Tudors Versus Stewarts

by Linda Porter

  Margaret Tudor was not quite twenty-four years old when she was widowed. She had been ten years the consort of a dynamic king. In that time she had wanted for nothing and, even if James was not a faithful husband, he had treated her with the respect due to her rank and they had worked together to enhance the Stewart monarchy. Eventually, after the sad loss of several babies, she had born him a bonny son to carry on his name. By now, she knew for sure that she was pregnant again and believed that this would make her more secure. Still, her situation was very far from enviable. Although she had watched James rule, she had no direct experience of government. And her husband’s will contained one notable restriction. Margaret’s regency was contingent on her never remarrying. This was not because James IV wanted to tie her to some lifelong devotion to his memory but because he realized that a second marriage would inevitably compromise her position. A foreign husband of appropriate rank would surely mean that she had to leave Scotland and could have no further role in her son’s upbringing and preparation for adult rule. A spouse drawn from the Scottish nobility, on the other hand, might lead to civil war. The rival great families would not sit quietly by while one of their number effectively dominated Scottish politics.

  Doubts about the queen’s marital intentions were, for the time, put aside or, at least, subsumed in a greater area of concern. Margaret may have learned Scots and tried in every way to demonstrate her commitment to Scotland but she was English by birth. Her brother’s declaration that he was overlord of Scotland was very ill-received by her late husband and his lords and could not be forgotten. There was suspicion that the queen did not know where her true loyalties lay. This, and the fact that women rulers were regarded with hostility and suspicion throughout Europe, would prove a severe challenge now that fate had compelled her to step out of her husband’s shadow and try to lead Scotland in his stead.

  History has not been kind to Margaret but the view that she was an oversexed whinger who was always more concerned about her wardrobe and the company of handsome young men than the well-being of Scotland overlooks the complex reality of her life after the death of James IV. Her immediate response to personal tragedy and the country’s overwhelming loss was one of determination and dignity. Leaving Linlithgow, she travelled to Stirling, her dower palace, taking the little King James with her. She summoned a general council to meet there on 19 September, called a parliament for December and oversaw the arrangements for her son’s coronation. He was, and would remain, the focus of her life, a love that cost her dearly and one that James V himself never really appreciated.

  The Mourning Coronation, as the crowning of James V is known, took place on 21 September 1513. It was a sad affair and nothing is known about the ceremonial or those who attended beyond the council records that outlined the arrangements, in which it was noted:

  The lords think it expedient and it please the queen’s grace that the king our sovereign lord be crowned on Wednesday next to come, the twenty-first day of this month of September in the church of the castle of Stirling and that my lord of Glasgow [Archbishop James Beaton] be executor officii and provide therefore, and that all other necessary provision be made for the said coronation again the same day.3

  Apart from Beaton and James V, the names of the other participants remain unknown, although we can be reasonably certain that the holders of the great hereditary ceremonial offices – William Keith, the earl marischal, and William Hay, earl of Errol, the constable of Scotland – would have been present. So, too, would the queen mother and some of the lords appointed to advise her, such as the earls of Angus, Huntly, Morton, Argyll and Lennox.

  The king himself was only seventeen months old and cannot have understood the ceremony. He would have been anointed with oil and given the regalia – his sword, sceptre and spurs – to touch, but could not take the oath himself; someone else had to speak it on his behalf. It has been suggested that he was carried into the church by a trusted servant, perhaps Sir David Lindsay of the Mount, the poet and courtier who was his master usher and who played an important part in his upbringing. The little king might have been more startled than gratified by the oath of loyalty made by the congregation, the peers of the realm kneeling before him to declare their fealty individually, followed by the singing of psalms and playing of trumpets. But when the ceremonial, however hastily convened and adapted to circumstances, was over, there could be no doubt that James V was King of Scots in the eyes of God and man.

