Lord and Master mog-1

by Nigel Tranter

  In a day or two, David did indeed return to Castle Huntly, to see his wife delivered of a fine boy. Almost without discussion and by mutual consent, they named him Patrick. In due course, even though he had promised himself otherwise, the proud father returned to the Court He could not help himself, it seemed.

  Chapter Eleven

  MORTON was ill. Morton was dying. Morton was shamming ill, seeking to lull his enemies to carelessness. Alternatively, Morton was not ill but was planning to depart secretly to England, there to raise an army with Elizabeth's help, and return on its swords to power in Scotland. Morton planned to kidnap the King, send him to join his mother in an English prison, and rule as Regent again. Morton had attempted to poison the Earl of Lennox, who had the stomach-ache. The English Lord Hunsdon had arrived at Berwick-on-Tweed to organise the invasion of Scotland, to put Morton back into power…

  So the rumours swept Scotland in the months that followed. Men did not know where they stood, where to place their allegiance. In the hectic gaiety of the Court at Edinburgh, uncertainty, fear, doubt, were always just below the surface. Yet Morton made no open move, lying omniously quiet at his Lion's Den at nearby Dalkeith. He must be ill. Or just waiting for his supplanters to destroy each other, or themselves, for him?'

  The Earl of Lennox still claimed to care not a fig for Morton -but he had special secure quarters made ready for himself and the King in Edinburgh Castle, and the fortress stocked up to withstand a siege, plus a carefully worked out and secret method of escape from palace to castle, should the need arise. Moreover, a ship was kept in readiness at Leith, provided and crewed. That was the background to as brilliant a season as the old palace of Holyroodhouse had yet experienced.

  The Master of Gray was somewhat better informed than most on the subject of Morton – as he ought to have been, considering the French moneys he disbursed for the purpose. He admitted once, of all people, to the Lady Marie Stewart, that the Douglas had indeed been ill, confined to his bed – to the young woman's prompt query of poison he made no comment. He admitted also that Morton had been sending couriers to Elizabeth, certain of whom had apparently called en route at a discreet house both going and coming back, with nterestuig revelations. He agreed that Hunsdon had arrived at Berwick, and troops were being levied from the North Country English lords, for purposes unspecified. But when the Lady Marie had asked where all this was leading, Patrick only laughed, and advised her not to be over anxious – indeed, to leave anxiety to others, to whom it would do most good.

  These confidences to the grey-eyed and calm Marie Stewart were not isolated, and represented an unforeseen but notable development. They coincided with a distinct and continuous cooling of relationships between Patrick and Esme Stuart, also, with a parallel divergence of sympathies on the part of his brother David. Patrick, in fact, had to have a confidant always, and where one failed another had to be found. Why he should have chosen the Lady Marie is debatable; certainly she did not encourage him. Indeed, from the first she kept him at arm's length, not attempting to hide her hostility, distrust, and cool mockery – and obviously much preferred David's company. Perhaps that was part of her attraction: she represented a challenge, in her unaccustomed antagonism, and her curious partiality for his brother. Moreover, she was intelligent, discreet, and of a highly unusual quiet magnetism that served her better than the more obvious and spectacular charms of other of the Court beauties. And, because of her father's comparative penury, with the revenues of the Orkney Isles not yet fully organised, he and at least some of his multitudinous family had been granted quarters in the palace itself, and so she was fairly readily available.

  Patrick appeared to feel himself compelled to lay siege to her, which might seem strange, since he not infrequently referred to her to David as 'the beggar man's brat5 and 'that woman Stewart'

  David, for his part, liked her very well, and came to consider her simply as his friend – which, curiously enough, provoked Patrick into mocking mirth and barbed wit He declared that simple friendship between a man and an attractive woman was a fable – and what would Mariota say?

