The Thistle and the Rose (14 page)

She lifted her enormous black-fringed eyes to his face and smiled suddenly. “No,” she said, “I do not think I shall need to fear you.”

James laughed. “Now,” he said, “we are friends?”

“Friends? My husband a prisoner in one of your castles! Our own home besieged and conquered!”

“Look upon this as a friendly call,” James urged.

“Listen to the soldiers in the courtyard. This is war, and however kind the King of Scots may be, nothing can alter that.”

He took her hand and before she could withdraw it—and he was quick to notice, being so practiced in these matters, that she had not in truth hurried to do so—he had kissed it.

“There are compensations in all things,” he answered, “even in war. Would it be possible for wine to be brought for me here, and would the lady of the house share it with me as though we were friends… which I hope we soon shall be?”

“You are in command,” she said.

“But nay!” he answered promptly. “I would not force my company upon you. I shall wait for you to invite me to share a goblet with you.”

She left him in the parlor, and in a short time returned with a servant who carried wine and two goblets.

“Serve first the King of Scotland,” Lady Heron ordered. “And then serve me.”

So they sat in the parlor and talked. He spoke of the horrors of war; the need for one country to take up arms against another; and how in the wretched business of wars there were now and then interludes which made of it a glorious adventure.

The soldiers lay about the castle grounds glad of a rest; Alexander had found the young girl a pleasant companion, and she was as attracted by him as he was by her.

Meanwhile the King grew more and more enchanted with the company of Lady Heron. She was young, beautiful, and was learning to trust him.

“You without a husband, I without a wife,” sighed James. “It would seem that we might offer comfort to each other.”

Lady Heron was not coy; she admitted that she found the King of Scotland charming even as he found her, and by nightfall their friendship was progressing so rapidly that it had all the appearance of courtship. The pursuit of a woman had always been a more fascinating project than that of any enemy, and quite irresistible to James.

By sweet St. Ninian! he thought. How glad I am that we came to Ford Castle, and what great good luck that Sir William Heron is imprisoned and so not present to spoil the fun.

James had a feeling that he would not sleep alone during his night at Ford Castle.

He gave instructions that the Lady Heron and her family and dependents were to be treated with the utmost courtesy. He and his men were guests in the castle, he would have them know, and any brutality would be severely punished. He asked the Scots to remember their chivalry. Lady Heron was to be free to come and go as she wished in the precincts of the castle; there was to be no suggestion of making any prisoners.

The long day was coming to an end and the friendship between the King and the Lady of the castle now seemed moving toward an inevitable climax. Alexander, who admired his father more than any man on Earth, sought to emulate his manners and habits by pursuing the daughter of the house with the same gentle yet persistent charm as his father used in pursuit of her mother.

Old Bell-the-Cat saw what was happening and gnashed his teeth in rage. The King seemed to forget that they were engaged in war. Since he had set eyes on Lady Heron he had behaved as though he were a friendly neighbor paying a visit.

Well, they would leave a few troops in Ford tomorrow and march on. But the amorous nature of his King—reminding him as it did of their rivalry—was galling to the old man, both as a soldier and a lover of Janet Kennedy.

Lady Heron looked out from the window of her apartment over the darkening countryside. She was excited because as a born intriguer and a woman of light morals, she found the position exciting.

She was expecting a message, for she believed this would surely come to her if the King of Scotland arrived at Ford Castle. She was hoping for it; it was going to give her the excuse she needed; but even without it she would not forgo her night's pleasure.

He was certainly attractive and would be an accomplished lover. She would feign reluctance…at first. But she would have to act with skill because, for all his outward charm, he was not without shrewdness and insight.

Her maid came to tie her hair and, as she passed the comb through those long curls, she bent close to whisper.

“The messenger is below, my lady. He came with stores for the
castle, and he is not to see you for fear of arousing suspicion. He has told me what I must say.”

“Then say it,” said Lady Heron.

“The Earl of Surrey asks your help. He cannot be ready for several days. He wants you to hold the Scotsman here until he sends word that he is ready to meet him. If the Scots march south tomorrow they will find no real resistance, but a few days will alter that. So it is imperative that they are held here.”