  Those around him were still struggling to come to terms with what had happened to their country and to contemplate what its future might be. As ‘tutrix’ (her official title in James IV’s will), his mother expected to play a major role in his upbringing and, in so doing, effectively to rule Scotland on his behalf, through what would be a long minority. If the child she was carrying proved to be another son, then this should, in theory, strengthen her position. The reality, however, would turn out to be much less straightforward and the physical restrictions of pregnancy itself somewhat limited Margaret’s options in the months after Flodden. She did attempt to take as active a part in the business of government as her health permitted, though, attending council meetings and issuing instructions and requests even shortly before she gave birth.4 No one could deny the terms of James IV’s will but this did not mean that it would be acceptable to the magnates of Scotland or that Margaret’s comprehensive interpretation of her role would go unchallenged. Indeed, it very soon became apparent that there was an alternative and one that was far from palatable to the queen or to her brother, Henry VIII.

  The tradition of a near male relative acting as regent for a king during his minority was more acceptable than placing a woman in this role, despite the fact that Mary of Gueldres, mother of James III, had performed this task competently in the 1460s. But the underlying suspicion that Margaret would promote English interests and essentially become an agent for her brother had not gone away. Given these considerations, some Scottish lords began to look elsewhere. The closest male relative to James V was his cousin once removed, John Stewart, duke of Albany, son and heir of the rebellious exiled brother of James III. But choosing Albany would bring problems of its own. He was French by birth, loyal servant of the king of France and had never set foot in Scotland. Pitting him against Queen Margaret was to personify the stresses of Scottish history. For it seemed that, whatever the outcome, the kingdom would become the tool of larger countries engaged in a European conflict. Yet both Margaret and Albany had much more concern for Scotland itself than their detractors realized.

  John (or Jehan, as he always signed himself) Stewart, second duke of Albany, was born in the Auvergne region of France, probably in the year 1482. His errant father had married a rich heiress after his flight to France. Although the extensive Scottish lands that came with the Albany title were forfeit, the title was still used at the French court. John Stewart was very young when his father died in a jousting accident and he was sent to court at an early age, where he learned the manners and diplomatic politesse that were to characterize his approach to governing the troubled realm of Scotland. Like all young courtiers of his time, he was also trained in military matters and his prowess was well regarded. After serving with some distinction in the Italian Wars, a highly advantageous match was made for him with his first cousin, Anne de la Tour, heiress to the count of Auvergne, in the year 1505. This made Albany a rich landowner and placed him firmly at the centre of those who served Louis XII. It would also give him a significant and often overlooked role in wider European politics when his sister-in-law, Madeleine, married the Italian duke of Urbino and gave birth to a daughter, Catherine de Medici. The deaths of both of her parents within a month of her birth meant that John Stewart was the closest surviving French male relative of a child whose wealth and connections made her a very attractive marriage prospect. As time would show, Albany took his responsibilities to his niece seriously. Yet though he grew up speaking only French, he did not forget his Scottish heritage. During the reign
of James IV, he corresponded with the king, also his first cousin, and undertook a couple of diplomatic missions to the pope on James’s behalf. Perhaps he hoped this would restore him to favour in Scotland because, at the end of 1512, Louis XII formally requested his Scottish ally to restore John Stewart to his father’s dukedom. It says something about the continuing doubts of the elder branch of the Stewart line about the younger that James IV did not respond.

  After Flodden, John Stewart’s position was fundamentally changed. Until Queen Margaret gave birth to her husband’s posthumous child, he was the heir presumptive to the Scottish throne. Even if Margaret produced another son, the proximity to the throne of an adult male who was close to the old ally, France, made Albany a serious contender for the role of regent, or ‘governor’, as he was officially styled. The queen may not have liked this at all but it presented an alternative that a considerable number of Scots involved in the political process found appealing.

