Unicorn Rampant (44 page)

"No, he did not seem so. But Erskine made the running. His father, the Earl of Mar, was not there, either rime. But I felt that he was behind it all, the Lord Treasurer." He paused. "Tell me—how much does a farmer of taxes and customs keep to himself, and
how
much send to the Treasury?"

"I
told you before, it can vary. But four in every ten is usual. This can be bettered, on occasion! Especially with such as Dumbarton Castle to maintain."

"As much as that! Then . . . ?"

"Yes—you see what Dumbarton could be worth to you, properly handled? Have you not been taking the money? You are making the collections?"

"Yes. But have held back, meantime. No word has come from the Treasury. Middlemas left nothing, no guidance
..."

"Then tell young Graham to send six in ten of all that he has taken to Murray—Sir Gideon Murray, mind you—not Mar. I'd name him middling honest. But to bargain for costs at the castle. You will learn how this game must be played . .
.!"

John had his interview with the King the following day, summoned not to the bedchamber on this occasion but to one of the stables, where a favourite mare was in process of foaling, and James was concerned to watch the event. Present, as well as the grooms and stableboys, were two of the King's physicians and an olive-skinned, hook-nosed elegant whom John had seen before but never spoken to, the Count Gondomar, ambassador of His Most Catholic Majesty of Spain, nowadays James's constant companion— so much so that it was said that Steenie was becoming distinctly jealous.

"Aye, Johnnie Stewart—it's yoursel', then? Come and see my Esmeralda giving birth—an exercitation which should consaim you mair than some, heh?" Apart from some slight emphasis on that
you,
the greeting was as though John had not been away for more than hours. The King and Gondomar were sitting on bundles of straw on the stable-floor only a yard or two from the puffing and heaving mare.

"Your Majesty—I hope that you are improved in health? I heard that you were poorly."

"Ooh, aye—I'm in sair pain. But no' deid yet, in despite o' what some folk would wish! You ken Don Diego? He's frae Spain, and right knowledgeable about some matters— but no' all, mind, no' all!
Nec scire fas est Omnia!
He's never delivered a foal, see you—is that no' extraordinary? Now, you will ken all about it, eh?"

"I have delivered many, Sire."

"Aye—but dinna sound sae gleg-sure! There's a fell lot you
dinna
ken, as I've been hearing!" He turned. "This, Diego, is a sort o' a misbegotten, far-oot kinsman o' mine, Sir John Stewart o' Methven. Aye, misbegotten—for he's Vicky Stewart's bastard." And, without a change of tone, Majesty went on, "You've been awa' frae our royal presence, lacking oor royal permission, for a gey long time, Johnnie Stewart! We are right displeased wi' you. Months, aye months. You hae forfeited oor royal regard!"

"But, Sire . .
.!"
John protested, and recollected that the King did not appreciate buts. "It was no fault of mine, Sire. The Privy Council—Your Majesty's Scots Privy Council, commanded me to stay. Ordered me to attend two hearings, over six weeks apart. I could not come back to London in time and then return there. Did Sir William Alexander, or my father, not tell you?"

"I am no' here to be told but to be obeyed, man—mind that. You seem to hae preferred to obey yon Alicky Seton!"

"Sire—I had to assume that the Privy Council spoke in your royal name, in Scotland. I
could not disobey my lord
Dunfermline, the Chancellor. I did not want to stay."

James turned a padded shoulder on John. "How long now?" he demanded of the physicians.

They shook uncertain but distinctly disapproving heads. "We are not conversant with horses' labours, Highness," one declared.

"Then you ought to be. A mare is one o' God's creatures, is she no'? As much as any woman. Aye, and this Esmeralda's been mair use to me than a wheen women I ken!" James went forward on his knees, despite his gout, pushed aside the stableman who crouched there near the mare's rump, and, pulling up his padded sleeve, lifted the long tail and thrust his hand and arm up inside the animal's rear, feeling around and nodding with every sign of satisfaction. Withdrawing, he wiped off the blood and other smearing on his slashed but already stained trunks. "Coming along fine," he announced. "I could grip the hooves. It winna be long now. You, Don Diego—put your hand up and feel."

