It was true that she had her own little James now, and it was a matter of great contentment to her to remind herself that of all the King’s children, her little James in whom his father delighted was the one who was of real importance.
But the rude health which Margaret had hitherto enjoyed seemed to have deserted her. There were days when she was obliged to keep to her bed; she felt resentful of this, but Lady Guildford assured her that the ordeal of childbirth had been so great that she must expect to take a few months to recover.
She could not of course prevent James from taking mistresses; but Margaret was becoming wily; she was not sorry that there were several mistresses; if there were one only she would need to feel anxiety.
Christmas came and was celebrated with music and dancing at Holyrood House; and if the Queen was less energetic than before, the King was more assiduous in his desire for her comfort. Wantonness, Gray Steil, English Cuddy and Scotch Dog were at their best, and the King’s fool, Currie, with his wife Daft Ann, set the King and Queen laughing uproariously.
Thus time passed until that February when the little Prince James was one year old.
The Court was at Linlithgow Palace. James had returned from hawking and was ready for the feast which lay waiting for him in the great hall.
Margaret, with her women, greeting him and his companions on their return, was a little sad because she no longer felt well enough to accompany him on such expeditions.
The great hall looked magnificent, prepared as it was for the evening’s entertainment. Tapestries from Holyrood had been hung on the walls, and the logs blazing in the huge fireplace crackled and spat comfortingly. The silver platters, the goblets and bowls on the table shone in the firelight, and in the minstrels’ gallery sweet music — which was never lacking in the King’s presence — was being softly played by his favorite minstrels.
The table was placed on a dais at one end of the hall exactly opposite the minstrels’ gallery, and under the place where the King and Queen would sit was a carpet, although the rest of the hall was strewn with rushes. Servants were scurrying in and out of that door which led to the kitchens and butteries, and the smell of appetizing foods was everywhere.
James looked with appreciation at the Queen, who greeted him so warmly and asked him how he had fared at the hunt. He took her hand and led her to the table where one of his servants was waiting with a bowl that he might wash his hands.
Margaret and he seated themselves and the feast began.
One of the noblest of James’s courtiers carved for the royal pair. Margaret ate heartily but James, sitting there taking the pieces of meat in his fingers as his carver handed them to him seemed more interested in the minstrels’ music than in food.
It was always thus at table; James was no great trencherman; nor did he show much interest in the wine which was placed before him.
Wantonness began to sing, and it was clear that her song charmed him; he turned to Margaret and asked her opinion.
Margaret replied that Wantonness never failed to please; she was wondering whether during the hunt he had paid a visit to one of his women.
They were washing their hands after the meal when a messenger from Stirling Castle, where the little Prince was staying, came into the hall and made his way immediately to the King and Queen.
Margaret and James grew immediately grave when they heard what he had to say. The little boy had become fretful and his nurses could not comfort him. Now it seemed that he had a fever.
James said: “We will leave at once for Stirling.” Within an hour they were on the road.
Margaret was brokenhearted.
“Why,” she demanded angrily, “should this happen to me! His bastards flourish and my son must die. Why should I be unfortunate?”
Lady Guildford tried to soothe her. “Your Grace, many children die in Scotland and England. The little Prince had every care. And you are young. You will have other children.”
During the weeks that followed the death of the little heir of Scotland, Margaret refused to be comforted. It was so unfair, she kept proclaiming. The children of his mistresses were full of health and vigor, and the thought of them was a continual torment to her; and when her own son had been born she had found some comfort… but that was no more.
James mourned the loss of his son with her, but reminded her that no railing against fate could bring him back to them. They would have more children and in time they would forget this unhappiness.
He sought to comfort her in every way he could; he spent time in her company; he suggested that she should arrange entertainments to divert her. Let her call together Cuddy and Dog; let Gray Steil write a new song for Wantonness to sing.
Margaret could only shake her head and mourn; but she clung to him and within her was a faint exultation. At least she was keeping him away from his women.
Political affairs were taking up a great deal of the King’s attention. The King of France was anxious for his friendship and, since the marriage between Scotland and England, had tried to woo James with prophecies of the advantages a friendship between their two countries could mean. James knew that Louis was eager to break the Scottish alliance with England; and, because France and England were perennial enemies, that put Scotland in the enviable position of being of great importance to both these countries.
Louis had written that he was sending an embassy to Scotland which would bring certain plans to lay before the King.
James had left the Court to go on a pilgrimage to the shrine of St. Ninian; this was becoming a habit and, although it was known that St. Ninian was the King’s favorite saint, it was also known that he made a habit of combining this practice with a visit to Janet Kennedy.
Margaret was delighted to find that she was pregnant again; at the same time her being in such a state meant that she saw less of the King, which did not please her.
It was while she was with her women, listening to their chatter but picturing all the time what James and Janet Kennedy were doing, that a messenger came to tell her a certain English gentleman, who had come from her father, was below and asking if he might have audience with her.
Margaret, always eager to have news from home, commanded that the man be brought to her without delay.
The Englishman accordingly appeared, and Margaret dismissed her attendants because she felt that what he had to tell her might be of some secrecy.
“I am Dr. Nicholas West, Your Grace,” she was told when they were alone. “I come on instructions from your most noble father.”
“To see me?”
“To see Your Grace and the King. Alas, I have been waiting long at Berwick for a safe conduct, but since this was not granted me I have taken the risk of coming to Edinburgh and presenting myself to you.”
“The King has had much to occupy him,” said Margaret. “It may be that your plea has not reached him.”
Dr. West bowed his head. He did not believe that. He knew that the French were sending an embassy to Scotland and that the King of Scotland was eager to welcome it.
“My master, your most noble father, is not pleased with the way in which matters stand between this country and his.”
“Is that so?” said Margaret, who had never bothered herself with political matters.
“Your Grace will know that His Grace, your royal father, arrested the Earl of Arran and his brother, Sir Patrick Hamilton, when they attempted to pass through England on their way to France without first having obtained a safe conduct.”
“I did not know,” said Margaret.
“This matter has incensed the King of Scotland.”
Margaret thought resentfully: He never tells me anything. Am I not the Queen? He treats me as he does one of his mistresses. He forgets that I am the daughter of the King of England.