Nigel Tranter - The Wisest Fool

"The wonder of it-since she might well blame me for all her present miscarriage and illness. My advice."

"That would be folly. She may be light-headed but she is not a fool. She proved that"

"Yes. And I fear that I have made a potent enemy of the Master."

She shook her head. "Not of necessity. My father is an ill man to cross. But he does not normally bear grudges. He will fight you, so long as you oppose his plans, fight without scruple. But he will not personally hate you. Indeed he will admire you the more for besting him-and be the more concerned to best you next time 1 He is a strange man-but not wholly bad."

"It was a cunning move. To get the Prince out of Lady Mar's grip, allegedly into the Queen's but really into his own. This move offers one gleam of hope, I think. It must mean that he is not certain of the old Countess giving up Henry to her son. Else why trouble with this?" "True. But she told you that she would, did she not?"

"She may not have told him that. She does not trust him, even though her son does."

The young woman nodded. "And there are more gleams of hope than that, Geordie. This illness of the Queen could be a godsend. Forcing my father to delay his plot You have seen the crowds outside the palace. Waiting to hear how the Queen fares. The people. They do not greatly love her, perhaps-for she has never sought their love. But they like her better than the King, for she is gay and generous. And I swear they feel for her as a mother deprived of her children. Now she is ill, they rally to her. No good time, I think, for the Master of Gray to attack her. To pull down her husband and use her son against her. My father will not overlook that-that is partly why he is here today, I am sure. He may not need the people's support, in his plans. But he will not want their opposition, or active wrath. He is far too clever to risk that. So-he seeks to take the Queen with him."

"But this only postpones the issue. Either the Queen gets better, the people forget, and all will be as it was. Or-God forbid-she dies. And his way is clear."

"True. But it gives us time. She will not die, I think. She has recovered from miscarriage before. Time we must use. My father will hold his hand, I believe, while she is gravely sick. So she must seem to remain gravely sick for a time-even if she is truly better." "While…?" "While we ask the King to return, with all speed!" He shook his head. "James will not do that" "Even if he believes his wife's at death's door?"

Heriot spread his hands. "No. I am sure of this. This of the English succession means everything to him. He has lived for it, all these years-as he has not lived for Anne of Holstein. He will not turn back, at this stage. For anything." "Then the man is a monster!"

"Perhaps. Judged in one fashion. But not in another, I think. He is a king. Not as other men. The Lord's Anointed, with the fate of two kingdoms in his hands. He will say 'God's will be done!' and continue on his appointed way. Of that I am sure."

She bowed to his certainty. "Very well. No doubt my father argues likewise. Then we must seek for the next best. To frighten him with the Queen's health, so that he sends a Viceroy back, with complete royal authority to act in all things in the King's name. That could only be Vicky, next heir to the throne after the young princes. He has acted Viceroy before, when James went to Denmark-the only man who has. With Vicky, and a viceroy's authority, we could halt my father." "Perhaps. But… we have already written to the King."

"Not that the Queen is dangerously ill. He surely cannot ignore that altogether. Write to Vicky too. He wants to come back He never wanted to go to London. He would live quietly at Methven with me, if James would let him."

"That I know is truth. He told me. Very well. We shall write to the King and the Duke. They say that Fyvie has already written. I wonder what he said? And we shall seek to keep the Queen feigning illness-even though she betters." He looked at the young woman with mixed feelings, head ashake. "Lord knows where you are leading me, Mary Gray. It is well seen whose daughter you are I"

It took many days for their urgent courier-borne letters to England to bear fruit, days of anxious waiting, playing a part fretting-but presumably anxious days for the Master of Gray also, as he waited either for the Queen's state of health to improve, and so not prejudice his programme, or to change her mind about Prince Henry's release. That she seemed to do neither must have been galling in the extreme, as day succeeded day. No sign of betterment emanated from the sick-room, where Anne played her part with a fair realism-and indeed made but slow recovery. What Sir Hugh Herries thought-and told the Master-was not to be known; but he had been joined by two other physicians brought from Edinburgh at Heriot's expense and left in no doubts as to their duty. The Scots people had cause to believe their Queen all but on her death-bed, and discovered for her a new affection and sympathy. Prayers were said for her in every kirk in the land.

Then, late on the evening of 21st May, a hard-riding, spume-flecked, mud-spattered troop of horsemen clattered up the cobbled hill from Linlithgow's Market Square and into the palace courtyard, the royal Lion Rampant of Scotland borne aloft, and Ludovick, Duke of Lennox, eased himself wearily out of the saddle, and actually staggered in sheer dizziness on the flagstones, one of his companions indeed falling on one knee in his exhaustion and stiffness. A few moments later, however, Vicky Stewart forgot fatigue, anxiety and certainly dignity, as Mary Gray flung herself into his arms and they clung to each other gasping incoherencies.

It was a while before the Duke was in any state to notice George Heriot standing at his back with a goblet of wine- although his party was not so slow in perceiving similar preferred restoratives. From an upstairs window the Duchess of Lennox looked down on the scene-but did not seek to intervene at this stage. She and her husband knew precisely where they stood with each other.

"Ha-Geordie!" The Duke took the wine, and gulped a mouthful of it "I thank you. Good to see you. Am I, am I in time? The Queen…?" The other nodded. "And the Prince? And the Master?" "Nothing yet."

"Thank God! We have killed a dozen horses on our way North."

"Dear Vicky!" Mary murmured. "All but killed yourself, I think! James would not come?"

"No. Did you ever believe that he would? Nothing will turn him back now. I left him at Theobalds, Sir Robert Cecil's house at Hertford. That is the Secretary of State. But a dozen miles out of London. But there is a plague in the city. He will not enter it. He makes for Greenwich, down Thames." "And have you all necessary authority?"

"The fullest the King could give me. All powers as Viceroy. To see to the Queen. To collect his children. And to conduct them to England just as soon as Anne is able to traveL" "Authority in writing?"

He nodded. "Signed and sealed, my dear. At this moment, I am as good as King in Scotland! Where is your father, Mary Lass?" "With the Hamiltons, at Kinneil, but three miles away."

"He will know of my arrival here within the hour, then. It would not be beyond him to ride forthwith to Stirling. Tonight With Mar, or to Mar. As a last throw. To try to take the Prince. Before I can act." "My thoughts entirely," Heriot agreed. "Where is Mar? I do not trust him-never have. At Stirling?" "He went there, yes. But is now back at Kinneil with my father." Ludovick nodded, and sighed. "It looks as though I must needs go riding again. Twenty more miles. To Stirling.' "Oh, Vicky!"

"No need," Heriot asserted. "I shall go. Give me a letter. To the Countess. Ordering her, in the King's name, not to give up the Prince to any, even her own son, under pain of highest treason. Till you come tomorrow. She is a dragon, yes-but with her own honesty. And loyal to King James. She will listen to me, I think-with that authority." 'Very well."