"The Wisest Fool" - читать интересную книгу автора (Tranter Nigel)

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"WEALTH, MAN," JAMES said, low-voiced. "Riches. Beyond telling. More than ever I believed. This England is fat, Vicky-fat!" The King glanced around him in the saddle, warily, those great liquid eyes rolling, to see that none of the English notable riding behind heard him. "Being king o' a' this will serve me right well, I think!"

"Do you think to spoil the English as well as reign over them, Cousin?" the Duke of Lennox asked, grimly.

"Not so, Vicky-not so. Hold your tongue, man. But… a monarch in a rich land can do more than, than in a poor place, see you. For the folk, you ken-the good o' the folk. Look at those beasts. Have you ever seen cattle the like o' that?"

"They are fat and sleek, Sire. And the folk grow like them, I think! How do you esteem your new subjects, then? Apart from their so evident wealth?"

James eyed the speaker sharply. He never could be quite sure whether or not his cousin was cozening him, mocking-and he was very averse to being mocked. He stood more from Vicky Stewart than he would stand from others only because he knew him to be honest, utterly reliable and quite without ambition- and moreover was the only son of the first man he had ever loved, Esme Stewart of Aubigny in France, first cousin of his father, Darnley. But that did not mean that he could twit him, the Lord's anointed, with impunity. 'They are… civil, right civil," he said, cautiously. "I thought that you must like them passing well." "Eh? Why?"

"You see fit to honour them, Cousin, in a fashion that you never did at home! I have already lost count of all the gold rings you have bestowed and all the knighthoods created, in seven days, all the offices you have given away, the promises you have made and prisoners freed…"

"Houts-knights cost nothing, man. Or, only to themselves!" James tee-heed a whinny of laughter-and then looked round again quickly, in case he had been overheard. "Offices can be taken away, forby. And we'll soon fill the jails again 1 But, d'you no' see, man-it behoves a liege lord to bind his new subjects to his sacred person wi' stout bonds o' love and gratitude. That he may rule them the easier. Use your wits, Vicky."

'That is not a policy Your Grace made great efforts to follow in Scotland, I think!"

"Scotland? Guidsakes-Scotland's a different kettle o' fish. You ken that-you who acted Viceroy for me when I was off in yon Denmark The Scots are a crabbit, contrary race, man-aye at each others' throats. The only way to rule them is to keep them that way, to set one lord against another, one faction against the next Waesucks-I learned that in a fell hard school!"

"And you think that the English lords and squires are so different? That they have no factions here?"

"They are softer, Vicky. Fatter. Richer. Smoother. Aye, softer. Or that auld besom Elizabeth couldna have kept them in order a' yon time. And frae a sick-bedchamber, these last years." "She had a nimble and strong mind…"

"She was a woman! A weathercock. Like the rest o' them. She blew hot and cauld. Women have no minds to speak of. Reason is the attribute o' men-or some men! Logic, logomachy, enthymeme -o' such she kenned nothing, the creature. If she could rule these English…" "At least she did not make knights by the score!"

"She had no right to make them, at all, man I A woman canna be a knight. As sovereign, she could appoint, but no' make. But- what's a' this havering about knighthoods? A plague on you, Vicky-what's to do?"

"It is that I have always respected the standing and status of knighthood, James. It is a noble order and estate. You made me knight once, and I esteem it a higher honour than this dukedom which I but inherited like a house or goods and chattels. But now, you make knights of any and all who come thronging." "Not all man-only those who can pay for it!"

"Which, I say, is worse. Selling what should be a cherished honour for base gold and silver!"

"Vicky Stewart-will you hold your ill tongue! I'll no' be preached at by you or any man. I will not." "I crave Your Grace's pardon."

"Aye-well you may I" James looked at his cousin sidelong from those soulful eyes. "See you-what's the harm in dubbing a wheen knights, man? These English like it fine-for they havena proper lairds and barons like we have. And what for should they no' pay for it? They have the siller-and I need it. Man, each o' these high-nebbit lords has more siller than have I, their liege lord! You ken the state o' the Scots Treasury-empty, man, empty! Would you have me penniless, when I get to London? D'you ken how much I owe Geordie Heriot? Eh… some sixty thousand pounds Scots." "So much?"

