He nodded. "Which means, does it not, that you believe that the Master is indeed at present planning some new devilment?"
"We fear so, yes."
"And do you know what it is ?"
"Only in part We think that he intends to oppose the King's policy of setting up one realm, a United Kingdom to replace the ancient kingdoms of Scotland and England."
"Many oppose that I do not know that I myself favour it"
"But not many are prepared to go as far as Patrick in opposing it, I warrant." That was the Mistress of Gray. "My husband seldom merely expresses his disfavours. He acts upon them. And in no small fashion."
"And in this case, he has started to act ?"
'Yes. How far he has gone, I cannot tell. But he believes this policy to be the probable ruin of Scotland as an independent realm, the betrayal of all that Scots have fought for since the great Bruce. And, God knows, he may be right 1 He has I believe three principal fields of action. Here in Scotland—where he is forming a party, a strong party, to oppose union. In England, where he seeks to stir up the English parliament against it And in France, where he has friends in places of much influence."
"So much ? For one man to attempt ?"
'Patrick ruled Scotland more than once, you will recollect. The power behind James's throne. And he does nothing by halves." "What can he gain from France?"
"James sees himself the peace-maker of Christendom. He requires the good will of France. And France is Catholic Patrick would use Catholic support for maintaining the separate kingdoms." "Ah!"
"Yes. If Scotland could be turned Catholic again, even only in name, there would be no support for James's policy in England, where they fear Catholics like Satan himself!"
"I see. And you think this is possible?"
"It matters not what I think. Or others. It is what Patrick thinks that is important. And few know what goes on below the surface, in matters of governance and rule, as does he."
"Does the Earl of Orkney come into this ?"
"My brother? No. Such affairs concern him no whit. He is interested only in his own advantage. To be left to rule Orkney and Shetland as a small king—or misrule them. Untrammelled by law or aught else."
"It is not Patrick Stewart you need concern yourself with, Geordie," Mary put in. "But Patrick Gray. He is as a rapier to a woodman's axe! Do you realise how strong the Catholic faction has become since the King went to London ? James used it to keep the Kirk in its place—and now it holds the real power here. And indeed works with the extreme Kirk ministers. It dominates both the Privy Council and the Court of Session—Dunfermline, Balmerino, Montrose the former Chancellor, Argyll, Linlithgow, Crawford, Glamis, Ogilvy. These do not call themselves Catholic, but are. Then there are the true Catholics, who never renounced the Papacy—Huntly, the Lieutenant of the North, Erroll, the High Constable, Angus, Maxwell, Sanquhar, Fleming, Seton, the Chancellor's brother, and many more. And all the Highland chiefs. Many of these hate each other. Some are at feud. Few have ever worked together. But if Patrick can unite them, even for a little... !"
"And is he in touch with English Catholics also?"
"No—not so, I think," the Lady Marie said. "It is the English Protestants he is concerned with. Particularly those in parliament To some he sends money.. ."
"Money! The Master does ? To bribe English parliament men will cost him dear! Pounds Scots will not go far with them!"
"That is true. Patrick is spending money like water! Getting it wherever he may. Selling lands, raising loans..."
'This is why he wanted the King's debt repaid, after so long? To bring low the King's policy!"
"Yes. That is but one small source. He needs a deal more than that—for this is costly work, with more than the English parliament votes to buy! He needs money—and, being Patrick, does not scruple overmuch how he gets it, I fear. Many in Scotland owe place, position, lands, titles to him, when he stood at the King's right hand Now they must pay for it—for he knows secrets without number."
"Ha—more of the black mail! It is not only my lord of Orkney, then, who knows how to use such. The Casket Letters ? Does the Master have them now? Are they also for use in his campaign?"
The Lady Marie shook her head. "I do not know. I know nothing of these, save what Mary has told me. Patrick has never spoken of them—though they were in my father's care once, I understand."
"But... if he has them, would the Master use them also?"
"How can I tell? I think not, perhaps. If they endanger the King's right to his thrones. That might not serve Patrick's purpose, I think."
