by Jean Plaidy
Margaret, exhausted but happy, slept and when she awakened she was refreshed and declared that this was different from her other pregnancies.
As soon as the Queen was able to leave her bed, there must be a feast such as there had never been before. Lindsay of the Mount must come and take charge of the little boy’s nursery. The child must be watched over night and day to ensure that he continued in perfect health.
Margaret was now the triumphant mother assuring herself that her little James showed none of the weakness of his brothers and sister. Healthy, lusty, his voice could be heard in his nursery when he crowed and clucked, as though he was determined, as his parents and attendants were, that he should stay alive.
Preparations were made for the feast. Four wild boars were roasted with four oxen; there were ninety-four pigs, thirty-five sheep, thirty-six lambs, seventy-eight kids, seventeen calves and two hundred and thirty-six birds besides pies and cakes of all description.
The wine ran freely and the sounds of rejoicing resounded not only in the Palace, but throughout the country.
James, Prince of Scotland and the Isles, had come to stay.
Little James prospered in his nursery and delighted all who beheld him, though none more than his father and mother; but now that they could believe he was in truth a healthy boy and they need not continually fear he was going to be taken from them, it seemed unnecessary to observe such rigorous piety as they had before his birth.
Margaret no longer prayed for long hours each day; as for James, he had been a faithful husband too long, and abstinence from his favorite game was too much to ask of him.
He was off on his travels once more, and it was whispered that not only did he visit the old mistresses but had added several new ones to those who pleased him.
Anger flared in Margaret’s heart. She had been so contented during those weeks of pregnancy when he had been constantly at her side. And now that she had produced a healthy boy, he felt it was enough to visit her occasionally, to share her bed that they might do their best to get more children—one heir not being enough.
She looked about angrily for a diversion.
There was politics. She remembered a conversation which had taken place between herself and her brother Henry before her marriage; then he had deplored the Tudor–Stuart alliance; he did not like what he had heard of her husband. And now that he was King, he seemed to remember that dislike. There was trouble brewing between Henry and James; and it seemed an insult to her that her husband should be more inclined to favor France than the country of his own wife. This is characteristic of the way he has always treated me! she told herself.
It was only reasonable that she should be on the side of her own countrymen and her own brother, and she was going to do everything she could to ruin the chances of the French and advance those of the English. If she did, Henry might give her the jewels which Arthur had left her. But it was not for that reason that she had decided she would dabble in politics.
She was a woman of spirit, so how could she stand by with indifference while her husband openly visited her rivals.
There was another interest in her life. She was young and beautiful; and now and then she found the eyes of some of her husband’s courtiers resting on her, and their looks were meaningful.
She had come to Scotland prepared to love her husband, and she would never have given a thought to any other man had he been faithful to her. But he had wounded her pride—always strong in the Tudors—so, she asked herself, could she be blamed if she, like James, found others interesting?
She had never allowed her fancy to go beyond glances and the imagination. When she bore children she must be sure they were Stuarts of the royal house; but for that, it might have been a different story. She needed restraint in those days—restraint to curb her irritation, her wounded pride and most of all her natural impulses.
James was on a visit to St. Ninian’s shrine, which meant of course a sojourn with Janet Kennedy; and as Margaret sat at her window in Linlithgow Palace looking out over the loch, she was not admiring the sparkling stretch of water but picturing those two together.
There was a boat on the loch and in it were a young man and woman. Margaret watched him plying the oars while the young woman played the lute. It made a charming picture. She guessed the man to be about her own age, although he might have been a little younger.
I believe childbearing has aged me, thought Margaret ruefully.
She turned her gaze to the men and women who were sauntering at the lochside, but her attention went back to the man in the boat.
She rose and called to her woman. “I have a fancy,” she said, “to go on the loch. Go and tell them to prepare my boat for me.”
In a very short time she was lying back in her boat, her lute in her hands, her hair showing golden beneath her headdress; the excitement which had come to her making her look very young indeed.
“Who is that in yonder boat?” she asked Lady Guildford who had accompanied her.
Lady Guildford tried to hide a faint alarm which, knowing her mistress so well, she could not help feeling. So far Margaret had behaved with decorum, although it had to be admitted that she suffered some provocation.
“It’s young Archibald Douglas, Your Grace.”
“A Douglas! Old Bell-the-Cat’s son?”
“Grandson, Your Grace.”
“Ah, yes, I see he is very young. And who is the lady with him?”
Lady Guildford’s mouth was a little prim. “That, Your Grace, is his young wife.”
“Indeed. And who is she?”
“She is Margaret, daughter of Patrick Hepburn, Earl of Bothwell.”
Margaret began to laugh. “There seem to be so many Margarets at the Court of Scotland.”
“It is a charming name, Your Grace,” murmured Lady Guildford.
