The Wisest Fool

by Nigel Tranter

  "Done, shrive me!"

  The bear dropped on all fours once more and shook himself mightly. The terrier was almost, but not quite detached, flung half round. And there a great forepaw flashed over and caught its hind-quarters, all but tearing them off in bloody collops. The thin shriek bubbled to silence.

  The bear stood up again to its full height, reddened paws waving gently. The disembowelled mastiff, eyes closed, jaws still clamped, jerked its hind legs feebly.

  "By God, I win!" Herbert yelled. "See it! One hundred and fifty pounds you owe me, Staveley, d'you hear? A pretty sport! You spoke too soon, Majesty! Now—another three dogs, heh? I have a second brute I'll wager..."

  With slow dignity the bear stooped, and with fore-paws tore the twitching mastiff bodily from itself, some of its own shaggy hide coming away with the teeth, and tossed it far, so to stand, red tongue lolling, to stare around on its tormentors.

  Sickened, Heriot pushed away the plateful of beef before him, appetite gone.

  The bear, sadly weakened now, with strips of its hide hanging off, was attempting to beat off its third quartet of dogs, the torn carcasses of the others strewn around it on the bloody sand, when Lennox found his way to his friend's side, to discover him drinking more deeply than usual. Glancing at the scarcely touched dishes, he grinned.

  "Do not say that you find Wilton"s hospitality not to your taste, Geordie?" he commented. "Or is it this traditional English sport which palls on you?"

  "Say that I have a delicate stomach," the other answered briefly.

  "Ah—you should have been born a nobleman, my friend. Then such pastimes would not trouble your belly! Though, I must confess, I prefer my eating . . . otherwise!" He shrugged. "But the sport flags somewhat, and Majesty's attention wanders. He would have a word with you."

  "Now?"

  "Now. For a short-sighted man, James misses little. He saw you sitting alone here and sent me."

  They made their way to the King's table, where James had obviously lost interest in the entertainment—and as clearly was annoyed that young Herbert had not perceived the fact He turned the more affably to the newcomers.

  "Ha—Geordie Heriot!" he greeted. "Man—it's good to see your honest face. Though glowering ! So you've survived yon London! The pest—does it lessen a mite?"

  "Undoubtedly, Sire. With the cooler days. They believe that it will soon be gone. God grant it true."

  "Amen to that—aye, Amen, Geordie. It's been a right inconvenience. Sit in, man. Join me in a goblet." James lowered his voice to a thick whisper. "You hae the toy I ordered ? It's finished ? I'll hae a peek at it, under this table. I dinna want them a' seeing it"

  "I have it, Sire. But not here. Not on my person. It is a mite heavy to carry in a pocket And valuable ! I have it in my room, locked in my kist..."

  "Your room, heh ? Heavy ? No' too heavy, man ?"

  "Solid gold, Sire. And all those jewels. And a double chain. Shall I go fetch it?"

  "Na, na. I'll come see it."

  "But—Your Majesty! Not you—to my quarters! I will bring it. In but a minute or two..."

  "Och, wheesht you, Geordie man—I'll come. I'd rather see it privily, ony gait Gie me my stick..."

  And so, to the consternation of all, Majesty rose from the table —so that everyone else must do the same—and went tottering off on Heriot's arm, stick poking a route through, while still dogs yelped and snarled round the flagging bear. Inevitably, Lords Pembroke, Nottingham, Southampton, Mar and a number of others came hurrying after, wiping lips and greasy fingers.

  "Bide where you are!" James barked round at them "When I'm needing you, I'll tell you. Aye, you too, Philip Herbert. Bide you wi' your bit dogs! But, Vicky—you'd better come."

  Much embarrassed to be thus leading off the monarch before the entire Court to his humble quarters in the stable-wing, Heriot bit his lip. This sort of prominence was the last thing he sought "If Your Majesty will go to one of your own private chambers, I will bring if..."

  "Hud your wheesht, man. Heh—unless you dinna want me in your room? Eh? Maybe you've got something there? A quean, belike? Och, maybe the lassie Primrose, that I'm hearing you've got a notion for ? A smart one, that!"

  "No, Sire—no I Nothing of that sort. Mistress Primrose is, is safe from me. We are friends. No more. She is very young ..."

