The Thistle and the Rose

The Curse of Sauchieburn

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.

She lay on her bed in agony.

So this was giving birth. How long had she lain in this state chamber at Holyrood House while the pains beset her body and the heir to Scotland refused to be born?

She was thinking of her mother who had lain in the Palace of the Tower of London, who had suffered so much pain, which had been the prelude to death.

But her mother had been twenty years older than she was; and she, Margaret, had many years before her… if she survived this ordeal.

She heard whispering; her women were talking of her in hushed, reverent tones. Were they the voices of people who knew themselves to be in the presence of death?

The pain was coming again, so fierce that she lost consciousness, and when she regained her senses it was to hear the cry of a child.

“A boy!” She heard the joyous cry throughout the apartment; and, ill as she was, a great exultation came to her.

James was delighted. He showered presents on all her women; he stared down with reverence at the boy in the cradle.

Then he came to kneel at his wife’s bedside.

Margaret looked at him dazedly. She was not sure where she was and imagined she was with her brother and sister in Richmond Palace.

“Henry… ,” she whispered, “you are not yet… ”

James was alarmed.

“The Queen is ill,” he said. “She should be rejoicing now, her ordeal over, her son in his cradle. What ails her?”

He sent for the physicians and implored them to use all their skill. He was filled with remorse for the manner in which he had neglected her. He demanded to know what ailed her and why she, who had been in such rude health before and during her pregnancy, should be so ill now that her ordeal was over.

“It is a malady which occurs often after childbirth, Sire,” said the doctors.

“And she will recover?”

They tried to reassure the King, but he saw through their pretense.

If she died he would be stricken with remorse. He remembered how he had suffered at the death of his father; he did not want to suffer so again.

He would travel to the shrine of his favorite saint at Whitehorn in Galloway, and there plead for his Queen’s restoration to health.

Footsore and weary, James arrived at the shrine of St. Ninian. The journey, made on foot, had been rough, and he was glad of this. If Margaret died he would feel some remorse for his infidelity. Poor child, she had been wounded by it in the beginning. He would begin to wonder whether her loss would be the punishment for his sins.

He remembered afresh the regret he had suffered after his father’s death. He did not want to endure the like again. If Margaret recovered, and this would be due to St. Ninian, he would go into retreat for a while with the Gray Friars at Stirling. There he would fast, pray and meditate for a few weeks, and come out feeling purged of his sins.

He never regretted building that monastery, for it had often provided his tortured conscience with the balm it needed.

Margaret and his courtiers were never very pleased when he went into retirement. He feared his Margaret was a little pagan at heart; he had seen how her attention strayed during religious services, and he noticed that if she could gracefully avoid attending them she did so. As for his friends at Court, they were too fond of gaiety to enjoy those seasons when, out of respect for the King’s temporary monastic existence, they too must live soberly.

He had taken with him on this pilgrimage only four of his favorite minstrels; he enjoyed traveling about his country informally, because he believed it gave him an opportunity of discovering the true state of affairs. He had always wished to see things as they really were, so that he could improve the lives of his subjects.

He often thought ironically that he would not be a bad king but for certain failings which he found it impossible to conquer. He was never the worse for drink; he never indulged in gluttony; he would devote much of his time to the study of laws which could benefit his country; then he would meet a woman and forget duty to state, wife and all, in his pursuit of her.

Often he said to himself: “If I could have married Margaret Drummond I would have been a satisfied husband who never strayed,” as he used to say: “If I could have known my father, talked with him, understood him, I would never have had this terrible blot on my conscience.”

He was a man of contrasts — deeply sensual yet spiritual; logical in certain matters, extremely superstitious in others; going alternately to the monastery and the bed of one of his favorites; capable of wisdom and folly.

Having reached the shrine, he made his offerings and asked that Margaret might be restored to health; then because he and his little band were so weary he commanded that horses be hired to carry them back to Holyrood House.

He was noted for his friendliness to those who surrounded him, and he was always pleased to throw aside dignity whenever possible; so the minstrels rode beside him and they all chatted in an easy fashion.

One of them said: “I hear, Sire, that Bell-the-Cat is paying court to Lady Bothwell again. They say that he is prepared to offer her marriage.”