"Aye. Or I did, when we set out frae Edinburgh! But we're cutting down the score, man-as is only right and proper. Geordie gets half, you see He keeps the account-he's good at that. Have him up, Vicky-we'll see how it goes. Send for Jinglin' Geordie."

Lennox reined round to call for one of the royal pages to go fetch Master Heriot, His Grace's jeweller-and immediately the Earl of Northumberland and the Lord Henry Howard pressed forward, one on either side of the King, from the rank just behind, both speaking at once in the clipped, authoritative English fashion.

James, slumped like a sack of chaff in his saddle-though, oddly enough he rode well if not handsomely-eyed them unfavourably. "My lords," he said, "you're fine chiels both, I've no doubt But when I'm needing your lordships' company, I'll ask for it"

Abashed, mumbling hasty apologies, the two proud noblemen fell back

Lennox returned to say that it might be some time before Heriot could be located and brought forward-for the royal train had swollen to well over a thousand and spread back along the road northwards for well over a mile. He had sent Sir Thomas Erskine to go find him. The Duke announced that with a barely smothered grin; the pampered favourite Erskine would certainly not appreciate being sent to look for a mere Edinburgh burgess like George Heriot Lennox did not like Erskine, the man who had taken the leading part in the murky Gowrie conspiracy of three years before -any more than he liked most of the King's beautiful young men.

James tut-tutted testily. "A mile you say? De'il take them! I mislike crowds," he complained. "Folk thronging me. Where have they a' come frae? Guidsakes-I never asked all these!"

"Your loyal English subjects, Sire. Coming to bind themselves to your sacred person in love and gratitude, perhaps? And probably seeking knighthoods!"

"Now see here, Vicky Stewart-enough o' this! What's come ower you, man? You're as crabbit as one o' thae Kirk divines. If you canna keep a respectful tongue in your head in my royal presence, you've my royal permission to leave it! Aye."

"I am only concerned for Your Grace's royal dignity," his cousin assured, earnestly now, low-voiced. "On this your first visit to England. It is entirely necessary for you to make a good impression, before your new people. To cast honours about too freely, to seem to sell them, will but lower your knightly dignity in their regard…"

"You leave my royal dignity to me, impertinent 1 What right have you to hector me so?"

"Not hector, Sire-advise. I do so out of love for you. As for right, I am of Your Highness's Privy Council…"

"In Scotland, Vicky-in Scotland. And we're no' in Scotland, now. Mind it. And, meantime, I have no Privy Council in England -until I choose it Aye-and I'd advise you, and others, no' to forget it!"

Lennox bit his lip. He was a pleasantly plain-faced young man, almost boyish-looking for his thirty years, with as little of the great lord about him as his master and kinsman had of regality. But at least he was not laughably overdressed in grossly padded and clashing-coloured magnificence.

The King stole another glance at his friend and sucked in saliva wetly-for he slobbered especially copiously when under any sort of emotion. He spoke more placatingly-for he was a man who required approval of his policies, however little he cared in the matter of personal behaviour.

"As to making an impression, Vicky, I'd remind you that's no' necessary. No' for me. I am the Lord's Anointed, Vicar o' Christ on this earth. Forby I am their master, these all my servants now -as are you, Duke Vicky Stewart! Keep it in mind, I say." Suitably chastened, Lennox held his peace

George Heriot came riding up, and Sir Thomas Erskine of Dirleton, good-looking in a bland, foppish fashion, looked less than bland when he was waved back whence he had come by the King, with scarcely a glance, while the tradesman was welcomed with a genial grin.

"Geordie-where have you been, man? Hiding away, some place. Is the company so good, back yonder, that you desert your auld gossip, Jamie Stewart? Is it the English you're after favouring?"

Heriot was careful-as he was wise to be, when the King adopted this wheedling, fakely-familiar tone. "Far from it, Sire- although I find them well enough. A trifle simple, perhaps, after our Scots ways. They seem less… devious, than we are. I have been looking to Your Grace's interests, since somebody must " "Eh? My interests? How mean you?"

