Nigel Tranter: Lord and Master

Huntly's shouted demands as to the whereabouts of the King brought them expeditiously to the library of the palace -Huntly always approached his sovereign in this fashion, as a matter of principle, considering himself practically a fellow-prince. In the ante-room, the young Earls ofBothwell and Mar sprawled at ease with tankards of ale, and deliberately did not rise to their feet at the Gordon eruption. The older man snorted loudly as he passed, but otherwise ignored them. Their mocking smiles were discreedy kept below the level of laughter which might reach Gordon ears. They did not bother to look at Huntly's following.

At the door of the library, an officer of the guard stood on duty. He made no attempt to halt the oncoming party, but on the contrary threw open the door and announced that the noble Earl of Huntly, Lieutenant of the North, sought audience of His Grace. Reinforced by a growled pleasantry from the noble suppliant himself, the party swept inside, David in the midst, It was as easy as that. The last Gordon in, turned to close the door with something of a slam

The King was sitting alone at a table in the musty-smelling, booklined room, surrounded by open volumes, pen in hand, scratching away at a paper. Next to the hunting-field James was happiest when in a library. He looked up, frowning, with no relish for being disturbed. Moreover, he had always been a little afraid of the potent and fiery Huntly.

'Ha, 'Grace,' the latter cried, doffing his feathered bonnet at last 'At your books again, I see! Man, I would not let the books take a hold of you, see you. They are worse than women or the bottle for sucking the marrows out of a man!'

James rose, trembling with his earnestness. 'My lord, books are the finest gift of Almighty God to men!' he protested. 'Without them, we should be as the beasts that perish.'

'Bah!' the Gordon snorted. 'Without them, many men would be the happier. Many men now dead would be alive. Mother o' God – show me a bookish man and I will show you a rogue… with due respect to Your Grace! Yon Maitland, for instance. William Stewart The bladder o' lard, Davidson, whom you miscall a Bishop! George Buchanan, that fount o' bile – aye, and most of the rest of his Bible-beating kin!'

'My lord, you speak amiss! Och. man – yon's no way to talk. You should think shame o' yoursel' to speak o' godly men so. I'll no' have it. I'll no' listen to such ill speech. What… what do you want with me, Lord Huntly?'

'For myself – nothing, Sire. Save maybe that you get rid of the pack of yapping lap-dogs of the Kirk that yelp around you, these days! No ho – for George Gordon – nothing. It is Davy Gray, here, who seeks your ear. Eh, Davy

David stepped out from behind his protective screen of Gordon lairds. 'Yes, Your Grace,' he said.

'Master… Davy!' the King gasped. 'Man – is it you? Waesucks – your face! Man Davy, how,.. what… what has become o' you?'

' 'Tis nothing, Sire. The methods of your new Chancellor Maitland, that is all! In search of… information, on Your Majesty's behalf! Heed it not I seek Your Grace's ear on a much more important matter. In clemency…'

'Na, na – I canna do it, Master Davy!' James interrupted him, pulling at his ear in agitation. It's no possible, man. I canna do anything for Patrick – for the Master o' Gray. Dinna ask me to…'

'But I do so ask, Your Grace. I ask you, of your royal clemency, to pardon him. Or, at the least, to commute the sentence of death.' 'No. I canna do it, I tell you.'

'You can, Sire – if you will. For you are the King. You can sign a pardon if you will – and none can gainsay it.'

'They'd.,. they'd no' allow it They'd no let me. And they'd no' let him go, man.' James babbled, slobbering copiously in his distress. They watch me, all the time. I canna do it'

Huntly growled. 'You are afraid of a coven of upstart clerks and lawyers, Sire – you, the King of Scots?' His scorn was undisguised.

"They need not know – not until it is too late to stop it,' David declared hurriedly. 'Keep the matter secret, Highness. Your signed pardon, in the hands of my Lord Erroll, the Constable, and presented to the Governor of Edinburgh Castle…! He could do no other than release Patrick. Then my lord of Huntly's men would escort him to a ship at Leith, within the hour. None could challenge them'

'Challenge Gordon?' Huntly hooted. The Saints defend them, if they did!'

The King plucked at his lower lip. 'But… treason is no' a thing I can pardon, man. Conspiring the death o' my royal mother…'

Set-faced David eyed him. The Queen was sentenced to death, Sire, before Patrick ever went to London.'

'Aye. But you'll no' deny that it was an ill thing to do, Davy -to aid Elizabeth to the death…'

'I do not deny it, Sire. It was a shameful and wicked deed. I only cast myself and Patrick's life upon your royal mercy.'

'Ummm. Ooh, aye – do you so, man?' Always, any implication that James was all-powerful and in a position to grant or withhold life or death, was apt to be well received. And clearly the frank admission of guilt left him at something of a loss. 'Well, well, now…'

David sought to pursue his advantage. 'I do not ask for more than his life, Highness. He deserves to suffer much, I do not deny – though it may be true that he believed that he did what' he did for the benefit of this realm. Punish him, yes-forfeit him, take away his offices and estates, banish him the realm. But spare his life, Sire, I beseech you.'

James moved round the Uttered table at his shambling walk, touching papers, frowning, darting, glances here and there. 'I… I… no, I canna do it, Master Davy,' he declared. 'Can

I, my lord? As ambassador o' this my realm, Patrick betrayed his trust. To pardon that would never do – never do, man. My ambassador speaks for me – he is my royal voice, see you. If thy tongue offends thee, cut it out, the Good Book says…'

'It also says forgive, until seventy times seven, Your Grace. Moreover, has not your own mother, Mary the Queen, ordained forgiveness on all concerned with her death, even with her dying breath? You would not have her noble wish made of no avail, Sire? You wrote kindly enough to Queen Elizabeth, who ordered the execution; can you not at least spare the life of him who but advisedit?'

'Och, that is altogether different, Davy. Dinna harry me, man – I'm no' to be harried. You shouldna do it…'

'Sire, he is my brother. I will do much, say much, even that I should not say or do, to save my brother! ' I failed Queen Mary also, in England. I could have attempted her rescue. I spoke of it, once, but allowed myself to be dissuaded. I was weak. I believe, had I been strong, that I could have saved her. At Wingfield. I shall never forgive myself…'

'Mercy, man – what havers is this? How could you have saved her…?'

The way that I saved you, Sire, at Ruthven. By force and guile and fast horses. By deeds and not words… '

'Waesucks, Davy – are you crazed? Yon would never have done – never. Dinna speak o' it. In Elizabeth's England! Yon would have meant war!'

'I wonder. Now I look back on it, I think not. Sire. But;.. it is done now, past. I failed the Queen. My eyes are open to it, at last'

'Never say it,' the King told him. 'Violence and swordery -yon's no' the way to conduct the affairs o' the realm, man.'

'It gained you your freedom, Sire, once.' David took a step forward. 'I pray you now, not to forget it If it meant anything that I saved Your Grace then, spare Patrick now! I have asked for nothing – would have accepted nothing. But now, Sire, I do so ask. For Patrick's life.' He paused. 'It was a long time ago, but surely you owe me something for that? And for other services, since.'

Even Huntly frowned. 'Davy – here's no way to speak to your King!' he protested.