  "Och, aye—young. But that'll mend, man. Forby, the young ones are the sweetest, eh ? Dinna tell me you havena discovered that! Eh, Vicky—you'll bear that out, I've nae doubt Wi' yon Mary Gray."

  "As Your Majesty says..."

  Past astonished servitors they came to the stable-wing and mounted the stairs. James peering interestedly into every room they passed. At his own apartment Heriot offered the only chair to the King and went to unlock the small iron-bound chest which he had chained to the bed.

  "Aye, you're canny, Geordie," James nodded approvingly. "As well you might be. What else hae you got in yon wee lost? Besides my trinket ?"

  "Some papers to show Your Highness, anent the knighthoods. And some private items."

  'Trivate, eh? No' private frae me, Geordie?"

  "Not if Your Majesty commands otherwise, of course."

  "Aye, well. We'll see. First the jewel. The medallion. You'd ca' it a medallion, Geordie?"

  "Something of that ilk, Sire. A pendant, a gaud. An omature."

  He drew the chamois-leather-wrapped parcel out and unwrapped it.

  Immediately the humdrum little room became a different place, indeed was lost, erased, in the flashing, coruscating beauty of the glittering jewel, its diamonds sparkling with a thousand lights, its sapphires glowing deeply, the shining gold a rich mirror to reflect the rays of the sinking sun, its enamels' colours brilliantly enhanced.

  "Bonny! Bonny!" the King exclaimed, taking it. "Right handsome. Guidsakes—look at yon dragon ! And flames o' fire I Maist delectable. See, Vicky—is it no beauteous ?"

  "Very, Sire. And costly, I would think !"

  "Ooh, aye—costly? Is it gey costly, Geordie?"

  "I fear so, She. Inevitably. I warned Your Majesty ..."

  "Aye, well. Uh-huh. Maybe it will be worth the siller, man. Maybe. It's heavy, though—heavy. It's no' ower heavy? For a woman to wear, man?"

  "I think not. It would not be worn for long periods."

  "She's no' ower robustious, mind. Och, well—we canna change it now." James wrapped the precious contrivance in its leather, and bestowed it in a capacious pocket of his over-stuffed doublet— one of the advantages of such. "Now—this o' the knights. How goes it, Geordie?"

  "It is a great labour, She—and goes almost too well! The papers are all here—so far as we have got. There are seven thousand, eight hundred land-holders listed, thus far, holding lands worth forty pounds and more. And we have not yet got further north than Northamptonshire..."

  "Sink me! So many? A mercy—near eight thousand!"

  "She—you cannot possibly think to confer the honour of knighthood on all these!" Lennox cried. "It would make a supreme mockery of the entire..."

  "I'm no' thinking to confer an honour, Vicky—I'm summoning to a degree, rank and status, aye status. I'll make o' knighthood what it used to be, in this country, in a' Christendom. Knights' service to the throne, for lands held. Only, the service will be in siller instead o' armed men. Aye, I'll make a whole new order o' landed men knights—and fine they'll thank me for it! Their wives mair especially. See you, in Scotland every bit laird is ca'd by his lands—Heriothill, Dumbiedykes, Cowcaddens. Even if they're scarce mair'n a bit field or two and a doocot! Aye, and his wife's the Lady Cowcaddens, see you—a' Lady this or that And do they no' delight in it? Much mair the English, who love titles mair'n they love meat and drink—and that's plenties. Yet they hae nothing o' the like. The rich squire may hae a thousand acres o' prime land, but they are plain Maister Rich or Maister Green. And worse, their wives are only Mistress Rich and Mistress Green. Will they no' thank me for making them Sir and Lady ? And pay for the privilege! As
they ought" Lennox could not gainsay that logic.

  "How much to pay, Geordie? Hae you worked it out? The rate."

  "Not fully, She. We all conceive that the thousand pounds you sought, for every forty pound land, is too much. Many could not produce you such, without having to sell much land. We reckoned six hundred pounds for each forty pound rental."

  "M'mmm. And what to pay if they refuse it?"

  "That is for you, Sire. We suggest a level fee of one thousand pounds."

  "Sweet Mercy—for refusing knighthood!" Lennox cried. "That was His Majesty's instructions."

