The Thistle and the Rose

The Wild Knight

It was April and there was a promise of spring in the air. Margaret sat at a window of her apartments looking out on Arthur’s Seat, and she laid her hands on her body and rejoiced because once more she had conceived.

This time all would be well. She was certain it was a boy she carried. She wondered why she had been so unfortunate and why it was that her children did not live. She herself was so strong and healthy — or she had been until she had suffered so from her ordeals. James was strong and lusty. Why could they not get healthy children?

Before the birth of her daughter, who had died so soon, she had spent some months at Lochmaben Castle where Robert the Bruce had been born. James had said: “Go there, stay there for a while; it would be well if you lived during those waiting months where my noble ancestor drew his first breath.”

She had agreed to go; yet while she was there she had spent as much time wondering with whom James was dallying as she had thinking of the effect the great Bruce might have on her child.

Perhaps last time they had concerned themselves overmuch; perhaps those women, whom she saw in the streets with their children at their heels, did not fret during their pregnancies. They might even regret them. Could one long for something so fervently that fate perversely denied it?

Thus she was musing when Lady Guildford came to tell her that messengers from England were below and they brought letters from her father’s Court.

“Bring them to me without delay,” cried Margaret, and when the letters were brought to her, she read them several times before she could fully grasp their significance.

Her father… dead… and her brother King!

When she had last seen Henry he had been not much more than ten years old — a swaggering, boastful boy with the words “When I am King” continually on his lips. Well, now he was King. He was also a man. And her father, who for all his coldness had been a good father, was dead.

She put her hand over her eyes. This was real sorrow. She felt apprehensive, a little frightened and alone; and she realized that, all through the years which had been lived in Scotland as James’s wife, she had thought of her father on his throne — all-wise, all-powerful, always there in case she should need him.

Now her brother Henry was in his place. She wondered what effect this was going to have on her and James — on England and Scotland.

James came to her, for he too was excited by the news.

“What difference will this make, James?” she asked. “Who knows? Your father was a wise man — not always easy to deal with, but one respected his sound good sense.”

“And my brother?”

“He is as yet untried. You knew him. Do you think he will follow his father’s cautious ways?”

Margaret saw him clearly in her mind’s eye — rosy-faced, flushed, little mouth prim; the arrogance in his strong young body, the love of flattery and finery.

“I do not think he will be like my father,” she said. “He writes to me in most friendly fashion.”

“I am glad of that. For I could not be happy if Scotland and England were not good friends.”

“Ah,” said James lightly, “you should not grieve for such a matter. You are no longer English, remember; you are the Queen of Scots. If there are differences, you should not take them to heart.”

“I trust you will not allow your friendship for the French to stand between you and friendship with England.”

James patted her hand gently and made no answer. Instead he said: “Your brother is going to marry Katharine of Aragon, so I hear.”

“But she was my brother Arthur’s wife!”

“Henry sees no reason why she should not be his also.”

“She is older than he is and I remember she was rarely at Court. She lived aloof from us with her Spaniards. I am surprised.”

“I have heard that your brother’s ministers were not eager for the marriage, but he is a young man who will have his own way.”

Margaret smiled. That was true. In the old days people had said they were alike — not only in looks but in temperament. Lucky Henry to be able to say, “I will have this” and “I will do that” — and have none who dared gainsay him.

In October of that year Margaret’s son was born, to wild rejoicing.

With great pomp he was christened Arthur and declared Prince of Scotland and Lord of the Isles.

Margaret suffered a difficult labor as usual but because the child was alive she came through this in good spirits and quickly regained her health.

She delighted in the child who was named in memory of Arthur of Britain but also of Margaret’s favorite brother, who had died so tragically at Ludlow Castle soon after his marriage to that Katharine of Aragon who was now Henry’s wife and Queen of England.

This reminded her that Arthur had left her certain jewels in his will, for he had been as fond of her as she of him; but she had never received them. It had been exceedingly difficult to persuade her father to part with anything of value and he had always had some excuse for not sending jewels from England into Scotland; but now he was dead and Margaret did not see why she should not ask Henry to let her have what was hers. She received an affectionate letter from Henry, but he said he could not send her jewels to Scotland. He believed that her husband was very friendly with the French, and the French were no friends of the King of England. If he sent the jewels, how could he be sure that the King of Scotland might not sell them and use the money to make war?

Margaret showed the letter to James whose face darkened with anger.

“It would seem,” he said, “that we shall not live on such peaceful terms with your brother as we did with your father.”

“But Henry is eager to be friends with you,” Margaret insisted.

“My dear, you do not understand these matters. Your brother is a young king in possession of the great wealth your father amassed over long and careful years. ’Tis my belief that he intends to spend lavishly… on pleasure and mayhap war. I hear that he is already planning a campaign against the French. It is easy to see that relations between our two countries will be less cordial than they were during your father’s reign.”

“Henry is only a boy,” insisted Margaret. “He is new to kingship and anxious that everyone shall know how powerful he is.”

“Power is dangerous in the hands of boys,” was James’s comment.

Margaret ceased to think of politics, for after a few months of life little Arthur followed his brother and sister to the grave.

This was too much to be borne, and the King and Queen were prostrate with sorrow.

James was certain now that he was accursed, and he blamed himself afresh for the part he had played at the time of his father’s death.

“Perhaps,” he said, “I should go on a pilgrimage to the Holy Land. I begin to fear that we shall never have a son who will grow up to be King after me.”

But Margaret refused to despair.

She put her arm about him. “We have been unfortunate, but has not my brother’s wife met with the same misfortune? We will try again, and this time our son will live. I know it.”

“You are right,” James told her. “It is foolish to fret.”

Hope came to them when, shortly after the death of little Arthur, Margaret was once more pregnant.

“Now,” said James, “we must take every precaution. I will go at once to St. Ninian’s shrine and there ask him to take especial care of you.”

“It might be well if you paid no visits on your way back from the shrine,” said Margaret shrewdly. “Mayhap St. Ninian feels it is disrespectful of you to go from him to your mistress.”

James was thoughtful; he decided that he would not visit Janet Kennedy on this occasion.

Now the King and the Queen, together with the whole Court, thought constantly of the importance of the coming birth. Every precaution was taken to placate any supernatural influence which might prove hostile. Relics were brought to the Queen to kiss; some she kept with her at all times. But James and Margaret devoted themselves to prayer and meditation. With only one or two lapses James was the faithful husband. He devoted himself to naval affairs and spent a great deal of time in the company of Sir Andrew Wood watching the building of a new ship which was to be greater in every way than the two — named the James and the Margaret — which had been recently built. Often he would stay the night on board; and during the first months of her pregnancy, Margaret often joined him there.