Appalled, the Spaniard drew back, shaking his head. "No, no, Majesty—I pray you, no! Not I."

"Come, man—it'll no' bite you! Be no' so nice."

"I beg of you, my lord King
..."

"Och, weel—I'd gie her ten minutes or so, yet." Pulling down his sleeve, James turned back to John. "The paper? All is weel wi' the paper?"

"Yes, Sire. No difficulties there. Has the first shipment not arrived?"

"Aye—Will Alexander is seeing to that. You'll hae to go see yon Cockayne man, and fix a price wi' him—a guid price, mind. For I jalouse he'll be fair desperate to lay hands on that paper. For parliament's just passed Frankie Bacon's measure banning a' monopolies in England, and Cockayne and his like are like to hae their feet ca'd frae under them. Mind, thae skellums will find a way round it, in time, I've nae doubt. But meantime they'll be in a fair tizzie. They'll be glad to pay whatever price we ask, for oor Scots paper. It's as weel my
Scots
parliament doesna consaim itsel' wi' siklike matters, eh? Save for matters o' religion, mind. In that, they're the spawn o' Satan!"

"Yes, Sire." John wondered if this would be a good opportunity to get back to Dumbarton and the Privy Council. "On the subject of religion, Your Majesty, while I was awaiting the second hearing of the Council they sent me two parish ministers to hold at Dumbarton—at least, I take it that it was the Lord Erskine who sent them, for they came from Stirling Castle. A strange business. They stand accused of disobeying their bishop, I understand . . ."

"Stiff-necked miscreants!" James declared. "Contumacious—maist contumacious."

"No doubt, Sire—but still ministers of religion. I had also no doubt that Your Majesty would not wish them to be maltreated nor used like common felons. I held them secure, but used them honestly, not harshly, even discussing and reasoning with them, as befitted ordained clergy and men of education. Did I do wrong? Now I am accused by the Council of treating them
too
kindly!"

"You tell me that?" The King tapped Gondomar's arm. "This mare is fourteen years, mind. An auld friend."

"No doubt if I had treated the ministers harshly there would also have been complaint, Sire. For complaint was determined on—that I am sure. There was no need to send the prisoners to Dumbarton for that short time. They had been at Stirling and went back there."

"Is that a fact? Would you say that with age and practice, aye practice, a mare foals easier, or the reverse, man? Is age an impediment and coarctation, or no'? I'm told some women slip a tenth bairn as easy as you'd pod a pea!"

"I do not know, Sire. Fourteen years is not too old. I have foaled mares older than that. But—this of Dumbarton. I am convinced that certain people want me out of that castle. And will do much to get me out. For reasons of which I am not certain. Possibly to do with the tax collection
..."

"Aye, weel—maybe so. But, see you Johnnie Stewart, that is
your
consairn. I didna mak you Keeper there to hae to fret about it my ain sel'. I've plenties on my ain mind, without the likes o' that."

"But, Sire—if there are your royal revenues at risk
...
?"

"Laddie—
I see
no' a penny o' the revenues o' Dumbarton. Nor yet any other o' my Scots castles and properties. It a' goes—God kens where it goes! But no' to me. The upkeep o' Holyroodhouse and Falkland and the like. Maintaining the royal service in Scotland, as I am told—there's a wheen fine folk to maintain! Ooh, aye—plenties. Including my Lord High Admiral, eh? And the Chancellor. And the Chamberlain. And Lyon and his bubblyjock heralds!

Aye, and a' the pack o' lords o' Session and Justice. Aye, plenties."

"And the Lord High Treasurer himself, perhaps?"

James looked at him directly from those soulful eyes. "Johnnie Mar's an auld friend o' mine, young man. My foster-brother he was. We were skelpit together by yon auld deil Geordie Buchanan. Mind it."

John drew a deep breath. "Yes, Majesty."

