ACT ONE
‘The Kingis ludging in Nicoll Eduardis hous in Nithreis Wynd’, Edinburgh, VII February, 1591. Evening.
A room in the house of bailie nicoll edward. In the middle of the left wall a huge open fire-place. In the middle of the back wall a door leading to the dining-room and kitchen apartments. In the back right-hand corner a door leading in from a turnpike staircase. In the middle of the right wall a window.
Armchairs beside the fire. Against the back wall, to the left of the middle door, an awmrie, and to the right of the door a compter. By the window a low bench. In the centre of the floor a table with paper, pens, ink and candlesticks. A chair behind the table.
It is late afternoon, and the room derives most of its light from the fire. The lower half of the window is shuttered, but in the shutters is a large hole which enables people in the room to put their heads out and view the wynd below.
MISTRESS EDWARD enters from the dining-room. She carries a lit candle which she places on the table. She sorts the fire then moves to the window and looks out through the shutter-hole. She moves to the table and starts to peer furtively at the papers on it.
RAB, apprentice to NICOLL EDWARD, comes up the turnpike stair from the booth below. MISTRESS EDWARD retreats hastily from the table.
RAB: (outside) Mistress Edward!
MRS E: What is’t?
RAB: (entering) Bailie Morison’s doun in the booth. He wants to ken if the King’s back frae the hunt.
MRS E: And did ye tell him no?
RAB: Ay, but he hasna gaen awa. I think he ettles to be askit up.
MRS E: Nae dout. He canna bide awa frae the door whan we hae the King here. He hates to see his Grace in ony hoose bune his ain. What is he wantin? His supper, nae dout, and a nicht’s drinking wi royalty.
RAB: Wheesht! He’s comin up!
MRS E: Mercy me! Doun wi ye, then.
(RAB leaves).
BAILIE M: (outside) Mistress Edward!
MRS E: Ay, Bailie, come in. (He does so) Dae ye want to see Nicoll? He’s oot wi the King.
BAILIE M: I ken. I want ye to let me bide here till they come hame. There’s a ploy afute i’ the Toun. The King maun hear aboot it.
MRS E: Can ye no ride oot to meet him?
BAILIE M: I maun dae naething to cause suspeecion. Gin I were seen gaun through the ports it micht haste maitters on.
MRS E: Is it something bye the ordinar?
BAILIE M: Weill Mistress Edward, ye’ll ken fine, yer guid man bein a Bailie himsell, that I maun gaird aye my tongue weill in maitters that affect the Toun.
MRS E: Oh, is it some Toun maitter. I warn ye Bailie, that the King daesna like to be deived wi the clash ο the Toun whan he comes in hungert frae the hunt. Can ye no gang to the Toun Gaird? Hae ye seen the Provost?
BAILIE M: The Provost’s at Leith for the horse-racin, and it’s a maitter that the Toun Gaird couldna settle. It micht, I may tell ye, mean a cry at the Cross for the haill Toun to rise.
MRS E: Bailie! Dinna tell me it’s anither ο Bothwell’s ploys! He canna ettle to attack the King here?
BAILIE M: My guid wumman, ye need fear naething like that. Bothwell’s mebbe at haund, but he daurna come near the Toun. It’s ower well gairdit against him.
MRS E: And there’s nae hairm ettled to the hoose here?
BAILIE M: It’s naething like that.
MRS E: I’m gled to hear it. But the Toun micht hae to rise, ye say?
BAILIE M: It micht, and again it micht no. It’ll depend on the King.
MRS E: Weill, it’s a blessin he’s a peacable man, and fonder ο his books nor ο fechtin. Ye maun sit down, Bailie, and I’ll licht a wheen maur caunles, for the gloamin’s weirin on.
BAILIE M: (sitting) Thank ye.
MRS E: (lighting the candles on the table) We’re leivin in steerin times.
BAILIE M: Ay.
MRS E: I hardly sleep at nichts, wi the King here. It’s a great responsibeelity.
BAILIE M: Ay, it’s aa that.
MRS E: Yon was an awfou nicht doun at the Palace. I hear ye were in the thick o’t.
BAILIE M: Ay, I was gey thrang for a while.
MRS E: Ye suld hae seen the marks on Nicoll’s shouthers wi the clowts he gat. And frae some ο his ain toun’s-folk, he said. It’s his opeenion that some wha sud hae been fechtin for the King were on the side ο Bothwell.
BAILIE M: Weill, Mistress Edward, I wadna woner but he’s richt.
MRS E: I’m shair he is. It gars ye woner what the country’s comin to, that the like ο Bothwell, that’s been put to the horn for brekin oot ο the Castle jeyl, can fin freinds in this Toun to help him herry the King in his ain Palace! Did ye see the wrack they made o’t? I was doun wi the Queen and some of the leddies the ither day, to see hou faur they had gotten wi the sortin o’t, and it fair gart my hairt stoun to see the bonnie wuid-wark sae sair hasht. It’ll cost a hantle ο guid siller afore it’s aa as it was, and the King can ill afford it, puir laddie. I may tell ye, Bailie, in confidence, that it’ll be a gey lang while afore Habbie Tamson the jeyner’s peyed for the wark he’s daein doun there the nou.
BAILIE M: Oh that’s nae news to me, Mistress Edward. Habbit Tamson the jeyner isna the only man i’ the Toun that has an accoont wi the King, though some ο us are faur mair loyal nor mention the maitter.
MRS E: Ye’re richt, Bailie, ye’re richt. Mony a braw bale ο fine claith his Grace has haen frae Nicoll that we dinna mention, and nae dout ye hae pairtit yersell wi mair nor ae bonnie nick-nack frae Flanders.
BAILIE M: Weill, mebbe, mebbe. But I’m sayin naething.
MRS E: I ken, I ken. And it daes ye credit. And efter aa what’s a wheen bales ο claith, or a bit fancy kist, atween loyal subjects and their Sovereign. It’s mair shame on the corbies at Coort that rob him ο ilka bawbee ο the Croun rents. But shame on me, Bailie! Ye’ll hae a dram?