"Hundreds join this your royal train daily, Sire. If this goes on, it will be an army by the time you reach London-thousands. An army that eats and drinks its head off-at Your Grace's expense. I am not Your Grace's Treasurer, nor yet your purse-bearer. But I can add up placks and groats and merks and turn them into pounds sterling I Which is more than some folk seem able to do!"

"But, Geordie-the English will pay for this. Their great Treasury in London. My great Treasury! It'll no' come out o' my pouch!"

"Are you so sure, Sire? These English lords do not seem to think so. All consider themselves your guests! It seems that when the late Queen made her progresses about this kingdom, all her train were paid for from her privy purse." "Guidsakes!"

"Moreover, I hear hints to the effect that the English Treasury is in no very good state. That during the Queen's long ailing, matters have been mismanaged, allowed to go amiss. Taxes left ungathered-or, at least, those who farmed them failing to be brought to account for them. Certain of the Queen's favourites dipping their hands deep into her coffers…"

"Waesucks-enough! Enough, I say! You're cozening me, man. I'll not believe it, Geordie Heriot. It's no' what I've been given to understand."

"Likely not, Sire. But that is what I have picked up, by keeping my ears open. These fine lords and gentry will talk in front of me, a mere merchandiser, say things they would not mention to Your Grace."

James groaned, slumped in his saddle, all the brightness suddenly gone out of his day.

Lennox cocked an eye at Heriot. 'You reckon we should turn and go home, my friend?"

"Scare that But it behoves us all, I think, to gang warily. At this stage."

"Lest the Englishmen spoil us! I swear you break His Grace's heart!"

"Be quiet, Vicky Stewart!" James cried loudly-and then glanced quickly, almost furtively behind in case any of the illustrious party riding immediately at his back should have heard. Lowering his voice, he went on, "Man-d'you now see how wrong you were? About the knightings. He's aye complaining, Geordie- my lord high and righteous Duke o' Lennox, carping at me for making knights o' ower many o' these English bodies. Sakes-he doesna ken the elementals o' it! You tell Irim, Geordie. Why I sent for you. How many knights have I made since I crossed yon brig at Berwick, eh? How many, aye-and how much. You'll ken"

"How many…? Ah… thirty-four, Sire. No, thirty-five, counting that Forester at Widdrington, after the hunt."

"Na, na-forget him. That was just to show yon man Carey that he canna badger me into honouring him. He wants to be a Lord o' Parliament He canna abide his father-most unduteous. The Lord Hunsdon. So Sir Robert wants to be one better-a viscount, no less! Never ceases to deave me for it, the man. A' because he brought me word first o' auld Elizabeth's death I was for showing him that I can raise up who I will, see you. That I'm no' dependant on the likes o' Robert Carey! Thirty-four, say you? How much, then, man-how much?"

"Well, Sire-I have had to gang warily likewise, mind. Your Grace will not want talk, a comparing of costs, as you might say. And I must judge the fleece before I clip it! Not all you have chosen are rich men…"

"A pox on you-we ken a' that! Are you failing me, Geordie Heriot? Making excuses? How much, this far? Out with it."

"Twenty-eight thousand, five hundred pounds, Sire. Leastways, notes of hand therefor." "English money? Sterling?" "Sterling, yes." Lennox whistled below his breath.

James grinned, chuckled. "Aye, well. No' bad, Geordie-no' bad. For two-three days. And how much does my Annie owe you now? Can you mind?"

"Seventy-five thousand pounds, Sire, more or less. Pounds Scots, of course."

"Guidsakes-so much as that I Save us-women are the devil! What does she do with it all? Does she eat jewels, man? I blame you, Geordie-aye tempting her wi' your gewgaws and trinkets. It's no' right Vanity it is. There'll be a judgment on such vanities, mark my words." "Her Grace is generous towards others, Sire…"

"Ooh, aye-generous! Fine, that! But-och, well this will more than pay for it, eh? How much is that in Sterling? Seventy thousand pounds Scots?"

"Seventy-five thousand pounds, Sire. Say six thousand pounds Sterling-since it is Her Grace. But, h'm, may I remind you, Sire, that Your Grace owes me more than that? One hundred and eighty thousand pounds Scots, indeed." "Dear God!" A single hoot of laughter erupted from the Duke of Lennox.

James glared at his cousin. "Here's no laughing matter. One hundred and eighty thousand pounds Scots! Na, na-you exaggerate, Geordie man. It's no' possible."

