Nigel Tranter - Past Master

While this marshalling and leave-taking was going on, still to the intermittent booming of a few remaining cannon, a single horseman came cantering across the long bridge from the far side, his hoof beats drumming hollowly on the timbers. It proved to be a young man dressed in the height of fashion, who jumped off his beast and sank on his knees before King James, holding out a large key in his hand.

'Your most gracious Majesty, serene exemplar of learning, humanity and piety, the heart's desire of all true Englishmen,' he cried in fluting tones. 'I am John Peyton, son to the Lieutenant of the Tower of London, the most humble of all your servants. Here is the key to that said dread Tower, Majesty, England's citadel, which I have ridden post to present to you ere you set foot on England's devoted soil.'

The Scots around the King coughed and looked embarrassed at such unseemly and magniloquent language; but James himself appeared to find nothing amiss with it. Smirking and nodding, he took the key, patting the young man's head, and on impulse told him to stay on his knees. He turned to Ludovick, at his side, demanding his sword, and taking it, had some trouble, with the large key in his hand, in bringing it down on the young man's shoulder.

'Arise, good Sir John… John… Eh, what's the laddie's name?' he asked, in a stage whisper, peering round.

'Peyton, Sire – Peyton,' Somerset said hurriedly. It was the Englishmen's turn to look embarrassed.

'Aye, well – arise Sir John Peyton. Vicky – here, take this key, man. It's ower heavy..

That was but the first of three hundred knightings on the way to London.

'Come, Sir Percy. Come Somerset, man,' the King commanded, beckoning for his horse. 'Aye, and you too, Vicky. Escort me across this unchancy brig. It's gey long and it's gey rickmatick, by the looks o' it. You'd better go first, Vicky. Aye, you too, Percy. See it's safe for me. I dinna like the looks o' it…!'

'It is quite safe, Sire, I assure you,' Sir Charles Percy told him. 'I have crossed it many times. Heavy cannon cross it…'

'Aye, maybe. But go you ahead, just the same. It's a right shauchly brig, this. You should ha' done better for me, man!'

Ludovick looked back unhappily to where Mary stood; he had intended to cross the bridge at her side, with parting now so near. She waved him on, indicating that she would see him at the other side.

It was no doubt inevitable, indeed possibly essential, that the long bridge should sway somewhat in the middle, constructed of wood as it was and with a dog's leg bend two-thirds of the way across to counter the swift current of the tidal river. But long before they were that far, James was complaining loudly, bitterly, exclaiming at every shake and shiver. Presently indeed he commanded a halt, and hastily got down from his horse, pushing the beast away from him in case its weight should add to his own danger. He would have turned back there and then, on foot as he was – but it was pointed out to him that they were more than half-way across now, with less distance to go forward than back, and that the bridge behind them was crowded with folk. Insisting that Ludovick led the two horses and kept well in front, the King, clutching Sir Charles's arm on one side and the parapet-rail of the bridge on the other, placed the remainder of the way almost on tiptoe, staring horrified at the jabbly wavelets beneath him, thick lips moving in mumbled prayer.

Thus James Stewart entered into his long desired inheritance. He made the last few yards to English soil at a sort of shambling run, and reaching terra firma, sank down on his velvet-clad knees dramatically and kissed the ground – to the alarm and confusion of the great gathering here awaiting him, who did not know whether to come forward, remain standing, or kneel likewise. The Earl of Northumberland and the Bishop of Durham, leaders of the welcome party, after a hasty whispered consultation, moved forward and got down on their own knees beside the monarch, who, with eyes tight shut and lips busy, was colloguing with his Maker and apostrophising the Devil in the same urgent breath. The throng stared, enthralled.

When he opened his eyes and found others kneeling beside him, James tut-tutted in displeasure, but used their shoulders to aid himself to rise. Then perceiving that one was in holy orders, he forestalled the address of welcome by launching into a stern and voluble denunciation of a people and nation who expected their prince to take his life in his hands and come to them across a death-trap like that.

'It's no' right or proper, I tell you!' he declared, wagging a finger at the unfortunate Bishop. 'I… we are much displeasured. Yon's a disgrace! We might ha' been submerged in the cruel waters – aye, submerged. It wabbles, sir – it quakes. It'll no' do, I say. It is our command – aye, our first royal command on this our English ground – that you'll build a new brig. Aye, a guid stout brig o' stone, see you. That'll no' wabble. Forthwith. See you to it. Our Treasury in London will pay for it.'

'It shall be done, Majesty. Most certainly. A start shall be made at once. And now, Sire, here is my Lord of Northumberland. He humble craves permission to present an address of welcome…'

Ludovick, standing by with the horses, like any groom, found Mary at his side. He thrust the reins into the hands of the nearest bystander, arid taking the girl's arm, led her through the press some little way, to where, at the waterside, they might speak alone.

'Did ever you see such a to-do about nothing!' he demanded of her. 'Such a pother and commotion to make, in front ofhis new subjects! What they will think of him…'

She smiled. 'At least they will not say what they think, it seems – as some might, in Scotland! The English are most flowery speakers. I think King James more like to drown in a flood of flattering words than the waters of Tweed!'

'Aye – but he revels in their flummery. The more fawning and fulsome, the better! But… Mary, we are fools to waste time and thought on James Stewart, here and now. When we are so soon to separate. What are his follies and troubles to ours, who love each other and yet must be ever apart? You are sure? Determined? Even now. You will not change your mind? Come south with me? At least, with Patrick and Marie. To London. Even for a little time. You might like it well.'

'No, Vicky. Here I turn back. Here is where I belong. I have been to London, you remember. With Patrick, when he went to see Queen Elizabeth on the matter of the King's pension. I liked it well enough – but I could not bide there. I pined for our own bills, for the great skies and the caller air…'

'As did I. As I shall. But… I will return, Mary. And quickly. Nothing shall hold me. Once I have seen James installed on his new throne, I shall be back, hot-foot – that I swear by all that is true and holy. James may forbid it, threaten me with the Tower if he likes! But I will win back to you. To you. And swiftly. Back to Scotland.'

She gripped his arm. 'Do that, Vicky,' she said simply. 'I shall be waiting.' 'You… you will welcome me back?'

'Oh, my dear – can you ask that? I shall barely live until I see you again.' Her voice was unsteady.

'Mary – you can say that now? At this pass! After all the years wherein you have held me from you?'

'From my body only, Vicky – never from my heart. You know that.'

'I know only that I am the most unhappy of men, Mary. To have tasted of heaven, and then to be cast out – while told still that my heaven is there, waiting, yet with me locked and barred from it! For the sake of… what?'

'For the sake, I fear, of me, Vicky. Myself. What I am. Oh, I am sorry. I am foolish, I know well – stubborn and proud also. And my folly was never more clear to myself than at this moment!'