The shouting and anger changed to cheering and acclaim. James Hay bowed to the King and Queen and waved and grinned to all the guests, before, with a flick of his hand, dismissing the army of domestics.
"Aye, maist ingenious," James declared, a little breathlessly. "But a fell waste o' meats, man!"
"It is called the ante-dinner, or double-dinner, Sire. As they do it in the Papal States, I understand. With, h'm improvements I"
"Is that so? Well—we'll no' trouble the Cardinal-man, this time, but just set to—in case you breenge it a' awa' again. You've f ah set my belly rumbling."
* * *
When none could eat more and before a similar stage was reached with the wines, James presented his gifts, Heriot assisting and identifying. Clearly he gained much satisfaction from the exercise, especially from the little speech he made, with each item, in the language of its recipient, a feat certainly no other prince of Christendom could have rivalled. Whether all the happy assignees were able to understand the wet and thick-tongued allusions, in the rich Scots accent, was another matter. Of quite a number of the items James asked Heriot the cost, sotto voce, in the process, and, when sufficiently impressed, passed on the information like-wise with the gift.
When this was over, a move was made outside, to view the succession of masques, spectacles, tableaux, mimodramas and set pieces in the gardens—although only with reduced numbers of spectators, it is to be feared, strange and exotic liquors having had some equally strange effects, especially on top of some of the more ratified dishes. Some of the entertainments were allegorical, epic, historical or moral, Messrs. Jonson, Jones and Campion having been given more or less a free hand; but others were merely diverting and catered for all tastes. The King's own tastes were catholic, and he appeared to get as much enjoyment out of a piece wherein a lot of little boys disguised as bottles danced and capered round a man in the guise of a great tun, spewing out coloured water as wine, as over an elaborate and erudite charade by Sir Francis Bacon, wherein Peace and Plenty cast their generous offerings before His Pacific Majesty in the shape of a crowned lion, with War, represented by a most loathsome dragon, being continuously stabbed, to the effusion of large quantities of red blood, by a succession of angel-knights with handsome wings sprouting from their shining armour.
As ever, of course, the King began to tire of all this, sooner rather than later and commenced to steer his party gradually towards the large lake where, on an islet, only reachable by tw0 available gondolas, a special pavilion had been erected amongst the trees and stocked with bottles, flagons and playing-cards. Since the gondolas only held four each at most, in addition to the gondoliers, a considerable weeding-out of hangers-on was expeditiously achieved, with Robin Carr instructed, in stage-whispers, whom to include. Some of the most successful gamblers in two kingdoms, more especially the northern one, largely new viscounts but including the English Earls of Montgomery and Southampton, were duly ferried across to the island in relays, whilst Carr was sent in search of the wealthiest known guests, to invite, also in relays, as a mark of especial royal esteem, to make brief pilgrimage to the shrine.
At this stage, George Heriot conceived his duty done and melted away into the shrubbery, to go in search of Alison who had remained with the Queen.
It was early evening, with the thought of the fourteen-mile barge-journey down-river beginning to exercise his mind and Alison about to seek formal permission to leave the Queen's entourage, that Heriot learned that his liege lord had not yet, in fact, finished with him for the day. He learned it from the supercilious lips of Carr, Viscount Rochester, no less, sent in person to find and conduct him to the island. They made a silent journey of it
Only one gondola survived—the other apparently having sunk without trace—and at both the little jetties and at the pavilion entrance Yeomen stood guard. Within the tent was a picture of chaos. Tables were overturned, bottles, flagons and tankards lay everywhere, playing-cards littered the trampled grass and, amidst all, bodies snored and twitched and grunted. Three men remained upright, all Scots—James himself, at the head of a table, James Hay, Viscount Doncaster, at one side of him and John Ramsay, Viscount Haddington, at the other; although admittedly the Archduke Albert of Hapsburg remained approximately in his chair but sprawled helplessly across the swimming table. Beside the three Scots were sizeable piles of specie, gold pieces, rings, jewelled brooches, crosses of knightly orders and, Heriot was interested to note, sundry of the costly gifts he had so carefully manufactured for this day.
The King, beaker in hand, waved genially. "Aye, Geordie— come you. Drink a cup o' wine wi' me. Whaur hae you been hiding yoursel’?" His voice was neither thicker nor more slurred than usual.
