Lord and Master mog-1

by Nigel Tranter

  'It's a lie! A barefaced lie!' Morton bellowed. 'Jamie, they – cozen you! It is lies – all lies!'

  '… thereby grievously injuring both our sister Elizabeth and our royal self,' Patrick read on, without change of voice. 'Whereof we have witness in the person of our right trusty and well-beloved Lord Robert, Sheriff and Bishop of Orkney, who will testify…'

  'Aye, I will!' the Lord Robert cried, stepping forward. Though dissipated, he had the typical Stewart good looks that had so woefully escaped his royal nephew. It is all true,' 'You forsworn lying bastard!'

  'I was twice the courier who conveyed these moneys from Queen Elizabeth. Believing them for His Highness's Treasury… '

  'Judas! Such as didna stick to your own accursed fingers!'

  Patrick signed to the Lord Robert not to answer. 'This treasure, oft times repeated, amounting to many thousands of gold crowns, is therefore required at the hands of the said James Douglas, to be delivered without delay into the hands of our Lord Treasurer…'

  'God's Passion I Are you all crazy-mad…?'

  'Furthermore, it being evident and assured that such ill measures against our comfort could not have been taken lacking the knowledge and agreement of our Realm's Treasurer, the said Treasurer, Sir Thomas Lyon, called Master of Glamis, is hereby indicted as being art and part in the said mischievous conspiracy…'

  ' 'Fore God – it is not true!' the Master of Glamis exclaimed, from behind Morton. 'I swear I know nothing of the matter, Your Grace!'

  'Silence, sir! This is in the King's name. Accordingly it is our royal will and declaration that until such time as this indictment is duly and lawfully examined by our Privy Council, the said James Douglas, Earl of Morton, shall hold himself in close ward in his own house, nor enter our royal presence, under pain of treason, forthwith. Also that the said Sir Thomas Lyon, Master of Glamis, shall do the same, and is moreover hereby relieved of the office of Treasurer of this our Realm. Signed this day at this our Court of Stirling. James.'

  For a few moments Morton's furious mouthings and trumpetings were quite incoherent, however alarming. At length he won consecutive words out of the chaos of his wrath. 'Jamie – Your

  Grace!' he cried 'I demand speech with.you. With your royal sel' -no' this fribbling babbler, this scented ape! It is my right- as an earl o'this realm…'

  Patrick stooped, to whisper something in James's ear.

  In a high-pitched nervous voice, the boy spoke. 'We cannot have speech with our royal… with any who remain covered in ' our royal presence.'

  Cursing foully, Morton reached up and snatched off his hat, hurling it to the floor. 'It's lies about the money, Jamie,' he cried 'It wasna for you, at all – never think it. A wheen gold pieces Elizabeth has sent me, now and again – but only for friendship's sake, see you. I did her a service once. Write and ask her yoursel', Jamie…' Patrick was whispering again.

  James stood up, having to hold on to the arms of his throne to keep himself upright 'To accept doles from a foreign prince… within our Realm is in itself a, a treason,' he squeaked. Patrick prompted. 'Our Council shall debate o' it Meantime our… our royal will is declared. You are in ward. Both o' you. You will leave our presence… no' to return. This… this audience is over.'

  'God save the King's Grace!' Patrick called.

  There was an answering vociferation from hundreds of throats. 'God save the King's Grace! God save the King's Grace!'

  'Jamie…!' Morton exclaimed as the surge of sound died away – and there was pleading in that thick voice, for once.

  Patrick, touching the boy's arm, James turned right about, to present his back to the room. 'My Lord Erroll,' he shrilled. 'Your duty!'

  The Lord High Constable raised his baton of office. 'Earl of Morton…' he began, deep-voiced – and at the sign every armed man in the great room took a jangling pace forward. It was not a very exact manoeuvre, for so close were they placed together already that the contraction in the ranks inevitably resulted in jostling and stumbling. But the effect was forceful and significant enough. The very walls of the presence-chamber seemed to contract upon the threatened figures.

  Morton darted swift glances all around from red-fringed eyes. Already Patrick and d'Aubigny, their arms linked with the King's, were strolling towards the farther doors. 'Christ!' he said, and whirled abruptly around, almost knocked over the Master of Glamis, elbowed aside his gaping Douglas lairds, and went striding to the double doors. Captain Stewart opened them for him – and was rewarded by a stream of spittle full in his face. The Earl stormed out, shouting for his horses, shouting for many things.

