The King's Study

Flanked by members of the council, James hunched over the hearth in his study - one arm on the mantle, his free hand habitually on the hilt of his sword. His dark eyes, seeming golden in the light of the fire, beheld the hot fire - how the sparks flew high above the dangerous dancing flames.

It pained James to exercise his strength and power in that moment - to seem so unforgiving and harsh.  It was barely in his nature and he only argued with the nobles who sympathised with the regent who lived on the borders. Adam was a friend, a senior advisor - one he trusted. Indeed, his trust was so implicit that he allowed him to exercise certain freedoms in parliament. This was a blow. He could not tolerate it. It not only affected him, but it more importantly affected his wife and his son. James would never have arranged the visit, never would he have invited an English noble to court. It was treason to act like the King and treason to invite the known enemies of Scotland to be at his court. For James it was a step too far, as if the regent - his step-father - still had control over the land.

Furthest from James was the Lord Justice Henry Balnaves  and Adam Otterburn - the two privy councillors most in favour of an English alliance and ecclesiastical reform. Closer to James was William Graham the Earl of Montrose, William Cunningham the Earl of Glencairn and James’s royal secretary Thomas Erskine of Haltoun - all loyal to Scotland and James, who was more of a friend more than a King, “You have reached much too far, Adam,” he said deeply, his tone dark and barely audible above the sound of rainfall against the stained glass window, “You may leave when she does. You have no place in this court…not until you remedy your error.”

As his aunt was introduced, James moved from the fire and stood up straight - at least a head above the other men. He bowed his head, holding his hands behind his back, “Welcome, my lady,” James said curtly, "It is a shame you have visited us," he added with a smirk hearing his secretary supportively chuckle at his back, "It being winter. I am sure you are not used to such weather."

Surging forward, my Lady in Waiting furiously spat "Madame la princesse has not-" I raise my hand as I take a seat, gracefully guiding myself onto the cushioned chair and resting against the embroidered back: my arms resting upon the chairs own. I sat upon as if it were a throne. Looking to me, the young lady bows her head as she calmly speaks. "My apologies, your Highness." Smiling warmly, I shake my head, unconcerned by such a display of devotion. It was touching that someone would defend me against such an ungallant and ill mannered welcome: it made me only more determined to make this as uncomfortable as possible for them. "Thank you Marguerite..." I look down the table: my sapphire eyes gaze upon the sulking King of Scots, smiling sweetly, it had not gone unnoticed by me that I was the only one in the room sitting: they were all stood. Some would call this a disadvantage, that I looked weak. It was not so. To any onlooker, I looked powerful, I looked like the monarch and as if they were waiting for my leave to sit. "Your Grace will have to forgive my Lady, I have not been called "my Lady" since I was a child. It has been "Madame" or "Madame la princesse" for as long as I can remember." I am sweetness and light, in contrast to his cold and distant disinterest. I could handle myself in a room full of men: and these Scots men, despite their dour moods, English hating ways and poor manners had not stopped looking at me. The King may have but his ministers had not lifted their eyes from me. I had the looks of my mother and grandmother: the beauty that had stopped a King in his tracks with just a look. Even those who would clearly be against my mere presence, let alone what was to be discussed, had still looked upon an English princess and been bewitched... Well, I hoped at least: I would need every weapon in my arsenal to quell the hostility that clung to the air of the room.

James raised his brow as her lady in waiting stepped forward, brushing past her mistress and towards the group of men, an amused smile upon his lips. James looked at her with only civility, her handmaiden showed greater devotion than the knave who skulked behind him and he could tell from her accent that she was French - he had no quarrel with her. Her voice was different to his wife’s, it was guttural and reedy, yet she had the same French spirit in her: passionate and independent. His mind drifted for a moment to Mary, a subconscious smile tugging on the corner of his lips. It may have almost appeared that he was genuinely happy for his aunt to be sitting before him, “Well titles mean very little here…especially between the English and we Scots. I’m sure you will understand,” James said casually - unaffected by the display and made to the table.

