Sophia of Mecklenburg, Queen-Regent of Denmark, lifted the heavy black mourning veil from her face and surveyed her family with affection. The long ceremony of the coronation was over and having performed her duties she had now retired to her private apartments in the Cronenburg palace.
“Christian, you were quite splendid. Such dignity, such aplomb! Your dear father would have been so proud of you!” she murmured to her eldest son as she dabbed her eyes, for her life with her recently deceased husband, Frederick II, had been happy. Sophia was essentially a practical woman and having come to terms with her grief and accepted the loss of Frederick, she now turned her undivided attention and affection upon her family. She smiled fondly at the eleven-year-old boy who stood before her, thinking how well he looked in his robes of state. He was a sturdy boy with light brown hair and brown eyes; a little awkward and gauche but he would grow to be a fine man as his father had been, and if she had any influence, he would certainly add to the wealth Frederick had accumulated.
“Your responsibilities are now considerable, but do not fear, Christian, your mamma and the Council of Regency will ensure that you are not forced to bear burdens too heavy for your years.”
“But I will have to learn, Mamma!” the newly elected King Christian IV of Denmark replied pointedly.
“Of course you will, but a little at a time. A little at a time.”
“You must learn to walk before you can run,” his elder sister the Princess Elizabeth advised. Elizabeth was now eighteen and was betrothed to the Duke of Brunswick and took her station very seriously.
“Then it is perhaps a good thing that I am not King of Denmark, for I could not walk until I was past my ninth birthday,” sixteen-year-old Anna laughed.
“Anna, pray do not be unseemly! The Royal infants of Holstein are not required to walk,” her mother reprimanded her. All the royal children had reached quite an advanced age for, in Sophia’s opinion, they were not required to perform such a lowly function until they were of an age to do so with some measure of dignity.
Anna’s brown eyes danced with merriment as they met those of her brother for they were a happy, close-knit family. Of course they had their squabbles as do all children, but these were never conducted in the hearing of the Queen. Sophia was a woman of high character, devoted to the concepts of the Reformed religion and determined that her children should be brought up in a happy, but Christian atmosphere, and ‘Love Thy Neighbour’ was the theme of many of Sophia’s lectures to her children.
The Queen-Regent’s attention was diverted by the efforts of her youngest son, Ulrich, who had quite inadvertently got himself into a fine mess while trying (unsuccessfully) to remove his ceremonial short sword.
“Elizabeth, do help Ulrich to extricate himself before he succeeds in injuring himself!” she instructed her eldest daughter before turning her attention back to Anna.
“I have some news which will interest you, Anna. It concerns your betrothal to King James of Scotland.”
Anna’s brown eyes were fixed intently upon her mother’s face. Before her father had died he had issued an ultimatum to the reticent Scots stating that “If your King sends to espouse Anna before the 1st May, 1589, she shall be given to him; if not, the treaty will be at an end and Scotland must restore the Isles of Orkney and Shetland.” She had heard that long ago King Christian I had pawned the Orkney and Shetland Isles to King James III of Scotland. Her father had offered repayment in 1585 but the Scots were loath to give up the territory although she had also heard that James Stuart was in no position to risk a war with Denmark which was possessed of a powerful navy.
“Ambassadors have left Scotland and are even now upon the seas.”
“Will they reach here before the date Father specified?”
Sophia looked a little disturbed. “I do not think they should be over late. There is nothing to worry about, Anna.” A frown crossed her placid features. “All would have been settled long ago but for the interference of Elizabeth of England. I cannot understand that woman! You are the most eligible of the Protestant princesses and yet she must interfere and prevaricate and throw all manner of obstacles in the path!”
Anna was not possessed of a shrewd nature and she failed to grasp the implications of her mother’s statement.
Sophia continued, “She fears that a child of your union will threaten her crown.”
“But she is an old woman. She has no children and James is her nephew, Mamma, surely he is her heir?”
Sophia smiled at her daughter. Anna certainly had little idea of the devious workings of Elizabeth Tudor’s mind. “Now that she has ‘removed’ his mother, the Queen of Scots, James is indeed her heir.”
Anna shivered. She had heard of the tragic death of Mary, Queen of Scots, at the hands of her cousin of England and privately she was a little afraid of the virago who sat on the throne of England and who would, if the marriage treaty was ever fulfilled, become her aunt by marriage.
“But we must await the arrival of the ambassadors from Scotland. Until then, you must continue with your studies and pray that the Good God gives them safe passage upon the seas.”
