Lord and Master mog-1

by Nigel Tranter

  David swallowed. 'When… when there is aught to smile at -yes, Ma'am.'

  'I see. The honest one of the pair! Aye – then come you tomorrow with your brother, Master… David, it was? Tomorrow, to our audience. Then I shall be able to watch your face and know when Master Patrick is for cheating me! That is my command, and I call you all to witness.'

  Elizabeth swept out, with Sidney holding the door for her.

  And so when, the following mid-day, a Court marshal came to the Scots' lodging to conduct the two envoys to their official audience, David once again accompanied them. Embarrassed, he did not go with any eagerness; but though he would have expected Patrick to be still less enthusiastic, his brother in fact appeared to be perfectly pleased with his company. Davy had evidently taken the Queen's fancy, he declared, with his notably individual sort of Court manners – and with a woman, even Elizabeth Tudor, that was half the battle.

  This time they were escorted to a different part of the palace altogether, with a minimum of fuss and display. They were shown into a smallish wood-panelled chamber overlooking the river, where, before a bright log-fire, the Queen sat at the head of a long paper-littered table, no scintillating bejewelled, figure now, but simply though richly clad in dark purple grosgrain, with a moderately sized ruff, her greying reddish hair drawn back beneath a coif. David at least thought that she looked a deal better than on the night before. Soberly dressed men sat two on either side of her, first on her left being the grim-faced Walsingham. The entire atmosphere was businesslike, more like a merchant's counting-house than a royal Court Patrick and Orkney looked shockingly overdressed, like peacocks in a rookery. Here was no occasion, obviously, for heralds' trumpetings or flamboyant declarations. The contrast to the previous night was extraordinary.

  Only a clerk at the foot of the table rose to his feet at their entrance. 'Your credentials, gentlemen?' he said

  Patrick, straightening up, and with a swift glance all round, handed over the impressively sealed and beribboned parchment The clerk took it without ceremony, unrolled it, and read out its contents in a flat monotonous gabble, like a weary priest at his fifth celebration of Mass, thereby robbing the carefully chosen and resounding phrases of almost all significance. Not that any of the hearers appeared even to be listening.

  Whilst this was proceeding, the newcomers eyed the sitters – and were not themselves offered seats. The Queen's expression was sternly impassive, revealing nothing; she might never have seen her callers before,nor be in the least interested in what they had come to say. Walsingham sat immobile, as though frozen, eyes almost glazed – though that was not unusual. On the Queen's right was a stooping, white-haired, elderly man, with a sensitive weary face, toying with a pen-feather; sitting in that position, he could be none other than William Cecil, Lord Burleigh, himself. Next to him sat a handsome, keen-eyed, stocky man of middle-years, who wore a great key embroidered on his dark doublet – one of the few decorations to be seen in the company; almost certainly he would be Sir Christopher Hatton, Keeper of the Privy Purse under Lord Treasurer Burleigh. The fourth man, sitting next to him, was younger, dark, wiry, with a quick intelligent face and darting lively eyes. He was different from the others in more than years – a man perhaps somewhat after Patrick's own mould.

  When the clerk had finished, and rolled up the parchment, it was Walsingham who spoke, coldly, unemotionally.

  'Master of Gray and my lord of Orkney,' he said, 'my princess treats your prince's envoys a deal more kindly than yours did hers. Can you name any reason why she should not turn you away unheard, or worse?'

  'Only Her Grace's well-renowned clemency and womanly forbearance,' Patrick declared easily.

  'You can stretch Her Grace's clemency too far, sir.'

  'Not, surely, towards her youthful and fond cousin, who must learn kingcraft only by her guidance and favour? The fault lay not with my prince but with his advisers.'

  'Of whom yourself, sir, and Lord Orkney are principals – by these credentials.'

  'Alas, you do us too much honour, sir. King James has other advisers, and closer.'

  'Aye,' Orkney agreed. 'A deal closer.'

  'So that you accept nothing of responsibility of what occurred. Yet you both were present, and in close association with the Earl of Arran…'

  The Queen coughed slightly, and Burleigh intervened, quite gently.