"No mistake, Sire. One hundred and eighty-four thousand, seven hundred and fifty pounds to be exact. Or, if you prefer it, fifteen thousand, three hundred and thirty-three pounds Sterling."

The King raised his heavy head with an accession of dignity. 'You have the mind o' a huckster, Master Heriot Pounds, shillings, groats and placks!" "Precisely, Your Grace. But then, I am a huckster!"

"M'mmm. Aye. But, man-it canna be so much as that? But a month past it was little more than half o' that."

"Your Grace perhaps forgets the chestful of rings which you ordered. And give out to all and sundry, on this your royal journey."

"Rings? Them? Och, but they're no' real gold, Geordie. Just covered wi' gold."

"Nevertheless, they cost money, Sire. So many. And engraved with your royal sign."

"Aweel, if you say so. But, Geordie-there'll still be something left for me, out o' a' these knighthoods, man? You'll no' swallow it a'?"

"To be sure. Even with due and proper interest, Your Highness is five thousand pounds in credit. Sterling."

"There! You see, Vicky? And you berate me. Guidsakes-what would you have? Your king a pauper? Indebted? Aye-and how much does the Duke o' Lennox owe you, Geordie Heriot? Eh? How much our righteous Duke?" "That, I fear, I am not at liberty to say, Your Grace. You would not have me break the confidence of those who deal with me? But this I can say, that my lord's indebtedness is but a small sum, a mere trifle. Not like many of Your Grace's Court that I could name!"

"Ha! You say so? But-more o' this anon. There's some-to-do ahead. Here's a mannie coming…"

A gallant was riding back from the Captain of the Guard's advance party. He doffed his bonnet low.

"Your Grace-a deputation from York. Has Sir Andrew your royal permission to present them?" "Ooh, aye. York's a fine rich town, they tell me. Have them up."

The magnificent towers of the mighty cathedral, with all the lesser spires and massive walls, had been looming before the cavalcade for long, in this flat, green country, and by now they were only some three miles off. A party of richly-robed and bejewelled citizens were brought up to genuflect before the monarch, who considered them assessingly from those knowing gazelle's eyes of his, while the royal trumpeter blew a flourish to halt the mile-long column behind.

"May I present to the King's Grace three gentlemen of the city of York?" young Sir Andrew Kerr of Ferniehirst, Captain of the Royal Guard, said. "Sheriffs, they say. And those, behind, sergeants or something such."

"Not so," a tall, thin and stately elderly man declared, his bow as dignified as his voice and carriage. "I am Sir "William Ingleby, High Sheriff of this entire great county and duchy of York. These two are the Sheriffs of the city, George Buck and John Robinson. The Sergeants behind are of, h'm, a different sort We come to pay our proper respects to Your Majesty, seek your gracious goodwill for duchy and city, and your royal confirmation of our ancient charters and privileges."

James eyed the speaker thoughtfully, plucking at his sagging lower lip. "Is that so?" he said.

The other blinked. "Yes, Sire. We ask you to accept the esteem and support of the greatest county and second greatest city of England. In proof whereof the city Sheriffs present to Your Majesty these tokens."

His Majesty's regard lightened a little at the word tokens-but fell again when the tokens proved to be no more than the Sheriffs' white wands of office held up for him to touch. He tapped their wood distastefully.

"Ooh, aye," he said. "Esteem and support, is it? You could scarce offer your sovereign lord less, I jalouse! Your simple duty, man."

"Yes, to be sure. Your Majesty. Of course." Ingleby looked a little worried. "York will not be found wanting, I assure you. Yes. And these, Sire, are the Sergeants-at-Arms. By name Wood, Damfort and Westrope." "And what do they bring me? More esteem, man?" "Er, their maces, Sire. Symbols of their authority. To offer you."

"Hh'mm." James touched the handsome extended jewelled maces, one, two, three, as though they might have burned him. "I will consider the matter o' your privileges and charter hereafter," he added, licking thick lips. "After I have tasted the flavour o' your esteem." He raised his voice. "On our way, Dand." And, as the horses moved forward, he jerked his over-large head in a see-you-to-it gesture to George Heriot

As the distinctly upset representatives of York were all but brushed aside by the resumed royal progress, Heriot fell back and dismounted, to speak with the High Sheriff.

