Jean Plaidy - The Murder in the Tower: The Story of Frances, Countess of Essex

That laddie is familiar, mused James. Where can I have seen him before? At Court? ’Tis likely so. Yet once having seen him, would I not remember?

He forgot the Queen and young Henry; he forgot his own brooding on the past.

His attention was focused on the young stranger, and he was impatient for the moment when the boy would ride to the stage, dismount and come to kneel before him with his favorite’s shield and device.

The young man who had attracted the King’s attention would have been delighted had he known that James had already singled him out, because that was exactly what he was hoping for.

He had recently returned from France where he had heard rumors of conditions at the English Court. The King, it was said, surrounded himself with handsome young men who, it seemed, had little to do but look handsome—which was an easy enough task if one had been born that way, as he, Robert Carr, certainly had.

This habit of the King’s was deplored by his more serious statesmen, but as long as they were able to keep the favorites under some control they accepted it. There were worse faults in Kings.

Robert Carr, tall, slender with perfectly shaped limbs, a fine skin to which the sun of France had given a light golden tan, features so finely chiseled that strangers turned to take a second look, hair that glistened like gold and was thick and curly, was an extremely handsome young man. Women constantly plagued him, but while he enjoyed their company he did not allow them to take up too much of his time.

He had always been ambitious, and being a younger son in a not very affluent Scottish family had given him a determination, at a very early age, to rise in the world; and he had seen his opportunity when his father, Sir Thomas Carr of Ferniehurst, had found a place for him at the Court of the King.

James had been pleased to receive the boy, for Sir Thomas Carr had been a faithful friend to his mother, Mary Queen of Scots, during her long captivity and James felt the family should be rewarded in some way.

So young Robert had been allowed to come to Court to serve as a page; but he was young and ignorant of Court ways and scarcely ever saw the King in whom in any case he would have been too young to arouse much interest.

He had not been long at Court when that even took place which was to unite the two nations who for centuries had been at war with each other. Queen Elizabeth died and James was declared King of England and Scotland.

It was natural that James should leave the smaller kingdom to govern in the larger, although he had declared in St. Giles’s Cathedral that never would he forget the rights of his native Scotland and it would be his endeavor to see that Scotland lost nothing but gained everything from the union. James kept his word and many a Scotsman now was lording it below the Border.

Robert had come south in the royal retinue, but James, finding his Court somewhat over-populated by Scottish gentlemen, had found it necessary to placate his new subjects by dismissing some of them in favor of the English. Young Robert had been sent to France, which, he now realized, had been for his good. In that country he learned more gracious manners than those he could have acquired in his native land; and there was no doubt that they added to his extreme attractiveness. In France he learned what an asset good looks were; and the raw Scottish boy had become an ambitious young man.

He considered himself fortunate to have been taken into the retinue of Sir James Hay, himself brought up in France, and handsome enough to have won the King’s favor; in fact one on whom young Robert might, with reason and hope, model himself.

The King’s presents to those he favored were varied, and Sir James had been presented with an heiress for a wife. Robert being somewhat impecunious was in need of such a useful acquisition; he had no intention of remaining in a minor position in the household of a favorite when he himself—and it would have been falsely modest to deny this—was far more personable. He lacked experience of course, but that would come with time.

It was a very excited, hopeful young man who rode into the tilting yard on that day.

He could see the King seated on his chair of state, the light catching the jewels on his quilted doublet. James did not wear those costly garments with elegance; but what did that matter when it was well known how he admired that quality in others. Perhaps it was because he was uncomely, bulky and weak in the legs that he so admired physical perfections in others. And there was the Queen—but wise young men did not concern themselves overmuch with the Queen. If a young man could make no headway in the King’s Court, then he might try in the Queen’s; and there had been cases when the Queen’s favor had actually led to the King’s. But Anne was not pleased by the King’s delight in handsome young men, so at this stage she need not be considered.

There was Prince Henry, himself personable, but very young, of course. He too had his friends and Robert had heard that he used his influence with the King for the benefit of those he favored. So there they were—the royal trio on the stage, from each of whom blessings could flow.

Determined to have the King’s attention, Robert rode close to the stage. But at that moment when he was prepared to dismount gracefully, the horse rose from his haunches, and kicking up his hind legs, shot his rider over his head.

Robert rolled over and over. Then he lost consciousness.

Robert Carr, who had so meant to impress the King by his equestrian skill, had taken an ignoble tumble and lay unconscious before the royal stage.

James rose unsteadily to his feet. He disliked accidents; he was constantly afraid that they would happen to him, and the ease with which they could occur distressed him.

He descended from the stage, and by this time a little crowd had collected about the fallen man. It parted to let the King through.

“Is he much hurt?” he asked.

