The Wisest Fool

by Nigel Tranter

  That all this should be the private establishment of one of his subjects, gave King James much food for thought, more especially in the present state of the national exchequer. George Heriot's reactions were no less assessing, if less predatory.

  When Lennox and he arrived, it transpired that the King had been away buck-hunting for hours; while the Queen was off hawking over the heronries of the Avon. Heriot had a room allotted to him in what appeared to be a stable-wing—but found no cause for complaint.

  It was there that Alison Primrose came to him, presently, all cheer and welcome. "Duke Vicky told me that you were come," she cried, running up to take his hand. "I am glad, glad."

  Although the man had well warned himself that he must watch his step very carefully with this child, that he was in danger of making a fool and spectacle of himself over a slip of a girl much less than half his own age—and worse, possibly damage her good name, precious even in this licentious Court—it was difficult not to respond frankly and in kind to her uninhibited greeting. Especally when he could by no means deny his fondness for the lassie, and would not hurt her for all the wealth of Wilton. He gripped her arms more strongly than he knew—and found nothing to say, by design or otherwise.

  "You are so solid a person, Master Geordie! Not like most of those I see—not like any of them, to be sure. Even the Duke."

  Strangely, despite all his wise resolutions, the man was distinctly cast down at this description of himself as solid. Was that what he seemed to this lightsome bairn—solid, dull, a stodgy old man ? No danger to any young woman! He cleared his throat.

  "Solidity comes with age—like other things 1" he said, a trifle stiffly. "It must be my years weighing me down."

  "How old are you?" she asked, matter-of-fact, interested.

  "Forty at my next birthday, child!"

  "You are older than the King?" She gazed at him, big-eyed. 'The King is but newly thirty-seven—the Queen says so. And he looks an old man. How strange."

  He frowned darkly. "My great age is unfortunate—but need not concern you!" he declared, sourly for George Heriot. "I hope to live for a few years yet!"

  She burst into her ready laughter. "Poor, aged Master Geordie 1 You only look old when you frown! So frown no more on Alison Primrose—who disbelieves in years anyway."

  "You do ? How is that, pray ? "

  'Tears, I think, have little do to with age. The King, I swear, was born old. As was my father—aged by the time he was thirty. While the Queen now, although nearly thirty, is still a child-younger than I am, in truth! As is the Duke. Ageing is something of the spirit, not of years."

  "Indeed." Warily the man eyed this surprising juvenile. "I think that you are possibly right But . . . where does that leave me, child?"

  "Old enough to know better than to name me child" she answered him swiftly.

  'M'mm. In such case, girl, the sooner we are out from this bedchamber, the better for your name and reputation," he said grimly. 'There will be plenty here to watch and whisper, I have no doubt"

  "To be sure," she acceded. "Not that I care—since reputations here are the other way quite! Only those who do not bed with men are talked about! Conceived to be in some way incomplete, scarce true women. But, come—I will take and show you the water-gardens. They are quite wonderful. And all can dally there, for all others to view"

  Shaken, he opened the door for her. Cheerfully, companionably, she took his arm and led him off, through the maze of corridors and courtyards.

  It was a golden October afternoon, with white strutting doves croodling on every roof and arbour, and a faint mellow haze over all. Through the formal Italian gardens, where elegant groups strolled and flirted amidst highly erotic statuary, they came down a terrace to the lower, sunken water-gardens amongst the canals and ponds, where ornamental water-fowl quacked and squattered, and tall reeds, drooping willows and cunningly contrived bowers offered Eros a more active playground for those a stage further than flirtation. Nearly every neuk and corner seemed to be filled with busy couples, at most of which Alison glanced with every appearance of interest—until the man demanded to know whether she had brought him here with the express purpose of displaying this prolonged peep-show.

  "Why, yes—in part," she admitted frankly. "That you might perceive what reputations mean at this Court And likewise age! For you will see grey hairs a-plenty in these bushes, I vow, if you but look. But mainly I came here to row out to one of these many islets. In the lochans. There are gondolas. Where we may talk without fear of being overheard, Master Geordie—of this of the Lady Arabella."

