“What was this dream?”
“I dreamed that you were standing at the edge of a precipice and, while I watched you, men came running. They were soldiers and they seized you and threw you down.… I saw your body mangled and battered, and I could not bear it.”
James put his arms about her. “You are overwrought,” he soothed.
“Nay, but this dream was vivid. And it did not stop there. I was sitting in my chamber looking at my jewels — my coronet of diamonds and my rings; and as I watched, my diamonds and my rubies all turned to pearls. And pearls are the sign of widowhood and tears.”
Being aware of her desire to turn him from his purpose, James was not as impressed by this dream as she had hoped he would be. “It is clearly a meaningless nightmare. Go to sleep and forget it.”
Margaret withdrew herself from his arms and sat up in bed.
“What I tell you is of course of no account,” she cried bitterly. “Now if I were the Queen of France you would listen to me. Alas, I am but the Queen of Scotland… your own wife whom you have constantly deceived and ignored.”
James was tired; he disliked such scenes at any time but at night they were doubly distressing. He lay down and began breathing as though he were sleeping.
“Oh, you can pretend to sleep,” stormed Margaret. “Let us hope you have pleasanter dreams than I. Let us hope that you dream you are reading love letters from the Queen of France… fighting her battles for her like her own true knight.”
“Margaret, be silent. You will arouse our attendants.”
“What matters it? They will only hear me say what they know already. Do you deny that you have made yourself the knight of the Queen of France? I wonder you did not go to France instead of Lyon. Then you might have had a chance of sharing her bed.”
James did not answer, but Margaret was not going to be silenced.
“The Queen of France!” she cried scornfully. “Twice married by means of divorces! A fine lady to arouse the chivalry of her Scottish knight. But she must be served while the mother of your son is cast aside.”
James rose quickly and seizing her pulled her down beside him.
“Be silent!” he commanded, and there was an angry note in his voice.
“I will not! I will not!” she sobbed.
“You are being foolish,” said James gently.
“Why? Because I have loved you too well? Because I have wanted to have a share in your life?”
“Have you not had a share in my life?”
“I have had my moments… and then I have been forgotten. I have been here merely to bear your children. Your mistresses have had more of you than I. And now this woman… this Queen of France… beckons you and against the advice of your ministers you are ready to do her bidding. This old woman — and everyone knows she is in a decline — says, ‘Be my Knight,’ and you are ready to serve her.”
“Surely you cannot be jealous of an old woman who is in a decline?”
“I can be jealous of all who take you from me.”
“Oh, Margaret, why cannot you be calm… serene… ?”
She cried out: “Like that other Margaret. She was always so calm, was she not? She was so understanding! Well she might be! Grateful for the attentions of a king. But I was the daughter of a king before I was the wife of one… and I demand… I demand… ”
She was choking on her sobs again; he stroked her hair and laid his lips on her forehead, and for some minutes they lay silent.
Then at length she said: “James, you are really going to march across the Border?”
“Yes.”
“My sister-in-law, Katharine of Aragon, will gather together an army to meet you.”
“That is very likely.”
“James, when you go south, let me come with you. Let me meet my sister-in-law. Together we will talk and make peace. There is no need for war.”
James remained silent.
“James,” she went on, “will you let me come with you? Will you let me talk to Katharine? She will not want war any more than I do.”
“Nay,” agreed James, “she will not want war. Nor will your brother. They would prefer to wait until he returns from France with the full strength of his army. Then, wife, they will not hesitate to march across the Border. By sweet St. Ninian, have you forgotten that he has declared he will take the best of our towns for himself if we break not our alliance with France?”
“You should have broken your alliance with France. You should never have sent ships there.”
“I see,” he said ruefully, “that you are an Englishwoman still, and the English were always enemies of the Scots.”
“Should I be an enemy of my husband… of my son?”
“Poor Margaret! It is sad that your brother and your husband should be at war. But for this you must blame your brother.”
She was angry again. “Nay,” she cried, “I blame my husband. My husband who, because the French Queen flatters him into becoming her Wild Knight, turns from his true wedded wife to give her pleasure.”
“Nay, Margaret, this is not so. Never should I have taken up arms against your brother if he had treated me as a friend.”
“I could have made friendship between you.”
“Never!”
“You would not let me try.” She sat up in bed and abused him for all that he had made her suffer. She taunted him with his infidelity — the lies and subterfuge during those first months of their married life when he had feigned to be occupied by state affairs and was in truth with his mistresses.
“What sort of marriage is this… for the daughter of a king!” demanded Margaret.
She was a little hysterical, because she was afraid. She had related a dream to him which had not occurred that night, but her sleep had been uneasy of late, and although her dreams had taken no definite shape they had been filled with foreboding.
She could not analyze her feelings for this man. There were times when she hated him, others when she loved him. She loved him for his virile body, for his graceful and expert lovemaking; but she could never forget that he, who had awakened her to the full sensuality of her own nature, had deceived her, had made her foolish in her own eyes. She had dreamed of an idyll; if he had only seemed a little less perfect during the first days of their marriage it would have been easier to bear. She would have come to a sense of reality before she had built a romantic ideal. She believed that as long as she lived she would feel cheated — and he had done this.
She wanted to tell him so now, because she had a notion that this was the time to tell him. Perhaps she hoped to make him relent toward her, to take her with him into battle. For suddenly she was terrified to let him go.
He had taken her trembling body in his arms and the intensity of her passion communicated itself to him. There could only be one climax for them in such a situation.
When they lay silent and exhausted side by side, Margaret stared into the darkness.
She was certain that that night she had conceived again.
The King was preparing for the march south. The Queen was subdued and silent.
She had taken the young prince to Linlithgow and James was with her; but he would not stay long. The country was ready for war.
She did not plead again to be allowed to accompany his army, because she knew it would be fruitless. He was particularly kind and gentle but adamant on that point.
“I feel our son will be safe with you,” he told her. “I shall make you Regent of my kingdom and guardian of our heir while I am away.”
She nodded sadly and lowered her eyes for fear he should see the resentment which she did not believe she would be able to hide.
He told her that he had called a council to be held in the Palace and that during it he hoped to complete his plans.
“It will not be long before I am back with you,” he said. “I pray you take counsel with English Cuddy and Scotch Dog. I shall expect good entertainment on my return.”