The Thistle and the Rose (17 page)

The brothers and Lord Drummond consulted together. Drummond was triumphant. “You see,” he cried. “A bishopric already and a promise of the Primacy! I assure you, my friends, that in a short time the Douglases and their connections will be ruling Scotland. It is well that Angus is so young; he will be the more easily guided. But we must get this marriage made before our intentions become known. You are aware, as well as I am, that there are men in Scotland who would rise in civil war to prevent it if they knew what we planned.”

“Then…,” began Sir Archibald nervously, but Drummond silenced him.

“Nay, Sir Chicken-heart. We play for big stakes. We'll take a risk or two. And if we did not go forward now I doubt not our warm-blooded Queen would do so without our help.”

On a warm August day, not twelve months after the battle of Flodden Field, Margaret married the Earl of Angus in Kinnoul Church.

She did not stop to think of the consequences of this marriage.
All that mattered was that this handsome boy who had long occupied her thoughts was now her husband.

Her one desire was to abandon herself to the passion which obsessed her.

Later she could consider how she would explain her conduct to her people.

M
ARGARET
W
AS
A
S
H
APPY
A
S
S
HE
H
AD
B
EEN
D
URING
the first weeks of her marriage to James. Angus gave no sign that he was not as deeply enamored of her as she was of him. He was caught up in the wave of her sensuality; she was more experienced than he, having lived for so many years with that expert lover, James IV; there was much she could teach him and he was lusty enough to be a ready pupil. It was too uncomfortable to think about Jane Stuart during those weeks, so he did his best to forget her. He discovered that he was growing up; he was no longer a romantic boy, and he began to realize how wise his grandfather and uncles had been in urging him to this marriage.

Margaret was so deeply in love that she was only happy when she was with him; she promised him all that he could wish. She showered presents on him. “I want to give you everything you could desire in exchange for all the pleasure you have given me,” she told him.

He replied that the pleasure he had given her could not compare with that which she had given him; and only occasionally did he feel a twinge of conscience on Jane's account.

She would understand, he soothed himself. The Queen had commanded him to be her husband and none could disobey a royal command.

The secrecy which attended their marriage gave it an additional spice. Margaret believed that she had found lasting happiness; but it was foolish to suppose such a secret could be kept for long.

It was in October that the opportunity arose to bestow the Primacy of Scotland on Gavin Douglas, and Margaret carelessly threw the office to the uncle of her beloved husband.

There was an immediate outcry among the nobles. Why should
the Queen select this hitherto somewhat insignificant prelate for such a great honor. Only recently she had bestowed on him the Bishopric of Dunkeld. What had he done to deserve it? Old Bellthe-Cat had headed many a revolt in his time. Were they going to stand by and see the Douglas clan leap into power again?

There was clearly some reason why the Douglas clan had come into sudden favor.

It did not take long for the secret to be discovered, and a Council meeting was hastily called. The lords assembled, their feelings outraged by the discovery. It was an insult to them and Scotland that the Queen had married without consulting them; and that she should have married Angus added to the injury. Who did this Tudor woman think she was? they asked themselves. Her only right to the crown was through Scottish James, and before he had been dead a year she had shamelessly remarried.

Lord Home addressed the assembly.

“Hitherto,” he said, “we have shown our willingness to honor the Queen, although it is against the custom of our country that women should rule. But because our beloved King and Sovereign, James IV, created her Regent, we have allowed her to remain so. All well and good while she retained her widowhood; but she is no longer a widow. I put forward the motion that we depose the Queen from the Regency, and once more ask the Duke of Albany to come to Scotland to act as Regent; and that we summon the Queen to our presence that we may acquaint her of our displeasure.”

This was agreed, and Sir William Comyn, Lyon King, was sent to deliver the Council's message.

Margaret refused to be shaken out of her idyll. This, she told herself, was what she had longed for in the early days of her marriage to James. It had been denied her, but she did not care now; for now she was happily married; her husband was the most beautiful man in Scotland and she was fast teaching him to be the most erotic. She was completely satisfied with her private life and was prepared to forget, for as long as she would be allowed to do so, that there was another side to a queen's existence.

