He could not have chosen a surer road to the boy's heart and sympathy – and vanity. For James to hold power over someone was almost a unique experience, and delightful – especially over a handsome gentleman such as this – as was the thought of deceiving his dour Calvinist gaolers. 'I'll no' tell, Master Patrick – never fear!' he whispered. 'And Fm no' so much assured, mind, that the use o' symbols and sacred ornamentation is altogether contrary and displeasing to the mind o' Almighty God. For, see you, the Crown itsel' is a symbol, is it no', o' the divine authority here oh earth. Aye.'
Both visitors blinked at this extraordinary pronouncement from the suddenly and pathetically eager youth, shifting from one foot to the other before them.
'Er… quite so,' d' Aubigny said, clearing his throat 'Exactly, Your Highness.'
'I am greatly indebted to you, Sire,' Patrick declared, still in a suitably intriguing whisper.
Entering into the spirit of the thing, d'Aubigny murmured, 'The fiery men of God's true Kirk, in ire, See in his Cross but timber for their fire!'
James stared, his eyes alight 'You… you are a poet, sir? he gasped.
'Say but a versifier, Cousin.
The name of Esme, in the Halls of Fame
Shall ne'er be writ,
His Muse is lame
– and there's an end to it.
'Och, man, that's grand!' the boy exclaimed, quite forgetting to whisper. 'I write poetry my own self,' he revealed. 'I… I canna just rattle it off like yon, mind. It takes me a whilie…
"True poetry comes only out of sweat and tears,' d'Aubigny nodded. 'That is where I fail, unlike yourself…'
He paused. The murmuring and whispering and stirring from the lower end of the chamber was growing very noticeable. Undoubtedly men there were becoming restive at this prolonged tete a tete. The elderly Chamberlain made no move to check the unseemly disturbance – indeed, his own glance at the trio up near the throne was distinctly suspicious as he strained his old ears to catch some hint of what was being said there. David, standing nearby, noted it all, perceived the hostility amongst the waiting throng – and also that the Captain of the Guard, for all his insolent-seeming lounging stance, was more tense than he appeared. As Patrick swept a glance around the room, and it met his own, David raised a hand, warning forefinger uplifted.
King James did not seem to notice; no doubt he was used to noise and hostility. 'I will write you a poem, Cousin Esme! he said. 'About you – aye, and Master Patrick here. Bonny men. And bonny France. The sun, they say, shines there a deal more than it does here?' He sighed a little. 'It will take me a whilie. I'm no' quick at it. And Master Buchanan gives me my paiks if I waste my time. Though poetry shouldna be a waste o' time, surely? You'll no' be gone, sir? You'll no' be away, that soon, before I get it done…!'
'Indeed we will not, Your Majesty. We have come a long way, in answer to your royal summons. Until you send us away, we are at your disposal, Highness, and esteeem your Court to be our greatest joy.'
'Fine, fine. Give me but a day or two, sirs, and I'll have it ready. I vow I will. It will maybe be no' that fine, mind – no' in the French fashion…'
Patrick coughed, as James sought words for his over-large tongue. 'We must not weary His Highness, Esme!' he said, almost imperceptibly jerking his head towards the other end of the presence chamber. 'We must not monopolise too much of his royal time. And there is yet the matter of the horses.'! 'But, yes. Sire, we have brought a small gift for you from the illustrious Duke of Guise and the Cardinal his brother. A horse or two. They are without If Your Majesty will deign to come inspect them…?"
'Horses? For me?'
'Yes, Cousin – all the way from France. From Africa, indeed -from the Barbary coast'
'Barbary! Eh, sirs – Barbary horses! For me!' The boy's excitement swelled up within him in slobbering incoherence. Then suddenly he began to chew at a slack lower lip. 'I canna,' he got out 'I canna come. No' just now.' That was almost a wail.
'Cannot, Your Majesty…?' d'Aubigny wondered.
'I'm no' allowed, man. Fm no' let to the stables until after my studies. Master Buchanan is right hot on that. He was hot against this audience, too. He wasna for letting me come – but Captain Jamie said he must.'
'I see. This Buchanan…?
'His Highness's tutor,' Patrick explained, one eye on the other end of the long apartment 'The renowned scholar, Master George Buchanan, a pillar of the Kirk and lately Principal of Glasgow University.'