Lady Heron nodded slowly. “You're a good girl,” she said. A lascivious smile played about her lips as she murmured: “What is asked of a poor woman in the service of her country!”

They were delighted with each other.

“Is there to be just this one night?” asked Lady Heron, her great eyes filled with brooding melancholy.

“I am at war,” laughed James.

“You are conquering all before you… the castles of England, the women of England. Must you go so quickly?”

To leave Ford Castle and Lady Heron, now that he had discovered what pleasure she could give him, would indeed be a blow. It had been a night of exciting discovery; yet he felt he had more to learn of the beautiful and willing lady of Ford.

What could one more night matter? He pictured the army camping that night in some cheerless field and he shivered with disgust.

No, as he had told her, it was episodes such as this one which made war a great adventure.

“Perhaps we might tarry one more day and night,” he murmured.

She laughed delightedly. It was so pleasant when one could combine the service of one's country and the satisfaction of one's bodily needs. Surrey would be pleased with her.

And if he could dally one night, why not two and three?

So in the castle courtyards the Scots soldiers lay about playing dice, or following the royal example and flirting with the maidservants. They were happy enough in the delay.

Old Bell-the-Cat stormed into that apartment which had been set aside for the use of the King.

“Your Grace,” he cried sternly, “this is folly. We dally here while the English are mustering their forces to come against us. Already much precious time has been lost.”

“Nonsense!” retorted James. “The rest and relaxation we enjoy here are preserving our strength so that when the time comes to fight we shall be ready.”

“We are frittering away our strength on senseless pleasures,” retorted Bell-the-Cat, who was too disgusted with his King to mind his words. “I tell Your Grace, we are giving the English that which they most need: time. Had we gone forward we could have attacked them while their numbers were small.”

“I would be ready to fight the English if they were a hundred thousand more in numbers.”

“Your Grace, you could return to Scotland now. You have shown the English your warlike intentions. You have taken certain of their castles. That will suffice to keep your oath to the Queen of France. I implore you either to go forward now … or return. I have reason to know that the Earl of Surrey is gathering more and more men to his banner every day.”

“The Earl of Surrey is a friend of mine. You forget, it was he who escorted the Queen to Scotland.”

“He is now Your Grace's enemy, and he serves his King well.”

“The King of England is fortunate to have such good servants.”

“If Your Grace will either go on to attack or return to Scotland, you will find as good servants as those of the King of England.”

“You forget, Angus, that I am the commander of my own armies.”

“I'll not stand by and see the crown of Scotland placed in jeopardy.”

James's eyes blazed with an anger rare to him. Then he looked at Angus and saw before him an old man. Was he a little jealous of the pleasures shared by the King and the Lady of the castle? Did this remind him of what the King had taken from him when he had taken Janet Kennedy?

James shrugged aside his anger.

“If old Bell-the-Cat is afraid of the English, then let him return to Scotland. I doubt not that we will win victory without him.”

“Bell-the-Cat was never afraid of the English, but he'll not stand by and let them take the time they need.”

“Then… goodbye.”

The old soldier bowed and retired.

Next morning he set out for Scotland; but he left behind his two sons so that, when the King went into battle, there should be Douglases to fight for Scotland.

Surrey's herald had arrived at the castle.

Lady Heron, seeing him come, knew that the brief love affair between her and the King of Scotland was coming to its end. She had done her duty. Surrey had gathered his army and was waiting.

The herald was taken to the King and there gave him greeting from the Earl of Surrey, together with the request that he would name a day for the battle.

This James declared himself delighted to do; and although his generals assured him that it was important they should surprise the English and mow them down with Thraw-mouthed Meg—which was another name they had given to their “Seven Sisters” cannon—James would have none of this. He was determined to go into battle as he went into the joust. He was the Wild Knight, who must conquer through fair play.

On the morning of the ninth of September the armies prepared to meet at Flodden.

James was exultant. Beside him—on foot as he was—stood his son Alexander. “Keep close to my side,” he warned. “And if you are in difficulty remember I am nearby.”

“Yes, Father,” was the answer.

James loved the boy—loved his shining youth, his vitality.

Oh, he thought, if I had but stood beside
my
father as this son of mine now stands beside me, there would have been a different story to tell of Sauchieburn.