She was at Stobhall, Lord Drummond's mansion, shut away from the Court, with her husband, feeling young and joyous, trying to make each glorious day and night last for as long as she could.

Lord Drummond looked on well content and made sure that the lovers had every opportunity for solitude. He doubted Margaret had ever before known what it meant to live a private life. Each day she became more and more enamored of his grandson. They were indeed a handsome couple. Drummond believed that there must by now be a Douglas heir on the way—his great grandson. This was a time of glory for the Douglases, and for the first time since the tragedy he ceased to mourn the loss of his daughter Margaret.

When rumors came to Stobhall, Drummond did not allow them to disturb the lovers. Of course it was absurd to imagine that the secret could be kept forever, but let them go on believing themselves safe from controversy.

Then news was brought to him that Lyon King was on his way to Stobhall, and he realized immediately that he could not keep from the young couple the news that their marriage was no longer a secret.

He went to them and told them what was happening.

“Lyon King is on his way to bring a message to Your Grace,” he said. “He will summon you to appear before the Council.”

“For what purpose?” asked Margaret.

“To discuss Your Grace's marriage.”

“My marriage is my own affair,” retorted Margaret, knowing that it was not.

Angus, who had ceased to be a somewhat timid boy in the last weeks, took her hand and kissed it. “It is
our
affair,” he said. “I'll not allow them to insult you.”

She gave him a loving glance and turned to Drummond who added: “It will be necessary to receive Lyon King when he arrives, and I think we should make of it a ceremonial occasion to remind him that he is in the presence of the Queen of Scotland. Your Grace should wear the crown; and your husband should be beside you. I ask your gracious permission to be present also.”

“My dear Lord Drummond,” said Margaret, “it shall be as you advise, for I am sure you are right, now as always.”

Thus it was that when Sir William Comyn arrived he found the Queen with Angus and Drummond waiting to receive him.

Comyn came into their presence clad in the insignia of his office, almost as grand a figure as Margaret in her crown and robes of ermine.

His first words were enough to show her and Drummond the intentions of the Council, for instead of addressing her as his sovereign, Comyn began: “My Lady Queen, the mother of His Grace the King…”

Drummond, whose temper, always fiery, was more easily aroused when he knew himself to be in a desperate position, was seized with sudden fury. He had married his grandson to the Queen Regent; how dared Lyon-King-at-Arms address her merely as the mother of the young King!

Impetuously be boxed the ears of the Lyon King.

There was absolute silence which lasted for several seconds. Comyn had been solemnly crowned Lyon-King-at-Arms by King James IV and, since he represented the crown and state, his rank was as sacred as that of a royal person. Never in the history of Scotland had Lyon-King-at-Arms been treated, during the course of his duty, with anything but the greatest respect.

Comyn, startled into silence, was in those ominous seconds uncertain how to act. Then bowing to the Queen he turned slowly and walked from the room.

The silence continued. All three knew that this was an insult which would never be forgotten.

This was the signal for revolt, for it was hardly likely that the nobles of Scotland would accept such a state of affairs. The Queen Regent married in secret, to satisfy her lust, before her husband had been dead a year! The hated Douglases, to climb to the highest positions through young Angus! Lyon King himself insulted by the arrogant Drummond!

The first act must be to set before Albany the urgency of his immediate return; and the best person to convey the need for his presence in Scotland was the insulted Lyon King. He should set out for France immediately.

The Lord Chancellor, Beaton, Archbishop of Glasgow, gave expression to his disapproval of the marriage which had taken place when their beloved sovereign was scarcely cold; and Margaret, urged on by Drummond and Angus, decided that she would deprive Beaton of his office immediately. There were Douglases ready to take over all the most important posts in Scotland. So she sent Angus to Perth to arrest Beaton and take the Seal of Office from him.

The warlike lords lost no time in rousing trouble. The Queen's supporters—mostly members of the Douglas clan and their hangers-on—were besieged in their castles by the anti-Queenand-Douglas party. Gavin Douglas was one of those to suffer, and Drummond was in imminent danger of arrest. The Parliament stood against the Queen and it seemed that there were two rulers in Scotland; the Parliament in Edinburgh, and the Queen in Stirling or Perth.