He marked how she looked at his men, her eyes of ice passing a glance over each one - as if she hoped to consume them on the spot. She resembled his mother. They had similar features - the sharp cheekbones and long nose…the same coldness. No passion, he thought. To James, the English only cared for power and money - they did not have the passion and inner fire that burned in all Scots. Eventually James sat at the table, his council pooled about him with his great friend and secretary nearest, a quill in hand to document the meeting.

“This is Lord Otterburn of Auldhame,” James said and gestured towards the man seated furthest away from him, “You must remember him from your correspondence.”

He barely glanced at Katherine but when he looked at Otterburn, he glared at him as if he were in battle, “Madame,” he began honestly, “It will be no surprise to you that I am not in favour of this alliance. Your brother and my dear uncle,” he continued sarcastically, “Sent his wife - of whom he has now disposed - to my land with an army. He had my father and my brother killed…despite my mother being his sister - his own blood. I will not reduce my son to a similar fate. We Scots protect our own...”

It was no surprise to find him opposed to the idea: but it would appear the great King of Scots was under the misguided impression that my daughter was English. In truth, she was as English as he, as they both had English princesses for mothers but clearly, I would have to remind the room full of proud Scots to whom they were talking. The dowager queen of Navarre. With a warm smile upon my face, I pressed forward into the battleground these negotiations would be. "Your Majesty... Please pardon my boldness but does anyone in this room actually know which nation they are addressing?" Without any sultry looks or icy stares, I cast my eyes about those assembled and search for a genuine response. "Now, I am aware that I was announced in French but I was under the impression that I was entering a room filled with educated men. A notion I was clearly misguided in." It takes every inch of my might not to shout but I intended to make my point without being declared hysterical: a misfortune that befell any spirited and strong willed woman that defended herself eloquently. Searching the room with my eyes one last time, I find no response and with a sigh, I begin to inform them whom they were addressing. "My daughter is Navarrese. She is a Princess of Navarre. I... I am the dowager queen of Navarre. Your Majesty and my noble Lords are addressing the Navarrese Royal family. You are addressing the kingdom of Navarre." Sighing, I shake my head; already exasperated by the incompetence and ignorance of men. It is a wonder, I find myself thinking, that nations are ruled and countries lead when men take precedence. "I am English, yes. However, it would appear my Lords that you know little of my life as most of it has been spent in France. An English King, my own father, couldn't look upon me and so hated me that he sent me to another nation. He sent me to my true home. France. I was raised there, I grew up there, I found a home there and I birthed my daughter there. I am more French than I am English." Taking a breath, I close my eyes for a moment as I grew more and more emotion before I drew a quick and soothing breath. "Now, that aside, his Majesty has already mentioned that his mother was English and therefore, if my daughter is to be punished and insulted for having the audacity to be born of a Tudor princess, I will remind each and every one of you that she is not the only one in this room to have an English mother." I barely contain my frustration as it burns through my body, I grip the chair as I force myself to remain calm. A widow I may been but I was a queen and a princess: something no Scottish Lord could take from me. Composing myself, I look at each and every courtier assembled before My eyes reached my nephew: doubtlessly there would be more than he and my Lizzie born of English mothers in the room but none would ever dare call themselves less Scottish for it: an insulting and amusing hypocrisy shown toward my daughter. "Taking that into account, if it makes your Majesty no less Scottish, then why should it make my daughter any less the princess of Navarre that she is."

James sensed, surprisingly, the man most in favour of an alliance with the English had began to squirm. Clearly, James thought, his reforming zeal did not extend so far as to grant women greater rights. He didn’t like the woman before him. As far as James was concerned, she was an enemy - she was English and shared the blood he hoped to burn out of himself. It was his greatest misery to have a connection to the Tudors, to have them believe he owed the English crown some sort of filial loyalty. Yet, in spite of his instinctive distrust and dislike, he could not help but admire her eloquence. Indeed, he marked the strange lilt in her voice - not French neither Spanish, something in between - foreign and intriguing.

