Unicorn Rampant (18 page)

They were elementary and to the point. Communion to be received in the kneeling posture. Private communion for the sick. Private baptism where called for. Confirmation by bishops restored. And the festivals of Christmas, Good Friday, Easter, Ascension and Whitsunday or Pentecost to be observed.

As the Chancellor, distinctly unhappily, read these out, uproar erupted throughout the hall, with men on their feet everywhere, furious shouts resounding, fists even being shaken. This amounted to demanding that parliament approved of the imposition of episcopacy, and in the most unsubtle and downright fashion. Yet three-quarters of the members present would undoubtedly be Presbyterians and would never vote for such measures.

In vain Fyvie banged his gavel for silence and order. James, for his part, took off his hat, examined its inside and put it on again, otherwise apparently unconcerned.

John Stewart, watching and wondering, asked himself why? He wished that he could have been sitting beside his father. What was the King up to? Quite clearly he could never get these five demands accepted by this gathering and must have known that from the start. It looked like utter folly—but then, he was discovering, so much of James Stewart looked like folly and was not. There must be method in this seeming madness.

When at length the Chancellor succeeded in obtaining quiet and order, asserting that this was a parliament and not a bear-pit, calling for reasoned and responsible discussion, there was no lack of proposers and seconders that a direct negative of the five principles should be carried, and noticeably fewer who moved otherwise. Although many cried out for a vote right away, the King, mildly enough, called for debate. And, as this proceeded, certain facts became evident to the observer. Despite the obvious preponderance of feeling on the opposite side, much more time and eloquence was being devoted to the episcopal case. This was because the balance of expertise was most unfairly weighted. All the clergy present were bishops, eleven of them. The Kirk did not have representatives in parliament, having their own and powerful General Assembly. So the opposition point-of-view had to be voiced by laymen. And, whilst these were sufficiently vehement, they inevitably tended to lack mastery of religious doctrine and phraseology. They could, and did, state feelings and convictions, but scarcely reasoned argument and dialectics. So that every assertion by the Presbyterian members was countered, authoritatively and at length, by the bishops, to the growing frustration and despair of the majority, and demands that these episcopal interlopers be silenced or even ejected—which of course would involve head-on conflict with the Throne and probably closure of the sitting.

It was James himself who resolved this difficult situation. After an hour or so of it; during which he had sat unspeaking and unusually non-fidgety for a man who so quickly tired of speech-making other than his own, he intervened. He declared that it was clear to him, as no doubt to all, that this debate was proving unprofitable and getting them nowhere. No reasoned and reasonable case was being put by the opposition—no doubt through lack of theological education. No decisions, they would all agree, should be taken on blind prejudice alone. Therefore he proposed that these matters should be referred by this parliament to a specially-called General Assembly of the Kirk, where there would be a sufficiency indeed of informed divines to make decision, such decision to be accepted as the expressed will of parliament. How said they all?

There was almost as astonished reaction to this as to the initial challenge. Men stared at each other, wondering. After all, a General Assembly of the Kirk could be expected to be even more anti-episcopal and anti-liturgical than was this parliament; so it was as good as the King conceding defeat there and then. It did not take long for loud cries of assent to resound from all over the hall, and these were finally endorsed by a mover and seconder and carried by a large majority. It was notable that the bishops did not protest and of course did not vote.

Nodding amicably now, James added that it seemed to him that the election and appointment of bishops and archbishops would come into the same category, and so should also be referred. They would move on, therefore, to the matter of the proscription of the Clan Gregor, of ill fame. The Chancellor to proceed.

