When my child is born, thought Margaret, when I hold my little son in my arms, then everything is going to be different.
The people of Edinburgh had rarely seen such splendor as they did that June when the French embassy was welcomed to Scotland.
The Castle and Holyrood House were the scenes of banquets, masques and plays; in the courtyards of Holyrood House a play, written by English Cuddy, was performed; but what delighted the people more than anything were the brilliant jousts in which Scotsmen tested their skill against the French. These took place during the warm summer days and they were accompanied by all the pageantry and color that could be devised.
To the tournament came the Queen’s Black Ellen, in a litter carried on the shoulders of fourteen men, from the Castle to the scene of the tournament. The people applauded her and marveled at her exotic beauty; the strangeness of the French delighted them also and the people declared their loyalty to a king and queen who could give them such pleasure.
Margaret was especially cheered whenever she made her appearance. Her pregnancy was very noticeable now, for her time was near and the people were sure that she carried the heir of Scotland. She had lost her firstborn but that sorrow was forgotten now that she showed signs of giving Scotland the heir.
All through the day it seemed the minstrels played and the trumpets sounded. The French knights acquitted themselves well and it was all the Scotsmen could do to hold their own against them. This was disconcerting because they had been inclined to underestimate the skill of these lithe Frenchmen whose clothes were far more dandified than their own, and whose manners were almost effeminate by Scottish standards.
The Scotsmen would have been defeated but for the sudden appearance of a stranger in their midst. They did not know who he was, but he wore the Scottish emblems and he defeated the first of the French champions with an ease which set the crowd roaring with delight.
He jousted again, and again was the victor.
Soon everyone was talking of the man whom they called the Wild Knight, who appeared every day at the jousts, and one by one challenged the French champions, all of whom went down before him.
The French muttered together that this was no man; it was a god of some kind; it was impossible to beat him at the joust, for he was unconquerable.
At the end of the last day of the jousting, the King announced that there was to be a grand feast which he was calling a Round Table of King Arthur.
This was the climax of the brilliant entertainment. Margaret, seated beside the King, was to give the prizes for those who had won honors in the jousts, and the citizens of Edinburgh crowded into the Palace to watch their King and his guests and to marvel at the splendor they saw.
Margaret was happy, for there was little she enjoyed so much as these displays and there was no question now of her importance. She was the mistress of the revels, the Queen, who would give the prizes and proudly carried the heir to the throne. The heat was overpowering and she could wish that her confinement was behind her and she already the mother of a healthy boy; but she could not complain of the homage all — including the King — bestowed on her. If only he had been a faithful husband! If only he respected her intellect as he did her beauty, how contented she would be! But she must enjoy life while it was good.
The King whispered to her: “What think you of my Round Table?”
“A fitting end to all the pageantry,” she answered.
“Let us call the child Arthur.”
“Why, yes!” she cried. “And whenever I look at him I shall remember this day.”
When it was time to present the prizes all declared the first prize should have gone to the stranger, the Wild Knight who was the conqueror of all; and, said the French champions, they felt they should not take their prizes while he, who excelled them all, did not come forward to take his.
There was a hush in the hall, for it seemed that the event for which all were waiting — the prize-giving — would not take place unless the identity of the Wild Knight were revealed.
Then James rose and addressed the assembly.
“My friends,” he said, “since you insist on my revealing my identity, I will do so. I am the Wild Knight, and I trust our guests will not think hardly of me for the injuries I may have inflicted upon them.”
His words were cut short by a great cheering which shook the hall.
Margaret turned to him, her eyes shining, as the child moved within her.
If he were but my faithful husband, how happy I should be, she told herself.
Margaret was brought to bed in the middle of sultry July. The last weeks had been difficult ones, and she feared that she was a woman who must suffer more than most at the time of childbirth.
Her ladies were about her bed; but the King did not come near her; he could never bear to look on suffering.
“But when my son is born,” murmured Margaret, while her women wiped her brow with a kerchief smelling of sweet unguents, “it will all be worthwhile.”
At last, after much travail, the child was born.
Margaret heard the whispers in the apartment and her heart sank.
“A maiden bairn.”
“Alas, alas, Her Grace so longed for a son.”
The child lay in her arms and James came to stand by her bedside, to smile at her, to soothe her; and to try to pretend that he was as delighted with the birth of his daughter as he would have been with that of a son.
There had been only time to christen the baby before she died. Melancholy brooded over Holyrood House. The lutes and harps were silent; the Queen was desolate and James the King went about with an expression of sorrow on his face.
It was Margaret who tried to comfort him.
“There will be other children, James. We have been unfortunate, but that cannot continue.” Then she burst out passionately: “I have seen the common people in the streets. Mothers with children at their skirts and at their breasts. Why should this happen to us!”
James buried his face in his hands. “Sometimes I think I am cursed,” he said. “Never shall I forget that day at Sauchieburn when I fought on one side and my father on the other. What an unnatural son I was! To go into battle against my own father.”
“James, you were but a boy.”
But he shook his head. “I was old enough to know what I did. And for this I am cursed… cursed with failure to give my country an heir.”
Margaret put her arms about his shoulders; it gave her a certain pleasure to see him thus. At least he laid no blame on her for their ill luck, as many a man would have done. And he was very eager for the comfort she could give.
“Why,” she told him gently, “we shall get ourselves an heir.”
“But see how these births affect your health. Remember how ill you were last time… and this… ”
“I am young, James, and strong; I shall soon be well.” A cunning look came into her eyes. “Perhaps it is because you squander your manhood on other women that you cannot give your lawful wife a child who will live.”
“Nay,” was the answer. “My father loved many women, yet he had sons. It is because of my ill deeds at the time of Sauchieburn. There is a curse on me.”
Margaret put her arms about his neck.
“We will defeat the curse, James. With our love for each other we will defeat it.”
He held her tightly as though he were asking for her protection. Margaret felt strong then, with an infinite faith in the future.
The Wild Knight
It was April and there was a promise of spring in the air. Margaret sat at a window of her apartments looking out on Arthur’s Seat, and she laid her hands on her body and rejoiced because once more she had conceived.