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Nigel Tranter: The Wisest Fool

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Nigel Tranter The Wisest Fool

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"Greetings, Sir William," he said pleasantly. "As representatives of your great county and city, you perhaps find His Grace a little… unappreciative?"

"I… I did not say so, my lord," Ingleby declared hurriedly, caution in every dignified line of him.

"No, sir. But perhaps you thought it And I am no lord, but a simple tradesman." 'Tradesman? You? At the King's side!" "Even so. His Grace is a man of… simple tastes."

"His tastes, sir, did not appear to embrace the County and City of York!"

"It is too early to say that, Sir William. Newcastle is less fine than York. I am sure. Yet His Grace found Newcastle very much to his royal taste." He paused. "Newcastle, of course, did present His Grace with a purse of gold pieces. Four hundred if I mind aright As well as their, h'm, esteem and support" "Ah!" The Sheriff stared. "Exactly. A pleasing thought, was it not, sir?" "Yes. Yes, of course." "Newcastle, to be sure, is a much poorer place than great York. Probably it is not yet too late to prove it." "You mean…?"

"Only that a fast horse could take you, or one of your friends, back to the city, sir, before His Grace reaches it in his somewhat leisurely progress. You can have my mount, indeed. I will find myself another…"

So, in a little, George Heriot, on another horse, spurred up again to the head of the column. But now a very splendid gentleman, the Earl of Cumberland, had moved into the place he had occupied on the King's left-and, not to be out-manoeuvred, the Earl of Northumberland and his brother Sir Charles Percy had edged forward to flank Lennox. Heriot slipped into a position behind where Lord Henry Howard and the Lord Cobham eyed him with disfavour and urged their mounts a little aside- although the Scots lords and bishops of the train knew better and welcomed him affably enough, most of them owing him money.

At the sound of the name Heriot, called in hearty greeting by the Lord Home, the King turned in his saddle and caught his goldsmith's eye. That man nodded almost imperceptibly and James faced front again.

"What's now, Geordie?" Home asked, low-voiced, reining close. "James has something on his mind, I swear."

"Would he be King if he had not, my lord? He is but concerned for the cost of this ever-lengthening train, I think. As who would not be?"

"Och, the English will pay!" Home said easily-and did not trouble to lower his voice this time, indeed stared round him with a sort of gleeful arrogance. Heriot did not comment.

Soon, at a mile from the city's Mickle Gate, another deputation awaited the monarch. This consisted of a superior-looking gentleman supporting a tall, thin, mournful-seeming man in richest clothing, who stalked on stick-like legs, resembling a disillusioned heron. "My Lord Burleigh, Lord President of the North," Cumberland informed him. "And a damned fool!" The Earl of Cumberland was, of course, a Clifford, of ancient line, and despising of Elizabeth's favourites.

"Ha-Cecil's son!" The King peered. "His father wrote me a wheen letters. Aye, kept me well informed."

"No doubt, She. But this William Cecil is a very different man from his father, God knows! Her Majesty made him Lord High Treasurer for a time-and lived to regret it! He well earned banishment to the North."

"Eh-Treasurer, you say? You mean that he thieved frae the Treasury? Lined his ain pockets, the man?"

"I scarce think he had the wit for that, She! No, he did nothing so understandable-did nothing at all, indeed. Failed to gather in the taxes. Let others spend as they would. Mismanaged all. A master of inactivity."

The monarch frowned at the earl, for he disapproved of levity on the vital subject of money; but it was as nothing to the darkness of the glare he turned on the second Lord Burleigh, son of Elizabeth's great Secretary of State, who it seemed was responsible for this alleged and most shocking state of the English Treasury, the bright morning-star which had for so long beckoned James Stewart southwards.

Burleigh's jerky brows and equally jerky assertions of loyalty and privileges were cut short.

"Aye, man-no doubt No doubt But facta non verba, see you. Deeds speak louder than words. We have heard tell o' you, and will reserve our royal judgment. Aye, reserve it"

"But, Majesty, I am your most devoted subject," the other declared, astonished. "Anxious ever to serve you in deed as in word. As Lord President of the North, it is my privilege to bring you the greetings of half Your Highness's kingdom…"

"Half, man? I am King of Scots, of England, Ireland and France. Dinna forget it"

"I, ah, meant England, of course, Sire. The greatest, richest, most powerful…" "No' so rich as it should be, as I'm told!"

"Alas, She, fortunes vary, fluctuate, with realms as with mere men…"

"But it's the mere men that make the realms' fortunes fluctuate, man! Some men. Fortuna favet fortibus-fortuna fortes adjuvat! You ken what that means? Guidsakes-do they no' give the English any education?"

In the profound silence which followed that, James resumed his march on York, the Lord President falling in unhappily with less illustrious but equally shaken folk behind.

With the great city walls rearing their barrier before, they came to the Middle Gate where a large company waited on a high wooden platform-the Lord Mayor, twelve aldermen and twenty-four councillors in their robes, all kneeling, with the keys of the city, the sword and other tokens. A trumpeter blew a fanfare and the Mayor launched into a lengthy oration, rather breathlessly, thanks to the difficult kneeling posture for a man with a notably large belly.

James listened for a little, but fairly quickly lost interest. Because of the height of the platform he would be able to touch the keys and sword without getting off his horse. As the Mayor, Robert Walter by name, gulped and panted on, the King announced that this is what he would do and let them get on into the town, for he was gey hungry. Lord Mayor Walter, preoccupied with memorising his oration, plus maintaining his equilibrium, eyes tight shut, presumably did not hear, and it looked as though there might be some slight dislocation of the proceedings when, from behind, George Heriot gave one of his significant coughs. The King looked round-for he knew that cough of old- and his jeweller jerked his head in a direction slightly left of forward, and raised his eyebrows.

James turned back, peering short-sightedly. A horseman had come hurrying out from the town, dismounted behind the platform and was now pushing through to the front of the official party, something familiar about him. Carrying something under a cloth, he squeezed in between the still-intoning Mayor and the senior alderman, getting down on his own knees in the process. He whispered in the alderman's ear, at some length.

Nodding, the alderman took the covered object, obviously very heavy, and leaned over to nudge the Mayor. At the second nudge, Master Walter opened his eyes and stared, surprised, his voice faltering. There was more whispering.

Oddly, James no longer seemed impatient, but indeed highly interested.

The Mayor got to his feet, smoothed down his robes, and took the covered object, removing the cloth to reveal it as a large silver-gilt chalice.

'Your royal Majesty," he said, stammering a little. "Before we present to you the sword and keys of the city, it is my duty, my pleasant duty, to give you this loving-cup. Filled with gold pieces. As many as it will hold, see you. As mark and token. Token, yes, of the love that this City of York bears to Your Majesty. In promise of further, er, kindness."

The King smiled graciously. Indeed he grinned the sort of boyish leer reserved for highly satisfactory occasions. He actually dismounted and moved forward with his knock-kneed gait to climb the steps of the platform-and perforce everybody else must dismount also, since it would by no means do to be higher than the King.

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