"I agree," Mary said. "Moreover, I believe he would be loth to assail the King in person, too hard, as yet. Until, until he succeeds his father. As a Lord of Parliament. It is within the King's power to declare him infamous, and to forfeit him from this, his birthright. He will not wish for that—for to be a peer of Scotland would give him more power. James has dropped him from the Privy Council. But as a Lord of Parliament, and Sheriff of Forfar, he would be entitled to a seat again. He could then dominate the Council, as he used to do."
"I see. So you would expect the old Lord Gray, your grandfather, not to live for much longer? But while he does, the King is safe from the worst of the Casket Letters ?"
"Something of the sort. Granlord—I have called him that since a child—has been a sick and ailing man for long. He is very old, all but witless now. This last year he is so much the worse..."
"And so the Master, his son, turns him out of his own house I To speed his father's passing I"
"It is not quite so," the Lady Marie declared, quietly but firmly. "Although Patrick's enemies so represent it My good-father has been but a poor creature these many years, living close in Broughty Castle, seeing none but members of the family, attended to at Patrick's charges. He and my husband have little love for each other, I admit—but there has been no mistreatment. Now Patrick needs Broughty Castle—no doubt for this campaign of his. It stands on a headland on the coast, with its own secure haven, convenient for the coming and going of ships and messengers, secretly, by sea. From England and France. It has a ferry to Fife. Meetings can be held therein, with none knowing. Unlike Castle Huntly, our home. The old lord's presence there became difficult, an embarrassment. Not so much for his own sake, but in that his other sons visit him. And one of them, in especial, hates Patrick, and would do him disservice. So Patrick removed his father to another house inland—the House of Gray, indeed, near to Liff. A smaller place, but a deal more comfortable. That is all."
"And the letter ? To the King. Complaining that the Master is bringing his grey hairs to the grave! Denying him his shelter and his servants?"
"Written by the brother, James Gray of Bandirran. Only signed by the old lord—who could be made to sign anything. If Patrick was to be forfeited and declared infamous, then, now that Gilbert is dead, James would be sixth Lord Gray when his father goes!"
"I see. I thank you. All this explains why the Privy Council took no action."
"I do not seek to make my husband seem greatly better than he is," the other concluded. "But nor will I keep silent when he is misjudged, or there is good to be said of him."
"You could do no less," the man acknowledged.
'There is one matter where you should tell us the truth of it, Geordie—not we you," Mary put to him. "We have heard it whispered that the King does not intend to pay the nineteen thousand pounds agreed upon and awarded by the judges. Certainly it is not yet paid, although the Lord Scone was ordered to give Patrick the moneys. Is this a fact ?"
Heriot coughed. "The King is in two minds," he said. 'This is part reason why I am here. He also hears rumours, see you...!"
"But, Geordie—that would be the greatest folly! After all was arranged. Nothing is more like to make Patrick angry, truly angry. And Patrick angry is dangerous indeed! Nothing more calculated to cause him to hit at the King, in person. To the danger of the whole realm. Patrick calm, plotting yes, but cool, is one matter. But
Patrick angry at broken faith is another. All for nineteen thousand pounds Scots! A nothing, where the King is concerned. Do you not see it?"
"I see it, yes. A folly, I agree. And to lower my own name and credit, who acted for the King."
"That too. Is it worth it? Geordie—you are the King's man of business. Can you not do something ?"
"Twenty thousand pounds Scots is less than three thousand pounds Sterling," Alison mentioned, her first contribution for long. "The Queen would spend as much on a single masque. And out of your pocket, Geordie!"
Looking at her thoughtfully, he nodded, point taken. "But—if the money is to be spent to counter the King's policies—should the King then pay it?" he asked. "James is no fool, see you, however many think he is."
"That is not the point," Mary contended. "What matters in this is that the King should not make a dangerous situation worse. For himself, as well as others. Think of the effect on all Scotland, when it is known—as known it will be. The King, in London, in a breach of faith. Defrauding his former servant and Privy Councillor. Overturning the decision of his appointed judges. Will this serve the King's cause? It could blow up, like gunpowder. And time is important, surely ?"
"You are right. I will do what I can..."
That night, Mary and the Lady Marie retired, not early but sufficiently so to allow the other two an hour or so by themselves, undisturbed. Intrigue, plotting and affairs of state were forgotten, for the time being. It was late before they parted, reluctantly, at Alison's bedroom door.