'And something of a tyrant, it seems?'
'He's a right hard man,' the royal student agreed, feelingly.
'Still, Sire, the audience is not yet over, is it?' Patrick asked. 'You can include therein the inspection of the presents that we have brought from the high and mighty princes of Guise, your mother's cousins, surely? It is a matter of state, I'd say.'
'I'm no' allowed, Master Patrick,' James repeated, miserably. 'I'd like it fine. But they'll no' let me out I have to bow to them, and then go out the wee door at the back here. Master Buchanan's man is waiting for me behind there to take me back. Fm never allowed out the big doors.'
'Mortdieu! I think that you have not your Court entirely well arranged, Cousin!' d'Aubigny declared. 'I have visited many princes, and never have I seen it this wise!'
'Have you no'. Cousin Esme?'
'You are the King, Sire. You can do as you will,'Patrick put in.
'I wish I could, sir -but I canna…'
'I suggest, Esme, that we prove to His Highness that his powers are greater than he thinks,' Patrick said, and laughed softly, easily, lest the boy be further affrighted.
'I agree. Sire, it is time that you asserted your royal self, I think. After all, you are nearly a man, now. You rule this Kingdom, for the Regency is at an end. Moreover, Cousin, I fear that their Graces of Guise might be much offended if they were to hear that you had not taken note of their gifts for hours.'. 'Would they? Och, but… look – there's that Greysteil glowering at me, now! He aye glowers at me. He doesna like me, yon black Ruthven man. He'd no' let me past…'
Patrick laughed again. 'Leave you my uncle to me, Sire. Leave you it all to us. Just walk between us… and remember that you are the King of Scots in your castle of Stirling, and that fifty generations of your fathers have had their boots cleaned by the likes of William Ruthven!'
The King gulped, and looked from one to another, as they took place on either side of him. Each lightly touched a bony
elbow.
'We go look at your Barbary nags' Patrick said. 'And there is no hurry, at all'
So, together, the strangely assorted trio came pacing down the chamber, the two men at smiling ease, the boy in shambling Up-biting alarm. Great now was the stir at the fire end of the room. Men stared at each other, nonplussed – for there were no women present in this Court. The Chamberlain started forward, tugging at his beard and all but falling over his staff of office. Stewart of Ochiltree, all lounging past now glanced swiftly around, and especially over in the direction of one man at the front of the uncertain throng. That man did not look uncertain. Tall and lean, and hatchet-faced, in clothing more suitable for the hunt than a Court, of middle years, stooping a little, hawklike, he stepped forward determinedly. At the sight, the two escorts felt the boy between them falter and hold back.
Patrick spoke quickly. 'Sire – my uncle,' he declared loudly. 'We have not met with each other for years. Has the Lord Ruthven Your Highness's permission to greet me?
Into the sudden hush that followed, the King's uncertain voice croaked. 'A-aye.'
'We are well met, my lord,' Patrick said immediately. His Highness has been speaking of you.'
'I am glad to hear it, Nephew,' Ruthven answered, in a voice like a rasp. 'I wouldna like to think that he would forget me! Nor you either, my cockerel! Where are you going?'
The Sieur d'Aubigny, of the house of Lennox,' Patrick gestured. 'My mother's brother, the Lord Ruthven, one of the King's most faithful supporters, Esme.'
D'Aubigny bowed, but Ruthven scarcely glanced at him.
'I said where are you going, Nephew?
His Highness is minded to inspect a gift of horseflesh sent to him by the Duke of Guise and the Cardinal of Lorraine. The suggestion is that you, Uncle, as a renowned judge of a horse, accompany the King and give him the benefit of your knowledge.'
There was a tense pause. Ruthven, who was a man of violent action rather than nimble wits, stared at his nephew from under beetling brows. Patrick' gazed back, and meeting the other's fierce eye, lowered one eyelid gently but distinctly. Then smiling, he turned again to James and pressed his elbow.
'Come, Sire,' he said. There is nothing that my lord does not know about horses.'
It was as easy as that They moved on towards the door, and the terrible Greysteil, finding himself moving along behind, hastily strode forward to stalk alongside. The Chamberlain, at the sight of the four of them bearing down on him, hesitated and backed. Other men, with none of the great lords amongst them, stood irresolute. But Captain Stewart at least did not misjudge the situation. He raised his voice authoritatively.