  'Master of Gray' he said. 'Your present mission treats of great matters. Are these matters according to the mind of your young prince, of the Earl of Arran, or of your own?5

  Patrick's sigh of relief was almost audible. 'They represent the mind of the King in Council, my lord. As such they are authentic, the voice of Scotland. In their name we have full power to discuss and treat'.

  Burleigh nodded his white head. The old eyes were washed-out and colourless, but shrewd still. 'Treat is a large word, sir. How far may you treat, for instance, under your first matter of a defensive Protestant pact? Are you not a Roman yourself?'

  'On the contrary, I am a member of the Kirk of Scotland, born into it, baptised and communicate.'

  'And wed,' the dark younger man mentioned, from down the table.

  'Yet in every country of Europe you have acted the Catholic, sir,' Walsingham intervened harshly. 'At all times you have associated with Catholics. I am not utterly uninformed.'

  'And you, Sir Francis, associate with Jesuit priests – Father Giffard, for instance. But I do not hold that such makes you a Catholic, or unfit to transact your Protestant lady's business! I, too, am not utterly uninformed, you see!' Patrick essayed a laugh.

  David saw a mere flicker of smile cross the Queen's sharp features, and then she was stern again. Walsingham never changed his expression, but he sat very still, silent Father Charles Giffard, a Jesuit missionary and agent of the Guises, had recently been serving as a counter-spy for Walsingham also. That this should be known to the Master of Gray, and therefore presumably to Giffard's Catholic employers also, must have been a telling blow to the Chief Secretaty of State.

  Again it was Burleigh who took matters forward. 'And your proposals anent this Protestant alliance are, sirs?'

  "We propose that an alliance of our Protestant realms and Crowns of Scotland and England shall ensure and cherish Her Grace's northern borders from all assault, shall act together against the attacks of all Catholic states and princes. We shall also send ships and soldiers to aid in your landward defence.'

  Five pairs of eyes searched Patrick's face intently, wondering. David's also. Such proposals, indeed, seemed barely credible, in view of Scotland's traditional need and policy to play off her powerful southern neighbour against France and Spain; it was, moreover, the reversal of all the trend of Arran's, and indeed Patrick's, previous outlook. Well might they stare.

  Patrick went on, easily. 'In addition, it is proposed that our prince shall agree not to marry for three years, during which time it is hoped that Your Grace will find a suitable English lady worthy to be his queen.'

  Even Walsingham could scarcely forbear to look surprised at this extraordinary piece of conciliation. Elizabeth's known dread of James producing a son and heir was not merely the pathological jealousy of a barren woman who could not herself do the same; a son would make him more desirable as heir to her own throne, for nothing was more necessary to the stability and internal peace of England than the assurance and continuity of the succession. It was the Queen's fear that if James had a son, some might prefer to see this desired stability established sooner rather than later; it was not as though the threat of assassination was unheard of. This proposed concession, therefore, could mean a lot in security – and the selecting of a bride for the Scots king an opportunity to sway him and his country greatly.

  'And the price?' That was Elizabeth herself, the first words that she had spoken in this audience. They were all but jerked out of her.

  Patrick gestured magnanimously, as though any sort of bargaining was hardly to be considered. 'Only Your Grace's goodwill,' he
said. 'Your continuing affection for our prince and people.'

  'I would not wish to name you liar, Master of Gray! The price?'

  'It is nothing, Madam – or little. Agreement to a limited Association in the Scottish Crown of our prince and his mother; your declared acceptance of King James as your eventual heir – which may Almighty God delay for a lifetime yet – and meantime a suitable annual pension, so that His Grace may worthily maintain a style apt for your successor. That, and the return to Scotland and their due trial, of the intransigent Ruthven lords, who now harass my prince's borders from your kingdom – the lords Mar, Lindsay, Bothwell, Master of Glamis, and the rest'

  Elizabeth's snort was undisguised and eloquent.

  Burleigh spoke. 'A pension, young man? Is your prince a beggar, then?'

  'Not so, my lord – but I think that you will agree that he has much to offer that you need.'

  'Need, sir?' Walsingham said flatly. 'You mistake your word, I think.'

