If she could only have been sure of producing a healthy child and did not suffer sickness and the disabilities which were always her lot at such times, those would have been the happiest months of Margaret’s life. Never since those early days of her marriage had James been so completely hers.
One of the happiest days of all was that in October when the great ship was launched and she stood with James listening to triumphant drums and trumpets as the ship rolled into the harbor of Leith.
It was a day of rejoicing. The Queen pregnant; the greatest ship any of them had ever seen, successfully launched! It must be celebrated with worthy entertainment; and on the arrival of the royal party at Holyrood House a play was performed.
When it was over and the King and Queen had expressed their pleasure, Margaret called the principal actor to her in order to compliment him. This was a young man named David Lindsay who was known as Lindsay of the Mount; he was a poet and had been for some years in the royal household. The King had made him equerry to his first heir, the little Prince James who had died when he was about a year old.
David Lindsay was greatly respected throughout the Court, being a man without any ambition except to live a good life; he was devoted to literature rather than to position and wealth; and both Margaret and James had an affection for him.
“I want to thank you for your performance,” Margaret told him. “It was a pleasure to watch.”
Delight shone in David’s gentle face. “’Twas a good part, Your Grace,” he said.
“And your play coat of blue and yellow taffeties became you well,” Margaret added. “Pray, tell me the cost, that you do not pay it from your own pocket.”
“It was three pounds, four shillings.”
“A goodly sum, but it was a goodly performance you gave us and well worth the sum.”
James turned to him and added his praise to the Queen’s. “Why, Davie, you are indeed a credit to our Court.”
“You were usher and equerry to my firstborn son who died, alas,” said Margaret. “I intend to ask the King to make you the same to this child which is soon to be born.”
James cried: “’Tis a good choice. None could make a better.”
“I thank Your Graces,” murmured David. “I assure you I will never betray the trust you have placed in me.”
“Do this then,” said James. “Pray for a safe delivery for the Queen and a healthy boy for Scotland.”
“I shall continue to pray thus, Your Grace.”
When he had left them James said to Margaret: “He is a good man, that Davie, and one whose prayers may well find favor. We cannot have too many prayers.”
It was April again and Margaret lay at Linlithgow. Her time had come and in the streets the people stood about and asked themselves what would happen this time. If the Queen failed again, they would say that there was indeed a curse on their royal family.
Some months before, a comet had appeared in the sky — it sent out beams as though it were a sun; and thus it had remained for twenty-one nights.
A warning? A sign of evil? A bad omen?
Now the people remembered it and asked themselves these questions.
There were services in all the churches; there were prayers throughout the country.
A son! A son for Scotland.
Margaret lay groaning on her bed.
“This time a son,” she prayed. “This time he must live and he shall be called James after his father.”
“A boy!”
The triumphant words rang through the Palace, through the streets of Linlithgow; they were carried to Edinburgh and all over the country the people rejoiced.
The King came to his wife’s chamber and demanded to see his son. There he was, lustily crying, a strong little boy with a down of tawny hair on his head and, so said the women of the bedchamber, already a look of his father.
“Let the bells ring out!” cried the King. “Let Scotsmen rejoice, for this child will live.”
Margaret, exhausted but happy, slept and when she awakened she was refreshed and declared that this was different from her other pregnancies.
As soon as the Queen was able to leave her bed, there must be a feast such as there had never been before. Lindsay of the Mount must come and take charge of the little boy’s nursery. The child must be watched over night and day to ensure that he continued in perfect health.
Margaret was now the triumphant mother assuring herself that her little James showed none of the weakness of his brothers and sister. Healthy, lusty, his voice could be heard in his nursery when he crowed and clucked, as though he was determined, as his parents and attendants were, that he should stay alive.
Preparations were made for the feast. Four wild boars were roasted with four oxen; there were ninety-four pigs, thirty-five sheep, thirty-six lambs, seventy-eight kids, seventeen calves and two hundred and thirty-six birds besides pies and cakes of all description.
The wine ran freely and the sounds of rejoicing resounded not only in the Palace, but throughout the country.
James, Prince of Scotland and the Isles, had come to stay.
Little James prospered in his nursery and delighted all who beheld him, though none more than his father and mother; but now that they could believe he was in truth a healthy boy and they need not continually fear he was going to be taken from them, it seemed unnecessary to observe such rigorous piety as they had before his birth.
Margaret no longer prayed for long hours each day; as for James, he had been a faithful husband too long, and abstinence from his favorite game was too much to ask of him.
He was off on his travels once more, and it was whispered that not only did he visit the old mistresses but had added several new ones to those who pleased him.
Anger flared in Margaret’s heart. She had been so contented during those weeks of pregnancy when he had been constantly at her side. And now that she had produced a healthy boy, he felt it was enough to visit her occasionally, to share her bed that they might do their best to get more children — one heir not being enough.
She looked about angrily for a diversion.
There was politics. She remembered a conversation which had taken place between herself and her brother Henry before her marriage; then he had deplored the Tudor–Stuart alliance; he did not like what he had heard of her husband. And now that he was King, he seemed to remember that dislike. There was trouble brewing between Henry and James; and it seemed an insult to her that her husband should be more inclined to favor France than the country of his own wife. This is characteristic of the way he has always treated me! she told herself.
It was only reasonable that she should be on the side of her own countrymen and her own brother, and she was going to do everything she could to ruin the chances of the French and advance those of the English. If she did, Henry might give her the jewels which Arthur had left her. But it was not for that reason that she had decided she would dabble in politics.
She was a woman of spirit, so how could she stand by with indifference while her husband openly visited her rivals.
There was another interest in her life. She was young and beautiful; and now and then she found the eyes of some of her husband’s courtiers resting on her, and their looks were meaningful.
She had come to Scotland prepared to love her husband, and she would never have given a thought to any other man had he been faithful to her. But he had wounded her pride — always strong in the Tudors — so, she asked herself, could she be blamed if she, like James, found others interesting?