'Might have…! If… Might have…!' Patrick scoffed. He snapped fingers in the air, "That for your further evidence! In your generalities, sir, you are as enfeebled as in your particulars. No word that you have spoken would convince of my guilt the most heather-toed sheriff in all this land – much less the lords of His Grace's Privy Council. Indeed, I am ashamed for you, man -I had thought that I bad trained you in statecraft better than this!' He turned a scornful shoulder on his accuser, and squarely faced the ranked Council. 'As for you, my lords,' he said with easy authority, as though he still presided over them. 'I need not tell you that your time has been wasted quite, this day. Nothing that has been put before you represents other than the fact that at sundry times Sir John Maitland has disagreed with my policies for His Grace's realm. But disagreed within himself, mark you – not, as was his plain duty in such case, before this Privy Council. I submit that all that you have before you here is the evidence of the spite and spleen of a small and twisted mind. The mind not of Stewart, my lords, for he is but a poor paid creature, unworthy of your attention – a mere jackal where his brother once was something of a lion!
But of Secretary Maitland himself, who now presumes to sit in presidency over your noble lordships…'
The acting Chancellor's gavel beat loudly on the table, but the Master of Gray spoke on, without so much as a glance towards the Chair.
'This dismal clerk, this knight of the scratching quill, now seeks to rule His Grace's Scotland! 'Mark it well, my lords! We have had many bonny masters in this realm, 'fore God – but never, I swear, such a gloomy piddling notary as this…!'
'Highness! Your Grace…!' Maitland cried, his creaking voice cracking indeed. 'This is intolerable! I protest! You must… I pray… I pray that you silence this, this scoffer, this mountebank! To speak thus, in Your Majesty's presence…!'
James, who had been alternately drawing off, sniffing at, and pulling on his heavily scented gloves, licked slack lips, and seemed to have difficulty in getting his tongue, once out,, back into its due place. 'Ooh, aye. Just that, aye,' he said thickly. 'Belike it's no proper, Sir John. You must speak otherwise, Patrick man… er, Master o' Gray. In our royal presence. Aye.'
'Sir, I intend to speak no more. I have nothing to answer in these paltry accusations. They do not merit the name of charges! I deny any and every suggestion that I have worked to other than the best interests of Your Grace and your realm. I never sought the office of Chancellor – indeed I have refused it time and again – but while I have been Your Grace's Minister it has been my duty to advise on sundry policies. If these policies have been mistaken, then it was for this Privy Council to decide and pronounce thereon. There was no need for this absurd impeachment. I rest content in the assurance of Your Grace's and your lordships' wise judgment'
'Wait a bit, man – no' so fast! Wait you,' the King mumbled. ' We are no' finished yet, Patrick. Are we, Sir John?'
'We are not Your Grace!' Maitland declared tightly, and smiled, actually smiled.
David Gray, at the clerks' table, sat forward, as indeed did most others in that great chamber. He had never before seen Maitland to smile, and the effect was somehow ominous, chilling, in the extreme. Hitherto his brother had dominated the entire proceedings. David had recognised it, better than any other, as a brilliant performance, perceiving all the innuendoes, the side-blows, the playing on weaknesses and prejudices of his hearers, the thin ice over which Patrick had skated with such apparent confidence and authority. David indeed had almost begun to believe in the possibility of an acquittal, despite the fact that he knew that this was a trumped-up trial, arranged beforehand not only by Maitland and Stewart, but by the King and the Council also; that Patrick had been selected for the role of scapegoat. The Master of Gray's personal ascendancy and consummate skill might have achieved, if not complete triumph and a reversal of the situation, at least a modified success. But, of a sudden, the entire atmosphere seemed to change at Maitland's thin smile and the King's unusual assurance and obvious knowledge of something vital yet to come.
'Aye, out with it!' Johnny Mar exclaimed. 'The matter o' the Queen.'
'Proceed, Sir William,' Maitland ordered.
Stewart leaned over the table,, and raised a hand to point at Patrick. 'I further charge that, for sumptuous reward in England, the Master of Gray did, while especial ambassador for the release and saving of the King's royal mother, conspire, advise and consent to the death of Queen Alary of this realm!'