  "Eh ...?. You know of this, then? This new plot?"

  "To be sure. Duke Vicky told me of Mistress Mary's letter. We are here to watch over the Queen, you know." This was in the nature of a mild rebuke. "And there are few places, and times, in this Wilton, where one may talk safely."

  "I see. The Duke did not tell me that he had confided in you."

  "But he does, frequently. Mistress Mary sends me many messages. And I her. But through Duke Vicky—since it would look strange, would it not, for such as Alison Primrose to receive many letters from Scotland?"

  "So. You act the spy then, for Mary Gray, in Queen Anne's household ! That is the truth of it?"

  "Yes," she agreed simply. "But—less loud, if you please I All ears here may not be deafened by houghmagandie!"

  He swallowed audibly.

  There were many gaily-painted gondolas moored by the waterside paths. Picking one, Alison hitched her skirts high, and stepped in. "My lord of Pembroke is very thoughtful," she remarked. "See—there are kerchiefs here stowed. Cushions. A little wine-flagon in each boat. Sweetmeats. Also towels—most useful. And fishing-lines. There are fish of all sorts and colours. Do you wish to fish ?"

  "Thank you, no," he said, getting in and taking up the oars.

  Alison steered them out to one of the willow-grown islets, where the stones of a moss-grown temple showed through the trees. A tiny inlet screened by weeping branches led in—and as the gondola nosed into this, the girl in the stern opened her mouth, clapped a hand over it, and pointed with the other hand past Heriot’s person. He turned, and looked over his shoulder.

  Another gondola was already in possession of the inlet. And on the shallow floor of it two large white thighs and bent pink knees were upraised, with a leaner bare bottom vigorous between. Heriot reversed his strokes, and backed out quickly.

  Pink also, but with suppressed laughter and far from repressed delight, Alison managed to contain her mirth until they were out into the open water again.

  "Lady Carey!" she gurgled. 'The superior and pious Lady Carey! Dotes on Jesuit priests. Confession every morning. Her husband out hunting with the King. A plague on it that I could not see from, from—well, who the man was !"

  "I should say not!" Heriot reproved. "You are a shameless, er, young woman !"

  "Shameless ? What have I to be ashamed of ? Any shame, surely, is the Lady Carey's."

  "I do not see how you can be so certain that it was the Lady Carey. I certainly... er, h'mm..."

  Joyous laughter. "Could you not, Master George! But then, perhaps, you suffer under certain disadvantages? Women have their own certainties."

  He had the sense not to debate that

  The next islet they came to, they were more wary. But a circuit revealed no other boat They landed, and moved up to a lichened stone bench beside a marble satyr and a full-breasted nymph.

  "Wilton is clearly a place for virile folk," the man commented, sitting. "Are you satisfied with our secrecy, Alison?"

  "That is the first time that you have called me only by my given name!" She said.

  "Is it? I had not realised it!"

  "So I may call you Geordie? Without the Master?"

  "Sakes—you could have called me that from the day we met, girl. Most others do."

  "But I am so young, you see. Little better than a child!"

  "Have mercy, lassie! You have proved your point, I swear!
" He took her hand, opened it, and pressed a kiss therein. "This is a woman's hand." He leaned over, and lightly brushed her parted lips with his own. "And that is a woman's mouth. From this on, you are a woman to me, Alison Primrose, I promise you."

  She took a deep breath, and sat for long moments unspeaking, staring straight ahead of her. Then she turned to smile at him, warmly, glowingly, put her hand back in his, and so sat

  Not a little moved, the man was as silent as she.

  At length he spoke, evenly. "About the Lady Arabella? You have something to tell me?"

  She sighed a little. 'Yes. She is coming here."

  "Here? To Wilton? Surely not The King has kept her from Court. As did Elizabeth. And now—this plot!"

  "I heard the Countess of Kildare tell the Countess of Bedford. And she is a Howard and knows all that goes on. Lady Kildare. Although she is not truly Countess of Kildare any more, since she is secretly wed to the Lord Cobham.. "

  "She is? Cobham? He—that is one of those named. In the letter."