BAILIE M: Sin ye speir, Mistress, I’ll tak it gledly. The reik ο that witch they were burnin at the Cross the day gat fair doun my thrapple.
MRS E: (pouring a drink) Ay, it was gey thick for a while, and it maks an unco stink. I woner ye canna gar them dae aa the burnin on the Castle Hill.
BAILIE M: For shame, Mistress Edward, and ye a Bailie’s wife! Ye ken fine the folk maun be weill warnt no to meddle wi the Deil, and the burnins on the Castle Hill are ower faur oot ο the wey to bring the warnin hame. There hae been ower mony ο thae auld beldams at their dirty wark this year.
MRS E: Weill, Bailie, ye’re mebbe richt. But drink that up.
BAILIE M: (accepting drink) Thank ye. Yer guid health.
MRS E: Aa the same, it isna the puir auld craiturs ο witches I blame, sae muckle as the like ο Bothwell that sets them on.
Gin ye had heard ο aa the spells he’s gart them wark against the King, Bailie, ye’d be fair dumfounert.
BAILIE M: Mistress Edward, naething ye ken aboot their spells wad dumfouner me. I was at their trials i’ the Tolbooth.
MRS E: Ay, ay, Bailie, but there’s a lot that didna come oot at their trials. There’s a lot cam oot whan they were brocht afore the King himsell that maist folk dinna ken. The King can sort them. He just speirs and speirs at them, and be they eir sae thrawn, afore lang he has them roun his pinkie.
BAILIE M: Ye’ll paurdon me, but he shairly hasna speirt at ony ο them here?
MRS E: Oh ye woner hou I ken. Dae ye see thae papers?
BAILIE M: Ay
MRS E: Dae ye see the writin?
BAILIE M: Ay.
MRS E: It’s aa in the King’s ain haund. And what dae ye think it’s aboot?
BAILIE M: What?
MRS E: Witches!
BAILIE M: Shairly no!
MRS E: I tell ye it’s aboot witches. It’s a book he’s writin,1 and ilka ill notion he worms oot ο them efter they’re put to the torture, he writes doun there in ink. Bailie, there are queer things in that book.
BAILIE M: I daursay. Hae ye read it?
MRS E: Me! Read! Na na, Bailie, ye ken fine I’m nae scholar. But I ken what’s in the book for aa that, for there’s mony a nicht efter supper whan we’ll sit ben there and talk, and aye the talk’s aboot the book, and the next chapter, and what he’s gauin to write. And it’s queer talk, some ο it. The things thae beldams dae, wi taids and cats and cauves’ heids, to say naething ο deid men’s innards, wad fair gar ye grue.
BAILIE M: It’s a woner he isna feart to meeddle wi the craiturs. Ye wad think he micht bring himsell to hairm.
MRS E: Na na, Bailie, that’s whaur ye’re wrang. He says they can dae nae hairm to him wi their spells, because he’s the Lord’s anointit. And it’s a guid thing, or Bothwell wad hae haen him lang eir this. (There is a sound of chatter from the Wynd below) But what’s that? I hear a steer. (She has a look through the shutter- hole) It’s the Queen’s Grace hersell, and one ο her leddies, wi the Duke ο Lennox and the young Laird Logie. My Lord Lennox is takin his leave, it seems, and I’m no surprised. The mair he bides awa frae the King the nou the better.
BAILIE M: Deed ay. It’s a peety he canna bide awa frae the Queen tae. He’s aye at her tail. And she daesna seem to discourage him ony. I sair dout, though I’m sweirt to think it, that she’s no aa she sould be.
MRS E: Hoots toots, Bailie, if my Lord Lennox is saft eneugh to gang trailin ahint her aa day ye canna say it’s her faut.
BAILIE M: I wadna gin it were the first affair. Hae ye forgotten her ongauns wi the Earl ο Moray?
MRS E: Ah weill nou, Bailie, there was mebbe something in that. There’s nane but has a saft side for the Bonnie Earl.
BAILIE M: I ken ane wha hasna.
MRS E: And wha’s that?
BAILIE M: My Lord Huntly
MRS E: And wha cares for the like ο him! But wheesht!
(Her Grace QUEEN ANNE, LADY MARGARET VINSTAR and the LAIRD LOGIE appear on the turnpike stair. The QUEEN stands within the doorway, with the others behind her. MRS EDWARD curtsies and the BAILIE bows low)
THE QUEEN: (speaking with a Danish accent) Ah, Mistress Edward, ye hae a veesitor! Guid ein, Bailie. Ye are weill, eh?
BAILIE M: Yer Grace, I canna grummle.
THE QUEEN: Grummle, eh?
BAILIE M: I’m haul and hairty.
THE QUEEN: (doubtfully) Ah, I see. That is guid. And Mistress Morison? She is weill, eh?
BAILIE M: Ay, yer Grace, she’s weill tae.
THE QUEEN: And the bairns?
BAILIE M: They’re weill tae.
THE QUEEN: Ye are aa weill tae, eh?
BAILIE M: Ay, yer Grace, juist that.
THE QUEEN: See, the last time I see ye I couldna speak. I speak nou. Logie he say I hae a guid Scots tongue in my heid afore lang.
LOGIE: Yer Grace, ye talk like a native already.
THE QUEEN: Ah Logie, ye flaitter me. But Bailie. My Leddy Vinstar. Ye haena met her. She is my friend frae Denmark. Margaret, this is the Bailie Morison. He is a magistrate ο the Toun. He is gey, what ye say, kenspeckle. And he is gey weill-aff. He has mony ships that sail to Flanders. Eh, Bailie?
BAILIE M: Weill, ane or twa.
THE QUEEN: Ane or twa. He disnae ken. But he kens fine. He daesna like to, what ye say, blaw his ain horn, eh?
MRS E: He has fower, yer Grace.
