The Thistle and the Rose (30 page)

James, being a fearless boy and well coached by Margaret, entered the Tolbooth that day in a kingly fashion and even the cynical lords were impressed and a little awed. Many of them told themselves that they must have a care how they behaved toward him; he was young yet, but he would one day be King and he looked sharp enough to remember those who offended him.

James spoke in a loud, clear voice. “I am your King and I will no longer be your prisoner. This realm is of goodly size but it will not contain both me and the Duke of Albany.”

Several of the lords spoke, respectfully explaining to the King that he was accompanied by guards for his own safety. They had no wish but to serve him, and this they had sworn to do.

James was looking at his mother for his next cue; but at that moment Gaultier de Malines, who had entered the Tolbooth immediately after the King was in his place, came forward to say that he had a message from his master the Duke of Albany and he believed that now was the time to deliver it.

“My master,” he said, “thanks you for your support of his rule during his absence. He is on his way to you and he has good news for you. Sir Richard de la Pole will shortly be arriving with an army for the invasion of England; and he knows that you will recognize as enemies to Scotland those who have tried to bring about a truce between the two perennial enemies. Let the King remain in Stirling Castle with certain trusted lords as his guardians; but give him license to hunt if he so wishes.”

Margaret, listening and watching the effect of these words on the lords, felt so frustrated that she could scarcely restrain her tears, for anger could make her weep more easily than sorrow. The King had made such a good impression and but for the coming of Gaultier de Malines she would have won James his liberty.

She cried: “This is no way in which to treat your King. He may be young in years, but see, he is indeed a king.”

But she knew she could not move them with her pleas, so she asked that she might choose the King's guardians and that Lords Borthwick and Erskine might be these, with help from the Abbot of Holyrood and the Bishop of Aberdeen.

The Parliament agreed that Lord Erskine should be the King's guardian but rejected the others.

James, seeing his mother's grief, stamped his foot and cried: “Do you forget, gentlemen, that I am your King?”

The lords were taken aback. None of them dared meet the King's eye, but they reminded themselves that he was only a child; and they had seen how his mother changed her policy according to her whim. They remembered how she had married Angus scarcely a year after Flodden, and how honors had been heaped on him and his family; now she had nothing but bitter hatred for Angus and his clan. Then she had been friendly with Albany, and now her regard was turned to a venom almost as potent as that which she felt for Angus.

Margaret was governed by her emotions and it was dangerous to follow such a woman.

Still, the boy was the King and he was reminding them of that. It was proposed then that, if Albany did not return within two weeks, the King's guards should be removed and he be allowed to go wherever he wished; moreover the terms set out by the English for the truce would be again considered.

It was not utter defeat, thought Margaret, as she and the King left the Tolbooth.

Albany had arrived at Dumbarton.

When Margaret received the news she dismissed all her women so that she might be alone to think. She took up her mirror and studied her face. She had grown used to the change now, but it would strike him forcibly. She thought of all the gowns she possessed and which became her most. But since she hated him, why should she care what he thought of her? Yet, she told herself, I must curb my feelings; never must he know how he has wounded me. If I have shown my interest in him, it must be believed that I considered him a worthy match for me—when we both became free—which he would be.

It was important that she should see the King immediately to discuss with him what the return of Albany could mean, to coach him in what he must do and say; and she was thankful that at least her son had such a regard for her that he was ready to obey her in all she asked of him.

She set out for Stirling, and there was warmly welcomed by James. She saw that he had changed; he was no longer malleable; she had made him realize the power which could be his and already he was surrounded by companions who were eager to humor and flatter him. But he was as affectionate toward his mother as ever and she was delighted with him.

David Lindsay however was disturbed and sought to speak to her in private, but she had little time for David Lindsay now; she was grateful to him for his past care of the boy, but he was essentially a companion for a child. James, however, had not changed toward his old friend, although he spent less time with him, there
being so many new interests in his life. He liked to hunt with companions a little older than himself, though seeming the same age since he was old for his years.

He had taken the opportunity to hunt every day, and was clearly going to be a great lover of the chase. He had grieved a little because his beloved papingo had escaped into the park where it had been attacked and killed by the wild birds there; but that event had made him throw himself more eagerly into his new pastimes that he might forget his precious bird; and when he was with David he always remembered.

Margaret told him that Albany was in Scotland and they must be wary.

“He will doubtless come to you with soft words, but we must remember he is a very deceitful man.”

James listened carefully, and she rejoiced because his regard for her was so apparent.

He wanted to show her his new household; many of his old servants had been replaced, and when they sat down to a banquet she made the acquaintance of a merry young man, handsome in a brash way, who was the King's Master Carver.

He was very bold, this young man, and he did not seem overawed by the presence of the King or Queen. In his livery of silk, his doublet of crimson satin and his red hose which were furred with black budge he was quite a dazzling figure.

He carved for the King and the Queen on that occasion, and kept them amused by his merry wit.

“Tell me,” said Margaret to her son, “who is this young man who seems so pleased with himself and life?”

“I will get him to speak to you himself,” answered James, and beckoning the young man, added, “Her Grace the Queen would speak with you.”

The young man bowed low and opened his eyes wide with pleasure. He murmured: “The Queen wishes to speak with
me
! This is the happiest day of my life.”

“Tell me your name,” said Margaret.

“It is Henry Stuart, Your Grace.”

Margaret smiled. “A goodly name and one which is not unfamiliar to me. Tell me to which branch of the family you belong.”

“My father is Lord Avondale, Your Grace, and I am his second son. My brother James is in the service of the King with me. We count ourselves fortunate to be in such good service.”

“And it would seem to me that you perform your duties in a commendable manner.”

