Nigel Tranter: The Courtesan

'Yet he writes this not to my lord of Huntly, but to you, Father.'

'Aye. Huntly, the great turkey-cock, would not make head nor tail of such a letter! Patrick would use me – use me as he has done before, times without number. I had thought that we had done with such. I have done with such, by God! I'll no' do it – I will not!' The man thumped clenched fist on his table as he passed it.

Thoughtfully, gravely, the girl looked at him. 'How can you say that?' she asked. 'He declares roundly that this is no mere conspiracy. Not to doubt him. The King, and the whole realm, must be endangered if the Spaniards invade England. None can question that, surely? Uncle Patrick has pointed a way of escape, has he not? For Scotland. How can you refuse your aid? If not for his sake, as he says, for the King's sake. For all our sakes.'

'I can – and do! You hear?' Almost he shouted at her – which was markedly unlike David Gray: 'I will be entangled in no more of Patrick's plots and deviltries. I swore it – and I will hold to it. I have seen too much hurt and evil, too much treachery and death, come of them. No – I will not do it.'

She shook her dark head slowly, and turned back to the paper in her hand once more. 'What is this about an office?' she enquired. 'An office to be set up on Castle-hill? Here, does he mean? This castle…?'

'No. He means the Holy Office, so called. The Spanish Inquisition. Set up on the Castle-hill of Edinburgh. He would chill my blood…'

'The Inquisition!' Mary Gray stared at him now, wide-eyed, something of the terror of that dread name quivering in her voice. 'Here? In Scotland? No – oh, no! That could never be! Not… that!'

Her father did not answer her.

She came over to him almost at a run. 'Father! Father – if that could happen, the Inquisition here… then… then…' She faltered, gripping his arm. He had never seen her so moved. 'You would never stand by and see that happen? Anything would be better than that, surely? You – a true Protestant? You cannot stay your hand from what he would have you do – from what this letter says, if that could be the outcome? You cannot!'

'Mary – can you not understand, child?' he cried. 'Cannot you see? What Patrick here proposes could well bring that very evil about! Bring the devilish Inquisition to Scotland, to Edinburgh. You talk about saving Scotland – about Patrick saving Scotland, thus. Do you not perceive, lass, that this is in fact most like a conspiracy to overthrow the Reformed religion in Scotland? The Catholic lords are to muster and arm. Secretly. Not until they are assembled is the King to be told. Not even then the Chancellor and the Council – that is what he means by James's tutors and servitors. The Protestants around the King are not to know of it. Until too late. Think you that this Catholic army will do the young Protestant King's biding? He will become its prisoner. Then James is to make a secret alliance with Catholic Spain. Against Protestant England. Do you believe that the Kirk could ever agree to that? So the Kirk will have to be put down – by Catholic arms. What will remain, then, of Protestant Scotland? Would the Catholic lords keep out Philip's Inquisition? Could they? Do you not see what it means?'

She stood still, silent.

Tt is not easy, straightforward,' he went on, sighing. 'Nothing about Patrick Gray is ever easy or straightforward.'

'Yet you cannot leave it thus, Father,' she said. 'You cannot just do nothing.'

'What can I do? Other than act as he demands? Which I will not do.'

'You could tell the King, could you not? Without telling the Catholic lords. He used to rely on Uncle Patrick's advice in matters of state. Is the plan itself not a good one? Apart from putting Scotland in the power of the Catholic lords. If it was the Protestant lords who armed and assembled instead? The King could still treat with Spain, with an army at his back. It is a sound policy, is it not? The only way to preserve the realm in this evil pass? Uncle Patrick has the cleverest head in Scotland – often you have said it. Use it then, for Scotland's weal, Father. But… use your own likewise. Let it be the Protestant lords who arm – but otherwise the same.'

It was the man's turn to stare. Almost his jaw dropped as he considered what was proposed – and who proposed it. Was this the infant that he had petted and played with? The child that they had brought up? What had they nurtured, Mariota and himself?

'You… you do no discredit to your sire, I think,' he said, a little unsteadily.

'It is best, is it not? That you should go to the King?'

'It is not, I' faith! I cannot go to the King, girl. His last words to me, yon day at Holyroodhouse, were that he wished never to see my face again. Nor Patrick's either. An ill and graceless breed, he named us…'

'The same day that he would have made you knight?'

'Aye. But that was before I had abused him. I spoke him hard that day – as no subject should bespeak his prince. No base-born subject in especial… like Davy Gray the Bastard! I threatened him sorely. The King. For Patrick's sake. He will never forget it, will James Stewart. I have cut myself off from the King.'

'If you told him that the safety of his realm depended on hearing you? The safety of his person – for it is said that he is heedful for himself? Surely he would see you.'

'You do not understand, Mary. Kings are not to be approached thus. I cannot see him, or speak with him, without he summons me…'

'But, Father – even I used to speak with the King. He said that I was a bonny lass, and that he liked me well. He thanked me for being kind to Vicky – to the Duke of Lennox.'

'That was different, lass. Then your Uncle Patrick was a power in the land. Acting Chancellor of Scotland, and Master of the King's Wardrobe. I was his secretary. We were part of the royal Court. Ever about the King. Now… ' He spread his hands. 'I cannot speak with James without he summons me. And that he will never do.'

'The King, it is said, is not one whose mind cannot be changed…!' she began when her quiet voice was drowned.

There was a great clattering of hooves, clangour of armour, and the shouting of commands, from close outside. Man and girl moved back to the window. Through the arched doorway under the gatehouse streamed into the inner courtyard of Castle Huntly a troop of heavily-armed riders mounted on the rough garrons of the country, shaggy and short-legged but sturdy horses whose hooves struck sparks from the cobblestones of the enclosed square and echoed back and forth from the tall, frowning walls of great soaring keep and flanking-towers. Amongst them all, conspicuous because of the height of his handsome Flanders roan, rode a heavy florid man of middle years, dressed in richly embossed half-armour, black and gold, dark doublet and trunks, and long riding-boots. On his massive greying head was clapped a flat old-fashioned velvet bonnet instead of the more fashionable high hat and plume – the only man there not wearing a steel morion helmet.

Throwing himself down off his horse, this paunchy bull-like man started to shout as soon as his boots touched the cobbles -and at his bellowing, all other voices soever fell discreetly silent.

'Davy! Davy Gray – to me, man!' he roared. 'A pox on you – where are you? Where in hell are you skulking, i' God's name? Poring over dusty books and papers, I'll be bound…' He glanced up at the round north-west flanking-tower, and perceived the figures at the window. 'There you are, damn you! Down with you, man. Would you ha' me stand waiting your pleasure like some carle frae the stables? Me – Gray! Did you no' hear my horn? Are you deaf, man – as well as heedless o' my affairs and well-being…?'

'My lord sounds as though restored,' David Gray said to the girl, drily. 'His gout is improved, undoubtedly – and therefore he must needs burst a blood-vessel with his shouting!' But he raised a hand to the window in acknowledgment of the summons, and folding the letter, tucked it away carefully in his doublet, and turned to the stairway – but not in any urgent haste.