  "Yes. With Sir Walter Raleigh, who is his cousin. And the Lord Grey de Wilton. Cobham and Grey are here also. But not Raleigh."

  "No. He has offended the King. By declaring that there could be no peace with Spain. And declaring that the Scots succoured Philip's Armada in '88. As indeed we did, to some measure. But ... you say that Lady Cobham, who was Lady Kildare, and before that Frances Howard, daughter of the Lord Admiral, says that Arabella Stewart is coming to Wilton ? When?"

  "That was not said. But I took it as very soon."

  "She would not dare to come without the King's knowledge."

  "Of that I know not. But it seems strange. To be coming now. When there is this of a plot. But—there is something else. Yesterday, Lord Cobham's brother, George Brooke, came here. And with him he brought another gentleman, by name of Markham. Sir Gervase Markham. And Markham was the fourth name written in Mistress Mary's letter. He is a great Catholic, they say. And he has already been to see the Marchioness Hetty of Huntly."

  "So-o-o. It looks, then, as though the vultures gather. But—I do not understand this of the Lady Kildare, or Cobham, knowing of Arabella coming—if coming she is. And telling Lady Bedford. The Howards and the Russells are linked with the Cecils—the ruling faction, and very much against the Catholics. Here is something strange indeed. If they know of it all..."

  "They may not know of the plot Only of the Lady Arabella's coming to Court. Perhaps ... perhaps they it was who gained her summons?"

  "For what purpose?"

  "I have no notion. But the Lord Admiral, and Secretary Cecil, so close to the King, might have their own reasons. For a change of policy, with regard to Arabella."

  He frowned. "She was kept all but a prisoner, during Queen Elizabeth's later years. As a possible claimant of Elizabeth's throne. That was the Cecils' policy then. Why should they change itnow... ?"

  They could between them produce no answer to these questions; and presently Alison said that she ought to go back to the Queen's quarters, to prepare for the royal return from hawking. For there was to be a great masque that night, in which the Queen was herself taking part—as indeed was she. Alison—and there would be much to do with costumes and dressing. They rowed ashore.

  "I shall see you at the masque—or after it," the girl said. "Not before ? When we eat ?"

  "No. The King's and Queen's households are now almost wholly separate. They no longer eat together. Only when there is some especial banquet But—you could choose to belong to the Queen's household, Geordie, could you not? You were her royal jeweller, before you were the King's."

  "True. But I am here on the King's summons. I fear that I must grace his table, however lowly the place."

  * * *

  James's hunting-party came straggling in in the late afternoon, after having been in the saddle since sunrise, a weary, dusty, dishevelled crew, fine hunting greens soiled. Heriot watched from his stable-wing window—and marvelled anew at his sovereign lord. For the King, slumped like a sack of chaff in his saddle—oddly, always he rode like that, despite being one of the best horsemen in two kingdoms—seemed to be almost the freshest there. The man who wearied after hobbling a hundred yards, who grew impatient with any ceremony lasting longer than ten minutes, who was terrified of loud noises, violent action and the sight of human blood, would spend twelve hours in strenuous hunting, slay game by the score, even on occasion gleefully gralloch his own deer in a slaister of blood and guts, and return in highest spirits. Today a long string of sumpter-horses, each bearing a head-dangling buck, seemed to ensure that the King would be in excellent mood.

  A thoughtful host further improved the occasion by announcing that the royal repast would be served alfresco and out-of-doors, or at least under a tented canopy as to the King's own table, at the circular banking of the open-air bear-pit, where a great bear-baiting would take place throughout the meal, an especial performance with a notably fierce bear kept starved for the purpose, and some of the stoutest-hearted dogs in England—all arranged by his brother Philip, who was an expert in all such matters. James was graciously pleased to express entire appreciation.

  Philip Herbert was, apparently, not just good-looking but an asset to any Court.

  And so, to a strong and musky smell of live bear, sawdust and long-spilled blood, the great company of the King's household and Pembroke's guests sat down to laden trestle-tables set up on the grass terracing around the central pit, and were piled with victuals hot and cold, fish, from congers to creatures so rare that they had been brought in ice from Russia; poultry, from peacocks and swans to godwits and cocks' combs; meats, from Polonian sausage to venison seethed in wine; in all, two dozen dishes, all served on silver-gilt plate by an army of liveried attendants.