He could see the English banner fluttering in the breeze. It would soon be over, this decisive battle which would mean the end
of strife between England and Scotland forevermore. Henry would return from France to find his country lost.

He heard the roar of the cannon as the two armies met at the foot of Brankston Hill.

The Scottish army was divided into five divisions with Home and Huntley leading the vanguard; in the rear were Lennox and Argyle; while James, with Alexander, was in the center; in the rear was the reserve under the command of the Earl of Bothwell.

At four o'clock in the afternoon the battle started and at first it seemed that the English were losing ground, when Sir Edmund Howard, who led the English, lost his banner and his men were quickly in confusion; but Surrey had, on account of the time which had been allowed him, gathered together a strong army, and others were ready to step into the breach and take the place of Howard's men.

James was in direct conflict with Surrey's section where the fighting was at its most fierce. All about them was the noise of battle; the clash of spears, the roar of the cannon and cries of wounded men and horses.

James was conscious of Alexander beside him and for the first time wished that he had commanded him to stay at home, for he had caught a look of startled horror on the face of the boy who had so far experienced nothing but light skirmishes and had dreamed of war which had not been like the reality.

This was no joust. This was war to the death. The enemy was determined to drive the Scots back beyond the Tweed and the Cheviots; and the Scots were determined to go forward.

“Alexander, my son…”

James felt a sob in his throat for his beautiful Alexander had fallen and there was blood where there had but a moment before been the freshness of youth.

“Oh, my son…my son…”

Mercifully there was little time for remorse. He did not see the man who struck him. James was dressed as an ordinary soldier for he had determined to go into battle as one of his men; he had wanted no special treatment. He was a soldier just as they were.

So he fell, as men were falling all about him.

The battle raged; and it was only later when the fighting was done that the terrible truth was known. On that day of glorious victory for the English and bitter defeat for the Scots, ten thousand Scotsmen lay dead or dying on Flodden Field and among them was their King.

T
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of Linlithgow Palace which was known as Queen Margaret's Bower. She sat alone on the stone bench which surrounded it and looked out of the window hoping and praying for the coming of the messenger.

When she had heard that James was dallying at Ford Castle with Lady Heron her anger was greater than her fear. Each night she was tormented by vague dreams; each day she came to her bower to watch and wait.

There she relived so much of her life with James. This very bower itself had been created by him for her pleasure. It was reached from his dressing room by means of a staircase, and James had had a stone table erected in the center. She remembered so well the day he had shown it to her. How charming he was, how tender! And how difficult it was to remind oneself that he had been as charming and tender to other women perhaps the day before he was showing so much solicitude to her.

News was brought to her frequently. She had learned of all the successes, until they had come to Ford Castle. She knew that Old Bell-the-Cat had left the army in disgust; and she trembled. But then she remembered James, the Wild Knight at the joust. He could not fail. Yet his success would mean disaster for her brother, and she had not known until this time how strong were the ties of blood.

What did she want? Peace, she answered. That is what I want Peace between our two countries, and my husband at my side.

She had known before the messenger spoke that he had brought disastrous news; and as she had listened to his words a numbness took possession of her body. Dead! On Flodden Field.

She thought: So I shall never seen his handsome face again, never listen to his voice; never again shall I ask myself with what woman he is spending his time now. His beauty has gone; his virile body is but a corpse; and I, his wife, have become his widow.

She went to the nursery, where her little son, who was riding on David Lindsay's shoulders, shouted with joy to see her.

David Lindsay lifted the boy from his shoulders and stood him down; he saw from the Queen's expression that she had had bad news and, because he knew that the messenger had come from Flodden Field, he guessed the nature of that news. He was filled with horror and his first thoughts were of what this would mean to his young charge.

“Davie,” said Margaret, “this is a woeful day for Scotland.” “Your Grace…Your Grace…”

She knelt down and with tears in her eyes embraced her son.

“He is now your King, Davie.”

“This cannot be!”

“Alas, it is so. James IV has died at Flodden and now this little one is King of Scotland and the Isles.”

“So young… and tender,” murmured David.

“I trust all will remember it,” Margaret answered bitterly. “David,” she went on, “in a few months' time he will have a brother or sister.”