For long moments there was complete silence in the Council Chamber, broken only by James's heavy, throaty breathing.
Patrick's voice, when at length he found it, was strangely uncertain, almost breathless. 'That is… a lie,' he said.
'We have ample proof that it is not!' Stewart assured. 'From the most lofty and certain sources. I hereby charge the Master of Gray, not only with compounding the death of the Queen, but of urging it and working for it, in foullest treachery and treason!'
Patrick stared at his accuser, seemingly all but mesmerised by the still pointing hand. The difference in his aspect and attitude from heretofore was markedly evident to all.
The stout goose-quill pen which David held, snapped broken in his hand with a crack which sounded through the room, as he gazed at his brother.
'The proofs, Sir William – let us have the proofs,' the Master of Glamis demanded, into the hush.
Stewart held up a paper. 'I have a letter here, written to Sir John Maitland as Secretary of State, by Sir Francis Walsingham, principal Secretary of State to Her Grace of England. In it he declares that after making public protest against – the sentence of death, before the Queen and her Council at Greenwich Palace, the Master of Gray did privately seek audience of Queen
Elizabeth, and there did urge and persuade her to the signing of the death warrant, which Her Grace was in doubts as to doing. He told her the words. "The dead do not bite!" and declared that while Queen Mary lived, Queen Elizabeth's own life must be in danger, thereby persuading Her Grace to the death. Moreover, he counselled that some other means might be found to encompass our princess's bloody fate, more secret and convenient than the headsman's axe, if this puked Her Grace. And he assured Elizabeth that there would be no uprising or commotion in Scotland over the said death, but only a few slogans shouted. That the folk cared not for their Queen, that the lords were hypocrites and windbags all, and that naught need be feared of fury from the King…'
'It is untrue!' Patrick cried. 'Lies – all damnable lies!' Curiously, he had turned around, so that it was at the clerk's table that he looked, not at his accuser, his King nor his judges. 'I tell you, it is false. Walsingham lies. He would divide us. He fears the invasion of his realm. He would have us fight each other, not England! It is ever the English way…'
David sat, eyes wide, but unseeeing, motionless, as though turned to stone.
'Do you deny that you had this private audience with Queen Elizabeth?' Stewart demanded, notably confident now.
'No. That I sought on our prince's direct command.' He turned to look at James. 'It was for another purpose, as His Grace knows well.'
'But you used the opportunity to press for the death of your Queen!'
'No! I deny it I would never do such a thing. You have no proof – save the accusation of Walsingham who hates me, who hates Scotland.' That was said with violence but a certain lack of assurance, and Patrick's eyes now rested on the pile of papers in front of his accuser, tensely, as though his allegation of lack of proof held a question-mark behind it, and out from those papers one might materialise which would answer his question.
'We have clear proof, other than Walsingham's word,' Stewart nodded grimly. 'Is it your wish that it should be produced, Master of Gray?' In his hand, now, was a faded folded parchment, discoloured by years.
For seconds on end there was no sound nor movement in that chamber. Patrick Gray moistened his lips, but no words came. The silence became almost unbearable. That parchment, the accursed Deed of Abdi
cation, had been Mary's real death warrant; now, it could equally well be his own. It could condemn him, utterly. Elizabeth had played false, in the end. But… why was Stewart not reading it out? Why this asking him if he wished it to be produced? Because, of course, if it was proof of his guilt, it was also proof that Mary at her death, and for eighteen years, had been no longer true Queen of Scots – thus lowering his offence from highest treason to something less. That reluctance to publish this lost and forgotten document might yet save him…
As Patrick hesitated, on the horns of this dire dilemma, Maitland shook his head at Stewart, almost imperceptibly, and looking along at the King, nodded
It was James, therefore, who broke the throbbing silence, less than willingly it seemed. Swallowing loudly twice, he licked his hps, and after a false start, spoke. 'I… we ourself can testify to, to this matter. That the Master o' Gray willed our royal mother's death. He… he advised us that it would be best. Best for our Crown and realm. Mair than once, aye.' The King kept his lolling head down, looking at none.
