The Wisest Fool mog-4 Read online

  Perturbed at the younger man's percipience, Heriot coughed. "Not laugh at, my lord. Laugh with, where I decently may. Otherwise regard, heed-aye, and seek to understand my fellow-men, lofty and less so. Is that not permissible? Even a cat, they do say, may look at a king.'' "To be sure. I but envy you your detachment"

  "I do not think that I am detached, my lord. Not sufficiently for my comfort."

  "Surely when we are alone, man, you can forget the lording and duking! My friends call me Vicky, as you know well." "But your friends are not… tradesmen, I think 1"

  "Damnation, man-be not so prickly I You, who could buy us all and scarce notice the price!"

  "I am sorry if I sound prickly, my lord Duke. I would hope not to be that. Any more than purse-proud. But you will grant me that I have to walk warily? His Grace is kind to me, relies on me much. Too much. That offends many, I know well And men who lend money are seldom popular-especially to their debtors! I have heard, indeed, that there is a new play written by this English playwright on this very theme-I have forgot his name-set in Venice, I think. Many would pull down a man in my position, should I seem to ride even a little too high."

  "So I must remain my lord Duke even when we are alone-lest men think I owe George Heriot more than I do and so he takes liberties!"

  Heriot laughed. "Very well, Vicky-as you will. My friends, like my enemies, all call me Geordie!" They stood for a few moments, watching the King.

  "As you said, back at Berwick, fames does not change," Lennox observed, at length "These English are shocked. And will be more so."

  "Did you expect him to change? When he crossed the Border? He has been a king for thirty-six years, since he was one year old. He is as he has always been, the Lord's Anointed. It is Elizabeth's England which will have to change, not its new liege lord."

  "And yet… He has been waiting for this for so long, living for it. For the day when he would sit on the dual throne. I would have thought that he would have been concerned to display himself in a more acceptable, more dignified light." "Once he told me that dignity was for those who required its support. He does not. As for being acceptable, it matters still less. He is the King. He must be accepted. So he is himself, only and entirely himself. Perhaps the only man in two realms who may be. We all play a part, or many parts, since we must. But he is James, by the Grace of God-and aware of it!"

  Lennox looked at the other curiously. "You have considered it well, I see." "I have had occasion to do so."

  "And you do not blame him? For behaving as he does? Sitting up there drinking. Fondling these odious young men of his. Ignoring, indeed rejecting his host and these English."

  "Who am I to blame or withhold blame of my lord the King? But I understand what he is and what he does, I think. He of a purpose holds the English at bay, so that they have no doubts as to who is master. He dallies with his favourites to demonstrate that he, representer on earth of heavenly power, is not bound by the codes which control the acts and behaviour of his subjects. He establishes his position before these new subjects. And though he drinks heavily, he is not drunk. Indeed, I have never seen His Grace drunk. Have you?"

  "Now that you remark on it-no. I had not really thought on it. But, no-he is never drunk, however much drink-taken."

  "Aye. So there you have him, my lord Vicky. The Lord's Anointed. With one of the cleverest heads in Christendom on those padded shoulders!" "Eh? You think that? You really think so, Geordie?"

  "Can you name any, any at all, whom you deem cleverer, shrewder, more sure of himself and his course?" "M'mmm. We-e-ell. Only, perhaps, the Master of Gray!"

  "Aye. There is the one man who may rival His Grace. This century's Machiavelli! My sorrow that they now are unfriends. That was an unwise move, at Berwick, I think-to send him away, in public mockery. I fear no good can come of it. But perhaps His Grace deemed it absolutely necessary. He must have planned to do it, for long. It was not done on impulse, that I am sure."

  "It was folly. But then, James is the veriest fool, so frequently. A figure of fun…" "Seems so. Acts the fool, perhaps. But is he? My livelihood, Vicky, depends on judgment of men, of character, or risks to run and trust to be taken. And I assess King James as clever, able, and far from a fool. Strange yes, difficult yes, ruthless yes-but a king. The English will discover it in due course-and perhaps have cause to be thankful for it" "You surprise me-by God, you do!"

  As though James Stewart had realised that they were discussing him-as indeed were many others in that great room-he suddenly pushed Ramsay aside, looked up and directly at them, and grabbing a silver wine flagon, banged it heavily on the dais table, slopping the contents.

