ACT FOUR
‘Nicoll Eduardis hous in Nithreis Wynd’, Edinburgh, XV September, 1594. Late afternoon.
The room which was the scene of Act 1. The shutters are wide open, giving a view of the opposite side of the Wynd in the light of a sunny afternoon in autumn.
MISTRESS EDWARD is sitting on a bench at the window, working on a piece of tapestry attached to a frame. rab appears at the door behind her, carrying a large earthenware jar, a basket and a couple of hares. His clothes are soiled with dust and straw. He puts down his jar and basket and holds up the hares.
RAB: See what I hae gotten!
MRS E: (turning, slightly startled) Losh, laddie, ye suldna come creeping up ahint folk’s backs like that! Ye gart me jag my finger! Whaur did ye fin thae?
RAB: Doun on the Muir. They loupit oot whan the men were scythin the corn. I gat the tane wi a stane and the tither wi a stick. Feel their hin legs. They’re burstin wi flaish.
MRS E: Ay, they’re braw anes. Ye maun hae been gey quick.
RAB: Quick! Dae ye see that ane? That’s whaur the stane gat it, at sax yairds and it loupin for its very life!
MRS E: Yer stane’s made an unco mark.
RAB: It gart it rowe alang the grun like a cairt wheel! And see this ane. There’s whaur I gat it wi the stick. I gied ae breinge and clapt it on the mooth!
MRS E: Ye haena left mony ο its teeth in.
RAB: Wha’ll want its teeth? It’s the flaish on its banes that maitters.
MRS E: Ay ay. Haud them awa though. I dinna want my claes aa bluid. Had the men their fill ο yill and bannock?
RAB: There was plenty ο bannock, but the yill sune gaed. It’s gey drouthy wark, it seems, wi the stour in their thrapples. Auld Tam frae the stable says his tongue’s like leather.
MRS E: It’s been like that sin eir I mind. Awa to the kitchen wi yer things and syne back till the booth.
RAB: Ay. (Picking up his jar and basket) Mistress Edward, dae ye think I’ll be alloued oot airly the nicht?
MRS E: What dae ye want oot airly for?
RAB: Twa ο Bothwell’s men hae been brocht to the Nether Tolbooth for makin coonterfeit siller. Their hoose was fou ο thirty shillin pieces that they’d struck oot ο souther.
MRS E: Dear me, they’ll catch it for that. Wha are they?
RAB: Johnstones, o a Border clan. They were brocht in by some ο the Maxwells. They’re to be hurlt through the Toun tied to the wheels ο a cairt, and syne hangit on the Castle Hill. Dae ye think I’ll be alloued oot in time to see it?
MRS E: Nou Rab, ye needna ask me that. Ye’ll hae to hear what yer maister says.
(NICOLL enters as she speaks)
MRS E: He wants oot in time to see a hangin.
RAB: The twa men ο Bothwell’s that struck siller oot ο souther. They’re to be hurlt through the Toun.
NICOLL: We’ll see. We’ll see. Were ye oot at the hairst?
RAB: Ay.
NICOLL: And hou’s it gaun?
RAB: They were scythin the last rig whan I cam awa.
NICOLL: Is aa that’s cut stookit?
RAB: Ay.
NICOLL: Grand. The wather can dae what it likes nou. Weill, lad, ye can tak yer supper in yer pooch and gang to the hangin whan the booth’s lockit. And let it be a lesson to ye neir to wrang yer maister be he King, Lord, or Toun Merchant. Whar did ye fin thae hares?
RAB: At the hairst.
MRS E: He gat the tane wi a stane and the tither wi a stick.
NICOLL: Grand. Tell the lassies to gie ye a dram.
MRS E: Nou, Nicoll.
NICOLL: Hoots, the lad desairves it. Awa wi ye.
(RAB leaves)
MRS E: Sae Bothwell’s up to his tricks again?
NICOLL: Ay, but he’s gaen ower faur this time. He’ll hae nae sympathy nou. Gin ilka body wi a toom pooch were to stert makin his ain siller there wad be nae profit in tred at aa.
MRS E: I suld think no. And that’s the man the Preachers are sae fond o. I dinna understaun them at aa.
NICOLL: Wait. I’ll let them ken what I think ο them. Maister Bruce is comin up in a wee while to hae a talk aboot raisin siller for the raid against the Papists. Aa the Preachers want his Grace to stert it afore the winter comes on, and his Grace aye puts them aff by saying he canna afford to pey for the sodgers. I dout they want me to mak him anither advance.
MRS E: Weill, Nicoll, I wadna dae it.
NICOLL: Dinna fear, I’ll watch mysell.
MRS E: Weill, watch yersell. Ye’re aye ower saft.
(RAB enters suddenly)
RAB: Guess wha’s here!
MRS E: Wha?
RAB: Her Grace, wi the Laird Logie and the Danish leddy!
mrs e: Ο dear me, and I’m sic a sicht! Ο Nicoll! Oh what’ll I dae?
NICOLL: Tach, wumman, ye’re aa richt. Fetch them up, Rab.
(RAB leaves hurriedly, and NICOLL goes to the door. MISTRESS EDWARD pushes the tapestry aside, straightens her dress, pats her hair and prepares to curtsy)
NICOLL: (at the door) Weill, weill, weill. (The QUEEN appears with LOGIE and MARGARET VINSTAR behind her) Come awa in Yer Grace. Sae ye’re back frae Stirlin?
(The three enter. Appropriate bows, bobs and curtsies, some of them during the ensuing dialogue)
MRS E: Yer Grace, this is a surprise!
THE QUEEN: We thocht we wad caa in for a meenit in the passin. We canna bide lang. We shanna sit. But ye are pleased to see us, eh?
MRS E: Yer Grace, ye hae dune us an honour.
NICOLL: Ye hae that.
MRS E: And my Leddy Vinstar.
THE QUEEN: Na na, Vinstar nae mair!
MRS E: Oh I forgot!
NICOLL: Ay, Laird, sae ye brak oot ae jeyl and landit yersell in anither.
MRS E: What things men say! Dinna heed him, Leddy Margaret. But I thocht, weill, ye se—
THE QUEEN: Ye woner to see them back at Coort, eh?