Swiftly Maitland took him up. 'Your Grace – we are beholden to you. My lords, what need have we of further evidence? The King's testimony is final and cannot be overturned or questioned. The Master of Gray stands condemned of advising and contriving the death of His Grace's royal mother. If nothing else is accepted against him, this is sufficient indictment. How say you, my lords?
'Aye, he is guilty!' Bothwell exclaimed 'Guilty as Judas Iscariot!'
'After our command that he take sure and immediate action to save her, yon time!' Angus cried 'He didna believe that Elizabeth would sign the warrant! He misnamed Archie Douglas for saying that she would! And all the time – this!'
The Master of Glamis spoke gratingly. 'Always the man was a dastard – have I no' told you so? A forsworn rogue. Away with him!'
'Aye, his guilt is assured Manifest' 'My lords,' Maitland began, primly correct 'If this Council is duly…'
Patrick interrupted him urgently. 'My lords – hear me. Since His Grace has spoken, my lips are unsealed Hitherto I could not speak you plainly, owing secrecy to the King's privy affairs. But now…! You have heard His Grace's own testimony. How that I advised him for the good of his Crown and realm. I did so advise him, yes. That for Scotland's sake and his own, his mother would be better dead. I admit it Indeed I tell you, assure you, that it is so. While Mary lived, she would not abate one jot of her claim to this throne. To her, His Grace was but a child, a princeling, usurping her Grown. No King. And you, my lords, therefore, no true Council. While she lived, Elizabeth's life and throne were in danger, and there could be no peace between Scotland and England. While she lived, our prince could never be named successor to Elizabeth's throne. While she lived, Philip of Spain stood heir to Scotland – she had nominated him so. With all inducement to invade and take, in Mary's name, what she had given him. While she lived, therefore, the Protestant cause, in which I was born and reared, stood menaced., It was Mary or war, my lords.'
'Away with him! He is a Papist rat himself!'
'Heed him not He lies, as always.'
'It is the truth. Think, my lords – use the wits God has given you. You are of the Kirk, all of you – Protestant. You raised no hand to free Mary, all the years of her captivity. You were content You called her the Whore of Babylon, the Pope's Harlot! You would have none of her. Why – if I am wrong…?'
'Master of Gray,' Maitland said, hammering with his gavel. 'What you say is nothing to the point. You are impeached on a charge of treason in that, contrary to the express and solemn instruction of the King and this Council, when sent to strive and treat for the life of Mary the Queen, contrariwise you did advise and contrive her shameful and bloody death. Which infamous and treasonable deed you have admitted…'
'Not treasonable – no, sir. Since Mary was abdicate, and no longer Queen of Scots, how can it be treason?'
'Any act contrary to the King's interests and given command is treason, sir.'
''Even if His Grace knew and approved?'
'Silence, sir! How dare you drag His Majesty into your base treacheries!' Maitland exclaimed. 'Sire, we have had patience enough, have we not?'
'Aye. Oh, aye,' James agreed hurriedly.
'My lords, you have found the Master of Gray guilty of treason. The penalty of treason is death. Can any of your lordships state reason Why the said penalty of death be not passed upon the said Master of Gray?'
'No! None!'
'Away with him! Send him after Mary!'
'If any man deserves to die, Gray does.'
James half-rose, and leaned over to tap the acting Chancellor's arm, hesitantly.
Hastily Maitland spoke, feigning not to notice the King. 'You judge well, my lords. Anything less than death, and our own heads would be forfeit, I do declare! The folk are roused, as I have never known them. They will have their vengeance on their Queen's murderer, that is certain. If we fail in our plain duty, they will not deal lightly with us – nothing is surer. With any of us!' He glanced at the King now. 'The Crown itself might not survive. A people roused is no' a thing to gainsay, I tell you.'
James subsided into his Chair of State again – plucking at his lip.
