Unicorn Rampant (6 page)

"But why, Vicky? For what purpose is all this done?"

"He is eager, you see, that the English nobility, who think themselves superior to all, shall not come and consider Scotland backward or inferior in any way. They will, of course; nothing will change their belief that we are all barbarians up here. But James keeps trying. It is all part of his policy, you see, to maintain his ascendancy. The English lords gained altogether too much power during the last years of Elizabeth, when she was an ageing and ailing woman. All along, James has been seeking to bring them down a peg or two, so that the King remains supreme. He does not chop their heads off nor maltreat them, as did Henry the Eighth, and Elizabeth too when she was younger. But he appoints Scots to high places about him to humiliate them, he scoffs at their lack of education—for they care little for learning—he chooses Scots as ambassadors. And now he would show this great horde of Englishry that Scotland compares well with anything that England can show. He does not give in easily, does James Stewart!"

"And when does this hero of yours start on his progress round the land?" Mary asked. "Do you come to Methven before or after?"

"I do not know, lass. I believe that the intention is to pass tomorrow in Edinburgh, then the next day to proceed to Linlithgow. He may not require me when we get to Falkland. I should be free, at least, for when hunting I am not needed."

"Then what do we do? Wait here another day or two, in the hope of seeing you on occasion? Or go back to Methven and await you there?"

"I think that you must wait here meantime, my dear. For almost the last thing James said to me, when I sought permission to leave his table, was to tell that son of mine, 'my saviour' as he put it, that he expected to see him at court. That he was a swack chiel and he would see more of him. I am to bring you to Holyroodhouse tomorrow, Johnnie."

"I do not think that I like the sound of that!" Mary Gray said.

Ludovick laughed "John will be well enough. He is not the sort that is in danger from James. Or, I sometimes think that it is James who is in danger from these unpleasant youths and their scheming sponsors! Usually it is these who put the creatures his way—for their own advantage. You would scarcely believe the fine names behind George Villiers!"

"Hateful! How you can bear it with all that goes on at court, Vicky, I do not know."

"There is much to enjoy, also. Bacon, who is here with us, calls it the human comedy!"

"If the Earl of Buckingham's name is George Villiers, why does the King call him Steenie?" John asked.

"Because he looks like a picture of St Stephen which James has."

"There are saints and saints!" the woman said. "You watch King James, young man . .
.!"

Next forenoon, when father and son presented themselves
at
Holyroodhouse, it was to find the monarch gone, and long gone. James had his own attitude towards the clock, as towards most other things, indeed. He was fond of his bed and would retire to it at any time of day or night; on the other hand, he would leave it at equally odd hours, to the confusion of more conventional sleepers. Where hunting was concerned, his great joy, no hour was too early to start; and apparently this morning he had been up before sunrise for a quite unscheduled hawking in the great park, which surrounded the towering bulk of Arthur's Seat that overlooked the city of the east. None being warned of this, indeed a very different programme having been arranged, James had gone off with only a small and not very enthusiastic group, none knew just where. Now the palace was thronged with folk, many thankful to be, as it were, off-duty, others agitated, especially those in any way responsible for the day's planned itinerary.

Ludovick immediately found himself in much demand, as authority. Where was the King? When would he be back? Would the programme be re-arranged? If so, what items should be abandoned—for obviously there would not now be time for all? There was considerable competition and argument amongst the claimants, needless to say. As so often, the Duke objected that he should be the one to take the decisions—for already present were the Secretary of State, Lord Binning; the Chancellor or chief minister, the Lord Fyvie; the High Constable, the Earl of Erroll; Lyon King of Arms; and numerous members of the Privy Council, including a clutch of the monarch's illegitimate relatives. But none apparently dared to make decisions for their unpredictable liege-lord and unanimously put the onus on the Duke of Lennox.