MRS E: Ay weill, I thocht the Laird wad still be in his Grace’s black books.
THE QUEEN: Na na. I missed my Margaret and wantit her back, sae I twistit him roun my finger. Logie is paurdont.
MRS E: I’m gled to hear it. Laird, did we no lauch the nicht ye won doun ower the jeyl winnock. We wonert what wad happen to my Leddy Margaret, though, for smugglin in the towe raip, and whan we heard that she had rin awa to jeyn ye we gey near rived oor ribs. Was his Grace no gey angert?
THE QUEEN: He was, gey. But whan he gat redd ο Bothwell and wantit the Chancellor back at the Coort I said no. I said that gin he didna allou Margaret back wi her Logie he wad hae nae Chancellor. And what could he say?
MRS E: And the Chancellor’s back? Times hae cheynged, eh?
THE QUEEN: Mistress Edward, it is different aathegither. There is haurdly an auld face left. Atholl is put to the horn, Ochiltree is oot wi Bothwell, and Spynie is in jeyl, puir man. Logie has been gey luckie.
NICOLL: He has that.
THE QUEEN: Weill, ye see, he mairrit my Margaret, and the rest didna. But the Chancellor, Mistress Edward, ye suld see. He is a cheynged man. He licks my shune like a dug. And he taks pains.
THE QUEEN: Ay, and they are gey sair. He will talk and talk and then, aa at ance, he will twist his face and girn and haud his back. Puir man, I feel sorry, but it gars me lauch.
NICOLL: I suld think sae.
THE QUEEN: Ay. Jamie his Grace says it is the judgement ο the Lord on him for his wickedness.
MRS E: I daursay, for he was a bad ane. But ye haena said onything yet aboot the big event in yer ain life.
THE QUEEN: (coyly) Ah, Mistress Edward, haud yer tongue.
MRS E: Is the young Prince keepin weill. What is he like?
THE QUEEN: Ah weill (shrugging humorously) he is like his faither.
MRS E: (forgetting herself) Aw. (Recovering) But ye had a grand christenin. We had a wild day o’t in the Toun here. Aa the prentice laddies were dressed up like heathens, wi their faces blackent and feathers in their bannets, and we had ballad- singers and jougglers and tummlers and aa sorts, and ye suld hae seen the bane-fires at nicht. They were bleizin frae aa the hill-taps like staurs in the lift. It was a sair day for the Preachers. They werena pleased.
THE QUEEN: Huh! The Preachers! They made a sang at Stirlin tae. They were flytin at the Lords for dressin up in weemen’s claes.
MRS E: They hate to see folk enjoyin themsells.
THE QUEEN: Ye are richt. They wad hae us aye wi lang faces. They say we are ο wer licht-hairtit at the Coort, and that we maun hae lang prayers mornin and nicht, and lang graces afore and efter meat. They say it in their kirks to the rabble. It is gaun ower the mark.
NICOLL: Weill, yer Grace, I wadna heed them.
THE QUEEN: Naither I dae. I gang my ain wey.
MRS E: Ye’re quite richt, yer Grace. I hear the young Prince got some gey grand praisents.
THE QUEEN: (brightening) Oh Mistress Edward, it wad hae taen awa yer braith. Frae the States ο Holland there was a gowden box and inside, written in gowden letters, a promise to pey the young Prince a yearly pension ο a thoosand guilders.
MRS E: A thoosand guilders! Dear me.
THE QUEEN: It is a lot. And gowden cups! Oh Mistress Edward the wecht! Sir James Melville stude aside me to tak the heavy things, and he could hardly haud them. And there were precious stanes frae my ain country, and mair gowden cups, and a fancy kist, staunin on legs, frae her Majesty ο England.
MRS E: Mercy me, he’s a luckie bairn. And he has a gey hantle ο tides for ane no oot ο his creddle.
THE QUEEN: Titles! What a rigmarole! I hae it aff by hairt. ‘The richt excellent, high and magnanimous Frederick Henry, Henry Frederick’ — he is caa’d efter my faither ye see, and the faither ο her Majesty doon bye, and we hae it baith weys to please everybody — but I am wanert aff — ‘Frederick Henry, Henry Frederick, by the grace ο God Baron ο Renfrew, Lord ο the Isles, Earl ο Carrick, Duke ο Rothesay, Prince and Great Steward ο Scotland.’
MRS E: It’s a gey lang screed that.
THE QUEEN: Is is ower muckle. I caa him ‘Wee Henry’.
MRS E: (laughing) Aye it’ll be a lot mair convenient. But I thocht ye wad hae caa’d him by yer ain faither’s name.
THE QUEEN: Na na, we caa him by the English name, for some day he will be English King. But Mistress Edward, we canna bide. We hae to see the Provost. Ye maun come to the Palace, some day sune, and see Wee Henry for yersell.
MRS E: Yer Grace, I’ll tak ye at yer word.
THE QUEEN: Dae. We sail be pleased to see ye. (Bobbing) Bailie, I bid ye guid efternune.
NICOLL: (bowing) Guid efternune, yer Grace. I’m sorry ye canna bide. And I’m sorry his Grace isna wi ye.
THE QUEEN: Huh! He is doun the Coogait, at the printers’.
NICOLL: Aye at books yet.
THE QUEEN: Aye at books. (Bobbing) Mistress Edward, fare ye weill.
MRS E: (with a curtsy) Fare ye weill, yer Grace. (Bobbing) And ye, my Leddy. (Bobbing) and ye tae, Laird. See and bide oot ο jeyl this time.
NICOLL: My Leddy Margaret’ll see to that.
LENNOX: (bowing) My wild days are by nou, Mistress Edward. Guid efternune, Bailie.
NICOLL: I’ll come doun.
(He follows the visitors out. MISTRESS EDWARD watches them go, then takes a seat at the window. She sits staring reflectively at her lap, and wipes her eyes as a few tears gather. She rises and looks out of the window. She waves as the QUEEN turns into the Wynd. She sits again, giving her eyes another wipe. NICOLL enters)
NICOLL: What’s wrang wi ye?
MRS E: I was haein a wee bit greit.
NICOLL: What aboot?
MRS E: I was juist thinkin.
