The Gowrie Conspiracy

by Alanna Knight

  James jumped to his feet and pointed a grubby finger at her. ‘Ye defy us, madam, is that the way of it?’

  Anne stared stolidly towards the window as he continued:

  ‘Are ye telling us that ye will no’ release Master Eildor?’

  ‘That is so,’ she said coldly but firmly.

  James continued to stare at her biting his lip. ‘And for why, Annie?’ He paused giving her a crafty glance. ‘This servant – ye’re no’ surely intending taking him as a lover – as well.’

  His mocking tone infuriated her. How dare he make such a suggestion! Suddenly a bellow of laughter, coarse and lewd. Looking at her he could hardly believe that any man would find this ungainly creature, never at her best in pregnancy, bedworthy. Especially a man of such splendid calibre and infinite delights as Tam Eildor.

  The queen did not rise to his taunt, the slow movement of her head, the enigmatic fixed smile enraging him further.

  Had she? Could she…

  James had a sudden vision of Alexander Ruthven, a lad of sixteen, an enchanting face under a mass of red curls. His rival for the lad’s affection in this instance, none other than the queen herself. The lad had been found asleep in her garden, brazenly wearing as token of esteem the silk scarf James had given her.

  Her sudden change of countenance told him that the shaft had gone home. Taking advantage of that, he said in solemn warning, ‘May we remind you, madam, that queens have lost their heads for less.’

  It was Anne’s turn to laugh. ‘We think you would have some difficulty proving any such allegation against our virtue, James.’

  Rising to her feet, she curtseyed awkwardly, ‘Sire, we beg leave to bid you good day.’ And without further word, she summoned her ladies who sat at a discreet distance. Now gathering around her protectively, curtseying to the king, they ushered the queen into her bedchamber, leaving His Grace staring after them before stamping out in a fury.

  In her bedchamber with the door closed safely behind her, Anne decided that James’s interest was not reciprocated by Master Eildor. Now that James wanted him she was more determined than ever that he should not have him.

  Having sentimentally decided that Tam was enamoured of Tansy Scott, she frowned. That remarkable resemblance hinted at some strange bond. Perhaps they were long-lost brother and sister as her ladies suggested. How very tragic, the complications of an incestuous relationship.

  Summoning Tam to her presence, she said, ‘His Grace wishes you to take lodging in the royal apartment. As Gentleman of the Bedchamber perhaps,’ she added, straight-faced.

  Tam’s barely suppressed shudder was all the confirmation she needed.

  He bowed. ‘Madam, His Grace is too kind but as I have told him, I am a humble fellow.’ Pausing to give her an understanding smile, ‘I am no cupbearer, quite unworthy of the honours His Grace wishes to bestow upon me. The idea overwhelms me.’ He shook his head and looked at her in mute appeal. ‘I do not know how to respond.’

  The queen held out her hand for Tam to kiss; he dropped on one knee before her. ‘Do not be alarmed, Master Eildor. We have responded for you. You are to stay with us.’

  Tam knelt before her, kissing her outstretched hand. ‘Madam, I am so grateful – there are no words – ’

  The queen patted his head, gazed for a moment into those strange luminous eyes and indulged herself for a delicious instant that she was no longer pregnant with a child she did not want by a husband she despised. Imagining herself young and carefree as she had once been, beautiful as she had been never, then such a man as this might be her lover.

  Yet men had loved her. Francis Stewart, Earl of Bothwell, nephew of Queen Mary’s third husband and suspected dealer in witchcraft, was no friend of King James and his irrational exploits, scaring and taunting the king, had led to his exile.

  Then there was Alexander Ruthven, appalled by James’s treatment of her. Disgusted by what went on behind those closed doors of the royal bedchamber, and refusing what was expected of him, rushing to Anne, telling her all, swearing his eternal devotion.

  After James’s fury over the incident with the scarf, not occasioned by husbandly jealousy but by the indignity of the lad opening preferring the queen to himself, Alexander had fled back to Ruthven.