'Way for His Grace!' he called 'Aside, for the King's Highness!' And though on the face of it, his orders were for the guard at the door, none questioned the generality of their application. Men stood aside and bowed the quartet out
David and Stewart fell in behind, and after a moment or two the flustered Chamberlain came bustling along also, to be followed by the entire throng.
Out in the quadrangle the horses stood where they had been left with the guard, the three nondescript saddled beasts and the six magnificent unsaddled blacks. At sight of them, James forgot his alarm, forgot the company he was in, forgot all save his delight in those splendid gleaming animals. He burst away from his companions and went running forward
'Six!' he cried. 'Six o' them! Look – the bonny beasts! Och, they're bonny, bonny! And for me! You said they were all for me?'
Smiling, d'Aubigny went strolling after the boy, calling reassurances.
Patrick elected to direct his attention upon Ruthven, however. 'A pleasant sight, is it not, Uncle?' he said 'So much youthful enthusiasm! And enthusiasm in a prince, properly directed, can achieve much – can it not?'
Greysteil looked at him, broodingly. 'You're no' blate, Patrick – I'll say that for you!' he declared 'You've a glib tongue in your head But how long, think you, will you keep that head on your shoulders man, playing this game?'
'I shall keep my head, never fear,' his nephew laughed 'I use it, you see. As, I have no doubt, you are using yours. You know more than just horseflesh, I think?'
'I ken who rules Scotland, boy!'
'Who ruled it,' Patrick amended He pointed 'Yonder is the rule in Scotland, hereafter – the pair of them. The King and his cousin Esme. Or shall we say Esme and his cousin the King? It is a wise man who recognises a fact like that in good time!'
His uncle snorted 'What think you Morton will say that that?'
'What he says is of small matter. What he does depends on who supports him!'
'The whole Council supports him, laddie.'
'Does it? Does Huntly support him? Does Erroll, the Constable? Does Hemes, or Montrose, or Balmerino, or Sutherland…?
Ruthven spat on the cobble-stones. 'Papists!' he exclaimed.
'Are they? But still of the Council, even though they have not attended it of late! In letters to mc, they indicate that they are thinking of taking a greater interest in their duties, Uncle!'
Greysteil said nothing to that
'And the Kirk?' Patrick went on. 'Is the Kirk united in support of my lord of Morton?'
The Kirk will no' support any Catholic Frenchie, I'll tell you that, boy!'
His nephew coughed. 'I have it on the best authority that Esme" Stuart has h'm, leanings towards Protestantism!' he said.
'God!' the older man commented, simply.
'The Guise brothers have been extraordinarily generous,' Patrick added, as though on another subject altogether. 'Not only in horses. They have entrusted me with considerable gold. As have.. others. In the interests of amity and peace in Scotland, you understand. A noble cause, you will agree?'
Ruthven licked his thin lips.
'Elizabeth Tudor, I have heard, is finding her dole to Morton waxing unprofitable. She is thinking of cutting it off, they do say.' The younger man sighed. 'Pardieu – the problems of steering the galley of state!'
His uncle was staring ahead of him, but not seemingly at the black horses. He appeared to be thinking very hard indeed.
Chapter Nine
THE conspirators could scarcely have chosen more effective means of gaining the young King's regard and confidence. He doted on horses, and hitherto had been allowed only a small stocky pony. He esteemed poetry as god-like, and d'Aubigny, no mean practitioner, had him enthralled. He was new enough to flattery, too, to be more than amenable to it; and Patrick never failed to remind him that, owing to the small matter of the crucifix, he held him as in the hollow of his royal hand. James was quite overwhelmed.
Indeed, the boy became almost embarrassing in his fondness, affection-starved as he was. He would scarcely allow either of them out of his sight – which had its disadvantages. He took a parallel delight in David also, whose plainness in appearance and manner no doubt came as something of a relief to the unprepossessing youth after the dazzling looks and scintillating converse of the other two.