* * *
Heriot spent two full and happy days at Methven. Then the Lady Marie left, to return to Castle Huntly at the other side of Perthshire, near Dundee; and the man surrendered to the pull of duty, to go in search of Master Will Shakespeare and his locations. Perth was only five miles east of Methven, and nothing would do but that the two young women should come with him, eager to inspect the actors as they were to traipse round the countryside sight-seeing.
There was no theatre or playhouse, of course, in St. Johnstoun of Perth, and the plays were being performed in what had been the refectory of the former Blackfriars Monastery, a large building now semi-ruinous and much the worse for the attentions of the Reforming mob of forty years previously. Here the visitors found rehearsals proceeding for another of Master Shakespeare's productions, called Hamlet, Prince of Denmark, with the playwright both acting and directing, a performance which greatly intrigued the ladies, who pleaded to be allowed to stay and watch. Heriot, who was not much of a play-taster, perceiving that there might be a couple of hours of this, mentioned that he had business of his own to see to in the Perth district, and if he might be excused, would come back for them presently. Wide-eyed at all that was going on in the refectory, they scarcely appeared to notice his desertion.
Scone, the former abbey and home of Scotland's famed palladium, the Stone of Destiny, had, since the Gowrie Conspiracy of 1600, been the seat of Sir David Murray of Gospetrie, Cup-Bearer to the King, and two years earlier created Lord Scone. It lay barely two miles north by east of Perth. Heriot was asking the best route thereto, across Tay, when the citizen he had accosted pointed out that if it was the Lord Scone himself who was sought, there was no need to go all that way, for his lordship had a town house in Perth—and in fact the speaker had seen him in the street that very morning. So Heriot found his way the short distance eastwards from Blackfriars, beyond the huddle of vennels and wynds of the craftsmen's sector of the walled town, to the wider North Port, where there was something of a cluster of Murray town houses, belonging to the Earl of Tullibardme and the lairds of Balvaird, Arngask, Abercairny and others,
The Lord Scone, who was meantime next door drinking claret with his kinsman Tullibardine, was not long in appearing when he heard the identity of his caller. As well as being Cup-Bearer and Master of the Horse to the King, in Scotland, he held the office of Comptroller of the Privy Purse, all offices of more honour than substance in the present circumstances. He was an old crony of James's, a man of middle years and no presence, with a curiously wide head and narrow chin, scanty hah and little twinkling foxy eyes, his carriage round-shouldered and paunchy. But Heriot did not mistake the shrewdness of the man.
"My lord," he said, "I crave pardon for coming upon you unannounced. But my business is something private, and were better not blazed abroad. You will understand, I am sure?"
"Is that a fact, sir? Come awa' in, then, Maister Heriot. Aye, I've heard tell o' you, mind. Och, aye—often. And what sort o' private business have you for Davie Murray, eh? Frae London?"
"Yes, from London, my lord. I am His Grace's jeweller and man of business, as you will know. And am come north on certain business of the King's own. My visit to you is in your capacity of Comptroller to His Grace." Heriot glanced around him, and lowered his voice in suitably conspiratorial style. "In connection with the matter of the Master of Gray."
"Ha-that limmer!"
"Precisely, my lord. You have, I understand, withheld payment to him of the nineteen thousand, nine hundred and eighty-three pounds Scots awarded to him against the King's Privy Purse by the Court of Session in commission? On the instructions of the Lord Treasurer?"
'That is so, sir. Acting on King Jamie's behoof and command."
"Yes. Well—the situation has changed. It is now to the King's benefit that this sum be paid, and promptly. And, I may say, secretly."
"Sakes— what's this? Here's a right strange turn-around, Maister Heriot. Pay after a'?"
"Just that, my lord. For reasons of state, this money should be handed over, quietly, privily—but forthwith. To the Master of Gray, at Castle Huntly."
The other looked at him keenly. "On your say so, Maister
Heriot? Against the orders o' Doddie Home, the Treasurer?"
"The Earl of Dunbar will no doubt be notified in due course. I have seen the King since he has—and have come straight to you, my lord. For this is a matter of some urgency. In the light of ... developments." Heriot reached into his doublet-pocket and brought out a paper. "Here is my personal note-of-hand for twenty-one thousand pounds Scots—which will suffice, I think, to cover the payment—plus any small outlays your lordship is put to in the matter."