He raised his eyes to the ceiling and murmured: “Your Grace, who could fail to… when serving the King? And now to enjoy the additional pleasure of serving the Queen…!”

There was something in the boldness of his looks which she found amusing. She signed for him to carve for her, which he did with alacrity and, when he held the meat for her to take, his eyes were on her in a manner which, though bold, she did not find offensive. He was young and he had made her feel young.

When she retired that night she felt more lighthearted than she had for a long time.

Albany was on his way to see her and she could not restrain her excitement. The fact that she knew he had had a mistress while he was making love to her could only grieve her, she supposed; it could not make her hate him. She had chosen her gown with the utmost care; her hair at least had lost none of its beauty, it was carefully dressed and she was adorned with jewels. But she could not completely hide the ravages of the smallpox, and he would notice how changed she was. Yet when she was at the height of her beauty he could not be faithful; neither could James, her first husband, nor Angus her second.

She had left the King at Stirling and returned to her lodgings in Edinburgh, for she knew that Albany was on his way to the King and she thought it fitting that she should not greet him in James's presence. Her friends had told her how Albany had knelt before young James and sworn that he had returned to Scotland to lay down his life, if need be, for his sake.

And now he was on his way to Edinburgh and Holyrood Palace which he would make his headquarters.

She could hear the sounds of acclamation in the streets; he was immediately popular even though he did seem like a foreigner to the citizens of Edinburgh. It was the Stuart charm which was so irresistible and seemed to be possessed by everyone who bore the
name. That young Master Carver of James's had it. He was a bold fellow and perhaps she had encouraged him overmuch; but he had so pleased her; he had made her feel that she was young again and that her women were right when they assured her that the pox had made little difference to her looks.

Albany paused on his way to Holyrood to call on the Queen. She waited, her head held high, until he came and stood before her. He bowed and, when his eyes met hers, there was no sign that he noticed any difference in her appearance.

“So you have come back to Scotland!” she said.

“I should never have left, had it not been necessary.”

She wished that her heart would not beat so wildly, that she did not feel so absurdly glad that he had come. Yet mingling with her pleasure was a fierce anger against him. She wanted to say: And when do you propose to visit your paramour, the Fleming woman?

But their conversation was cool, as was becoming in the presence of others.

“How long will you remain in Edinburgh?” she asked him.

“For but a short while, I fear. I have matters to attend to.”

“On the Border?” she suggested, but he only smiled.

“Yet,” he went on, “I hear that my friends have prepared some entertainment for me at Holyrood. I could not enjoy it if the Queen were not present to make my joy in this return complete.”

She smiled. The desire to dance with him in the state apartments of Holyrood Palace was too great to be denied.

They led the dance as they had on previous occasions.

“It has seemed long,” he said.

“Doubtless you had much to occupy you in France.”

“So much—and yet it seemed long.”

“I was very sick when you left.”

“I did not know how sick, or I should never have been able to leave Scotland.”

“Nay,” she retorted “one mistress sick, what matters it? There was another to amuse your leisure hours.”

He was silent; then he gave her a remorseful look. “Alas,” was all he said, smiling wryly as he did so.

“My enemies told me,” she continued. “I would rather have heard it from you.”

“One's flesh is weak,” he admitted.

“It seems a very hard task for a man to be faithful to one woman. I begin to believe it is an almost impossible one to fulfill.”

“That,” he said with a snap of his fingers, “is of no great moment. It is the affections, the tenderness, which are important.”

“I agree. To love would mean never to hurt the loved one by deed or word.”

“I beg you to understand that what happened in a moment of weakness need have no lasting effect on the relationship between us two.”

“Perhaps you are of a lighter mind than I, my lord. You may understand your feelings; you cannot understand mine. You gave no sign of your horror when you saw what illness had done to me…just as you gave no sign that you had another mistress. I congratulate you on your superb control. I should have liked you better had you displayed more human feelings.”

She could feel the anger rising now. She wanted to shout at him, to wound him as he had wounded her. She wanted to scream: Why do I have to love these faithless men? Why cannot I escape from my emotions as easily as they can from theirs?

He was watching her, and she wondered whether he knew how near she was coming to a hysterical outburst. He would know a great deal about a woman's feelings, she was sure. He, with his devotion to a sick wife! Devotion indeed! No doubt he sat at her bedside and soothed her… when he was not visiting some new mistress. She believed she had the measure of him. He was a man who wanted peace; but he wanted to satisfy his lusts also. He did so in secret, keeping this from his sick wife, playing the faithful husband, as he played the passionate lover to each of his mistresses in turn.

She was praying now for calm and for courage. She must not obey the demands of her senses; she must cling to her pride; she must let Albany know that he could not treat the Queen of Scotland as one of his lights-o'-love and expect her to be willing and eager the moment he beckoned.

“I will make you understand… when we are alone,” he murmured.

She was fighting his allure with all her strength, and against her will she forced herself to say: “I do not know when that will be, my lord, for I have no wish to be alone with you.”

He looked regretful, but calm as ever. Why should he care that she would no longer have him in her bed? He would doubtless quickly seek solace with the Fleming woman.

Albany was only faintly disturbed by the Queen's discovery of his infidelity. He believed that, if Anne should die and Margaret obtain her divorce, a marriage between them would be considered so desirable that she would succumb and marry him. Moreover he knew that she had been very loath to deny him her bed. He had read the anger in her eyes; he knew she was a passionate woman; that was jealousy he had seen tonight, and if she had not cared deeply for him she would not feel the fierce anger which she obviously did.

If it were necessary he would have no difficulty in regaining her affection.

But at the moment he had other matters which demanded his attention. He had men and arms at his disposal and he was going to wage war on the enemy of Scotland and his master, the King of France.