James, in fact, was not without experience in this matter of questioning. When younger, he had taken an enormous interest in witchcraft—and had actually written a book on the subject In his enquiries and investigations he had put to the question literally hundreds of his subjects—and since all were accused of an offence against both Church and State, he had not required to be over-delicate in his methods. He had presided personally over these sessions, and often declared that the most efficacious way of getting quickly to the root of things, even with the most obdurate, was to tie a rope round their temples, apply a lever, and twist until the scalp was lifted off. Seldom, apparently, was it necessary to go quite to this length, before the truth came flooding out
John Johnson, before his monarch, was prepared to talk, after a fashion. He admitted his guilt—he could scarcely do otherwise— and his intention to blow up the King and parliament. For reason, he gave only his belief that it was the will of God that they should be destroyed, on account of sins innumerable. He had no accomplices, he said. It was all his own notion. He was the servant of
Master Thomas Percy—but his master knew nothing of the project.
His hearers scoffed at this. If he was only a servant, how had he got the money to buy all the gunpowder? How had he conveyed it, single-handed, into the cellar? Moreover, how came it that he spoke with a gentleman's voice if he was but a servant?
He had been a soldier in the foreign wars, he said. He was gently born, yes, but with no means. Most of the powder he had stolen from ships at the quaysides. Barrel by barrel. Rolling each barrel to the cellar at night For over a year.
Getting angry, James declared that he was lying. To him, the King. That he, the King, had means of making men talk the truth. He described his rope speciality, in detail.
Johnson did not blanch. On the contrary, he grew the more defiant. That sounded like the barbarities which might be looked for from Scotland, he declared. He had never found the Scots to his taste—hypocrites and savages all. One of his objects in this employment was to blow all the Scotsmen back to Scotland.
The King, gobbling and gasping, was bereft of speech. Suffolk hit the man twice across the face, so that his nose began to bleed. James had never liked blood at close quarters and drew back on his bed almost primly. But he forced himself to nod approvingly.
"Aye—suitable." he said. "Suitable for an ill-mouthed limmer. A right opprobrious scoundrel. 'We'll mak him sing another tune. You'll hang, my mannie—but first you'll talk! And civilly."
Just then Cecil returned, with the Lord Admiral, Ellesmere the Chancellor, Coke the Attorney-General, and other members of the Council.
"All is in train, She," he announced. "Percy is flown, but we found an older man, Keyes, in his house. He will not tell us what we wish—yet. But a servant of Percy's, one Kempson, has talked to some effect. We have now many more names. Is this the man Fawkes, from the cellar... ?"
"Fox? No. He ca's himsel' Johnson. An ill loon, if ever I saw one! He'll no' tell us anything. Just unseemly abuse. To me—the King!"
"You should have left him to me, She. Scarcely work for Your Majesty. We'll stretch his tongue for him—like other parts! His true name is Fawkes—Guido Fawkes. So Kempson says. A fanatic Catholic, associator with Jesuits, and daring adventurer. Kempson turned evidence, to save his skin. As I guessed, there was a major conspiracy among certain Catholic squires, mainly from the Midlands. No great names yet A few knights and men of means. But we will get them all, never fear."
The prisoner stared round at them all, unwinking, blood dripping from his nose.
"Fawkes, eh?" the King said. "Guido Fawkes! A queer-like name. A man who would ha' murdered the Lord's Anointed I Disgraceful!"
"And near one thousand others, Sire!" Lennox reminded. "Including all here !"
"Ooh, aye. Regrettable. But we'll mak them pay for their fell design, on my royal word! Tak him awa', Cecil man—and do your worst wi' him. He's an ill limmer, and I'll no' further soil my hands wi' him. Get his masters' names out o' him."
"We shall not spare him, She, be assured. But we have already got many names from this servant Kempson—Thomas Winter, Robert John and Christopher Wright Ambrose Rookwood of Coldham Hall, and Robert Catesby, son to Sir William. And we shall get others, I promise you. The ship is held, and we have all now well in hand."
