouble-makers cannot add to it!"

  "That makes good sense. The Queen is adamant. She will have no more ladies save of her own choosing. Especially English ones."

  "It will be difficult James has sent up the Earls of Sussex and Lincoln with this bevy of countesses and the like. Carefully chosen to play faction against faction, the Cecils against the Howards, Cobham against Raleigh. The old game he learned so well here in Scotland. Nullifying their influence."

  "So Vicky told the Queen. But she will have none of it. James can make a political tourney-ground of his own Court, she says- but not of her's. A plague on them all, says Anne! This period away from the King has made her a deal more independent, to be sure. She is a changed woman." "Scarcely a joyful augury for London!"

  They fell silent for the Queen's brief speech of thanks, almost inaudible because of the gunfire. Then the tableaux commenced, angels presenting keys, elves offering gifts, a dragon spewing claret and other typically leaden municipal flights of fancy. At least there were no Latin monologues, de rigueur when the King was present

  At last they could move on to Holyrood-although there were further but briefer ceremonies en route, to each of which the Queen listened and responded with unvarying and courteous patience, very different from her royal husband who would have been cursing all angrily long before this.

  "Think you that Anne has discovered that perhaps the people's love and esteem can be a thing of value?" Heriot wondered. "She did not used to be so patient"

  Holyroodhouse was a different place from Heriot's last experience of it. All was formally correct, decorous, tidy. The guard was evident, punctilious, the staff attendant, discreet Even Heriot’s quarters in the wing had been cleaned up, with some fresh skin rugs and new hangings and items of furniture. The Master of Gray clearly did not do things by halves. The Lord Lindores seemed to have disappeared.

  There followed some days of hectic activity for the royal entourage, in preparation for the great journey to London. Anne was now determined to enjoy the experience and to travel in a style worthy of her position-whatever more modest arrangements Lennox had envisaged, on the King's instructions. The Queen had no idea of economy, and finding herself suddenly in a strong position, with Lennox having a viceroy's powers yet unwilling to say her nay, spent money like water. That it was in the main George Heriot's money, since the Scots Exchequer was emptier than ever after Gray's extravagances, was neither here nor there. That she was egged on to a great spending by the Master of the Wardrobe went almost without saying. She ordered night-and-day work on a most splendid travelling coach to be completed by George Hendry, bought scores of the finest horses to be found in Scotland, and embarked on an orgy of clothes-buying for herself, her children, her ladies and servants. Nothing was too good or too expensive-satins, silks, taffetas, cloth-of-gold and silver, furs, jewellery and accessories. It was all, undoubtedly, partly a counter-gesture after the sorrows of Linlithgow and partly a making of hay while the sun of her husband's absence shone, and his restraining hand was replaced by Cousin Ludovick's easy one.

  To be sure, James had partly himself to thank for it all. Queen Elizabeth, parsimonious on most matters to the point of meanness, had been wildly extravagant as to her own personal adornment, and had left behind her, amongst other things, more than two thousand splendid gowns. The King had promptly commandeered a selection of these and sent them up, with his choice of English ladies-in-waiting, for his wife. Anne's reaction had been, perhaps predictable, exploding in a feminine fury anent cast-off clothing, insults and the like-with the consequence of Heriot's urgent instructions for the English ladies and their escort to be halted at Berwick meantime.

  Heriot’s own reaction to this spending was ambivalent He sympathised with his liege lord in the South to some extent, and put in a word of caution now and again, countering the wildest flights of prodigality. On the other hand, he felt for Anne, recognised that to date she had been sorely crimped and held in, and agreed that a queen entering her new and rich domains for the first time should be adequately dressed for the occasion. Also, of course, it was all apt to be good business for himself, a point of view he by no means overlooked. It might be some time before he recovered all his capital-but he would see that it was safe and the interest proportionate.

  At last the coach was ready and a start could be made. On a sunny forenoon of early June, the great cavalcade assembled in the forecourt of the palace, with the Chancellor, the Lord Lyon and remaining Privy Councillors and officers of state, the leaders of the Kirk, the city fathers of Edinburgh and a large part of the townsfolk, there to see the Queen and Prince off to a new life in England-the Princess Elizabeth was unfortunately confined to her bed with some sudden childish ailment and would follow on later; while Prince Charles was still at Dunfermline, considered too weakly for the long journey.

  It was a felicitous occasion. None would have thought that, only a few weeks before, the country had been in the throes of a dynastic crisis and treasonable plot combined, moreover with all the main characters concerned here foregathered-except the Mars, that is, the Earl having ridden off alone to London, to ensure that he got his own story first into his royal foster-brother's ear.

  Lord Fyvie made a valedictory speech, ending with a short poem he had composed especially for the day-it was not every Chancellor who could do the like. Then the Master of Gray presented parting gifts for the Queen and her children, jewellery, loving-cups and silver caskets, expressing in flowing eloquence the warm regards and true love of all, including his most humble self, for their royal mistress and her delightful offspring, and their pro-foundest good wishes for the future-praying only that in the new-found bliss in the South they would not forget leal and loving Scotland.