  James was clearly calculating busily; but though none could question his learning, arithmetic was not his strongest subject "It's gey hard to assess," he announced. "It depends on how many o' the eight thousand are only forty pound men. And how many above it. A wheen will hae ten times that, and man."

  'True, She. But, let me say that one third were forty pounds only, another third twice that, and the remainder variously higher —say three times. Then, of this seven thousand, eight hundred you would garner in, if all paid, nearly thirteen million pounds."

  "Guid God in Heaven!" Christ's Vice-Regent observed, eyes goggling.

  "That is but a crude calculation," Heriot pointed out. "Nothing of that order could be relied upon. Perhaps half would be more true counting..."

  "Half? Even so! Och, man, man." The monarch was lost in roseate dreams. He turned to Lennox. "Vicky—d'you no' see what this means? Here's the Exchequer empty—thanks to Elizabeth's Irish and Spanish wars, and that fool Burleigh. This realm's taxaation is a' farmed out, to third, fourth and fifth collectors—who a' tak their skelb o' the cheese! A right damnable system. I canna win new taxations lacking an English parliament's leave—the insolence o' it! And even then, the siller doesna come into my hands, but the Lord Treasurer's, and him accountable to the said parliament. We do things better in Scotland! But here, man— here's a right excellent ploy, you'll no' deny? I needna ask the permission o' any—and the siller comes direct to me. It's my privilege to create knights. And, you hear—there's millions in it! Save us—it's a godsend!"

  "I might call it something else, James—but you will have it your own way, no doubt."

  "Aye, I will so. God be praised it's no Vicky but Jamie Stewart that sits on this throne! Aye, nor Arabella Stewart either !"

  Both his companions stared at him.

  The King leered at them, but did not amplify. "I'll see these papers later, Geordie. Now—what else hae you got in your kist?"

  "Only some money. Notes of hand.-And a few pieces of jewellery—nothing of real worth." He looked at Lennox significantly. That man nodded.

  "James—you mentioned just now our cousin, Arabella," the Duke said. "Did you, h'm, do so advisedly ?"

  "Can I no' speak inadvisedly alone wi' you and Geordie Heriot, Vicky?"

  'To be sure. But . . . this of Arabella. I have not heard you speak of her, for long. And to do so now, when . .." "Aye—when, Vicky ? When what ?"

  "When there is talk about her. When her name is whispered ..."

  "Whispers, eh ? And what do they whisper about Arabella, our bit cousin? She's no' sick? Or bedding wi' some loon? Or wi' child ? What's the whisper ?"

  Lennox looked at Heriot for help—and got little. "There is talk of a plot, She," he blurted out. "Another plot"

  "A plot, eh? Waesucks—no' again!" The King sighed extravagantly, in simulated weariness—but he did not sound really surprised.

  "Yes, Sire. This time to put Arabella on your throne." 'You say so? Then they'd need to dispose o' me first, would they no'?" "Exactly so."

  "And who utters siclike whispers, Vicky Stewart?"

  The Duke smoothed a hand over mouth and chin. "We hear it here and there, James. From here and there."

  "Aye—here and there, just. Man, you'll hae to do better than that!"

  "Yet, Sire—you did name Arabella. When she's not been at Court for long."

  "She's my faither's brother's daughter, is she no' ? A quiet bit lassie, frae a' accounts. Am I no' to speak her name?" James got to his feet. "Plots are a right pastime for idle folk, Vicky. Now— I'll awa' back to my ain quarters. Annie's got another o' her pestilent masques, the night—she should ha' been a mummer, no' a queen. Gie's your arm, man. Half thirteen million did you say, Geordie? And you're only at Northampton? Guidsakes I"

  * * *

  Even the largest of the halls at Wilton was scarcely large enough to hold both Courts, plus the raised dais platform and the area roped off for the Queen's masque. In consequence, a lesser hall nearby was brought into use also, and the passageways between, festooned with evergreens and coloured lamps—a satisfactory arrangement for many, for there was no lack of rooms off betwixt, where folk who sought to provide their own entertainment could do so in approximate privacy—although privacy was by no means a prerequisite for not a few, it seemed.

  James was late in arriving—which caused some upset, since even Anne could scarcely order a start on the masque before the monarch and their host appeared. When the King's train approached it was heralded through the long corridors by singing— not the sweet melody of choirs or singing boys, but the bibulous chorus of drink-taken men. A lively evening seemed to be assured.

