Виктория Холт - The Thistle and the Rose

Wait, she told herself. Surely soon I shall be pregnant. Then I shall not care how many illegitimate children he may have had in the past.

There was no reason why the fun should not continue. English Cuddy and Scotch Dog (a certain James Dog whose talents were similar to Cuddy’s) put their heads together and devised more original and brilliant entertainments.

It was during one of these days when entertainment followed entertainment that a messenger arrived at the Palace and asked to be taken to the King.

The man was brought to James when he was playing the lute to the Queen, and seeing how travel-stained and agitated the messenger was, James immediately laid aside his lute. One of his most endearing characteristics was his immediate sympathy with any in distress, however humble they were, and his concern to do all in his power to help them. It was this quality which had made him the most popular of the Stuart Kings.

He therefore made the man sit in his presence, and sent for wine to refresh him.

“And while it is being brought, tell me what brings you here.”

“I come from Darnaway, Sire,” said the messenger. “My mistress, the Lady Bothwell, commanded me to come and tell you that she is sick unto death and begs that you visit her on her death bed.”

James gasped with dismay. The Lady Bothwell was his fiery Janet Kennedy on whom the Bothwell estate had been bestowed in exchange for all the lands her lover Angus had given her. Janet… who had been so vital… sick unto death! It was unthinkable, and what of little James, their son?

“I shall go to her without delay,” said the King.

Margaret had risen and stood beside him. She laid her hand on his arm.

“Who is this Lady Bothwell?” she asked. “And why should she send for you in this way… as though she were a queen and you her subject?”

James looked at her coldly and said: “She may be dying.”

Then he turned and strode from the apartment.

Margaret had to shake the woman to get the truth from her. The foolish creature was trying to pretend she had no notion who this Lady Bothwell was.

All the Tudor fury was in flame.

“Who is she? Tell me that!”

“I… I… ”

“It will be the worse for you if you do not say.”

“Your Grace… Your Highness… she was Janet Kennedy.”

“Janet Kennedy? And what is she?”

“The daughter of Lord Kennedy, Your Grace.”

“What is she to the King? That is what I mean?”

Silence. But silence could tell so much.

“You know!” shrieked Margaret. “And how many sons did she bear him? Tell me that.”

“It was only the one, Your Grace… only the little Earl of Moray.”

Margaret slapped the woman’s face in fury.

“And he goes to see her now. He leaves me, to go to see her. The wanton creature. I hate her. I hate them both, I tell you!”

She turned and ran to her apartments.

And there once more she flung herself onto her bed and wept. Lady Guildford came to her. “Your Grace… Your Grace, this is not the way to behave.”

She did not answer. Instead she raised herself and clenched her fists, pummelled her pillows, with an expression which showed that was how she would have liked to beat Janet Kennedy.

“You must remember that you are a queen, Your Grace.”

“A queen… ah! And a woman. A woman deserted by her husband! Do you not think I understand the meaning of those absences? And all except me knowing… I alone in ignorance. I was not enough for him. He must have these sluts. I would kill them. I will not have him in my bed again.”

“Hush! Hush! There will be those to listen. There will be those to carry tales.”

“I care not.”

“But you must care. Remember, my dearest, you are the Queen of Scotland.”

Margaret’s face crumpled suddenly and she began to cry softly. Lady Guildford put her arms about her shaking shoulders and sought to soothe her.

“I loved him so much,” sobbed Margaret. “You could not understand how much.”

During the months which followed, Margaret appeared to be resigned. She had lost her innocence and those about her said: “She is growing out of childhood.” A certain hardness had crept into her expression. She was no longer in love with the King; the romantic ideal had gone but the need for sexual satisfaction was as strong as ever and that side of their relationship appeared to have undergone no change. But both James and Margaret were deeply affected by the knowledge which had come to her. Margaret was on the defensive, but James was more lighthearted because he had never enjoyed deceiving his wife and could not help being glad that the need for deceit was over. He was a man whom no one woman could hope to satisfy, and the sooner his wife realized this, the better for them both.

The absences from home were more frequent, but during them he never failed to write tender letters inquiring after his wife’s health, and these were often accompanied by some charming and costly gift.

Margaret would say to herself with that grim cynicism which had developed since her discovery: “He must indeed be enjoying the woman to suffer such qualms of conscience.”

It was not a situation which could be endured forever by a proud Tudor, but as yet Margaret — still so young — saw no way for her except endurance. But, that some way would be shown to her, she had no doubt.

It was not that she wanted revenge; she wanted only to restore her pride in herself. She discovered that she did not care enough for James to desire that revenge. To her he was merely the means of satisfying a need which was becoming more and more important to her as she grew more mature. Let him then supply this need. She would use him for this purpose and wait until she knew what she must do to establish herself in her own right — as a woman, as a Tudor Queen.

This was the time of growing into maturity. She was wise enough to understand that. Foolishly she had been prepared to adore her handsome husband; from now on she would never forget that nothing in her life could matter so much as Margaret Tudor.