If she could only have been sure of producing a healthy child and did not suffer sickness and the disabilities which were always her lot at such times, those would have been the happiest months of Margaret’s life. Never since those early days of her marriage had James been so completely hers.

One of the happiest days of all was that in October when the great ship was launched and she stood with James listening to triumphant drums and trumpets as the ship rolled into the harbor of Leith.

It was a day of rejoicing. The Queen pregnant; the greatest ship any of them had ever seen, successfully launched! It must be celebrated with worthy entertainment; and on the arrival of the royal party at Holyrood House a play was performed.

When it was over and the King and Queen had expressed their pleasure, Margaret called the principal actor to her in order to compliment him. This was a young man named David Lindsay who was known as Lindsay of the Mount; he was a poet and had been for some years in the royal household. The King had made him equerry to his first heir, the little Prince James who had died when he was about a year old.

David Lindsay was greatly respected throughout the Court, being a man without any ambition except to live a good life; he was devoted to literature rather than to position and wealth; and both Margaret and James had an affection for him.

“I want to thank you for your performance,” Margaret told him. “It was a pleasure to watch.”

Delight shone in David’s gentle face. “’Twas a good part, Your Grace,” he said.

“And your play coat of blue and yellow taffeties became you well,” Margaret added. “Pray, tell me the cost, that you do not pay it from your own pocket.”

“It was three pounds, four shillings.”

“A goodly sum, but it was a goodly performance you gave us and well worth the sum.”

James turned to him and added his praise to the Queen’s. “Why, Davie, you are indeed a credit to our Court.”

“You were usher and equerry to my firstborn son who died, alas,” said Margaret. “I intend to ask the King to make you the same to this child which is soon to be born.”

James cried: “’Tis a good choice. None could make a better.”

“I thank Your Graces,” murmured David. “I assure you I will never betray the trust you have placed in me.”

“Do this then,” said James. “Pray for a safe delivery for the Queen and a healthy boy for Scotland.”

“I shall continue to pray thus, Your Grace.”

When he had left them James said to Margaret: “He is a good man, that Davie, and one whose prayers may well find favor. We cannot have too many prayers.”

It was April again and Margaret lay at Linlithgow. Her time had come and in the streets the people stood about and asked themselves what would happen this time. If the Queen failed again, they would say that there was indeed a curse on their royal family.

Some months before, a comet had appeared in the sky — it sent out beams as though it were a sun; and thus it had remained for twenty-one nights.

A warning? A sign of evil? A bad omen?

Now the people remembered it and asked themselves these questions.

There were services in all the churches; there were prayers throughout the country.

A son! A son for Scotland.

Margaret lay groaning on her bed.

“This time a son,” she prayed. “This time he must live and he shall be called James after his father.”

“A boy!”

The triumphant words rang through the Palace, through the streets of Linlithgow; they were carried to Edinburgh and all over the country the people rejoiced.

The King came to his wife’s chamber and demanded to see his son. There he was, lustily crying, a strong little boy with a down of tawny hair on his head and, so said the women of the bedchamber, already a look of his father.

“Let the bells ring out!” cried the King. “Let Scotsmen rejoice, for this child will live.”

Margaret, exhausted but happy, slept and when she awakened she was refreshed and declared that this was different from her other pregnancies.

As soon as the Queen was able to leave her bed, there must be a feast such as there had never been before. Lindsay of the Mount must come and take charge of the little boy’s nursery. The child must be watched over night and day to ensure that he continued in perfect health.

Margaret was now the triumphant mother assuring herself that her little James showed none of the weakness of his brothers and sister. Healthy, lusty, his voice could be heard in his nursery when he crowed and clucked, as though he was determined, as his parents and attendants were, that he should stay alive.

Preparations were made for the feast. Four wild boars were roasted with four oxen; there were ninety-four pigs, thirty-five sheep, thirty-six lambs, seventy-eight kids, seventeen calves and two hundred and thirty-six birds besides pies and cakes of all description.

The wine ran freely and the sounds of rejoicing resounded not only in the Palace, but throughout the country.

James, Prince of Scotland and the Isles, had come to stay.

Little James prospered in his nursery and delighted all who beheld him, though none more than his father and mother; but now that they could believe he was in truth a healthy boy and they need not continually fear he was going to be taken from them, it seemed unnecessary to observe such rigorous piety as they had before his birth.

Margaret no longer prayed for long hours each day; as for James, he had been a faithful husband too long, and abstinence from his favorite game was too much to ask of him.

He was off on his travels once more, and it was whispered that not only did he visit the old mistresses but had added several new ones to those who pleased him.

Anger flared in Margaret’s heart. She had been so contented during those weeks of pregnancy when he had been constantly at her side. And now that she had produced a healthy boy, he felt it was enough to visit her occasionally, to share her bed that they might do their best to get more children — one heir not being enough.

She looked about angrily for a diversion.

There was politics. She remembered a conversation which had taken place between herself and her brother Henry before her marriage; then he had deplored the Tudor–Stuart alliance; he did not like what he had heard of her husband. And now that he was King, he seemed to remember that dislike. There was trouble brewing between Henry and James; and it seemed an insult to her that her husband should be more inclined to favor France than the country of his own wife. This is characteristic of the way he has always treated me! she told herself.

It was only reasonable that she should be on the side of her own countrymen and her own brother, and she was going to do everything she could to ruin the chances of the French and advance those of the English. If she did, Henry might give her the jewels which Arthur had left her. But it was not for that reason that she had decided she would dabble in politics.

She was a woman of spirit, so how could she stand by with indifference while her husband openly visited her rivals.

There was another interest in her life. She was young and beautiful; and now and then she found the eyes of some of her husband’s courtiers resting on her, and their looks were meaningful.

She had come to Scotland prepared to love her husband, and she would never have given a thought to any other man had he been faithful to her. But he had wounded her pride — always strong in the Tudors — so, she asked herself, could she be blamed if she, like James, found others interesting?

She had never allowed her fancy to go beyond glances and the imagination. When she bore children she must be sure they were Stuarts of the royal house; but for that, it might have been a different story. She needed restraint in those days — restraint to curb her irritation, her wounded pride and most of all her natural impulses.

James was on a visit to St. Ninian’s shrine, which meant of course a sojourn with Janet Kennedy; and as Margaret sat at her window in Linlithgow Palace looking out over the loch, she was not admiring the sparkling stretch of water but picturing those two together.

There was a boat on the loch and in it were a young man and woman. Margaret watched him plying the oars while the young woman played the lute. It made a charming picture. She guessed the man to be about her own age, although he might have been a little younger.

I believe childbearing has aged me, thought Margaret ruefully.

She turned her gaze to the men and women who were sauntering at the lochside, but her attention went back to the man in the boat.

She rose and called to her woman. “I have a fancy,” she said, “to go on the loch. Go and tell them to prepare my boat for me.”

