Nigel Tranter: Lord and Master

'I know it, my lord. I said, did I not, that I would do and say things for my brother – things that I should not do?'

James was biting his finger-nails. 'Aye, Davy, I was beholden to you for yon business. And for others, aye. I should have rewarded you. I've thought o' it, man – more than once. Oh, aye – it was featly done. A… a knighthood, man Davy? Eh? Aye, I could knight you. There's many a bastard been knighted. I could do it here and now – with my lord's braw broadsword, there. Sir David Gray, Knight…' James was almost eager, for the first time.

'No, Sire -I am not of the stuff of knights. Save that for Sir John Maitland and Sir William Stewart and their like! I have tasted their knightly prowess, and want none of it. I am just plain Davy Gray, schoolmaster…'

'A grant o' lands, then? Estates? An office under the Crown…

'Thank you, no,Sire. Nothing – save my brother's life.'

'A curse on you, Davy Gray!' the harassed monarch exclaimed. 'Hard, stubborn as a Hieland stot! I told you – it's no' possible. The folk, the people, would decry me, if I did. They would have my mother avenged.'

'Forfeiture and banishment would be vengeance enough for them.'

'Who rules in Scotland, then – people or King?' Huntly scoffed. 'Besides, Sire, the people will have other matters to think on! Very shortly.' That was grimly said. 'Good Catholics, in especial. And what did the other sort care for Mary?'

James's jaw dropped. 'You're, you're no' meaning, my lord…? You wouldna, wouldna…'

'… Say that I would advise Your Grace not to fash your head about what the folk will say. They will be a deal too busy shouting for Christ's true religion!'

David frowned. He drew out a paper from his doublet within the plaid, and smoothing it out, laid it on the table before the King. 'Here is a pardon, all written out ready, Highness,' he said. 'It declares the Master of Gray forfeit, dismissed all offices, and banished from Your Grace's realm. But his life spared. These provisions may be amended with a scrape of your pen…'

'Master Gray, you exceed yoursel' – you greatly exceed yoursel'!' James declared, drawing himself up with a pathetic dignity.

'No doubt, Sire,' David nodded, and fixed the huge, limpid, royal eyes with his own direct grey ones, however red-rimmed and bloodshot. 'But you will mind that I was in yon small room, not so far from this, when you gave my brother his instructions, his secret instructions, as to what he was to say in private audience with Elizabeth! You mind? About the terms on which you would overlook certain matters relating to your royal mother?'

'Hey, hey – what's this, Davy?' Huntly demanded. 'What's this, in the name of God?'

James sat down abruptly on his chair.

'Just a small matter, my lord, that His Highness may have forgotten. That may lead him to think more kindly of my brother on the matter of his amends…'

The King croaked something unintelligible.

'Amends? What mean you, man? About Mary the Queen, you said?'

'Small matters, yes – but which perhaps were not irrelevant to Patrick's behaviour. If I had thought to mention it at his trial, perhaps His Grace might have judged… differently. I blame myself.'

'No!' James got out, in strangled voice, 'No.'

'What of the Queen, man? Stop speaking in riddles,' Huntly commanded. 'Are you seeking to say…?'

'Only that, if His Grace will not sign the pardon, at least he may grant a stay of execution. So that this matter may be brought before the Council, You, my lord, might consent to bring it?'

'Not, by the Powers, until I know what it is, fool!' the Gordon cried.

James reached out his hand for his quill, dipped it tremblingly in the ink, and scrawled JAMES R. at the foot of David's paper. 'My God…!'

'My sincere thanks, Your Majesty!'

Huntly looked hard at David. 'This matter was none so small, I think!' he said. 'Do not tell me that the King…?'

'It is not for me to tell you anything, my lord – unless the King so will it'

'I do not!' James cried, his voice cracking. 'Nothing, do you hear? It was a, a private matter. Between Queen Elizabeth and mysel', A matter relating to my privy purse. Expenses, just…'

'M'mmm,' the Gordon said

'No' word o' this will be spoken – by any!' the King declared breathlessly, staring from Huntly to his five perplexed-looking lairds, and back to David 'This is my royal command. D'you hear – my royal command? No' a word. And as for this…' James pointed a quivering finger at the signed pardon. 'It is for life. For life, d'you hear? Banishment for life. Put that in, man – put it in. And no' to England. I'll no' have him in England, making trouble. I never wish to see his face again. Nor yours either, Davy Gray! You are an ill graceless breed, and I'll be quit o' you both! Begone, now – and mind, never let me set eyes on you again.'

David bowed stiffly, and picked up the paper. 'Your command shall be obeyed, Sire – most exphcitly,' he said.

'Aye. See to it, then. And you, my lord – you have my permission to retire.'

'No doubt, Sire' Huntly nodded. 'No doubt. And I shall not linger, for I do not like the smell o' this, by the Mass!'

'Go, then…'

So the tartan-clad party backed perfunctorily out of the royal presence, clapped on bonnets, and went striding through Holyroodhouse again, David Gray anonymous once more in the midst Huntly exchanged no word with any of them..

Indeed he did not speak until, at the head of his mounted retinue, he drew rein outside his great mansion in the Canon-gate. He turned to David, at his back.

'It is done, then,' he said.

'Aye.' David drew out the pardon from within the folds of his enveloping plaid. 'Relays of your fastest gillies to get this to the Constable, my lord – riding day and night. We have less than forty-eight hours. When my lord of Erroll rides up to Edinburgh Castle, the deeds and charters of Dunfermline Abbey will be ready awaiting you.'

The Earl took the paper, but his eyes never left the younger man's battered face. 'Davy Gray,' he said slowly. 'You are a hard man to cross, I perceive. I'd liefer have you as friend than enemy, by the Rood! I vow you should turn Catholic!'

The other shook his head. 'You are wrong,' he returned. 'I am not a hard man, at all. Would to God that I was! It is just that… my, my daughter believes that I can do anything that I set my hand to. I had to prove it. Heaven forgive me, I had to prove it! A good day to you, my lord.'

Leaving Huntly to enter at his front door, David, with the rest – of the clattering horsemen, rode down the side vennel to the stable entrance in the South-Back Canongate. There, dismounting, discarding plaid and bonnet and clad as just plain David Gray again, he slipped away by back-courts and wynds, to approach his own house in the Lawnmarket up the hill.

No song of triumph lightened his heart

HUDDLED in shawls and plaids, the Grays sat their horses, all four of them, in the shadow of the dripping trees, waiting. The morning mists still rose from the Nor' Loch below them, and wreathed the battlements of the great fortress high above them, with the blue plumes of Edinburgh's breakfast fires beginning to add their daily veiling. They waited each in different fashion – young Patrick excitedly restless, vociferous, forever twisting and wriggling in his saddle; Mary in still quiet eagerness; Mariota flushed, strained, not far from tears; David set-faced, silent. All gazed in the same direction, up over the steep slope of grass and rocks to the high ridge-like causeway, outlined against the morning sky, which climbed up from the outer gate at the head of the Lawnmarket, right to the main frowning gatehouse of the castle, the lofty slender catwalk which formed the quarter-mile-long approach to the fortress, open to the eyes of all men and all the winds that blew. Sometimes, admittedly, David's glance turned elsewhere, making a swift survey of the broken slopes below and around them, and the window-pierced ramparts of the nearest tall houses – so many windows, so many eyes to watch them.