  'Perhaps I do. You undoubtedly will know better whether or no you need a secure northern border. Or an ally against Spain, France, the Empire and the Pope.'

  'How large a pension does King James look for, sir?' Sir Christopher Hatton asked.

  That, of course, he leaves to the generosity of Her Grace -who, to be sure, knows well what a crowned monarch may suitably give or receive.'

  The Queen grimaced.

  'Any Association in the Crown would require the return of the former princess, Mary Stuart, to Scotland,' Burleigh observed.

  'Which is not to be considered' Elizabeth added incisively.

  'Queen Mary in Scotland would mean fewer plots and intrigues in England, Highness.'

  Think you that Mary, once in Scotland, would lose a day in snatching back her throne from under her son? Or another day in plotting to have mine from under me! God's death, man – do you take me for a fool?'

  'I take you, Madam, for a great princess who knows wherein lies her own strength and others' weakness. It has been sixteen long years since Queen Mary became your… guest. In such time, undoubtedly, she will have changed much, learned much. But, alas, in that time also she has had little to occupy her save to plot and intrigue. Give her back work to do, her kingdom to part-rule, and she will have but little time for plotting.'

  'You admit, then, that she plots and schemes against me, sir?1

  'To be sure. Though not against Your Grace, but for her own freedom. It is inconceivable that a woman of spirit would not do so. I dare to suggest that Your Highness, in a like plight, would do no less.'

  'You are very persuasive, Master of Gray, but I am not yet persuaded! This will all require much consideration.'

  'In a defensive Protestant alliance, sir, how could a Catholic

  princess concur?' Burleigh demanded. 'Will Mary Stuart reform her religion?'

  Three years, I think you suggested, sir, that your prince would remain unmarried, the dark younger man put in. 'Is this King James's own desire, or only his advisers'?'

  'The banished lords of the Ruthven venture are all good Protestants,' Walsingham declared. 'In the event of a Protestant league, will they be pardoned and their estates restored?'

  For a while Patrick answered a bombardment of questions as to details in his own skilful, quick-witted fashion, elaborating, explaining, reassuring, good-humoured and unflurried throughout despite the atmosphere almost of a trial that prevailed, with three prisoners at the bar, rather than the audience of envoys of an independent monarch. Orkney ventured one or two insertions, had them savaged by the trained and fiercely keen minds of the Queen's ministers, and was thereafter glad to leave all to his colleague. David, wondering at his brother's ability, wondering at what lay behind his proposals, wondering at the unfailing arrogance of these Englishmen's attitude, noticed the Queen's eyes often upon him, and sought to school his countenance to a determined impassivity in consequence – achieving in fact only an implacable glower.

  At length, it was at David rather than to him that Elizabeth spoke. 'I have been watching your secretary. Master of Gray -and seldom have I seen a man less sure of his cause. You have been mightily eloquent, but I think that you have not convinced Master David any more than you have convinced me! You may retire now. I shall consider all that you have said, in council with my ministers, and shall inform you in due course. Meanwhile,' her eyes glinted, 'tomorrow being our Lord's Day, I shall expect to see you at good Protestant worship. At our Chapel of Saint John the Divine. Ten of the clock. You have my leave to retire, sirs.'

  They backed out of a distinctly hostile and unbelieving presence.

  Patrick spent the afternoon with Sir Philip Sidney, with whom he seemed to have struck up a spontaneous friendship, and it was evening before David saw him alone.

  'You look even more gloomy that your usual, Davy,' Patrick declared gaily. 'Does the English food lie heavy on your stomach?'

  'I cannot see that you have much cause for cheer, yourself? David gave back. 'Your mission scarcely prospers, I think. The Queen and those others will have none of it. Nor do I blame them if they scarce believe what you now propose.'

  'Do not tell me that you have become a doubter!' his brother mocked

  'Who would not doubt your Protestant alliance, man? Or King James's sudden desire for an English wife? It is only a game that you play. But a dangerous game, I think.'

  'Heigho – but is not life itself a dangerous game also, Davy?'

  'Is it a woman's life that you are playing for? Mary the Queen's?'

  I suppose that you might say so, yes.'

  'Yet you admitted to Elizabeth that our princess was plotting against her.'