"Nae doubt But, mind—you wouldna ha' had onything in hand, man, if I hadna put you right on it Anent the gunpowder. And the ship, and a'. Aye, wi' Geordie Heriot's help. You kenned mething o' it. I am right displeased wi' you, Cecil, Earl of Salisbury. My royal person could ha' been disploded and dissolved, just for a' you were like to do about it This great wicked conspiracy against me, in this England—and my English Secretary and Council hadna hint nor hair o' it! A fair disgrace. You'll hae to do better than this—or there will be changes in this realm o' England. Aye, changes !" Majesty drooped one heavy lid over a deeply lustrous eye in the direction of George Heriot. "Off wi' you, now—and I'll maybe get some sleep. I've a right heavy day, the morn." James took off his high hat and tossed it down the bed, as token that the audience was over, nightcap retained.
Hastily all started to bow themselves out the prisoner being dragged with them. Fervently expressed desires for the monarch to have a good night, and praise to the Almighty for his great deliverance, came in a volley—even Cecil muttering something of the sort.
Before all were out and the doors shut, Majesty had a parting shot. "I will expect to see you a' in your places at the parliament-opening in a wheen hours—aye, you too, Knevett, and you Geordie Heriot Just to be fell sure that if there's any mair attempts on our royal person that you havena heard tell o' yet, you'll a' be there to share the danger wi' your liege lord. Off wi' you !"
And so, seven hours later, and a little late, the second parliament of the reign was duly opened, with pomp and ceremony, and the Archbishop of Canterbury offering urgent and agitated thanks to God for the preservation of their beloved and esteemed sovereign —to the mystification of the vast majority of those present. Wild rumours did not fail to circulate, of course—but displosions by gunpowder, to use the monarch's own phrase, was by no means one of the whispered suggestions. Catholic threats, yes—that was a foregone conclusion, with dire prognostications as to retribution and reprisals to come.
It was five hours before the full story was allowed to leak out— by which time a great haul of conspirators had been made in Staffordshire and thereabouts, from whence most of the ringleaders seemed to come and where most had fled; although a number, including Robert Catesby, who appeared to be the master-mind, were slain resisting capture. The feared general Catholic uprising did not materialise—indeed many of the Catholic nobility and gentry drove refugees from their doors with bitter reproaches that they had brought disgrace on all who professed the ancient faith. To the surprise of his English ministers, if not of the Scots, James forbade any consequent witch-hunts or campaigns of terror, pointing out reasonably that though he deemed them mistaken in then-views, some of his best friends were Catholics; and hinting that an alternative party in the realm was an excellent means of keeping his good Protestant servants on their toes. Almost a dozen unfortunates fell to be hanged, of course, after the normal preliminaries—amongst them Guido Fawkes, defiant to the end despite his tortured state, Sir Everard Digby, Ambrose Rookwood and others, these all claiming repentance for their desperate intention against the monarch and parliament but professing unalterable attachment to their Romish faith
The venue chosen for this epilogue to a most curious drama was none other than the west-end of the same St Paul's church where George Heriot was wont to prosecute his daily ambulations, business exchanges and social gossipings—a most useful edifice. King James watched all, from a hidden comer, with lively interest
12
THE WARM AND humid July day was one of those in which George Heriot asked himself why he stayed in this airless London, amongst people he did not particularly love, dealing in and
amassing money for which he had no particular use, and serving an oddity of a monarch who could get along all too well without him, when he could go back to his native Scotland, with its fresh winds and great skies, and live at ease and leisure amongst his own folk as a country laird with as much substance as a modest man would ever require. Frequently he asked this of himself, and had so far discovered no very convincing answer. Especially on stifling days of summer, when London stank to high heaven. They had smells in Scotland, admittedly, but always, as he remembered it there was sufficient breeze to blow them away.
He was considering locking up his ledgers, with the secrets of so many proud and lofty folk in them, and walking over to St Paul's to see if company and the latest news of the city and its follies might stir him out of his mood of discontent, when his foreman goldsmith mounted the stairs to his office to inform him that they had visitors—and young ladies, at that Scots voices behind him amplified his announcement
Alison Primrose stood there, a picture of fresh and winsome delight heat or none, another young woman at her side, somewhat older, more heavily built but of a sonsy and buxom good looks nevertheless. Heriot sprang to his feet, temperature like gloom— and years—forgotten, and hurried forward, hands outstretched.