David nodded slowly.

Young James was impatient of this solemnity. He wanted to play.

“Carry me, David,” he cried imperiously.

And solemnly David Lindsay lifted the King of Scotland onto his shoulder.

The whole of Scotland mourned the King. Nor did it mourn him only, for the flower of Scottish manhood had fallen at Flodden and there was scarcely a noble family in the land which was not touched with sorrow. James had won the hearts of his people as few kings had ever done before him. His handsome looks, his great charm, his sympathy with the troubles of all, his chivalry and brilliant performances at the jousts had made of him a public hero. It was forgotten that he was to blame for this terrible defeat against
which so many of his advisers had warned him, that it had been unnecessary to fight at all and, having embarked upon the campaign, it had been criminally negligent to jeopardize the lives of so many and the cause of Scotland while he tarried with Lady Heron. They remembered only the hero who had delighted them with the entertainments he had given and in which they had had their share; they remembered only that he whom they had loved was dead.

Old Bell-the-Cat was a brokenhearted man. He had lost two sons at Flodden—his eldest, George, Master of Douglas, and Sir William of Glenbervie; with them had fallen two hundred gentlemen of the name of Douglas. There could rarely have been a disaster to Scotland and the Douglases to compare with that of Flodden. He no longer had the heart to join in public affairs; he was too old, too sad. All his vast possessions would now go to his grandson Archibald, son of George; and Bell-the-Cat retired to his Priory of Whitehorn in Wigtownshire to set his affairs in order, for he did not think he had long to live—nor did he wish it otherwise.

But there was no time to waste. Scotland was defeated; and she had left the flower of her army rotting on Flodden Field. What next? asked those who were left.

The days following the defeat were some of the most anxious the country had ever passed through, until it was realized that Surrey was in no position to march on Scotland; the main army of England was abroad with the King, and the battle of Flodden had been one of defense for England. The Regent, Queen Katharine, was very loath to conduct a war against her husband's sister; all she wished to do was preserve England from invasion during her husband's absence. This had been magnificently done; and Katharine was ready to offer Margaret a truce.

As her numbness left her, Margaret realized that she was now in possession of a certain power—and power was something she had always wished for. James had made her Regent and guardian of their son before he went away, and the nobles of Scotland were anxious to respect his wishes.

First she removed the little King to the strong fortress of Stirling Castle; then she called Parliament, that the will of James IV might be read. There was some murmuring concerning the passing
of the Regency into the Queen's hands, for the tradition of Scotland was that this should be a masculine prerogative, yet because the King was so recently dead, none raised a voice against his wishes. A Council was to assist her, and this was made up of old Bell-the-Cat, the Earls of Arran, Huntley, Glencairn, Argyle, Lennox, Eglington, Drummond and Morton; with Beaton, the Archbishop of Glasgow and Elphinstone, Bishop of Aberdeen.

Only twenty days after the death of his father, little James was taken to Scone where, what was called throughout the land, the Mourning Coronation took place. Over the brow of the child was held the crown of Scotland and he was solemnly declared King.

It was the most extraordinary coronation ever witnessed for, as the trumpets sounded, those about the young King burst into loud lamentations; and James was proclaimed King of Scotland and the Isles to the accompaniment of tears and sobbing.

Thus the power for which Margaret had longed was to some extent hers. Jealousy, the most persistent emotion of her life, had been removed. What did all those women who had tempted James from her side matter now? She had heard that Anne of Brittany, who had roused her anger as much as any, had died a few days after the defeat at Flodden. So, thought Margaret, she did not live long to gloat over what she had persuaded him to do.

Margaret herself was now twenty-four years old; she had had many years' experience of Scotland and of the Scottish, and as the weeks following her son's coronation began to pass, her grief passed with them. She forced herself to remember the unhappiness rather than the happiness James had caused her; and once she had given birth to his child she would be free.

She began to think with increasing excitement of freedom.

She was not at this time aware of the feelings of certain members of the Council toward her. They could not forget, first that she was a woman and second that she was English. It was true her nationality meant that the King of England was more likely to show leniency to the Scots while his sister was their Queen; but in spite of the lack of funds in the exchequer and the terrible loss of manpower at Flodden, Scotland was still not eager for friendship with England.