In a very short time she was lying back in her boat, her lute in her hands, her hair showing golden beneath her headdress; the excitement which had come to her making her look very young indeed.

“Who is that in yonder boat?” she asked Lady Guildford who had accompanied her.

Lady Guildford tried to hide a faint alarm which, knowing her mistress so well, she could not help feeling. So far Margaret had behaved with decorum, although it had to be admitted that she suffered some provocation.

“It’s young Archibald Douglas, Your Grace.”

“A Douglas! Old Bell-the-Cat’s son?”

“Grandson, Your Grace.”

“Ah, yes, I see he is very young. And who is the lady with him?”

Lady Guildford’s mouth was a little prim. “That, Your Grace, is his young wife.”

“Indeed. And who is she?”

“She is Margaret, daughter of Patrick Hepburn, Earl of Bothwell.”

Margaret began to laugh. “There seem to be so many Margarets at the Court of Scotland.”

“It is a charming name, Your Grace,” murmured Lady Guildford.

Margaret did not answer, but she continued to watch the young man. She had always had a liking for Old Bell-the-Cat because he had sought to rival James in Janet Kennedy’s affection. And this was his grandson. How handsome he was! Gazing at him, she realized that her husband was beginning to look his age. All the Stuart good looks and charm could not give him eternal youth; and what a pleasant thing youth was. He must be near my own age, thought Margaret, possibly younger.

She turned her attention to his wife. Insipid, she decided, and unworthy of him.

Now their boats were close together and the young Douglases were aware of the proximity of the Queen.

“It is pleasant on the loch today,” Margaret called in a friendly fashion.

“It is indeed so, Your Grace.” His voice was melodious, as she had known it would be; and now that she was closer she could see how fresh his skin was, how bright his eyes. She liked the way his hair curled about his neck. By sweet St. Ninian, she thought, using her husband’s favorite oath, if Old Bell-the-Cat had half the good looks of his grandson, James must have found a formidable rival in him for the wanton Janet.

She played her lute as sweetly as she knew how and the lute in that other boat was silent.

When she had finished there was a round of applause in which he joined most heartily.

She bowed her head in acknowledgment of the applause.

Lady Guildford ventured: “There is a breeze arising, Your Grace. Should you not consider your health?”

“Row us to the shore,” Margaret commanded; and she turned to smile at the occupants of that other boat.

Trouble had flared up between Scotland and England. James was still smarting under Henry’s refusal to let Margaret have the jewels which were rightly hers, when news was brought to him that the English had seized certain Scottish ships and in the fight which preceded the capture an admiral of Scotland, Sir Andrew Barton, had been killed.

Margaret found him pacing up and down his apartment in an anger which was rare for him.

“I’ll not endure this,” he cried. “It is not a matter which can be settled over a council table. This is an act of war.”

Margaret wanted to know of whom he spoke, and when he retorted, “The English!” her resentment rose afresh. Why would he not take her into his confidence? Surely he realized that she could procure concessions from her own brother which his ministers could not hope to achieve.

“I doubt not,” she said tartly, “that there were faults on both sides.”

James regarded her thoughtfully.

“This quarrel goes back to the days when my father was on the throne,” he explained.

“Why don’t you tell me all about it, James? Don’t you see that because I am English I might be able to help?”

“You must admit that your brother is headstrong and hardly likely to listen to advice. But this is what happened. One of our merchants, a certain John Barton, was taken prisoner by the Portuguese and put to death. This happened, as I said, in my father’s reign. His family wanted vengeance on his slayers and, since this was denied them, they put to sea in an endeavor to destroy all the Portuguese ships that came their way. This was a dangerous thing to do, for pirates are reckless men and when there were no Portuguese ships available they sought to make prizes of ships of other nations. Some of these happened to be English. That was how the trouble started. The Howards fitted up ships and set out in search of the Bartons. This is the result.”

“It would seem to me that the Bartons deserved their fate, and what has happened is no reason for enmity between you and my brother.”

“The English have no right to destroy Scottish ships.”

“Nor have Scotsmen to act as pirates against English ships.”

“It is certainly a matter which must be brought to a stop. And as a result Lord Dacre and Dr. West will be arriving in Edinburgh shortly to discuss some sort of settlement with me.”

“I think you should listen to them in a friendly spirit,” said Margaret.

“Do not forget that your brother holds valuable property of yours which he will not give up.”

“I am sure if I were to plead with him I could make him understand that this strife between our countries is foolish and dangerous.”

“Strife is always dangerous, but I do not trust your brother, Margaret, and I never shall.”

“Yet you are ready enough to trust the French.”

“I have no reason to do otherwise.”

“And with the English… ”

“Why, you yourself know he will not give up your jewels.”

“James, when Lord Dacre and Dr. West come to Edinburgh, will you allow me to see them?”

James hesitated. Then he said, “Very well, you shall have your interview with them. Then perhaps you will understand where the fault for this enmity lies.”

Margaret received Dr. West and Lord Dacre in her apartments in Stirling Castle. Her son was with her there, for she did not care that he should be far from her and she always found great pleasure in visiting the nursery where David Lindsay was already in charge.

David seemed to be acting as nurse to the boy. He it was who carried him about in his arms, and in spite of young James’s age he was already aware of the devotion of this man and apt to be fretful when he was not present. David Lindsay watched over the child with the utmost care and had at last, after several failures, discovered the perfect wet nurse for him in a buxom Irish woman.

David could scarcely wait for the boy to grow up, so eager was he to introduce him to music and poetry. But he never for one moment forgot how important to the country was this young life; and in those early days he gave his attention to his bodily needs. It was a great pleasure for Margaret to visit his nursery, and hear from David how her son was progressing. He was a beautiful baby, full of good health; and while this was so, other matters seemed of far less importance.

All the same Margaret did want to make peace between her brother and her husband. She had thrown herself into this project with great zest, partly because she was a woman who would always want to rule; partly to take her mind from young Archibald Douglas whom she saw frequently and of whom she was thinking far too much.

When she received the English ambassadors she greeted them with warmth and asked many questions as to the health of the King and Queen of England. His Grace, her brother, she was told, was in fine good health; the Queen, due to her recent disappointment, a little less so.

“My poor sister!” said Margaret with feeling. “I beg you, when you return, tell her that I pray for her continually and I hope with all my heart that in due course she will be as happy as I. Now tell me, have you brought me news of my legacy?”

“Yes, Your Grace. The King, your brother, will most willingly send it to you.”

“Ah,” cried Margaret, “I knew he would. Then when will it arrive?”

“His Grace makes one condition. It is that the King of Scotland makes solemn promise to keep the peace with England and to sign no treaty with France.”