Outwardly she appeared to be a high-spirited girl, not cowed but wisely accepting what could not be prevented. James was delighted with her, and when he came home from his travels the reunions were gay and pleasant occasions. The apartments of Holyrood House rang with laughter and music — which they both enjoyed; there were occasions when James entertained in his own apartments and Margaret in hers, but if James found an entertainer of talent he would send him or her immediately along to entertain the Queen. A female minstrel who was known by the name of Wantonness was an example of this. Wantonness had amused James; therefore Margaret must enjoy her singing. It was the same with O’Donnel, an Irish harper, and a luter known as Gray Steil.

James took advantage of his wife’s complacency to have Margaret Drummond’s daughter, Lady Margaret Stuart, brought to Edinburgh Castle, but when Margaret heard that the child was there her restraint broke down temporarily, and before her English attendants she demanded to know how she was expected to deal with such an affront.

Lady Guildford suggested that she might remonstrate with the King, provided she remained calm enough to do so.

“He dotes on that child,” retorted Margaret. “And I know why. He still remembers her mother. He believes that had she lived he would have been faithful to her! As if he would! As if he could ever be faithful to any woman!”

“Your Grace should remember that it is better not to show your anger.”

“That’s one lesson I’ve learned,” retorted Margaret grimly.

Still, she could not resist talking to the King.

They were planning a masque and were discussing the merits of English Cuddy and Scotch Dog and whether Wantonness should be summoned to sing with the other minstrels, when Margaret said suddenly: “James, do you think it wise to have Margaret Stuart at the castle?”

“But why not?” he asked, surprised.

“I know how devoted you are to her, but she is still a bastard.”

James said coolly: “I have decided that she shall be acknowledged as my daughter, and I swear by St. Ninian that nothing shall deter me.”

“But… ”

He had become a king suddenly and Margaret was aware that however courteous he was he would rule Scotland alone. Then she knew that there was one thing she wanted to do; that was rule Scotland herself. She understood in that moment of revelation that if James had taken her advice she could have readily forgiven him his philanderings. But he would not be advised; his gentle demeanor was a shield which hid a man determined to have his way. He was no husband for a strong-minded woman. She thought enviously of her brother Henry who on their father’s death — which could not be long delayed — would be absolute ruler of England.

“I think little Margaret finds it lonely at the castle,” went on James, “and I have for some time believed that it would be an excellent idea to gather my family together under one roof. I am therefore having young Alexander Stuart brought to the castle… temporarily of course. In time I intend to send him and his brother, Moray, abroad to be educated. I have a great respect for Erasmus and I want him to take charge of their education.”

Margaret could not remain calm. She laughed aloud suddenly. “Alexander Stuart, bastard son of Marian Boyd and the King of Scotland — a mere boy, and Primate of Scotland! Don’t you think that’s a little ridiculous, James?”

James gave his lazy smile. “One favors one’s own flesh and blood, my dear. Parents are notoriously fond and foolish.”

“Such fondness and foolishness can have dangerous results when employed by kings.”

“I see no harm done. Wait until you give me a son. For him there will be the crown of Scotland.”

“I might have more opportunity of doing so if you did not fritter your manhood away on other women.”

James laughed aloud and, reaching for her, held her in an embrace, which was mocking yet tender.

“Why, my dear, I had thought we gave ourselves the opportunity many a time; but if you feel we should be more assiduous… ”

She wished that she could be aloof, make conditions; but how could she when her sensuality demanded to be assuaged?

She felt herself laughing, growing slack in his arms; and when he made love to her she was willing herself to be fruitful.

At last it had happened.

The whole Court was delighted, but no one more than the King. Margaret was seventeen and healthy, and James had proved that he could sire strong children. Now he would have a legitimate child and, if it were a boy, a new prince for Scotland; and if it were a girl… well, there would be boys to follow.

He was now spending more time with his wife; during his occasional journeys, letters came even more frequently than they had before; gifts were showered upon her, and Margaret was happier than she had been since the first weeks of her marriage.

James had insisted that she pass the months of her pregnancy in Dunottar Castle, in the county of Kincardine, which was more like a fortress than a residence, set on a rocky plateau which jutted over the sea. He often visited her there and made sure that she was surrounded by entertainers who could keep her amused; her minstrels, luters and harpers were commanded to make her days lively; and English Cuddy and Scotch Dog were in residence to make plays for her diversion.

There was a certain amount of unrest in Scotland at this time and some of the dissatisfied lords were contemplating rising against the King; therefore, said James, it pleased him to know that his Queen was in a safe place.

Margaret wondered how much time he devoted to state affairs and how much to his mistresses. There was a new name which was being whispered throughout the Court: the Lady of A. Previously Margaret would have exerted her ingenuity to discover the identity behind that sobriquet. Now she did not bother. What did it matter with whom the King dallied? The Lady of A could cause her no more qualms than Janet Kennedy or the dead Margaret Drummond.

She was longing for the birth of her child because she felt that when she was the mother of the heir of Scotland her position would be strengthened. She looked into the years ahead and saw herself making that son entirely hers. And who knew, when the time came for him to rule, he might be more ready to listen to Margaret Tudor than his father was.