THE QUEEN: He has fower. Ye see, he maun hae muckle gowd. But Mistress Edward, we maun gang and mak ready for supper. My Lord and Leddy Atholl. They come the nicht, eh?
MRS E: Ay, yer Grace, they suld be here ony meenit.
THE QUEEN: Ony meenit. Guid. And his Grace?
MRS E: He isna back frae the hunt yet, yer Grace.
THE QUEEN: Na. Weill, I gang. The Bailie. Daes he bide for supper, eh?
BAILIE M: Yer Grace, ye’ll paurdon me, but I canna.
THE QUEEN: No bide. That is a peety. But I maun gang. Guid ein, Bailie, and tell Mistress Morison I send her my guid thochts.
BAILIE M: (bowing) Guid ein, yer Grace, I will that.
THE QUEEN: We leave Logie. He trail ahint Margaret ower muckle.
LOGIE: (bowing as MARGARET curtsies) I couldna dae that, yer Grace
(The QUEEN and LADY MARGARET go up the turnpike stair. MRS EDWARD makes a belated curtsy as they go)
MRS E: Weill, Laird, I maun gang and see that the lassies hae the supper ready to serve. Ye’ll keep the Bailie company till the King comes?
LOGIE: Shairly, Mistress, for I see he has a stoup ο wine aside him.
MRS E: That’s richt. Help yersell.
LOGIE: Thank ye.
(LOGIE and the BAILIE bow as MRS EDWARD, with a slight bob, withdraws into the dining-room)
LOGIE: (helping himself) Sae ye’re waitin for the King, Bailie? Dinna tell me ye hae turnt a coortier.
BAILIE M: Dinna fash, Laird. I hae mair to dae nor hing aboot the coat-tails ο lassies frae morn till nicht.
LOGIE: The coat-tails ο the King pey better, mebbe?
BAILIE M: I’m no the King’s teyler, Laird, but I dout if they dae.
LOGIE: (laughing) Weill said, Bailie. But I didna suggest it was the want ο siller that’s brocht ye til his Grace. There’s sic a thing as warkin yer neb in for the sake ο pouer.
BAILIE M: There’s sic a thing as wantin to dae his Grace a service, Laird.
LOGIE: And what service hae ye come to dae the nicht?
BAILIE M: He’ll learn whan he comes.
LOGIE: (with a change of manner) Bailie, whause side are ye on.
BAILIE M: What!
LOGIE: Are ye for the King or Bothwell?
BAILIE M: Hou daur ye ask me that, ye brazen scoondrel!
LOGIE: Come come nou, Bailie, ye needna tak it ill. Ye’ll ken that ein aboot the Coort there’s mony a man whause colours arena kent, and weill, Bailie, I ken ye’re a guid douce member ο the Kirk, and maun hae a haillsome hatred ο the Papists.
BAILIE M: And what if I hae?
LOGIE: Isna Bothwell Protestant?
BAILIE M: He may caa himsell that, but in my opeenion a man wha meddles wi witches has nae richt to the name. And whan it comes to that, isna the King Protestant himsell?
LOGIE: He’s gey chief wi the Papist Huntly, Bailie, and in the opeenion ο maist ο yer Kirk freinds, a man wha meddles wi idolators has nae richt to the name aither. Shairly, Bailie, as a pillar ο the Kirk, ye maun be sair grieved that the King can hae freinds amang the Papists?
BAILIE M: I thocht ye were Protestant yersell, Laird.
LOGIE: Weill?
BAILIE M: Is it no clear? Gin ye can serve the King and be Protestant, as weill can I. But here are my Lord and Leddy Atholl.
(LORD and LADY ATHOLL enter from the turnpike stair)
LOGIE: (bowing) Guid ein, my Lord and Leddy.
ATHOLL: Guid ein, Laird. Ah Bailie, ye’re there.
(The BAILIE bows, LADY ATHOLL bobs, smiling)
LADY A: The King isna back yet? I suppose her Grace is up the stair?
LOGIE: She gaed up no a meenit syne.
LADY A: Weill, I’ll leave ye. But whaur’s my Lord Lennox, Logie? Wasna he alang wi ye this efternune?
LOGIE: My Lord Lennox took his leave at the door. He thinks the Queen’ll hae mair peace to her meat gin he bides awa.
LADY A: Oh, sae the King’s growin jealous?
LOGIE: Ay, he preached her a lang sermon in the bed last nicht.
LADY A: Dear me, I maun hear aboot that.
(She bobs hastily and hurries upstairs)
LOGIE: Weill, Bailie, are ye scandalised?
BAILIE M: I’m beginnin to think his Grace hasna mony freinds aboot his ain Coort, Laird.
LOGIE: (to ATHOLL) Ye see, my Lord. Watch what ye say in front ο the Bailie. He’s a loyal man for the King.
ATHOLL: Dear me, Bailie, ye shairly resent his traffic wi the Papists. I thocht ye were haill-hairtit for the Kirk.
BAILIE M: (huffed) Gin ye’ll paurdon me, my Lord, I’ll tak mysell ben the hoose.
(He withdraws into the dining-room)
LOGIE: And that’s that.
ATHOLL: Sae the Toun’s loyal?
LOGIE: Ay, but there’s little in it. They wad be aa for Bothwell gin it werena for his witchcraft. It’s a peety he didna stey in jeyl and staun his trial for it, insteid ο brekin oot and rinnin wild.
ATHOLL: I daursay, Laird, but Bothwell’s like the rest o’s. He wud suner hae a haul skin nor risk his life to a trial. What were ye sayin aboot the Queen and Lennox?
LOGIE: The King has the notion that they’re mair nor friends. Someane’s been clypin.
ATHOLL: The Chancellor again?
LOGIE: Nane else. He had an audience in here last nicht.
ATHOLL: I kent it. God, he’s an auld tod! He gat redd ο the Bonnie Earl in juist the same wey. I tell ye, Logie, it’s time his wings were clipped. When ony bune himsell begin to win favour he sterts his trickery and oot they gang. And aa the time he feathers his nest. Whan eir there’s a lump ο grun gaun beggin wha gets it? My Lord the Chancellor. It wad seiken ye. It haurdly peys to attend the Coort at aa.