Margaret was startled. She knew that James would not consider such conditions, and she was as far from receiving her jewels as ever; and moreover, relations between her native land and that of her adoption were going to suffer greater strain.

“And if my husband refuses to accept these conditions… ?” she began.

Dr. West answered: “Your Grace, it grieves me to say this, but I repeat the words of my master. If the King, your husband, is determined on a state of war between England and Scotland, the King, my master, will not only keep the legacy but take the best towns of Scotland also.”

Margaret was fearful; she could almost hear her brother’s blustering boastful voice.

She was seeking for some rejoinder when James entered the room to see how the interview was progressing. She was glad that he had not heard those last ominous words.

It seemed imperative to Margaret that she heal the breach between her brother and husband. This dabbling in politics brought a new excitement to her life at a time when she needed it.

On several occasions in the dance she had found herself partnered by young Archibald Douglas, and she was thinking of him more frequently.

James was inclined to listen to her, but she knew that this was due to his natural courtesy rather than to any desire for her opinions. James was headstrong and believed in making his own decisions; if he would not always take the advice of his ministers it was scarcely likely that he would listen to that of his wife, who must necessarily lack their knowledge and experience.

“Why, James,” said Margaret, “it is possible that I might persuade Henry to bestow on our little James the title of Duke of York. Poor Katharine of Aragon seems unable to give him male heirs — so why should not our child benefit?”

James was dubious. He had never trusted Henry; he never would. And every day he was receiving the French ambassadors and making excuses to avoid the English.

Margaret was doubly disturbed. News had come to her that her brother Henry had already sailed for France to make war on Louis XII, leaving his wife, Katharine, as Regent during his absence.

How like him to be so impetuous! thought Margaret. He had sought to win from James a promise of peace that he might go to France without thought of an enemy’s attacking from the North; but since he could not win this, he had acted without it.

Henry with the flower of his army in France! What would James do now?

She soon discovered. James was longing to make war on his insolent brother-in-law and naturally this was the ideal time to do so.

He was closeted with his ministers who were, Margaret was thankful to realize, not so eager to plunge the country into war as their King was.

James must be persuaded to remain at peace. He must understand that Henry was new to kingship; he had for long been subdued by his father and, now that he was King, was determined to be master. He had always seen himself as a leader of men, so it was natural that now he wanted to see himself as a conqueror. Margaret, who had known the boy Henry so well, believed that the man was not so different. Let him try his wings in France; then he might not be so eager for battle. That was what she wanted to explain to James.

But James’s chivalry was touched from an unexpected quarter.

The Queen of France, Anne of Brittany, had written to him to tell him that when her husband’s embassy had returned to France they had recounted to her and the king how they had been entertained in Scotland, and how at the jousts there had been one known as the Wild Knight who had beaten all comers. She had often thought of the Wild Knight, a great gentleman; in fact she had thought of him as her knight, and she was sending him a token of her regard.

The token was a ring of enormous value. She begged him to wear it for her sake.

She was sorely distressed at this time because the English troops under the brash young English King were on French soil, and she was, in truth, appealing to the chivalry of her Wild Knight. Would he consider helping a lady in distress?

James put the ring on his finger and thought of the French Queen who wrote to him so eloquently. He pictured her at her table writing to him, the tears in her eyes; and his heart was softened. He believed that it was in his power to bring great joy to her, and to himself, by defeating the English.

He answered this appeal immediately by sending his ships — the James and the Margaret — to the French coast, and he put the Earls of Arran and Huntley in command of them.

Then, because it was against his idea of true chivalry to declare war on a country whose King was absent, he dispatched his Lord Lyon in full herald’s dress to Henry’s camp at Terouenne to announce that he was declaring war on Henry for the following reasons:

Henry had taken Scotsmen prisoner; he had withheld the legacy of Margaret, Queen of Scotland; he had slaughtered the Scottish Admiral Andrew Barton; and by these deeds he had broken the peace existing between England and Scotland.

Margaret was dismayed. She had so longed to show her brother the influence she held over her husband. And without telling her what was afoot, he had made himself the knight of the Queen of France, giving way to her, while his beautiful young Queen was ignored.

Margaret awoke. It was night and, stretching out her hand, gently she touched the sleeping body of her husband. So near, she thought, and yet so far away.

She remembered then riding into Scotland and how she had changed her dress on the roadside because she had wanted to look her best for him; then she had fallen deeply in love with him and for a time had believed herself to be loved.

It seemed now that the whole of her married life had been an affront to her pride.

She began to weep.

“What ails you?” It was James’s voice in the darkness.

“Oh, have I awakened you? I crave pardon for that.”

“But tears! Why?”

“It was an evil dream.”

James, who was almost as superstitious as his father had been, was alarmed. He believed fervently in the significance of dreams.

“What was this dream?”

“I dreamed that you were standing at the edge of a precipice and, while I watched you, men came running. They were soldiers and they seized you and threw you down.… I saw your body mangled and battered, and I could not bear it.”

James put his arms about her. “You are overwrought,” he soothed.

“Nay, but this dream was vivid. And it did not stop there. I was sitting in my chamber looking at my jewels — my coronet of diamonds and my rings; and as I watched, my diamonds and my rubies all turned to pearls. And pearls are the sign of widowhood and tears.”

Being aware of her desire to turn him from his purpose, James was not as impressed by this dream as she had hoped he would be. “It is clearly a meaningless nightmare. Go to sleep and forget it.”

Margaret withdrew herself from his arms and sat up in bed.

“What I tell you is of course of no account,” she cried bitterly. “Now if I were the Queen of France you would listen to me. Alas, I am but the Queen of Scotland… your own wife whom you have constantly deceived and ignored.”

James was tired; he disliked such scenes at any time but at night they were doubly distressing. He lay down and began breathing as though he were sleeping.

“Oh, you can pretend to sleep,” stormed Margaret. “Let us hope you have pleasanter dreams than I. Let us hope that you dream you are reading love letters from the Queen of France… fighting her battles for her like her own true knight.”

“Margaret, be silent. You will arouse our attendants.”

“What matters it? They will only hear me say what they know already. Do you deny that you have made yourself the knight of the Queen of France? I wonder you did not go to France instead of Lyon. Then you might have had a chance of sharing her bed.”

James did not answer, but Margaret was not going to be silenced.

“The Queen of France!” she cried scornfully. “Twice married by means of divorces! A fine lady to arouse the chivalry of her Scottish knight. But she must be served while the mother of your son is cast aside.”

James rose quickly and seizing her pulled her down beside him.

“Be silent!” he commanded, and there was an angry note in his voice.

“I will not! I will not!” she sobbed.

“You are being foolish,” said James gently.

“Why? Because I have loved you too well? Because I have wanted to have a share in your life?”

“Have you not had a share in my life?”