"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.

"Aye, Master Mayor," he said. "This is right kindly." And he held out his beringed hands for the chalice without delay.

Indeed he all but dropped it, as the Mayor handed it over, for, as has been indicated, his wrists were not the strongest of him and the tiling was exceedingly heavy.

"Hech, hech-weighty! Aye, right weighty," he observed, juggling with his handful-but in no complaining fashion. He peered in at the contents assessingly, as though to assure himself that they could not have squeezed in another coin or two. "Good, good," he commented. "Angels, eh? Gold angels. They're better than nobles, are they no'?" He raised his voice. "Geordie! Geordie Heriot!"

In anticipation of such call, that man had moved forward. Now he climbed the steps also.

Clutching the chalice to his chest, James picked out a coin. "Angels, Geordie. How many o' them to the pound Sterling?" "Two, Your Grace. Ten English shillings."

"Aye. There's a peck o' them, here. Take it, Geordie. Aye, but first-the rings. You have some yet? "

Heriot delved into his pocket and produced a handful of gold-plated rings.

James made a quick calculation. "Three'll do. Three'll do fine, man."

There were the Mayor, and the chief alderman and the man who had brought the chalice-who was none other than George Robinson, one of the city sheriffs who had first come out with Sir William Ingleby. The others could be ignored.

So the transfer was made, the gold-filled chalice for three, plated rings stamped with the royal monogram. The King bestowed the latter upon recipients as though precious beyond rubies.

"We are pleased wi' you, much pleased," he beamed. "We will, ah, see you again. Later." "But-the sword, She. And the keys." "Ooh, aye. The sword and the keys. Och, well."

From one side a resplendent bearer was waved forward with the city keys gleaming like silver on a gold-tasselled cushion, and on the other, a stalwart individual with a helmet and the usual great two-handed sword. By touching the key and shooing the bearer away from him like an over-eager hen, James got rid of the first, but such tactics did not serve with the second, who seemed determined that the monarch should actually take the sword-unaware of his new liege lord's dire aversion to cold steel. James backed away-but he could not back very far or he would fall over the edge of the platform. Determinedly the other pursued him. Heriot would have taken the weapon for him but he had his arms full of gold angels.

"Awa' wi' you, you muckle limmer!" Majesty cried, in his broadest Doric. As a child he had been brought up in the large and noisy family of the Earl of Mar, hereditary keeper of Stirling Castle, where all spoke the Doric, and it remained his mother-tongue. The sword-bearer did not appear to understand.

"Your Majesty should take the sword, as symbol that you rule us all," Mayor Walter explained helpfully.

"I dinna want the sword, man!" the sorely-tried monarch snapped at him. "I can rule you a' fine, without yon!" George Heriot set down the chalice of gold pieces on the boards of the platform, "I will take the sword for His Grace," he said. "Give it to me."

That did not suit the sword-bearer, obviously a man who knew his own mind. The King was the proper and only recipient for York's sword, other than himself its custodian, and no jumped-up Scotchman was going to have it. Heriot came over to take it from him, muttering to the fellow not to be a fool, that the King could not abide naked steel.

James caught sight of his pot of gold sitting abandoned there in the middle of the platform, and letting out a wail, hurried over to stand guard over it. Anybody could have grabbed an angel or two. "Vicky! Vicky!" he quavered.

In fact, many of the foremost nobles had now recognised that something was amiss, and were hastening to the royal aid- although undoubtedly none of the Englishmen fully understood what was wrong. Lennox did, but he had not been nearest to the steps, and Lord Burleigh it was who arrived first on the platform, however stiffly.

"I will take the sword, as His Majesty's representative," he declared authoritatively.

George Heriot had no objection, but the sword-bearer remained more than doubtful, King James also had his reservations.

"Na, na-who asked you?" he demanded. "I cried on Vicky. Vicky Lennox."

"If Your Majesty does not wish to take the sword yourself, then I, as President of the North, am the proper recipient, as your Deputy, Sire."

"My lord-if His Majesty does not want the sword, it should be returned to me," the Mayor announced.