Margaret did not answer, but she continued to watch the young man. She had always had a liking for Old Bell-the-Cat because he had sought to rival James in Janet Kennedy’s affection. And this was his grandson. How handsome he was! Gazing at him, she realized that her husband was beginning to look his age. All the Stuart good looks and charm could not give him eternal youth; and what a pleasant thing youth was. He must be near my own age, thought Margaret, possibly younger.
She turned her attention to his wife. Insipid, she decided, and unworthy of him.
Now their boats were close together and the young Douglases were aware of the proximity of the Queen.
“It is pleasant on the loch today,” Margaret called in a friendly fashion.
“It is indeed so, Your Grace.” His voice was melodious, as she had known it would be; and now that she was closer she could see how fresh his skin was, how bright his eyes. She liked the way his hair curled about his neck. By sweet St. Ninian, she thought, using her husband’s favorite oath, if Old Bell-the-Cat had half the good looks of his grandson, James must have found a formidable rival in him for the wanton Janet.
She played her lute as sweetly as she knew how and the lute in that other boat was silent.
When she had finished there was a round of applause in which he joined most heartily.
She bowed her head in acknowledgment of the applause.
Lady Guildford ventured: “There is a breeze arising, Your Grace. Should you not consider your health?”
“Row us to the shore,” Margaret commanded; and she turned to smile at the occupants of that other boat.
Trouble had flared up between Scotland and England. James was still smarting under Henry’s refusal to let Margaret have the jewels which were rightly hers, when news was brought to him that the English had seized certain Scottish ships and in the fight which preceded the capture an admiral of Scotland, Sir Andrew Barton, had been killed.
Margaret found him pacing up and down his apartment in an anger which was rare for him.
“I’ll not endure this,” he cried. “It is not a matter which can be settled over a council table. This is an act of war.”
Margaret wanted to know of whom he spoke, and when he retorted, “The English!” her resentment rose afresh. Why would he not take her into his confidence? Surely he realized that she could procure concessions from her own brother which his ministers could not hope to achieve.
“I doubt not,” she said tartly, “that there were faults on both sides.”
James regarded her thoughtfully.
“This quarrel goes back to the days when my father was on the throne,” he explained.
“Why don’t you tell me all about it, James? Don’t you see that because I am English I might be able to help?”
“You must admit that your brother is headstrong and hardly likely to listen to advice. But this is what happened. One of our merchants, a certain John Barton, was taken prisoner by the Portuguese and put to death. This happened, as I said, in my father’s reign. His family wanted vengeance on his slayers and, since this was denied them, they put to sea in an endeavor to destroy all the Portuguese ships that came their way. This was a dangerous thing to do, for pirates are reckless men and when there were no Portuguese ships available they sought to make prizes of ships of other nations. Some of these happened to be English. That was how the trouble started. The Howards fitted up ships and set out in search of the Bartons. This is the result.”
“It would seem to me that the Bartons deserved their fate, and what has happened is no reason for enmity between you and my brother.”
“The English have no right to destroy Scottish ships.”
“Nor have Scotsmen to act as pirates against English ships.”
“It is certainly a matter which must be brought to a stop. And as a result Lord Dacre and Dr. West will be arriving in Edinburgh shortly to discuss some sort of settlement with me.”
“I think you should listen to them in a friendly spirit,” said Margaret.
“Do not forget that your brother holds valuable property of yours which he will not give up.”
“I am sure if I were to plead with him I could make him understand that this strife between our countries is foolish and dangerous.”
“Strife is always dangerous, but I do not trust your brother, Margaret, and I never shall.”
“Yet you are ready enough to trust the French.”
“I have no reason to do otherwise.”
“And with the English…”
“Why, you yourself know he will not give up your jewels.”
“James, when Lord Dacre and Dr. West come to Edinburgh, will you allow me to see them?”
James hesitated. Then he said, “Very well, you shall have your interview with them. Then perhaps you will understand where the fault for this enmity lies.”
Margaret received Dr. West and Lord Dacre in her apartments in Stirling Castle. Her son was with her there, for she did not care that he should be far from her and she always found great pleasure in visiting the nursery where David Lindsay was already in charge.
David seemed to be acting as nurse to the boy. He it was who carried him about in his arms, and in spite of young James’s age he was already aware of the devotion of this man and apt to be fretful when he was not present. David Lindsay watched over the child with the utmost care and had at last, after several failures, discovered the perfect wet nurse for him in a buxom Irish woman.
David could scarcely wait for the boy to grow up, so eager was he to introduce him to music and poetry. But he never for one moment forgot how important to the country was this young life; and in those early days he gave his attention to his bodily needs. It was a great pleasure for Margaret to visit his nursery, and hear from David how her son was progressing. He was a beautiful baby, full of good health; and while this was so, other matters seemed of far less importance.
All the same Margaret did want to make peace between her brother and her husband. She had thrown herself into this project with great zest, partly because she was a woman who would always want to rule; partly to take her mind from young Archibald Douglas whom she saw frequently and of whom she was thinking far too much.