  The royal dais table was well stocked with flagons, bottles, tankards and beakers, and James, himself supporting rather than leaning on the shoulder of an already reeling Philip Herbert, but in high good humour, wasted no time on preliminary courtesies, but reaching for a flagon promptly got down to the serious business of the evening. There was the usual unseemly tussle amongst the Scots and English lords as to who should share the limited space of the dais table—the Scots, being on the whole less drunk, doing best. Heriot noted that the Lords Grey de Wilton and Cobham both managed to find a place up there, and neither seemed inebriated. Lennox took up his stance carefully nearby. Heriot had had George Brooke and Sir Gervase Markham pointed out to him. They stood together in the main part of the hall, where of course the vast majority of the company waited, and Heriot moved discreetly to a position quite close behind them.

  A trumpet's almost immediate and peremptory flourish intimated Anne's impatience, and Master Jonson's stage-sets and backcloths came trundling out before ever the seating of the dais table was resolved. These were highly elaborate representations of tall trees in a grove, a flower-girt pool, and the broken white pillars of a ruined temple. In the centre of all, a cunningly devised natural staircase, seemingly of mossy stone steps, led up to a yawning cave in a ferny cliff, with a shelf-like ledge at its entrance. Birds twittered in the background, and a flight of doves were released—which however preferred to fly off to the far end of the hall and there try to get out of a window.

  There was loud cheering, and Lord Southampton shouted that hawks should be brought in to deal with the pigeons.

  An odd figure emerged from behind a central bush, clad in wide green breeches right up to the neck, with a loose cap above pulled down over the face to meet the breeches-top, small slits left for the eyes. This curiosity announced, in a high treble, that its name was Nobody, and that its privilege was to introduce the Masque of the Goddesses, set in the Temple of Peace of the peerless Pallas Athene.

  Philip Herbert, hiccuping a little, intervened with a cry that he would lay fifty pounds with all takers that the creature was male —although it might be with the testicles removed. To which the King countered that this was nonsense, for you could see two paps poking against the green if you looked right closely—not that he would wager good money on it

  Some who would have hissed, or hushed for quiet at young Herbert, hastily desisted at the monarch's reaction. But another trumpet blast gained the required silence. A dark curtain was rung back from the cave mouth, and therein was to be seen a masked black lady—there was no doubt about the sex here, for she was naked to the waist and well-endowed—in the process of wakening a white and recumbent youth, and intoning in a sing-song voice: "Awake, awake, dark sleep, arou
se thee from the cave!"

  The oddity Nobody announced helpfully that this was Night arousing her son Somnus.

  "It is Mary Harington—I'd know her breasts anywhere, black or no'!" the irrepressible Herbert declared. "And that's Tom Henniker. The first time he's lain under her, I'll be bound!"

  "Wheesht, Philip—here's Annie!"

  To the simulation of a cock crowing, Pallas Athene emerged from behind the trees, a fine martial figure in a gilt helmet starred with jewels, a white tunic embroidered with cannon, spears and swords, representing civilised war, a glittering corslet seeded with pearls, and a short kilt-like skirt above gold-strapped calves and sandals. She bore a golden zigzag spear, as thunderbolt, and a round aegis or shield, showing the Gorgon's head and studded with red rubies. From her throat hung a long cloak-like train, also jewelled, borne up behind by a slender masked attendant in short, silver shirt-of-mail, whose legs were more shapely than any boy's —or, for that matter, the Queen's—although the clinging chain-mail outlined very frankly a fairly boyish figure. The red-gold hair peeping from under the smaller helmet, however, was undoubtedly that of Alison Primrose.

  There was a loud cheer and even young Herbert forbore to comment Only James himself remarked, "Scanty! Scanty!"— although to just what he referred was not clear.

  Pallas Athene stalked with great dignity around the roped-off area, and then mounted the rustic steps with deliberate and regal poise—less easy for the train-bearer who could not see where she was putting her sandalled feet—to the cave-mouth shelf, where she turned to address the company:

  Warlike Pallas in her helmet dressed,

  With lance of winning, target of defence,

  In whom both wit and courage are expressed,

  To get with glory, hold with providence.