  Anne hugged her own secrets. She did not mention that the Earl of Bothwell wrote to her from exile. Or that she had received another letter from Alexander Ruthven informing of his return from Padua in Italy, where he had been studying with his tutor William Rynd. He and his elder brother John, Earl of Gowrie were about to take up residence in their town house in Perth.

  Her thoughts returned to Tam Eildor. Perhaps she might be more fortunate with him as a devoted admirer or lover.

  After all, she was queen of Scotland and for queens every fantasy could be made reality. That she knew so little about Tam made him even more appealing. That he was not of noble birth was an added titillation, since between the sheets stripped naked, men were merely men.

  And this one would certainly outshine her kingly consort with his few grunts and his eagerness to get the necessary duty of procreation over with, his speedy return to his pretty young pages.

  If only he could stay until the child was born, until she was free of this burden. Meanwhile she resolved that nothing – absolutely nothing – would make him available to James.

  Unless he could be used for bargaining purposes. To restore her children to her, perhaps?

  Chapter Ten

  And so it was with many tensions within the Palace that the queen’s Masque dawned. Blessed by the promise of a summer’s day with not a breath of wind under a canopy of sunshine and cloudless skies, all was in readiness to transform the gardens of the royal Palace into a stage set for the benighted courtiers who had strayed into Arcady.

  Such was the plot dreamed up by Queen Anne; and those who wished to endear themselves to her were lavish in their admiration.

  Nymphs and satyrs, fauns and shepherdesses, local children dressed as fairies and even some well-washed sheep from the royal park. Their protesting ablutions heard from miles away aroused speculation among the townsfolk who, used to ignoring the strange sounds which regularly issued from the Palace, merely presumed that there was a slaughtering in progress.

  No such ablutions were evident in the royal bedchamber where King James, still stinging from his wife’s rebuff over Tam Eildor, was in the sulks at having to play second fiddle to Annie, who was much better at organising Masques than he was.

  However, there was titillation in store. The theme was that some noble lords, who had gone hunting the wild deer, had fallen asleep in an enchanted forest – to be represented by a backdrop of highly artificial trees – and awakened to find themselves in the midst of a Bacchanalian orgy.

  There at least the king found consolation. The garden fountains, with some considerable difficulty and a great deal of blasphemy, had been turned into fountains of wine, richly sampled by the labourers as they were put into effect.

  There was one small difference in the theme. Titania, queen of the fairies was to be none other than Queen Anne herself. She was a somewhat obese and unlikely fairy, wearing an ill-fitting transparent robe which did nothing for an advanced state of pregnancy and a drooping and unappealing bosom. The least said about her extremities the better, but it was noted that large feet and heavy legs would presented a serious handicap should she have wished to take to the air on suspended wires.

  The lost huntsmen were ladies of her household wearing men’s clothes, doublets and padded breeches, stamping about in boots that were several sizes too large for them, which must have been a terrible impediment to their hunting and no doubt the reason for the few rabbits slung on poles and a rather long-dead and odorous corpse of a deer which had apparently died of natural causes, old age being indicated.

  The shepherdesses with whom the courtiers were to successfully make amorous advances – and there would be a lot of that sort of thing promised for later – were some of t
he king’s younger pages wearing court dresses, some of whom became these costumes remarkably well. Bewigged and painted it would have taken a keen eye to know the difference. They at least were certain of having a right regal evening, since this notion was calculated to have special appeal for His Grace.

  Spared any active role, King James would sit on his throne beside his fairy consort, in extreme discomfort on such a torrid evening by wearing his most elaborate state robes. The heavy crown would be replaced by his favourite ostrich-feathered tall hat, somewhat incongruously allied to coronation robes. But he would have his way and doubtless before the evening was out a lot of clothes would be discarded, especially if the heat of the day continued into darkness.

  The satyrs and fauns were the youngest pages, very scantily clad despite the goats hair trews and rather inadequate codpieces, wearing woolly wigs with tiny gilded horns, their faces painted with seductively wide eyes. His Grace found them very appealing too. In fact, he wasn’t quite sure if he would get around distributing his favours to so many attractive creatures. There would be quite a queue later on.

