Lord and Master mog-1

by Nigel Tranter

  be glowered at! I'll no' see him…' '

  The tall figure of the Earl of Arran appeared in the open doorway behind the King, frowning. He was somewhat more stout than when David had last seen him, and despite his campaigning and lieutenant-generalship, looking less the soldier. He showed no enthusiasm at David's presence, and did not trouble to acknowledge it.

  'It is you that he comes to see. Sire, assuredly,' he said, as though in continuation of a discussion. 'Let him glower, I say -glowering will not hurt It is his message from his Queen that must needs concern us…'

  'No, I'll no' do it, Jamie!' The King beat a fist on the table. 'Man, Patrick – you will see him for me, will you no'? Yon Walsingham gars me gruel Sir Jamie Melville says he's no' human.'

  'Tush, James…!'

  'I shall be there, of course, Your Grace,' Patrick said easily, soothingly. 'But I would not dream of cheating my lord of Arran out of the honour that is his!' He turned to the other man. 'My lord, I think that His Grace has the rights of it Better that ' you should see Walsingham, than His Highness. Undoubtedly Elizabeth has sent him to overawe us, to browbeat the King. It would be suitable and dignified, therefore, that His Grace should not see him, should keep him at arm's length, lower his English pride a little.'

  'Aye, Patrick, aye. That is right'

  He will demand an audience, Gray-it is his right And stay until he gets it'

  'Not so. Not if His Grace is not here! A prolonged hunting-match, for instance? A tinchel. Into Atholl and the north. Under good and sufficient escort, of course. The deer are not in season – but, heigho, that has happened before, has it not? I think that Walsingham will hardly follow His Grace into the Highlands.'

  'God be good Patrick sright!' the King cried 'Our Patrick's aye right, Jamie.' 'M'mmm,' that lord said doubtfully. 'When will I go, Patrick? Now?'

  'Why not, Sire? The sooner the better. So soon as the escort can be mustered If you go at once, Your Grace can be at Perth by the time that Walsingham gets here.'

  'Aye, Perth. Yon's the place for me this night Perth.'

  'You will not, h'm, be lonely? Overnight, Sire?' Patrick asked solicitously, but with a wicked glance at Arran.

  'No, no. I'll bide with Murray o' Tullibardine at yon Scone I gave him – Gowrie's Scone.' At the thought of Gowrie, James blinked. 'Man, Jamie, you'll get me a right strong escort? I'm no' for having more o' yon Ruthven business. Yon Gowrie's running free. Patrick got me to pardon him. I shouldna have done it…'

  'Do not fear, Sire-I will see to your safety. If you go…'

  'Oh, aye – I'm going. And you'll see to Walsingham, Jamie. Use him strongly, mind – strongly.'

  'Exactly,' Patrick murmured. 'Strongly is the word.'

  'But no' too strongly, mind,' James amended, nibbling his Up. 'We dinna want yon woman… we dinna want our good cousin Elizabeth ower put out, mind. We are her heir, mind, and… and…'

  'Precisely, Sire – and she must be encouraged publicly to acknowledge you as such.' Patrick stroked his silky dark curls back from his face. 'I think that it should not be difficult for my lord of Arran to put Master Walsingham in his place, and at the same time avoid offending his mistress.'

  'How, man?' Arran demanded bluntly.

  'Her Majesty of England is greatly fond of jewels, Sire. As fond of jewels as she is of young and handsome men. She uses both alike – to toy with, and adorn herself!'

  'Aye, but…'

  'A superlatively handsome jewel, Sire, as a gift. Hand that to Master Walsingham to give to her, and I swear Elizabeth will overlook his humbling quite! Such a toy as, say, yon great ruby ring in your royal mother's casket' Patrick glanced quickly at David. 'I do not think that my Lady Arran has it on loan, as yet! Used thus, I vow, it will serve a better purpose than lying in a box.' That undeniably was addressed to his brother, not the King.

  'Aye. Fine, fine! Man, Patrick – you think on everything, I swear,' James exclaimed. 'Let it be done so. I… we give our royal authority. Now – I had best be off, had I no'…

  Arran tugged at his beard. 'You think that such will serve, Gray?'