  Patrick did more than rail and confide and hint and laugh,' of course. He was very busy, though even David knew but a tithe of all that he did. Especially in the vital matters of the Earl of Morton. A new subsidy from the Guises enabled him to subvert many who were very close to the Douglas himself- and Patrick had an undoubted nose for traitors. It was said that he had more spies in and around Dalkeith Palace than Morton had men-at-arms there – and many of these also were said to be bought, though rumour could lie. He enrolled large numbers of men to increase the size of the Guard, Captain Stewart cooperating – possibly with his own ideas as to their ultimate usefulness. This was before the days of standing national armies, but Patrick, by judicious friendships, favours and promises, provided at least the nucleus of an army, theoretically at call, from the armed bands of selected lords in Lothian and the borders – in the King's name, of course. He said -whatever he believed – that within twenty-four hours he could assemble four thousand men in Edinburgh… or to surround Dalkeith.

  Esme, Earl of Lennox, was busy too, though in rather different directions. He wooed the Kirk, publicly announcing his conversion to Protestantism, and humbly asked the Assembly to appoint one of their ministers to instruct him fully in the true and reformed Evangel of Christ Jesus. Master Lindsay, of Leith, was nominated for this important task. He hunted with James – well escorted – hawked with James, and wrote poetry with James. He produced masques from the compositions that he encouraged James to concoct, refurnished and refurbished the palace, personally designed the King's clothes and stocked the King's wardrobe. Nothing was too good for James, nor too much trouble – nor did the cost matter, for what else was the Treasury for?

  As a consequence, James's love for his cousin grew and deepened, until it was the greatest factor in his life. Nothing could be done without Esme, nothing decided, nothing even contemplated. And curiously, inconveniently, undoubtedly, if unforeseen, the accomplished elegant man grew fond of the shambling awkward boy. The lovers, they became known as -and tongues wagged unkindly, inevitably. Patrick was not concerned for James's morals, leaving that to others; but he was concerned for Lennox's usefulness to himself and his projects. He spoke to the other about the dangers of this so obviously burgeoning affection between man and boy, more than once -and earned no access of affection for himself thereby. To him the matter spelt complications, trouble – and he said so.

  Incidentally, as another consequence of affection, Esme gathered unto himself the rich abbacy of Arbroath, sundry royal and Hamilton estates in Lothian, Lanark and Carrick, the revenues from harbour dues at Leith, and the Keepership of Dumbarton Castle, most powerful stronghold in the West.

  Not all of Scotland greeted these tokens of affection with acclaim.

  Captain James Stewart, in especial, found the royal generosity excessive. His dislike of the Earl of Lennox waxed even stronger and more apparent – not that he ever had attempted to hide it Scarcely a day passed without some incident between them -' much to the King's distress, for he seemed to have some regard for his brusque and soldierly Captain Jamie also. Nevertheless, the latter would have lost his appointment and been banished from the Court long since had not Patrick insisted otherwise, that until the threat of Morton was finally removed, one way or another, Stewart's adherence was vital for them. After that, it might be different The Captain, with great reluctance on Lennox's part, had been granted the Hamilton property of Kinneil, near Linlithgow. It markedly failed to satisfy him.

  In the handsome new tennis-court at Holyrood which Esme had installed for summer amusement, on the first sunny day of a wet July, a curiously mixed company sat in scattered groups watching a foursome in which Lennox partnered the King against Patrick and the Earl of Orkney – the former winning consistently, of course, for James did not like to lose. David was there, new back from a journey into the Highlands on the King's behalf, sitting on a be
nch beside the Lady Marie. Her elder legitimate brother, the Master of Orkney and Abbot of Kirkwall, sat with the Master of Mar, Keeper of Edinburgh Castle, waiting to play the winners. The Reverend Lindsay, Esme's chaplain and preceptor, uncertain whether or not to disapprove of tennis, talked with Mr Bowes, Queen Elizabeth's new resident ambassador. And over in a far corner, part hidden by the shrubbery, Captain James was fondling the Countess of March – once Venus and Lady Lovat – whom marriage in no way incommoded.

  'So you have come back, after all, Davy,' the Lady Marie was saying. 'You did not go home to your Mariota, as you threatened?'

  'I had letters to bring back to the King,' David said, sighing. 'But I will go – and soon.'

  'If Patrick will let you.'

  'Patrick shall not, cannot, stop me.'

  'Patrick can do most things that he sets his mind to, I think.'

  'Most, perhaps – not all. As you yourself have shown him, my lady!'