Anna nodded and kissed her mother upon the cheek, thinking that she would never be able to achieve the calm, controlled dignity which Sophia always maintained. The occasions when her mother’s control lessened even for a moment were very, very rare while she, Anna, frequently gave vent to her feelings in outbursts of temper and fits of sullenness.
When she reached her own apartments which looked out over the sound to the Swedish coast, she found her two favourite maids—Katrine Skinkell and Anna Kroas—engaged in a spirited conversation, their heads bent over a delicate piece of embroidery. Here in her own sanctuary the Princess Anna shed her dignity to some extent. Her expression became more relaxed and her eyes danced with amusement. She was a very pretty girl with light brown hair which curled naturally about her shoulders, an alabaster complexion, small hands and feet and lovely brown eyes which were quite her most attractive feature.
“It is well for you two! You are able to sit here gossiping while I have to endure hours of ceremonial and long, dolorous sermons!”
Katrine smiled at her mistress in amusement, for she knew that Anna enjoyed every opportunity to be dressed in rich gowns and admired and flattered.
“His Majesty looked well in his robes,” Anna Kroas interposed.
Anna nodded. “Christian is now eager to take up affairs of state, but Mamma will suitably restrain him. Mamma had some news for me,” she hinted, pausing to see what effect her statement had upon her companions.
“About your marriage?” Katrine asked.
Anna nodded.
“You will be married to the King of Scotland?”
Anna laughed excitedly. “I hope so, Anka. I hope so!”
Anna Kroas laughed with her. The Princess Anna called her maid by the pet name of ‘Anka’ mainly to avoid the confusion their common Christian names often caused.
Katrine stopped laughing and looked doubtful. “I have heard that Scotland is a barbarous land and that terrible things happen to its Kings… and Queens,” she added, thinking of the unfortunate Queen of Scots. “Hush! Katrine, you will make our Princess afraid!” Anka cried.
A little frown creased Anna’s forehead. “I, too, have heard these things. Stories of rebellion, riots and quarrels—but they are mere tales. King James has survived many plots so is this not a good sign?”
“Of course, there will be nothing for you to fear, dear Madam. Why, when the people see how beautiful you are they will never, never wish to harm you!” Anka confidently assured her, casting a sharp look in Katrine’s direction.
Anna’s good humour was restored. “The ambassadors from Scotland are even now upon the seas, so Mamma has informed me.”
“I wonder what he is like?” Katrine wondered aloud.
“I do not know and it is best not to build up any romantic notions about him, so Mamma says. It is my duty to leave Denmark and marry, although I confess that I often think about him. It is so sad. He has been alone for so long, separated from his mother when he was but a few weeks old, he must have been lonely and afraid. To think, Anka, he has been a King since he was smaller than Ulrich!”
“He was anointed but I do not think he has really been a King in the true sense until recently,” Anka replied sagely.
“When will they arrive?” Katrine asked.
“I do not know, but I hope it will be soon.”
“But you will have to leave Denmark and the Queen and your brothers and sisters!”
Anna did not appear to be perturbed by Katrine’s remarks. She shrugged. “I have known that ever since I was a little girl. It is what is expected of me. Elizabeth, too, will have to go and Mamma had to leave her home to come here—all Princesses must marry.”
“The Queen of England did not,” Katrine persisted.
Anka shot her another piercing look for she understood her mistress’s apprehension of the red-headed woman who was soon to become her aunt and neighbour. “But she is different. She is old!”
“But she was young once,” Anna replied.
“But, Madam, when she was young she was suspected of treason; she was imprisoned and besides, she always declared that she had no wish to marry.”
Anna tossed her head. “Mamma says it is unwomanly not to wish for a husband and children.”
Anka nodded. “She is a strong-willed, selfish old woman!”
“Anka, she is a great Queen!” Anna cried, somewhat shocked.
“But I wager she would give half her wealth to be as young and as beautiful as you are, dearest Madam.”
“We shall have to start preparing for the ambassador’s visit. There will be so many exciting things to do…” Katrine cried.
Her excitement was infectious and soon all three girls were deep in conversation which centred wholly around such things as patterns and materials for gowns, the design of trinkets and other such matters dear to the hearts of girls of that age and as dusk descended upon the castle the apartments of the Princess Anna echoed to excited chatter and laughter.
