Nigel Tranter: The Courtesan

Riders appeared on the track to the right, northwards. They came at a jog-trot, two by two, for the track was not broad. Although dressed proudly enough in the red-and-gold of the royal livery, they looked jaded, weary, spume-flecked from the mouths of tired and hard-ridden horses. A score of them, perhaps, they rode loosely, slouched in their saddles, witness to the exhausting service of their restless and anxious master. None appeared to be examining the track before them with any great vigilance, much less scanning the flanking woodland.

In a few moments, they jingled past the hidden watchers without a glance in their direction.

The latter need not have worried about the King coming too close on the heels of his escort. There was a distinct interval before the next group of riders appeared – and then it was three huntsmen, leading each a garron on which was tied the carcass of a stag, their burdens jouncing about with the uncomfortable trotting pace.

'The kill coming before the King!' David exclaimed. 'Here is a strange sight! I hope that he comes. That he has not delayed. Or gone some other way, perhaps.'

The tranter pointed. 'Yonder's the reason, master. See yon last beast? The head o' him! Fourteen points if he has a one, I warrant! A notable kill. His Grace will be right pleased. He'll no' be able to keep his eyes off yon stag, will Jamie. Aye -there he is now. I've seen him do the like before, mind. He'll be proud as Auld Hornie! Aye – he'll be in good fettle this day, will His Grace.'

'Good!' Mary commented. 'See – Vicky rides beside him. And his hands are bare.'

Two horsemen came trotting no great distance behind the third and most heavily-laden garron, with, at their backs, the beginning of a lengthy and motley cavalcade emerging into view round a bend of the woodland track. They made a markedly different impression from that of the previous riders, this pair – or indeed from those who followed them. They looked very young, for one thing, little more than boys, beardless, slight, and with nothing jaded about their appearance. Richly dressed, though less than tidy, and superbly mounted on identical lathered black Barbary horses, they rode side by side, with nothing of the aspect of weariness that afflicted the men-at-arms in front or the generality of the straggling if colourful company behind, even though they were inevitably travel-stained, mud-spattered, with clothing disarranged, like all the others. Yet there was but little of similarity about themselves – indeed they contrasted with each other in most respects. Where one was trim and and slimly upright, sitting his mount almost as though part of it, the other sprawled loosely, in an ungainly, slouching posture that was as unusual as it was undignified. Neither youth was handsome, nor even conventionally good-looking; but the upright one was at least pleasantly plain, whereas the other's features were almost grotesquely unprepossessing, lop-sided and ill-favoured generally, only the great expressive, almost woman-like eyes saving the effect from being positively repellent. James, by the grace of God, King, was singularly ill-endowed with most other graces.

His companion, while paying respectful attention to the other's seemingly excited talk, was looking about him keenly, watchful. His glance kept coming back to the projecting clump of evergreens and birches ahead.

As the huntsmen and the laden ponies swayed and ambled past, the grizzled falconer raised his hand. The groom nodded. Together they urged their horses forward. Between them, Mary Gray was only half a length behind. As she went, her father muttered a brief God-be-with-you. He himself remained where he was.

James was not so deep in chatter as to fail to notice the trio the moment that they emerged into view. He jerked his spirited black in a hasty dancing half-circle, as quick as thought, sawing at the reins, his words dying away in immediate alarm. 'Vicky! Vicky!' he got out, gasping.

Lennox was almost as prompt in his reactions. 'My own lads it is, Sire,' he called loudly, reassuringly. 'Never fear, Cousin. It is but Patey and Dand, see you. And they have found a lady for us, by the Mass!' Ludovick Stuart seldom remembered to adhere to only Reformed oaths.

'Eh…? Oh, aye. Aye. So it is. Patey, aye – Patey and yon Dand. A… a p'plague on them – jumping out on me, like yon!' the King gabbled, slobbering from one corner of a slack mouth. He had been born with a tongue just too large for his mouth, and had the greatest difficulty in controlling it, especially when perturbed. He was peering; James was not actually short-sighted – indeed he saw a deal more than many either desired him to see or knew that he saw – but he was apt to peer nevertheless. 'It's no' a lady, Vicky – it's just a lassie,' he declared. 'A lassie, aye – wi' your Patey and Dand.' That came out on a spluttering sigh of relief. Majesty drew up his thin, skimped and twisted body in the saddle. 'What… what is the meaning o' this, eh? They're no' to do it. I'll no' have it, I tell you. I… we'll no' abide it. Jumping out in our royal path like, like coneys! Who is she, man?' That last was quick.

'A friend of mine, Sire – and of yours. An old friend of yours,' the Duke assured, waving Mary forward. 'I crave your permission to present…'

'I ken her fine,' the King interrupted. 'She's no friend o' mine. She's the lassie o' yon ill man Gray!' He sniggered. 'I didna say his daughter, mind – just his lassie! No friends o' mine, any o' that breed o' Gray.'

'You are wrong, Sire.' Clearly, unflurried, the girl's young voice came to them, as she rode up, her attendants having dropped back discreetly. 'It is only because I am your Grace's friend, your true friend, that I am here.'

'Na, na. I ken the sort o' you – fine I do. Ill plotters. Treasonable schemers. Both your fathers!'

'Sire – what she says is true,' Lennox asserted urgently. 'It is to do your good service that she is here. I would not have countenanced it, else.'

'Aye – so you've countenanced it! This is your work, Vicky? I'm no' pleased… we are much displeased wi' you, my lord Duke. We are so. We had thought better o' you… '

'Do not blame Vicky, Highness. Do not blame the Duke,' Mary pleaded. 'I greatly besought his help. For your Grace's weal. For the weal of your realm. It is very important…'

'Does this young woman annoy your Grace? Shall I have her removed?' a deeper voice intervened. Behind them the long cavalcade was in process of coming up and halting, not so close as to seem to throng the King but not so far off that the front ranks should miss anything that was to be seen or heard. The speaker, a big, red-faced, youngish man, too elaborately dressed for hunting, searched the girl's lovely elfin features boldly, calculatingly. 'You may safely leave her to me, Sire…'

'Not so, my lord of Mar!' Lennox said, his open freckled face flushing. 'The lady is a friend of mine. She has private business with His Highness.'

'That is for His Highness to say, sir.' The Earl of Mar looked slightingly at the younger man. Ludovick Stuart was just sixteen, and by no means old for his years, a snub-nosed, blunt-featured youth, not nearly so sure of himself as he would like to have been, and an unlikely son of his late brilliant and talented father, the former Esme, Seigneur D'Aubigny and first Duke, Chancellor of Scotland. Mar, nearly ten years his senior, did not attempt to hide his disrespect.

James plucked his loose lower lip, and darted covert shrewd glances from one to the other. 'Oooh, aye. I'ph'mmm. Just so,' he said, non-committally. At twenty-one he was already an expert at playing his nobles off one against another, at waiting upon events, at temporising so that others should seem to make decisions for him – for which they could be held responsible afterwards, should the need arise. His survival, indeed, had depended on just such abilities. With the ineffable Master of Gray out of the country, Queen Elizabeth of England's astute and well-informed advisers, Burleigh and Walsingham, believed this extraordinary, oafish and tremulous young man, so often considered to be little more than a halfwit, to possess in fact the sharpest wits in his kingdom.