  ' George Heriot found an inconspicuous place for himself as far as he decently could get from the sanded floor of the arena. A large and shaggy brown bear, lean to the point of gauntness, was led in, shackled by one leg, grunting and growling and chained to a central post. Then Philip Herbert took charge of the proceedings.

  He was rather different from the general run of James's favourites, tall, well-built and muscled, handsome but not in the least effeminate-seeming. He wore a thin, down-turning scimitar of moustache and no beard, and with it an arrogant, hot-tempered manner. He lived for horses, dogs, sport and gambling, and it was bis expertise as a huntsman which had first drawn the King to him. Whether he satisfied James in other respects seemed open to doubt, but the monarch meantime would find little fault in him.

  He had a hunting-horn sounded for silence, and then, in ringing tones, announced that he was prepared to wager one hundred pounds that his black mastiff Diablo would outlast any other dog soever against this fine Muscovy bear. What takers ?

  There was no lack of these. Many lordlings shouted the claims of their animals; but Herbert declared that only three other dogs should be engaged at one time, as a sporting proposition. The others' turn would come.

  And so a large mastiff, two terriers and a wicked, slinking grey lurcher cross were brought and let loose in the arena, to a low rumbling from the chained bear. The dogs, all trained for this activity, had their own methods. The big mastiff sat down at once on all fours, and then began to inch forward thus, slowly, with infinite menace; the two terriers went yapping into the attack, without a preamble, leaping and dancing as though on springs; while the lurcher loped and circled, teeth bared. There were great shouts of enthusiasm and advice from the high-born diners. The bear, up on its hand legs, weaved its tall shaggy body to and fro gently, but otherwise appeared to pay little heed.

  Like lightning the lurcher suddenly made a vicious bound for the throat—and the click of its teeth meeting sounded across the arena, short of the bear's fur by barely an inch when, scarcely to be discerned, the brute flicked head and shoulders a mere fraction sideways. As incredibly swiftly, a great claw-armed paw lashed out, and a long scarlet score appeared down the lurcher's side. The yell of the watchers drowned
the animal's scream.

  Like a missile from a catapult the mastiff sprang direct from its crouching position, just as a terrier nipped in low. The bear stooped to cuff with its other paw and was hit at the shoulder, as by a bolt, by the heavy larger dog, staggering to the impact. The terrier was tossed into the air, yelping high, but the mastiff sank its teeth in just behind the bear's shoulder.

  Roaring with pain, the bear tried to throw off the big dog. But it was too far round for the lethal claws to reach. Then it tried to shake off its attacker, but the teeth were clenched firm in the flesh. The lurcher, despite all, leapt in again to the now unprotected belly—and with a snarl the bear dropped on all fours, then crushed down with all its great weight All heard the life go out of the slender dog with a choked-off howl.

  With great swiftness for its bulk, and the entangling tendency of its chain, the bear rolled over on its back The mastiff had to fling itself clear or be crushed in turn. As it leapt away, a single three-inch claw ripped a rent in its black flank.

  Then the barking terriers were in like shrill small furies. The bear flicked one off in red ruin, as it would a fly; but the other clung, worrying at the throat

  Wagers were now being shouted all over the enclosure, women's voices upraised as well as men's. As the bear, seeking to dislodge the terrier, rolled over again to get up on his hind legs, the mastiff bored in low. And the long, barbed hind foot that was not hampered by the chain, scooped up, and gutted the big dog as cleanly as a gralloch, coming away in a tangle of smoking entrails and skin. The mastiff hung there kicking, but did not unclench its teeth.

  "You've lost your siller, Philip—you've lost your siller!" the King cried. "Man—you're dog's deid! But, never heed, laddie— I'll make it up to you. I will so."

  "Dammit—the brute's not dead yet!" Herbert denied. "It's hanging on. Another fifty pounds, Staveley—to outlive your terrier!"