In the middle of June the Earl Marshal of Scotland, the Constable of Dundee and Lord Keith arrived at the palace of Cronenburg—much to the delight and relief of the Queen-Regent and her daughter. Anna was presented to these dour representatives of her young spouse in the presence chamber where she eyed them with speculation for they seemed, to her young eyes, aged and stem and their native tongue was almost incomprehensible to her.
“Of course, Your Lordships understand that it will take a little time to prepare a fleet suitable of escorting the Princess to Scotland, but I would beg of you to avail yourself of our hospitality whilst the task is being accomplished,” she heard her mother say to the Earl Marshal as she demurely took her leave.
She walked back to her apartments in silence, followed by Anka, but once they reached her chamber Anka pressed her with questions.
“What did they say? When will you leave? What did they look like?”
“They are so old! I hope King James is not as grim of countenance. When they spoke, Anka, I could hardly understand them. The Scottish language is like nothing I have ever heard before!”
“When is the ceremony to take place?”
“When Mamma says so! I heard her say that a fleet will have to be prepared.”
“Denmark is a great naval power and no doubt Her Majesty wishes to impress your new subjects.”
Anna giggled. “The Lord Keith reminds me of a sage, old owl!”
Anka tutted. “Madam, you should not mock your future subjects.”
“Oh, Anka! Sometimes you are so prim!”
On the 20th August, 1589, in the great hall of the Cronenburg palace which was adorned with costly silver statues, gilt plate and fine Flemish tapestries, the Princess Anna of Denmark was married by proxy to King James VI of Scotland. She stood beside the Earl Marshal who was deputising for his King, a slight figure in a gown of silver tissue draped over a farthingale. An elaborate, stiff lace ruff stood high about her slender, white neck and a small cap, heavily encrusted with precious gems covered her brown curls. Her responses were delivered in a clear voice and her mother’s eyes misted with tears of pride.
Her departure to her new home was delayed, however, until September, due to numerous small problems, but at last the time had come and on the eve of her departure she was summoned to the Queen-Regent’s apartments.
Sophia was seated before a huge fire and many candles burnt in their sconces, bathing the rich, colourful furnishings in a warm glow.
“Anna, come to me, child.”
Anna sat upon the stool at her mother’s feet.
“Tomorrow you leave for Scotland. You will be starting a new life, Anna, in a strange country far from your home. It will not be easy at first, my daughter, but you must not despair. In time you will learn to love your new home and subjects, as I have learnt to love Denmark.” She paused, clearly choosing her words. “Scotland is not a country of peaceful men, Anna. The Lords have always been strong-willed and rebellious and the fate of its Kings not always… desirable.” She looked intently into her daughter’s face but finding no signs of fear she continued. “James Stuart is a sensible, clever young man but you must always be watchful, Anna, your behaviour must never give rise to the merest breath of scandal or cause complaint.” Sophia paused once more, took a deep breath and continued. “The daughters of Kings are not as fortunate as other women—you know this, Anna? We cannot choose whom we marry; we must marry for the expediency and welfare of our countries, therefore, sometimes… we must bear certain… indignities. Men are fickle in their affections. They frequently take mistresses—this you must bear, Anna. You must not reproach your husband; mistresses come and go but you are his wife. If it is not possible to totally ignore such… women then be polite but restrained. Do you understand me?”
“Yes, Mamma.”
“Always trust in the Good God, my child. Lead a pure and devout life and bring your children up by the code of moral virtues that I have tried to instil into you.”
Anna nodded gravely, suddenly feeling for the first time the pangs of grief at departing from her home.
“Never forget, my daughter, that although you are Queen of Scotland you are the daughter of Frederick II of Denmark and Sophia of Mecklenburg!”
Anna took her mother’s hand and kissed it. The tears welled up in her eyes as she laid her check against Sophia’s hand.
Sophia’s expression softened and she stroked the brown curls. “Come, Anna, it is a time to rejoice—not to weep!”
Anna nodded. “But it is so hard to leave you all,” she whispered.
“Anna, God has bestowed upon you this position. You must not complain but seek to fulfil His will in all things. I shall miss you, I shall miss Elizabeth too, when she has to leave, but it is my duty. I cannot keep you forever.”
Anna raised her head. “I understand, Mamma.”
Sophia kissed her. “Go now, child. You must have plenty of rest for your journey will be long and arduous.”
Anna bade her mother goodnight for the last time and returned to her chamber with a heavy heart. She tried to sleep but memories of happy, carefree, childhood days came flooding back to her and in the dark hours the tales she had heard of the factions and violent men of Scotland took on a terrifying aspect, but at last she fell asleep.