  'Assuredly. It is a most notable jewel. A gift of his late Holiness of Rome, if I do not mistake. Which should commend it the more to her Protestant Majesty of England! She will take it to her bed with her, I'll wager!'

  How know you Elizabeth Tudor so well, Gray? Arran demanded narrow-eyed.

  Patrick smiled. 'I have good friends who tell me…much, my lord.'

  'Aye' well – here's no time for blethers' the King declared agitatedly. 'I must be awa'. Jamie – my escort…'

  Arran looked at Patrick. 'You will be there, Gray, with me, when I receive Walsingham?'

  'But of course, my friend – we shall all be there. Save only His Grace. All the Court Receive him before all, at the ball tonight So shall you humble him the more publicly – and therefore the more deeply.'

  'Before all…? Not a private audience?' Arran stared and then slapped his thigh.'Aye my God – you are right! That is the way to treat Walsingham the black snake! A pox on him – 'I'll do it!'

  'Aye, then. Come, Jamie…' the King said, plucking at Arran's sleeve.

  Patrick bowed low as the monarch hurried his acting Chancellor out of the room and down the twisting stone stairway.

  As he straightened up, he caught his brother's eye, and one eyelid drooped gently.

  'What… what did you there?' David asked moistening his lips.

  'Me? I but preserved one of your poor Queen's jewels from the clutch of Lady Arran… for a better purpose. And ensured an amusing and instructive evening!' he replied lightly. 'It all ought to prove an entertainment indeed – and vastly improve upon the ball that I had planned. One ball is so plaguey like another, isn't it? You chose your day to return to Court well, Davy. Now…' He shook his head over his brother's apparel. 'As usual, I must needs find something for you to wear. Where, in the fiend's name, do you get your clothing, man? Let me see…' Patrick paused. 'But, first -I had forgotten.' He rang a silver bell that stood on his table. 'It will not do to neglect the ladies…'

  In a few moments a youth came running down the turnpike stair from the floor above, a handsomely-clad page, who eyed David superciliously.

  'Will, down to the town with you, and request Deacon Graham the goldsmith attend on me forthwith. Forthwith, you understand? Oft with you. Oh… er… request him to bring some of his trinkets with him, Will. Small things. Off' Patrick turned back to his brother. 'Who would not be a goldsmith? The ladies, bless their hearts., ensure that such folk are ever prosperous!' He sighed gustily. 'Ah, me – they cost me dear, the darlings. But then, I have not your faculty for instilling devotion by merely looking stern, Davy! Come, and we shall see what the royal wardrobe can do for you… since I am its Master…!'

  A distinctly nervous and britde gaiety filled the great audience-chamber of Stirling Castle – the same vast hall in which the brothers Gray had first clapped eyes upon their King, and which had witnessed the first chapter in Morton's downfall It was packed, tonight, with a colourful and noisy throng – if the nobility of Scotland could so be described. Few had seen Walsingham, as yet, but all knew that he was in the Castle somewhere, and his name was on every Up, the shadow of the man who was reputed to have the largest spy system in the world at his disposal lay over all the assembly. The fact that the King had left in a hurry, for the north, was also known to all, and two added promptly to two. Arran, dressed at his most extravagantly gorgeous, was very much master of all – just so, it might be said, his wife was mistress of all Undoubtedly his lordship had fortified himself from the bottle. Patrick, who had arranged this evening's entertainment, like so many another, strolled apparently at aimless ease, greeting all, yet was never very far from Arran.

  David watched the scene from a corner, and looked for Marie Stewart

  Whoever else was concerning themselves with the impending arrival of Walsingham, the Countess of Arran was not Perhaps she believed that she had the wherewith
al to tame even him. David eyed her, in astonishment. Once, in France he had been shocked to watch his brother dancing with a woman, whose dress left one nipple exposed. But this woman flaunted both of hers. And deliberately, provocatively, using them to keep all men's eyes turning her way. She was a much less beautiful woman than many who were present there, though magnificently built and shaped, but there was no question as to who caused most distraction – in both sexes, though distraction of a differing sort It was not only the exposure of her body that counted, but her entire attitude, carriage, expression – blatant indeed yet potent too, and so assured.

  David by no means escaped the impact, despite his disapproval. Presently the lady espied him in his corner, and came directly across to him, all smiles.