LOGIE: Weill, my Lord, he could be redd oot the morn.
ATHOLL: Hou that? He has the King roun his fingers and the Papists at his back.
LOGIE: We could bring in Bothwell.
ATHOLL: And Bothwell wi the Toun against him for his witchcraft! Na na, Laird. There’s nae gaun that gait.
LOGIE: The Toun hates Papery tae, my Lord. Gin the traffic wi the Papists gangs ower faur the Toun’ll cheynge its front.
ATHOLL: I daursay, but hou faur will the traffic wi the Papists gang? The King looks aye to the English Queen for siller. He’ll get nane as lang as the Papists are at Coort.
LOGIE: There’s as muckle gowd in Papist Spain as there is in Protestant England.
ATHOLL: But he daurna touch the Spanish gowd!
LOGIE: Juist that! The Toun wad flee to Bothwell’s side at ance, witchcraft or no. I tell ye, my Lord, the tide’ll sune turn. And whan it daes we suld be ready, at Bothwell’s back!
ATHOLL: Ye seem to be a freind ο his.
LOGIE: I hate the Chancellor.
ATHOLL: Ay, weill, we’ll see. (There are sounds of yelling and cheering from the Wynd below) But there’s the rabble in the Wynd. His Grace maun be back frae the hunt.
(MISTRESS EDWARD enters with a jug of steaming spirits and some stoups)
MRS E: (bobbing) Guid ein, my Lord Atholl. (ATHOLL bows) Ye’re juist in time. His Grace is in the Wynd.
(She places the jug and stoups on the compter and goes to the window)
MRS E: Dear me, it’s turnt gey quick daurk. I hope the Toun Gaird’s here in time the day, for the rabble herrit the booth twa days syne, and we lost twa bales ο claith. (She pokes her head out of the shutter-hole, looks for a moment and continues) I canna richt mak oot, wi the wind blawin at the links, but Nicoll maun hae tummlet in a moss-hole. He’s thick wi glaur. (She pokes her head out again).
LOGIE: He’ll be a braw sicht at the table. Her Grace’ll be scunnert the nicht again.
ATHOLL: It’s Nicoll that peys for the meat, Laird, sae what can she dae?
MRS E: (withdrawing her head from the shutter-hole) They’re in nou. They’ll be gey cauld and tired. But what were ye sayin to the Bailie, the pair ο ye? He’s sittin ben there like a clockin hen.
LOGIE: He couldna thole oor licht conversation.
MRS E: He says there’s some ploy afute i’ the Toun. But here they come.
(The three group themselves and wait, listening. His Grace KING JAMES enters with LORD SPYNIE and BAILIE NICOLL EDWARD. LOGIE and ATHOLL bow low. MRS EDWARD curtsies elaborately. The KING walks in, loosening his jerkin at the neck, and falls plump into a chair. NICOLL EDWARD and SPYNIE also loosen their jerkins. BAILIE MORISON appears at the door of the dining-room, unheeded)
THE KING: (entering, almost exhausted) Ay weill, here we are.
(Falling into his chair) God, I’m wabbit!
MRS E: (running to the compter for the jug and stoup) Here, yer Grace, hae a guid lang dram.
THE KING: Thank ye. And gie ane to Nicoll, for I’m shair he needs it. Yer guid health.
MRS E: Thank ye. (Passing nicoll) Oh Nicoll, ye’re a sicht!
(Starting to fill another stoup) Ye’ll hae a dram, Lord Spynie?
SPYNIE: I will that. (Taking the stoup) Thank ye.
MRS E: (facing nicoll with the jug in one hand and a stoup in the other) What in aa the warld were ye daein to get intil a mess like that?
NICOLL: (impatiently) Gie me a dram. I had a bit tummle.
THE KING: (taking his nose out of his stoup) By God he had that! My guid wumman, ye gey near lost yer man the day.
THE KING: Ay lost yer man! It’s a woner his neck wasna broken. He gaed clean ower his horse’s heid on Corstorphine Craigs.
MRS E: Oh Nicoll, what hae I aye telt ye! Ye will hunt, and ye can nae mair sit on a horse nor flee in the air. Drink that up, see, and then cheynge yer claes.
NICOLL: (taking his stoup and raising it to his lips) Ach I’m ower hungry.
MRS E: Oh but ye’ll hae to cheynge. Ye canna sit doun aside the leddies like that. Yer Grace, I’m shair he maun cheynge his claes?
THE KING: (with his nose in his stoup) Eh?
MRS E: I’m shair he canna sit doun like that?
THE KING: (coming up for a breath) Like what? Whaur?
MRS E: He canna gang in for his supper aa glaur.
THE KING: Hoot, wumman, dinna be hard on him. He’s stervin ο hunger. (He buries his nose again)
MRS E: But he’ll fair shame us.
NICOLL: (having emptied his stoup in one long draught) Eh?
MRS E: I say ye’ll shame us.
NICOLL: Dinna blether, wumman. Fill up my stoup again. (Suddenly noticing BAILIE MORISON) But dear me, I didna ken we had the Bailie in the hoose.
(All turn and look at BAILIE MORISON)
MRS E: Oh ay, Bailie Morison cam to see ye, yer Grace, aboot some Toun maitter.
THE KING: Weill, Bailie, it’ll hae to wait. Man, I woner at ye. Ye hae a Provost, Bailies, Deacons and a Gaird and ye come rinnin aye to me whan onything gangs wrang. What is it this time? Has there been anither coo stolen frae the Burgh Muir?
BAILIE M: Na, yer Grace, it’s naething like that.
THE KING: Oot wi’t, then. God, ye hae a gey lang face. It’s naething bye the ordinar, shairly? (Eagerly) Ye haena foun anither witch?
BAILIE M: Na.
THE KING: Then what’s the maitter?