“I have had my moments… and then I have been forgotten. I have been here merely to bear your children. Your mistresses have had more of you than I. And now this woman… this Queen of France… beckons you and against the advice of your ministers you are ready to do her bidding. This old woman — and everyone knows she is in a decline — says, ‘Be my Knight,’ and you are ready to serve her.”

“Surely you cannot be jealous of an old woman who is in a decline?”

“I can be jealous of all who take you from me.”

“Oh, Margaret, why cannot you be calm… serene… ?”

She cried out: “Like that other Margaret. She was always so calm, was she not? She was so understanding! Well she might be! Grateful for the attentions of a king. But I was the daughter of a king before I was the wife of one… and I demand… I demand… ”

She was choking on her sobs again; he stroked her hair and laid his lips on her forehead, and for some minutes they lay silent.

Then at length she said: “James, you are really going to march across the Border?”

“Yes.”

“My sister-in-law, Katharine of Aragon, will gather together an army to meet you.”

“That is very likely.”

“James, when you go south, let me come with you. Let me meet my sister-in-law. Together we will talk and make peace. There is no need for war.”

James remained silent.

“James,” she went on, “will you let me come with you? Will you let me talk to Katharine? She will not want war any more than I do.”

“Nay,” agreed James, “she will not want war. Nor will your brother. They would prefer to wait until he returns from France with the full strength of his army. Then, wife, they will not hesitate to march across the Border. By sweet St. Ninian, have you forgotten that he has declared he will take the best of our towns for himself if we break not our alliance with France?”

“You should have broken your alliance with France. You should never have sent ships there.”

“I see,” he said ruefully, “that you are an Englishwoman still, and the English were always enemies of the Scots.”

“Should I be an enemy of my husband… of my son?”

“Poor Margaret! It is sad that your brother and your husband should be at war. But for this you must blame your brother.”

She was angry again. “Nay,” she cried, “I blame my husband. My husband who, because the French Queen flatters him into becoming her Wild Knight, turns from his true wedded wife to give her pleasure.”

“Nay, Margaret, this is not so. Never should I have taken up arms against your brother if he had treated me as a friend.”

“I could have made friendship between you.”

“Never!”

“You would not let me try.” She sat up in bed and abused him for all that he had made her suffer. She taunted him with his infidelity — the lies and subterfuge during those first months of their married life when he had feigned to be occupied by state affairs and was in truth with his mistresses.

“What sort of marriage is this… for the daughter of a king!” demanded Margaret.

She was a little hysterical, because she was afraid. She had related a dream to him which had not occurred that night, but her sleep had been uneasy of late, and although her dreams had taken no definite shape they had been filled with foreboding.

She could not analyze her feelings for this man. There were times when she hated him, others when she loved him. She loved him for his virile body, for his graceful and expert lovemaking; but she could never forget that he, who had awakened her to the full sensuality of her own nature, had deceived her, had made her foolish in her own eyes. She had dreamed of an idyll; if he had only seemed a little less perfect during the first days of their marriage it would have been easier to bear. She would have come to a sense of reality before she had built a romantic ideal. She believed that as long as she lived she would feel cheated — and he had done this.

She wanted to tell him so now, because she had a notion that this was the time to tell him. Perhaps she hoped to make him relent toward her, to take her with him into battle. For suddenly she was terrified to let him go.

He had taken her trembling body in his arms and the intensity of her passion communicated itself to him. There could only be one climax for them in such a situation.

When they lay silent and exhausted side by side, Margaret stared into the darkness.

She was certain that that night she had conceived again.

The King was preparing for the march south. The Queen was subdued and silent.

She had taken the young prince to Linlithgow and James was with her; but he would not stay long. The country was ready for war.

She did not plead again to be allowed to accompany his army, because she knew it would be fruitless. He was particularly kind and gentle but adamant on that point.

“I feel our son will be safe with you,” he told her. “I shall make you Regent of my kingdom and guardian of our heir while I am away.”

She nodded sadly and lowered her eyes for fear he should see the resentment which she did not believe she would be able to hide.

He told her that he had called a council to be held in the Palace and that during it he hoped to complete his plans.

“It will not be long before I am back with you,” he said. “I pray you take counsel with English Cuddy and Scotch Dog. I shall expect good entertainment on my return.”

English Cuddy! Scotch Dog! As though she were a child to be amused with their trifles.

But she did not give up hope of persuading him.

Help came from an unexpected quarter, when the Earl of Angus, old Bell-the-Cat, presented himself to her.

Margaret felt stimulated at the sight of the old warrior because she was interested in the Douglas family for two reasons: one that this man was a rival with James for the affections of Janet Kennedy; and the other that he was a grandfather of his namesake,Archibald Douglas, who had so caught her fancy and whom she could not get out of her mind.

“Your Grace,” said Bell-the-Cat, “I have heard that you sought, most wisely, to turn the King from his intention to attack England, and I have come to ask your permission to work with you in this endeavor.”

Margaret flushed with pleasure. “You are very welcome, my lord,” she told him. “I am sure your experience and reputation should be of great help in changing the King’s mind.”

“That is what I wish to do, for I am of the opinion that this is not the moment to engage in war.”

“I will ask the King’s permission to go with you to him now that you may talk to him.”

The old man bowed his head, and Margaret called to one of her attendants to go to the King and ask if he would receive her and the Earl of Angus who had come on a mission of great importance.

James sent a reply immediately that he would be pleased to receive them in his apartment, and when the Queen presented the Earl, he regarded him with distaste.

He could not help picturing him with Janet, and he knew that Angus felt the same about him. They were rivals — and they always would be, for Janet was a woman whom it was difficult to forget.

Angus too suffered from tormenting jealousy. The Stuart was one of the handsomest fellows in Scotland. Such looks and charm, and a crown to go with them! No wonder Janet had been tempted,

“What is it you wish?” James asked.

“To add my pleas to those of the Queen on this matter of war,” Angus told him.

“My mind is made up,” replied the King coldly.

“Sire, the English have always been a formidable enemy.”

“I am well aware of the strength of my enemy, my lord. But as it happens the flower of the English army is at this moment engaged in attacking my friend and ally, the King of France. And this seems an opportune moment for me to wipe out old scores. As you doubtless know, I have already declared war on the King of England.”

“Sire, will you not call together your old counselors?”

“Your friends?”

“They will set their reasons before Your Grace, as I will do.”

The King shrugged his shoulders. “I am in no mood to listen to your advice, Angus. My plan shall go forward.”

“At least,” put in Margaret, “Your Grace should listen to what these tried and trusty men have to say.”

“Very well,” replied James. “I will hear you. Let there be a council meeting of those who share your views, and I will attend it; but I warn you, I shall not agree with your arguments and you are but wasting your time and mine.”