Ludovick called for silence, admitted that he himself had no notion as to the day's programme and asked for information. He was thereupon met by such a barrage of detail and engagements, interspersed by complaints from sundry English notables as to the quality of their lodgings, that he put his hands up to his ears. Perceiving there Sir Gideon Murray of Elibank, the Treasurer-Depute, and knowing him to be a level-headed and practical man, responsible for making most of the financial arrangements for this visit, he besought him for particulars.

"His Majesty was to visit the Royal Mint, first. Then be received by the Constable of the Castle, with cannon-fire. Then to inspect the proposed site of George Heriot's Hospital. Then attend a mid-day banquet at the Council Chambers, my lord Duke. All this after examining what has been done here at the palace in preparation for his coming. Then . . ."

"Enough for a start, Sir Gideon—of a mercy! See you— the Mint will not go away. Nor will Heriot's Hospital. Nor yet the Castle. But this of cannon-fire—His Majesty would not wish to miss that, I think. He likes cannon-fire. When is he expected at the Council House?"

"By an hour after mid-day, my lord—or as near as possible."

"M'mm. It is littl
e more than an hour to mid-day now.

We have not got over-long. I think that the Council will have to be warned, Sir Gideon, that there may be some slight delay. And the cannon-fire put off until the afternoon. Can you see to this? Meantime, we must find the King
..."

"My lord Duke—I must make protest!" an authoritative English voice interrupted. "The quarters I have been given are entirely unsuitable. They are not even in this palace but in a squalid burgher's house out in the street. Where
I
have to share with some clerk. Named Laud, I believe—the Dean of somewhere. It is not to be borne. Some ridiculous mistake. It must be righted, forthwith!"

"I
too, Lennox
..
."another indignant noble voice began, when Ludovick held up his hand.

"My lords—I beg of you. Not now. No doubt other arrangements can be made. But first things first. The King's day's business must be set to rights
..."

"I will not be put off, Lennox," the first protester insisted. "I am Philip Herbert, Earl of Montgomerie, Lord of the Bedchamber. And I.
.."

It was Ludovick's turn to interrupt.
"Extra
Lord of the Bedchamber, my lord," he mentioned, gently enough. There were titters. It was always difficult to deal with James's former favourites, demoted. "Wait you, if you please. Much re-arranging may well be necessary. But later
..."

"I have already waited sufficiently long. I protested to this man, last night. Told that he was responsible. And he has done nothing." He pointed to Sir Gideon Murray.

"May I speak, my lord Duke—to this lord and to others?" that harassed individual said urgently. "His Majesty sent me command to find lodging for 5,000 persons. Five
thousand
.
And stabling hereabouts for 5,000 horses! Can any here turn their minds to these numbers? To finding 5,000 beds? Of
any
quality! This palace of Holyroodhouse has been empty and unused for many years—save for a servants' wing. I have had to rebuild and refurbish, put on new roofing. Even so, in its present state the palac
e cannot sleep more than 1,500. I
do what I can, but
..."

While this heart-felt disclaimer was proceeding, Ludovick turned to his son, still at his side, to whisper. "Go find the
King, Johnnie. You will know this park and demesne well enough. Find James and ask him what he intends. Tell him what is to do here, but chiefly of this banquet. He may know well enough, and care not. He may hav
e forgotten. But tell him that I
must know what is to be done. If I am to look after his interests. Save us—he has a Master of the Household whose task this should be—but Lord knows where
he
is. Probably hunting, also. Off with you now, lad. . ."

Looking doubtful indeed, but anxious to help his father, John nodded and slipped away.