  "Her Grace perhaps has not got quite such a short memory as your sire implies!" Heriot observed to Mary Gray, as he stood with her and Alison Primrose, watching from a suitably retired position. "I wonder where the money came from for those gifts?"

  "Not from Patrick Gray's coffers, you may be sure. Nor yet, this once, from George Heriot's. But it is a good sign-my father covering up any lingering memories of a supposed plot, the royal family's most faithful servant!" "You think the plot quite abandoned. There is still Prince Charles left in Scotland. Might not he serve as puppet King of Scots, instead?"

  "I think not. He is too sickly and feeble. Fyvie believes that he will not live. He would be no use for Patrick's purposes-disaster if he died in his hands. No, I believe that plot is dead, and now being effectively buried. But my father will yet have his revenge on the King, if he can-nothing surer. So I will watch closely here in Scotland-and do you so in London, Geordie. Patrick will have his minions there also, you may be sure." Mary was not travelling South with Lennox-of her own sorrowful but sure decision. The Duchess was going, inevitably, part of the Queen's train. Moreover, Mary had her young son to look after at Methven Castle, little John Stewart of Methven, to whom his ducal father had made over his Scottish home and lands-in reality as a gift to his mother. Ludovick would hasten North from London just as frequently as he c
ould, that was certain; and, who knew, once James was well settled on his English throne, he might well have less need of Lennox, and he could come back to Scotland more or less permanently.

  And so formal farewells were taken, and amidst more cannonade the royal column set out from Holyroodhouse, the great coach creaking and mmhling, drawn by eight matching white horses, George Heriot and Alison Primrose riding together well in the rear of the brilliant company. The Chancellor and many of the nobles would see the Queen on her way as far as the Border.

  But not Patrick Gray, he already had a bellyful of Berwick-upon-Tweed. As they watched the others go, he and his daughter turned and exchanged a long glance.

  "As our beloved monarch would say-absens haeres non erit! the man observed conversationally. "Or again, perhaps-aut non tentaris aut perfice!" she capped it

  "My clever daughter 1" he acknowledged, bowing. "If you and I could but work in harness, what might not we achieve?"

  ***

  After an overnight halt at the Hamilton castle of Innerwick, they came to Berwick on a dove-grey, windless noon, to more cannon-fire-and a confrontation. Here, George Heriot moved up the column discreetly, near to the Queen's side, where Lennox welcomed him thankfully. For here, held back from Edinburgh, waited the aheady offended Earls of Sussex and Lincoln, with the Countesses of Worcester and Kildare, and the Ladies Scrope, Rich and Walsingham, sent North by King James. With the newly knighted governor, Sir William Selby, they waited in a brilliant group at the Scots Gate of the old grey-walled town.

  Anne, who had been at her most gracious all the way, bowing and waving to the people, beaming on local demonstrations, kissing children, at sight of this party, and of the canopied horse-litter, splendid with the royal arms, which accompanied them, froze in her saddle-for she had quickly found coach-travel on bumpy, dusty roads uncomfortable in the early June heat, and reverted to horseback like the rest of the company. As they reined up only a short distance in front of the bowing magnificos, she called, in clear, ringing tones, "Who are these, Duke of Lennox? Not Berwickers, I vow! I told you-I will have no more women imposed upon my household by His Grace, or any other. I have had a sufficiency of that!"

  "H'rr'mm." Lennox cleared his throat "It is a welcome, Highness…"

  The Earl of Sussex intervened smoothly, but authoritatively as befitted one in blood relationship to the late Elizabeth. "We warmly greet Your Majesty, on His Majesty's royal commands, to this your kingdom of England, the fairest jewel of Christendom's crown, opened like a pearl-oyster for your royal delectation. A pearl without price set in a silver sea, to which nothing you has ever seen may compare. To ascend this jewelled throne is a bliss beyond all sublime…"

  "Your rhapsody, sir, does you credit-but I think you exaggerate!" the Queen broke in briskly. "How know you that your England is so much better than other lands? Have you visited them all? You came to Scotland, yes, for my son's christening- where, I would remind you, I have been Queen for a dozen years! Did you mislike it so? And have you been to Denmark? To Norway, where my brother is King. Speak to that which you know, my lord."

  Sussex was far too great an English nobleman to look put out, but he could and did look pained. "I rejoice that at least Your Majesty recognised me, Sussex," he declared stiffly. "And this is my lord Earl of Lincoln, Henry Clinton, member of the Privy Council and valued servant of Her late Majesty. And here is the Countess of Worcester and the Countess of Kildare, appointed Your Majesty's principal Ladies-in-Waiting by King James. And the Ladies Scrope, Rich and Walsingham, also of your new household…" "No, my lord," Anne said briefly. He stared. They all did. "I… I do not understand, Madam?" "I would have thought it sufficiently simple, sir. I choose my own ladies." "But… His Majesty…" "I do not seek to help choose the King's gentlemen for him!"

  The other earl, Lincoln, an older man, spoke up. "Majesty- these ladies only desire to serve you. They are of the most eminent in England."

  "No doubt, sir. Or, leastways, serve the King. I thank them- but have my own ladies. If I wish to add to their number, I shall make my own choice."