“Your Grace is good,” murmured Angus. “I will bring to the Palace certain members of my family and my friends who share my views, that we may parley with Your Grace.”

“As you will,” said James, but his lips were set in the obstinate lines which Margaret understood; and she knew that he had already made up his mind.

The Douglases came to Linlithgow in their strength. Margaret met the eldest son of Bell-the-Cat, George, Master of Douglas, who was the father of Archibald. She had a glimpse also of the younger Archibald himself, and there was an opportunity of exchanging a word with him.

“I rejoice to see your grandfather at Linlithgow,” she told him when she met him as if by chance on his way to the council meeting.

“I thank Your Grace,” murmured the young man, bowing over her hand.

“I pray that he will persuade the King from this enterprise.”

“I will add my prayers to those of Your Grace.”

“Thank you,” she said, and smiled at him in a manner which embarrassed him slightly because he was not sure of the meaning behind her looks.

It was said in the Palace that the Queen and old Bell-the-Cat were allies, more because of Janet Kennedy than the English.

But there was another thing which was said, and that was that there was a party in the country opposed to war; and this became known as the Queen’s and the Douglas faction.

James listened to the objections to war and swept them all aside. He had made up his mind. He was going to march against England.

The King had gone to the Abbey Church of St. Michael with some of his ministers to pray for a successful enterprise and was attending vespers in St. Katharine’s Chapel there when an extraordinary incident occurred.

James was kneeling in prayer when, out of the dimness of the chapel, a strange figure appeared. This seemed to be an aged man dressed in a blue gown, with a roll of white linen tied about his waist; his hair hung in yellow locks about his face and fell to his shoulders.

His voice rang through the chapel so that all could hear: “James, King of Scotland, listen to me and take heed. Sir King, I charge you — do not go where you plan to go. If you ignore this warning, you will not fare well — nor shall any that follow you. Beware. Follow not the counsel of women. Do this, Sir King, and you will be confounded and brought to shame.”

There was a brief silence and before any had time to detain the man he had disappeared.

James rose to his feet. “Who spoke then?” he cried.

His friends were clustering about him.

“Did you see a figure… a strange figure in blue and white?”

“I thought so.”

“Where is he now?”

“He was there one moment… and gone the next.”

Frightened glances were exchanged. None was as eager to go to war with England as the King was.

James said: “Bah! A madman.”

“Perhaps so, Sire, but where did he go?”

“We have other things with which to concern ourselves than the antics of madmen,” said the King.

Margaret awaited the return of her servant.

He was trembling, for he had feared he would not escape. He had planned what he would say if he were caught; he would tell the King that the Queen had commanded him to act as he had; and he knew the King well enough to believe that he would shrug his shoulders and laugh aside the incident.

But he had not been caught. The Queen had planned carefully. It had been possible to emerge from the shadows to say his piece; to step back; to slip behind the curtains and out through the little door at the side of the altar to the privy stairs which led to the Palace.

“Well done,” said Margaret.

She waited now to hear that her husband and his friends had been shaken by what they must have thought was a supernatural vision.

But she was disappointed.

James had gone to Edinburgh, there to supervise his artillerymen who were bringing the military equipment from the Castle where it had been stored. Among this was the great cannon which the King had recently had made and which was known as the Seven Sisters.

It was at this time that the second strange incident took place.

The army was now assembled on the plain of Borough Moor near Edinburgh, ready to march, when at midnight a voice was heard ringing out, it seemed, from the Market Cross.

“These men are summoned to the Bar of Pluto within forty days!” cried the voice. Then there followed a roll call of the names of certain illustrious men who were following the King into battle.

Many of the people of Edinburgh lay cowering in their beds as they listened to the voice; but some ran out into the streets and, although they made their way to the Market Cross, they could not discover whence the voice came.

This was an evil omen, they said. They had heard how a strange figure had appeared when the King was at his devotions. Clearly he was being warned against going to war.

When the King was awakened from his sleep at Borough Moor and told of the voice at Market Cross he merely yawned. “There are some who are misguided enough to attempt to divert us from our purpose,” he said, and he smiled, somewhat tenderly thinking of one.

Was she responsible for the voice, as he was ready to believe she had been for the mysterious figure in the chapel? He knew of the door beyond the curtain which led to the Palace. His Queen was a woman of imagination and she believed that she could unnerve him through his superstition. But he was only superstitious when he felt he had acted unworthily; and the more he contemplated the war into which he was plunging his country, the more right and logical it seemed to conquer the old enemy at a moment when, by conducting this foolish war on the French, he was at his weakest.

Of course it was a war against his own brother-in-law and Margaret could not bear that her husband and brother should be in conflict. It was a natural feeling. But there was no blood-tie between him and Henry, and if ever Scotland had had an enemy that enemy, he was convinced, was Henry VIII of England.

He would forgive Margaret her little essays into the supernatural. He knew them for what they were, and they were not going to move him one inch from his purpose.

On a hot August day the Scottish army began to move toward the Border. Margaret went with it, riding beside the King at the head of the cavalry. She had accepted the fact at last that it was useless to try to persuade him to give up the campaign. The light of battle was in James’s eyes and nothing would deter him now.

With James rode his son by Marian Boyd, Alexander Stuart, a handsome youth in his teens who had already been appointed Archbishop of St. Andrews. Glancing at this handsome youth, Margaret was glad that her own small son was safe in the care of David Lindsay at Linlithgow; but Alexander was glowing with health and high spirits, eager to prove himself in battle, and there was no doubt that James was delighted to have his son with him.

They arrived at Dunfermline where they stayed the night. It had been decided that Margaret should go no farther but return to Linlithgow to be with the young Prince.

That was a tender night which Margaret was to remember. James had said to her: “Margaret, let us forget all rancor. Let it be as it was when you first came into Scotland.”

She had been gentle too; and as they lay clasped in each other’s arms James let her know that he bore no grudge against her for the tricks she had played on him; nor had he told anyone of his suspicion that she was involved in them. “For I know,” he said, “it was but wifely concern which prompted you to act so. And, if all should not go as I hope, I have left orders that you are to be tutrix to our heir as long as you remain a widow.”

Margaret cried out in horror: “Do not say such things. It is unlucky.”

“Ah,” he murmured, “it is you who are the superstitious one now.”

“We are all superstitious where our feelings are concerned,” she told him; and she wept a little, not only because he was going to leave her, but because he had never been all that she had once believed he was.

He comforted her with soft words and told her that he would be back victorious within a few weeks. “Why, the land will be undefended. A few battles — and England conquered forever, a vassal of Scotland. And then, my love, in years to come it will be said: ‘That was the work of James IV of Scotland… and his Queen, Margaret Tudor, who was a good wife to him.’”

“And to whose counsels he paid no heed!”

“When this is over I will pay heed to all you say.”

