Nigel Tranter - The Wisest Fool

"Hetty-you know Master Heriot?" Anne said. "My true servant and friend." The other nodded, silent

"I know her ladyship's husband, my lord of Huntly," the man said. "We have had, h'm, dealings."

"Ha-I swear he owes you money, like all the rest As do I, indeed!"

"His lordship is, I am sure, an excellent risk, Highness. It is my privilege…"

"Save us-you need not be afraid of miscalling Huntly in front of Hetty. She seldom sees him-nor wishes it otherwise! She had no more choice in wedding George Gordon than had I in wedding James Stewart! We are neither of us fortunate in our husbands 1"

The man looked uncomfortable. "Your Grace jests. And I am a loyal subject and servant of King James also."

"How loyal?" Anne jerked. "You were my servant, my jeweller, before you were James's, do not forget." He nodded. "I never forget it And am grateful," he assured.

"Then-tell me of this plot You may speak out before the Marchioness. She is wholly trustworthy."

"I was a d'Aubigny Stewart's daughter before ever I was a Gordon's wife," that young woman said quietly, her first contribution to the discussion,

"Very well, Highness. There is nothing certain. But Mistress Gray believes that there is a plan to get Mar to yield up the Prince Henry, and to declare him King of Scots in place of his father, gone to England. The Master of Gray and sundry others, to rule the country in the boy's name." "Sweet Jesu! They would, would depose James? Impossible!"

"Not so, I fear. After all, they deposed the King's mother, Mary. And King James is in no state to start his English reign by raising an army against Scotland and going to war." The women stared at him.

"His Grace has grievously offended the Master of Gray, who so largely built up bis succession policy. And he is an ill man to cross. Moreover, there is no strong man, or strong faction, left in Scotland to support the King's cause. Most of his friends are gone south with him. The Catholic lords are here still, and strong, but…" He left the rest unsaid.

"Aye-George would take a hand in this, I swear!" the Marchioness averred.

"A mercy! The Master of Gray, it would be, to think of this! But-Mar? He is James's friend. No friend of mine, God knows. And an oaf! But would he betray James?"

"This I do not know. It is the one factor which makes me doubt. Mar is with the King now. He was never keen on the English succession, I think-but I have no reason to believe that he would turn against the King. Nevertheless, the Master of Gray seldom misjudges."

"He is an unpleasant man," Lady Huntly observed. "I would not trust him." "What are we to do?" the Queen demanded.

"I think we must go to Stirling, Your Grace. If you are able to travel? Demand the Prince Henry from the old Countess."

"I wrote a letter to her. Requiring her to deliver up my son to me. She sent reply that she would not. She would give him up only to the King."

"If Your Grace went, in person. I with you. Saying that I came from the King. She might heed us. Lacking her son and the other Erskines." "If you think it. When? When shall we go?" "The sooner the better. For the Master may strike at any time." 'Today, then. We shall eat, and then ride. Hetty-my clothes…"

"Ah, scarcely so soon, Highness. It is noon, and near twenty miles to Stirling. In Your Grace's present state you dare not ride fast. Tomorrow will serve, I think. Moreover, we need a tail of men. The Queen must ride properly escorted. How many have you here?" "A score. More."

"Not sufficient, Highness. For this. You must appear strong. With authority."

'Livingstone, the Earl of Linlithgow will find me men. At Haining Castle, but a few miles away. He keeps my daughter Elizabeth-but is no unfriend."

"Good, I shall go speak with him. Tomorrow, then. In the morning. Highness-have I your permission to retire?"

'To be sure. Ring the bell for the Primrose girl, Hetty. She will find you a room and see to your comfort, Master Geordie." "I thank you. She looks to be a bright lass, that one."

"Over-bright, perhaps. For her years. I do not know, yet, whether I may trust her. I trust few in Scotland, even in my own household."

"Including my lusty good-sister" the Marchioness said, sniffing. Alison Primrose appeared, and Heriot bowed himself out.

"Where would you wish to have your bedchamber, Master Heriot?" the girl asked, innocently, in the cooler corridor. "Near the Duchess's? Or… otherwhere?"

"Nearer yours, perhaps," he answered lightly. "Though- would I be any safer there…?"

The next morning, escorted by the Earl of Linlithgow and sixty men-at-arms, the Queen and her ladies rode for Stirling, Anne carried in a horse-litter slung between two placid jennets, with George Heriot insisting on the most unhurried progress- for the last thing he wanted was for the King to accuse him of causing his wife to miscarry, as she had done once already. They went by the Roman Wall and the great Tor Wood, largely through Livingstone lands. On Heriot's suggestion Lord Linlithgow brought along his charge, the Princess Elizabeth, a lovely and vivacious girl of seven, all spirited grace, extraordinary to be the offspring of James and Anne, although not so extraordinary a grand-daughter for Mary Queen of Scots. She elected to ride with Alison Primrose, and together they lightened a dull morning.

George Heriot rode with these two-save when he was summoned to the Queen's side-partly because they were the best company, partly in that he had, as ever, to be careful not to seem to presume on the Queen's friendliness. He was only an Edinburgh burgess, after all, and in the company of the Earl, Sir Harry Lindsay, Master of the Queen's Household, the Duchess of Lennox, the Marchioness of Huntly and other high-born individuals, he was of very humble status. Admittedly he came of lairdly stock, the Heriots of Trabourn, in Lothian, but that was three generations back, and his father had been a goldsmith, a tradesman, before him. Not infrequently his privileged position close to the Crown was an embarrassment.

They came to the grey, climbing town of Stirling, above the silver coils of the River Forth but crouching beneath its soaring rock-girt citadel, in early afternoon. Queen Anne shook her fist at its lofty battlements. "My poor Frederick!" she cried.

Through the narrow streets and up the steep hill they rode to the ancient fortress of Scotland's kings where so much of the land's turbulent history had been written. Their approach had been under observation for a long time, inevitably, and at the wide forecourt apron, high above the town and meandering river, the great gatehouse doors were found to be barred against them, the drawbridge up.

"Who comes in armed strength to the King's royal castle of Stirling?" a harsh voice hailed them from the gatehouse parapet.

"The Queen, fool!" Linlithgow shouted back. "Can you not recognise the royal standard of this realm?" And he pointed to the flag carried by one of his men. "Her Grace requires to see her son, the Prince Henry Frederick, Duke of Rothesay." A still larger royal standard than their own floated above the castle's topmost tower.

"Wait you, while I inform the Countess of Mar," the captain of the guard returned.

"Knave! Jackanapes!" the Earl roared. 'Think you to keep your Queen waiting like some packman at the door. Lower this bridge and open the gates immediately." There was no answer from the gatehouse.

As the illustrious company fumed and fretted, the Queen swore that the guard-captain would hang for this.

"He would hang the more promptly had he let us in, Highness," Heriot pointed out "The Countess Annabel has a notably short way with her, I have heard. She only is of account here."

"In my country she would be horsewhipped and then drowned I" Anne snapped.