MRS E: Weill her Grace is sae cantie the nou. I was thinkin what a peety it is that the Lord God haesna seen fit to gie us the blessin ο a bairn tae.
NICOLL: Hoot, wumman, think ο yer age.
MRS E: Ay, but still.
NICOLL: Tach!
(RAB enters)
RAB: Here’s Bailie Morison!
NICOLL: Eh! What daes he want?
RAB: He wants to see ye.
NICOLL: Nae dout. Fetch him up. (RAB leaves) He can keep his neb oot ο naething. He’ll hae heard that I hae Maister Bruce comin up.
MRS E: Watch him, then. I hope he saw her Grace leavin. It’ll gie him something to tell his wife.
BAILIE M: (outside) Are ye there, Nicoll?
NICOLL: Ay, Bailie, come in.
(BAILIE MORISON enters, with RAB behind him)
MRS E: Guid efternune, Bailie.
BAILIE M: Guid efternune, Mistress Edward.
RAB: Can I gang nou?
NICOLL: Hae ye lockit the booth?
RAB: Ay.
NICOLL: Awa then. (RAB shoots off. MISTRESS EDWARD goes to the awmrie for a bottle and glasses) Sit doun, Bailie.
MRS E: Ye’ll hae a dram?
BAILIE M: Weill ay, I will, thank ye. It’s gey drouthy wather. I saw her Grace leavin the nou.
MRS E: (pouring drinks) Oh ay, she aye taks a rin up if she’s onywhaur near.
BAILIE M: Ay, ye seem to be gey weill ben. (Accepting drink) Thank ye. Yer guid health.
NICOLL: Guid health.
MRS E: Thank ye.
(She bobs and leaves by the dining-room door)
BAILIE M: I hear ye hae Maister Bruce comin up?
NICOLL: Ay.
BAILIE M: It’ll be aboot siller for the raid against the Papists?
NICOLL: Ay weill, I canna say ye’re wrang.
BAILIE M: And hou dae ye staun?
NICOLL: Weill Bailie, I dout I can dae nae mair. His Grace is ower deep in my debt as it is.
BAILIE M: That’s my poseetion tae, in a wey.
BAILIE M: Weill, ye see, I could afford to lend him mair gin he could offer guid security.
NICOLL: Sae could I. But whaur will he fin that?
BAILIE M: Think. Hae ye no heard aboot the christenin praisents that were brocht to the young Prince?
NICOLL: Damn it. Bailie, we canna tak the bairn’s christenin praisents!
BAILIE M: I see nae hairm in it.
NICOLL: It isna richt.
BAILIE M: Man, it’s oor ae chance ο gettin a bawbee ο oor siller back. There’s eneugh gowd, frae what I hear, to cover baith what he owes us the nou and a new advance as weill. In fact, Nicoll, it wad be a grand stroke ο business.
NICOLL: He wadna hear o’t.
BAILIE M: Weill,
NICOLL: Na na. Ye ken he’s faur frae eager to stert the raid. He jumps at ony excuse that comes to haund. Poverty’s as guid a ane as ony.
BAILIE M: Mebbe. And mebbe no. I think the maitter’s worth some thocht.
(MISTRESS EDWARD comes to the door)
MRS E: Paurdon me, Bailie. Nicoll, here’s Maister Bruce.
NICOLL: Haud on, then. He’s aye rantin against self-indulgence. Gie me yer gless, Bailie. (He lifts the bottle and two glasses) Fetch him nou.
(He hurriedly hides the bottle and glasses as MISTRESS EDWARD goes for BRUCE)
NICOLL: (as BRUCE appears) Come in, Maister Bruce. Come in. (MISTRESS EDWARD retires and closes the door) I hae Bailie Morison here.
BAILIE M: (half-rising) Nicoll, if ye hae business to discuss I had mebbe better leave ye.
BRUCE: My business micht concern ye tae, Bailie, sae dinna leave on my accoont.
NICOLL: Bide still man. Maister Bruce, will ye sit doun?
BRUCE: (sitting) Thank ye.
NICOLL: It’s been grand wather for the hairst.
BAILIE M: Deed ay. I haena seen the Muir wi sic bonnie raws ο stooks on’t for mony a lang year.
BRUCE: The Lord has filled yer girnels, Bailie, as a sign and a portent. He wad hae ye return his liberality in the service ο His cause.
BAILIE M: Ay?
NICOLL: Hou that, Maister Bruce?
BRUCE: Oor temporal ruler, as ye weill ken, is pledged to haud a raid against the Papist lords, but he says he hasna the siller to pey for the men. That may be the truith, my freinds, and it may no, but gin the siller were brocht forrit he wad hae to stert.
NICOLL: Ay, Maister Bruce, and what dae ye propose?
BRUCE: Ye’ll ken, Bailie, that the Croun has a richt to command men frae ilka Lord, Laird and Burgh in the country, but ye’ll ken tae that maist men dinna rise, and that thae wha dae mak a gey scattered force. What I propose is this: that whan it’s resolved to haud the raid forrit, and proclamation’s made to that effect, ony that want to bide at hame suld be grantit exemption gin they pey for the sodgers to tak their place.
NICOLL: Na, Maister Bruce, it winna dae. The kind that dinna rise when there’s a proclamation are juist the very kind that tak a lang time to pey their debts. The winter wad be on lang afore the siller was collectit.
BRUCE: I had thocht, Bailie, that wi this ither siller as security, an advance micht be made to the Croun at ance.
NICOLL: Na.
BAILIE M: Na.
BRUCE: Think weill, my freinds, afore ye harden yer hairts. The cause I ask ye to serve is the cause ο the Kirk, and gin ye dinna serve it weill ye canna prosper. For hasna the Lord said, ‘If ye walk contrar unto me I sall walk contrar unto ye also. I will lay bare yer fields, and mak yer cities waste, and bring the haill land unto desolation’? 12
NICOLL: Ay ay, Maister Bruce, but we arena in the Kirk the nou. This is a maitter ο business. Ye ask us to mak an advance to the Croun, but the Croun’s gey deep in oor debt as it is, and the security ye offer is worth naething. Hauf ο the siller ye talk aboot wadna be peyed unless a body ο airmed men was sent oot to fetch it.