Margaret was growing shrewd. She had immediately written to her brother Henry, telling him of her marriage to Angus and implying that the reason she had married with such speed was because she believed it was the plan of Parliament to bring Albany over and marry her to him. It was true he had a wife living, but she was not enjoying good health and moreover, as she was his cousin, Margaret believed a divorce was planned. She had realized how much against such an alliance her dear brother would be, for Albany was entirely French in sympathy and if he were ruler of Scotland he would never rest until he had brought war into her brother's kingdom.

The reply from Henry was as Margaret had expected. The last thing he wanted was to see Albany in Scotland, so he gave his approval to the match with Angus and stated that he was happy to accept him as a brother-in-law.

Lyon-King-at-Arms was shipwrecked on his way to France, which caused great hilarity among the Douglases.

“God is clearly of our party!” Margaret said gleefully, and of course the Douglases shared her opinion.

But that did not mean that other messengers were not arriving in France and that Albany was being made aware of his duty to Scotland.

This was the waiting period. The trouble was confined to small skirmishes and had not erupted into civil war. The main reason for this was that Margaret was the sister of Henry VIII who would naturally be watching for any weakness in the Scottish defenses.

Scotland was in no state to withstand invasion from England.

The Duke of Albany had received a communication that the King would be hunting near his estates and proposed staying a night at his château, which threw his household into a state of tension only produced by a royal visit. François Premier, King of a few months, was a man who had already caught the imagination of his people, even as Henry VIII of England had his. Both these Kings were young, handsome, and lusty; and they had succeeded misers. Everywhere they went their dazzling magnificence delighted their subjects; and their reigns had as yet not been long enough for the people to ask themselves whither such kingly extravagances led.

Albany himself had been a friend of François for many years, all during that time when as Duc d'Angoulême the latter had lived in constant fear that Louis XII would produce a son who would oust him from the succession.

But there had been no son and now François was firmly on the throne; and he was honoring his old friend with a visit, which Albany knew meant that the King was going to give him some command.

Albany was eager to serve François, for the friendship between them was a true one; he enjoyed the witty conversation of the young King—the discussions on art, literature, and architecture, for François, lecherous and a keen sportsman though he was, prided himself first of all on his intellectual leanings.

He arrived at the château and was greeted with respectful affection by his friend. The banquet was almost comparable with those served in François's own palaces and châteaux; and it was the next day, when they hunted together, that Albany learned the purpose of the King's visit.

When they were riding side by side, François said: “My dear friend, I am afraid I am going to ask you to do something for France which may not be to your taste.”

“My liege, whatever was asked of me by François and France would immediately become to my taste.”

“Spoken like a Frenchman,” answered François with a light laugh. “You are more Frenchman than Scotsman, my dear Jehan. That is why it grieves me to ask this of you.”

“Sire, you are asking me to go to Scotland?”

Francois nodded mournfully. “I have received a plea from the Scottish Parliament. Your presence is needed there.”

Albany was silent, looking at the country about him which he loved, thinking of his wife whom he would have to leave behind, for her health was giving cause for great anxiety, and the rigors of the Scottish climate would surely kill her. He thought of the pleasures of his visits to Court which, now that François was on the throne, would be more enchanting than ever.

“My dear fellow,” went on François, “this is my sorrow as well as yours. I shall miss you. But see what is happening in your barbarous Scotland. The Regent Queen will be her brother's vassal shortly. She has alienated the majority of the noblemen, but they dare not rise against her for fear of that young coxcomb below the Border. He is an irritant, that young cockerel. We can never be sure when he is going to strike, and the last thing we can afford is a harmonious relationship between England and Scotland; so it is necessary that Henry be in perpetual fear of attack from the North. Scotland must therefore be the friend of France and, if you were Regent, my dear friend, I could happily believe that you would never forget that half of you belongs to us. It is for this reason that I ask you to leave at once for Scotland, to take the Regency.”