The Thistle and the Rose (23 page)

“How can you speak thus of our brother?” “Because I am his sister.

Because I know him well. I love him, as he loves me; but I know him better than he knows me; indeed I know him better than he knows himself.”

Margaret thoughtfully watched the shining figures riding into the lists. There was truth in what Mary said; and if she were wise she would remember it.

“Who is the bulky knight now riding in?” she asked of Mary.

“Sir William Kingston. None could mistake his size and shape.”

“Well none will unseat
him
, I imagine.”

“It would depend,” replied Mary sagely.

Now the attention of the crowd was focused on two tall knights whose tabards were embroidered with golden honeysuckle, for it seemed that whomsoever these two knights tackled they were the victors.

Margaret noticed that Mary's brilliant eyes never left them, and leaning toward her she heard her whisper: “Have a care, Charles. Be good…so good that all say how good you are… and then be just not quite so good.”

Margaret thought: Her stay in France must have changed her; it had made her grow into a cynic. Could that be the influence of young François? Margaret believed that was very likely.

Mary was crying excitedly “Look, Kingston is in the lists. And the tall knight with him. Kingston is falling… horse and all. It is the first time he has been unseated.”

Then she leaned back against the embroidered marigolds on her chair and began to laugh softly.

In the great hall the knights had gathered. Queen Katharine sat on her chair of state with Mary on one side of her, Margaret on the other; and one by one the knights came forward to pay homage to her.

Into the hall came one on whom all eyes were fixed. This was because he was the knight who had overthrown Sir William Kingston; and everyone was discussing that extraordinary feat.

“Now,” said Katharine, “we will discover the identity of this strange knight, for his helmet must be removed.” She called to him: “Sir Knight, we would speak with you. We would tell you that we were delighted with your prowess. 'Twas bravely and expertly done, I doubt I have ever seen such skill in the joust.”

Mary said in a voice in which, it seemed to Margaret, the mischief lurked: “The King will wish to challenge you, I'll swear, Sir Knight. For he is proud of his own daring at the joust.”

The knight came forward, bowing before the Queen, and when his helmet was removed, Henry's flushed and laughing face was exposed.

“So I deceived you, eh. You Kate and you Mary, and you Margaret! Well, you have been away, but Kate and Mary…well, methinks they should have known their King.”

Katharine said quickly: “But now we know the truth, we wonder we did not guess, for never have we seen such skill except that of Your Grace.”

“So you have a fair opinion of my skill, eh?”

“And the greatest pleasure this joust has given me,” went on Katharine, “is to learn that my King is the champion.”

“Well, well, 'twas done in your honor.”

And so the masquerade was played as it had been many times before and would be again and again.

Henry was in high spirits. At the banquet he drank freely and his voice could be heard above all others. He called for music and played the lute himself; and one of the singers sang a song of his composing.

How he loves his life, thought Margaret. How lucky he is. How different his fate from mine. And yet he lacks that for which he
most longs; and although I am parted from him at this time, I still have my little James. And though he be in Stirling and I in Greenwich, he is still my beloved son.

The summer had come and Margaret was anxious, although she could never have enough gaiety, and the entertainment to be enjoyed at her brother's Court delighted her. She missed Angus, and she believed that if he had come to her in England she would have been ready to forgive his desertion; she was longing to see little James; and she reminded herself that her reason for coming to Henry's Court was not to pass the time in pleasure.

Henry, she had discovered, was not eager for friendship with Scotland; he knew full well that while Albany remained Regent, Scotland would be the close ally of France; he hated François as much as ever, being jealous of his successes in war and the reports he heard of his adventures both at home and abroad. His little mouth would grow prim at the mention of the French King's amorous conduct; he often remarked that he did not believe God would long favor such a man. He was now seeking friendship with the Emperor Maximilian, for he believed that if the two of them stood together they could foil François's ambitious dream of bringing Europe under his rule.

He was however deeply desirous of removing Albany from the Regency; and he wrote to the Scottish Parliament telling them that he did not care to see his nephew in peril; and that if any harm were to come to the King—as he regretted it had to his little brother—all men would suspect Albany. Therefore it was imperative that Albany should be sent back to France without delay.

The Parliament's reply that the King was well, healthy, and in no danger, and that they had no intention of removing Albany, filled Henry with rage.

But Albany, whose great desire was for peace, wrote to Henry saying he believed that if he came to England he could convince Henry of his honest intentions.

When Henry received this note he came to Margaret's apartments in Greenwich Palace and laid it before her.

“Ha!” he cried. “Once the fellow comes to England he will be at our mercy. Then I shall insist on his obeying my will.”

“You think the King of France will allow that, Henry?”

“The King of France!” Henry's face grew a shade more scarlet. There was no name in Christendom that angered him more than that one. “Nay, sister,” he went on, giving her a baleful look which was alarming when she considered how much she hoped for from him, “I do not consider the wishes of the King of France. I will instruct my Lord Cardinal how he is to treat Master Albany when he sets foot in my realm.”

“You will act with your usual wisdom, Henry,” answered Margaret, “but I do not think that, when Albany considers this matter, he will come to your Court. He is a shrewd man.”

“I shall couch my invitation in honeyed words,” retorted Henry.

Margaret was right and Albany did not come to England. Instead he sent as his emissary a certain François de la Fayette, who promised that if Margaret would return to Scotland she should have her dowry returned to her, and that her husband, Angus, and his clan should retain their privileges as Scottish subjects— providing they did not revolt against the government.

The terms seemed fair enough, thought Margaret; and as that year passed she began to feel homesick for Scotland. She wanted to see her son; she was anxious to be with Angus again; she was not sure of her feelings for him and although she did not think of him very tenderly, she wanted to be in his company again so that she could analyze her emotions. Moreover, Albany would be there; she told herself that she hated that man, but she thought of him often and had a great desire to come face-to-face with him. Often when his name was mentioned she would abuse him, calling him the murderer of her child; but secretly she did not believe this.