“His arm’s broken for one thing, Sire,” said one of the onlookers.

“Poor wee laddie! Let him be carried gently into the Palace, and send one of my physicians to look to his needs.”

Someone had removed Robert’s helmet and his golden hair fell across his pale brow.

James looked at him. Why, he was like a Grecian statue, what beautifully molded features! The eyelashes were golden brown against his skin, and several shades darker than his hair.

At that moment Robert opened his eyes and the first face he saw among those bending over him was that of the King.

He remembered in a rush of shame that he had failed.

James said gently: “I’ve sent for a man to look to you, laddie. Dinna be afraid. He’ll look after you.”

He smiled, and it was the tender smile he bestowed on all handsome young men.

He turned away then and Robert groaned.

He had had his great chance but believed he had failed.

That evening James called his favorite, Sir James Hay, to his side and demanded to know how the young man who had fallen in the tiltyard was faring.

“A broken arm, Sire, seems to be the main damage. He’ll mend fast enough. He’s young.”

“Ay, he’s young,” agreed the King. “Jamie, where is the lad?”

“Your Majesty commanded that he was to be housed in your own palace and given the attention of your own physician. This has been done. He is bedded next to your own apartments.”

“Poor laddie, I fear he suffered. He was so eager to do well in the yard.”

“Perhaps he has not done so badly, Sire,” murmured Sir James.

“I’ll go and tell him so. He’d like to hear it from me, I’ll swear.”

“He might even think it worth a broken bone or two,” replied Sir James.

“What! A visit from his King! You boys all flatter your old Dad, Jamie.”

“Nay, Sire, I was not thinking to flatter.”

James laughed, nursing a secret joke. His lads were always afraid he was going to single one of them out for special favors. Jealous cubs, they were, fighting together. Yet they never amused him so much as when they jostled for his favor.

So James went along to see Robert Carr, who lay in bed, his beautiful head resting on his pillows. He tried to struggle up when he saw the King.

“Nay, laddie, bide where you are.”

James took a seat beside the bed.

“Are you feeling better now?”

“Y … yes, Sire,” stammered the boy.

A very nice natural modesty, thought James; and now there was a faint color in the young face and, by God, there could not have been a more handsome face in the whole of the Court … now or at any time.

“Dinna be afraid, laddie. Forget I’m the King.”

“Sire … I lie here and …”

“As you should, and I forbid you to do aught else.”

“I should be kneeling.”

“So you shall when you’re well enough. Tell me now: Is it true that you’re Robbie Carr of Ferniehurst?”

“Yes, Sire.”

“I’ve heard tell of your father. He was a good and loyal servant to my mother the Queen of the Scots.”

“He would have died for her as I would …”

“As you would for your King? Nay, mon! he’d not ask it. This King likes not to hear of men dying … and this is more so when they have youth and beauty. Wouldn’t a broken arm be enough, eh? Is it painful?”

“A little, Sire.”

“They tell me it’ll be well enough soon. Young bones mend quickly. Now, Robbie Carr, were you a page to me back in bonny Scotland?”

“Yes, Sire.”

“And came south with me and then left me?”

“I was sent to France, Sire.”

“Where they taught you pretty manners, I see. Now you’re back at the King’s Court, and Robbie, your King’s telling you this: he hopes there you’ll stay.”

“Oh Sire, my great wish is to serve you.”

“So you shall.”

Robert had heard that the King was always deeply impressed by good looks but he had not believed that they could have such a remarkable effect as his evidently had. The King was as indulgent as a father; he wanted to know about Robert’s childhood, what life had been like at Ferniehurst.

Robert told of how he had been taught to tilt and shoot, and how he had become an expert in such manly pastimes.

“But what of books, lad?” James wanted to know. “Did they not tell you that there was more lasting pleasure to be found in them than in the tiltyard?”

Robert was alarmed, because his teachers had despaired of him and he was far happier out of doors than in the schoolroom; it had seemed more important to his parents that he should grow up strong in the arm than in the head.

James was disappointed.

“It seems to me, lad, that your education has been most shamefully neglected. And a pity too, for ye’d have had a good brain if any had taken the trouble to train it.”

James went sorrowfully away, but the next day he returned to Robert’s bedside. With the King came one of his pages carrying books, which at James’s command he laid on the bed.

James’s eyes were bright with laughter.

“Latin, Robbie,” he cried. “Now here ye are, confined to bed for a few days. And already you’re longing to be in the saddle again and out in the sunshine. Ye canna, Robbie. But there’s something you can do. You can make up a little for all ye’ve lost, by a study of the Latin tongue, and ye’ll discover that there’s more adventure to one page of learning than to be found in months in the tiltyard. For ye’re going to have a good tutor, Robbie—the best in the Kingdom. Can you guess who, lad? None but your King.”