“Ah,” she murmured, “when this is over!”

Then they made love, first tenderly, and then with rising passion.

As though, thought Margaret, they who had done these things so often now did them for the last time.

So Margaret returned to Linlithgow and James continued the march south.

It seemed that James had been right. The Border was unprotected. The flower of English chivalry was indeed in France with the King. All along the line the Scots were victorious and all through those preliminary skirmishes James kept Alexander Stuart beside him and rejoiced in his young manhood.

He wished the boy had been his legitimate son. What a king he would have made!

He told Alexander this and was delighted to see the horror dawn in the young face. “But if I were your legitimate son how could I be King while you lived? And if you are to die, I would as lief die with you, as take your crown.”

Wonderful words from a son to a father. And thus it would have been with my father, thought James, had he treated me as a father should, as I have sworn I will behave to all my children.

Those were glorious days, and James felt young again. Each morning to ride to fresh conquests, teaching his son to make war as a man, with victory crowning all their efforts. Pleasant too to watch old Bell-the-Cat fighting as one would expect such an old warrior to fight, but sour because he had not believed in the war.

He was too old for battle, too old for lovemaking. Perhaps Janet had realized that by now.

And so the war went as Scotsmen could wish. Then they came to the frontier castle of Ford.

The castle stood on the east bank of the Till stream in the north of the county of Northumberland. Alexander, riding beside his father, said: “It’s a grand place, but it’ll fall to us as easily as the others.”

James looked toward the two towers at the east and west fronts of the edifice and replied complacently: “More easily, my son, for the castellan is already our prisoner. He is Sir William Heron who now lies in a dungeon at Fastcastle for his part in the murder of one of our Scottish knights. I do not think this castle will hold out long against us.”

“Then here is yet another conquest!” laughed Alexander.

They were right. There was little resistance at Ford Castle. Into the courtyards rode the Scots, where the defenders of the castle were on their knees begging for mercy.

James, always a generous conqueror, called to them to have no fear, for they would not be harmed unless they acted treacherously toward him and his army. He merely wished to take the castle and rest here for a night before proceeding.

“Take me to him who is in charge,” he cried.

He stepped into the great hall where, her head high, the color flooding her cheeks, dignified yet unafraid, stood a woman and with her a young girl.

The woman was remarkably beautiful; the girl fresh and charming, scarcely out of her childhood. James’s expression softened immediately, and the gallant took the place of the soldier.

“Madam,” he said, “I could wish we had met in happier circumstances.”

She did not answer but regarded him steadily.

“Have no fear,” James went on gently. “It is not our custom to harm women and children.”

“We must at least be grateful for that,” she answered.

“My men are hungry and thirsty. Could you give them refreshment?”

“We are at your mercy,” she replied gravely, and, turning, signed to her servants that they must lay the great table and feed the conquerors.

James was at her side: “While this is being done, may I have a word with you in private?”

She led him into a small parlor, and as he followed her he saw with pleasure that Alexander was seeking to reassure the frightened girl as he, James, intended to reassure her mother.

When they faced each other in the parlor James brought forth all his charm, and he could not hide the speculation in his eyes as, connoisseur that he was, he noted the beauty of her face, her slim waist, her white bosom, her rounded hips. She was a beauty and it was a pleasure to be in her company.

James laid a hand on her arm. “First,” he said, “I must teach you not to be afraid of me.”

She lifted her enormous black-fringed eyes to his face and smiled suddenly. “No,” she said, “I do not think I shall need to fear you.”

James laughed. “Now,” he said, “we are friends?”

“Friends? My husband a prisoner in one of your castles! Our own home besieged and conquered!”

“Look upon this as a friendly call,” James urged.

“Listen to the soldiers in the courtyard. This is war, and however kind the King of Scots may be, nothing can alter that.”

He took her hand and before she could withdraw it — and he was quick to notice, being so practiced in these matters, that she had not in truth hurried to do so — he had kissed it.

“There are compensations in all things,” he answered, “even in war. Would it be possible for wine to be brought for me here, and would the lady of the house share it with me as though we were friends… which I hope we soon shall be?”

“You are in command,” she said.

“But nay!” he answered promptly. “I would not force my company upon you. I shall wait for you to invite me to share a goblet with you.”

She left him in the parlor, and in a short time returned with a servant who carried wine and two goblets.

“Serve first the King of Scotland,” Lady Heron ordered. “And then serve me.”

So they sat in the parlor and talked. He spoke of the horrors of war; the need for one country to take up arms against another; and how in the wretched business of wars there were now and then interludes which made of it a glorious adventure.

The soldiers lay about the castle grounds glad of a rest; Alexander had found the young girl a pleasant companion, and she was as attracted by him as he was by her.

Meanwhile the King grew more and more enchanted with the company of Lady Heron. She was young, beautiful, and was learning to trust him.

“You without a husband, I without a wife,” sighed James. “It would seem that we might offer comfort to each other.”

Lady Heron was not coy; she admitted that she found the King of Scotland charming even as he found her, and by nightfall their friendship was progressing so rapidly that it had all the appearance of courtship. The pursuit of a woman had always been a more fascinating project than that of any enemy, and quite irresistible to James.

By sweet St. Ninian! he thought. How glad I am that we came to Ford Castle, and what great good luck that Sir William Heron is imprisoned and so not present to spoil the fun.

James had a feeling that he would not sleep alone during his night at Ford Castle.

He gave instructions that the Lady Heron and her family and dependents were to be treated with the utmost courtesy. He and his men were guests in the castle, he would have them know, and any brutality would be severely punished. He asked the Scots to remember their chivalry. Lady Heron was to be free to come and go as she wished in the precincts of the castle; there was to be no suggestion of making any prisoners.

The long day was coming to an end and the friendship between the King and the Lady of the castle now seemed moving toward an inevitable climax. Alexander, who admired his father more than any man on Earth, sought to emulate his manners and habits by pursuing the daughter of the house with the same gentle yet persistent charm as his father used in pursuit of her mother.

Old Bell-the-Cat saw what was happening and gnashed his teeth in rage. The King seemed to forget that they were engaged in war. Since he had set eyes on Lady Heron he had behaved as though he were a friendly neighbor paying a visit.

Well, they would leave a few troops in Ford tomorrow and march on. But the amorous nature of his King — reminding him as it did of their rivalry — was galling to the old man, both as a soldier and a lover of Janet Kennedy.

Lady Heron looked out from the window of her apartment over the darkening countryside. She was excited because as a born intriguer and a woman of light morals, she found the position exciting.

She was expecting a message, for she believed this would surely come to her if the King of Scotland arrived at Ford Castle. She was hoping for it; it was going to give her the excuse she needed; but even without it she would not forgo her night’s pleasure.