  She looked at him, in her grave way. 'No -I suppose that I am the only woman at Court that he has not bedded with… as yet!' At David's frown, she smiled a little, 'You do not like the Court, the life of it, or the people at it, do you, Davy? 'No,' he admitted, simply. 'Only you, of them all' 'Thank you, sir -I am flattered! But you would be away from me to your Mariota, like a hawk released!' He did not answer.

  'You do not like what Patrick is doing, either, do you? 'I do not.'

  'And yet you love your brother, I believe.'

  'Aye, I daresay. But that does not make me love his works.'

  'No.' She paused. T do not think that you should go home yet awhile, Davy,' she said, at length. 'Even for your Mariota's sake. I think that you should stay – for Patrick's sake, for Scotland's sake, may be.'

  'Eh…?

  'Aye-ifyoulove Patrick. If you love Scotland. I have watched you both, Davy, and I believe that you alone have any influence with Patrick. For he loves you also, you know. He is an extraordinary man, our Patrick. He is capable of great things – for evil or for good. He will do great things – already he is doing them. He is two men in one – and I fear that the evil may triumph. To the hurt of himself, and many.'

  David turned to stare at her. 'You… you see deep, lady,' he said, trouble in his voice. Often, often, had he thought the same thoughts.

  'I see a great responsibility on the broad shoulders of one Davy Gray!'

  'What can I do? he demanded. 'Patrick will not change his course one step, for me! Think you that I have not tried, reasoned with him? All my life…

  'And achieved more than you think, belike.'

  'Achieved mockery and laughter…'

  'Look, Davy, here is not time for small thoughts, small offence. Patrick is not engaged in small things – that is clear. He needs you at his shoulder. You may keep him from… from great wickedness. You may save him, as none other can.

  'I…? I am a mere servant, a humble attendant, no more…'

  'Spare us the humbleness, Davy, for you are no humbler than I am! Less, I think. They say that we cannot escape our destiny.' She pointed into the tennis-court. 'Yonder is yours, is it not? Stay with him, and help him, Davy.'

  He glowered straight before him, from under frowning brows.

  'You…,' he said. 'You have a great interest in him, in Patrick!' That was roughly said, accusatory.

  'Say that I have a fondness for his brother,' the Lady Marie declared, even-voiced, and rising, moved over to speak to her brother.

  David sat still, biting his lip.

  The Earl of March came bustling into the garden, a foolish red lobster of a man. At sight of him, though his Countess did not still her squealing laughter, Captain Stewart arose, and came sauntering from the shrubberies. Seeing David alone on his bench, he came over and sat beside him,

  "The Master of Gray plays a losing game out yonder,' he said, after a moment or two. 'If he takes not care, I dunk he may play a losing game elsewhere also!' That was ever the Captain James, blunt, scornfully to the point

  David made no reply.

  'He rides the wrong horse,' Stewart went on. Ton prancing jennet is due for a fall – and will pull your fine brother down with him, man. He rears high, the Frenchman – over high. Your brother would be wise to bridle him… or find another mount!'

  'You should tell that to the Master of Gray, sir, not to me,' David said.

  'I will, never fear. And he would do well to heed me!' Stewart sat still, stretching out his long legs, and yawning.

  The game was over shortly, in a handsome win for the cousins, and Patrick, after congratulating the King, came strolling over to David's bench, mopping his brow with a perfumed handkerchief – at which Stewart sniffed crudely. He sat down between them.

  'Lord, it is warm!' he said. 'You look devilish cool, the pair of you. You should be warmer in His Grace's service – and play tennis!'

  The Captain snorted. 'I like to win my games, Gray!' he jerked. 'Not play second to a French mountebank!'

  'Hush, Captain! Can it be that you speak of my lord of Lennox, High Chamberlain of Scotland, Abbot of Arbroath,- Keeper of Dumbarton?'

  'Aye, none other. Mountebank, I said, and mountebank I mean! What else is his play with the King? What else is his trifling with the Kirk? He is no more a Protestant than is the Pope of Rome! He plays the part of a convert – but all the time, privily, he is bending the Ring towards Rome and France., I know -I have heard him at it'

  'Is that so? You must have good ears, then!'

