He told her the Hamiltons—but there certainly he lied—good friends of his and hopeful to be better. The Queen calmed herself. ‘I had understood that you went to the rescue of my Lord Bothwell,’ she began; and true it was, he had. But now he laughed at the thought, and maybe found it laughable.
‘No, no, madam,’ he said: ‘there are no dealings betwixt me and the border-thieves. But the Duke hath made a treaty with me; and it was to help my Lord Arran, his son, that I and mine went out.’ Well! he had stayed the riot, he had carved out peace at the sword’s edge. ‘Anon’—and he pointed out the man—‘Anon comes that creeper by darksome ways, and rewards my sons with prison-bars—he, that has sought my fair earldom and all! Ay, madam, ay!’—his voice rose—‘so it is. Of all the souls in peril last night, some for villainy’s sake, some to serve their wicked lusts, some for love of the game, and some for honesty and truth—these last are rewarded by the jail. Madam, madam, I tell your Majesty, honest men are not to be bought and sold. You may stretch heart-strings till they crack; you may tempt the North, and rue the spoiling of the North. I know whose work this is, what black infernal stain of blood is in turmoil here. I know, madam, I say, and you know not. Some are begotten by night, and some in stealth by day—when the great world is at its affairs, and the house left empty, and nought rife in it but wicked humours. Beware this kind, madam—beware it. What they have lost by the bed they may retrieve by the head. Unlawful, unlawful—a black strain.’
The Lord James was stung out of himself. ‘By heaven, madam, this should be stopped!’
The Queen put up her hand. ‘Enough said. My Lord Huntly, what is your pleasure of me?’
Old Huntly folded up his wrath in his arms once more. ‘I ask, madam, the release of my two sons—of my son Findlater, and of Adam, my young son, wounded in your service, sorely wounded, and in bonds.’
‘You frame your petition unhappily,’ said the Queen with spirit. ‘This is not the way for subjects to handle the prince.’
He extended his arms, and gaped about him. ‘Subjects, she saith! Handling, she saith! Oh, now, look you, madam, how they handle your subject and my boy. He hath fifteen years to his head, madam, and a chin as smooth as your own. I fear he is hurt to the death—I fear it sadly; and it turns me sick to face his mother with the news. Three sons take I out, and all the hopes I have nursed since your Majesty lay a babe in your mother’s arm. With one only I must return, with one only—and no hopes, no hopes at a’—madam, an old and broken man.’ He was greatly moved; tears pricked his eyelids and made him fretful. ‘Folly, folly of an old fool! To greet before a bairn!’ He brought tears into the Queen’s eyes.
‘I am sorry for your son Adam,’ she said gently; ‘but do not you grieve for him. He is too young to suffer for what he did under duress. You shall not weep before me. I hate it. It makes me weep with you, and that is forbidden to queens, they say.’
A man had appeared at the curtain of the door, and stood hidden in it. The Lord James went to him while the Queen was turned to the Secretary.