Albany was a Royal Stuart; and ever since she had met her first husband, she had been fascinated by that clan. She wanted to see Albany again, to live close to him; perhaps to discover her true feelings regarding him.

Henry had put at Margaret's service that palace known as Scotland Yard, which was the residential quarters of the Kings of Scotland when visiting London. From the bay windows of the Queen's Treasury she could look out on the river. Not far away was Charing
Cross and the Palace of Westminster where the Court was in residence.

Christmas was almost upon her and it was more than a year since she had left Scotland. Young Margaret, now over a year old, was a lively little girl with a personality of her own; it seemed long to be away from home.

Moreover she was in financial distress. She needed money for servants and for gowns since Henry still insisted that the entertainments he gave were in her honor, and she could not attend them wearing garments which had been seen many times before.

She had no recourse but to turn to Cardinal Wolsey and plead for money, which she found very humiliating; but she pointed out that if she could not get it from the Cardinal she must needs approach the King, and that she asked only for loans as, when she regained what was hers, she would pay back all that she had borrowed.

And although she did succeed in getting a portion of the money for which she asked, and that meant that she had more fine gowns which could always put her in good spirits, still she thought with nostalgia of Scotland.

“James will forget his mother,” she told her friends, “if he does not see her soon. He is over-young for such a long separation.”

She did not mention Angus but she wondered what he was doing during her absence. She did hear that he had entered into an alliance with Albany and was working with him.

There was news too of Albany himself. His wife's health had grown worse since her husband's stay in Scotland and she was said to be dying. Albany, who wanted to be with her, had stood up in the Tolbooth when Parliament was assembled there and explained with anguish his desire to be at the bedside of his wife.

“There is a husband a woman would be glad to have!” sighed Margaret, for how could she help comparing such devotion with the desertion of Angus who had left her when he thought her to be on the point of death?

But the Scots could not let Albany go at this point and, although it was agreed that he should return to France, it was pointed out that he must only go when the affairs of Scotland permitted.

So Albany remained in Scotland and Margaret continued to think yearningly of that land.

Christmas had come and was celebrated at Greenwich.

There must be entertainments in honor of his sister, declared Henry, for it seemed she would not be with them much longer.

So Margaret sat in state with her brother, sister, and sister-in-law while an artificial garden was wheeled into the great hall. It was, Henry whispered to them, keeping his eyes on Margaret all the time to make sure she was suitably impressed “the Garden of Esperance.”

At each of the four corners of this contraption was a tower, and the banks of the “garden” were covered with artificial flowers made of colored silks and brocades and leaves of green satin. In the center was a pillar set with jewels, and above it was a gilded arch of red and white roses. In the center of the arch was a huge posy combined of roses, marguerites, marigolds, and pomegranates. And in the garden sat twelve beautifully attired men with twelve women; and when the garden had been wheeled before the dais on which sat the King with his Queen and sisters, the men and women stepped from the garden and danced a ballet.

Margaret clapped her hands with glee and declared that she had never seen anything so exquisite!

“Nor will you in Scotland,” Henry told her with deep satisfaction.

No, she thought, but for all that I would as lief be there. I wonder how James has grown. I wonder what Angus is doing. I wonder if Albany is preparing to depart.

The winter had passed in revelries and the spring had now arrived.

Margaret had decided that in clement May she would set out on her journey to Scotland.

“Then,” cried Henry, “we must have some entertainments as a farewell. I would like them to be elegant and brilliant, so that when you are in Scotland you will remember how we manage such matters here in England.”

“You are very good to me,” Margaret told him.

“Ah, and ready to be more so, my dear sister. When you are back in Scotland you must see that that villain Albany is sent back
where he belongs. He's a servant of the French King, and it's a scandal to have him there where you should be.”

Margaret feigned agreement which she did not feel. She was hoping now that when she returned to Scotland she would have an opportunity of speaking with Albany, of trying to make some terms with him.

It was while she was preparing to leave that the riot of the apprentices broke out in London. This was a revolt of Londoners against the foreign workers in their city; and houses were sacked and burned. The attack was particularly vicious against Spanish merchants living in London; it was said that since there had been a Spanish queen sharing the throne, these people had been particularly favored, and in such a manner as to jeopardize the livelihood of the English. The foreigners seemed to want to do nothing but work; the English like to work for a while and then enjoy themselves. Thus the foreigners prospered more than the natives, which caused great irritation that came to a head on that day which was afterward known as Evil May Day.

The Duke of Norfolk came to London to quell the revolt. Thomas More, who had been undersheriff of the city, risked his life to plead with the mob for tolerance toward the foreigners, pointing out that they could only bring trouble on themselves. Henry kept away from London; he hated any show of disapproval among his subjects; and although he was ready to take off the head of any member of his Court who did such a thing, he quailed before the mob. On that sad day 278 youths were taken prisoner, some mere boys of twelve or fourteen, and throughout the city gibbets were erected as a dreadful warning to any other subjects who were considering revolt against the King's peace.

This put an end to the festivities for Margaret's departure; she heartily wished that she had left London before she had had to encounter the sight of those gallows and the wailing women who called in the streets for mercy on their young sons.

She guessed that in his wrath Henry would be terrible; and she was right.

Katharine and Mary came to her apartments, and they could talk of nothing but this melancholy event.

Katharine, the gentler of the two, was very upset. “Mothers are sending petitions to me imploring me to plead with the King. It saddens me so. But what can I do? Henry will not listen to me.”

Mary shook her head sadly. “Henry is determined on vengeance. He has said that an example must be made and he is not inclined to show mercy.”