"Here's a joy!" he exclaimed. "I have not seen you this whole month. How come you here? I believed you were at Greenwich, with the Queen?"
"We took opportunity to come up the river in one of the King's barges, Geordie. In all the to-do of King Christian's aiming, we will scarce be missed, I think. The barge was coming for more wines! Wines are in great demand at Greenwich these days! The barge will take us back in two hours time. Meg—this is Master Heriot, a good friend. And Mistress Margaret Hartside, from Kirkwall, one of Her Majesty's chambermaids."
"Kirkwall, eh?" Heriot said, as the other girl sketched a curtsy. "I think that I have seen Mistress Hartside around Somerset House, but we have not spoken. Greetings, Mistress—I am pleasured."
"And I honoured, sir. All know of Master George Heriot, the King's friend." She cast a sly glance at her companion. "And Alison's!"
"H'rr'mm. I am much privileged, yes. And how is the Queen ? Better, I hope?"
"A deal better, yes—with her brother's coming. King Christian makes a new woman of her. He is very ... rousing. But less of an oaf than Duke Ulric. The Queen is venturing from her room for the first time since the child died," Alison informed. "That is why we have been able to get away. We have been kept close tied, for long."
"Yes." Queen Anne had given birth, at Greenwich, to her seventh child in June of that year, 1606, a weakly infant, hastily christened Sophia, which had died after only a few hours. Anne had been plunged into depression since—for the previous child, the Princess Mary, born the year before, was almost equally sickly and only just holding on to life. At least there had been no alarms and rumours about the parentage of little Sophia. But the Queen was grievously cast down, and swearing that she would have no more children. She was aged but thirty-three.
"I rejoice to hear that King Christian is an improvement on his brother," Heriot said. "Since we are to have him with us for some time, it seems. King James will be pleased. He has worked hard for this visit. It is to show Christendom that he is a power amongst princes—but a power for peace and goodwill, his realm to be courted rather than feared. England is no longer to be an island, living within itself, as Elizabeth would have it, but part of Europe and the comity of nations. The King is far-sighted. This visit is more than just brother-in-law forgathering." He paused, conceiving that this sort of talk was hardly suitable for young women callers. "Come—sit you down."
Alison found no fault with what he had said, "He came two days ago. The Danish king. In great style. In a great ship called the Three Crowns, with seven ships-of-war as escort, no less. Greenwich is now full of Danes. They outnumber even the Scots, I swear! Some of them are very handsome, in a pale, golden way. Are they not, Meg ?"
"No doubt," the man commented, without enthusiasm. "We heard the great cannon-firing at Tilbury even here in London, on the east breeze. Would God there was still some breeze! This heat!"
"Yes. King James and Prince Henry went down to Tilbury in a fine barge, all banners and awnings and painted work, with musicians, to bring the other king back to Greenwich ..."
"And wine-casks" Margaret Hartside put in. "They were all drunk by the time they got back—the musicians too. I never heard such noise!"
"Not King James, surely? I have never known him drunk." "No-o-o. But he and the other king were supporting each other. And both were singing. Ours does not usually sing, I think?" "M'mmm."
Alison changed the subject "I have brought Meg to see you, Geordie, for an especial purpose. She has something to show you. Something to sell to you, if you will consider buying."
The girls were dressed in light summery gowns, with much of bare arm and throat and little scope for pockets, but out from a bundled, silken shawl the other brought a little leather bag, which she opened and emptied on to the table before the man.
Heriot drew a quick breath, used as he was to fine jewellery. Cascading on to the table fell a shower of gems and pieces of gold and silver-work, a dozen items at least Outstanding amongst them was a single great pearl on a chain, pear-shaped, pinkish, glowing warmly. He did not speak.
Alison did. "Meg is desirous of selling these. For so high a price as she may obtain. I believed that you would either buy them, or advise her. Since it is your trade, Geordie."