“Is that so?” said James.

“Why, yes, Sire. The Earl has suffered pangs of jealousy on the lady’s account, so I’ve heard tell.”

James was silent, thinking of Janet Kennedy — red-haired and fiery. They had had good times together and he would never forget Janet as long as he lived; his memories of her were as evergreen as those of Margaret Drummond, though for a different reason.

He wondered if she remembered that he had given her Darnaway on condition that she did not take another lover. He had been harsh. As well imagine himself without a mistress as Janet without a lover.

And yet… he still hankered after her; and he still visited her — to see the boy, he would say, when he set out; and he did go to see the boy; he doted on his son; but it was meet and fitting that the boy’s mother should live with him, so when he saw the boy he saw her too.

James smiled, thinking of arriving at the door of her house, of her sweeping down the staircase to greet him — mocking, her eyes blazing with the passion they both could not help arousing in each other; the vitality sparkling in her.

They would talk for a while of the boy’s future; the boy himself would be sent for; and after a while he would be sent away because the need to be alone together would be too much to be gainsaid.

And now Bell-the-Cat was paying court again!

He imagined the old fellow, who must be some twenty-five years older than himself, calling on her, bribing her with offers of land… and honorable marriage. James had to admit that there was a virility about the Earl which, in spite of his age, remained with him.

Janet… with a lover!

Memories surged in and out of his mind. Janet’s red hair and white naked body; Janet’s eyes that looked green in passion. No, he would not lightly let her go to Bell-the-Cat.

He decided to make a divergence; they would not yet return to Holyrood. He had made his pilgrimage for the sake of his wife; now he must indulge himself by a visit to a mistress whom he could never entirely forget.

Margaret’s health began to improve — so it was said — from the moment James had reached the shrine of St. Ninian, so she owed her recovery to that saint, and when she was well enough must pay him the homage he would look for.

As the baby had been baptized with great pomp and christened James, Margaret left him to the care of his nurses while she traveled along the coast of Galloway to the shrine of St. Ninian. Her husband accompanied her, riding on horseback beside her litter; she must travel thus for, although she was no longer in danger, she had not yet regained her good health.

She found the journey trying, and when she returned to Stirling, continued to feel weak; this was particularly alarming because James hated to see her sick and went even more often on his travels. He was seeing Janet Kennedy very frequently now as well as the Lady of A; and Margaret had learned that another woman, Isabel Stuart, daughter of Lord Buchan, had borne him a daughter whose name was Jean.

It was true that she had her own little James now, and it was a matter of great contentment to her to remind herself that of all the King’s children, her little James in whom his father delighted was the one who was of real importance.

But the rude health which Margaret had hitherto enjoyed seemed to have deserted her. There were days when she was obliged to keep to her bed; she felt resentful of this, but Lady Guildford assured her that the ordeal of childbirth had been so great that she must expect to take a few months to recover.

She could not of course prevent James from taking mistresses; but Margaret was becoming wily; she was not sorry that there were several mistresses; if there were one only she would need to feel anxiety.

Christmas came and was celebrated with music and dancing at Holyrood House; and if the Queen was less energetic than before, the King was more assiduous in his desire for her comfort. Wantonness, Gray Steil, English Cuddy and Scotch Dog were at their best, and the King’s fool, Currie, with his wife Daft Ann, set the King and Queen laughing uproariously.

Thus time passed until that February when the little Prince James was one year old.

The Court was at Linlithgow Palace. James had returned from hawking and was ready for the feast which lay waiting for him in the great hall.

Margaret, with her women, greeting him and his companions on their return, was a little sad because she no longer felt well enough to accompany him on such expeditions.

The great hall looked magnificent, prepared as it was for the evening’s entertainment. Tapestries from Holyrood had been hung on the walls, and the logs blazing in the huge fireplace crackled and spat comfortingly. The silver platters, the goblets and bowls on the table shone in the firelight, and in the minstrels’ gallery sweet music — which was never lacking in the King’s presence — was being softly played by his favorite minstrels.