BAILIE M: (indicating by his manner that the presence of the others makes him reluctant to speak) Weill, yer Grace, there’s mebbe naething in it.
MRS E: I’ll leave ye, yer Grace, and hae the supper served in case I’m in the wey.
(She curtsies and leaves, giving the BAILIE a resentful look)
THE KING: Come on Bailie, oot wi’t. They’re aa in my Cooncil here bune Nicoll, and he’s a Bailie like yersell.
BAILIE M: There are horsemen getherin in Hackerton’s Wynd. They’re gaun to ride for Dunibrissel at the chap ο seiven.2
THE KING: What! Hou did ye fin that oot?
BAILIE M: I was brocht word frae the yill-hoose in Curror’s Close. Some ο the men were heard talkin.
THE KING: Whause men were they?
BAILIE M: My Lord Ochiltree’s.
THE KING: Sae that’s the wey o’t? Whaur’s Ochiltree the nou?
BAILIE M: At his ludgin in the Schule Wynd.
THE KING: Richt. Gae to the Captain ο the Toun Gaird and tell him to shut aa the ports. Let naebody leave the Toun. Hurry. I’m gled ye cam. (The BAILIE bows and hurries out) Logie, ye’ll fin Ochiltree and gar him come to me. (LOGIE bows and hurries out) Atholl, did ye ken ο this?
ATHOLL: Na, yer Grace.
THE KING: Did ye see naething?
ATHOLL: No a thing.
THE KING: Ochiltree rade oot ο the Toun this mornin. Whan did he come back?
ATHOLL: I dinna ken.
THE KING: Hae ye been i’ the Toun aa day?
ATHOLL: I cam up frae the Abbey aboot an hour syne.
THE KING: Ye wad come in by the Nether Bow?
ATHOLL: Ay.
THE KING: And ye saw nae horsemen?
ATHOLL: Ane or twa, but nane bandit thegither.
THE KING: Were they Ochiltree’s?
ATHOLL: Some ο them.
THE KING: I kent it! Atholl, ye’ll fetch the Chancellor! At ance! (ATHOLL bows and hurries out) God, Nicoll, did ye see his face the nou? He hates the Chancellor like pousin. Spynie, ye’ll haud the door, and see that nane pass in bune the anes I hae sent for. (SPYNIE bows and leaves) The doors in the Wynd’ll be gairdit, Nicoll?
NICOLL: Ay, but ye shairly dinna lippen to be hairmed here?
THE KING: Na, na, but I’m taking nae risks.
NICOLL: What is it that’s wrang?
THE KING: Dinna heed the nou. Ye’ll tell yer guid wife to let the supper stert withoot me.
NICOLL: Ye’ll hae to tak a bite, though.
THE KING: Later on, I tell ye.
NICOLL: The mistress’ll be gey vexed.
THE KING: I canna help it, Nicoll. Tell her I maun be left alane. Awa wi ye.
(NICOLL retires to the dining-room. The KING is obviously agitated. SPYNIE enters)
SPYNIE: Yer Grace?
THE KING: Ay?
SPYNIE: Her Grace wad like to ken if ye’re gaun ben for supper.
THE KING: Tell her to stert withoot me.
(The QUEEN enters as he speaks)
THE QUEEN: What, eh? Ye no come ben for supper?
THE KING: Na, I’m no gaun ben for supper! Stert withoot me!
THE QUEEN: What is it that is wrang?
THE KING: Naething!
THE QUEEN: (meaningly) It is Ochiltree, eh?
THE KING: (angrily) Hou in aa the warld did ye fin that oot?
THE QUEEN: Spynie. He tell me.
THE KING: Then he suld hae his lang tongue cut oot by the rute! Spynie!
(SPYNIE enters)
SPYNIE: Ay, yer Grace?
THE KING: Try to learn to keep yer mooth shut!
SPYNIE: Eh?
THE KING: Dinna gang tellin the haill hoose what’s gaun on!
SPYNIE: I hae telt naebody bune her Grace.
THE KING: Ye had nae richt to tell her Grace! Gin I want her to ken what’s gaun on I’ll tell her mysell! Oot wi ye!
(SPYNIE bows and leaves)
THE QUEEN: That was nae wey to talk! Ye insult me! What wey suld I no ken what the ithers, they ken? Gin ye dinna tell me I will gang awa! I will stey at Lithgie and no come near!
THE KING: (pushing her persuasively) See here, Annie, awa ben and tak yer supper.
THE QUEEN: Haunds aff! Oh I am angert! I ken what it is! Ye are feart I fin oot! Ochiltree he ride to Dunibrissel!
THE KING: No if I can help it!
THE QUEEN: What wey for no? What is wrang at Dunibrissel that Ochiltree he want to gang? The Earl ο Moray. He maun be in danger! Ochiltree is his freind!
THE KING: Dinna shout, then!
THE QUEEN: I shout if I like! I yowl!
(SPYNIE enters)
SPYNIE: Yer Grace?
THE KING: What is it nou?
SPYNIE: My Lord the Chancellor.
(MAITLAND of Thirlstane enters. SPYNIE retires)
MAITLAND: Ye sent for me.
THE KING: Ay, Jock, the cat’s oot ο the bag nou!
MAITLAND: What!
THE KING: Ochiltree’s back in the Toun! He’s raisin men! He means to ride for Dunibrissel!
MAITLAND: He maun be stoppit! Hae ye sent for him?
THE KING: Ay.
MAITLAND: Then threaten him wi the gallows if he leaves the Toun! Hae ye ordert the Toun Gaird to shut the ports?
THE KING: Ay.
MAITLAND: Then we’ll manage yet. Hou mony ken what he’s efter?
THE QUEEN: I ken what he is efter!
MAITLAND: Eh!
THE QUEEN: He ride to help the Earl ο Moray!
MAITLAND: Come come nou, yer Grace, what maks ye think that?
THE QUEEN: He is the Earl his freind!
MAITLAND: But what maks ye think the Earl’s at Dunibrissel?
THE QUEEN: It is the Earl, his mither’s hoose! He gang there aff and on!
