Unknown (47 page)

Then,
at last, the trumpets sounded again, and the King made his entry.
This time he had only a small group in attendance, five men - and
the sight of two of them lifted the Graham's heart, the young lords
Aboyne and Ogilvy.

Of
the other three, one, on whose arm the King's hand rested, was a
dark, sardonically handsome and tall young man, with a carriage and
assurance to match Montrose's own, who looked around him with a sort
of grinning fierceness strange to sec. Another was a paler, more
stolid edition of the same, less dark and piratical. The third was a
floridly good-looking man of early middle years, with twisted mouth,
beaked nose and stooping wide shoulders - something of an eagle
about him, but perhaps a slightly moulting eagle.

These
- who are they?' Montrose murmured, as they bent low.

That
is Rupert, with the King's hand,' Kilpont informed. 'His brother
Maurice at the other side. And behind, Antrim.'

'Ah!
So-o-o! The MacDonnell. Rupert, I think, I like.'

The
Graham, in those moments, knew a further uplift of spirits. Here, at
last, was Charles Stewart in the company of real men — not
clerics, or painted popinjays or shifty, timeserving
politicians, but soldiers. Rupert of the Rhine was one of the finest
cavalry-leaders in Europe, despite being no more than twenty-four
years. Maurice was not so brilliant, but an able and reliable
commander, already experienced though younger still. And Randal
MacDonnell, second Earl of Antrim, whatever else he might be, was a
warrior, a noted captain of gallowglasses, descended from the Lords
of the Isles though planted in Ulster; many looked on him as a
Catholic monster of savagery, but he had survived in that
blood-soaked land. The fact that the two Scots lordlings, developing
fighters both, were included with these others round the King was
itself significant.

Charles
himself was looking better, less worn. Dashing about even a
rebellious country appeared to agree with him. There was more vigour
in his step, even in the dignified entry to this audience-chamber.
His nephews, on either side of him, were no saunterers, of course.

This
time, when they were opposite the Graham, Ogilvy came closer, to
touch Prince Rupert's free arm. But there was no need to draw the
royal attention. The King turned and paused, of his own accord.

'My
lord of Montrose - welcome to my Court,' he said.
'I
rejoice
to see you in happier case than when last we saw one another.' And
he held out his hand.

Thanks,
I
am
assured, to Your Majesty's gracious intervention on my behalf.'
Montrose bowed low, to kiss the royal fingers. 'I am the more your
most devoted servant, Sire.'

'So
say many, my lord, who act otherwise! But you,
I
think,
do mean it truly. I will speak with you later.' He nodded to
Kilpont. 'My lord -
I
greet
you.'

As
Majesty passed on, Prince Rupert's glance caught and held James
Graham's for a long moment.

'That
was better, a deal better,' Kilpont murmured, thereafter. 'At
last, perhaps, he will hear you, heed you.'

'Hear,
perhaps, yes. But heed? How much influence with the King has Rupert,
do you know?'

'Much,
they say. More, now, even than the Queen. After all, most victories
gained have been won by Rupert'

One
or two courtiers, quick to notice any change in the royal favour,
now condescended to notice Montrose - and were received civilly but
coolly. The King, with his wife and two nephews, at the head of the
Hall, were naturally the focus of attention, accepting or summoning
many to their presence. No such call came for the Graham - and he
was the last man to push his way to the forefront there, as
reminder. The courtiers drifted away.

When,
at length, a herald announced that an acting of Will Shakespeare's
play entitled
Much
Ado About Nothing
would
be held presently in the Hall at Merton College, at Her Majesty's
gracious command, and all present were invited to attend
forthwith. Montrose's patience became more obviously strained. As
the company began to follow the King and Queen from Christ Church
Hall and through the leaf-strewn and mist-hung gardens to near-by
Merton, James Graham had to steel himself to move in their wake.
But, in an alley of dripping clipped-yew, the pair were approached
by a resplendent figure, the new Earl of Dysart. This was none other
than the ineffable and utterly untrustworthy Will Murray,
former whipping-boy to the King, son of the minister of Dysart in
Fife, and now Lord in Waiting. Charles was very free with his
earldoms - or, at least, with the titles of such; for no lands went
with them, and it was all a travesty of nobility to such as
Montrose, for whom an earldom meant ancient lineage, great
authority, vast territories and patriarchal responsibilities.
This man in especial he looked upon as no more than a dangerous
mountebank, and knew to be a creature of Hamilton's.