The table was placed on a dais at one end of the hall exactly opposite the minstrels’ gallery, and under the place where the King and Queen would sit was a carpet, although the rest of the hall was strewn with rushes. Servants were scurrying in and out of that door which led to the kitchens and butteries, and the smell of appetizing foods was everywhere.

James looked with appreciation at the Queen, who greeted him so warmly and asked him how he had fared at the hunt. He took her hand and led her to the table where one of his servants was waiting with a bowl that he might wash his hands.

Margaret and he seated themselves and the feast began.

One of the noblest of James’s courtiers carved for the royal pair. Margaret ate heartily but James, sitting there taking the pieces of meat in his fingers as his carver handed them to him seemed more interested in the minstrels’ music than in food.

It was always thus at table; James was no great trencherman; nor did he show much interest in the wine which was placed before him.

Wantonness began to sing, and it was clear that her song charmed him; he turned to Margaret and asked her opinion.

Margaret replied that Wantonness never failed to please; she was wondering whether during the hunt he had paid a visit to one of his women.

They were washing their hands after the meal when a messenger from Stirling Castle, where the little Prince was staying, came into the hall and made his way immediately to the King and Queen.

Margaret and James grew immediately grave when they heard what he had to say. The little boy had become fretful and his nurses could not comfort him. Now it seemed that he had a fever.

James said: “We will leave at once for Stirling.” Within an hour they were on the road.

Margaret was brokenhearted.

“Why,” she demanded angrily, “should this happen to me! His bastards flourish and my son must die. Why should I be unfortunate?”

Lady Guildford tried to soothe her. “Your Grace, many children die in Scotland and England. The little Prince had every care. And you are young. You will have other children.”

During the weeks that followed the death of the little heir of Scotland, Margaret refused to be comforted. It was so unfair, she kept proclaiming. The children of his mistresses were full of health and vigor, and the thought of them was a continual torment to her; and when her own son had been born she had found some comfort… but that was no more.

James mourned the loss of his son with her, but reminded her that no railing against fate could bring him back to them. They would have more children and in time they would forget this unhappiness.

He sought to comfort her in every way he could; he spent time in her company; he suggested that she should arrange entertainments to divert her. Let her call together Cuddy and Dog; let Gray Steil write a new song for Wantonness to sing.

Margaret could only shake her head and mourn; but she clung to him and within her was a faint exultation. At least she was keeping him away from his women.

Political affairs were taking up a great deal of the King’s attention. The King of France was anxious for his friendship and, since the marriage between Scotland and England, had tried to woo James with prophecies of the advantages a friendship between their two countries could mean. James knew that Louis was eager to break the Scottish alliance with England; and, because France and England were perennial enemies, that put Scotland in the enviable position of being of great importance to both these countries.

Louis had written that he was sending an embassy to Scotland which would bring certain plans to lay before the King.

James had left the Court to go on a pilgrimage to the shrine of St. Ninian; this was becoming a habit and, although it was known that St. Ninian was the King’s favorite saint, it was also known that he made a habit of combining this practice with a visit to Janet Kennedy.

Margaret was delighted to find that she was pregnant again; at the same time her being in such a state meant that she saw less of the King, which did not please her.

It was while she was with her women, listening to their chatter but picturing all the time what James and Janet Kennedy were doing, that a messenger came to tell her a certain English gentleman, who had come from her father, was below and asking if he might have audience with her.

Margaret, always eager to have news from home, commanded that the man be brought to her without delay.

The Englishman accordingly appeared, and Margaret dismissed her attendants because she felt that what he had to tell her might be of some secrecy.

“I am Dr. Nicholas West, Your Grace,” she was told when they were alone. “I come on instructions from your most noble father.”

“To see me?”

“To see Your Grace and the King. Alas, I have been waiting long at Berwick for a safe conduct, but since this was not granted me I have taken the risk of coming to Edinburgh and presenting myself to you.”

“The King has had much to occupy him,” said Margaret. “It may be that your plea has not reached him.”

Dr. West bowed his head. He did not believe that. He knew that the French were sending an embassy to Scotland and that the King of Scotland was eager to welcome it.

“My master, your most noble father, is not pleased with the way in which matters stand between this country and his.”

“Is that so?” said Margaret, who had never bothered herself with political matters.

