"And the letter? To the King. Complaining that the Master is bringing his grey hairs to the grave! Denying him his shelter and his servants?"
"Written by the brother, James Gray of Bandirran. Only signed by the old lord-who could be made to sign anything. If Patrick was to be forfeited and declared infamous, then, now that Gilbert is dead, James would be sixth Lord Gray when his father goes!"
"I see. I thank you. All this explains why the Privy Council took no action."
"I do not seek to make my husband seem greatly better than he is," the other concluded. "But nor will I keep silent when he is misjudged, or there is good to be said of him." "You could do no less," the man acknowledged.
'There is one matter where you should tell us the truth of it, Geordie-not we you," Mary put to him. "We have heard it whispered that the King does not intend to pay the nineteen thousand pounds agreed upon and awarded by the judges. Certainly it is not yet paid, although the Lord Scone was ordered to give Patrick the moneys. Is this a fact?"
Heriot coughed. "The King is in two minds," he said. 'This is part reason why I am here. He also hears rumours, see you…!"
"But, Geordie-that would be the greatest folly! After all was arranged. Nothing is more like to make Patrick angry, truly angry. And Patrick angry is dangerous indeed! Nothing more calculated to cause him to hit at the King, in person. To the danger of the whole realm. Patrick calm, plotting yes, but cool, is one matter. But Patrick angry at broken faith is another. All for nineteen thousand pounds Scots! A nothing, where the King is concerned. Do you not see it?"
"I see it, yes. A folly, I agree. And to lower my own name and credit, who acted for the King."
"That too. Is it worth it? Geordie-you are the King's man of business. Can you not do something?"
"Twenty thousand pounds Scots is less than three thousand pounds Sterling," Alison mentioned, her first contribution for long. "The Queen would spend as much on a single masque. And out of your pocket, Geordie!"
Looking at her thoughtfully, he nodded, point taken. "But-if the money is to be spent to counter the King's policies-should the King then pay it?" he asked. "James is no fool, see you, however many think he is."
"That is not the point," Mary contended. "What matters in this is that the King should not make a dangerous situation worse. For himself, as well as others. Think of the effect on all Scotland, when it is known-as known it will be. The King, in London, in a breach of faith. Defrauding his former servant and Privy Councillor. Overturning the decision of his appointed judges. Will this serve the King's cause? It could blow up, like gunpowder. And time is important, surely?" "You are right. I will do what I can…"
That night, Mary and the Lady Marie retired, not early but sufficiently so to allow the other two an hour or so by themselves, undisturbed. Intrigue, plotting and affairs of state were forgotten, for the time being. It was late before they parted, reluctantly, at Alison's bedroom door.
***
Heriot spent two full and happy days at Methven. Then the Lady Marie left, to return to Castle Huntly at the other side of Perthshire, near Dundee; and the man surrendered to the pull of duty, to go in search of Master Will Shakespeare and his locations. Perth was only five miles east of Methven, and nothing would do but that the two young women should come with him, eager to inspect the actors as they were to traipse round the countryside sight-seeing.
There was no theatre or playhouse, of course, in St. Johnstoun of Perth, and the plays were being performed in what had been the refectory of the former Blackfriars Monastery, a large building now semi-ruinous and much the worse for the attentions of the Reforming mob of forty years previously. Here the visitors found rehearsals proceeding for another of Master Shakespeare's productions, called Hamlet, Prince of Denmark, with the playwright both acting and directing, a performance which greatly intrigued the ladies, who pleaded to be allowed to stay and watch. Heriot, who was not much of a play-taster, perceiving that there might be a couple of hours of this, mentioned that he had business of his own to see to in the Perth district, and if he might be excused, would come back for them presently. Wide-eyed at all that was going on in the refectory, they scarcely appeared to notice his desertion.