"Who says you're the President o' the North, man?" James asked. "Nae doubt you were. But I'd remind you-aye, and a' others-that no man now holds any office o' state lacking my royal appointment. Any, d'you hear? I can appoint whosoever I will to be President o' the North. Or none. Mind it." The King looked round, still trembling in his agitation, could not see Lennox, who was in a queue at the bottom of the steps, and found the Earl of Cumberland at his elbow. "Aye-you, man Cumberland. You take it. Yon sword. Take it out o' my sight. Geordie- you got the cuppie wi' the angels? Aye, well. Now-let's awa' out o' this. I've had enough o' this, God kens! And I'm hungry. My belly rumbles. Fetch my horse-you, Northumberland-fetch my horse. I'll climb on frae here. We'll see what they've got for victuals in this York…"

The Lord Mayor, aldermen and councillors of the city, left behind on their platforms, stared at each other and at the instrumentalists, there to lead the royal procession through the streets, and wrung their hands, rings or none.

That night, in the fine, lofty, beamed great hall of the Manor of St Mary, the former Benedictine Abbey now owned by Burleigh, the tables and remains of the banquet cleared away, George Heriot watched the scene from a quiet corner, a faint smile playing about his lips. Dancing was now in progress, the stately sort of dancing which Queen Elizabeth had delighted in, not the more robust Scots variety, and many handsome and finely dressed ladies now graced the royal presence. But James Stewart, up on the dais, was not much of a dancer-knock-knees and unsteady legs ensured that- nor was he very interested in women, young and good-looking men being more to his taste. As a consequence, he had settled down to an evening of hard drinking, abetted by a group of his Scots favourites and cronies, ignoring completely the efforts of sundry English notables to break into the circle, to present their ladies and friends. James, an arm round the neck of young Sir John Ramsay, his principal page, a youth of eighteen with the complexion of a girl and the ruthlessness of a wolf, sprawled at the dais table, high hat precariously askew-the only man in the great room covered-paying no attention to host, music, dancing, courtiers, suppliants or anything else than the replenishing of his own and his friends' wine cups. If he had felt any embarrassment when he discovered that his host for the week-end stay at York was not the Mayor and Council, nor the sheriffs, but none other than the Lord Burleigh in this Manor of St Mary, instead of the Guildhall, he had not let the matter trouble him. Burleigh was finding it just as impossible as were others to approach his royal guest.

Heriot, who knew his place with the monarch as exactly as he knew his debts and credits, was glad to stand aside and watch. By nature and inclination he was a mildly intrigued observer of the human scene rather than an active manipulator, happiest when circumstances allowed him to be an informed spectator. It was not that he was a negative man, any kind of drifter-anyone who suggested anything of the sort in the Scots capital would have been hooted at-but he was of a philosophical and reflective rather than a combative or assertive frame of mind. Observing King James was, in fact, always of absorbing interest to him, sometimes a joy, sometimes almost an agony, sometimes tragi-comedy or high farce, but never dull. The fact that he knew a real affection for and some understanding of his unusual sovereign lord added an element of personal involvement which gave point to all.

He caught the eye of Ludovick Stewart across the room. The Duke did not find it so easy to stand in a comer and watch, however much he would have preferred to, his lofty rank, proximity to the throne and friendly personality ensuring that. A certain innocence about him, in a Court where innocence was scarcely the dominant feature, seemed to attract women, especially the more mature woman, and he was much sought after-which did not please him, for he was deeply in love with Mary Gray, illegitimate daughter of the handsome and dashing Master of Gray, whom he of course, the only duke in two realms, could by no means have married even if he had not been wed already. A young man at odds with his fate was Lennox. Excusing himself to two effusive York ladies who had all but cornered him, he backed out and made his way across the floor to Heriot, circling the dancers.

"You are not dancing, Master Heriot," he said. "Nor yet drinking. Nor even wenching. What do you do for amusement?"

"Some might say I count figures, my lord Duke. Jingle my well-known gold. Jinglin' Geordie Heriot!"

"Then some are fools! I know better. I think your entertainment is to laugh at us all. In that cool, knowing head of yours. Especially at the crowned mountebank up there-yet whom, I swear, you'd give your life for!"