But success for their plans depended on so much more than young James's reaction, vital as that was. On the whole, they were fortunate. In the absence of the youthful Earl of Mar, Hereditary Keeper of Stirling Castle, the Lieutenant-Governor, who might well have made difficulties, was not inclined to assert himself. He was a plain soldier, with no urge to meddle in politics or statecraft. He was undoubtedly impressed by the high birth of the visitors, and their authoritative manners. That he would not wish to offend Morton went without saying -but he was much under the influence of the strong-charactered Captain of the Guard, whom hitherto he had looked upon as a tool of Morton's. In the circumstances, he did not interfere.
The Chamberlain was actively hostile, but his duties were purely formal and gave him no executive power. The famous and scholarly George Buchanan, the King's tutor and Keeper of the Privy Seal, was crotchety and censorious, but at seventy-three, and ailing, was not in a position to challenge the newcomers. Moreover, he was known to hate Morton; their relations for long had been that of an uneasy truce.
As for Lord Ruthven, he disappeared from Court forthwith, with remarkable speed, discretion, almost stealth, for so spectacular a nobleman. There was no lack of suggestion as to where he had gone or what his errandmigjitbe. Patrick,however, was not greatly perturbed on that score.
It was, in fact, Stewart of Ochiltree who was the trouble. D'Aubigny disliked him from the first – which was scarcely to be wondered at, since the other made no attempt to be civil, much less respectful.
That one is a surly dog, and too ambitious for our comfort I think!' he told Patrick, whenever they were alone that first day. 'He has sold Morton – he will sell me, at the first opportunity… and yourself likewise, mon ami'
'I would not deny it,' Patrick agreed. 'But not until it is to his advantage to do so. We must see to it that his interests lie with us – and suffer him meantime. Unfortunately, he is all-important to us. I like him as little as do you, Esme – but we must have patience. We could not have done what we have done without him – nor do what we hope to do.'
"Then let us pray the Blessed Virgin that his manners improve!' the putative Protestant convert observed.
David, who was present, put in a word. 'Stewart is not just as he seems, I think. He is less confident, less sure of himself, than he would have you believe. I was watching him while you talked with the King. At the first, yon time. He was in a sweat, despite of his insolent airs. In especial, over the Lord Ruthven.'
'Say you so? That is worth knowing. Keep you your keen eye oh him, Davy – watch him
always.'
'If he is in a sweat over Ruthven, what will he be when Morton comes?' d'Aubigny wondered.
Always it came back to that – when Morton comes.
They were fortunate in being allowed five days of grace. Logan of Restalrig had done his work well – as indeed he might, considering the gold he had received. A courier from him reached Stirling the second day, saying that most of Teviotdale was alight, and the Armstrongs of Liddesdale had taken the opportunity to join in on their own account, as too good an opportunity for booty to miss. Morton was busy ranging the Border valleys, hanging men – ever his favourite pastime -though a little less spry about the ranging, if not the hanging, than in the past
In Stirling no time was wasted. While d'Aubigny insinuated himself ever more deeply with James, Patrick wrote and despatched urgent letters, interviewed modestly retiring individuals in back-street taverns down in the grey town, and made one or two hurried visits further afield. David was sent secredy and in haste on the most important errand of all -across wide Perthshire indeed to the head of their own Carse of Gowrie. At Erroll he delivered a message to Andrew, eighth Earl of Erroll, head of the Hays and Hereditary High Constable of Scotland, and was closely questioned by that Catholic nobleman who, because of his religious convictions, had lived to some extent in retirement for years. David was less eloquent, undoubtedly, than were his brother's letters, for he had gained no noticeable enthusiasm for this entire project, and the thought of deliberately using his fellow-countrymen's religious beliefs against each other far from appealed to him; he had seen whither that could lead in France and the Low Countries. Thereafter, it was only with a real effort of will and no conviction at all that he turned southwards again, for Stirling; Castle Huntly and Mariota lay but a mere ten miles eastwards along the Carse.
The visitors from France were installed in a suite of rooms adjoining those of the King's own, in the half-empty palace wing of the fortress, where James could reach them and be reached at any time – gloomy old-fashioned quarters, of scant comfort, but the best available. They sent for their baggage from Restalrig, and even in their third-best French clothes made an enormous impression on the excessively dull Scots Court. D'Aubigny came to an arrangement with Master Buchanan Whereby the royal studies were not to be too drastically interrupted; the tutor was grimly acquiescent, giving the impression that he" found it hardly worth while to argue, when only a little waiting would resolve the matter.
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