It was a charming and startling picture, and for a few seconds there was a breathless silence before the people of Edinburgh began to cheer wildly.
Margaret, her eyes seeming more brilliant than usual because of her high color, looked completely regal — but a mother as well; and as such she had on her side every woman in that crowd which had assembled, and almost every man. It was what she had hoped for.
The four peers were approaching, and she called to them to halt.
“I command you to state the cause of your coming before you take one step nearer to your sovereign,” she cried in a loud voice.
“Your Grace,” replied the spokesman of the four, “we come in the name of the Parliament to receive the King and his infant brother.”
There was absolute silence in the crowd as it watched the conflict of wills, as it speculated as to who would win this first round of a mighty battle — the Queen or the new Regent and his Parliament.
Margaret commanded: “Drop the portcullis.”
The great iron gate rumbled down between the royal group and the parliamentary representatives.
“The King, my husband, made me governess of this castle,” she cried in a ringing voice, “and I shall not yield it. But the Parliament of this country I must respect, and I ask that I be given six days in which to consider what they ask of me.”
Then turning, with her train following her, she walked back into the castle.
Angus was alarmed. The scene had been effective in the eyes of the spectators, but he was sure it had been an empty victory. When his grandfather and uncles had persuaded him to marry the Queen he had not visualized such alarming events. He had thought it was going to be all Court pleasures with himself at the Queen’s right hand.
He thought of the power which was massed against them, for it seemed to him that the only supporters the Queen had were the Douglases and the unreliable Lord Home. His grandfather seemed broken by what had happened to him, and well he might be, for he had come very near to losing all he possessed.
The thought of losing all his possessions alarmed Angus, so on an impulse he wrote to Albany telling him that it had not been his wish to take part in that affecting scene at the portcullis. He had wished to obey the Parliament’s mandate, and indeed had advised his wife to do so.
Sweating with fear, he called for a messenger and ordered him to take the letter to the Regent Albany with all speed.
Margaret could not rest. Her thoughts kept going back to an event in her family which suggested a parallel with the position in which she now found herself.
When Edward IV had died his widow, Elizabeth Woodville, had been asked to surrender the young King and his brother. This she had most reluctantly done and they had been lodged in the Tower of London. In that tower of many secrets they had disappeared, and none knew what their fate had been.
How could she give up her little James and Alexander? They were so young and tender. If they died, Albany could claim the throne. She had seen this man; his looks were noble, his manner chivalrous. Yet whom could one trust?
Six days to keep them while she pretended to consider handing them over. During those six days she forgot everything but the desire to keep her children with her.
On the fifth day she wrote to the Parliament telling them that if they would allow her to keep the little King and his brother in her care she would maintain them on her dowry, and that she would allow certain noblemen to share in their guardianship. She guessed of course that the Parliament would not agree to this and, on the fifth day, she told Angus that she dared remain in Edinburgh Castle no longer. “For they will come and take the children,” she said. “I know they will not accept my conditions.”
“Then there is only one thing you can do,” Angus insisted. “Give up the children.”
“Give up the children! I remember what happened in the case of other princes lodged in the Tower of London.”
“I believe Albany to be an honorable man.”
“I trust no man,” retorted Margaret, and she looked at him appealingly as though imploring him to allow her at least to keep her trust in him.
“You daren’t go against the wishes of the Parliament.”
“I dare!” said Margaret firmly. “We are going to leave for Stirling Castle tonight.”
Angus was now really alarmed. “What good will that do?”
“I do not know, except that I shall have a little respite in which to think. I have told my attendants to make ready. We should leave soon after dusk.”
“W-we… ?” stammered Angus. “I would not come.”
“Would you not?” replied Margaret, her disappointment wounding her so bitterly that it subdued the fire of her anger.
“Nay,” said Angus, “’twill do no good and only anger the Parliament. I shall return to my estates until this trouble has blown over. I’d rather hear the lark sing in the open country than the mouse cheep in prison walls.”
“I see,” said Margaret, “that I must go without you.”
“’Tis better so,” answered Angus with a sigh of relief. “You have no chance against Albany, mark my words. He has the backing of the Parliament. He’ll be less harsh with a woman — being a Frenchman — than he’d be toward me. Do as you wish, but it would not be well if he thought I had any part in this.”
“Then goodbye… till we meet again,” replied Margaret.
That evening she and her attendants, with the children, came stealthily out of Edinburgh Castle; and as she rode through the night she was a frightened woman. What will become of my little ones? she asked herself. And she tried to forget that, in this desperate need, the man who should have stood beside her had deserted her lest through remaining with her he might hear the cheep of a mouse within prison walls.
He had been right, of course. What chance had she against a great military leader such as Albany? The flight to Stirling had been the one move left open to a desperate woman, and it could only mean delaying the inevitable climax for a few days — at best a few weeks.
On receiving Angus’s communication, Albany had been disgusted.