Fyvie, with a sigh of relief, launched forth. This subject undoubtedly would cause no trouble, indeed obviously was going to be highly popular with all. Although it was a parliament of the nation, there were very few Highlanders present, nor ever were, most chieftains and clan-leaders having no least interest in what went on south of the Highland Line, save for the Campbells and one or two allied names, who were non-Catholic anyway. Ninety per cent of the clans were Catholic still and of course Gaelic-speaking, and, whilst this made them uninterested in the Lowlands and the parliament there, it had the reverse effect on the Lowlanders, who hated and despised the Highlanders, looking on them as barbarous and little better than vermin. It so happened that the acquisitive and ever-more-powerful Campbells had progressively dispossessed the clan of MacGregor from their ancient Argyll lands and pushed them ever further south and east towards Lowland territory; and there the small but spirited dispossessed clan, descended from a son of Kenneth MacAlpin, first king of the united Picts and Scots, maintained themselves by foray and theft, their staple support the stealing of Lowland cattle. So they were a convenient object of Lowland hate, and the nearest available Highlanders, and inveterate law-breakers at that, fit to be hunted down like wolves. The year he went south to London, James had proscribed the very name of MacGregor after a massacre of Colquhouns on Loch Lomondside arising out of some clan feud. It became unlawful even to use the name, it carried no weight on a legal document and all of the rascally race had to take other surnames, or hang—this in an attempt to stamp out clan-spirit and cohesion. Drastic as it was, this had been only partially successful, for the MacGregors remained as large as life and remarkably resilient, still a thorn in the flesh of their neighbours even though they now had to sign their names as Greigs, Gregorys, Griersons and the like. All this the Chancellor recapitulated, and declared that it was necessary, not only to renew these measures but to make others still more severe and effective. Proposals were called for.

So the assembly went into happy conclave, thinking up ways of dramatically reducing the numbers of these Highland savages, ingenuity blossoming, everybody at one in this vital and pleasurable endeavour.

John Stewart, who suffered from MacGregors himself, felt that some of the suggestions went rather far.

With everyone in an excellent mood now, the King again intervened. Time was wearing on, he pointed out, and the inner man deserved sustenance. They probably had achieved enough for the first day. But, before they retired for well-deserved refreshment, it might be as well to appoint a small committee to consider details of this last debate, and others to come, so that the main parliament need not be cluttered with lesser matters and minor particulars, and so be able to devote itself to the broad and important issues of the nation. He therefore proposed a committee of, say, thirty-two delegates—eight lords, eight knights of the shires, eight burgh commissioners and eight bishops, under Lord Binning the Secretary of State as chairman. This should be more than sufficient.

This, as it happened, in the MacGregor euphoria, was accepted without debate.

James, thanking all present, rose, tapped the top of his hat, and shambled off to his private door. Parliament stood adjourned.

Later, eating at his mother's lodgings, John questioned the Duke on the King's extraordinary behaviour that day, nonplussed at his changes of stance and mood. His father shrugged.

"There you saw James at his cleverest," he said. "It was a brilliant performance."

"I do not understand," John admitted. "It seemed as though he started out strong and determined and then weakened and conceded defeat."

"Seemed—and meant to seem. James knew that he could not prevail on this parliament to vote for the Five Articles of Perth. And yet they require parliamentary sanction to be enforceable as law. So he misled all into thinking him defeated, as did you, made sure that his bishops would make the debate seem loaded against the majority, and then got parliament to refer all to a General Assembly of the Kirk, and to
accept
such Assembly's findings. In other words, parliament has surrended its power in this matter to the Assembly."

"But
...
a General Assembly will be even more set against those proposals than is this parliament!"

"Will it? Clearly James thinks otherwise. And I swear he knows what he is at! The Crown can bring much pressure to bear on many attending an Assembly, particularly parish-ministers. At our glorious Reformation the patronage of innumerable livings fell to the Crown or the Crown's nominees, instead of the Catholic bishops, abbots and priors. James, if he wished, could unseat great numbers of ministers. Others he could greatly impoverish by sanctioning the witholding of tithes and teinds. Others he might merely bribe. The reformed clergy are much more vulnerable than the old Romish ones, who were backed ultimately by the power of the Vatican. And they are in the main poor men. James will control preferment with his bishops. Needy but ambitious ministers will not lightly offend the monarch in this, I think."