Scone, the former abbey and home of Scotland's famed palladium, the Stone of Destiny, had, since the Gowrie Conspiracy of 1600, been the seat of Sir David Murray of Gospetrie, Cup-Bearer to the King, and two years earlier created Lord Scone. It lay barely two miles north by east of Perth. Heriot was asking the best route thereto, across Tay, when the citizen he had accosted pointed out that if it was the Lord Scone himself who was sought, there was no need to go all that way, for his lordship had a town house in Perth-and in fact the speaker had seen him in the street that very morning. So Heriot found his way the short distance eastwards from Blackfriars, beyond the huddle of vennels and wynds of the craftsmen's sector of the walled town, to the wider North Port, where there was something of a cluster of Murray town houses, belonging to the Earl of Tullibardme and the lairds of Balvaird, Arngask, Abercairny and others,
The Lord Scone, who was meantime next door drinking claret with his kinsman Tullibardine, was not long in appearing when he heard the identity of his caller. As well as being Cup-Bearer and Master of the Horse to the King, in Scotland, he held the office of Comptroller of the Privy Purse, all offices of more honour than substance in the present circumstances. He was an old crony of James's, a man of middle years and no presence, with a curiously wide head and narrow chin, scanty hah and little twinkling foxy eyes, his carriage round-shouldered and paunchy. But Heriot did not mistake the shrewdness of the man.
"My lord," he said, "I crave pardon for coming upon you unannounced. But my business is something private, and were better not blazed abroad. You will understand, I am sure?"
"Is that a fact, sir? Come awa' in, then, Maister Heriot. Aye, I've heard tell o' you, mind. Och, aye-often. And what sort o' private business have you for Davie Murray, eh? Frae London?"
"Yes, from London, my lord. I am His Grace's jeweller and man of business, as you will know. And am come north on certain business of the King's own. My visit to you is in your capacity of Comptroller to His Grace." Heriot glanced around him, and lowered his voice in suitably conspiratorial style. "In connection with the matter of the Master of Gray." "Ha-that limmer!"
"Precisely, my lord. You have, I understand, withheld payment to him of the nineteen thousand, nine hundred and eighty-three pounds Scots awarded to him against the King's Privy Purse by the Court of Session in commission? On the instructions of the Lord Treasurer?" 'That is so, sir. Acting on King Jamie's behoof and command."
"Yes. Well-the situation has changed. It is now to the King's benefit that this sum be paid, and promptly. And, I may say, secretly."
"Sakes- what's this? Here's a right strange turn-around, Maister Heriot. Pay after a'?"
"Just that, my lord. For reasons of state, this money should be handed over, quietly, privily-but forthwith. To the Master of Gray, at Castle Huntly." The other looked at him keenly. "On your say so, Maister Heriot? Against the orders o' Doddie Home, the Treasurer?"
"The Earl of Dunbar will no doubt be notified in due course. I have seen the King since he has-and have come straight to you, my lord. For this is a matter of some urgency. In the light of… developments." Heriot reached into his doublet-pocket and brought out a paper. "Here is my personal note-of-hand for twenty-one thousand pounds Scots-which will suffice, I think, to cover the payment-plus any small outlays your lordship is put to in the matter."
There was a pregnant silence in the stuffy little room, as Scone picked up and examined the paper. The sounds of the street were suddenly evident
"Ooh, aye," the Comptroller said, at length. "To be sure. Uh-huh." He carefully folded and pocketed the paper. "Very good, Maister Heriot" "Yes. You will have the payment made swiftly, my lord?"
"Yes, yes. The siller is here. It will be at yon Castle Huntly before this hour the morn." "That will serve very well. An
d the King well served in it" "Mmmm. You're no' telling me why this change o' tune, sir?"
"Policy, my lord. In connection with certain moves that are afoot. To contain certain Catholic ambitions!" Scone was a fervent Protestant "Hence the secrecy."
"Ah!" The other nodded. "I have heard tales, mysel'. Very good, Maister Heriot. Leave the matter to me. Aye. Now-a glass o'wine…?"
Walking his horse back to the Blackfriars thereafter, George Heriot felt somewhat cold about the back of his neck. James Stewart had not actually executed anyone for some time-but the Tower of London loomed with a chilly presence.
