Three Sisters, Three Queens

LINLITHGOW PALACE, SCOTLAND, SUMMER 1513

We visit Linlithgow to see James, our son. The ride is beautiful in the warm summer weather. We go cross-country until we reach the broad banks of the Forth and the water meadows that stretch for miles. As it is midsummer the milkmaids go out every morning and evening and call the cows who are hock deep in lush grass, and at dinner we eat possets and milk puddings, creamy toppings and the rich cheese of the area.

We approach the castle up the sloping ride from the loch and as we enter through the broad gateway, I can see my son James in the arms of his wet nurse in the pretty inner courtyard. Thank God he is growing and strong, past the dangerous date of his first birthday, settled with his Irish nurse, giggly and waving his little clenched fists at his father, screaming with delight when he is pursued, toddling off on fat little feet.

We have easy days at this most comfortable palace. I take the baby down to the loch every day and sometimes we take a boat out, and I let him paddle his toes in the water. The lake is teeming with fish: trout and even salmon. His father wades into the cold deeps with a rod and line and promises me that I will have salmon for my dinner. The gillies go out with him and together they bring back a string of fish, scales like silver, too heavy for one man to carry.

In the evenings I summon James to drink wine with me at the top of the tower on the queen’s side, where the stairs go up and up and at the very head there is the tiny room, roofed against the rain, which looks all over Lothian. When the sun sets I can see the sky all around me as if I am an eagle in an eyrie, the clouds like lace lying over silk. When it rains or when the clouds roll down from the hills I can see huge rainbows, arching up as if they are pointing the way to heaven.

“I knew you would like this,” James says with satisfaction. “When I planned it and had it built for you I imagined you, like this, at the very top of your own palace, looking around. Tell me it is as fine as Greenwich!”

“Oh, it’s so different,” I caution him. “Greenwich is a palace set flat on a tidal river, built for peace. Here you have a palace but still you have a hill and a moat and a drawbridge. Greenwich has a long marble quay before it, modeled after the Venetians, where anyone may land, and doors stand open all the summer. This is more like a castle than a palace.”

I see the disappointment in his face. “But there is no comparison,” I reassure him. “Here we have the most beautiful rooms which lead into one another, the most beautiful great hall. People all around are amazed by it. And here I can ride out around the loch, sail in a boat—look at the quay you have built for the royal sailing boat! And if I want to hunt, there is a park filled with game for me. It is a beautiful palace, perhaps the loveliest in Scotland. And this, at the top of the tower you built for me, is the prettiest room I have ever been in.”

“I am glad that you have come to love it.”

“I have. Nobody could fail to love it.”

“That’s good, because here I have to leave you. I have to go to Edinburgh tomorrow,” James says, as if it is nothing but an errand to fetch something. “And then I will meet with my lords and march on England.”

I feel a sick heave in my belly. “What? So soon? Do you mean to go to war?”

“As I must.”

“But the peace . . .”

“Has to be broken.”

“The treaty . . .”

“It’s void. Henry voided it whenever he arrested my men on the seas, and whenever he let his Northern lords raid our lands. If my fleet had caught him as he sailed for France we would have been at war already. As it is, they will wait off the French coast and catch him on his return. In the meantime, we will strike hard and quickly into England.”

I put my hands over my eyes. I am an English princess. I came here to prevent this. “Husband, is there no way that you can find peace?”

“No. Your brother wants a fight. He is a young man, and a fool, and I can lead this campaign, paid for by the French, to regain our lands, and establish ourselves as a mighty neighbor.”

“I am so afraid for you.”

“Thank you. I imagine you are afraid for yourself.”

“That too,” I say honestly. “And for our boy.”

“I have provided for him.” He speaks as if this is merely careful housekeeping, not a preparation for his death. “His tutor will be William Elphinstone, the Bishop of Aberdeen.”

“You don’t even like him!”

“He’s the best we have. I don’t need him always to agree with me. Actually, I won’t be here to disagree.”

“Don’t say such a thing! And don’t leave me here. I don’t want to wait here for you.” I gesture to the little tower, to the room like a beacon at the top. “I don’t want to stand here and look for you.”

He ducks his head as if this is a reproach. “I pray that when you look, you see me return, standard flying in triumph. And if not, my little sweetheart, then you must manage without me.”

“How will I manage without you?”

“I have appointed my son’s tutor, I have nominated a council of lords.”

“But what about me?” I hear my voice: it is the whimper of the Tudor child, always wondering who comes first.

“I have made you Regent of Scotland.”

I am stunned. “As good as her.”

He smiles wryly. “Yes, as good as her. I knew that would be your first thought. I think of you as highly as Harry thinks of Katherine. But this is not just to make you feel equal to your sister-in-law, Margaret. It is because I think that you can rule this kingdom and raise our son, and keep Scotland safe. I think you can do it. You will have to be cleverer than your brother—but I think you are cleverer than your brother. You will have to become a woman like your grandmother was—devoted only to her child, determined to see him as king. I think you can do that. Don’t let anything distract you, not vanity or lust or greed. Take my advice on this and you will be a good woman, indeed a great woman.” His approval is like a breath of sunny air blowing across the loch.

“But perhaps I won’t have to?” I say, quailing.

“I surely hope you won’t have to.”

We are silent for a moment looking down at the clean waters of the loch and the people boating for pleasure, and those swimming off the shore. Some girls have kilted up their skirts and are paddling, screaming when one of them splashes. Everyone looks so carefree, as if nothing bad could ever happen.

“I don’t know that I can do it,” I say miserably. “If you don’t come back from the battle, I don’t know that I can do it.”

He chucks his hand under my chin and raises my face so that I have to meet his eyes. I have always hated how he does this, when I am forced to look into his own face, as if I were some milkmaid in the dairy and he the all-powerful master. “Nobody knows if they can do it,” he rules. “When they killed my father and I was the one who gave the order and I became king, I was sure that I could not do it. But I did it. I learned to do it. I studied to do it. Be the woman you were born to be and you will see my children on the thrones of Scotland and England. Be a fool and you will lose everything. I think your brother is a fool and will lose everything that he prizes by running after the things that he cannot have. You might have the wisdom to keep what you have. He will always choose to satisfy his own whims rather than being a true king. You must be a queen and not a fool like him.”