The pro-French party was strong and there was continual and secret correspondence between this party and the French.

There came that day when the Bishop of Aberdeen suggested to the Council that the Queen's task was too much for her strength. It seemed to him that she needed help in her task of Regent; and he proposed that they should invite the Duke of Albany—who, after Margaret's son, was next in the line of succession—to come to Scotland and share the Regency with her.

This was agreed to be an excellent suggestion. Albany, uncle of James IV, should be told of their decision, and they would invite him to tell them what his inclinations were.

Meanwhile the Queen was pregnant and in no fit state to conduct affairs, so first they would approach Albany in secret.

John Stuart, Duke of Albany, was riding round his estates with his friend Anthony d'Arcy de la Bastie when the messenger from Scotland arrived at the château.

John—always known as Jehan—had almost forgotten that he was a Scotsman, although de la Bastie, who had visited Scotland, often talked of his stay there and did his best to arouse Albany's interest in that country. But Albany had been brought up in France by a French mother; French was his native language; he had been in the service of the King of France; and he had married a Frenchwoman. He was now just past thirty and he had been four years old when his father had died, and that had severed, so he thought, all links with Scotland. He was on excellent terms with the French Court; he had been made a knight of St. Michael and Admiral of France for services to the King. He was happily married to his cousin, Anne de la Tour, a rich heiress who had brought him these Auvergne estates. He passed the time pleasantly between Court and the country; so he was perfectly content with his life.

It was natural at such a time that they should be talking of Scotland. The news of Flodden was fresh and de la Bastie could not forget what it meant.

He was saying: “Had you met him you would have felt this as deeply as I. He was so vital; so charming to look at and pleasant to be with. I remember his masquerading as the Wild Knight, and
then seeming loath to take the glory he had won. And now …he is dead.”

“A fate which must overtake us all,” mused Albany philosophically.

“But not in the prime of our lives, let us hope.”

Albany was silent for a while, then he said: “They are a wild clan, these Stuarts.”

“All of them?” asked de la Bastie with a smile.

“My Stuart blood has been tempered by that of the French. I boast that I inherited logic and sweet reason from my French mother.”

“And nothing from your father?”

“Heaven help me, not his genius for falling into trouble, I trust.”

“None could say you had inherited that. Here you are, a friend of the King, a brilliant courtier and a happy countryman. What more could you ask?”

“Very little. I was not complaining. I have no wish to live as my father did.” He smiled. “I don't remember him; but my mother talked of him continually. The last years of his life were almost too fantastically adventurous to bear the stamp of truth.”

“He was indeed a strange man, and an unhappy one—I should think—to quarrel with his brother.”

“Oh, he was ambitious, and when you are ambitious it is not good to be born the second son of a king. It was natural that such a man should long for the crown, and when his brother became James III the trouble started. I would rather live in peace than in the center of revolution. I tell you, I follow my mother rather than my father.”

They had turned their horses toward the château when de la Bastie said: “Look, there are visitors.”

“You are right.” Albany spurred his horse and the two men broke into a gallop which soon brought them to the gates of the château.

Several of the servants had seen their approach, for they had been watching for it; and grooms ran forward to take their horses and to gabble that foreigners had arrived.

Inside the great hall Albany's wife, who had been the Comtesse de la Tour before she married, was graciously acting as hostess to the foreigners and as Albany went forward, with de la Bastie a few paces behind, he felt a slight apprehension because he saw that the visitors came from Scotland. Moreover they came on an important mission, for the man who faced him was the Lyon King.

He knew, almost before he heard, what the visitor had to say. It was the logical outcome of recent events. An infant king; a woman regent; and he a grandson of King James II.

Never! he thought. Why should I? Here I am at peace. Here I am happy. Why should I leave all this for the strife which would naturally be mine in that strife-ridden country?

But he listened courteously to the Lyon King and gave no hint of his distaste for the mission.

His guests must be royally entertained; Anne would see that they were. She too was looking uneasy. She need not fear. Their life together was not going to be disrupted.

He sat thoughtfully in his private chamber remembering the stories he had heard his mother tell him.