“Your Grace will know that His Grace, your royal father, arrested the Earl of Arran and his brother, Sir Patrick Hamilton, when they attempted to pass through England on their way to France without first having obtained a safe conduct.”

“I did not know,” said Margaret.

“This matter has incensed the King of Scotland.”

Margaret thought resentfully: He never tells me anything. Am I not the Queen? He treats me as he does one of his mistresses. He forgets that I am the daughter of the King of England.

“But,” went on Dr. West, “there was naught else to be done. When these gentlemen passed through our country without first having asked for a safe conduct, and we knew they were on their way to France, naturally we arrested them. If I could have an audience with the King and explain this matter to him, I feel sure I could make him see the justice of what we have done.”

“I am sure the King would understand.”

“But, Your Grace, I cannot obtain an audience with the King. I come to ask you to plead my cause — and that of your royal father — for me. Your father has asked me to tell you that he knows you will remember you are his daughter and do all in your power to work for the good of your native land, and seek to dissuade your husband from accepting the friendship of your father’s enemies.”

This was a new role for Margaret — political adviser to the King. Why not? She was after all the Queen. She must show James that she was not as one of his light-o’-loves — there to enjoy a night or two of passion. She was the Queen.

She said: “You may tell my father when you see him that he can trust me to remember that I am an English Princess and the daughter of the King of England.”

Dr. West looked about him a little uneasily.

“Speak low,” said Margaret. “I understand what you have to say is for my ears alone.”

“It is important, Your Grace, that the embassy which the King of France is sending, should not succeed. I come to ask you to use your influence in every way in order to make it fail.”

Margaret nodded slowly.

James came riding back to Edinburgh. Exuberantly he came to his Queen. He had brought velvet and damask for new gowns, and jewels for her to wear with them.

Margaret expressed her delight, while the King gently stroked her swollen body.

“And how is my Queen and her little bairn?”

“Your Queen has been a little sick and very lonely.”

James embraced her, determined to banish self-pity. “Then she shall be so no longer. I want you to help me plan entertainments such as we have never had before. We have visitors coming to see us and they pride themselves on their skill at the joust. We shall have to show them that in Scotland we are no mean performers.”

“The French?” she asked.

“The French. You will be amused. Such handsome men; and such charming manners!”

“Is it fitting that you should receive the French,” asked Margaret, “when my father’s ambassador has been waiting a long time for an audience with you?”

James raised his brows in a puzzled way. “Do not tell me that my Queen is turning her attention to politics!”

“Why should she not?”

“For many reasons, one of which is that dancing and music and showing my Court how elegant and beautiful she is, becomes her better.”

“I am no longer a child, James.”

He laughed. “You grow old. Eighteen, is it?”

She shrugged impatiently. “You must realize that I am not merely a woman with whom you may amuse yourself, and who has the privilege of giving you legitimate children. I am the Queen.”

He rubbed his finger along her cheek. “A charming queen of whom any king would be proud.”

“Therefore you should talk to me of more serious matters than the plays Cuddy and Dog devise.”

“But are these not serious matters?”

“James, you know they are not. Why cannot you receive my father’s ambassador and mend this silly quarrel with England?”

He was at once withdrawn and the obstinacy showed in his face. He would be gentle and kind, he seemed to imply, but always he would be the ruler. She must understand that.

“My dear Margaret, this pretty head of yours must not be troubled with such tiresome matters. I have no wish to see Dr. West.”

“Why?”

“Other matters occupy me.”

“You are ready to dance and joust, to hunt and hawk. Why cannot you meet the ambassador sent by the King of England?”

His eyes narrowed and his lips tightened. “I do not care that my subjects should be arrested and made prisoner. It is an unfriendly action.”

“Dr. West wishes to explain this matter to you.”

“I will tell you this much,” he said. “Sir Patrick Hamilton has escaped out of England, though his brother Arran remains there. They have not been well treated in your father’s domains. That does not please me. And if your Dr. West is here to attempt to persuade me not to receive the French embassy, you may tell him he is wasting his time. I understand he has seen you. Now let him return to his master and tell him that in Scotland it is the King who decides what shall be done; and when his subjects have been maltreated he is not to be won over with soft words.”