He was certainly attractive and would be an accomplished lover. She would feign reluctance… at first. But she would have to act with skill because, for all his outward charm, he was not without shrewdness and insight.

Her maid came to tie her hair and, as she passed the comb through those long curls, she bent close to whisper.

“The messenger is below, my lady. He came with stores for the castle, and he is not to see you for fear of arousing suspicion. He has told me what I must say.”

“Then say it,” said Lady Heron.

“The Earl of Surrey asks your help. He cannot be ready for several days. He wants you to hold the Scotsman here until he sends word that he is ready to meet him. If the Scots march south tomorrow they will find no real resistance, but a few days will alter that. So it is imperative that they are held here.”

Lady Heron nodded slowly. “You’re a good girl,” she said. A lascivious smile played about her lips as she murmured: “What is asked of a poor woman in the service of her country!”

They were delighted with each other.

“Is there to be just this one night?” asked Lady Heron, her great eyes filled with brooding melancholy.

“I am at war,” laughed James.

“You are conquering all before you… the castles of England, the women of England. Must you go so quickly?”

To leave Ford Castle and Lady Heron, now that he had discovered what pleasure she could give him, would indeed be a blow. It had been a night of exciting discovery; yet he felt he had more to learn of the beautiful and willing lady of Ford.

What could one more night matter? He pictured the army camping that night in some cheerless field and he shivered with disgust.

No, as he had told her, it was episodes such as this one which made war a great adventure.

“Perhaps we might tarry one more day and night,” he murmured.

She laughed delightedly. It was so pleasant when one could combine the service of one’s country and the satisfaction of one’s bodily needs. Surrey would be pleased with her.

And if he could dally one night, why not two and three?

So in the castle courtyards the Scots soldiers lay about playing dice, or following the royal example and flirting with the maidservants. They were happy enough in the delay.

Old Bell-the-Cat stormed into that apartment which had been set aside for the use of the King.

“Your Grace,” he cried sternly, “this is folly. We dally here while the English are mustering their forces to come against us. Already much precious time has been lost.”

“Nonsense!” retorted James. “The rest and relaxation we enjoy here are preserving our strength so that when the time comes to fight we shall be ready.”

“We are frittering away our strength on senseless pleasures,” retorted Bell-the-Cat, who was too disgusted with his King to mind his words. “I tell Your Grace, we are giving the English that which they most need: time. Had we gone forward we could have attacked them while their numbers were small.”

“I would be ready to fight the English if they were a hundred thousand more in numbers.”

“Your Grace, you could return to Scotland now. You have shown the English your warlike intentions. You have taken certain of their castles. That will suffice to keep your oath to the Queen of France. I implore you either to go forward now… or return. I have reason to know that the Earl of Surrey is gathering more and more men to his banner every day.”

“The Earl of Surrey is a friend of mine. You forget, it was he who escorted the Queen to Scotland.”

“He is now Your Grace’s enemy, and he serves his King well.”

“The King of England is fortunate to have such good servants.”

“If Your Grace will either go on to attack or return to Scotland, you will find as good servants as those of the King of England.”

“You forget, Angus, that I am the commander of my own armies.”

“I’ll not stand by and see the crown of Scotland placed in jeopardy.”

James’s eyes blazed with an anger rare to him. Then he looked at Angus and saw before him an old man. Was he a little jealous of the pleasures shared by the King and the Lady of the castle? Did this remind him of what the King had taken from him when he had taken Janet Kennedy?

James shrugged aside his anger.

“If old Bell-the-Cat is afraid of the English, then let him return to Scotland. I doubt not that we will win victory without him.”

“Bell-the-Cat was never afraid of the English, but he’ll not stand by and let them take the time they need.”

“Then… goodbye.”

The old soldier bowed and retired.

Next morning he set out for Scotland; but he left behind his two sons so that, when the King went into battle, there should be Douglases to fight for Scotland.

Surrey’s herald had arrived at the castle.

Lady Heron, seeing him come, knew that the brief love affair between her and the King of Scotland was coming to its end. She had done her duty. Surrey had gathered his army and was waiting.

The herald was taken to the King and there gave him greeting from the Earl of Surrey, together with the request that he would name a day for the battle.

This James declared himself delighted to do; and although his generals assured him that it was important they should surprise the English and mow them down with Thraw-mouthed Meg — which was another name they had given to their “Seven Sisters” cannon — James would have none of this. He was determined to go into battle as he went into the joust. He was the Wild Knight, who must conquer through fair play.

On the morning of the ninth of September the armies prepared to meet at Flodden.

James was exultant. Beside him — on foot as he was — stood his son Alexander. “Keep close to my side,” he warned. “And if you are in difficulty remember I am nearby.”

“Yes, Father,” was the answer.

James loved the boy — loved his shining youth, his vitality.

Oh, he thought, if I had but stood beside my father as this son of mine now stands beside me, there would have been a different story to tell of Sauchieburn.

He could see the English banner fluttering in the breeze. It would soon be over, this decisive battle which would mean the end of strife between England and Scotland forevermore. Henry would return from France to find his country lost.

He heard the roar of the cannon as the two armies met at the foot of Brankston Hill.

The Scottish army was divided into five divisions with Home and Huntley leading the vanguard; in the rear were Lennox and Argyle; while James, with Alexander, was in the center; in the rear was the reserve under the command of the Earl of Bothwell.

At four o’clock in the afternoon the battle started and at first it seemed that the English were losing ground, when Sir Edmund Howard, who led the English, lost his banner and his men were quickly in confusion; but Surrey had, on account of the time which had been allowed him, gathered together a strong army, and others were ready to step into the breach and take the place of Howard’s men.

James was in direct conflict with Surrey’s section where the fighting was at its most fierce. All about them was the noise of battle; the clash of spears, the roar of the cannon and cries of wounded men and horses.

James was conscious of Alexander beside him and for the first time wished that he had commanded him to stay at home, for he had caught a look of startled horror on the face of the boy who had so far experienced nothing but light skirmishes and had dreamed of war which had not been like the reality.

This was no joust. This was war to the death. The enemy was determined to drive the Scots back beyond the Tweed and the Cheviots; and the Scots were determined to go forward.

“Alexander, my son… ”

James felt a sob in his throat for his beautiful Alexander had fallen and there was blood where there had but a moment before been the freshness of youth.

“Oh, my son… my son… ”

Mercifully there was little time for remorse. He did not see the man who struck him. James was dressed as an ordinary soldier for he had determined to go into battle as one of his men; he had wanted no special treatment. He was a soldier just as they were.

So he fell, as men were falling all about him.

The battle raged; and it was only later when the fighting was done that the terrible truth was known. On that day of glorious victory for the English and bitter defeat for the Scots, ten thousand Scotsmen lay dead or dying on Flodden Field and among them was their King.