The Thistle and the Rose (12 page)

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 was 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.

Margaret awoke. It was night and, stretching out her hand, gently she touched the sleeping body of her husband. So near, she thought, and yet so far away.

She remembered then riding into Scotland and how she had changed her dress on the roadside because she had wanted to look her best for him; then she had fallen deeply in love with him and for a time had believed herself to be loved.

It seemed now that the whole of her married life had been an affront to her pride.

She began to weep.

“What ails you?” It was James's voice in the darkness.

“Oh, have I awakened you? I crave pardon for that.”

“But tears! Why?”

“It was an evil dream.”

James, who was almost as superstitious as his father had been, was alarmed. He believed fervently in the significance of dreams.

“What was this dream?”

“I dreamed that you were standing at the edge of a precipice and, while I watched you, men came running. They were soldiers and they seized you and threw you down.…I saw your body mangled and battered, and I could not bear it.”

James put his arms about her. “You are overwrought,” he soothed.

“Nay, but this dream was vivid. And it did not stop there. I was sitting in my chamber looking at my jewels—my coronet of diamonds and my rings; and as I watched, my diamonds and my rubies all turned to pearls. And pearls are the sign of widowhood and tears.”

Being aware of her desire to turn him from his purpose, James was not as impressed by this dream as she had hoped he would be. “It is clearly a meaningless nightmare. Go to sleep and forget it.”

Margaret withdrew herself from his arms and sat up in bed.

“What I tell you is of course of no account,” she cried bitterly. “Now if I were the Queen of France you would listen to me. Alas, I am but the Queen of Scotland…your own wife whom you have constantly deceived and ignored.”

James was tired; he disliked such scenes at any time but at night they were doubly distressing. He lay down and began breathing as though he were sleeping.

“Oh, you can pretend to sleep,” stormed Margaret. “Let us hope you have pleasanter dreams than I. Let us hope that you dream you are reading love letters from the Queen of France… fighting her battles for her like her own true knight.”

“Margaret, be silent. You will arouse our attendants.”

“What matters it? They will only hear me say what they know already. Do you deny that you have made yourself the knight of the Queen of France? I wonder you did not go to France instead of Lyon. Then you might have had a chance of sharing her bed.”

James did not answer, but Margaret was not going to be silenced.

“The Queen of France!” she cried scornfully. “Twice married by means of divorces! A fine lady to arouse the chivalry of her Scottish knight. But she must be served while the mother of your son is cast aside.”

James rose quickly and seizing her pulled her down beside him.

“Be silent!” he commanded, and there was an angry note in his voice.

“I will not! I will not!” she sobbed.

“You are being foolish,” said James gently.

“Why? Because I have loved you too well? Because I have wanted to have a share in your life?”

“Have you not had a share in my life?”

“I have had my moments… and then I have been forgotten. I have been here merely to bear your children. Your mistresses have had more of you than I. And now this woman… this Queen of France…beckons you and against the advice of your ministers you are ready to do her bidding. This old woman—and everyone knows she is in a decline—says, ‘Be my Knight,' and you are ready to serve her.”

“Surely you cannot be jealous of an old woman who is in a decline?”

“I can be jealous of all who take you from me.”

“Oh, Margaret, why cannot you be calm …serene…?”

She cried out: “Like that other Margaret. She was always so calm, was she not? She was so understanding! Well she might be! Grateful for the attentions of a king. But I was the daughter of a king before I was the wife of one… and I demand…I demand…”

She was choking on her sobs again; he stroked her hair and laid his lips on her forehead, and for some minutes they lay silent.

Then at length she said: “James, you are really going to march across the Border?”

“Yes.”

“My sister-in-law, Katharine of Aragon, will gather together an army to meet you.”

“That is very likely.”

“James, when you go south, let me come with you. Let me meet my sister-in-law. Together we will talk and make peace. There is no need for war.”

James remained silent.

“James,” she went on, “will you let me come with you? Will you let me talk to Katharine? She will not want war any more than I do.”

“Nay,” agreed James, “she will not want war. Nor will your brother. They would prefer to wait until he returns from France with the full strength of his army. Then, wife,
they
will not hesitate to march across the Border. By sweet St. Ninian, have you forgotten that he has declared he will take the best of our towns for himself if we break not our alliance with France?”