"I have latterly been talking with His Highness the Prince of Wales, Sire. In his room."
"You have?" James nodded. "Dutious. Aye, my Annie would send you there. She has a notion our Henry will die, has Annie. Think you so, Geordie ?"
Heriot swallowed. "I... I do not know, Sire. But—God forbid! I am no physician. He seemed brighter, stronger, I thought"
"Aye, he's bright, all right Ower bright, maybe, the laddie. I hope he doesna die, Geordie."
"No, She. I pray that he will not"
"Aye—you pray. But meantime, come you and sit by me. Here. Johnnie, Jamie—up wi' you. Off! You too, Robin Carr—out! I want a word wi' my Fiduciary. Aye, and you can leave the winnings where they are see you—they'll come to nae harm in Geordie Heriot's care!"
When the other three had bowed themselves out, leaving only the unconscious drunks, James gestured to the three heaps of spoil. 'You hae yon kist o' yours, some place? Och, it'll no' need to go back toonl And, here." He dug into a pocket of his padded doublet for a bunch of crumpled papers. "Some notes o' hand, just. There's one for seven hundred pounds frae Philip Montgomery. You'll ken better than I do whether his credit will stand it? But, och—we'll no' can be too hard on the laddie, mind. And here's one for eight thousand, five hundred guilders frae yon fat Dutchman. I dinna ken how much that is—you'll hae to work it out for me, Geordie. You'll see to it a' ?"
'Yes, Sire. A, a profitable afternoon!"
"Ooh, aye. Though, mind, a guid head for the liquor is the main thing. Never play the cartes wi' a birling heid. One thing we Scots can teach them, eh? Och, but you dinna play them anyhow, do you?"
"No, She. Money is my trade, not my amusement So I respect it."
"Nae mah'n do I, lad—nae mair'n do I. And dinna sound sae a'mighty smug. Na, na—sit still. Dinna go yet, man. I've news
for you. Frae Scotland. Right interesting news." "Good news, Sire ? Or ill ?"
"That's maybe a matter o' opinion. You, now—you, I jalouse, hae something o' a shamefu' liking for yon rogue Patrick Gray, hae you no'?"
"Gray? I do not rightly know, Sire. I admit he is a very dangerous man. And too clever, by far. But he has his points, too. A, a strange urbanity. His principles may be but ill ones—but he holds to them."
"You think so? He has aye held to treasons, rebellions, plots, subornings, betrayals. If you can ca' such principles! Piracy, too —wrecking. Hae you heard tell what he and thae graceless kin o' mine in Orkney hae been at? Changing the beacons on the islands that guide the ships, to lure in honest mariners to the rocks. So they can plunder them. For money and arms and gear to raise rebellions against me I To pay for French arms. Aye, but the French ships get in safe enough! Devils, they are—just devils. The wet sea! But—och, I've put a spoke or two in that wheel, to be sure."
"There has been talk of this of arms, mercenaries, from France, invasion and the like, for long now, Sire. And little to show for it. Think you it is in truth anything more than a tale? Put out by Gray, no doubt. For his own ends. To alarm, win over faint-hearts, gain concessions perhaps... ?"
"Och, aye—it's mair'n a tale, Geordie. I ken fine what's been going on. It's maybe no sae great a matter as has been made out— but invasion was planned, to be sure. Much arms sent I've a wheen folk wi' sharp
ears in France, as well as had Patrick, mind." James shrugged those grotesquely padded shoulders. "But—a' that's done wi'. By wi', man. There'll be nae invasion, now. Nae uprising and fell insurrection in my auld realm o' Scotland. We can a' sleep quiet in our naked beds, now, Geordie. For the man's deid."
"Dead... ?" Heriot stared.
"Aye, just that. Deceased. On his way to hell, belike! Mind you, I'll miss him."
"But. .. but... you mean the Master? Lord Gray? Gray— dead?"
"Patrick, aye. Verra sudden."
The other moistened his lips and looked round that shambles of a pavilion, as though for means of escape. "I cannot .. . take it in, Sire!" he muttered. "Patrick Gray! He was, I think, no older than am I. And of excellent health. How—how did he die?"