BAILIE M: And I dout if the ither half wad pey the Croun’s praisent debts.
NICOLL: It canna be dune, Maister Bruce.
BAILIE M: Weill, Nicoll, I wadna say that. There micht be some ither wey.
NICOLL: There’s nae ither wey, I tell ye. The poseetion’s hopeless frae the stert. If his Grace had his hairt in the raid it wad be a different maitter, but ye ken hou he led the last ane. When eir he gat near the Papists he pitched his camp till they had time to retreat, and the Hielands are braid enough to let that sort o ploy gang on for years. The haill truith ο the maitter is, Maister Bruce, that he winna lead the raid wi ony hairt till he has houndit doun Bothwell, and that ye winna let him dae.
BRUCE: He can dae that whan he has first served God and the Kirk! Bothwell’s soond in his releegion!
(There is a faint commotion from far beyond the window)
NICOLL: He has nae scruples whaur siller’s concerned. Listen to that! Twa ο his men are being hurlt through the Toun for makin counterfeit thirty shillin pieces!
BRUCE: It’s anither ο the Chancellor’s fause chairges! Bothwell has naething to dae wi the men!
BAILIE M: What’s that!
(RAB can be heard on the staircase shouting ‘Bailie Edward! Maister!’)
NICOLL: It’s Rab!
(RAB enters breathlessly)
RAB: There’s a fecht on at the Nether Bow Port! Johnstones and Maxwells! The Johnstones raidit the Nether Tolbooth to let their twa freinds oot, and the Maxwells that brocht them in cam doun the Hie Gait to stop it! The Toun Gaird’s tryin to clear the causey!
NICOLL: Guid God! Help me on wi my gear, Rab!
(NICOLL and RAB hurry out through the dining-room door. BAILIE MORISON goes to the window. The commotion grows)
BAILIE M: Here’s his Grace, fleein for his life, wi the Chancellor pechin ahint him! (BRUCE goes over beside him) I believe he’s comin here!
(MISTRESS EDWARD enters from the dining-room)
MRS E: What’s aa the steer? I’m shair Nicoll daesna hae to gang fechtin! He’ll be slauchtert! It isna richt!
(The KING is heard on the staircase shouting ‘Nicoll Edward! Nicoll, ye deil!’)
BAILIE M: It’s his Grace.
(The KING enters in disarray)
THE KING: Mistress Edward, gie me a dram! I hae been gey near shot doun, hackit to bits, and staned to daith!
(MISTRESS EDWARD hastens to pour him a drink. NICOLL appears at dining-room door, strapping on his gear)
NICOLL: What’s wrang, yer Grace?
THE KING: What’s wrang! Yer Toun isna safe! That’s what’s wrang! It’s fou ο Border reivers fleein at ilk ither’s throats!
RAB: (coming in behind NICOLL with his pistols) It’s the Johnstones, yer Grace! They were tryin to brek doun the doors ο the Nether Tolbooth and let oot Bothwell’s twa men!
THE KING: Bothwell! I micht hae kent it! There’ll be nae peace in the country till the blaggard’s ablow the grun! (Accepting a glass from MISTRESS EDWARD) Thank ye, Mistress Edward. (The CHANCELLOR appears at the door, breathing heavily) Ay, Jock, come in and sit doun. Gie him a dram tae, guid wumman, for he’s worn oot.
(MAITLAND slumps into a chair, and MISTRESS EDWARD goes to fetch him a drink. The Town bell begins to ring)
NICOLL: (completing his preparations) There’s the Town Bell, thank God. It’ll bring the men up frae the hairst. Hurry oot, Rab. Bailie Morison, dinna staun there gawpin. Come on hame for yer gear.
MRS E: Oh Nicoll, watch yersell.
NICOLL: (leaving quickly) Ay ay.
(RAB and BAILIE MORISON follow him out)
MRS E: (dabbing her eyes) Oh I hope he’ll be aa richt.
THE KING: Ay ay Mistress, he’ll be aa richt. He’s as strang as a bull. Are ye comin roun, Jock?
MAITLAND: (busy with his glass) Gie me time.
MRS E: (suddenly remembering) Her Grace was here no lang syne. I woner if she’ll be aa richt.
THE KING: Her Grace, eh? Whaur did she gang?
MRS E: She left to gang to the Provost’s.
THE KING: There’s nae need to worry then. The fechtin’s aa ablow the Tron.
MRS E: I think I’ll gang up to the mooth ο the Wynd and hae a look, though. It micht be better.
THE KING: Watch yersell, then.
MRS E: Ay, ay.
(She goes out in a state of agitation)
THE KING: Weill, Maister Bruce, what are ye staunin glowerin at? Can the like ο ye dae naething? Or are ye sae thick wi Bothwell that ye want his freinds to win?
BRUCE: Ye hae nae richt to blame Bothwell! Ye hae nae prufe that the men are his!
THE KING: Havers! The Johnstones were aye ahint him. They were in his gaird whan he held the Palace last year, and they were alang wi him in the spring whan he cam wi Ochiltree to Edmonstone Edge. Gin it hadna been for my Lord Hume he micht hae marched them on the palace again. And that’s the man ye try to shield.
BRUCE: I try to defend him frae the persecution ο his enemies! He was first put to the horn on a fause chairge, and whan he was adjudged guiltless, he gat nae remission! And that in spite ο yer promise, written by yer ain haund, that he wad be shown sic favour as if he had neir offendit!
THE KING: My promise was cancelled by the Three Estates! And he has little to complain o, the Lord kens. For a man wha’s committit sae mony treasons he’s been gey weill used. He was paurdont. He was to be alloued to draw his rents. Aa that was askit was that he suld leave the country!
BRUCE: He left the country! He gaed to England!
THE KING: To lie low and plot anither raid! Ye talk aboot brekin promises, Maister Bruce, but if Bothwell has his match in the haill ο Christendom he’ll be gey ill to fin!
BRUCE: His match is praisent in this very room!
THE KING: Jock! did ye hear that?
MAITLAND: Gin I werena auld and dune I wad split his croun!
BRUCE: I spak the truith, Maitland, as weill ye ken! Didna the King promise that ye and Hume suld be keepit frae the Coort?
THE KING: Guid God, ye canna object to Jock here! He’s a dune auld man.