So, John Stewart traversed the green slopes of Arthur's Seat for the second day running, but this time he did it mounted, as befitted a knight, for he was learning how to behave at court and had grabbed the first good-looking horse he saw tethered in the palace forecourt 'on the King's business', none gainsaying. With not the least idea where James might be by now, he was uncertain in which direction to ride. However, since it was said to be a hawking-party, the probability was that the sportsmen would be somewhere in the vicinity of water—for indeed there was little else for them to hunt these days than wildfowl. The deer which used to be so plentiful were now all gone, mainly poached by the Edinburgh citizenry but also dying out as the woodland around the skirts of the hill, which had given them cover, was gradually cut down. There were still a few hares and rabbits on the hill but Majesty was scarcely likely to go chasing these. A royal decree had come up from London some months previously declaring that, from that date, no muirfowl, partridges nor pout—meaning game-birds— were to be killed by any whatsoever on pain of £100 fine; so clearly James had his eye on such. He would not find many partridges nor muirfowl—that is red grouse or hazel-hens —on Arthur's Seat, but the three lochs were a great haunt of wild duck, wild geese and swans. So the hawking would be apt to start in the vicinity of one or other of the lochs.

The nearest was St Margaret's Loch, which lay on the low ground at this north-east side of the hill, named after the well nearby where King David the First had drunk for much-needed refreshment after he had been attacked by the wounded stag—which of course had been scared off by his chaplain waving the casket containing his mother, St Margaret's, famed Black Rood, or piece of the true Cross of Calvary, the occasion for his founding of the Abbey of the Holy Rood and the palace which developed therefrom.

John rode to St Margaret's Loch, beneath St Anthony's Chapel on its knoll, but there were no sportsmen there; and some children playing at the water's edge declared that John was the first horseman they had seen. Which left Dunsappie and Duddingston Lochs.

Dunsappie, which John had skirted the day before on his climb, was not much more than half-a-mile off, to the south, but some three hundred feet higher. It was small, really only a mountain tarn, and without the great reed-beds of Duddingston, to shelter and feed the wildfowl—so the latter was the more likely. However, Dunsappie was as it were on the way, although involving the ascent; and from the ridge above it a panoramic view of all the Duddingston, Priestfield and Craigmillar area could be seen and the huntsmen surely to be picked out.

With a horse to do the climbing for him, he was soon up to Dunsappie, scattering sheep. The place was deserted and looking desolate, so different from yesterday. He seemed to have Arthur's Seat to himself.

But from the ridge to the south he had no difficulty in spotting his quarry. Far below, on the firmer ground beyond the vast sedge-beds of Duddingston Loch, on the lands of Priestfield—now being called Prestonfield, priests being out-of-favour after the Reformation—about a dozen horsemen could be seen milling around, presumably flying their hawks. The chances of them being other than the royal party were remote.

Although not much more than another half-mile away as the crow flies, to get down to them was less simple. First of all, the slopes at this side were exceedingly steep, really a southwards extension of the great red crags which soared above Holyrood, with a peculiar pillared rock formation known as Sampson's Ribs. Then, at the bottom was the quaking sea of reeds. No horseman could descend the first nor cross the second. So John had to ride on eastwards at this high level, and in the wrong direction, to get down the more manageable slopes beyond, where their Pictish ancestors had dug cultivation-terraces out of the hillside, to reach Duddingston village itself. Then he had to work the long way round the loch and its sedgy extension westwards, although most of this he could do at the canter on fairly level ground so long as he kept well back from the shore. In this royal demesne the King could not have chosen a hawking-ground further away from his palace.

As he rode up on to the Prestonfield parkland, the mounted huntsmen were well scattered and mainly in pairs, much shouting and wagering going on and dogs barking. The sport consisted of the dogs being sent into the reeds to put up duck, geese, herons, swans or other fowl, and then the hawks to be unhooded and released from their owners' wrists to fly at selected birds. Although the sportsmen would prefer to choose each their own fowl, it was usually the sprung hawks that did so. Then the owners would wager on whose hawk would stoop on what quarry and make the kill, whilst they strove to ride as nearly beneath the aerial chase as was possible, shouting encouragements or curses—although here, much of it being over water or swamp, this was difficult. The dogs were then sent in to retrieve the plummeting game and the trained hawks called or whistled back to their owners' wrists. It was all a lively, noisy, ploutering business.