"It seems to have been fell sudden. The hand o' Almighty God, nae doubt. It aye catches up wi' evil doers, sooner or later, mind. A stroke, they tell me. Aye, a stroke, just"
"Not the stroke of steel! Or bullet?"
"No' so as I've heard tell. In his bed, in his ain house o' Castle Huntly. Ooh, aye—the Lord's ways are wonderfu' and mysterious for to behold."
"The Earl of Dunbar died in his bed, also, Sire, did he not— equally mysterious and wonderful! A strange . .. coincidence !"
"So it is, Geordie—so it is. I hadna thought on that But—a' for the best, mind. Patrick had had his day—like Doddie. Time they moved on, I'm thinking. For the weei o' the realm. Aye— aut non tentaris aut perfice !"
There was silence in that tent for a little, save for the snorings and gruntings.
'You seem hard stricken, Geordie—over one o' your lord's enemies!" the King observed presently but not censoriously. "I reckon you had a soft side for the man. So had I, mind—so had I. Or is it Vicky's lassie, Mary Gray, you're consairned for ? Or my bonnie cousin Marie. Your sentiments do you credit, Geordie. But... the women will get ower it Like the rest o' us."
"I, I just cannot seem to accept it, Sire. There is something amiss, here."
'You think so ? Mind, if it hadna been our Vicky in charge up there, I'd hae let my mind dwell on the thought o' poison, maybe! But, och—Vicky wouldna do sic like a thing. No' wi' Mary Gray in it And Vicky is a right honourable duel, you'll agree? Na, na—we can rule out poison, eh? It's just the hand o' God, as I say."
Heriot looked his royal master in the eye, and said nothing.
"Sae that's it, Geordie. That's my news. And a' will be a deal better in Scotland, now—nae doubt o' that There's no' another Patrick Gray. My Orkney kin will sink like pricked bladders, wi' him gone! So simple a solution, eh ? Simple, aye. It gars you think! Waesucks—maybe we're no' simple enough often enough. Aye, well—awa' wi' you, Geordie—and meditate on the ways o' the Lord!"
Abruptly Heriot rose, bowed jerkily and turned to go.
"Dinna forget the gewgaws and the siller, man," James reminded. "Use the Archduke's cloak to bundle it in—he owes me mair'n that, anyway."
With his heavy and awkward bundle, Heriot paused at the tent door as the King spoke again.
"I'm going to miss him, mind. It'll no' be the same without him—no' the same, at all. A guid night to you, Geordie Heriot."
A man in chaos of emotions, George Heriot went seeking his Alison. He wanted to go home.
HISTORICAL NOTE
THE THREE PRINCIPAL actors in this account continued in their various activities for many years thereafter; but although premature death did not strike them down as it had done Patrick Gray, it struck at all three indirectly the following year, 1612, wherein died Henry, Prince of Wales, Jean, Duchess of Lennox, and, after barely four years of marriage, Alison Primrose, in childbirth. George Heriot mourned her for the rest of his days.
James Stewart continued to rule his United Kingdom in his own inimitable way for another fourteen years, dying in his bed after drinking vast quantities of beer to cool himself of a fever, at the age of fifty-nine, having been a king for fifty-eight years. Queen Anne predeceased him by six years, on 9th March 1619—but remained unburied until 13th May, while sufficient funds were found for the funeral. James, who did not like gloomy occasions, did not attend.
George Heriot, who did not remarry, never retired to Scotland after all, though he bought an estate there. He died the year before his monarch—who was still in his debt—and was buried at St. Martin-in-the-Fields, London. He left a huge fortune, a large part of which he donated to his native city to found the great school which still carries his name, based on the example of Christ's Hospital, London, which he had much admired.
Duke Ludovick died in the same year as Heriot, full of honours if not riches, now Duke of Richmond as well as of Lennox. His illegitimate son, John Stewart of Methven, was knighted and appointed Constable and Keeper of Dumbarton Castle—from which Patrick Earl of Orkney was taken to Edinburgh, for execution for treason, in 1615.
On the death of Alison Heriot, her father James Primrose demanded a refund of the five thousand merks dowry money, plus another five thousand in lieu of expenses. Heriot, though disclaiming liability, repaid the first but not the second. Primrose's grandson became the first Earl of Rosebery.
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