Royal Road to Fotheringhay - Plaidy Jean - Страница 53
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When he came, all five Marys greeted him warmly.
“Come and sit here,” commanded the Queen. “Now, Signor David, please sing the new song you brought to me last Monday.”
They listened entranced to his beautiful voice.
“You shall lead the choir for my brothers wedding,” declared the Queen.
He was overwhelmed with delight, as he always was by the slightest favor; that was why it was such a pleasure to do little things for him. If she could give him some small task, the doing of it seemed to please him more than praise. His attitude toward her was one of adoring devotion.
“David,” she said, “I am going to make you my valet de chambre. Then we shall not have to send for you when we want you. You will be here among us. Where do you lodge now, Signor David?”
“In the porters lodge, Madame.”
“Well, henceforth you shall lodge in the palace, and your chamber shall be near mine, as I shall need your services often. Can you write in the French language, David?”
“Madame, it is as my native language.”
“Then why did you not tell us before!” cried Mary in French. “Now we shall all speak French. We like to do so when we are alone.”
“Tell us about yourself, David,” said Flem. “That is if Her Majesty would permit it.”
“Her Majesty permits,” said Mary, “and is as eager to hear as you are, my dear Flem.”
“There is little to tell,” began David. “My life was of no great interest… until I came to the Court of Scotland. I was born at Pancalieri. We were very poor, but my father was a musician. From my childhood it was singing… singing songs… and, of course, playing the lute.”
“Then I am glad of that, David,” said the Queen. “Not the poverty, of course, but the singing and the lute-playing. Doubtless it has made you the musician you are.”
“I am glad of it now, Madame, since it brought me to your notice.”
“What else, David?” asked Beaton.
“When I was of an age to leave home, I was sent to serve the Archbishop of Turin. There I played music, sang in his choir, and acted as his secretary.”
“Were you as competent a secretary as a musician?” asked Beaton.
“I think I gave satisfaction, my lady, since from the Archbishop I was able to go to Nice and the Court of the Duke of Savoy.”
“And there became secretary to Moretta,” added Mary. “Who knows, I might make use of those secretarial qualities also. I will do this, David: I will pay you a salary of sixty-five pounds a year, and, if you please me, I shall increase it.”
“Madame, your goodness overwhelms me. It is sufficient reward to serve Your Majesty.”
“But it is not sufficient for us, is it?” she demanded of her Marys.
“We would have you dressed in velvets, you see,” explained Flem.
Mary said: “Beaton, my dear, give David money so that next time he comes to us he may be dressed in velvet. And he must have a jewel too.” She looked down at her hands and drew off a ruby ring. “The color suits you, David. And I think it will fit your little finger.”
His dark eyes gleamed, and they saw the tears shining there. He fell to his knees, and taking the ring he put it on his little finger; then he pressed it against his lips.
“There it shall remain,” he said, “until the day I die. A constant reminder of the day Your Majesty gave it to me.”
JOHN KNOX preached the wedding sermon in the Kirk of St. Giles.
Lord James was a favorite of his; he looked to the young man, with high hopes. Naturally there were times when it was necessary to admonish his pupil, but John Knox had declared Lord James to be a friend of God and the true religion, which meant a friend to John Knox; and John Knox, the practical man, while keeping his eyes fixed on his place in Heaven, saw no reason for ignoring advantages which might accure here on earth.
He was not sure of Agnes Keith. He did not trust women. So now he spoke out. “Unto this day the Kirk has received comfort from you. Let God and the Kirk not find you fainter in purpose than you were before, or it will be said that your wife has changed your nature.”
Mary was restless, waiting impatiently for the sermon to be over. When would the odious man finish? Was this the way to preach a wedding sermon? But Jamie was listening intently; and others seemed spellbound by the fire-breathing preacher.
Through the streets, when the church ceremony was over, went the wedding procession. It was magnificent, but Mary remembered another in comparison with which this seemed like a village wedding. Yet it was more grand than any seen before in Edinburgh, and it would show the people how she loved this brother of hers. He was a Protestant and she was a Catholic; but that made no difference to their love, she believed, and she wished her people to take this to heart.
James, now Earl of Mar, still hankered after the Earldom of Moray; but Huntley, who lived in the Northern Highlands like a king, could not be persuaded to give it up. James had said: “It is a sad thing, my dearest sister, that there should be those in this country who endow themselves with a status above that of the Queen.”
“It is,” Mary agreed. James was referring to Huntley; Mary was thinking of John Knox.
The feasting went on for several days, and the citizens gathered outside Holyrood listening to the music and seeing what they could of the dancers. There were banquets and masques; and Mary had arranged that everything should take place in the elegant French manner.
Through the streets of Edinburgh John Knox stalked, shaking his fist at the palace.
“Within those walls,” he roared, “the Devil dances. Painted harlots mingle with seducers. There’ll be fornication in the Palace of Holyrood this night.” That subject dominated his mind; it was one on which he seemed compelled to dwell. “Jezebel calls the tune, and her four handmaidens—Sin, Lechery, Lust and Evil-living—beckon the weak.”
During the revelry, Mary found time to talk to her brother. “Jamie, on occasions like this I feel at peace with the whole world. I would like to call my enemies to me and speak peaceably with them. I fear John Knox is too far set against me, but what of the Queen of England? If I could have a meeting with her … if we could discuss, in person, our differences, would that not be a good thing?”
James smiled at his sister. “It would indeed.”
James was indulgent. She was so pretty, and so impetuously foolish at times. She would never be a great ruler; she would be no match for the Queen beyond the Border. Elizabeth of England would never have tolerated in her country such a powerful nobleman as James intended to be in Scotland.
But such thoughts made him fonder of her than ever. He liked to see her dancing and enjoying her French games, laughing at the witticisms of her fool, La Jardiniere, frittering away the days whilst the grown-ups got on with the work.
“I am glad,” she said, “that you are in agreement with me, Jamie. I will sound Randolph on the subject at the earliest possible moment. Oh, Jamie, I do so long to see her. One hears so many tales of her. Her courtiers say she is dazzlingly beautiful, but we hear different reports sometimes. I should enjoy meeting her face-to-face.”
James looked into his sister’s animated face. “She would never forgive you if she saw you.”
“Forgive me! For what, James?”
“For being a hundred times more beautiful than herself.”
Mary was delighted. Compliments came rarely from James. Poor frivolous lass! James was thinking. Thinking to set herself against the shrewdest woman in the world!
But it was for her frivolity—and all that it might lead to—that he loved her.
At that evening’s banquet, Mary, who had previously had a word with the Englishman Randolph, lifted her golden goblet of wine and, rising to her feet, cried: “I drink to the health of my sister of England, Queen Elizabeth.” Whereupon all at the table rose and drank with her, to the especial delight of Thomas Randolph who adored his Queen, and Mary Beaton who adored Randolph and so was delighted to see friendly relations between him and her beloved Mary.
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