‘My lord, at noon.’
He went off, muttering, ‘What’s in the wind just now?’ and as he went by the great entry saw the guard running, and heard a shout: ‘Room for the Prince’s grace!’ He could see the plumes of the riders and the press about them. ‘It’ll be a new cry before long, I’m thinking,’ he said to himself, and went upstairs.
Entering that silent room, he bent his knee to the Queen. She did not notice his reverence, but said at once: ‘My Lord Chancellor, I shall not sit at the Council to-day. You will direct the clerk to add a postill[3] to the name of my Lord of Moray here.’
‘Madam, with good will. What shall his postill be?’
‘You shall write against his name, Last time he sits. I know that your business is heavy. Farewell, my lords.’
Morton and Moray went out together. At the end of the corridor and head of the stair, Morton stopped.
‘Man, my Lord of Moray, what is this?’
For answer, the Earl of Moray looked steadily at him for a moment: then, ‘Come, come,’ he said, ‘we must go to our work, you and I.’
They said no more; but went through the hall, and heard the Prince’s ringing voice, high above all the others, calling for ‘that black thief Ruthven.’ They saluted a few and received many salutations. Lord John Stuart passed them, his arm round the neck of his Spanish page, and stared at his brother without greeting. These two hated each other, as all the world knew. That same night the Earl of Moray left Edinburgh, and went into Argyll, where all his friends were. It was to be nine months before he could lay his head down in his own house again.