To Lie with Lions - Dorothy Dunnett [309]
Julius was not here. He was married.
Patrick Graham, Archbishop of St Andrews, was not here, for his luck had changed for worse as well as for better. Patrick Graham remained skulking at Rome, while unfortunate accidents happened to his belongings, and the tide of resentment ran high.
By contrast, Nicholas was held in esteem: the Church was well represented at Holyrood. The Abbot his landlord, of course, and Tulloch, and Blackadder, and Knollys of the Knights of St John. And with these the great officers of the Household: Whitelaw and Argyll, Crawford and Sinclair, Semple and Hamilton.
Of the girls of that time, Joneta Hamilton had long left Kinneil, and the others were unknown except to him: the mistresses whom Simon could never again hope to enjoy. For of course, Simon was not here, nor his father. Martin of the Vatachino had also gone: to consult with his superiors, they said.
The doctors were present: Scheves and Andreas with their training in mysteries; Tobie who kept himself apart. The royal sisters glittered and sparkled at the table of honour: Bleezie Meg, the short, forceful maiden whom he had begun by half drowning, and who would dare any venture. And the lady Mary, come to honour him, despite the small comfort he had vouchsafed.
She had asked for his advice, these last days, and he had given it. He did not think the King her brother would relent. If she joined her husband, forced out of England, she would face perpetual exile, and see her children homeless in penury. Tom Boyd’s own cause was lost. Now his name and his future lay with his children, and with her as their regal protector. She had wept. She would stay, with the children and Betha and Phemie. Both were here. But Betha would leave Haddington soon, with another royal infant to care for. The Queen, plump and smiling, was there.
And so were the merchants. Young Bonkle, now divorced from the Bank and trading with Bruges and with Veere. The veterans, the family names: Napier and Lauder. Andy Crawford and Richard his son. Thorn Swift. John Lamb from Leith. Tom Cochrane who, from cutting and building, had discovered how to be everyone’s expert. And Oliver Semple, factor, bailie and agent for more than the Beltrees land now.
And the Berecrofts family, whose roots had persistently threatened to tangle with his: old sharp-tongued Will, and Archibald the Younger, who had given him shelter, and become a steady companion to both Kathi and Gelis. And Robin, whom he was leaving. It was eighteen months since the crazy game on the ramparts, and all that had followed in Iceland and the Low Countries and France. He could teach Robin nothing now that would benefit him.
He knew the musicians who played for the feast, but Whistle Willie was there as a guest, with others – Arnot, Malloch – he remembered from Trinity. Established, pensioned, entrusted with the funds to create his magnificent Chapel Royal, Willie’s fortunes also had changed, but the man had not. He sat glaring at Nicholas, defying him, forbidding him to leave the country he had adopted.
And lastly, the King and his brothers. Rebellious John of Mar, bored and sullen, who had once goaded Henry so cruelly. Sandy, whose dreams he had listened to, and who had turned to him in the last year, sitting late at night in the Canongate house with Jamie Liddell beside him, questioning, arguing, conjecturing. He had never spoken of these meetings to the King, for James could be jealous.
And James? They sat next to one another this time, Nicholas and James, in doublets and robes of identical richness, with identical chains crossing their shoulders, the unicorns glinting: the experienced man; the young King. Some things were different, some were not. This was not now a callow youth, but a man and a father, diligent, fretful, pinned by Fate and by pride to the long hours at the council table, in the assembly hall, or the chamber of state.
His mother had been a strong woman, conscientious, religious, who had ruled alone for three years, and had died when James was eleven. Her officers