Will Shakespeare proved to be getting on famously with the ladies, and they were drinking ale and eating sweetmeats with him and certain others of the players when Heriot returned. It turned out that the playwright had been using his own initiative during his time in Perth, and had already visited Birnam Wood, Dunsinane and sundry other locations relevant to the theme of MacBeth, and was bubbling over with enthusiasm for the scale and wildness of the scenes, so much more dramatic than anything he had experienced hitherto. He had the entire tragedy all but plotted out in his mind, and had seen many curious and colourful characters here in Scotland on whom he might base his protagonists. He had but to see Elgin, Forres and the witches' moor there, and he would have sufficient for his purposes.
Heriot pointed out that there was more to the MacBeth story than these locations. He explained about the alternative witches's moor in the St. Martins-Dunsinane area, MacBeth's Castle at Cairnbeddie, and the fact that MacBeth's final defeat and slaying was at Lumphanan in Aberdeenshhe; but while the other agreed that he ought to see these nearby sites, unless they were infinitely superior to the Moray ones, for the play's purposes, he would prefer to hold to the ones the King had suggested, as a matter of policy. Moreover, it would complicate matters to introduce an entirely new location for the final battle-for a playwright had to consider the number of acts and scenes, with their backcloths, for his production, and discipline himself strictly. His duty was to entertain and instruct by demonstrating the spirit and essence of historical drama rather than by seeking to portray exact detail and sequence of historical events. His listeners accepted that
It was agreed, then, that they would all go to look at Cairnbeddie and the Eastmuh of Dunsinane, in Gowrie, only seven miles away, the next day; and then, in two weeks time, when the season at Perth was finished, Shakespeare would take his company north, to Elgin and Inverness. Whether they would have time to visit Aberdeen and this Lumphanan, would depend on developments. Heriot mentioned that he was doubtful about the profitability of play-acting in the North, which was in the main an Erse-speaking area-although Elgin, where the Old Church had been so strong, might provide audiences capable of understanding English actors.
So the day following, the young women once again very much present they picked up the playwright at Perth, and rode on, over Tay, east by north into Gowrie, towards the northern foothills of the Sidlaw Hills, a territory verging on the Angus border. There they saw the green mound rising out of an apron of broom-clad hillside, which was all that was left of MacBeth's Castle, his southern stronghold after he became king. They climbed Dunsinane Hill, and exclaimed at the magnificence of the far-flung vista, pointing out the Birnam and Dunkeld wooded hills to the north-west; and after much searching, and at grave risk of becoming bogged in a swampy, scrub-grown heath, discovered the extraordinarily-shaped Witches' Stone, like a great anvil, with its neighbouring stone-circles and standing-stones, a pleasant enough spot on a sunny May day with the gorse blooming golden, but undoubtedly eerie, even grim, of a winter's dust That was all that they had time for, as Shakespeare had to be back for the evening performance. This his companions thereafter attended, with much enjoyment; even Heriot, with Alison at his side to share in and savour the experience, found the evening a delight.
Thereafter, in the long gloaming of May in Scotland, the trio rode back to Methven in the shadowy yet shadowless half-light, wherein outlines had no certainty and distances no measurement, a world of jetty black, dove greys, sepia and the sheen of pewter, tired but happy. It was not often that King James's service proved so much to Heriot's taste.
Shakespeare clearly no longer required his assistance. It had been his original intention to visit Castle Huntly and seek interview with the Master of Gray himself. But in the circumstances, and on Mary Gray's advice, this was unlikely to be productive of advantage, face to face confrontations with Patrick Gray being seldom of satisfaction to other than himself. Better to be content, and let what had been set in train work its own results-with the Lady Marie's aid.
After two more halcyon days, the man took his grudging, heavy-hearted departure from Methven. Alison, at first, had thought to accompany him at least as far as her father's house in Edinburgh; but on consideration, despite the extra day or so it would give them, they decided that it was better to part here, on the scene of their happiness, than in the crowded city, where James Primrose and the thronging family inevitably would come between them, in some measure, and spoil the quality of their farewells. This did not make the parting any easier-but at least it was all their own.