"His
Majesty will see you in the Master's Room at Merton, my lord of
Montrose,' he announced, almost as though he had personally arranged
it. 'Ah
...
no doubt you will be able to inform His Majesty that the position in
Scotland is by no means so ill against him as some ill-wishers seek
to convince him? That most with any power there are loyal, and only
seek the King's good.'

'What
I say to the King, sir, is between myself and His Grace,' the other
returned briefly.

'Undoubtedly.
But there are those who, for their own purposes, seek to delude the
King that the Scots are rising in arms against His Majesty. You, I
am sure, know this to be untrue, and like my lord Duke of Hamilton
can assure King Charles that such rising will only be against the
King's enemies. If such indeed is the burden of your message, the
Duke is convinced that His Majesty will be much relieved, and that
you will have cause to rejoice in a successful outcome of your
visit to Court.'

'Indeed?
And what would constitute such success, sir, in the eyes of the Duke
of Hamilton?'

'Who
knows, my lord? Advancement of your personal cause and circumstances
in Scotland, no doubt. The Privy Council, perhaps? The Duke is very
influential. A marquis-ate, even, might conceivably be...'

'I
see, sir. I shall not forget the Duke of Hamilton's interest in my
concerns. Nor your own
1'

'That
is only fitting. And wise,' the other said, as he led the Graham
past an armed guard and into a handsomely panelled chamber of
Merton.

King
Charles sat at a table spread with refreshments, and in the company
of the five men who had attended him earlier, plus two others; one
nearing middle-age, one youngish, whom Montrose recognised as Sir
Edward Hyde, the Chancellor, and the Lord Digby, heir to the Earl of
Bristol, and one of Charles's favourites and commanders. There was
no sign of Hamilton, or of his brother and shadow, Lanark.

'Come,
my lord of Montrose,' the King said, in friendly fashion. 'Let us
hope that we will not long detain you from Her Majesty's
entertainment. Drink a glass of wine with us. Will - conduct the
Lord Kilpont to Her Majesty, and request her to proceed with the
play-acting. We shall join her later.' Prince Rupert murmured in his
uncle's ear. The King shrugged, and added, 'And, Will - you need not
return.'

That
further commended the Prince to Montrose.

'Sire,
I am grateful to you for this audience,' he announced. ‘I
have been seeking it for weeks. I rejoice also in the company which
attends you here.' He glanced particularly at Rupert. 'In what I
have to say, I believe that their guidance will be invaluable.'

'Indeed,
my lord? Invaluable to
my
cause,
or yours?'

Yours,
Sire. And that of your Scots realm. I seek none of my own. If I did,
I think I would not seek it in Oxford!'

Rupert
laughed, though none other did so.

'Mm.
You are frank, my lord, at least,' the King said, warily.

'I
came to be frank, Sire. Only that. There has been too little of
frankness to Your Majesty, in matters Scottish, I believe. I trust
that I have your royal permission to be so, entirely?'

‘
I
can scarcely say you nay. But - do you say then, that my other
advisers in or on Scotland are less than frank?'

‘
I
do. Especially the most highly placed of them, the Duke of
Hamilton.'

At
the general gasp, Rupert slapped his thigh, while his uncle stroked
his pointed beard.

There
can be over-frankness, I think, my lord of Montrose. Especially
in matters of personal opinion.'

"No
doubt, Sire. But not in matters of state. As is this. I declare to
you, before these many witnesses, that the Duke of Hamilton has long
deceived you. To what purpose I know not, but with grievous hurt to
your realm and royal cause. Others likewise. But he to your most
injury.'

‘
I
think that you forget yourself, my lord. The Duke is my friend.'

Rupert
spoke, his English perfect but his voice husky, guttural. 'Sire - no
man makes such charges before witnesses unless he is convinced of
their truth. Or is a great fool. Does any here conceive the Earl of
Montrose to be that?'

'We
would
be the fools not to hear what my lord has to say in this matter,
Your Majesty,' Edward Hyde said. He looked like a shrewd cherub.

You
have never loved James Hamilton, Sir Edward. Nor has Rupert,' the
King complained. He shrugged. "But - say on, my lord.'

'The
Duke of Hamilton, Sire, I do assure you, is wholly in the pocket of
the Marquis of Argyll. Than whom, I believe, you have no greater
enemy. Argyll now rules Scotland, and Hamilton chooses to aid
him in it However much against your royal interests.'

'Or
yours, perhaps?' Digby put in. He was a good-looking, fair-haired
and blue-eyed young man, impetuous but not unintelligent, though
with a petulant mouth.

Montrose
nodded. 'Or mine, indeed. Or those of any loyal and honest man.'

The
Marquis of Argyll is your enemy, my lord - as all know.'