BRUCE: And Hume? Is he dune?
THE KING: Ye ken he’s convertit! I argued him roun mysell. He’s as guid a Protestant as there is in the country.
BRUCE: He’s like aa the ithers ye hae aboot ye, a hypocrite that wad raither ye spent the revenues ο the Croun on his ain profligate pleisures nor in the service ο God’s Kirk! But I tell ye, Jamie Stewart, King though ye be, that gin ye dinna rouse yersell to dae the wark that the Lord has committit to yer haund, the Kirk shall rise in its strength and act withoot ye!
THE KING: The Kirk’ll dae what it’s alloued to dae, and nae mair. I’m aye its heid yet!
BRUCE: The Lord is its heid, and ye are but a member, and gin ye hinder its wark ye sall be weedit oot!
THE KING: Ye canna weed me oot aither! There can be nae ex-communications withoot my consent! And as for the Papist raid ye canna grummle. I hae promised to stert it whan eir I can fin the siller.
BRUCE: The want ο siller’s an excuse! Ye ken that gin the folk ο the Burghs wad rise to support ye ye wad be for fleein at Bothwell’s throat at ance! Ye wad sune fin the siller for that!
THE KING: By God I wish I could! I wad sune fin the men, ay though ye thumpit the brods ο yer pulpits till they brak into bits! Rant against me hou ye like, uphaud Bothwell as muckle as ye will, gin I ance fin the siller I’ll hound the blaggard doun!
BRUCE: Ye little ken the pouer ο the Kirk! There isna a man i’ the haill country that wad daur follow ye against the will ο the Preachers!
THE KING: The will ο the Preachers! Siller’s a mair potent motive nor the fear ο hell!
BRUCE: Nae dout, amang the unbelievers at the Coort, but I tell ye that to the congregations ο the Kirk the will ο the Preachers is the will ο God! Tak warnin afore it be ower late! Gin ye delay ower lang wi the raid against the Papists the Kirk itsell sall summon the godly to the fecht! Frae ilka pulpit in the country the cry sall gang forth, that the hour appeyntit has come at last, and the sword of the Lord is to be girdit on!
THE KING: Huh! They’d look a bonnie lot! Eh, Jock can ye see them? (MAITLAND snorts) Weill I ken what they’d be like, Maister Bruce: a rabble ο puir gowks airmed wi heuks. And nae dout yersell and Andrew Melville wad lead them?
BRUCE: They wad be led by my Lord Bothwell!
THE KING: Oho, ye deil!
MAITLAND: (pushing back his chair and gripping his hilt) Watch what ye say, sir! Yer words micht cost ye dear!
BRUCE: Ye daurna touch me, and ye ken it! The folk ο the Toun wad stane ye!
MAITLAND: (stepping forward and drawing) I wad tak the risk!
BRUCE: Tak it, and may the Lord accurse ye! May aa the maledictions that fell upon Judas, Pilate, Herod and the Jews, aa the troubles that fell upon the city ο Jerusalem, aa the plagues and pestilences that ever,
(He breaks off, as MAITLAND seems suddenly to be seized with pain. The Town bell stops ringing)
MAITLAND: (writhing back into his chair and dropping his sword) Oh. Oh. Oh.
(The KING and BRUCE stare at him in amazement. MISTRESS EDWARD enters hurriedly from the staircase)
MRS E: Yer Grace! (Noticing MAITLAND) Guidness gracious, what’s wrang!
THE KING: That deil’s been cursin Jock. It’s brocht on his pains.
MRS E: (reproachfully) Oh, Maister Bruce.
THE KING: I’ll hae him tried for witchcraft! Leave him. He’ll sune come roun. Sit up, Jock and tak anither moothfou. That’s richt. Are ye feelin better?
MAITLAND: Gie me time.
MRS E: Yer Grace, My Lord Lennox and Nicoll are bringin a man doun the Wynd.
THE KING: A man, eh?
MRS E: Ay, by the scruff ο the neck. Here they are nou.
(They look to the door. LENNOX enters)
LENNOX: (to NICOLL outside) Bring him in, Nicoll.
(NICOLL enters leading a stranger by the shoulder. LENNOX steps forward and hands the KING a letter) Yer Grace, hae a look at that.
THE KING: (indicating the stranger) Wha’s this?
LENNOX: It’s Sir Robert Bowes’ new English servant.
THE KING: And what’s this? Whaur did ye fin it?
LENNOX: I was in the Hie Gait whan the steer stertit. Juist whan it was at its heicht a man made to ride up the Toun frae the Black Friar’s Wynd and was dung aff his horse by a stray shot. This man ran forrit and rypit his pooches. It was that he was efter, for whan eir he fand it he made to rin awa.
THE KING: (unrolling it) Is it a letter?
LENNOX: It’s blank!
THE KING: Oho! No a word on it! Conspeeracy! Weill weill, we hae dealt wi blanks afore.13 Mistress Edward, rin ben to the kitchen and fetch a bit ο flannel and a hot airn. Hurry! We’ll sune see what’s at the bottom ο this. (MISTRESS EDWARD hurries out by the dining-room door. To the stranger) Ay ay, my man, sae ye hae been foun wi a secret document in yer possession? Pou him forrit, Nicoll, and put yer sword to his hin end. (NICOLL obeys) Was this letter for Sir Robert Bowes? (Silence) Was it, I’m askin? Nicoll, gar him speak.
NICOLL: (jabbing the stranger) Answer whan ye’re telt!
STRANGER: (turning on him indignantly, and speaking with a Cockney accent as remote from the speech of SIR ROBERT BOWES as RAB’s Edinburgh sing-song is from the speech of SIR JAMES MELVILLE) Avaunt, thou pock-faced villain, sheathe thy sword! I know not what thy master asketh!
THE KING: What is he sayin? Tak him by the collar!
(NICOLL obeys)
STRANGER: Unhand me or I’ll kick thy paunch, thou bottled-nosed bully!
THE KING: Jab him again, Nicoll!
(NICOLL obeys)
STRANGER: Oh!
NICOLL: Staun at peace, see!
STRANGER: Peace! God’s light if this be peace! Call for my master!