The bridegroom-to-be rode off southwards, and the counting of the months could begin.
18
THE MORNING AFTER his arrival back in London, George Heriot duly repaired to Whitehall Palace to report to his liege lord. He observed his normal wise precaution, however, of first seeking out the Duke of Lennox, in his private quarters of the great rambling establishment, to ascertain the royal availability and mood.
He found Ludovick at a belated breakfast, after a hard night in the King's company, entertaining in typical style the Landgrave of Hesse in the interests of European peace, the sun having been rising down-Thames before they got to bed. For all that, Geordie could not see the monarch yet awhile-not because he was still abed or incommunicado but because of the new daily routine. A bright new star had arisen over the land, and the Court, like all else, must worship-however awkward the hour 1 All was changed, and London upside-down.
‘I have been gone but three weeks," Heriot pointed out. "Do not say that the King has become a new man in the interval?"
"James does not change, no-only changes others. We have a new master, Geordie-as you will learn to your cost A mere boy, at that-a stripling. But a stripling cuckoo in our nest, I think, with strong wings, beak and claws! Young Robert Kerr of Ferniehirst-though he is now calling himself Carr, as the English spell it."
"You mean, the page? The fumbling one, who was dismissed? Ferniehirst's younger son? From Jedburgh?"
"The same. The laddie who came south with us four years ago. Whom Anne got rid of as incompetent-who dropped the wine-cup over her gown, tripped over James's train and could not recite the Latin grace! It seems that James Hay, now my lord Viscount Doncaster, some kin of his, sent him to France thereafter-where he has learned a lot! Learned notably to be less of a fumbler. Now he is back, aged eighteen, and has us all by the ears. Or, it may be, the balls!"
"But… how can this be? Dand Kerr's younger brother…?"
"You will learn! He is beautiful-oh, a young Adonis! All flowing locks, swan's-down cheeks, a girl's red lips and melting blue eyes-only they melt not the ice behind them! Yet well made, a manly body, long slender limbs-even with one of them broke! Made to our Jamie's measure-and withal, having a most fetching French intonation, grace and manner, with all most modest insolence. Rob Carr aims higher than the Border peel-tower he came out of, I swear!" "And he has got so far in three weeks?"
"He has had the Devil's own aid-or Hay has! Doncaster. As you know, Hay has been a fading favourite for long-ever since leaving Scotland. He grows fat on southron fare! So he needs look to his… assets! He was over in France as an ambassador in James's new pacifications, saw his young kinsman-and perceived the gift of the gods! So he brought him back, to put in the King's way. After you left, there was the usual annual folly to celebrate James's Coronation-day, and one of these st
upid tourneys and tiltings. Thank God I was excused this once! Hay dressed this young sprig in white armour and the red-and-white colours, set him on a magnificent black Barbary stallion assured to catch the King's eye, and sent him into the lists with the Lord Dingwall. By the most extraordinary chance, the Devil's work as I say, just as they were passing the royal box, a fanfare sounded, and the stallion took fright It reared high, the boy overdid the correction, pulling the brute's head too far round while still it reared, and with the weight of his armour, it overturned. Fell on its back-and the youth beneath. Right under James's royal nose!" "And the King's heart was touched?"
"Whether his heart or other parts, who knows! But he halted all, there and then, hurried down to the fallen Carr, had the helmet removed-and fell in love with the beautiful unconscious! The youth had his leg broke, James, tears in his eyes, had him removed with the utmost care to the Master Rider's house in Charing Cross nearby, sent for all the royal physicians and went there after him, cancelling the tournament, ah solicitude. Now, every morning, he attends the dressing of the leg in person, and kisses the pains away. Hunting has to wait until later-would you believe it? That is where he is now. Carr is already made an extra Gentleman of the Bedchamber, with six hundred pounds Sterling a year! James will speak of little else than the excellences, of mind and spirit and body, of this youthful paragon-who, it seems, has an intellect, but awaiting the King's awakening, to flourish and astound us all! We must needs all go worship at the shrine, daily. No doubt your turn will come." "A nine-days-wonder, let us hope."
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