Perturbed at the younger man's percipience, Heriot coughed. "Not laugh at, my lord. Laugh with, where I decently may. Otherwise regard, heed-aye, and seek to understand my fellow-men, lofty and less so. Is that not permissible? Even a cat, they do say, may look at a king.'' "To be sure. I but envy you your detachment"

"I do not think that I am detached, my lord. Not sufficiently for my comfort."

"Surely when we are alone, man, you can forget the lording and duking! My friends call me Vicky, as you know well." "But your friends are not… tradesmen, I think 1"

"Damnation, man-be not so prickly I You, who could buy us all and scarce notice the price!"

"I am sorry if I sound prickly, my lord Duke. I would hope not to be that. Any more than purse-proud. But you will grant me that I have to walk warily? His Grace is kind to me, relies on me much. Too much. That offends many, I know well And men who lend money are seldom popular-especially to their debtors! I have heard, indeed, that there is a new play written by this English playwright on this very theme-I have forgot his name-set in Venice, I think. Many would pull down a man in my position, should I seem to ride even a little too high."

"So I must remain my lord Duke even when we are alone-lest men think I owe George Heriot more than I do and so he takes liberties!"

Heriot laughed. "Very well, Vicky-as you will. My friends, like my enemies, all call me Geordie!" They stood for a few moments, watching the King.

"As you said, back at Berwick, fames does not change," Lennox observed, at length "These English are shocked. And will be more so."

"Did you expect him to change? When he crossed the Border? He has been a king for thirty-six years, since he was one year old. He is as he has always been, the Lord's Anointed. It is Elizabeth's England which will have to change, not its new liege lord."

"And yet… He has been waiting for this for so long, living for it. For the day when he would sit on the dual throne. I would have thought that he would have been concerned to display himself in a more acceptable, more dignified light." "Once he told me that dignity was for those who required its support. He does not. As for being acceptable, it matters still less. He is the King. He must be accepted. So he is himself, only and entirely himself. Perhaps the only man in two realms who may be. We all play a part, or many parts, since we must. But he is James, by the Grace of God-and aware of it!"

Lennox looked at the other curiously. "You have considered it well, I see." "I have had occasion to do so."

"And you do not blame him? For behaving as he does? Sitting up there drinking. Fondling these odious young men of his. Ignoring, indeed rejecting his host and these English."

"Who am I to blame or withhold blame of my lord the King? But I understand what he is and what he does, I think. He of a purpose holds the English at bay, so that they have no doubts as to who is master. He dallies with his favourites to demonstrate that he, representer on earth of heavenly power, is not bound by the codes which control the acts and behaviour of his subjects. He establishes his position before these new subjects. And though he drinks heavily, he is not drunk. Indeed, I have never seen His Grace drunk. Have you?"

"Now that you remark on it-no. I had not really thought on it. But, no-he is never drunk, however much drink-taken."

"Aye. So there you have him, my lord Vicky. The Lord's Anointed. With one of the cleverest heads in Christendom on those padded shoulders!" "Eh? You think that? You really think so, Geordie?"

"Can you name any, any at all, whom you deem cleverer, shrewder, more sure of himself and his course?" "M'mmm. We-e-ell. Only, perhaps, the Master of Gray!"

"Aye. There is the one man who may rival His Grace. This century's Machiavelli! My sorrow that they now are unfriends. That was an unwise move, at Berwick, I think-to send him away, in public mockery. I fear no good can come of it. But perhaps His Grace deemed it absolutely necessary. He must have planned to do it, for long. It was not done on impulse, that I am sure."

"It was folly. But then, James is the veriest fool, so frequently. A figure of fun…" "Seems so. Acts the fool, perhaps. But is he? My livelihood, Vicky, depends on judgment of men, of character, or risks to run and trust to be taken. And I assess King James as clever, able, and far from a fool. Strange yes, difficult yes, ruthless yes-but a king. The English will discover it in due course-and perhaps have cause to be thankful for it" "You surprise me-by God, you do!"

As though James Stewart had realised that they were discussing him-as indeed were many others in that great room-he suddenly pushed Ramsay aside, looked up and directly at them, and grabbing a silver wine flagon, banged it heavily on the dais table, slopping the contents.