The sky was dark and heavy and a wild wind whipped up the white-topped waves as next morning she was escorted aboard the Danish flagship by Admiral Munch. Eleven fine ships of the Danish navy rode at anchor, waiting to escort her across the sea but as she stood on deck and watched the Isle of Zealand growing ever smaller she felt very young, insecure and afraid.
The Earl Marshal stood beside her. “Madam, pray come below. The weather is wild!” he advised her and looking up she felt slightly comforted by the pair of warm, blue eyes that looked down into hers. She nodded and allowed him to escort her to her cabin. Anka, Katrine, Margaret Twinslace and Margaret Vintner had accompanied her and to pass the time they chatted, plyed their needles and played at cards while the weather worsened. The seas became mountainous, the wind fierce and the ships were tossed like matchwood upon the stormy waters.
On the second day Anna decided to go up on deck for, despite the wind, she felt she could no longer endure the rolling and pitching and the small, airless cabin. Wrapping herself in a cloak she made her way up on deck. Instantly the wind caught at her cloak and hair and she had to cling tightly to the mast to avoid being flung to the deck. She clung there while the rain and salt spray stung her cheeks. Without warning and with a loud straining and creaking and finally a terrific crash, a cannon broke loose and she watched in horror as it careered across the deck crushing and pinning beneath it the eight sailors in its immediate path. Their screams of agony were lost on the wind as the weight crushed and smashed bones and ribs. As she watched it suddenly changed its course. Her eyes dilated with terror and she became paralysed with fear as the great brass weapon came rumbling across the deck towards her. She could hear herself screaming but the wind bore her cries away into the storm. As the noise grew louder and the dark mouth of the cannon drew nearer she felt darkness descending upon her.
The next instant she was swept off her feet and thrown against something soft. She opened her eyes slowly, fearful lest she see again that awful sight. Instead she found herself looking up into the concerned face of a young man with blue eyes and a shock of unruly blond hair.
“Thank God! You are unhurt?”
She nodded weakly as he set her upon her feet.
“Thank you…” she stammered. “I could not move.”
“There is no harm done, Madam?”
She managed a wan smile. “No… I don’t think so. What is your name?”
“Steven Beale, Madam.”
“You have saved my life, Master Beale. I am indebted to you.”
He shifted uncomfortably and looked embarrassed. “’Twas nothing.”
“’Twas a brave deed. You shall be well rewarded.”
“No, Madam, to have been of service is reward enough.”
She smiled up at him. He had a gallant tongue. “Would you escort me to my cabin, Master Beale?”
“With pleasure, Madam.”
“When you return on deck, would you see that everything possible is done for the poor men crushed?”
“I will,” he promised, touched by her concern for others after such a fearful experience.
With a smile she left him and entered her cabin to relate her experience to her maids. She had had a very bad fright and began to wonder whether this was an omen. Did her new subjects really wish her to arrive safely or were evil powers abroad? She thought fearfully of the violent men whom she had heard would stop at nothing to achieve their own ends.
Before the cannon had finally been pitched overboard it had managed to wreak a good deal of havoc and the ship now strained and creaked and shipped gallons of water and Admiral Munch was forced to turn back and find refuge in a fiord on the Norwegian coast.
Anna came up on deck when they had dropped anchor. “What place is this, My Lord Admiral?” she enquired.
“Upslo, Madam. Norway.”
She surveyed the bleak, steep sides of the mountains that ran down to the water’s edge, half covered in snow, and the tiny settlement in a hollow at their base which looked far from prepossessing. “Upslo,” she repeated.
“I’m afraid there was no help for it, Madam. It was impossible to continue and I fear we would not have made it back to Denmark.”
“Then it will have to suffice.”
They were taken ashore and after closely viewing the few poor cabins she felt desolate.
“Madam, this is a very poor place. There is not even a house suitable for you!” Anka cried aghast.
“We will have to make the best of it, Anka,” Anna replied with a cheerfulness she was far from feeling.
“Madam, would you care to follow me?” Admiral Munch suggested and she followed him to the largest of the dwellings. It was built of stone and was small but at least it was warm although rather odorous. The owner was a small, thin man who stared at her with frank amazement.
She smiled at him. “I thank you, sir, our position is desperate. It was kind of you to give us shelter.”
He gaped at her, struggled to find words and failed, but remained staring, opening and shutting his mouth, until she was reminded of a beached sturgeon. Anka quickly took charge of the situation.
“Her Majesty is cold and half starved, have you any food?”