  The youngest of the waiting ladies, a dark-haired, vivid creature, tried a different approach. "Majesty-I am Frances Howard, daughter to Effingham-or Nottingham, as he now is-the Lord Admiral. Wed formerly to Kildare. We have brought with us a great store of the late Queen's gowns, dresses, robes for your use. Rich clothing of notable worth. I was Her Majesty's Mistress of the Wardrobe."

  "Indeed, Countess? And you conceive me, Anne, to be the repository for your late mistress' cast-off clothes?" the Queen asked, coldly. "Must I, your Queen, wear another's discarded wardrobe? 'Fore God, woman-watch how you speak!"

  "No, Madam-no! I swear that is not the way of it." The Countess looked shaken. "Believe me, these are not cast-off. Many have never been worn. Her Majesty was, was improvident in this. She ordered great numbers of gowns, three of a kind most frequently. Wore one once and discarded the others…"

  "So may a queen behave. If Elizabeth, why not Anne? Am I to play the frugal hausfrau of this so rich jewel of Christendom's crown, to make up for Elizabeth's improvidence?" "Not so, Majesty. But…"

  "Your Highness," the older Countess of Worcester intervened hurriedly, "these gowns are very splendid. Seeded with pearls, hung with jewels, decked with gold and silver…"

  "Were they laden with the riches of the Indies, I would not wear another's clothes!" Anne declared. "I am the Queen."

  A little back from her side, George Heriot coughed. "Your Grace -these gowns may have their uses," he suggested, in a murmur. "You need not wear them. You could bestow them as gifts. Cut up, they might serve many purposes. As at masques and entertainments. The jewels you could have cut off. Used otherwise. Jewels are never at second-hand-as I should know! Indeed, you could perhaps sell them to me! And thereby, h'm, something improve our account 1" That was little more than a whisper. "Ah," Anne said.

  "Master Heriot speaks good sense, Cousin," Lennox put in, lightly confidentiaL "You could start by giving one of the gowns to me! I swear I'd find a use for it! I am not so rich that I could not do with a few English pearls." "You have a rich wife, Vicky."

  Lennox glanced round to see how near was his Duchess. "Jean's riches are her own, Cousin, not mine."

  "Very well," the Queen decided. "I accept the gowns. See you to them, Master Geordie. But-I will have no ladies-in-waiting other than my own choice. All-understand it."

  Sussex bowed. "As you will, Majesty. Now-may I present to you your Chamberlain, Sir George Carey," and he waved a hand towards a resplendent youngish man, of a pale beauty, standing a little apart. "Son to my Lord Hunsdon, in cousinship to Her late Majesty, and brother to Lady Scrope here…"

  "God's death, sirrah!" the Queen exploded. "Have you taken leave of your wits! There is my Chamberlain, Sir John Kennedy, riding behind me." "The King, Madam…"

  "The King is in London-and I am here! Remember it, my lords. Enough of this. Vicky-we have lingered sufficiently long. Have our trains move on. Bestow these, these emissaries from His Grace somewhere. They may join us. But not over close to my person! Let us be on our way…"

  Anne of Denmark's crossing of the Border was almost as dramatic as her husband's own-and just as alarming for her English subjects.

  6

  THE QUEEN'S SWOLLEN cavalcade reached "Windsor, in the Thames valley, on the last day of June, after a leisurely progress down through England. If King James's entourage had increased on his southwards journey to his alarm and disapproval-because of the cost-it was as nothing to Anne's enlarged company. Expanding at York, Worksop, Nottingham, Leicester, Althorp, Grafton and the rest, by the time Amersham was reached the party had become an army, a great sprawling host that covered the land for many miles, its progress inevitably slower and slower. Heriot counted no fewer than two hundred and fifty carriages now, following the Queen's, and assessed those on horseback to be not far off five thousand.

  It was largely Anne's own doing. After the contretemps at Berwic
k, she had apparently decided to change her tune somewhat. Or, more probably, it was always her intention to present a gracious and amiable front to her husband's new subjects, and only James's appointments to her household upset her. At any rate, thereafter, all the long road southwards she was at her kindest and most friendly, delighting all who gathered to greet and entertain her, lavish with gifts, accessible, patient, charming -and obviously welcoming the popularity indicated by the ever-enlarging of her train. If she did not actually urge lords and ladies, knights and squires and their females to follow her to London, she certainly did not discourage them, nor would allow the apprehensive Lennox and Heriot to do so. The Duchess of Lennox declared that she was doing it deliberately to spite her husband, that the King might see how popular she was with the people-and that she might cost him as much as possible of the money he valued so highly. Admittedly she did not thaw much towards the illustrious group which had met her at Berwick, keeping them rather at arm's length-to their great offence; but that clearly was also more of a gesture to James, that her days of being a pawn for him to move at will, were over. A new start was being made, for her equally with himself. And that the English in general should not be offended, she made much of the Countess of Bedford, Lucy Russell, whom she picked up at Woburn, young, lively and of a ready wit, grand-niece of Sir Philip Sidney, with her protege Ben Jonson, a notable deviser of plays and masques.