  When he and his had passed from view, all men in that room as it were froze in their places, silent again, listening. They heard a great confusion of voices, the well-known bull-like roaring, but no shouting of the name of Douglas. Then they heard the clatter of hooves, many hooves.

  A great sigh of relief escaped from throats innumerable.

  'Magnifique! Splendide! My congratulations, Patrick!' d'Aubigny exclaimed, laughing a little unevenly. 'You were quite impressive. Most dramatic, I swear. Our bear is baited… and retires to lick his wounds. Personally however, mon ami, I would have preferred our bear to be locked up – or better still, despatched forthwith. I would have had him on my cousin Darnley's business, right away. And saved time.'

  Patrick shook his head. 'We are scarcely ready for that. Time is needed, there. Moreover – whisper it – I was not sure that our two hundred stalwarts would be so sure a match for his Douglases out there! Patience, Esme – little by little is the way with bears. Anyhow, I vow he will never be the same bear again! Ah -but what is this, Sire…?'

  Majesty, between them, had burst into blubbering tears.

  Chapter Ten

  MORTON was not beaten yet, of course; it was not so easy as that But he found it expedient to retire to his own great palace at Dalkeith – The Lion's Den, as it was called. And all Scotland rang with the word of it, in a surprisingly short time; all Scotland indeed, in consequence, seemed to flock to Stirling -or, at least, all that counted in Scotland – to see the new star that had arisen in the land, to test out the new dispensation, and to try to gauge for how long it might last.

  A sort of hectic gaiety reigned in the grey old town under its grim fortress.

  King James was by no means overwhelmed by this gaiety. Perhaps, having been dominated all his young life by the red shadow of Morton, he could not conceive of it being ever removed. Morton, and the fear of his vengeance, was at the boy's narrow shoulder day and night Many of those who now thronged Stirling Castle had been Morton's friends, he swore -and doubtless still were. They were only spying out the land for the Douglas's return.

  Only d'Aubigny could sooth him – Cousin Esme, dear bonny Cousin Esme, whom he had grown to love with a feverish and frightened and rather sickeningly demonstrative affection that caused titters, sniggers and nudging leers on all hands, but which David Gray, at least, found heart-wringing.

  It was Patrick's idea, but Cousin Esme's suggestion and advice, that a move would be the thing – a change of scene and air and company, a clean sweep. Let His Grace get out of this gloomy ghost-ridden prison of a fortress. Let him go to Edinburgh, to his capital. Let him set up his Court, a real Court, in his Palace of Holyroodhouse. Let him start to reign, call a Parliament, be king indeed. Let them all go to Edinburgh.

  'Edinburgh…!' James quavered. He had never been to Edinburgh since he was a babe in arms, never been more than a few miles from this rock of Stirling. Clearly the notion was a profoundly radical one for him, full of doubts and fears as well as of intriguing possibilities and excitements. He stared. 'Edinburgh… Edinburgh is near to Dalkeith, where my Lord Morton lives, Esme' He got out

  'A fig for the Lord Morton, James! He will be the nearer, to keep an eye upon, mon cher. Edinburgh is the heart of your kingdom. If you will reign, it must be from there.'

  'Must I reign, Cousin Esme? Yet, I mean? Would you not reign for me… as my Lord Morton did
?' ' D'Aubigny moistened his hps, and could not resist a flashed glance at Patrick. 'Never, Sire,' he said. 'I am but your most devoted and humble servant… and friend.'

  'But you could serve me best thus, could you no'? I wish that you would, Cousin Esme?

  'How could that be, Your Majesty? I am but a lowly French seigneur – think you that your great Scots lords would bear with your rule through such as myself?'

  'I could make you a great lord also, could I no'? I could, I could! I'd like to, Esme.' Urgently, James came shambling over, to put an arm around the other's neck, and stare wistfully at his friend. 'I'd like to give you something – I would that. You said yon time that I had lots to give – titles and lands and honours. Will you no' let me give you a present, Esme? I could make you a lord.'

  'You are kind, James. But a title without lands and revenues to maintain it is but a barren honour. I am better as your humble d'Aubigny…'

  'I could give you an earldom… wi' the lands and revenues. Could I no'?'

  'Dear boy I But… ah, me… though I am humbly placed, I have my foolish pride, James. I come of a lofty line, all unworthily – your own father's line, the House of Lennox. Some new-made earldom might well suit many. But for me – ah, no! Leave me as I am, Sire.'

