“I’m not so sure of that, Davie. Kings have to thole many things if they are to rule justly. Now, Davie, if you’ll but tell me just what to do, it will be a great help, for then I can take the opposite direction with confidence.”
But the poet shook his head.
“I cannot tell you,” he said. “There seems much to be said for both sides.”
“Then, Davie, send down to the town for the cobbler; send for Flemming, he is a common-sense, canny body; he shall be the Solomon of the occasion. That broad-faced hammer of his seems to rap out wisdom as well as drive pegs. Bring him up with you, and we’ll place the case before him.”
As the rhymster left the room, Sir Donald Sinclair came clanking in, seemingly in something of a hurry.
“Was it your majesty’s pleasure,” began Sir Donald, “to have detained Adam Scott and Cockburn?”
“No. Why do you ask?”
“Because they have mounted their horses and are off to the Border as fast as two good steeds can carry them.”
“And where are Bothwell, Home, and Maxwell, and the Lairds of Fairniherst, Johnston and Buccleuch?”
“They are all closeted in the Earl of Bothwell’s room, your majesty. Shall I take any action regarding them?”