  Shaken, the dancers came to a halt, the musicians stopped playing and talk and laughter stilled as the banging went on. All eyes turned to the dais and its high chair.

  "Hey, Geordie Heriot-here to me, man," the monarch called. "Aye, and you too, Vicky Stewart To me, I say."

  Side by side they obediently made their way to the dais, and bowed before it James shooed away his drinking companions, and leaned over the table. "A cup o' wine, Geordie? Come closer, man. Come drink a farewell cup wi' me." "Farewell, Your Grace? So-o-o! I am to go? Back to Scotland?"

  "Aye. Back to Scotland. I have been sitting here thinking on it That it's maybe time. Aye, time."

  "I agree, Sire. Your Grace will remember that I asked you to allow me to return, at Newcastle. That my affairs were left hurriedly and in no very good shape…"

  "It's no' the shape o' your affairs I'm concerned wi', man-it's mine! Or my Annie's. Guid kens what she'll be up to! She lacks sense, the woman, in maist things. Och, they a' do! And lacking me to take order wi' her, she'll be fair above hersel'. And there'll be none to cry her down. Yon Seton, Fyvie, hasna the weight for it. She's the Queen I I've thought much on this. She'll heed you, Geordie." "I, I do not see why Her Grace should, Sire…"

  "Oh aye, she will. She thinks a deal o' Jinglin' Geordie Heriot Fine I ken it Forby, she owes you money, much money-and she'll hae to keep the right side o' you or she'll no' get her gewgaws and trinkets, eh? And you ken, if anyone does, how much they mean to my Annie! Aye, she'll heed you, Geordie. As she wouldna heed Duke Vicky, here. Or any other. You're to go watch ower her, man. And to bring her, and the bairns, down to me in London. When a's ready and I send for you."

  "If you say so, Sire. But I have no authority to control Her Grace…"

  ' Waesucks, you have not, sirrah I Nor has any man, under God, save my ain sel' She is the Queen. None will control the Queen, by authority."

  "I humbly beg Your Grace's pardon. A foolish slip of the tongue…"

  "Aye, it was, Geordie Heriot. You're going back to Edinburgh to guide the Queen, no' to control her. And no' by any authority, but by your wits, honest, decent wits-aye, and the fact that she needs you. Forby, there's the matter o' yon ill limmer, the Master o' Gray." James glanced at Lennox, only too well aware of that man's involvement with Mary Gray and the strange love-hate relationship he had with her father. "I'm feart for what he may be up to, see you. He'll no' be pleased at being sent back. But I wasna having him setting London by the ears the way he's set Scotland. And teaching the English how to be clever-eh? Na, na. There's no room for me and Patrick both, in London. But he'll be up to mischief in Scotland, if I ken him! And he kens Annie's weak. So you watch him, Geordie-watch him."

  "But, Sire-how can I influence the likes of him? A man with more real power than the Chancellor…"

  'The same way as you do the Queen-wi' your wits, man. And he'll no' have any power much longer, I promise you! You'll no' can pull him down-but you'll can frustrate his tricks, belike. And keep me informed. I'd send Vicky here wi' you but I'll need him in London, to act for me whiles. Till I can find others I can trust. So you'll off back to Edinburgh, Geordie." "Very good, Sire. I shall leave in the morning."

  "You'll no'. You'll leave the night. Now, man. Have you forgot? The morn's the Sabbath. We'll start the way we mean to go on. Elizabeth may have l
ittle heeded the Sabbath. But my Court will. I'll no' have you leaving for Scotland on the Sabbath day. So go now. Or you'll waste a whole day."

  "But of course Master Heriot will have to rest for the Sabbath tomorrow somewhere?" Lennox wondered innocently.

  "Dinna be impertinent, Vicky Stewart I" the King reproved. "Geordie kens fine what's what You'll be in Edinburgh on Monday's morn, eh man?"

  "If you wish it so, Sire. I will do my best on Your Grace's behalf, as in all things. As always. Though this is a, h'm, difficult mission Have I Your Grace's permission to retire?"