  Those great liquid eyes lit with shrewder gleam. 'It is the earldom o' Lennox that you want, then, Esme?'

  'Hmmm. That would be… interesting. But… ah, no! Too much!'

  'Unfortunately, there is already an Earl of Lennox,' Patrick mentioned, level-voiced for him. 'Esme's uncle Robert, to whom Your Highness gave the earldom but last year.'

  'Yon was my Lord Morton's doing, no' mine, Master Patrick. I but signed the paper…'

  'A pity. Though, I suppose that a paper could be unsigned?' D'Aubigny yawned delicately. 'Not that it is a matter of any importance.'

  'Aye, I could – could I no'? Unsign it? He is but a donnert auld man, my great-uncleRob. If I gave him somiething else..

  'I daresay that another earldom would serve him just as well,' d'Aubigny admitted, judicially. 'But… Il ne fait rien. It is a trouble for you, Jamie.'

  'No, no. I would like to do it – fine I would, Cousin. You shall – be Earl o' Lennox, I swear it.'

  Again Patrick spoke, in the same cool tone. 'Parliament's agreement would be required to revoke an earldom already held, I think, Your Grace. It is not the same as making a new creation.'

  'We were suggesting a Parliament, anyway, you will recollect, mon cher Patrick. In Edinburgh,' d'Aubigny mentioned lightly. 'Though the issue is hardly vital'

  'But it is, it is, Esme. It is the first thing that I have ever done for you – you that have done so much for me. We shall do it. It… it is our royal will!' James darted glances around like a dog that has barked out of turn. 'And then you can really rule for me!'

  David Gray, from his corner, saw his brother consider the Stewart cousins long and thoughtfully.

  And so, since Cousin Esme, who was to be Earl of Lennox, advised it, the Court of the King of Scots was moved to Holyrood-house.

  David would have taken the opportunity to return to his own life at Castle Huntly, but Patrick was urgent that he should stay with them He needed him, he said, more than ever, for the good Esme was beginning to grow just a little bit lofty and difficult, and someone close to himself Patrick must have. David insisted on at least returning home to inform their father on the situation, since he considered himself still to be Lord Gray's servant, not Patrick's.

  At Castle Huntly, however, my lord was just as determined as was his heir that David should remain at the Court; he did not for a moment believe that Morton had shot his bolt; he believed that Patrick needed his brother's level head more than he had ever done; moreover, it appeared to Lord Gray that the cause of the unhappy Queen Mary was tending to be lost sight of – and David should keep the urgency of that matter before his brother constantly.

  After only a couple of halcyon autumn days with his Mariota and the little Mary, therefore, David turned his nag's head reluctantly westwards again for Stirling. A more unwilling courtier would have been hard to find.

  The first snows were whitening the tops of the distant blue mountains to the north when, on October the twentieth, the royal cavalcade approached the capital from the west A dazzling company, for Scotland, they had passed the night at Linlithgow and now, thankful that, despite their escort of three hundred miscellaneous mounted men-at-arms, no assault by massed Douglases had materialised, they looked at the crowded roofs and spires and towers of Edinburgh, out of the blue smoke-pall of which the fierce and frowning castle, one of the most famous and blood-stained in all the world, reared itself like a leviathan about to strike. King James was staring goggle-eyed at this, declaring fearfully that it was still greater and more threatening than that of Stirling, when a crash as of thunder shattered the crisp autumn air, and set the horses rearing, all but unseating the boy on the spirited black, who cowered, terrified, as the crash was succeeded by another and another.

  'Fear nothing, Sire,' Patrick called out, above the reverberating din, laughing. Those are but the castle guns saluting you in right royal fashion.'

  'It's no'… no' my Lord Morton…?'

  'No, no. Those are your cannon.'

  'But… but whoare they shooting at, then?' James demanded, clinging to his saddle. 'Where go the cannon-balls?'

  'No balls today, Highness -only noise. Blank shot'

  'A barbarous din,' d'Aubigny declared. 'But fear nothing, James – here is no danger, save to our ear-drums! But, see – folk await us before the gate, there.'