  And those members of the Scottish polity who either survived Flodden or had not taken part in the battle were evidently keen to make their voices heard in the uncertain circumstances that their country faced. Some of this may have been prompted by self-interest and jockeying for position but there was genuine concern for the future of their country as well. The disaster at Flodden had left Scotland reeling and thrust a new and inexperienced generation into government but it did not bring to a halt the functioning of government itself. The general council meeting called by the queen at Stirling for 19 September was attended by twenty-three lords, twelve of whom were spiritual peers and the rest lay peers. Ten more lords, making a rather unwieldy total of thirty-three, were nominated to sit daily on the general council but it was soon decided, for the facilitation of the smooth functioning of political life, that the queen would be advised by a permanent body of six councillors.

  The emphasis was on continuity and filling roles caused by deaths on the battlefield. Lord Hume remained as chamberlain, despite his doubtful behaviour at Flodden, and was entrusted with keeping peace in the Borders. Patrick Paniter, James IV’s secretary, continued in that office. William Elphinstone, bishop of Aberdeen, whose service to the Scottish Crown went back to 1479, carried on as keeper of the privy seal and was named as ‘guardian’ to the infant king. Elphinstone was the natural choice for the vacant archbishopric of St Andrews but Pope Leo X, ever obstructive in Scottish ecclesiastical matters, refused to confirm him. For the time being the senior churchman in Scotland was the bishop of Glasgow, James Beaton, who crowned James V and was now propelled to the top rank of Scottish politics when he was appointed chancellor. This was a role that had declined in influence during the reign of James IV and the appointment of the pro-French Beaton, who had met Albany at the French court and favoured a role for him in Scottish politics, cannot have been welcome to Queen Margaret.

  As the months passed and her pregnancy progressed, the queen found herself increasingly preoccupied about if and when her authority (as she perceived it) would be challenged by the arrival of a French-born Stewart, the duke of Albany. Louis XII was happy to extend French influence in Scotland by parting with one of his most loyal courtiers but only when the moment suited France, and certainly not until the duke’s responsibilities and powers were clarified. From across the sea, Albany scented divisions arising within a month of the defeat at Flodden. In October 1513, he made his first intervention in Scottish politics, writing to the queen and her council to beg them that they ‘keep in agreement for the sake of the young king and his kingdom, since misfortune from outside may be remedied, but not internal misfortune. It seems therefore that they must be united and abandon all quarrels, for a united kingdom cannot be defeated or subjugated.’ He went on to beg his emissary, Alexandre de la Bastie, to remind Queen Margaret ‘to assist in the above matter which touches her more than any other’.5

  This measured plea was typical of Albany. It is all too easy to label the duke and his supporters as pro-French and Queen Margaret and hers as pro-English, but the truth was not so simple. And it is worth noting that the only letter that the queen received from England at this time was from her sister-in-law, commiserating with her on the death of her husband. In sharp contrast to the self-congratulatory epistle sent to Henry VIII, Katherine of Aragon had been moved, whether through genuine concern or because propriety demanded it, to acknowledge the blow dealt to Margaret. She even sent a friar north to offer spiritual comfort. The Queen of Scots thanked her politely but without warmth. There were no words of advice from Henry VIII, no call to his sister to foster unity in her country. Indeed, Henry may well have found it difficult to accept that Margaret could rule effectively in Scotland. He could never entirely overcome his resentment of her and the fact that a Tudor brother and sister now had the opportunity to decide the future of the British Isles was lost on him. Naturally, he did not want French influence to supplant her altogether but he wanted to remind her that it was his judgement of the Scots that would prevail in their mutual dealings. The Borders remained unstable, with Dacre undertaking frequent raids, and when Margaret wrote to Henry asking for a permanent peace he replied dismissively that ‘the Scots should have peace or war with him according to their own choice and behaviour.’ Thus reinforcing that he held the power and the Scots must essentially conform to his view of them as a subservient nation, Henry left his sister at the mercy of events at a time when she was most vulnerable, and opened the door to Albany.6

