Royal Road to Fotheringhay - Plaidy Jean (читать книги полностью без сокращений .txt) 📗

Anna was attractive enough to occupy his attention for more than one night—or even two. She saw the ambitious man in her lover; she saw the Scots noble from impoverished estates, so she allowed the rumor to be put about that she was an heiress to no small fortune. James swallowed the bait and suggested marriage.

He had never met such a clever woman. In no time she was pregnant. They must be married. She was the daughter of an honorable Danish family.

He had discovered Anna’s fortune to be mythical; he had also discovered that his desire for her was on the wane; but he could not elude her altogether. When he was ready to leave Denmark (and at that time he had not heard of the death of the Queen-Mother of Scotland and was therefore a petitioner in a hospitable land) he must take her with him, her family said; and in view of the delicate political situation he could see no alternative.

So he and Anna left Copenhagen, but when they reached Flanders he reasoned with her.

“Should I arrive at the French Court with a mistress big with child?” he demanded. “We shall have those dandified ninnies laughing behind our backs.”

“You could arrive with the Countess of Bothwell whose condition is a delight to you,” said Anna quickly.

“A speedy marriage… and in a foreign land? Impossible!”

“With a man such as you are nothing is impossible.”

There was some truth in that, he thought, and, by God, I’ll not take you farther. Hard as it is to rid myself of your company, you are right when you say that with me nothing is impossible.

He was cunning; he had merely been caught by the unexpectedness of her tactics, for previously he had never been forced to plead with a woman; he had said: “Come hither!” and they came; he coolly walked off afterward, leaving them weeping and hoping for his return. He should have known Anna was no ordinary woman.

“The French,” he said contemptuously, “are sticklers for their etiquette. The Queen has been brought up as one of them. I have my future to consider.”

“I shall see to it,” said Anna demurely, “that it is our future.”

But Anna, as her pregnancy advanced, grew less truculent. She wished only to lie and rest half the day. The prospect of an uncomfortable journey across Flanders alarmed her, and she knew that he would not marry her until they reached Scotland and that it would be necessary to have their child legitimized after its birth. But she would know how to find him; he was too prominent a man to be able to lose himself.

So when he continued to urge that she should stay in Flanders while he went on alone to the French Court, she at length agreed.

Her farewell was tender, but it held a warning in it. James remembered that warning now. It was ominous. “Do not think I am a woman to be lightly taken up and then cast off. If you think that, James Hepburn, you do not know Anna Throndsen.”

This would be a lesson to him in future. But he had no great qualms. He was not one to brood on the future; he let that take care of itself. He had been in too many scrapes to worry about consequences; he had faced death so often that he was not to be alarmed by a persistent woman.

A page came to him and, bowing before him, asked if Lord Bothwell would be so good as to follow him.

He did so until the page threw open a door and announced: “My Lord, the Earl of Bothwell.”

He started forward expecting to see the young Queen of whom he had heard so much. Instead it was a red-clad figure, tall, dignified and imposing; and he recognized the Cardinal of Lorraine who, he had heard, with the help of his brother ruled France.

The two men took each other’s measure. The sensuality of each was his most outstanding characteristic, yet there could not have been two men more different. The Cardinal was the gourmet, Bothwell the gourmand. The Cardinal was subtle; Bothwell was direct. One was a man of physical inactivity, the other a man of action. The Cardinal pandered to his sensual appetites, using aphrodisiac means—mental and physical—to stimulate them; Bothwell needed no such stimulation. The Cardinal was a coward; Bothwell did not know the meaning of fear. They were two strong men, but their strength lay in different directions.

The Cardinal disliked the boldness of the coarse Borderer; Bothwell disdained the arrogance of the elegant gentleman. But they were each aware of the power possessed by the other. The Cardinal, by far the cleverer of the two, was able to hide his resentment the more easily.

“I had thought to see my Queen,” said Bothwell.

“Monsieur,” smiled the Cardinal, “you have come from Scotland where Court manners are slightly different. In France we await the pleasure of the Queen. We do not present ourselves unless commanded to do so.”

“I have letters from the Queens late mother. Doubtless she will be eager to receive them.”

“Doubtless. But as Queen of France she has much with which to occupy herself. I know you have come from Denmark where you did good work. I heard from my dear sister, before her unfortunate demise, that you were a worthy young man whom she delighted to honor with her trust. I therefore welcome you to the Court of France.”

“You are gracious, Monsieur le Cardinal, but it is my Queen I have come to see.”

“You have the letters from her mother?” The Cardinal extended his slim white hand.

“My instructions were to hand them to none but the Queen herself.”

“The Queen has no secrets from me.”

“So I have heard,” answered Bothwell. “But those were my instructions.”

The Cardinal sighed. “There is one matter I must discuss with you. The Queen does not know of her mothers death. I myself wish to break the news and break it gently. She has suffered from bad health lately and I fear the shock might prove too much for her.”

Bothwell’s lips were set in an obstinate line. He did not see why he should take orders from the Cardinal. He disliked taking orders. His policy with the late Queen had been a bold one. He was no Court intrigant and flatterer. Now that her mother was dead it was well for the Queen of Scots to know of the acute danger which such a situation threatened. He had come to warn her of just that; and now, this man, doubtless for reasons of his own, was forcing him to silence on a most important issue.

“I have had no instructions,” declared Bothwell, “to keep silent on this matter.”

“Until now… no,” agreed the Cardinal.

“My lord Cardinal, this is a matter which I must discuss with others of my countrymen. Lord Seton is here at Saint-Germain. I—”

“That gentleman has already received his instructions in the matter.”

“And the King of France?” said Bothwell with a trace of insolence. “These are his instructions?”

“The King, Monsieur, knows nothing of the tragedy. If he knew of it, he would be unable to prevent himself from imparting it to the Queen.”

“So then the King and Queen are kept in ignorance of certain facts which concern them!”

The Cardinal decided to smile at such insolence. He said: “The King and Queen are very young—little more than children. It is the express desire of her uncle, the Duke of Guise, and myself as well as the Queen-Mother of France, not to overtax them. We lighten their burdens as best we can. It is our considered opinion, in view of the Queen’s failing health, that she should not at present suffer the shock such news would give her. Therefore, my lord Bothwell, you will say nothing of her mother’s death. I myself will break the news to her when I consider she is fit to receive it.”

“You are not afraid that someone’s indiscretion may betray the news?”

“We know how to deal with indiscreet people, my lord. And all of us who love the Queen have no wish to do aught which would bring harm to her. Give me your assurance that you will say nothing of her mother’s death, and no obstacle shall be put in the way of your meeting the Queen.”