  "Aye, almost as good as your own, Gray! But maybe the Kirk's ears will grow sharper, tool'

  'You mean – you might tell them? Enlighten them?5 That was entirely easy, casually conversational.

  'I did not say so – though the man makes me spewl'

  'It might do no harm,' Patrick observed, smothering a yawn. 'Pardieu – this heat! A little gossip amongst the fathers and brethren might enliven even the chill bones of the Kirk… to our dear land's benefit!'

  Both his hearers looked sharply at the lounging elegant speaker, who now produced a comb to discipline his damp dark curls.

  'You say that?' Stewart, the explicit ever, asked. How strong is your own zeal for the Protestant faith, Gray?'

  'Need you ask, friend? Here at the grey heart of reformed Scotland, it all but eats me up!' Patrick assured, but lazily.

  The Captain frowned. 'I doubt if I understand you, man,' he said.

  'I am desolated.' Patrick gestured with his comb towards the tennis-players, who were commencing the second game. 'Dear Esme – he is indefatigable. I hope that… he may not do himself an injury, with it all!'

  Again the sharp glance. He well may!' Stewart said, grimly. He offends all the old nobility. He intends to rule Scotland – all can see that Observe if he does not soon displace Argyll as Chancellor! Then he will make us all Catholic again – for I believe him to be, in fact, a Jesuit agent I think that he plans an alliance with Spain and France… which means war with England,'

  'So? You… er… think quite a deal, Captain, do you not? For a soldier!'

  'Aye. And so do you, Gray. I do not believe that any of these thoughts of mine are new to you!'

  Patrick smiled, and nodded towards a corner of the palace garden. 'A picture of connubial bliss are they not? The Lady March and her husband I'

  The other did not rise to that. 'This is not what I aided your return from France, to the Court, for, Master of Gray,' he said heavily. 'As I understood it, you planned that Queen Elizabeth should hear of a new successor-designate to the Scots throne, and so fear our Queen Mary no longer – not that this Frenchman should take Scotland for his own!'

  'Something of the sort,' Patrick agreed.

  'If Elizabeth should come to hear of what is indeed toward, here,' Stewart went on, slowly. 'I think that she would take steps to set it otherwise.'

  'That is possible. Then.,.. why not tell her, Captain?'

  'Eh…?' Stewart looked not only at Patrick this time, but round at David also, as though seeking confirmation tha
t his ears had not deceived him. Tell Elizabeth…tell her?'

  'Why not? Her Mr Bowes does not strike me as a very intelligent man. It would be a pity if the good Protestant lady was misinformed, would it not? u the position concerns you, write to her, man. There is a great traffic of letters to her from these parts, anyhow!'

  'And d'Aubigny – your Lennox?'

  'A little… correction would no doubt be a kindness to him. As a bridle gentles too spirited a steed! A touch of the knee here; a pull on the bit, there – and a straight and useful course results for all, does it not?'

  'God, Gray – you astonish me!'

  'Why? 'Tis but common sense, my friend. When your mount veers to one side, you tug to the other, do you not?'

  'But…why not write to Elizabeth yourself, then?'

  'Ah, no. That would be unwise. Her Grace of England knows well,- I am sure, that our Esme and myself are close, that together we set this course. In any letter from me she would assuredly smell… Jesuitry! Which would be unfortunate, would it not? No, no – you wield the pen instead of the sword, for once, Captain… in the good Esme's best interests!' Stretching, Patrick rose to his feet 'Now -I see the Lady Marie Stewart wasting her favours on her reprobate of a father! That will never do. Your servant, sir.' And with a bow of pure mockery, he sauntered off.

  The Captain stared after him. 'Yon is a strange man, I vow!' he said. 'Deep. Deep as the Nor' Loch – and with as little knowing what is at the bottom!'

  'Yes,' David said, level-voiced.

  'Aye, an unchancy brother to have, I'd say!' Stewart rose, and stalked away abruptly, without farewell, as though he had just recollected something that he required to do.

  David sat still, unmoving. The Lady Marie was right, it seemed – dear. God, how right! He had not realised that it could go this far. The Queen of England, now…! Troubled, seeing nothing of the gay and colourful scene about him, David gazed ahead. Almost, he was saying goodbye to Mariota and little Mary and Castle Huntly.