When she received the English ambassadors she greeted them with warmth and asked many questions as to the health of the King and Queen of England. His Grace, her brother, she was told, was in fine good health; the Queen, due to her recent disappointment, a little less so.
“My poor sister!” said Margaret with feeling. “I beg you, when you return, tell her that I pray for her continually and I hope with all my heart that in due course she will be as happy as I. Now tell me, have you brought me news of my legacy?”
“Yes, Your Grace. The King, your brother, will most willingly send it to you.”
“Ah,” cried Margaret, “I knew he would. Then when will it arrive?”
“His Grace makes one condition. It is that the King of Scotland makes solemn promise to keep the peace with England and to sign no treaty with France.”
Margaret was startled. She knew that James would not consider such conditions, and she was as far from receiving her jewels as ever; and moreover, relations between her native land and that of her adoption were going to suffer greater strain.
“And if my husband refuses to accept these conditions…?” she began.
Dr. West answered: “Your Grace, it grieves me to say this, but I repeat the words of my master. If the King, your husband, is determined on a state of war between England and Scotland, the King, my master, will not only keep the legacy but take the best towns of Scotland also.”
Margaret was fearful; she could almost hear her brother’s blustering boastful voice.
She was seeking for some rejoinder when James entered the room to see how the interview was progressing. She was glad that he had not heard those last ominous words.
It seemed imperative to Margaret that she heal the breach between her brother and husband. This dabbling in politics brought a new excitement to her life at a time when she needed it.
On several occasions in the dance she had found herself partnered by young Archibald Douglas, and she was thinking of him more frequently.
James was inclined to listen to her, but she knew that this was due to his natural courtesy rather than to any desire for her opinions. James was headstrong and believed in making his own decisions; if he would not always take the advice of his ministers it was scarcely likely that he would listen to that of his wife, who must necessarily lack their knowledge and experience.
“Why, James,” said Margaret, “it is possible that I might persuade Henry to bestow on our little James the title of Duke of York. Poor Katharine of Aragon seems unable to give him male heirs—so why should not our child benefit?”
James was dubious. He had never trusted Henry; he never would. And every day he was receiving the French ambassadors and making excuses to avoid the English.
Margaret was doubly disturbed. News had come to her that her brother Henry had already sailed for France to make war on Louis XII, leaving his wife, Katharine, as Regent during his absence.
How like him to be so impetuous! thought Margaret. He had sought to win from James a promise of peace that he might go to France without thought of an enemy’s attacking from the North; but since he could not win this, he had acted without it.
Henry with the flower of his army in France! What would James do now?
She soon discovered. James was longing to make war on his insolent brother-in-law and naturally this was the ideal time to do so.
He was closeted with his ministers who were, Margaret was thankful to realize, not so eager to plunge the country into war as their King was.
James must be persuaded to remain at peace. He must understand that Henry was new to kingship; he had for long been subdued by his father and, now that he was King, was determined to be master. He had always seen himself as a leader of men, so it was natural that now he wanted to see himself as a conqueror. Margaret, who had known the boy Henry so well, believed that the man was not so different. Let him try his wings in France; then he might not be so eager for battle. That wa
s what she wanted to explain to James.
But James’s chivalry was touched from an unexpected quarter.
The Queen of France, Anne of Brittany, had written to him to tell him that when her husband’s embassy had returned to France they had recounted to her and the king how they had been entertained in Scotland, and how at the jousts there had been one known as the Wild Knight who had beaten all comers. She had often thought of the Wild Knight, a great gentleman; in fact she had thought of him as her knight, and she was sending him a token of her regard.
The token was a ring of enormous value. She begged him to wear it for her sake.
She was sorely distressed at this time because the English troops under the brash young English King were on French soil, and she was, in truth, appealing to the chivalry of her Wild Knight. Would he consider helping a lady in distress?
James put the ring on his finger and thought of the French Queen who wrote to him so eloquently. He pictured her at her table writing to him, the tears in her eyes; and his heart was softened. He believed that it was in his power to bring great joy to her, and to himself, by defeating the English.
He answered this appeal immediately by sending his ships—the James and the Margaret—to the French coast, and he put the Earls of Arran and Huntley in command of them.
Then, because it was against his idea of true chivalry to declare war on a country whose King was absent, he dispatched his Lord Lyon in full herald’s dress to Henry’s camp at Terouenne to announce that he was declaring war on Henry for the following reasons:
Henry had taken Scotsmen prisoner; he had withheld the legacy of Margaret, Queen of Scotland; he had slaughtered the Scottish Admiral Andrew Barton; and by these deeds he had broken the peace existing between England and Scotland.
Margaret was dismayed. She had so longed to show her brother the influence she held over her husband. And without telling her what was afoot, he had made himself the knight of the Queen of France, giving way to her, while his beautiful young Queen was ignored.