“Madame, I’m well aware of your marital connections and indeed that your daughter is a noble in Navarre. Yet it still stands that you are English and your latent kingdom is increasingly unstable. No doubt you will recall it’s fight for independence a little under ten years ago…which failed. Navarre is all but a province now in the growing Spanish empire. Even if an alliance were to be made - I hope it shall not be one that son has to suffer. Your daughter will not inherit the crown, your husband - I believe - did not make the effort to ensure a daughter could rule…as I have done in this land. Her dowry will be minimal as the land is now Spain’s and perhaps greatest of all - her mother is English.”

James glanced to his secretary who he could see was smiling at James’s words, “And, I was born here, Madame, you need not doubt how Scottish I am,” James said with a shrug and relaxed nonchalantly into his chair, “I am King. I live among my people and have sent your sister to live - at my pleasure - in the north. My son shall be King and I will not have him inherit this country in the way in which I did. Your daughter is plainly ruled by you and de facto she is rule by the English and the Spanish. The countries who killed Scotland’s King - God’s own appointed monarch. Do you now say blasphemy and treason are suitable qualities in a possible match for my son - a future King?”

Raising my eyebrow, I gaze at him; awe struck by the venom he spat towards the notion of anything English... It was war then; a war of words and diplomacy. "Not wishing to offend you Grace, but I believe we have established that I am English. I believe we have established it at least four times now. Once again, I appear to be misguided in my assumption that I was entering a room full of intelligent men..." Forming a smile upon, my face I take a quick, quiet breath. "So, your Majesty, gentlemen before we go any further; would anyone like to make anymore completely correct... And blindingly obvious observations about me? Furthermore, shall we proceed to make them three more times to really hammer them home to us all?" Sighing, I sit back in my chair; resting against the cushioned back to seek some comfort in the endurance test that these negotiations would surely be. May God give me strength, I thought. "I will clarify this for your Grace one last time: yes, I am English. As for my daughter, she is not noble in Navarre. She is royalty. She is, in fact, royalty all across Europe; just as you are. Let us no longer confuse the two."

I prepared myself for another assault from my adversaries; it didn't take a great stretch of the imagination to know what they would use as weapons to attack my daughter and I. No father to secure an alliance with Navarre, a nation overrun by the Emperor and his Spanish hordes and therefore in their eyes meant; no dowry because of both those factors. Doubtlessly, we would reestablish the fact that I am an English Princess and further reestablish it again and again until there is absolutely no doubt in the fact. As if there had been to begin with. I did however have an advantage; something that was undeniable and even with the disgust at my presence, not one of the Scotsmen sat around the table would dare to question it. "You are very well informed about my late husband's kingdom and it pleases me greatly to know it. For the matter of the dowry; we will have to negotiate. However, I have the full assurance of Navarre's Lord Protector and Regent for her Majesty, Queen Jeanne that a dowry will be paid for her cousin, the Princess." Smiling, I cast my eye around the room as I try to gauge the mood of the room. It was hostile but considering the fact we were all still present and sat, I was willing to call this a somewhat successful meeting.  "And of course as I am sure your Majesty is aware, considering how well informed you are, you will know that my daughter was never going to bring you the crown of Navarre. As upon my husband's accession he declared that his nieces from King Henri's first two marriages, Jeanne and Madeleine would remain as his primary heirs until I birthed a son. Now as we are all aware, I had a daughter and my husband tragically died three days after her birth; this meant that Jeanne succeeded him as his rightful heir." I smile warmly down the table towards my nephew; waiting to hear the response I will receive. "Also, gentlemen, please find me a ten month old baby that is not ruled by their mother." Releasing a small laugh, I tilt my head as I pout my lips slightly; accentuating my cheekbones and natural beauty. It had to come with some perks, being the only woman in the room. "Should your Grace agree and we find our beloved children joined as man and wife, Elizabeth will come to you as I went to my marriage; loyal and devoted to her adoptive nation and ready to defend it against all others, including England and her Uncle. Just as I was to Navarre." Sighing once again, I look towards the man that had made this torrent of insults hurled at me possible with a degree of disgust before I returned my gaze to the King. "Blasphemy, your Grace? If you mean my brother's new church and the Huguenot sympathies of my late husband's nation, be assured that I and my daughter are of the one true Catholic church. I was born a Catholic, I will die one. My daughter was born a Catholic and shall live in the light of it as well... no matter what my brother declares for England."