"Your father is right," Mary Gray said. "My father always said the same. Not all the parish-ministers are such confirmed Presbyterians as are the college divines and the like. How could they be? Most were reared as Catholics. Many would change only because it was politic to do so. King James knows what he is doing, in this. I have no doubt."

"And this committee under Tam o' the Cowgate—that was a masterstroke," Ludovick asserted. "It will rank, like the Lords of the Articles, as what they call 'an epitome of parliament', speaking with authority
for
parliament and interpreting the decisions thereof to its own satisfaction. And eight of the eleven bishops to sit upon it! These may have no vote in parliament itself, but on this committee they can have enormous influence. Especially as Tam Hamilton will select his other commissioners with the greatest of care, you may be sure. The MacGregor business was no more than a bait to trap our unsuspecting parliament into assenting mood. The Scots, I think, have forgotten just how shrewd a monarch the house of Stewart has spawned!"

"I would never have thought of all this," John said.

"Then you will have to learn about James, everything you can, lad, if you are coming to London with us," his father warned. "Otherwise you will be at the greatest disadvantage—for he will use you shamelessly. James
has
no shame, and uses everyone he can. So it behoves us all to look after ourselves!"

"I wish that I was not going."

"Do you truly?" his mother asked. "Or do you but say that? It will be a great adventure for you—sorry as I am to be losing you."

"Not losing me, I promise you. I will be back. I will not stay long
..."

"That depends on the King, Johnnie, not on you," the Duke pointed out. "As part of the court, you are at James's command. We all are. You cannot announce one day that you are for home, and go, without the royal permission."

"Then I wish the more that I was not going. I said as much to the King, but he would not hear me."

"Can
you
not speak with him, Vicky?" Mary asked. "Convince him that Johnnie should remain at Methven. That he will make but a reluctant courtier."

"I can try. But I have little hopes of changing James's mind. Once he decides on a matter, he is hard to budge. He may say that he will consider it, then merely goes the same road by another door. He has taken a great fancy to John— thank God, in no indecent fashion—and considers him useful. And if James does that, then the useful man will not escape. I
know
—who have been useful for a score of years!" He smiled. "But do not look so woeful, lad—most young men would give much to be in your shoes, in this."

His son remained unconvinced.

"There is an aspect of all this which requires consideration," the Duke went on. "In London you will require money and some position—or at court you will find yourself at much disadvantage. The English are hot on position and title, on siller too! You are a knight now, yes—but that carries little weight at court, where all are knights if they are not great lords. And their greater ladies! James may give you some minor dig
nity, Extra Gentleman Usher, or
Deputy Cup-Bearer or the like—but he is ever short of moneys, the English parliament keeping him so, and you will gain little from him. You will have to dress well and live in a style suitable for a courtier—and my son!" John's frown grew the darker.

"I have been considering what we can do. Methven cannot spare sufficient with the castle to maintain and your great drainage scheme. It occurs to me that Dumbarton is the answer. I have long been hereditary Governor and Captain of the royal castle of Dumbarton, with its revenues and dues. It is a gift of the Crown, of course. But I should not think that James, in his present mood, would object if it was transferred to you. I have not been near the place for years, and have to pay a deputy-governor—as you would have to do. The remaining revenues, rents and harbour-dues are not great, but sufficient for your needs in London, to be sure. And to be Sir John Stewart, Governor and Captain of Dumbarton Castle, would give you some standing at court. How think you?"

"But . . . but . . . how can I be governor of a royal fortress?" John demanded, astonished. "I know nothing of such matters. It is a great citadel, with soldiers and cannon, is it not? It controls the Clyde firth . . . ?"

"You can be governor, in name, as well as I can—from London! Continue to pay William Middlemas, the present deputy—he is called the Constable—and all will be as before. I will be glad to be quit of the responsibility, to tell truth. And when you escape from court, if so you wish, you can take your governorship more seriously. There might be quite great opportunities for you there. If James agrees—as I would expect him to."