  "Aye. Off wi' you. Though-bide a wee. It comes to me that I prefer the one English custom to our Scots usage. Aye, prefer it This o' Majesty instead o' Grace. It's mair… suitable, maybe. I'll be Majesty now, no' Grace. Let it be known-both o' you." "To be sure, Your Majesty…"

  3

  "WEARY, STIFF, DUSTY and travel-stained, George Heriot and his two armed grooms trotted round the grassy base of Arthur's Seat in the dusk of the Monday evening, 18th April, two hundred and twenty miles in forty-four hours hard riding. The city gates would be closed for the night-but that did not matter. He had his own apartment in the Palace of Holyroodhouse, outwith the walls, which went with his appointment of Court Jeweller and the Crown's Banker. His private house, in Beith's Wynd above the shop and opposite St Giles, could wait. Only servants and a stepbrother had waited for him there since his wife's death some years before.

  Rounding a minor shoulder of the hill his eyes narrowed. The palace, lying under the shadowy heights, had come into view. And it was ablaze with lights. Every window of the great pile seemed to glow and sparkle, almost as thought it was afire. Never had Heriot seen it like this. King James was apt to be careful of lights and fuel.

  As they neared Holyroodhouse and its ruined abbey, the sounds of music, shouting and laughter seemed to throb through the old grey stonework and set the evening ah aquiver. Heriot and his men rode in at the rear gateway from the park. There were no guards on duty. The outer court was full of people and horses, men-at-arms, servitors, kitchen-wenches and women of the town, in loud-tongued, skhling pandemonium, barrels of ale open and spilling, victuals on benches, boxes, even on the flagstones. Horseplay, fisticuffs, near-rape prevailed.

  Dismounting with aching bones, and staring about him grimly, George Heriot left the grooms to take the horses to the stables and pushed his way through the noisy throng to the lower north wing of the palace, part of the original conventual buildings of the Abbey of the Holy Rood, where were his quarters. The door thereto stood open and a couple were grappling on the floor of the vestibule. There was no sign of his servant.

  Tight-lipped, he went up the winding turnpike stair and opened the door-to find a large and handsome pair of female breasts as it were staring him in the face from his bed, the owner's head back and laughing, so that only her throat and chin seemed to top them. A hand and arm, somewhat hairy, coming out from the bedclothes, pulled her long fair hair and a dark head was just visible on a pillow. George Heriot swallowed, and then cleared his throat loudly. Two heads rose in indignation and alarm. "God flay you-how dare you!" an authoritative voice cried. "I dare for the best of reasons, sir. You are in my bed." "Damnation! Out with you, fellow Begone-or I'll have you flogged!" "For entering my own chamber? I think not, my Lord Lindores."

  "Eh…? You know me? So much the worse for you, then! Leave at once, d'you hear?"

  "I shall leave this room, yes. But only for sufficiently long for you and this lady to clothe yourselves and leave my house. If you are not gone then, I will call the palace guard and have you thrown out. My lord!"

  The other man all but choked, while his paramour clutched her bosom and gasped. "How… how… who in God's name are you?"

  Standing in the doorway, Heriot had been in the shadow. Now he moved forward. "You ought to know, sir-you owe me sufficient! I am George Heriot, and these are my quarters. From the King."

  "Christ God!" Lindores swore-and his companion promptly leapt out of bed in a flouncing of plump flesh and white limbs, to flee into the dressing-room next door.

  "I will leave you, my lord. But when you are, h'm, yourself, I would wish for an explanation."

  "But… dammit, man-you went away I You should be in London, with the King. How are you here?"

  "I am here on my own business. And the King's. It is you who should say what you do here. In my bed."

  "I was given these quarters. You were gone with the King. No longer needed them…" "Who gave them to you, my lord? Not the Queen, I swear."

  "Why, my good-brother. The Master of Gray. He is Master of the King's Wardrobe. Holyroodhouse comes under his authority." Lord Lindores and the Master of Gray had married sisters, the Ladies Jean and Marie Stewart, daughters of the King's illegitimate uncle, the Earl of Orkney. The lady who had jumped from the bed, however, was not one of these.

  "Ha-I see! The Master of Gray." Heriot looked thoughtful. "I must needs have a word with the Master, then." He nodded. "My clothing and gear, my lord? Where are they? You have not, h'm inherited all these also? " I

  "No, no. All are in your garret. On the floor above. All your property. Safe enough…"

  "All that you did not require, shall we say?" Heriot gestured round at the fully furnished bedroom, all therein his own. Then he shrugged. "I suggest that you dress, my lord. You may take a chill. No doubt we shall meet later." Bowing ironically to the naked man, he left him.