THE KING: He said something about his maister! I’ll try him in English. Listen, my man. Art thou the servant of Sir Robert Bowes?
STRANGER: He is my master! Call him here!
THE KING: Ay ay, but listen. Did Sir Robert Bowes send thee to obtain this letter?
STRANGER: This scurvy dog of a servant choketh me!
THE KING: Eh? What is he sayin, Jock?
MAITLAND: It bates me.
THE KING: Listen again. Did Sir Robert Bowes send thee to obtain this letter?
STRANGER: He is my master!
MAITLAND: Maister! It’s aa he can think o!
THE KING: He’s donnart! Letter, my man! Letter! Dae ye no ken what letter means? Dost thou see this letter?
STRANGER: How can I see? He has me by the throat! Order thy varlet off!
THE KING: It’s hopeless. I wish Sir Jamie Melville was here. He kens aa their tongues.
LENNOX: He’s at Halhill the nou.
THE KING: He’s aye awa whan he’a maist needit. But we’ll persevere. We’ll take him word by word. Dae ye hear? Dost thou hear? We shall speak each word separately. Dost thou understand letter?
STRANGER: Call for my master! He will tell thee all!
MAITLAND: Maister again!
THE KING: We’re at letter the nou, no maister! I’m haudin it up! Look at it!
STRANGER: I know not what thou sayest!
THE KING: What was that?
MAITLAND: I didna catch it.
THE KING: Can ye no speak ae word at a time?
MAITLAND: Say it in English.
THE KING: Ay ay, I forgot. Canst thou not speak each word separately?
STRANGER: God grant me patience! Dost thou not follow Master? Master, thou addle-pate! Master!
THE KING: Guid God!
MAITLAND: He’s at it yet!
THE KING: I dinna like his mainner, aither.
MAITLAND: Naither dae I. Put him in the jougs.
THE KING: Dae ye ken what the jougs are? Dae ye ken what the rack is? Dost thou understand gallows?
STRANGER: Call for my master!
THE KING: Guid God Almichty! Tak him oot and droun him!
MAITLAND: Put him in the jougs!
THE KING: And fetch his maister! We’ll see what he has to say! Dinna say what we’re efter, though. We’ll tak him by surprise.
NICOLL: Aa richt, yer Grace. (Dragging the STRANGER out) Come on, see.
STRANGER: Call for my master! Call for my master! (Turning his attention from the KING to NICOLL) Oh thou lousy, damned, abominable rogue!
NICOLL: Haud yer tongue or I’ll clowt ye!
(He bundles the STRANGER out by the staircase door. MISTRESS EDWARD enters from the dining-room with a piece of flannel and a hot iron)
MRS E: Here ye are, yer Grace. I was as quick as I could manage.
THE KING: Ye haena been lang. Gie me the flannel. We’ll spread it here. Then the letter, flat oot. Haud it doun, Jock, till I fold the flannel ower it. Nou put doun the airn. (mistress edward lays the iron on the table. The KING picks it up) Hou hot is it? (He tests it) Ph! Grand. It’s juist richt. Nou watch this.
(He starts to iron carefully over the letter)
MRS E: Whaur’s Nicoll, yer Grace?
THE KING: He’s awa to the Tolbooth wi the Englishman. Wheesht the nou. We’ll sune see what Sir Robert’s up to. (He puts down the iron and lifts the flannel) Look, Jock, it’s up!
MAITLAND: It is that!
THE KING: It’s in Sir Robert’s haund! Juist what I thocht! Sir Robert’s servant maun hae gien it to the horseman in the first place! Nou let me see. (He reads excitedly) It’s fou ο ciphers! Jock, ye ken the English code!14Wha’s Argomartes? Bothwell, eh!
MAITLAND: Nane else! Is it for him?
THE KING: It is! By God, I hae Sir Robert nou! (He reads) America! That’s the English Queen hersell!
MAITLAND: America, ay!
THE KING: Oho, then, listen to this! ‘Thou (that’s Bothwell) didst by thine own unreasonable demeanour render thyself too weak to serve America further, and cannot complain that America now leaves thee to furnish thine own purse.’ Oho, eh! It’s what I aye said! He’s been in her pey aa alang! (He reads) But there’s a bit here I canna richt mak oot. ‘As for thy latest threat, America hath strong hopes that through vee ane emm thirty-sax pund sterlin…’
MAITLAND: The Preachers!
THE KING: Eh! By God, Maister Bruce, sae ye’re in towe wi Sir Robert tae!
BRUCE: It’s a lee! There’s a mistake!
THE KING: Haud yer tongue and we’ll see! It says here ‘America hath strong hopes that through the Preachers she may force Petrea…’ That’s me! What rank black ineequity!
MAITLAND: Force ye to what!
THE KING: ‘to rise against Chanus’
MAITLAND: Huntly!
THE KING: Juist that! Listen! ‘to rise against Chanus in such strength that thy support will avail him nothing.’ Guid God! Thy support! Bothwell’s!
MAITLAND: Support for Huntly!
THE KING: It canna be!
(They peer excitedly into the letter. There is a commotion below the window)
MRS E: There’s a steer on the stairs!
(RAB comes to the door)
RAB: Here’s my Lord Morton!
(He stands back. MORTON enters)
MORTON: Yer Grace, I hae Colville here! He’s gien himsell up!
THE KING: What! Whaur is he?
MORTON: I hae him here! He says he wants to speak to ye at ance!
THE KING: Dinna let him near me! It’s a plot!
MORTON: He says he has news for ye alane!
THE KING: It’s a trick, I tell ye! Is he airmed?
MORTON: Na.
THE KING: Lodovick! Staun by and draw! Jock! Whaur’s yer sword? Pick it up! See that he daesna win near me!
MORTON: Sall I fetch him?
THE KING: Ye’re shair he has nae weapon?
MORTON: Ay.
THE KING: Then let him come.
(They stand expectant. MORTON leaves. In a moment he returns and stands within the door. COLVILLE enters stained with travel, and throws himself at the KING’s feet. The KING shrinks back)
THE KING: Keep back!
COLVILLE: Maist Clement Prince.
THE KING: Ye hae said that afore! What dae ye want?
COLVILLE: (grovelling) Yer Grace, I hae focht against ye in bygaen times, but I actit as my conscience dictatit, and in the service ο the true releegion.