  Only Tam Eildor, the sheep and the doves, the latter to be picturesquely released, were themselves as God made them.

  As dusk gathered the candles were lit on the huge tables with their tankards and goblets, the royal dais groaning with food that had been in preparation for several days and, alas, smelt less than fresh.

  The royal chefs complained and looked heavenward and screamed abuse at each other. How could delicate meats and fish be kept fresh for more than a day in such weather, in such abominable heat?

  A trumpet sounded, a hushed silence, and their majesties walked arm in arm like the best of friends down a central grove, a highly elaborate representation of tall trees, since the real-life ones were inadequately placed too far from the scene of the masque.

  Tam had settled himself well out of the range of the lighted candles lining the processional route, some perched dangerously on lower branches of trees. Such was the stillness of that still hot evening that their flames did not even flutter.

  In the clearing around a flower-girt fish pond – the creation of an earlier king – white pillars entwined with blooms indicated an Arcadian temple, the setting for the enchanted glade.

  A royal trumpeter announced the arrival of children dressed as fauns and fairies, and looking every inch the part, which was more than could be said for the already sweating grown ups. The childish voices raised in a musical ode to Titania were accompanied, or not, depending on the state of one’s ear for music, by the rattle of flute and fiddle not altogether in tune.

  Obediently they trotted off, each leading a sheep or being dragged off in the wrong direction by creatures who had not read the queen’s stage directions.

  Tam craned his neck, looking for the five small girls he had encountered the previous morning, but could not distinguish them or even pick out their costumes, although he was pleased to see Jane proudly parading in court dress.

  The children’s departure was followed by the arrival of the courtiers with their bows and arrows, rushing about the stage set and falling exhausted into a deep sleep, to be awakened by a flight of shepherdesses, hotly pursued by satyrs.

  Despite coy attempts at rescue the courtiers, refreshed by sleep, soon made their own intentions clear. Both hunted and hunters exchanged tender embraces which swiftly led to more robust lovemaking.

  In no time at all, the evening had developed into a thorough-going orgy, over which His Grace’s voice loudly proclaiming Latin quotations could be clearly heard.

  After wild and undeserved applause, the unseemly lovers left the stage. No doubt, Tam decided, to sort themselves out of their borrowed costumes as speedily as possible.

  While the wine and viands were tackled by those with robust appetites for other, less carnal, matters, His Grace was seen in deep flirtation and caressings with a couple of elegantly-dressed court ladies who, he would soon very pleasantly discover, were none other than John Ramsay and Aiden Proud, two of his favourite pages.

  As an observer of this night’s entertainment, Tam found this excuse for an outdoors orgy more than a little lacking in subtlety and entertainment.

  Keeping well out of the king’s range against one of the trees and shutting his ears to the noise he decided he would slip back to his lodging. About to leave, he turned round to find himself in the embrace of a handsome youth with a decidedly husky voice murmuring endearments.

  This was too much, but Tam felt that he must humour the amorous creature, whilst fighting shy of those entangling arms.

  ‘Release me, if you please, sir. I think you mistake me for someone else.’

  A chuckle vaguely familiar. ‘Tam Eildor, is it not?’ The voice faintly disguised.

  Bowing he said, ‘I have not the pleasure – if you will excuse me,’ and started to walk away.

  Laughter followed. ‘That I certainly will not do.’

  Hearing Tansy’s voice he turned. And there she was, hands on the hips of those padded breeches. Grinning like an ape, she pulled off the bonnet.

  ‘Tam, I have never seen any man so scared of a woman. I might have been the devil himself.’

  ‘Or one of the king’s pretty young men.’ Or the king himself, Tam thought.

  ‘Was that what you thought?’

  Whatever Tam thought at that moment was lost as the still air was broken by an unmistakable sound.

  Seizing Tansy he threw her to the ground as the arrow slammed into the tree where their heads had been a second earlier.

  Tansy sat up, horrified and indignant. ‘That was extremely careless. They could have killed one of us.’