  Upstairs, amongst a great clutter of his belongings thrust anyhow into the attic room, he found clothing and changed out of his travel-worn riding garb, cleaning himself as best he could. Then he descended and made his way across the outer court to the main building of the palace.

  The place was as lively as a fair, and as noisy. Half of the Scotland that mattered seemed to be present, variously enjoying the night. Up in the long throne Gallery, seething with splendid folk in the blaze of a thousand candles in glittering candelabra, Heriot looked for the Queen-and saw no sign of her. There were women in plenty, many of whom he knew, many holding court in their own way; but none on the scale of a Queen-Consort. A masque was in progress, involving satyrs, shepherdesses, fauns and even a few sheep from the park-but the Queen could not be taking part in that, being seven months pregnant-one reason why she had not travelled south with the King.

  The masque's theme seemed to demand great expanses of bare flesh, male and female, and the lady in his late bed might have strayed therefrom, Arcadian shepherdesses presumably being a hardy breed. The satyrs wore realistic goat's-hair trews, with rather inadequate and flimsy cod-pieces; also very effective small horns, with their faces painted. In this very active charade, it was not difficult to tell the sheep from the goats.

  Despite paint and additions, there was no mistaking the most handsome of the satyrs. Patrick, Master of Gray himself. Only in his mid-thirties, despite being a grandfather, and still a year or two younger than Heriot, he had a superb body, beautifully proportioned and kept in perfect condition. Of all the male actors he was the most striking, gracefully vigorous and danced with the most elan and brilliance-all with the consequence that the shepherdesses seemed to compete to swoon into his arms, each expertly handled before being abandoned for the next Undoubtedly the Master of Gray was enjoying himself.

  "I was right-it is Master George Heriot!" a voice said, at the watcher's shoulder. "Here is a surprise. But a pleasant one."

  He turned. A young woman stood there, exceedingly lovely, of a beauty which succeeded in being at the same time ethereal and somehow matter-of-fact, fragile-looking and yet quietly strong. She was dressed comparatively quietly likewise in that peacock throng, yet beside her most other women faded into insignificance, however gorgeously or provocatively gowned. She was young, still in her twenties, but the directness and serenity of her gaze was ageless.

  "Ha-Mistress… Lady… er, Madam," the man said. "You are kind. And well met For I have a message for you. From the Duke of Lennox. A letter, in my baggage. A very brief
one, for I left York in some haste."

  'York? Is that all? Not London? And Vicky? He is well? There is nothing wrong…?" "No. All is in order, Lady… er, ma'am."

  "My name is Mary Gray, and Mistress is the only style to which I have claim, sir."

  He cleared his throat. This was the young woman whom the Duke would have made Duchess, but who would not marry him though she bore him a son and ran his castle of Methven; because she had known well that the King would have the marriage annulled somehow, as quite unsuitable for royalty and one so close to the throne-even the bastard of such as the Master of Gray. James had, thereafter, indeed married his only duke to a more apt bride-whatever the Lennox protests. Nevertheless, Mary Gray was made an Extra Woman of the Bedchamber to the Queen, on the King's insistence; for though Anne had little love for her, James greatly admired her. She was indeed a very strong-minded and self-sufficient creature, as keen-witted as she was lovely, and quite as much a personality to be reckoned with as her remarkable father himself. "I shall go get your letter from the Duke," the man said.

  'You have but arrived, Master Heriot. There is no hurry. We shall see out this present foolishness," and she nodded at the masquers. "Then you must eat and drink. Refresh yourself. For you look tired. Then I will come with you." "No need, Mistress Gray…"

  "When did you last eat, sir? You have the look of a man who has ridden far and fast" "We snatched a bite at Berwick-on-Tweed…"

  "Sakes-then no more standing here looking at mummery 1" She took his arm. "Come." "No, no. I can wait, very well. See out the play-acting."

  "Nonsense! Watching men old enough to know better enjoying themselves in a public spectacle is no occupation for a hungry belly!" She drew him after her, into the transverse corridor which led through to a twin gallery, with tables laden with food and drink, and all but deserted save for a few determined drinkers, one already on the floor, overcome, and a servitor or two.