MAITLAND: And what hairm can come to him there?
THE QUEEN: I dinna ken. But I ken ye baith hate him. I ken yer freind Huntly hate him. I ken Huntly is awa north! And ye dinna want Ochiltree to gang! Ye hae some plot!
MAITLAND: Hoots, ye’re haverin!
THE QUEEN: Hoo daur ye say like that! I am the Queen!
THE KING: Ay, Jock, watch hou ye talk to her.
THE QUEEN: Ye are a bad ane! Jamie he hate the Bonnie Earl for he is jealous. What wey is he jealous? Because ye tell him lees! Ye dae the same last nicht. Ye say the Lord Lennox he luve me and I trail my skirt!
MAITLAND: Sae he daes and sae ye dae!
THE QUEEN: It is aa wrang! It is bare-faced! But I ken what ye are efter. Ye mak Jamie hate me for ye want to bide at Coort! Ye ken I want Jamie to send ye awa! And ye will gang yet!
THE KING: He’ll gang whan I say.
THE QUEEN: He will gang if ye say or no! He is aye ahint the bother, frae the very stert. When ye wantit to mairry me he say no! He say mairry the Princess ο Navarre! What wey? Because the English Queen she think I wasna guid Protestant and pey him siller!
MAITLAND: That’s a lee!
THE KING: Na, na, Jock, she has ye there.
MAITLAND: It’s a lee about the siller.
MAITLAND: It is a lee!
THE QUEEN: Jamie, ye let him say like that!
THE KING: Hoots awa, there’s nae need for me to interfere. Ye can haud yer ain fine.
THE QUEEN: Haud my ain. Oh, ye are hairtless! But I say he will gang!
THE KING: Na na, he’s needit.
(SPYNIE enters)
SPYNIE: Yer Grace. My Lord Ochiltree.
(OCHILTREE enters. SPYNIE retires)
THE QUEEN: My Lord, at Dunibrissel? What is wrang?
OCHILTREE: Yer Grace, Huntly left the Toun this mornin wi mair nor a hunder o his men, to mak for the Leith races. He didna gang near them! He crossed the Firth at the Queen’s Ferry and rade for Dunibrissel! And the Bonnie Earl’s there wi haurdly a man!
THE QUEEN: I kent!
OCHILTREE: There’s mair to tell! I gaed to cross mysell, to see what was wrang, and was held up at the Ferry! I was telt that the King and Chancellor had ordert that nae boats were to cross!
THE QUEEN: See! I was richt! It is a plot!
MAITLAND: Sae ye cam back here and stertit to raise yer men, eh?
OCHILTREE: I did, and I’m gaun to ride for Dunibrissel if I hae to fecht my wey oot ο the Toun!
MAITLAND: That’s juist what ye’ll hae to dae, my Lord! The ports are shut against ye!
THE QUEEN: (to MAITLAND) Ye will let him gang!
THE KING: Haud ye yer tongue, see!
THE QUEEN: I winna haud my tongue! I will tell Lennox! I will tell Atholl!
THE KING: Stey whaur ye are!
THE QUEEN: I winna!
(She rushes out)
THE KING: Spynie! Haud the door!
SPYNIE: (entering after a short lapse of time and bowing) Did ye speak, yer Grace?
THE KING: Ye thowless gowk! Did I no tell ye to haud the door?
SPYNIE: I’m hauding the door. Ye shairly didna want me to stop her Grace.
THE KING: Gae oot ο my sicht! (SPYNIE retires with dignity) Jock what’ll we dae?
MAITLAND: Naething. Let them come.
OCHILTREE: Ye’ll hae a lot to answer for, yer Grace. Huntly wasna held up at the Ferry!
THE KING: Huntly had a warrant to bring the Earl to me!
OCHILTREE: Oh, sae ye hae tricked me! Yer Grace, I’ll nair forgie ye if the Earl comes to hairm. I gart him come to Dunibrissel sae that I could tak Huntly ower and end the feud atween them. Huntly was to cross wi me the morn withoot his men. Nane were to ken bune the three o’s and yersell. Ye hae taen a gey mean advantage ο yer knowledge!
THE KING: Man, Ochiltree, we didna issue a warrant against the Earl for naething!
OCHILTREE: What has he dune?
THE KING: He was haund in gluve wi Bothwell in the last attack on the Palace!
OCHILTREE: That isna true!
THE KING: It is! He was seen at the fute ο the Canongait whan the steer was at its warst!
OCHILTREE: Wha telt ye that? Some ο the Chancellor’s bribed freinds!
THE KING: Ye’ll see them whan they come forrit at the Earl’s trial!
OCHILTREE: What wey hae they no come forrit afore this?
THE KING: Because they had to be brocht!
OCHILTREE: Ye hae tortured them! They wad say onything!
THE KING: Hoots awa, man, there’s nae need to wark yersel intil a rage!
MAITLAND: Yer freind’ll hae a fair trial! What mair can ye ask?
OCHILTREE: If I thocht he wad leive to see his trial!
THE KING: Guid God, man, hae ye no my word for it! (Suddenly alarmed) What’s that!
(The door of the dining-room opens and the QUEEN enters with LENNOX and ATHOLL)
LENNOX: What’s wrang at Dunibrissel?
OCHILTREE: Huntly has a warrant to bring in the Bonnie Earl!
LENNOX: What for?
THE KING: For bein a fause-hairtit traitor haund in gluve wi Bothwell!
LENNOX: Yer Grace, that isna true!
THE KING: It is!
LENNOX: Ye canna prove it!
MAITLAND: Gin we dinna prove it, Lennox, he’ll come to nae hairm! He’ll hae his trial afore the Lords ο the Session!
LENNOX: His trial! Ye sleekit hypocrite! Ye ken as weill as the rest o’s that he winna see the licht ο anither day! Didna his wife’s faither the Guid Regent send auld Huntly to the scaffold! Huntly’s been cryin for revenge for years!
MAITLAND: Ach havers!