  That door had been ajar since 26 November 1513, when the general council held at Perth proposed the continuation of the Auld Alliance between France and Scotland and requested Albany to come with men and munitions to defend the country from continued English attacks. The council also suggested that there could be a division of power between the queen, as the physical keeper of the little James V, and Albany himself, as governor responsible for the day-to-day government of Scotland. This scheme had a precedent in the minority of James I of Scotland and it would have made Margaret, in theory at least, a figurehead not tainted by association with any particular family or interest. It would have been a difficult but not necessarily unrewarding role with perhaps more power than Margaret perceived. The only problem was that, with true Tudor spirit, the queen did not want to share control of Scotland in this ill-defined way. As the spring of 1514 arrived her thoughts were, however, directed to the approaching birth of her child.

  * * *

  ALEXANDER, DUKE OF ROSS, was born on 30 April 1514 at Linlithgow. He appeared to be a healthy baby and his arrival made the question of the succession in Scotland less pressing but it did not give his mother the boost to her authority that she was seeking. In fact, returning to the business of government and attending council meetings once she was recovered from the birth (apparently one of the more straightforward of Margaret’s deliveries) seems to have brought home to the queen her vulnerability. Yet even as she mulled over how to proceed, her councillors made it clear that they were still willing to accept her as regent under the terms of James IV’s will: ‘Madame, we are content to stand in one mind and will and to concur with all the Lords of the realm to the pleasure of our master the king’s grace, your grace, and for the common weal, and to use none other bands now nor in times to come in the contrary.’7 This declaration was made to the queen on 12 July. Evidently it did not inspire sufficient confidence in Margaret that she could continue alone. Within a month she had married for a second time, to Archibald Douglas, sixth earl of Angus, in a secret ceremony at the church of Kinnoull in Perthshire. It was to prove the biggest mistake of her life.

  Margaret knew very well the terms under which her children were entrusted to her care and guidance but she had not been able to live with the continuing uncertainty regarding her own ability to rule outright rather than live as a figurehead. Pressure of circumstances and a strong Tudor desire to obtain and exercise power propelled the queen into taking a fateful step. The parallels between her situation in 1514 and that of her granddaughter, Mary Stewart, in 1567 have not
always been adequately appreciated, but if Margaret was not physically coerced by the Douglases and their family allies, the Drummonds, in the way that Mary was by Bothwell half a century later, she may well have felt psychologically pressured to choose Archibald Douglas and his kin as protection in uncertain times. Clearly, she did not want to be entirely reliant on her brother, Henry VIII, nor was she anticipating that her actions would cause her to lose control of her sons. This second marriage was undertaken to ensure quite the opposite. Margaret did not want to leave Scotland. Henry VIII was in the process of marrying his younger sister, Mary, off to the ancient king of France and even if Margaret’s personal pride might have been piqued by being passed over in this way, she did not want to remain a disposable asset for her brother in the European marriage stakes.

  Seeking to control her own destiny, Queen Margaret had therefore to find a Scottish husband. There was no one who would have been universally acceptable – rivalries among the nobility were simply too great for that. Nor was there a wide selection of possible candidates. The duke of Albany might have been ideal but he was already married and even complete control of Scotland was unlikely to be sufficient inducement to divorce his enormously wealthy wife, with whom, in any case, he seems to have been reasonably happy. James Hamilton, earl of Arran, was next in line in the succession after Albany, but the legality of Arran’s divorce from his first wife was in doubt. Divorce in Scotland was a murky area, as Janet Kennedy’s career shows, but for those close to the throne the difficulties it threw up could not be so readily disregarded. Archibald Douglas offered the protection and influence of a long-established family (albeit one whose loyalty was first and foremost to themselves rather than the Crown of Scotland), powerful in southern Scotland and largely Anglophile in outlook. It is likely that expediency, rather than any great sexual passion on the queen’s part, made him the only choice for her. Their courtship was, of necessity, brief because Margaret felt that her ability to influence Scottish politics was diminishing fast and the Douglases did not want her to change her mind.