"My trade, yes," Heriot said slowly. "But... there are problems, perhaps. Questions, you understand? These are notable pieces. This great pearl in especial. I, h'm know it. Indeed, I know some of these others also. One was made in this house."
There was a pause, the young women apparently each waiting for the other to speak.
"May I ask, Mistress Hartside, whether you are selling these for yourself? Or for another?" the man went on carefully.
The girl hesitated, "For myself," she said, at length. "In order for me to return to Scotland. I have no money. I wish to return to Kirkwall, my home in Orkney." That sounded like a lesson learnt.
Heriot looked at Alison. "Before I may buy valuables such as these, I must know something of whence they came. Do not misunderstand me. Jewels are a strange and very special merchandise. They are known by many. And therefore it may be known who previously owned them. That pearl you see, I bought for the Queen, some years ago. In Scotland, And made that brooch for her, likewise."
"Are they so... so kenspeckle?" the older girl all but whispered. "I fear so, yes. A queen's gems in especial," She looked at Alison.
"You must tell him," that more forthright young woman said. "All that you told me. Master Heriot is good, kind. He will not betray you."
"You teubim."
"Very well. Meg is wed, secretly, to John Buchanan of Scotscraig. Also in Orkney. One of the Earl of Orkney's gentlemen. An Elymosinar of the King's. They have known each other long—but wed only when the Earl and his brothers were at Court a year back. The match had to be kept secret, or Meg could not have remained chambermaid to the Queen. None married may so serve her. And they have insufficient means to set up house together."
"I see. Orkney " Heriot's eyes had narrowed and he tapped the table with one finger. "And these jewels?"
"Her husband, who is gone back to Scotland with the Earl, gave her them to sell For him. For them both. So that they should have enough money. For Meg to leave Court, so that they might settle, back in Orkney. At Scotscraig. Together. As they would wish to be."
"Aye—but where did this Buchanan get the jewels?"
"The Earl gave them to him. In free gift," Margaret Hartside put in. "For his good services. Part of a casketful, given to my lord by the Queen."
The man half rose from his chair, but sank back again, biting his lip. 'The Queen gave Orkney these?" he demanded.
"Yes. And many more. When he was at Court, a year back"
He whistled beneath his breath. "
This is .. . extraordinary!" He turned to Alison. "Did you know of this ?"
"Not until three or four days. ago. And Meg swore me to secrecy."
"As well she might! You see what it means ? Or what it could mean! For, to be sure, Orkney might have lied about the gift."
"How then would he have got the jewels? The Queen's jewels?"
"God knows! This smells rank. There is ill work here, somewhere. The question is, where does the evil he?"
"Not with Meg, at least, Geordie. Or her husband. He received the gifts in all honesty. From his lord."
"Must it be evil?" the other girl faltered. "John, my husband, conceived no ill in it The Queen has many jewels. The Earl of Orkney is her kinsman by marriage, is he not ? He may have served her well. Might she not seek to reward him with these?"
The other two exchanged glances.
"I fear that it is less simple than that," Heriot said. "Orkney is ... no ordinary man. And he is at odds with the King. If the Queen did indeed give him these jewels..."
"But she did. How else could he have gained them ? She might even have done it to spite the King ! Because he took a hard line with my lord. She has done things to spite His Majesty before this."
"I accept that she must have given them to him, yes. But how willingly? That is the question. These things are valuable. And she is much in need of money."
"How mean you, sir ? Willingly ? "
"I do not know myself, to tell truth. I but try to clunk. Have you any notion what these things are worth?"
"No-o-o. Not truly. One hundred pounds perhaps?" She said it almost breathlessly.
"That fine pearl is worth over one hundred pounds Sterling itself. Twelve times that in pounds Scots. I know—for I bought it once, the greatest pearl ever brought out of the Tay. These other pieces—especially this diamond—add up to another three or four hundred pounds Sterling, at least Say five hundred pounds Sterling altogether. Six thousand pounds Scots. A lot of money. And you say that this was only part of a casketful given by the Queen ? Why should she give so much to the Earl of Orkney?"
The Wisest Fool Page 27