LENNOX: I tell ye it’s murder, though hou ye’ll be the better for’t I dinna ken!
ATHOLL: He’ll hae bargaint for a gey guid lump ο the Earl’s grun!
MAITLAND: Hou daur ye say it! Ye young blaggard, I hae a damnt guid mind to rin ye through!
OCHILTREE: Ye’re in the praisence of the Queen!
THE KING: Ay, Jock, haud doun a wee.
MAITLAND: Hae I to staun here and listen to snash like that! By god, the government ο this country’s a gey thankless job! (To the Lords) Certies, but ye’re a bonnie lot! We fin oot that a man’s a fause-hairtit traitor, thick as a thief wi ane that has time and again tried to tak the life ο the King, but daur we bring him to his trial? Na na, his friends at Coort wad stop us! My Lords, ye’re guilty ο rank black disloyalty!
THE KING: Weill said, Jock! Ye’re traitors, ilka ane ο ye! Ye wad hae yer King gang ilka day in terror ο his life! What kind ο country’s this, that Bothwell’s alloued to leive? Has he no made sic a wrack ο the Palace that I canna bide in it? Has he no haen aa the witches in Lothian raisin storms on the watter whan I was crossin ower wi Annie there frae Denmark? Has he no haen dizzens ο them stickin preens in my cley corp, and brewin pousins for me oot ο puddock’s bluid? And ye mak a steer, certies, because we hae sent oot a warrant against ane ο his closest freinds!
LENNOX: By God, yer Grace, if it’s Bothwell ye’re feart ο ye’ll hae to gang in terror nou! Ilka man in Toun or Kirk’ll rin to his side at ance, if Huntly kills the Bonnie Earl the nicht! I tell ye ye winna move a fute frae yer door withoot bein spat on by the rabble! The wrath ο the Almichty God’ll be cried doun on yer heid by ilka preacher i’ the country! They’ll thump their Bibles to some tune nou!
THE KING: Let them thump! They canna rant mair against me nor they dae at praisent! I daurna put my fute inside a kirk but they’re at my throat for bein friendly wi the Papist Lords! But dae they eir cry curses doun on Bothwell? Na na! He’s oot for the life ο the King! He’s a favourite! But I’ll waste nae mair braith. Gin Toun or Kirk winna help me against Bothwell the Papist Lords will! Jock, hou mony are there i’ the Toun the nou?
MAITLAND: Errol’s here, wi Hume and Angus.
THE KING: Hae they ony men?
MAITLAND: Scores.
THE KING: Then tell them to staun bye the Toun Gaird gin ony try to force the ports! Lennox, Ochiltree and Atholl, ye’ll gang til yer ludgings and bide there till ye hae leave to move!
OCHILTREE: Yer Grace, ye’ll regret this!
THE KING: Is that a threat?
OCHILTREE: It’s nae threat to yersell, but if Huntly kills the Bonnie Earl I winna rest till I hae split his croun!
THE KING: The Deil tak ye, man, is there nae Coort ο Session? Gin there are ony wrangs they can be richtit there! Awa wi ye, and steer a fute frae yer ludgin gin ye daur! Jock, ye’ll see that my orders are cairrit oot!
MAITLAND: I will that!
THE KING: Awa then.
(MAITLAND goes to the door, then turns, waiting)
THE KING: Weill, my Lords?
(The Lords stand for a moment, glaring in anger, then OCHILTREE turns and bows to the QUEEN. LENNOX and ATHOLL follow his example. MAITLAND seeing that the Lords are leaving without trouble, hurries downstairs. The Lords go to the door. OCHILTREE and ATHOLL follow MAITLAND. LENNOX turns to the KING)
LENNOX: Yer Grace, ye tak evil coonsel whan ye listen to the Chancellor!
THE KING: I wad tak waur gin I listened to yersell!
LENNOX: Ye’ll see yet!
(He leaves)
THE QUEEN: It is dune. Frae this nicht dinna speak. Dinna touch. Dinna come near. I hae supper in my ain room.
THE KING: Awa for God’s sake and tak it, then!
(She stands staring at him. Tears gather in her eyes. She turns suddenly and hurries out)
THE KING: Spynie!
(SPYNIE enters)
THE KING: Is Logie there?
SPYNIE: Ay.
THE KING: Has he haen onything to eat?
SPYNIE: He’s juist dune, I think.
THE KING: Let him haud the door, then. We’ll gang ben and hae a bite with Nicoll and the Mistress, then I’ll hae a quait nicht at my book. The Queen’s awa up the stair wi a sair heid.
(RAB pokes his head in at the door)
THE KING: Ay, Rab, what is it?
RAB: There were nane ο yer gentlemen aboot the door. It’s Sir Robert Bowes the English ambassador.
THE KING: What! Guid God, hae I to get naething to eat the nicht at aa! Send him in, Spynie. (SPYNIE leaves. RAB is about to follow) RAB? (RAB turns) Is the Wynd quait?
RAB: Ay, yer Grace.
THE KING: Are there gairds at aa the doors?
RAB: Ay.
THE KING: Awa, then.
(RAB leaves. SPYNIE enters with SIR ROBERT BOWES)
SPYNIE: (bowing elaborately) Sir Robert Bowes.
(He leaves)
THE KING: Weill, Sir Robert, this is a queer time ο the day for a veesit, but ye’re weill come for aa that.
(He holds out his hand. SIR ROBERT kisses it)
SIR ROBERT: Most Gracious Sovereign, if I call early you are gone to the chase, and if late you have retired to your literary labours.3
THE KING: Sir Robert, that soonds like a rebuke. I hope ye dinna mean to imply that naither the sport ο the chase nor the airt ο letters is a proper employment for a sovereign?
SIR ROBERT: I would suggest, your Majesty, that they must be held subordinate to the arts of war and government, compared with which they are but recreations.
THE KING: Na na, Sir Robert, I dinna haud wi ye there! Hae ye neir thocht, Sir Robert, that it’s the weill governt country that kens the maist peace, and the ill the maist bluidshed?