“You are cruel to me,” cried Margaret. “And I in my present condition!”

James laughed softly. “Nay, when was I ever cruel to you? Everything in reason that you ask for is yours. You shall have pleasure, fine clothes, precious jewels. But you must not meddle, my love, in matters which do not concern you.”

He left her then, and when he had gone she stared sullenly before her. Again she had been insulted. In England, they would know that not only was her husband unfaithful to her, but he would not discuss matters of state with her. She was nothing more than a doll to be played with and set aside — she was there merely to become pregnant as soon as possible so that he might dally, in good conscience, with his mistresses.

Some might be content to accept such a position; not so a proud Tudor.

James was always remorseful when he disappointed his Queen. She was so much younger than he was that he forgot she had left childhood behind. He always saw her as the girl of thirteen she had been when she first came to him.

He sought therefore to placate her with childish amusements. He spent a great deal of time with her discussing the entertainments, but she was listless because it seemed wrong to her that these pleasures should be planned for the visiting French embassy who were enemies of her father.

To please her, James brought two Moorish girls to her who had come to Scotland from Portugal. They were very beautiful girls and their dark skins and flashing eyes attracted a great deal of attention among the Scots.

“They wish to become Christians,” James told her. “I am going to give them into your care.”

For a while Margaret was interested in the girls. She took them into her household and they were baptized — one as Margaret and the other as Ellen. Margaret grew fond of them — particularly of Ellen who became generally known as the Queen’s Black Ellen. They appeared at the jousts, where they attracted attention, and the Queen took great pleasure in dressing them in gold and scarlet to show off their extraordinary dark beauty. No tournament was complete without the Moorish girls; they would be placed near the Queen, and their desire to serve her was apparent to all.

But Margaret could not be long content with the services of these two lovely girls; she wanted power, the first place in her husband’s affections and councils.

James, watching her, began to wonder whether he knew his Margaret after all, and to placate her he did see Dr. West, and he allowed the Queen to attend a meeting at which Sir Patrick Hamilton was present and at which he declared on oath that his brother Arran had been ill-treated in England.

After the meeting, James took his Queen by the hand and led her to her apartments; when they reached them he kissed her gently on the brow.

He said little but his meaning was clear. There, he was saying, you see, you should not meddle in politics if you are wise. What can a young girl — albeit she is a queen — know of what is happening at the courts and in the countries of her husband’s enemies?

When my child is born, thought Margaret, when I hold my little son in my arms, then everything is going to be different.

The people of Edinburgh had rarely seen such splendor as they did that June when the French embassy was welcomed to Scotland.

The Castle and Holyrood House were the scenes of banquets, masques and plays; in the courtyards of Holyrood House a play, written by English Cuddy, was performed; but what delighted the people more than anything were the brilliant jousts in which Scotsmen tested their skill against the French. These took place during the warm summer days and they were accompanied by all the pageantry and color that could be devised.

To the tournament came the Queen’s Black Ellen, in a litter carried on the shoulders of fourteen men, from the Castle to the scene of the tournament. The people applauded her and marveled at her exotic beauty; the strangeness of the French delighted them also and the people declared their loyalty to a king and queen who could give them such pleasure.

Margaret was especially cheered whenever she made her appearance. Her pregnancy was very noticeable now, for her time was near and the people were sure that she carried the heir of Scotland. She had lost her firstborn but that sorrow was forgotten now that she showed signs of giving Scotland the heir.

All through the day it seemed the minstrels played and the trumpets sounded. The French knights acquitted themselves well and it was all the Scotsmen could do to hold their own against them. This was disconcerting because they had been inclined to underestimate the skill of these lithe Frenchmen whose clothes were far more dandified than their own, and whose manners were almost effeminate by Scottish standards.

The Scotsmen would have been defeated but for the sudden appearance of a stranger in their midst. They did not know who he was, but he wore the Scottish emblems and he defeated the first of the French champions with an ease which set the crowd roaring with delight.

He jousted again, and again was the victor.

Soon everyone was talking of the man whom they called the Wild Knight, who appeared every day at the jousts, and one by one challenged the French champions, all of whom went down before him.