  Pacing out from the archway of the West Port, and dwarfed by the soaring Castle-rock, came a procession of the Provost and magistrates of the Capital, bare-headed and bearing a great canopy of purple velvet and gold lace, under which Majesty, after listening as patiently as he might to a long speech of welcome, rode into the walled city. Crowds lined the narrow streets to see this strange sight – a long in Edinburgh again, after all these years. But they did not cheer. Edinburgh's crowds have never been good at cheering. The guns up at the Castle continued to make din enough for all, however – to the confusion and distress of the two ladies who, in allegory, contended for an unfortunate child before this youthful royal Solomon, who had to shout his judgment at them in between bangs. At the West Bow, a great globe of polished brass was suspended from the archway, and out of this descended a shivering child, as Cupid, naked but for sprouting wings, to present the keys of the city to the King. The infant's chattering teeth, fortunately or otherwise, prevented any speech, and the royal cavalcade pressed on. At the Tolbooth, in the long sloping High Street, however, Peace, Plenty and Justice issued forth, and sought to address the monarch suitably in Latin, Greek and Scots respectively, to the accompaniment of the incessant gunfire – which greatly upset James, who desired to answer back in the appropriate languages, and even, later, in Hebrew, when Religion, personified by a graver matron, followed on; for James, King of Scots, curiously enough, in bookish matters at least, was possibly the best educated youth in Christendom, thanks to the good if stern Master George Buchanan. There being no apparent means of stopping the loyal cannonry, frustrated, the royal scholar had to move on to the High Kirk of Saint Giles, where at least thick walls slightly deadened the enthusiastic concussions – though, before the ninety minutes sermon by Master Lawson the minister was finished, explaining, demanding and emphatically setting forth the royal duty of protecting the reformed religion of Christ Jesus, with thumps and bangs on the Bible to underline his points, James and his entourage were almost grateful for the explosive punctuations from the Castle.

  Dazed and with splitting heads, the glittering company staggered out of church, to be led to the Market Cross, where a leering Bacchus in painted garments and crowned with garlands askew, sat on a gilded hogshead distributing slopping goblets of exceedingly bad wine, and an orchestra seemingly and necessarily composed largely of drums and cymbals, competed with the clamour of gunpowder. A
lmost in hysterics, James was conducted from these down the packed High Street again to the Netherbow Port, or east gate, where a pageant representing the sovereign's birth and genealogy, right back to the supposed Fergus the First at the beginning of the Fifth Century, was presented – and took some time, naturally, since each monarch in a thousand years was represented. The cannonade stopped abruptly, after some six hours of it, in the middle of the reign of Kenneth MacAlpine – presumably having at last mercifully run out of powder; though the entire city seemed to go on pulsing and throbbing to the echo of it for long thereafter.

  At last, with sunset past and the figures of history becoming indistinct in the gloom, genealogy died a sort of natural death about the times of James the Second, and the bemused and battered and benumbed Court – or such of it as had not been able to escape long since – lurched and tottered in torchlight procession down the Canongate to the Palace ofHolyroodhouse, and presumably a meal Edinburgh had done its loyal best. 'My God!' d'Aubigny gasped, as he collapsed into a great chair in the banqueting hall, that happened to be the royal throne. 'My God, c'est incroyable! Detraque! What a country…!'

  'Would you prefer to return to France?' Patrick wondered. 'No! No – never that!' James cried. 'Och, Esme – are you tired, man?'

  'Our good Esme is paying for his earldom!' Patrick observed.

  Life at the great Palace of Holyroodhouse, under the green pyramid and red crags of tall Arthur's Seat, was very different from that in the cramped quarters of Stirling Castie. There was room and opportunity here for men to spread themselves, and Esme Stuart,, already being called Earl of Lennox though not officially so by ratification of the Council, saw to it that they did. He had James appoint him Lord Great Chamberlain and a member of the Privy Council, the former an office long out of use but which raised him above the elderly Court Chamberlain and put him in complete charge of the entire Court And this was a very different Court from that of Stirling. Only those might attend who were specifically summoned – and the summons were made out by the Lord Great Chamberlain. Until the Council agreed to the appointment of a new Lord Treasurer, that vital office was in the hands of a deputy, a mere nobody, who did what he was told in the King's name; therefore the Treasury, such as remained of it, was available. Balls, masques, routs and banquets succeeded each other in dizzy procession – if not on the French scale, at least after the French pattern. Women appeared at Court in ever greater numbers, not just as the appendages of their lords, but in their own right, and frequently unaccompanied, a thing that caused considerable scandal and set the Kirk railing. The ladies all loved Esme and Patrick, whatever they thought of the slobber-mouthed James – and Esme and Patrick loved the ladies, but of course.