Shaken, the dancers came to a halt, the musicians stopped playing and talk and laughter stilled as the banging went on. All eyes turned to the dais and its high chair.

"Hey, Geordie Heriot-here to me, man," the monarch called. "Aye, and you too, Vicky Stewart To me, I say."

Side by side they obediently made their way to the dais, and bowed before it James shooed away his drinking companions, and leaned over the table. "A cup o' wine, Geordie? Come closer, man. Come drink a farewell cup wi' me." "Farewell, Your Grace? So-o-o! I am to go? Back to Scotland?"

"Aye. Back to Scotland. I have been sitting here thinking on it That it's maybe time. Aye, time."

"I agree, Sire. Your Grace will remember that I asked you to allow me to return, at Newcastle. That my affairs were left hurriedly and in no very good shape…"

"It's no' the shape o' your affairs I'm concerned wi', man-it's mine! Or my Annie's. Guid kens what she'll be up to! She lacks sense, the woman, in maist things. Och, they a' do! And lacking me to take order wi' her, she'll be fair above hersel'. And there'll be none to cry her down. Yon Seton, Fyvie, hasna the weight for it. She's the Queen I I've thought much on this. She'll heed you, Geordie." "I, I do not see why Her Grace should, Sire…"

"Oh aye, she will. She thinks a deal o' Jinglin' Geordie Heriot Fine I ken it Forby, she owes you money, much money-and she'll hae to keep the right side o' you or she'll no' get her gewgaws and trinkets, eh? And you ken, if anyone does, how much they mean to my Annie! Aye, she'll heed you, Geordie. As she wouldna heed Duke Vicky, here. Or any other. You're to go watch ower her, man. And to bring her, and the bairns, down to me in London. When a's ready and I send for you."

"If you say so, Sire. But I have no authority to control Her Grace…"

' Waesucks, you have not, sirrah I Nor has any man, under God, save my ain sel' She is the Queen. None will control the Queen, by authority."

"I humbly beg Your Grace's pardon. A foolish slip of the tongue…"

"Aye, it was, Geordie Heriot. You're going back to Edinburgh to guide the Queen, no' to control her. And no' by any authority, but by your wits, honest, decent wits-aye, and the fact that she needs you. Forby, there's the matter o' yon ill limmer, the Master o' Gray." James glanced at Lennox, only too well aware of that man's involvement with Mary Gray and the strange love-hate relationship he had with her father. "I'm feart for what he may be up to, see you. He'll no' be pleased at being sent back. But I wasna having him setting London by the ears the way he's set Scotland. And teaching the English how to be clever-eh? Na, na. There's no room for me and Patrick both, in London. But he'll be up to mischief in Scotland, if I ken him! And he kens Annie's weak. So you watch him, Geordie-watch him."

"But, Sire-how can I influence the likes of him? A man with more real power than the Chancellor…"

'The same way as you do the Queen-wi' your wits, man. And he'll no' have any power much longer, I promise you! You'll no' can pull him down-but you'll can frustrate his tricks, belike. And keep me informed. I'd send Vicky here wi' you but I'll need him in London, to act for me whiles. Till I can find others I can trust. So you'll off back to Edinburgh, Geordie." "Very good, Sire. I shall leave in the morning."

"You'll no'. You'll leave the night. Now, man. Have you forgot? The morn's the Sabbath. We'll start the way we mean to go on. Elizabeth may have little heeded the Sabbath. But my Court will. I'll no' have you leaving for Scotland on the Sabbath day. So go now. Or you'll waste a whole day."

"But of course Master Heriot will have to rest for the Sabbath tomorrow somewhere?" Lennox wondered innocently.

"Dinna be impertinent, Vicky Stewart I" the King reproved. "Geordie kens fine what's what You'll be in Edinburgh on Monday's morn, eh man?"

"If you wish it so, Sire. I will do my best on Your Grace's behalf, as in all things. As always. Though this is a, h'm, difficult mission Have I Your Grace's permission to retire?"

"Aye. Off wi' you. Though-bide a wee. It comes to me that I prefer the one English custom to our Scots usage. Aye, prefer it This o' Majesty instead o' Grace. It's mair… suitable, maybe. I'll be Majesty now, no' Grace. Let it be known-both o' you." "To be sure, Your Majesty…"