Nigel Tranter: Lord and Master

There was no doubt as to what the Protestant Ruthven lords thought of that, however anxious they might be to dissemble their feelings.

The next charge, man,' Angus jerked.

'It relates, my lords, to His Grace's proposed marriage to the Princess Anne, the King of Denmark's daughter,' Stewart went on. The Master of Gray, consistently and without due warrant, has sought to impede such marriage, to our liege lord's injury and the ill of his realm, in order that a Papist and idolatrous woman be chosen instead.'

'And the name of this Papist idolatress, sir?'

'What matters her name…?'

'Much. Since you have named the one lady, you must name the other.'

'You cannot gainsay that you have been against the Danish match?' Maitland challenged.

Patrick shrugged.'I have seen the lady's portrait, and conceive that His Grace might do better!' he answered lightly. 'Moreover, I have not heard that His Majesty of Denmark is so well endowed with possessions as to provide a dowry which will, h'm, paint the said portrait fairer! If such well-wishes for our dear prince's future happiness add up to treason, then condemn me out of hand, my lords. Off with my head!'

'You have other charges yet, I think, Sir William?' the young Earl of Mar said, impatiently. 'Let us have done with this play-acting.'

'Aye – enough o' this. Let us to the heart o' the matter.' 'Speak up, man.'

Stewart stroked his scanty beard. 'To be sure. There is my assured knowledge, through long and close working with the Master of Gray, that he has laboured for the alternation and troubling of the present estate of Scotland, in many matters which might have destroyed the King's realm. Which works, if they had taken effect, might have endangered His Majesty's person, thereby committing the crime of treason…'

'Might have…! If… Might have…!' Patrick scoffed. He snapped fingers in the air, "That for your further evidence! In your generalities, sir, you are as enfeebled as in your particulars. No word that you have spoken would convince of my guilt the most heather-toed sheriff in all this land – much less the lords of His Grace's Privy Council. Indeed, I am ashamed for you, man -I had thought that I bad trained you in statecraft better than this!' He turned a scornful shoulder on his accuser, and squarely faced the ranked Council. 'As for you, my lords,' he said with easy authority, as though he still presided over them. 'I need not tell you that your time has been wasted quite, this day. Nothing that has been put before you represents other than the fact that at sundry times Sir John Maitland has disagreed with my policies for His Grace's realm. But disagreed within himself, mark you – not, as was his plain duty in such case, before this Privy Council. I submit that all that you have before you here is the evidence of the spite and spleen of a small and twisted mind. The mind not of Stewart, my lords, for he is but a poor paid creature, unworthy of your attention – a mere jackal where his brother once was something of a lion!

But of Secretary Maitland himself, who now presumes to sit in presidency over your noble lordships…'

The acting Chancellor's gavel beat loudly on the table, but the Master of Gray spoke on, without so much as a glance towards the Chair.

'This dismal clerk, this knight of the scratching quill, now seeks to rule His Grace's Scotland! 'Mark it well, my lords! We have had many bonny masters in this realm, 'fore God – but never, I swear, such a gloomy piddling notary as this…!'

'Highness! Your Grace…!' Maitland cried, his creaking voice cracking indeed. 'This is intolerable! I protest! You must… I pray… I pray that you silence this, this scoffer, this mountebank! To speak thus, in Your Majesty's presence…!'

James, who had been alternately drawing off, sniffing at, and pulling on his heavily scented gloves, licked slack lips, and seemed to have difficulty in getting his tongue, once out,, back into its due place. 'Ooh, aye. Just that, aye,' he said thickly. 'Belike it's no proper, Sir John. You must speak otherwise, Patrick man… er, Master o' Gray. In our royal presence. Aye.'

'Sir, I intend to speak no more. I have nothing to answer in these paltry accusations. They do not merit the name of charges! I deny any and every suggestion that I have worked to other than the best interests of Your Grace and your realm. I never sought the office of Chancellor – indeed I have refused it time and again – but while I have been Your Grace's Minister it has been my duty to advise on sundry policies. If these policies have been mistaken, then it was for this Privy Council to decide and pronounce thereon. There was no need for this absurd impeachment. I rest content in the assurance of Your Grace's and your lordships' wise judgment'

'Wait a bit, man – no' so fast! Wait you,' the King mumbled. ' We are no' finished yet, Patrick. Are we, Sir John?'

'We are not Your Grace!' Maitland declared tightly, and smiled, actually smiled.

David Gray, at the clerks' table, sat forward, as indeed did most others in that great chamber. He had never before seen Maitland to smile, and the effect was somehow ominous, chilling, in the extreme. Hitherto his brother had dominated the entire proceedings. David had recognised it, better than any other, as a brilliant performance, perceiving all the innuendoes, the side-blows, the playing on weaknesses and prejudices of his hearers, the thin ice over which Patrick had skated with such apparent confidence and authority. David indeed had almost begun to believe in the possibility of an acquittal, despite the fact that he knew that this was a trumped-up trial, arranged beforehand not only by Maitland and Stewart, but by the King and the Council also; that Patrick had been selected for the role of scapegoat. The Master of Gray's personal ascendancy and consummate skill might have achieved, if not complete triumph and a reversal of the situation, at least a modified success. But, of a sudden, the entire atmosphere seemed to change at Maitland's thin smile and the King's unusual assurance and obvious knowledge of something vital yet to come.

'Aye, out with it!' Johnny Mar exclaimed. 'The matter o' the Queen.'

'Proceed, Sir William,' Maitland ordered.

Stewart leaned over the table,, and raised a hand to point at Patrick. 'I further charge that, for sumptuous reward in England, the Master of Gray did, while especial ambassador for the release and saving of the King's royal mother, conspire, advise and consent to the death of Queen Alary of this realm!'

For long moments there was complete silence in the Council Chamber, broken only by James's heavy, throaty breathing.

Patrick's voice, when at length he found it, was strangely uncertain, almost breathless. 'That is… a lie,' he said.

'We have ample proof that it is not!' Stewart assured. 'From the most lofty and certain sources. I hereby charge the Master of Gray, not only with compounding the death of the Queen, but of urging it and working for it, in foullest treachery and treason!'

Patrick stared at his accuser, seemingly all but mesmerised by the still pointing hand. The difference in his aspect and attitude from heretofore was markedly evident to all.

The stout goose-quill pen which David held, snapped broken in his hand with a crack which sounded through the room, as he gazed at his brother.

'The proofs, Sir William – let us have the proofs,' the Master of Glamis demanded, into the hush.

Stewart held up a paper. 'I have a letter here, written to Sir John Maitland as Secretary of State, by Sir Francis Walsingham, principal Secretary of State to Her Grace of England. In it he declares that after making public protest against – the sentence of death, before the Queen and her Council at Greenwich Palace, the Master of Gray did privately seek audience of Queen