  'Why not? Walsingham has spies in Mary's very household, amongst her own attendants. Think you that they do not know well all that goes on?'

  'Yet you still hope to effect her release?'

  'Hope, yes. That today was but a beginning, a formality. I shall be seeing the Queen again, later. In private. Philip Sidney is to arrange it Then, it may be, I shall get her to sing a different tune.'

  'By singing first another tune yourself?'

  'Why, as to that, who knows? You would not have me to go beyond my mission, Davy?' He smiled 'Have you seen Marie?'

  Aye – she is over in the Earl of Essex's precincts, with a host of English lordlings round her and her sisters.'

  That may please her father – but I think that I must go rescue her, nevertheless. It would be a pity if she was to become entangled, would it not?'

  David did not answer.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  NONE sang the hymns more joyfully and tunefully, none made their responses or said their Amens more fervently than did Patrick Gray next morning in the Church of Saint John the Divine attached to the Palace of Whitehall. The Queen watched him shrewdly from her throne-like seat just within the Chancel; she had had the Scots party placed in the very front seat, a bare half-dozen yards from herself, where she could observe their every expression. David found her imperious yet inquisitive gaze frequently upon himself, and though he was a good enough Protestant, grew the more uncomfortable. Not so his brother, most obviously.

  After the service, Sir Philip Sidney came up to Patrick, and David heard him say, low-voiced, that the Queen would see him privately that night Marie Stewart, walking beside him, looked at David

  'You heard that?' she said Tonight Perhaps you will learn now the answers to some of the questions that we ask ourselves.'

  But when Sidney came to conduct him to Elizabeth late that evening, Patrick did not ask his brother to accompany him.

  This time Patrick was taken to a small library in the Queen's own wing of the palace, where Elizabeth sat alone before a fire. She eyed him coolly.

  'WelI, Master Patrick,' she said, unsmiling. 'It is not every envoy who requires three audiences! My good Philip here has persuaded me to see you once more. I hope that it is to good purpose!'

  'I am grateful to Your Grace – and also to Sir Philip. I do not think that you will re
gret this condescension, Madam.' 'No? What is it to be this time, sir? Poetry, or child's stories?' 'Neither, Highness. Now- you hear what was not to be said formerly.'

  'But by you only, eh, my friend? Not my Lord Orkney, nor even in your brother's hearing?' 'That is so. Your Grace.'

  'I see. Philip, leave us. I am not to be disturbed until I ring this bell.' 'Of course, Majesty.'

  When Sidney had gone, the Queen made room for Patrick on the couch on which she was sitting. 'Come, sit here, my handsome liar,' she commanded. 'As well that you are so well-favoured, or even for Philip Sidney I would not have allowed this. But do not think that you can cozen me with your pretty face any more than with your pretty words, sir.'

  'I would that I might, fairest lady – for other advantage than matters of state!' Patrick asserted boldly. 'It would be a joy -reserved alas for a prince or an angel!'

  'But not a devil, sir, not a devil – in especial a Scots devil.' She leaned over closer, so that the white but no longer youthful bosom divided for him, and tapped him with her fan. 'Am I safe with you, Master Patrick – a helpless woman?'

  That is a difficult question, Madam,' he said cunningly. To which it would be difficult to answer yes or no. Shall we say that you are no safer than you would wish to be?'

  'Clever,' she gave back. Too clever. Do not presume on your cleverness, Patrick. For I am clever, too!' Reaching out, she first caressed his ear – and then suddenly tweaked it, hard. 'You will remember that, will you not, Patrick?'

  'Assuredly, my lady,' he told her, and smiled. 'It is not a matter which I could forget'

  'Good. Then we may get on very well.' The Queen took his hand in hers, and stroked it 'And so, my friend – what have you to tell me?'

  'First, lovely one, this.' Patrick drew from his doublet a fine gold chain on which hung a handsomely-wrought heart-shaped locket set with diamonds and amethysts. Carefully withdrawing his other hand, he leaned over to clasp this round the royal neck. The locket itself he guided gently into the hollow between the Queen's small breasts. When she did not stir, he allowed his hand to linger there.