There was an uncomfortable rustle about the men. The Earl of Montrose passed a wide-eyed glance to the Earl of Glencairn - who cleared his throat and shifted in his seat. Thomas looked to James for reassurance that things should proceed. His secretary had been educated in Pavia, he’d been taught Italian politics, had read The Prince when it was just a handwritten draft and contributed to the final product…the kind of open dispute present in that moment was all rather alien. Indeed, James could not recall such confrontation between foreign visitors and himself. James looked at Thomas with a nod - the type of silent communication only good friends could understand, “Caileag sassanach,” Jamie muttered with a wink and Thomas sniggered.

“Your sister in law Katherine of Aragorn is royalty and yet she lives her life penniless in the moors. You are royal and yet you have no support - no army, no people... Royal blood means nothing unless one has the ability to rule, “ James countered - a hum of agreement and nods passed about the small council.

“The fact of the matter remains, Madame, I am not in favour of this alliance. Spain has been no friend to Scotland…or France. This would never be a secure alliance. Navarre’s safety cannot be guaranteed, neither can the dowry. One top of this, my wi- The Queen is not present to negotiate. From what I have learned - you hope only to impress with your own facade of imperial majesty. Your home land has exploited and violated my land and my kin for years, Spain sent it’s daughter with an army to kill my father. The Emperor is greedy and you cannot provide any guarantees.”

James sighed and rolled his shoulders tiredly, “There seems very little else to say. I will inform my wife of this meeting and if she wishes to speak with you a meeting shall be arranged. You speak well,” James conceded with a nod and a vague smile, "If you were any other woman I would be impressed. Alas...to clarify for...is it the fifth time?" he asked with mischievous sarcasm, "You are English. I was born to distrust you...the congenital defect of all Scots who have been slighted by the English since we were unfortunate enough to have you reside beyond our borders."

"Albannach." I say with a smile. Leaning forward to address them, my golden hair tumbles down likes cascading waterfall and frames my face: my eyes like sapphires set in the snow of my skin gazed at each of the assembled men, and they in turn looked back at me. "Something for you to ponder gentlemen: princesses in French Abbey's avoir beaucoup de temps pour maîtriser les compétences de la langue." I bat my eyelashes for effect and nothing more, the words rolled off my tongue like water flowed in a river: naturally and with ease. And the smile upon my face had grown more coy as the sentence had slipped from my lips.

"An excellent point, your Grace, excellently made." Acknowledging that the audience was over, I rise from my chair gracefully and look down the table to the King. I was a match for any man and it was a delight to find a man that was worthy of the challenge. A rarity indeed. "I will take that as a compliment your Majesty and I thank you for this audience: it has been... an experience." Turning to leave, I elegantly glide towards the door and stop before Agnés: taking my beguilingly beautiful daughter into my arms and placing her upon my hip. The doors are once again opened for me and as I depart, I here the faint mumblings of "Your Highness." My household and I make our way towards the apartments we had been given as guests and holding Lizzie close, I keep my eyes forward. I knew this has been a mistake. It had been a mistake to trust the Navarrese Ambassador and that Scottish Lord. It was a mistake to come. Turning my head to Marguerite as we effortlessly move through the castle corridors, I look to her and sing "We must write to home: we must write to Charles..." I needed the advice of my greatest friend now more than ever and I intended to seek it as swiftly as possible.

As soon as news reached me of my brothers return I hastily skipped down the corridors to meet him. It had been ever such a long time since we had last spoken I had not even seen his son yet. James, are you free to receive visitors. I asked as I speak through the pine oak door.