Poor woman, he thought, and a brave one too. How did she come to choose such a spouse, so childishly young, so ready to desert her side at the first sign of danger?
But for all his sympathy he had his duty to do; while Margaret kept the custody of the King she would be a formidable power; without him hers would be an empty title. Moreover he had to keep his word to the King of France whom he looked upon as his sovereign.
So he prepared to march to Stirling and slyly sent word to Angus that, as he wished to serve the Parliament, he should accompany the army which was about to leave for Stirling, its object being to secure the persons of the young King and his brother.
He felt a little less contemptuous when he received Angus’s reply that, although he wished to serve the Parliament, he could not join an army which was marching against his wife.
So Angus stayed on his estates while Albany marched on Stirling.
Margaret, deserted by her husband, knowing that she could not withstand a siege, decided that the only thing she could do was surrender to Albany; and then trust to her wits to bring her children back to her.
Thus, when Albany and his army arrived at the castle, Margaret ordered that the gates be thrown open, and she was revealed standing there with James beside her.
In his little hand he held the big keys of the castle and, walking up to the Regent Albany, as he had been told to do, he solemnly presented them to him.
Margaret’s sense of showmanship was superb; and as before the portcullis of Edinburgh Castle, all the spectators were moved to tears at the sight of that small and handsome boy, handing over the keys of the castle.
Albany knelt and took the keys, then he kissed the boy’s hand; and as though overcome by emotion he took him into his arms and embraced him while the watchers cheered.
James extricated himself and studied Albany intently. Then he said in his high, piping voice:
“Can you sing ‘Ginkerton’?”
“I doubt that,” answered Albany with a smile.
“Davie can and so can I,” answered the young James, with the faintest sign of contempt; but he evidently liked the look of Albany, for he allowed his hand to remain in his as they walked to the Queen, when Albany bowed with all the respect that she could wish for.
Margaret was smiling, but she was thinking: I have surrendered my children. Shall I ever take them away from him?
Margaret had handed her children over to Albany in August, and she was expecting Angus’s child in October. As always during such times she suffered a great deal, and she was impatient with herself because she felt so weak.
While she planned for the arrival of the new baby she yearned for her sons and at times, frustrated as she was, she cried hysterically for them.
Again and again she recalled the fate of the Princes who had disappeared while in the Tower of London.
“How do I know that a similar fate does not await my own darlings!” she demanded. “Why has Albany come to Scotland? It is because he wants the throne. He is another Richard III. My little ones are in imminent danger.”
Spies flourished in such a situation, and there were many to report her words to Albany.
“She is accusing you of intending to murder the King and his brother,” he was told.
“Nay,” answered Albany, “do not blame her; she is a woman crying for her children. It grieves me that we must take them from her, but when she married young Angus she brought this on herself. Would that I could do aught to relieve her anxiety, but I cannot.”
In her calmer moments Margaret began to plan; and at last she made up her mind what she would do.
She was going to make a desperate attempt to recover her children and, when she had done so, to take them over the Border into her brother’s country where she would ask for refuge.
Angus had proved himself to be overweak; but there was Lord Home whose hatred for Albany was so intense that he was prepared to undertake any action against him. So she sent for Home and laid her plan before him.
“As you know, my lord,” she explained, “my time is coming near and my pregnancies have always caused me great suffering. I am therefore going into retirement at Linlithgow where I shall observe all the rules laid out by my grandmother, the Countess of Richmond, and thereby hope for an easy labor. At least that is what I wish everyone to believe; and I shall write to my brother telling him, for I know full well all the letters I write to him are seen by my enemies. While I am in Linlithgow I shall arrange for the abduction of my children and our escape across the border, and in this you shall help me.”
This was a project which appealed to Lord Home, for if he could bring about the rescue of the royal children it would be clear to Albany how foolish he had been not to cultivate his friendship.
He therefore threw himself wholeheartedly into the plan, and it was decided that Margaret should escape to Tantallan, the Douglas home near the Border, while Home’s Borderers should set fire to a small town near Stirling. Albany would then surely release some of the guards from Stirling Castle, where the royal children were, in order that they might defend the town. Home would then seize the opportunity to kidnap them and carry them to Tantallan where the Queen would be waiting to leave for England.
Now that she had a definite plan, Margaret’s spirits rose and she ceased to mourn, because she was certain that in a short time she, with her husband and children and the newborn little one, would be in the protection of her great brother Henry, where none would dare molest them.
She wrote to her brother the letter which she knew would be intercepted and shown to Albany and his ministers.
My dearest brother,
I write to you at this time to tell you that I propose to take to my chamber and lie in at my Palace of Linlithgow within this twelve days, for there are but eight weeks to my time. Matters go well here in Scotland under the new Regent and that is a great comfort to me at this time. I pray Jesus to send me a safe delivery and to have you, my dearest brother, in his good keeping…
She was smiling to herself, imagining Albany reading the letter, and his comments as he did so. He would congratulate himself that she had overcome her hysterical desire to keep her children with her; doubtless he would call her a woman of sound good sense.