SIR ROBERT: That, your Majesty, can hardly be denied.
THE KING: Then daes it no follow, Sir Robert, that the airt ο government precedes the airt ο war, for gin the tane is weill practised the tither isna needit?
SIR ROBERT: Undoubtedly.
THE KING: But the practice ο guid government, Sir Robert, entails great wisdom?
SIR ROBERT: Most certainly.
THE KING: And whaur can we fin wisdom, Sir Robert, if no in books, that cairry aa the wisdom ο the ages? And arena books, Sir Robert, the ootcome ο the airt ο letters?
SIR ROBERT: They are, your Majesty, indisputably.
THE KING: Then I hae ye nou, Sir Robert, for the airt ο letters maun precede the twa ithers, and is therefore a proper employment for a sovereign. But the airt ο letters daesna exercise the body, and for that there can be nae better practice, Sir Robert, nor the sport ο the chase. The chase demands strength and courage, like the airt ο war, and it keeps ane in grant fettle in case war suld arise, but it kills naebody and costs less. Nou there ye are, Sir Robert. I hope ye’re convinced.
SIR ROBERT: I am, your Majesty, completely.
THE KING: I’m gled to hear it, and if ye want to improve in debate, Sir Robert, ye suld hae a warstle wi the Logic. Tak a guid look at the Socratic method.4 Socrates spent his haill life haein arguments, and he wasna bate ance.
SIR ROBERT: I have no doubt, your Majesty, that you will follow most worthily in his distinguished footsteps. But I hope you will meet a less untimely end.
THE KING: Deed ay, Sir Robert, I hope sae, for there’s nae king but has his faes. I suppose ye hae some maitter to discuss?
SIR ROBERT: Indeed your Majesty, I have. It hath come to the knowledge of the Queen my mistress that certain of your Lords do harbour Jesuit priests, whose practice is to woo your subjects from the true religion with gifts of Spanish gold.
THE KING: Dear me, Sir Robert. Hou did this come oot?
SIR ROBERT: A certain fellow, your Majesty, a Papist, suspected of traffic with the Cardinal of Spain, was taken prisoner at the Port of London. In his possession were certain papers, your Majesty, which he did attempt to swallow on his way to jail.
THE KING: Guid God, Sir Robert, he’s been a gey glutton. And hou did he fare?
SIR ROBERT: His meal, your Majesty, was interrupted, and when the rescued papers were assembled they were traced to the hand of one James Gordon, a Jesuit, who resides in secret at the castle of the Lord Huntly.
THE KING: Weill, Sir Robert, it’s a serious maitter. Hae ye brocht the bits ο paper wi ye?
SIR ROBERT: Alas, your Majesty, no. They have been retained in London.
THE KING: What! Ye shairly dinne ettle us, Sir Robert, to believe ony chairge against the Lord Huntly till we hae seen the prufe!
SIR ROBERT: Such proof as there was, your Majesty, was sufficient to convince the Queen my mistress. Surely you do not doubt her shrewdness in these matters?
THE KING: Sir Robert, we dinna dout her shrewdness in ony maitter, but she’ll shairly see hersell that we can tak nae action against the Lord Huntly on the strength ο a second-haund story!
SIR ROBERT: Your Majesty, I think she doth expect you to accept her royal word. It is her wish that you banish the Lord Huntly from your presence, and adopt a more rigorous attitude towards the whole of your Papist subjects.
THE KING: I see. Sir Robert, I’ll be plain wi ye. We welcome aye oor dear sister’s royal advice for the better government ο oor puir afflictit country, but she’ll paurdon us, shairly, if we whiles think we ken hou the wind blaws here a wee thing better nor hersell. She’s at us aye to herry and harass the Papists, but she daesna ken, mebbe, that we hae great need ο them at times, and at nane mair nor the praisent. The great affliction ο Scotland the nou isna idolatory! It’s the Earl ο Bothwell! And we maun bide as close wi the Papist Lords as if they were oor very Brithers, till the traitor’s heid’s on the spike ο the Palace yett! Nou listen, Sir Robert. Gin oor dear sister were to mak us anither praisent ο some siller, sae that we could fit oot a weill furnisht body ο men to bring the blaggard to the gallows, something micht be done aboot the ither maitter then!
SIR ROBERT: Your Majesty, the question of money was raised in my dispatch.
THE KING: (eagerly) Eh?
SIR ROBERT: The queen my mistress hath instructed me to say, your Majesty, that until her wishes concerning the Papists are regarded, she can make no further grant to your exchequer.
THE KING: The Deil tak her for an auld miser!
SIR ROBERT: Your Majesty!
THE KING: Hoots man, dinna bridle up at me! By God she isna blate! She wad gar me leave mysell helpless against a man that’s been oot for my bluid for the last year or mair, juist because twa or three Papists here hae written letters to their freinds abroad! And aa this, certies, withoot the promise ο a bawbee! By God, Sir Robert, I woner at yer effrontery in comin up the nicht!
SIR ROBERT: Your Majesty, if you have ought to answer when you have considered the matter further, you will be pleased to send for me! Till then, I pray, you will allow me bid farewell!
(He bows)
THE KING: Sir Robert, the suner ye’re doun the stair the better. Ye hae held me frae my meat for naething! Spynie!
(LOGIE enters)
LOGIE: (bowing) My Lord Spynie’s haein his supper, yer Grace.
THE KING: Ay weill, Logie, show Sir Robert doun the stair. I’m gaun for mine.
(He goes into the dining-room. The two who remain suddenly assume the manner of conspirators. SIR ROBERT beckons logie aside from the door. He takes a letter from his tunic)
SIR ROBERT: This letter is for the Lord Bothwell. Will you see it safely delivered?
LOGIE: (looking furtively at each door in turn) Shairly, Sir Robert.
SIR ROBERT: (handing over the letter) The Queen my mistress will reward you well.
(He leaves quietly. LOGIE hurriedly places the letter in an inner pocket and follows him)