  'Davy Gray!' she cried. 'I did not know that you were back at Court, You are welcome, I vow! All true men are welcome – and you are a true mm, I think? Are you not?'

  David rubbed his chin, and frowned. Perhaps he should have been grateful for this queenly welcome for a humble secretary whom the lady's husband had already completely ignored? He tried not to look at her, and if that was impossible, to concentrate on the glittering gems in her hair, at her throat and ears and fingers. 'Aye, ma'am,' he muttered.

  Directly she eyed him, for she was almost as tall as he was, pink tongue-tip touching her full lower Up. 'You are one of the strong men, Davy, I am told? I like strong men. I am a strong woman, you see.' She came close to him, so close that her thrusting breasts brushed him, and the musky vivid smell of her came to him powerfully.

  'I can believe it, ma'am,' he said, glancing around him in embarrassment at all who watched.

  'You are very different from your brother, are you not? Of a less ready tongue, assuredly. But otherwise, perhaps, as active?' She laughed loudly, and raised her voice, so that many around must hear her. 'I wonder how you compare with your brother in bed? An interesting question, is it not?'

  David looked appalled.

  She laughed in his face. 'Patrick has his talents, I admit,' she added. 'But I think, perhaps, you may have the longer… wind! Wordless men often have, strangely enough! We must put it to the test, Davy. But not tonight, perhaps. No, no. It is…'

  'What is not tonight, perhaps?' Patrick's voice asked pleasantly, close at hand. 'Do not say that you are trying to corrupt my good Davy, Bett? Both impossible and unprofitable, surely.'

  Thankfully David turned to his brother, for rescue – an unusual state of affairs.

  'Think you so, Patrick?' the lady demanded. 'If he is to be your secretary again, then, Lord, I might well win some profitable secrets out of him… as well as other satisfactions!'

  'Away with you, woman! You should be thanking me, not threatening me. Have I not assured your husband to your bed, this night?

  The Countess made a rude gesture. Thank you for nothing!'

  She tossed David a smile. 'Remember, Davy!' she said.

  As she was moving away, Patrick called, quite openly, loud enough for any around to hear who listened – and undoubtedly there were many who did. 'Bett, you have come apart, down the front. Perhaps you have not noticed?'

  She jerked one bare shoulder and breast at him in a gesticulation as flagrant as it was expressive, and strolled on.

  'Lord,' David gasped. 'That woman… she is more apt to the stews of some sailors' town than a king's court! A common street-woman is nicer…'

  'Not so, Davy – that is the daughter of a long line of Stewart earls!' Patrick corrected. 'An extraordinary family, the Stewarts, are they not?'

  The glances of both of them slid round the crowded chamber, searching.

  'She…the Lady Marie…will be here?' David asked. 'It is my hope. Her father, you will note, is drunk early tonight'

  'Aye. And Arran like to be joining him!'

  'He but ensures a good courage to face Elizabeth's ogre, lad.'

  'No doubt. Why are you not doing the facing, I wonder?'

  Patrick shrugged. 'Why should I? There is a saw about making a bed and lying therein. Arran is good at beds – like his lady!'

  'Yet, have you not had a hand in malting this bed, also?' 'You get some strange notions, Davy – God, you do!' The other laughed.

  'Perhaps you have a notion as to what brings Walsingham here?'

  'That is easy. Fear. Fear that the delightfully so-called Reformation is in clanger in Scotland – and therefore Elizabeth's Protestant throne is endangered. Fear brings Walsingham, bearing threats.' Patrick's' eyes kept turning towards Arran's slightly unsteady figure, where he supported himself against the empty throne. 'Fear is the great spur to action, is it not? Fear sends James scampering off to Perth; fear sends Arran to the bottle… and his wife to throw her bed open to all and sundry. Even you! Ah, me, nothing would be done at all without fear, I fear, in this sad world!'

  'And you? What do you fear, Patrick?'

  'Me? I fear that one, Davy Gray, is about to give me one of his…'

  He stopped. Marie Stewart was coming swiftly across the crowded dancing floor towards them, not actually running but hurrying. For so essentially calm a person, her haste was notable. Patrick took a pace forward.