Maitland stood up. 'I declare the findings of this most high Privy Council to be, then, that Patrick Master of Gray is hereby found guilty of the heinous and monstrous crime of treason against his sovereign lord King James., whom God protect, and is in consequence worthy and deserving of the punishment of death. Which punishment shall be achieved, according to the law of this realm, cutting off the said Master of Gray his head from his body, at such hour and place as the King's Grace shall command. And this is pronounced for doom. God save the King!'
'God save the King!'
'God save the King!'
'Captain of the Guard, to your duty. Tate the prisoner away, and ward him in the castle of this Edinburgh, secure on peril of your own life!'
Patrick Gray was marched from the Council Chamber, looking neither to left nor to right
Chapter Thirty-two
THE brothers faced each other at last, in a dim, damp, vaulted cell of Edinburgh Castle, with the heavy door locked upon them and the clank of armed men pacing outside.
'Thank God that they have let you come, at length, Davy!' Patrick cried. 'I feared that they were not going to allow you to visit me, for all my pleading, Man, it is good to see you.'
David stood stiffly, just inside the door, looking stonily ahead of him. 'No man prevented me from coming to see you, save my own self, Patrick,' he said evenly, his voice flat..
The other searched his face urgently in the gloom, 'So-o-o! That is the way of it, is it, Davy? I am sorry. But at the-least, you have come now, at last.'
'Only because I heard that the day of your, your execution has been set for Thursday. I take it that there will be matters which you will wish to be arranged? Charges which I may be able to carry out for you… i'
'By God, there are! A-plenty! And but three days to do it in, curse them! The folly of it – the utter senseless folly! Frightened bairns, scared of their own shadows! It is hard, hard, to be so trammelled by fools and paltry knaves, Davy. And now they have left me so little time – so much to be done in so short a space. They would let me see no one, Davy, ere this – not even Marie. How is she, man? How does she take all this.
'She is well enough. She bides with us in the Lawnmarket.'
'Good. That is well. But… why have they let you in, Davy, and not Marie?'
'I do not know. I came, and none hindered me.'
They have not sent you with some message for, me? Some proposition, perhaps?'
'No. I came of my own accord. I have seen none in authority.'
'Ah, well – it matters not so long as you are here.' Patrick began to pace up and down his restricted floor. 'Listen well then, Davy, here is what is to be done, and quickly. You must win your way into the King's presence, and seek a royal pardon -annulment of this ridulous death sentence. Have it reduc
ed to imprisonment, forfeiture banishment – anything. Any of these I can deal with well enough, in my own time…'
I cannot, Patrick.'
'Och, man, I know it will not be easy for you to gain Jamese's presence; as matters lie. They will keep you from him, if they can. But it must be done, and it can be done. You must get one of the great lords to convey you in – one who has the King's ear. It will have to be a Catholic – for none of the Protestants will oblige you, I swear. It had better be Huntly – he is a far-out cousin of ours, and as lieutenant of the North, the most powerful Our Ruthven friends cannot prevent Huntly from seeing the King-and you with him. Not yet…'
'It is of no use, Patrick…'
Tut – do not be ever so damnably gloomy! Huntly will do it, I promise you – if suitably induced. He is no different from other men, dock o' the North though he be. Offer him, in my name, the Abbey of Dunfermline. It is the richest plum in an Scotland George Gordon of Huntly will accept it, never fear.'
That is not what concerns me, I tell you…'
If it is the King, Davy, I think you need have no fear either. James's heart was not in yon business. He is not set against me, and cannot wish my death. He would have spoken against the death sentence, yon time, had not Maitland silenced him with fool's talk about the folk's wrath. Indeed, I cannot think what they used to turn him thus far against me. It was not the business of his mother, or Walsingham's letter, I swear…'
'I can tell you what turned him,' David said grimly. 'If your own conscience does not. The Ruthven lords told him who was truly responsible for Esme Stuart's downfall and death.'
'Tcha – that! An old story, and no proving it He was but a bairn then…'
'But James has never forgotten it He loved his Cousin Esme, Patrick, as he has never loved another. James never forgets anything.'
Lord and Master mog-1 Page 45