Good sense indeed! she thought.
She had had the chamber at Linlithgow hung with tapestry and even the windows were covered with it, because her grandmother, the Countess of Richmond, who had had more influence with her son than any other person, had laid down a law as to how royal ladies should be treated in childbed, and one of the first rules was that all light and air should be excluded from the chamber; but the tapestry covering one window, however, might be placed so that it could be easily drawn aside, for in pregnancy women often had strange fancies which it was unwise to deny; and if a fancy for light and air should overtake an expectant mother, unwelcome as it was, she should be humored. All those who waited on her during her confinement must be women; therefore the tasks of chamberlains, pantlers, ushers, and sewers, which might at other times be allotted to men, must be done by women. Only in the case of dire need must a man be allowed into the chamber.
Such an atmosphere suited Margaret’s purpose. In her shrouded chamber in Linlithgow Palace she would work out her plan.
She was ready for the escape, but there was one matter which disturbed her. How could she leave Angus whom she sorely missed? She had already forgiven him his disaffection. He is so young, she told herself. It must have been a great shock to him to see his grandfather imprisoned. I doubt not that he is ashamed of his action by now; and he at least would not march against me.
She longed to see him; but she was supposed to be surrounded only by females, so how could she summon Angus to her? There was one way. If she were very ill and asked to see her husband no one would be very surprised if he came.
Very soon the people of Scotland were talking of the poor Queen’s sickness and the trouble which always attended her pregnancies. Poor lady, they said, she came near to death with the others even when she lived at ease. How will she fare now that she is in such sad state?
And they hourly expected to hear that the Queen was dead.
Angus came riding to Linlithgow in answer to her summons.
She received him in the tapestry-hung lying-in chamber. He was a little shamefaced, but she quickly set him at ease by embracing him, telling him how sadly she had missed him and how happy she was to see his dear face again.
Realizing that there were to be no reproaches, Angus’s relief was apparent. He returned her embrace and told her that he was happy now they were together again.
“And you will stay with me until our child is born,” she announced.
“Can that be so?” he asked. “Do you not wish to be surrounded only by women?”
She laughed. “That was my grandmother’s law. I make my own laws. I doubt not that our child will be born in England.”
Angus was aghast. “But how so?”
“Because, my love, tonight we are going to steal out of Linlithgow. We are going to Tantallan and there make our way across the Border.”
“But the Parliament… ”
“Do you think I care for the Parliament? I am tired of the Parliament. I am the Queen of Scotland, whatever they decree. And I shall have my say.”
Angus was wishing that he had not come to Linlithgow, but now that he was in her presence he felt the force of her character. Her enthusiasms were always so great that he was caught up in them. Thus it had been when she had made him aware of her desire to marry him. He had wanted to refuse then and had been unable to; it was the same now.
She put her arms about his neck and brought her glowing face close to his. “It will be pleasant to spend a night together at Tantallan. As soon as we have escaped I shall send a message to my brother imploring him for sanctuary. I long to be at the English Court. I have heard it has become
truly magnificent since my father’s death.”
“You cannot leave your sons in Scotland!”
“Nay, nay. They shall be with us.” She was laughing wildly because she was so happy to see his handsome face again; and she could tell herself that she loved him all the more because of his very bewilderment. She had the same tenderness for him as she had for her little James and Alexander. He was but a boy really. Younger than she was in years… and so much younger in experience.
“I will take care of you,” she said. “I will make you happy.”
“I-I had expected to find you ill,” he stammered.
“It was the only way to get you here without suspicion. I am not ill. The thought of outwitting my enemies makes me feel full of health and vigor. How I should love to see their faces when they discover that we have gone!”
She then told him of Home’s plan to make a diversion while he kidnapped the boys.
“This time tomorrow we shall all be at Tantallan,” she told him. “And then… on to the Border.”
“You are in no condition to travel. I cannot allow you… ”
She patted his cheek. “My loved one, I shall be well enough for the journey. Our son will be born before we reach London mayhap. But we shall be together… my husband and my boys… as we were meant to be.”
Angus could see that nothing he could say would dissuade her. He would have to go forward, for there was no way back.
That night, when it was dark, cloaked figures slipped out of Linlithgow Palace to where saddled horses awaited them.
How exhilarating, thought Margaret, to ride through the night, her husband beside her, his child in her womb. And all the time she was thinking of Home in Stirling Castle, snatching up her beloved boys and riding through the night with them, as she rode with Angus.
Then she knew that, much as she longed for power, there was one thing that meant more to her than anything in the world: her own family. That must be so, for her greatest ambition at that moment was to have them all safely under her care even though she never saw Scotland again.
The Thistle and the Rose Page 17