The French muttered together that this was no man; it was a god of some kind; it was impossible to beat him at the joust, for he was unconquerable.

At the end of the last day of the jousting, the King announced that there was to be a grand feast which he was calling a Round Table of King Arthur.

This was the climax of the brilliant entertainment. Margaret, seated beside the King, was to give the prizes for those who had won honors in the jousts, and the citizens of Edinburgh crowded into the Palace to watch their King and his guests and to marvel at the splendor they saw.

Margaret was happy, for there was little she enjoyed so much as these displays and there was no question now of her importance. She was the mistress of the revels, the Queen, who would give the prizes and proudly carried the heir to the throne. The heat was overpowering and she could wish that her confinement was behind her and she already the mother of a healthy boy; but she could not complain of the homage all — including the King — bestowed on her. If only he had been a faithful husband! If only he respected her intellect as he did her beauty, how contented she would be! But she must enjoy life while it was good.

The King whispered to her: “What think you of my Round Table?”

“A fitting end to all the pageantry,” she answered.

“Let us call the child Arthur.”

“Why, yes!” she cried. “And whenever I look at him I shall remember this day.”

When it was time to present the prizes all declared the first prize should have gone to the stranger, the Wild Knight who was the conqueror of all; and, said the French champions, they felt they should not take their prizes while he, who excelled them all, did not come forward to take his.

There was a hush in the hall, for it seemed that the event for which all were waiting — the prize-giving — would not take place unless the identity of the Wild Knight were revealed.

Then James rose and addressed the assembly.

“My friends,” he said, “since you insist on my revealing my identity, I will do so. I am the Wild Knight, and I trust our guests will not think hardly of me for the injuries I may have inflicted upon them.”

His words were cut short by a great cheering which shook the hall.

Margaret turned to him, her eyes shining, as the child moved within her.

If he were but my faithful husband, how happy I should be, she told herself.

Margaret was brought to bed in the middle of sultry July. The last weeks had been difficult ones, and she feared that she was a woman who must suffer more than most at the time of childbirth.

Her ladies were about her bed; but the King did not come near her; he could never bear to look on suffering.

“But when my son is born,” murmured Margaret, while her women wiped her brow with a kerchief smelling of sweet unguents, “it will all be worthwhile.”

At last, after much travail, the child was born.

Margaret heard the whispers in the apartment and her heart sank.

“A maiden bairn.”

“Alas, alas, Her Grace so longed for a son.”

The child lay in her arms and James came to stand by her bedside, to smile at her, to soothe her; and to try to pretend that he was as delighted with the birth of his daughter as he would have been with that of a son.

There had been only time to christen the baby before she died. Melancholy brooded over Holyrood House. The lutes and harps were silent; the Queen was desolate and James the King went about with an expression of sorrow on his face.

It was Margaret who tried to comfort him.

“There will be other children, James. We have been unfortunate, but that cannot continue.” Then she burst out passionately: “I have seen the common people in the streets. Mothers with children at their skirts and at their breasts. Why should this happen to us!”

James buried his face in his hands. “Sometimes I think I am cursed,” he said. “Never shall I forget that day at Sauchieburn when I fought on one side and my father on the other. What an unnatural son I was! To go into battle against my own father.”

“James, you were but a boy.”

But he shook his head. “I was old enough to know what I did. And for this I am cursed… cursed with failure to give my country an heir.”

Margaret put her arms about his shoulders; it gave her a certain pleasure to see him thus. At least he laid no blame on her for their ill luck, as many a man would have done. And he was very eager for the comfort she could give.

“Why,” she told him gently, “we shall get ourselves an heir.”

“But see how these births affect your health. Remember how ill you were last time… and this… ”

“I am young, James, and strong; I shall soon be well.” A cunning look came into her eyes. “Perhaps it is because you squander your manhood on other women that you cannot give your lawful wife a child who will live.”

“Nay,” was the answer. “My father loved many women, yet he had sons. It is because of my ill deeds at the time of Sauchieburn. There is a curse on me.”

Margaret put her arms about his neck.

“We will defeat the curse, James. With our love for each other we will defeat it.”

He held her tightly as though he were asking for her protection. Margaret felt strong then, with an infinite faith in the future.