“You should have broken your alliance with France. You should never have sent ships there.”

“I see,” he said ruefully, “that you are an Englishwoman still, and the English were always enemies of the Scots.”

“Should I be an enemy of my husband…of my son?”

“Poor Margaret! It is sad that your brother and your husband should be at war. But for this you must blame your brother.”

She was angry again. “Nay,” she cried, “I blame my husband. My husband who, because the French Queen flatters him into becoming her Wild Knight, turns from his true wedded wife to give her pleasure.”

“Nay, Margaret, this is not so. Never should I have taken up arms against your brother if he had treated me as a friend.”

“I could have made friendship between you.”

“Never!”

“You would not let me try.” She sat up in bed and abused him for all that he had made her suffer. She taunted him with his infidelity—the lies and subterfuge during those first months of their married life when he had feigned to be occupied by state affairs and was in truth with his mistresses.

“What sort of marriage is this… for the daughter of a king!” demanded Margaret.

She was a little hysterical, because she was afraid. She had related a dream to him which had not occurred that night, but her sleep had been uneasy of late, and although her dreams had taken no definite shape they had been filled with foreboding.

She could not analyze her feelings for this man. There were times when she hated him, others when she loved him. She loved him for his virile body, for his graceful and expert lovemaking; but she could never forget that he, who had awakened her to the full sensuality of her own nature, had deceived her, had made her foolish in her own eyes. She had dreamed of an idyll; if he had only seemed a little less perfect during the first days of their marriage it would have been easier to bear. She would have come to a sense of reality before she had built a romantic ideal. She believed that as long as she lived she would feel cheated—and he had done this.

She wanted to tell him so now, because she had a notion that this was the time to tell him. Perhaps she hoped to make him
relent toward her, to take her with him into battle. For suddenly she was terrified to let him go.

He had taken her trembling body in his arms and the intensity of her passion communicated itself to him. There could only be one climax for them in such a situation.

When they lay silent and exhausted side by side, Margaret stared into the darkness.

She was certain that that night she had conceived again.

The King was preparing for the march south. The Queen was subdued and silent.

She had taken the young prince to Linlithgow and James was with her; but he would not stay long. The country was ready for war.

She did not plead again to be allowed to accompany his army, because she knew it would be fruitless. He was particularly kind and gentle but adamant on that point.

“I feel our son will be safe with you,” he told her. “I shall make you Regent of my kingdom and guardian of our heir while I am away.”

She nodded sadly and lowered her eyes for fear he should see the resentment which she did not believe she would be able to hide.

He told her that he had called a council to be held in the Palace and that during it he hoped to complete his plans.

“It will not be long before I am back with you,” he said. “I pray you take counsel with English Cuddy and Scotch Dog. I shall expect good entertainment on my return.”

English Cuddy! Scotch Dog! As though she were a child to be amused with their trifles.

But she did not give up hope of persuading him.

Help came from an unexpected quarter, when the Earl of Angus, old Bell-the-Cat, presented himself to her.

Margaret felt stimulated at the sight of the old warrior because she was interested in the Douglas family for two reasons: one that this man was a rival with James for the affections of Janet Kennedy; and the other that he was a grandfather of his namesake,
Archibald Douglas, who had so caught her fancy and whom she could not get out of her mind.

“Your Grace,” said Bell-the-Cat, “I have heard that you sought, most wisely, to turn the King from his intention to attack England, and I have come to ask your permission to work with you in this endeavor.”

Margaret flushed with pleasure. “You are very welcome, my lord,” she told him. “I am sure your experience and reputation should be of great help in changing the King's mind.”

“That is what I wish to do, for I am of the opinion that this is not the moment to engage in war.”

“I will ask the King's permission to go with you to him now that you may talk to him.”

The old man bowed his head, and Margaret called to one of her attendants to go to the King and ask if he would receive her and the Earl of Angus who had come on a mission of great importance.

James sent a reply immediately that he would be pleased to receive them in his apartment, and when the Queen presented the Earl, he regarded him with distaste.