There was a pregnant silence in the stuffy little room, as Scone picked up and examined the paper. The sounds of the street were suddenly evident
"Ooh, aye," the Comptroller said, at length. "To be sure. Uh-huh." He carefully folded and pocketed the paper. "Very good, Maister Heriot"
"Yes. You will have the payment made swiftly, my lord?"
"Yes, yes. The siller is here. It will be at yon Castle Huntly before this hour the morn."
"That will serve very well. And the King well served in it"
"Mmmm. You're no' telling me why this change o' tune, sir?"
"Policy, my lord. In connection with certain moves that are afoot. To contain certain Catholic ambitions!" Scone was a fervent Protestant "Hence the secrecy."
"Ah!" The other nodded. "I have heard tales, mysel'. Very good, Maister Heriot. Leave the matter to me. Aye. Now—a glass o'wine... ?"
Walking his horse back to the Blackfriars thereafter, George Heriot felt somewhat cold about the back of his neck. James Stewart had not actually executed anyone for some time—but the Tower of London loomed with a chilly presence.
Will Shakespeare proved to be getting on famously with the ladies, and they were drinking ale and eating sweetmeats with him and certain others of the players when Heriot returned. It turned out that the playwright had been using his own initiative during his time in Perth, and had already visited Birnam Wood, Dunsinane and sundry other locations relevant to the theme of MacBeth, and was bubbling over with enthusiasm for the scale and wildness of the scenes, so much more dramatic than anything he had experienced hitherto. He had the entire tragedy all but plotted out in his mind, and had seen many curious and colourful characters here in Scotland on whom he might base his protagonists. He had but to see Elgin, Forres and the witches' moor t
here, and he would have sufficient for his purposes.
Heriot pointed out that there was more to the MacBeth story than these locations. He explained about the alternative witches's moor in the St. Martins-Dunsinane area, MacBeth's Castle at Cairnbeddie, and the fact that MacBeth's final defeat and slaying was at Lumphanan in Aberdeenshhe; but while the other agreed that he ought to see these nearby sites, unless they were infinitely superior to the Moray ones, for the play's purposes, he would prefer to hold to the ones the King had suggested, as a matter of policy. Moreover, it would complicate matters to introduce an entirely new location for the final battle—for a playwright had to consider the number of acts and scenes, with their backcloths, for his production, and discipline himself strictly. His duty was to entertain and instruct by demonstrating the spirit and essence of historical drama rather than by seeking to portray exact detail and sequence of historical events. His listeners accepted that
It was agreed, then, that they would all go to look at Cairnbeddie and the Eastmuh of Dunsinane, in Gowrie, only seven miles away, the next day; and then, in two weeks time, when the season at Perth was finished, Shakespeare would take his company north, to Elgin and Inverness. Whether they would have time to visit Aberdeen and this Lumphanan, would depend on developments. Heriot mentioned that he was doubtful about the profitability of play-acting in the North, which was in the main an Erse-speaking area—although Elgin, where the Old Church had been so strong, might provide audiences capable of understanding English actors.
So the day following, the young women once again very much present they picked up the playwright at Perth, and rode on, over Tay, east by north into Gowrie, towards the northern foothills of the Sidlaw Hills, a territory verging on the Angus border. There they saw the green mound rising out of an apron of broom-clad hillside, which was all that was left of MacBeth's Castle, his southern stronghold after he became king. They climbed Dunsinane Hill, and exclaimed at the magnificence of the far-flung vista, pointing out the Birnam and Dunkeld wooded hills to the north-west; and after much searching, and at grave risk of becoming bogged in a swampy, scrub-grown heath, discovered the extraordinarily-shaped Witches' Stone, like a great anvil, with its neighbouring stone-circles and standing-stones, a pleasant enough spot on a sunny May day with the gorse blooming golden, but undoubtedly eerie, even grim, of a winter's dust That was all that they had time for, as Shakespeare had to be back for the evening performance. This his companions thereafter attended, with much enjoyment; even Heriot, with Alison at his side to share in and savour the experience, found the evening a delight.
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