THE KING: Ye leear, ye did it for Bothwell and his English siller!
COLVILLE: The Lord kens, yer Grace, that I thocht he was soond in doctrine. I renounce him nou!
THE KING: Eh?
COLVILLE: He’s jeynt the Papist Lords for Spanish gowd!
THE KING: (quietly) Say that again.
COLVILLE: He’s at Kirk ο Memure wi Huntly and the ithers! They hae pledged themsells to kidnap the young Prince and murder Hume and Maitland.
THE KING: (as MAITLAND gasps) The fiends ο hell! Wha telt ye that?
COLVILLE: I hae kent it aa alang! I wantit to mak shair! Yer Grace, ye’ll paurdon me? I’ll serve ye weill!
THE KING: I wad paurdon the Deil himsell for that news! It’s like a dream come true! I can haurdly tak it in! To think o’t! To think o’t! My warst enemy destroyed by his ain folly! Aa my troubles washt awa by ae turn ο the tide! Man, Jock, it’s lauchable. It’s rideeculous. It’s a slap in the face to the Kirk and England baith. Ay, Maister Bruce, ye may weill look dumfounert! That’s yer Bothwell for ye! That’s the man that was to lead the godly in the service ο the Lord! But dinna tak it ill, man! The Lord sail be served! I’ll hound doun the Papists for ye nou! (With a quick change of manner) Man, Jock, look at him. He daesna seem pleased.
MAITLAND: It’s ower big a dose for ae gulp.
THE KING: It is that! He canna believe that the Lord can hae His ain wey ο daein His ain wark. That’ll teach ye, my man, that it’s in the Croun and no in the assemblies ο yer Kirk that the Lord invests His authority, for has He no by this very move entrustit leadership to me, and gart ye lick yer vomit!
BRUCE: His will’s beyond yer comprehension!
THE KING: His will’s as clear as the licht o day! He has peyntit me oot as His airthly Lieutenant! Awa to yer colleagues, man, and tell them the news! Tell them their idol has turnt idolator! Let them cry frae ilka pulpit that the hour has come at last, whan the King sall lead the godly in the service ο the Lord, and Bothwell and the Papists sall perish thegither!
BRUCE: May ye hae the Lord’s help in the task, for ye’ll fail withoot it!
(He marches out)
THE KING: Hoho, he didna like it! He lost his tongue athegither! God, it’s miraculous! Colville, I’ll spare yer heid, man, for ye hae served me weill. Ye can ward yersell wi Morton. My Lord, I mak ye responsible for his safe keepin. Tak him doun to the Palace. I’ll speir at him the nicht afore my Cooncil.
MORTON: Very weill, yer Grace.
COLVILLE: (kissing the KING’s hand) Maist Clement Prince. Maist Noble King.
THE KING: I haena paurdont ye yet, mind. Ye’ll hae to tell me aa ye ken.
COLVILLE: I hae copies ο aa their documents, yer Grace.
THE KING: They’re yer ain wark nae dout. Awa wi ye.
(COLVILLE kisses his foot) Man, ye’re a scunner. Watch him weill, my Lord (MORTON bows) Rise up aff the flair, man, and tak yersell oot ο my sicht! (COLVILLE bows himself elaborately out of the room. MORTON bows and follows him) He turns my stamack, but he’ll be worth his wecht in gowd. Lodovick! Caa my Cooncil for eicht o’clock.
LENNOX: Very weill, yer Grace.
(He bows and leaves)
THE KING: (reaching for the bottle) Weill, Jock, it’s been a grand efternune, Eh, Mistress?
MRS E: It has that, yer Grace. Sall I tak the airn?
THE KING: Leave it. I want it. I’m expectin Sir Robert.
MRS E: Very well, yer Grace. I’ll leave ye, I think, and hae the table laid. (Knowingly) Will ye bide for supper?
THE KING: (joyfully) Mistress Edward, ye’re the best friend I hae! I’ll clap my sword to yer guid man’s back and say ‘Arise, Sir Nicoll’!
MRS E: Na na, yer Grace, dinna dae that. The Kirk wad turn against him. Aa the tred in black claith wad gang to Tam MacDowell. Wait till he’s retired.
THE KING: Aa richt, whateir ye please. (Eagerly) What’s in the pat?
MRS E: Cock-a-leekie.
THE KING: Ye maun hae kent I was comin!
MRS E: (bobbing) I ken ye like it.
THE KING: I dae that. (MISTRESS EDWARD leaves) Jock, I’m bothert aboot siller. It’ll tak a lot to cairry on a raid in the Hielands.
MAITLAND: (who has been helping himself from the bottle) Damn it, man, ye hae eneugh gowd at Stirlin to pey for a dizzen raids, if ye juist had the gumption to use it.
THE KING: Na na, Jock! Annie wadna hear o’t! She wad flee oot at me! I wadna hae the life ο a dug! Dinna stert that again!
MAITLAND: It’s the ae wey oot.
THE KING: It canna be! We maun fin some ither! And it maun be sune. My haill hairt’s set on stertin at ance. Man, think,
MAITLAND: Wheesht!
THE KING: Here they are! Sir Robert! By God, I’ll gar him wriggle! Ye’ll hae the time ο yer life nou!
(NICOLL enters)
(SIR ROBERT enters. NICOLL withdraws. The KING affects a heavy scowl)
SIR ROBERT: (puzzled) Your Majesty?
THE KING: Weill
SIR ROBERT: You seem hostile.
THE KING: Daes it surprise ye?
SIR ROBERT: It doth, your Majesty, immensely.
THE KING: What dae ye think ο that, Jock? He’s fair astoundit!
(MAITLAND gives a little bark of laughter)
SIR ROBERT: (indignantly) My Lord! Your Majesty!
THE KING: Ay ay, Sir Robert, wark up yer indignation! But ye dinna ken what’s comin! Dae ye see that airn? Dae ye see that bit ο flannel? Dae ye see this letter? Ay, Sir Robert, ye may weill turn pale. Ye may weill gowp like a frichtent fish. Ye’re a proved plotter, a briber ο traitors, a hirer ο murderers! Whan I think hou ye hae leived amang us, respectit by gentle and simple in the Toun, treatit like a lord at Coort, honoured wi my ain freindship and invitit often to my very table, I tak a haill-hairtit scunner at human nature! There’s nae kent form ο torture, nae way ο inflictin daith, that isna ο wer guid for ye! Ye’re waur nor the warst auld beldam witch that was eir brunt to cinders!
