Nigel Tranter - Lord and Master

'But a potent one, i' faith. For you will see where it leads. It would give Philip what he greatly needs – the sure support of the English Catholics. We know that he plans invasion. If he can rely on our dissident Catholics to rise in his support…! The Pope has declared Elizabeth to be illegitimate and a usurper, and Mary the true Queen of England – St Peter roast him! If Philip is her heir, and she a prisoner, then he will have all good Catholics seeing his coming as a rescue, not an invasion. Our good Queen's life becomes the more threatened. Ah, a subtle and dangerous gesture, indeed. Who, would have thought the woman capable of it!'

'M'mmm' Patrick examined his finger-tips. 'Extraordinary! She is a fighter yet' There was admiration in his voice, undoubtedly. 'And has Walsingham passed on the letter to Mendoza?

'Dear God – no! Why scourge our own backs? The question is – to tell your King James, or no? It is left to my own decision, meantime. A little difficult, as you will concede I think. How would he take it? Would it move him for the alliance, or against, think you?'

Patrick toyed with his goose quill for a moment or two. 'I would advise that you do not tell him, Edward,' he said at length. 'James is easily frightened. He is firm enough for the alliance now. But this might scare him away from it – as is his mother's intention. The succession to Elizabeth's throne is his dearest ambition – to rule both realms. Any shadow that might come between him and that vision could terrify him into a folly. Better that he does not know. If Mary writes to him, therefore, to the same effect, I'd take it kindly if the letter comes to me.'

Wotton nodded, and glanced over at David, eyebrows raised.

Patrick answered his unspoken question. 'Davy is discretion itself,' he assured. 'All secrets are safe with him.'

Looking up, David opened his mouth to speak – and then shut it again, almost with a click.

'Very well – James shall not know.' Wotton lifted himself off the table, and moved over to the door. Then he paused. 'It may interest you to know, Patrick my friend, that Mary Stuart added an amusing footnote to this dramatic letter. She said that she believed now the Master of Gray to be a traitor to her cause, and that she would not trust him hereafter!' He laughed lightly. 'How misguided are women!' And nodding, he opened the door and passed out.

For a long moment there was silence in that room. David stared at his brother. Presently Patrick met his gaze, and sighed.

'Ah, me – you see how I am misjudged, Davy!'

'Are you, Patrick?' That was but a husky whisper.

'Need you ask?' There was sorrowful reproach in the other's melodious voice. 'You know the risks that I took for her. All that I have done, as you know also, I have done in her best interests. But.. can she see it, poor lady? I do not blame her, mark you, shut up there, cut off from her friends, from guidance and advice. But it is… hard'

'Are you so sure, Patrick? So sure of your judgment? Her best interests, you say. Can you be so certain? So much surer than Mary herself? Do you never doubt yourself, man?'

'I leave the doubting to Myself, I use the wits the good God has given me.'

'Aye. But once you told me that, since most men are blinded by prejudice, and fettered by beliefs and misconceptions of religion and honour, a man who keeps his wits unfettered may go far, rise high on the weakness of others. You have gone far, brother, risen high by those wits God gave you. But… does the cost to others count with you? What of the cost to Mary, of your best interests for her? I have doubted often, yes – but have not turned my doubts into action. It may be that I have been weak. I have stood by and seen you undermine and betray much and many, in the name of clear wits and…'

'Have a watch what you say brother!' Patrick interposed, half-rising.

That is what I am doing, yes,' David went on levelly, holding the other's eyes. 'I am warning you, Patrick. If ever I come to believe that you have betrayed Mary of Scotland, I will stand by no longer. I will act, Patrick – act! Forget you are my brother. Believe me, brother, you would never betray another! You have it?'

The other moistened his lips. 'Are you crazed, man?' he got out. 'What… what fool's talk is this, of betrayal? You know not what you say.'

'I may be a fool, Patrick – as well as weak. Indeed, I often judge that I am. But I mean what I say.' Heavily David spoke. 'See that you do not forget it'

Patrick's glance fell before his brother's burning regard. He began to write.

That same night a courier rode into Edinburgh with other news for Patrick Gray – news which affected the man more notably than his brother had ever seen before. Sir Philip Sidney was dead. He had died heroically, of wounds, on the battlefield of Zutphen, on an expedition to aid the Protestant Netherlands. Dying, he had sent a message to Patrick, with certain of his unpublished poems.

Patrick wept 'War!' he cried. 'War and bloody strife! The folly of it – oh, the damnable folly! It plucks the flowers and leaves the nettles to flourish! There lies the finest flower of this age, rotting on a foreign field…'

David had never known Patrick so moved, so hurt, so affected by anything. He had not realised how deeply he had felt for Sidney, that their friendship had been more than the mutual appreciation of two able minds. Himself he sorrowed now for

Bis brother's pain and sorrow. But something in him was glad also – glad. For he had begun to fear that Patrick was perhaps incapable of such love towards any. He knew a great relief in this proof that he was wrong. Perhaps he was wrong in other matters also?

DAVID rode hard and alone down the winding valley of the Gala Water, with the green rounded hills of the Borderland crowding in on every side. His body and his senses rejoiced in the freedom and exercise of it all, the scents of broom and pine and raw red earth, the colours of golden gorse, emerald bog and sparkling water under a cloud-flecked sky, the sounds of the trilling curlews, the screaming peewits and the baaing sheep. After the long months cooped up in Edinburgh, buried amongst parchments and books, this headlong riding represented a welcome release.

His mind was preoccupied with anxiety, however, and on a subject very close to his heart – Mary the Queen. The day before, a message brought by urgent courier from one of Patrick's trusted informants in London, had revealed that Walsingham had uncovered a new Catholic plot which was to involve the assassination of Elizabeth and the placing of Mary upon her throne – a plot for which plans were well advanced, the details revealed by the torture of a suspect The English Parliament, informed, had exploded into great wrath, and amongst other measures, had demanded the immediate bringing to trial of Mary herself on a charge of treason. How one monarch could be charged with treason against another monarch was not explained – but the situation was fraught with danger for Mary, obviously. She had been moved once more, from Tutbury to Chartley, and was now little better than a felon in a cell Representation on her behalf, action of some sort, was urgently necessary.

Unfortunately, the King and Arran, with much of the Court, had a few days before gone to hunt in Ettrick Forest, deep in the Borders, lodging at the Castle of Newark. For some unexplained reason, two days later, Patrick had followed them thither, which was not his usual practice, leaving David behind to deal with many unresolved matters. Hence the latter's hurried dash after his brother. At an hour's notice he had set out, and got as far as Borthwick that same night.

What Patrick might do, what the King might be able to do, in the circumstances, David did not know. But assuredly something must be attempted, some forceful representations made to Elizabeth. She wanted this Protestant alliance; pressure could be exerted over that, surely?