  Coming up, Marie passed him with a significant wave of the hand, which she then reached out to David. 'Davy!' she exclaimed, grey eves warm. 'How good to see you! It has been so long. When did you come? I had not heard. Have you come to stay awhile? You look… just as you always look!'

  David smiled, and nodded wordlessly.

  'Faith – an Inquisition, no less!' Patrick declared. 'Torquemada could have done no better, I vow!'

  'How is your wife – the fair Mariota?' she asked, ignoring Patrick. 'Am I yet forgiven? And the enchanting Mary? And small Patrick?'

  'We all fare well enough,' David assured her. 'I thank you.'

  'You have not asked me how I fare!' Patrick protested. 'I might have the plague, the pox and the palsy, but you would care naught!'

  'You look to yourself too well for any such anxiety,' the young woman retorted. 'What brings you, Davy, in the end?'

  'Not you, my dear – do not flatter yourself!' his brother answered for him. 'It was another Marie Stewart altogether. The Queen, your aunt Davy aches for her plight – as do we all, of course – and in especial, interests himself in her jewels. He is…'

  'Jewels! Davy does?'

  'Och, never heed him, Lady Marie. He but cozens you…'

  'Not so! I swear it is nothing less than the truth. In particular he would, I think, deprive the Lady Arran of her new-won finery.'

  'And I with him!' Marie exclaimed. 'That woman is contemptible – beyond all shame. That she should assume the Queen's treasure…! Look at her there – or, i' faith, do not look at her! Parading herself like… like a bulling heifer! She makes me ashamed of my kind! And to think how nearly she rules the land!'

  – 'At the least, she knows what she wants, my dear – which is more than do some women that I might name! And as to ruling the land, she has her own felicitous methods of choosing the men to do it. First she samples deeply of their purses – which is a very practical test of their ability – and then she tries them in her bed. And if they pass both assizes, they are to be considered well-fitted for bishopric, collectorship or sheriffdom. You must admit that less effective methods of ensuring the continued virility of church and state have been…'

  'Patrick, how can you talk so? Even you! But to jest of it is a shame – it shames you, and us all. And you – you pander to her!'

  'Me? Heaven forbid! Marie, Marie, how can you even suggest it…?'

  'Of course you do. Think you I have not seen you at it? Aye -and you know her shameful bed as well as any!'

  'Tut, lass, in statecraft one must use such tools as come to hand

  'But you no longer play the statesman, you claim! You leave that to Arran and the others, you say – even to my poor silly father – there! You but pen verses and contrive masques and balls, and… and chase women!'

  'A mercy – this is not Mari
e Stewart, surely? The serene and imperturbable! What has become of her tonight? Chase women, forsooth! What woman have I been chasing these many months – to no purpose? One woman only – and she a cold grey-eyed virgin whom no plea, no art or artifice will stir. Until tonight…'

  'What of Eupham Erskine? And Lady Balfour? And Madame de Menainville, wife to the French Ambassador? What of these? Aye, and others! Under what head do you woo all these?'

  David had never seen Marie Stewart so patently moved. And seldom his brother so palpably disquieted thereat, though he sought to gloss it over. David indeed found himself to be strangely affected. 'I think that Patrick may be engaged in more of statecraft than he would wish to appear,' he put in, in a jerky attempt to ease the tension. These ladies may well have a part in it The French lady, in especial…'

  Marie rounded on him with surprising vehemence. 'Do not you make excuses for him, Davy Gray!' she exclaimed. 'He is well able for that himself…'

  She stopped. Indeed she had to stop. The music and dancing and the chatter of the great throng had all along necessitated raised voices.' But none such could compete with the sudden ringing fanfare of the heralds' trumpets which sounded from the lower end of the hall, turning all eyes thitherwards. Talk died, dancing faltered and stopped, and the music ebbed to a ragged close.

  'His Excellency Sir Francis Walsingham, Ambassador Extraordinary of Her Grace the Princess Elizabeth, Queen of England!' it was announced into the hush as the flourish died away.

  The hush was not complete, however, and resounding as was this announcement it was insufficient entirely to drown a single voice that talked on thickly and laughed loudly. The Earl of Arran, up at the Chair of State, chatting with the Earl of Orkney and others, did not appear to have noticed this development