"Aye, weel—you didna think, wi' al' that lot to keep in fine fettle, that there'd be any siller left to come to their sovereign-lord, did you? Why I must needs seek it elsewhere. Your faither could ha' told you that, I'll be bound. So—see you to Dumbarton, as best you can. Or we'll hae to find another Keeper."

Digesting that, John said, "You will be getting a report from the Chancellor, Sire—from the Privy Council. It will, I think, be critical
..."

"Nae doubt, lad—nae doubt. I'm aye getting reports, from this, that and the other, maist o' them critical o' something or somebody! I dinna let them a' come between me and my sleep, mind!" He pointed. "Ha—noo she's coming! Aye, she's on the way. Watch this, Diego man— hooves first I'll be bound
..."

For the next fifteen or twenty minutes the talk was clinical rather than financial or administrative, as Esmeralda, with a minimum of fuss on her part in contrast to that of her royal master, produced a fine bay colt, hooves first as James had prophesied. He himself did much of the midwifery required, and what he did not actually do he directed and expounded upon, as much apparently to the two physicians as to the Spanish ambassador. He was even more odoriferous and soiled than usual by the time that all was tidied up and dam and offspring re-united—but that was not a matter to concern the Lord's Anointed.

On their hobbling way back to the great house, with James clutching a Spanish and a Scots arm, from excogitating on the interesting relationship in conception, parturition, death and the hereafter, the improbability of reincarnation and the form of the spiritual body, he suddenly dug an elbow into John's ribs, and chuckled.

"You, Johnnie Stewart, should be showing mair interest in this matter, for we've a' go to pass on, some o' us sooner than others—and
you
are like to be consaimed in the parturition bit o' it, a' too soon! Ooh, aye."

"I do not take Your Majesty's meaning . . . ?"

"You do not, eh? And you sae gleg! Why, it's marriage for you, man. And without delay. Marriage, aye."

John blinked. "Your Highness jests . . ."

"Not so. You've got yon Hamilton lassie wi' child, and you'll wed her. The jesting's by wi'."

"But. .
.but.
.."

"Aye, you were aye a great one for buts, my mannie— but it's
my
turn! I was for you wedding the quean before, you'll mind—but noo it's fell necessar. I'm no' having young females wi' faitherless bairns aboot my court—I am not! I promised her a place, mind—you were strong enough on that, a few months back. Weel—noo she'll be wife to Sir John Stewart o' Methven, Keeper o' Dumbarton Casde! That'll dae her fine. So, you see—conception and parturition are right applicable, you'll no' can deny?"

"Sire! I . . . I . . . this is not right, just. It is unfair. Not marriage. I
..
."

"Dinna tell me you would refuse to mak an honest woman—or sort o' honest—o' the lassie, man? You've lain wi' her, many's the time. This is what can happen when you bed females—is it no', Don Diego? Safer, sometimes, wi'. . . others!"

"But, Sire, she. . . she .
.."

"Na, na—dinna say it, lad! Dinna say anything you might regret. She's going to be your wife—for that is my royal command. So her guid name has its importance, eh? If it's no' too late! You'll wed—that's a' that's to it. And it had better be right soon—before she begins to show. Och, you might dae a deal worse. She's got wits, that one, and plenties o' spirit. And she's weel enough connected. Sir Claud, her faither, wasna very bright but he was a decent-enough man. And his brother, Abercorn's nae fool. The Hamiltons hae some royal blood, mind."

"Are my feelings of no matter, Sire?"

"Your feelings were weel to the fore when you got yoursel' up under the lassie's skirts, were they no'? Forby, there's mair feelings than yours to consider. So—enough talk. You'll be wed so soon as it can be contrived. You can be off the morn to see Cockayne and his Merchant Venturers, and you can forgather wi' your bit bride-to-be at the same time, at St James's, and decide on a day for it. As to the price you get frae Cockayne, mind to be not ower soft wi' him.
He'll
ca' it a' back frae the folk who need the paper, and plenties mair, you can be sure. Let us see you making a keener paper-merchant than you are a bridegroom! Or a Keeper o' Dumbarton . .
.!"