SIR ROBERT: Your Majesty, I am but an instrument of my country’s policy.
THE KING: Policy! Jock, he said policy! (MAITLAND snorts) Sir Robert, yer mistress daesna ken what policy is. She wantit to stop the plottin ο the Papists, and aa she could think ο was to mak Bothwell sic a terror to the country that I had to look to the Papists for help. Aa the siller she wared on Bothwell, gin it had been peyed to me at the stert, wad hae redd her ο the Papists at ance!
SIR ROBERT: I think she attributed your friendship with the Papists, your Majesty, to your hatred of the Protestant Church.
THE KING: The Protestant Kirk! It’s a Presbyterian Kirk! They winna acknowledge their Sovereign as their speeritual heid! They elect men ο their ain to tak the place ο my bishops in the Three Estates! I woner what the Queen yer mistress wad dae, Sir Robert, if the preachers ο her ain Kirk in England denied her authority! Wad she show nae ill will? I ken she wad, for by God, there’s nae sovereign in Christendom hauf sae shair ο Divine Richt as her Majesty ο England! My fecht with the Kirk, Sir Robert, is a fecht against government frae the pulpit, and yer mistress suld be the last to encourage that!
SIR ROBERT: Your Majesty, there was no question of such encouragement. My mistress feared Spanish invasion and the loss of her throne.
THE KING: Spanish invasion! Did she think for a meenit that I wad jeyn wi Spain to put Phillip on the throne ο England and destroy my ain claim to succeed her! Ye wad think, Sir Robert, that I had nae intelligence at aa!
SIR ROBERT: Yer Majesty, I assure you.
THE KING: Oh ay, Sir Robert, try to win me roun, but I tell ye that gin I had nae mair sense nor to waste guid siller on a treacherous blaggard like Bothwell I wad droun mysell in the nearest dub. Dae ye ken what he’s dune? He’s jeynt the Papists!
SIR ROBERT: (slightly startled) I thought it possible.
THE KING: Ye thocht it possible!
SIR ROBERT: I did your Majesty, as you will realise from my letter.
THE KING: I realise frae yer letter that ye were gaun to try to force my haund through the Kirk. Dinna try to mak oot, Sir Robert, that ye thocht I wad need any forcin if Bothwell turnt his coat! Ye hae won what yer mistress wantit nou, but dinna try to tak the credit for it!
SIR ROBERT: Am I to understand, your Majesty, that the Papist Lords will be attacked?
THE KING: They will, by God, as sune as I can fin the siller!
SIR ROBERT: (airily) Then, your Majesty, all is well. I am certain that the Queen my mistress, when she hath heard of your resolve, will endow you with undreamt of wealth.
THE KING: (eagerly) Dae ye think sae, Sir Robert?
SIR ROBERT: I am certain, not only because you intend to serve a cause she hath at heart, but because she must regard you now as sound in your religion, and therefore the most proper person, by your faith as by your birth and endowments, to succeed her on the Throne.
THE KING: Ye think sae, Sir Robert?
MAITLAND: Sir Robert hauds the best caird in the pack, yer Grace. He aye wins ye roun.
SIR ROBERT: (in protest) My Lord!
THE KING: Na na, Sir Robert, he’s richt! Ye ken hou to play on my hopes ο the succession!
SIR ROBERT: Your hopes are brighter now, your Majesty, than the stars of heaven.
THE KING: Awa wi ye. Flaittery wins nae favour frae me. Ye’ll hae to show yer guid will in mair solid form. Hou sune dae ye think I can hae some siller?
SIR ROBERT: As soon as the Queen my mistress hears of your resolve.
THE KING: Then let her hear at ance. And I’ll write to her mysell. Ye may tak yer letter.
SIR ROBERT: Your Majesty, you are indeed merciful. Have you seen ought of my servant?
THE KING: Ye deil, ye’re wrigglin oot aathegither! Yer servant’s in the Tolbooth, and he’ll bide there the nou! I maun dae something to assert mysell! Gin it werena for the turn things hae taen, Sir Robert, I wad be faur mair severe! Ye wad pack yer kist and mak for the Border! Ye bide on, ye understaun, for the sake ο the guid will that maun exist atween mysell and yer royal mistress, but gin I fin ye up to ony mair ο yer intrigues I’ll ask her to remove ye at ance!
SIR ROBERT: Your Majesty, I understand.
THE KING: Awa and think shame ο yersell!
(SIR ROBERT bows to the KING, then, to MAITLAND, then leaves. They watch him go)
THE KING: I couldna be hard on him, for he’s fired my hopes. Jock, I will pledge the bairn’s praisents! They’ll be safe nou. I can hae them back whan his mistress pays up. Oho, but fortune’s favoured me the day! There’s naething in my wey! Aa that I hae wished for is promised at last! Bothwell on the scaffold, the Papists houndit doun, the Kirk in my pouer, England ahint me, and then, in the end, the dream ο my life come true! It gars my pulse quicken! It gars my hairt loup! It gars my een fill wi tears! To think hou the twa pair countries hae focht and struggled. To think ο the bluid they hae shed atween them, the touns they hae blackent wi fire, the bonnie green howes they hae laid waste. And then to think, as ae day it sail come to pass, that I, Jamie Stewart, will ride to London, and the twa countries sall become ane.
(MISTRESS EDWARD can be heard off calling ‘Nicoll! Nicoll! Come for yer supper!’)
MAITLAND: (coming out of his trance and reaching for the bottle) Ay, yer Grace, it’s a solemn thocht. But the auld bitch isna deid yet.
(He places the bottle before the KING. The KING fills his glass)
THE KING: (raising his glass high) Jock, here’s to the day. May the mowdies sune tickle her taes.
(MISTRESS EDWARD appears at the door of the dining-room)
MRS E: (with a deep curtsy) Yer Grace, the supper’s ready.
(The KING and MAITLAND eye each other and drink the toast)