His wife pushed her way forward—obviously a more articulate person than her overawed spouse. “Not a great deal and certainly not what Her Majesty is accustomed to—but you are welcome to anything we have.”
“Thank you, Mistress. At this time I would be grateful of a dry crust!”
“That is probably all we shall get!” Katrine muttered peevishly to herself.
The food when it arrived was very plain and consisted of rye bread, some goat cheese and a little stew made from coney. Anna surveyed her surroundings with a sinking heart. She was tired and depressed for instead of arriving in Scotland the admired and feted bride of the King, here she was stranded in this isolated, God forsaken inlet on the coast of Norway. The strain was too much for her and she dissolved into tears.
“Anka, I want to go home!” she sobbed brokenly.
“Hush, Madam. Do not fret! We will send word to King James and your mother. Hush, we shall not be here long!” Anka soothed.
At length Anna dried her eyes and pulled herself together. Anka was right, she would write to James telling him of her plight and he would send ships to carry her to Scotland. She called for writing materials and quickly set down a letter to her as yet unknown husband, listing her misfortunes and sorrows and begging him to aid and assist her in her miserable plight.
“Anka, send for Steven Beale.”
“Who, Madam?”
“Steven Beale, the young man who pulled me from the path of the cannon. I trust him—he shall take my letter.”
Anka nodded and went in search of Steven Beale, returning some minutes later accompanied by the young sailor.
“Master Beale, I have a special commission which I wish you to undertake for me.”
He looked at her intently and she blushed.
“Here is a letter to my husband, King James of Scotland, I wish you to take it to him. I realise that this commission is fraught with danger but… but you alone I trust to see that it is delivered safely,” she finished not daring to look up lest she appear foolish beneath that penetrating gaze.
“Madam, I shall do everything in my power to see that this letter reaches its destination as quickly as possible.”
She raised her eyes and looked into his candid blue ones. Did she detect something more than loyalty there? She smiled and dropped her eyes as she felt the hot blood rush to her cheeks.
“I knew I could trust you,” she replied hesitantly before dismissing him.
Steven Beale shivered and pulled his fustian cloak tightly about him. To venture upon the seas in such weather was little short of suicide, but he had been spurred on by feelings of loyalty and love that he had never before experienced. She was so beautiful, he thought, so sweet and yet compassionate and in such a pitiable plight. The salt spray stung his face like tiny pin-pricks and the icy wind pierced his clothing, numbing him to the bone, but he shrugged aside these discomforts for they were nothing compared to the fact that she had chosen him to be her Knight Errant and he would face worse dangers than these for her sake. For the tenth time that day he put his frozen fingers inside his jerkin and touched the parchment he carried safely tucked inside his shirt. Yes, he would brave the elements to carry her plea for help safely to its destination. They were worlds apart for she was a Queen and he a humble sailor, she also had a husband but that could not stop him worshipping from afar his young and beautiful mistress.
He continued on his journey through appalling weather until finally he reached Scotland. King James was residing at Craigmillar castle and it was to this fortress that Steven Beale made his way. Exhausted and cold he arrived at Craigmillar and was conducted into the presence of the King of Scotland where he stood staring about him, trying to ascertain which of the men before him was the King.
At last a young man of middle height with great, dark, sorrowful eyes and a decidedly un-kingly bearing detached himself and came towards him. His clothes were padded and slashed in the height of fashion but the hand extended was decidedly grubby for James Stuart had an abhorrence of the daily use of soap and water!
“Well, laddie! So ye hae news o’ ma bit lassie?”
Steven Beale nodded, taken aback by the unfamiliar tone.
“Well, dinna kneel there gawping, man!”
The young Dane hastily handed over the now rather creased parchment and James Stuart broke open the seal and scanned the lines of neat script shaking his head and tutting as he read.
“Och! This will no’ do! The poor lassie! Mind, I had some notion o’ this and hae made preparations. Aye, preparations! I’ll fetch her mysel’!”
The young Dane was even more taken aback and continued to stare in astonishment. Had he heard correctly? Was this odd young man intending to brave the fearful storms to sail to Norway?
James looked down at him with some amusement. “Get up, man! Ye’ve done right well! Aye, right well, but ye must be famished. Away wi’ ye, ma servants will find ye food!”
Stammering his thanks Steven Beale arose. James of Scotland was not at all what he had expected but he sensed that beneath his odd manner he was a kind and thoughtful man but as he wandered down the long, cold passageway behind James’ servant he wondered what his mistress would think of her husband?