  ‘That, I think, was the general idea,’ said Tam grimly, dragging the arrow out of the tree.

  Tansy looked at it, frowning. ‘I thought our lady courtiers were to carry toy bows and arrows. The queen shall hear about this –’

  Tam shook his head. ‘No lady could have wielded this one, not for play either. From a crossbow, the kind used by soldiers. A killing instrument – ’

  He had to restrain himself from the natural impulse of racing off in pursuit of the archer. But even if the assassin still lurked, most of the candles were out and the area from which the arrow had hurtled was in darkness that would make a search impossible and extremely hazardous.

  ‘Tam – I don’t understand. Why?’ Tansy whispered.

  ‘I wish I had the answer to that.’

  ‘Do you think this has some – connection – with Mistress Agnew?’

  ‘We both have enemies it seems,’ Tam replied. He looked at Tansy in the dusk. She was shivering and he put an arm around her.

  ‘Nothing like this ever happened before you came, Tam.’ There was a hint of reproach in her voice.

  Tam sighed. How could he tell her, warn her? He was certain that the midwife’s death was a link, the prelude to some infinitely darker deed unsolved and the reason for his time-quest.

  ‘You say that the king wants rid of you, Tansy, and I have made one enemy – at least – among his courtiers. After his defeat at the royal tennis, I am fairly certain that John Ramsay would like to see my back, one way or another,’ he added grimly.

  The dusk was filled with distant shouts and laughter as couples made their way back to the Palace and in the area now deserted by the Masque servants were clearing up tables and removing furniture and chairs.

  Overwhelmed by a feeling of utter depression, Tam said, ‘It is cold. Let us go inside.’

  Tansy nodded. ‘I long to be rid of these silly clothes too. How men can wear them day after day – ’

  She stopped. ‘A moment, Tam. My wine goblet. I left it on the table over yonder.’

  Tam looked at her and smiled. ‘Surely you have wine enough –’

  Tansy shook her head. ‘The wine goblet is special. I always use it at banquets. It has sentimental associations with my granddam – she always believed in carrying her own goblet.’

  Leading the way, Tam follo
wed her towards one of the tables.

  A solitary candle guttered among the debris of food and goblets.

  Tansy pointed. ‘I left it right there.’

  ‘Perhaps it has been taken away.’

  ‘No, Tam. As you can see this table has not yet been cleared.’

  ‘It could have fallen – been knocked down.’

  Tansy was already searching. She did not have far to look. Under the long cloth that covered the table, an arm.

  The arm revealed a hand and as Tam held the candle, Tansy said indignantly: ‘One of the grooms. He’s drunk – and that is my goblet!’

  The servant made no attempt at resistance as Tam dragged him out.

  Tansy attempted to remove the goblet clutched tightly in his hand. ‘Waken him, Tam,’ she said impatiently. ‘Make him let go.’

  ‘That I cannot do,’ said Tam. With considerable difficulty he prised the goblet from the man’s grasp. Sniffing it briefly, he held the candle closer, saw the contorted face.

  He handed the goblet to Tansy. ‘The death grasp.’

  ‘What do you mean? He’s dead drunk.’

  ‘No, Tansy, Not drunk – dead!’

  ‘Dead?’

  ‘Poisoned.’

  Tam drew the cloth over the groom’s body and taking Tansy’s arm said, ‘There is nothing we can do for the poor fellow. We would be wise to let make ourselves scarce and let someone else make the grim discovery.’

  ‘Should we not – ’

  ‘No, Tansy, we definitely should not. I beg you, mention this incident to no one.’

  ‘Not even Her Grace?’

  ‘No one,’ Tam repeated firmly.

  Two attempts in one evening. And what better setting for success than the queen’s Masque, in unprotected gardens surrounded by darkness and candlelight. How easy for an assassin to penetrate.

  Tam was not surprised that the nervous king preferred to hold such events within the safety of four walls where all doors could be guarded.

  The groom’s killing had certainly been an accident as the poisoned goblet, known to be intended to be Tansy’s was another deliberate attempt on her life. But by whom?