"His mother tried to send him a pony, but we did not permit it," Morton
remembered. "I trust he still hates her?"
"Yes, Buchanan has seen to that."
"Good. Else he might try to 'rescue' her someday."
"No chance of that," said Erskine. "I imagine that he will come to
guard his throne carefully and not wish to move over and make room for
another. All this hating of her was probably unnecessary." He looked
mournfully at Morton.
He has changed! thought Morton. He is veering off on a new course.
For the next twelve years? No!
They talked about general matters: gossip about Elizabeth's new
favourite, Hatton; a translation of Caesar's Commentaries just printed
in England; the fact that Ivan the Terrible of Russia had protested the
brutality of the
Massacre of St. Bartholomew's. Drake had just set off on a marauding
voyage to the Spanish Main, with Elizabeth's blessing. A Royal
Exchange building had been opened in London, and it was said to be
glittering. At the Battle of Lepanto, the forces of Philip had routed
the forces of the Turk under Ali Pasha in an heroic sea fight.
Suleiman's navy had been destroyed, and ten thousand Christian galley
slaves set free. Unfortunately this freed Philip to devote his entire
energies to exterminating his other enemy: heretics.
"We live in exciting times," said Erskine. He looked down at the sweet
that Morton had brought out himself and set before him. It was a pale
mound with slivered almonds and cinnamon.
"Plain country fare," said Morton. "This is a curd cheese, with a
lemony taste. Sometimes the taste can be refreshingly bitter. But
that is as it is supposed to be. My cook tells me that the local
people here eat it to gain strength for the winter."
They each took their spoons and tasted it, then proceeded to eat.
The taste was quite tangy, with lemon and something else, thought
Erskine. Perhaps a bit of tansy.
He took his leave shortly thereafter for the forty-mile ride back to
Stirling.
" Tis a glorious day, and I shall enjoy seeing the sunset," said
Erskine. "I will stop after dark near Linlithgow."
By the time he reached it, he was stricken with stomach pains so severe
that he had to be helped out of the saddle. He was taken to his usual
inn, where, after a night of agony, he died the second regent to expire
in Linlithgow.
Morton immediately succeeded him.
&
Just after Hallowtide, the weather abruptly changed, and gales swept
through Scotland, bringing torrents of stinging, icy rain and high
winds. The oceans were vexed and waves crashed against the coast and
into the Firth of Forth, sending clouds of ocean spray high in the air.
The few remaining leaves were stripped from the trees and carried far
out over the water.
Knox, ailing badly, managed to ascend the pulpit of St. Giles on
November ninth and preach to his successor the duties of a minister,
but his voice was so weak that no one more than a few feet away could
hear him. Then, shakily, he was helped down, and the whole
congregation followed him as he limped painfully back to his house.
He had invited some friends to supper that night, and insisted on
sitting with them at the supper table.
"Open the new hogshead of wine," he rasped to Margaret.
"Nay," one of the guests demurred. "That's over one hundred gallons,
and we can't drink it all. Save it for a larger group."
Knox said calmly, "Please drink as freely as you wish, and do not hold
back. I shall not live to finish it." He reached out and patted
Margaret's hand.
After supper he took to his bed.
"I cannot read," he said to his wife. "I cannot hold my eyes upon the
text. I pray you, please read to me from the seventeenth chapter of
the Gospel of John. It was, you know, where first I cast my anchor."
"Wh-what do you mean?" She could not understand his leave-taking. He
was not yet sixty, and his mysterious illness the weakness and
paralysis and coughing did not seem to signal a particular disease.
"I mean these are the words that called me directly, and that seem to
speak in the intimate voice of my Master."
"John, why do you not call the physician?" she cried.
"You may call him if you wish," he said gently. "I will not neglect
the ordinary means of healing, but I know the Lord will soon put an end
to my warfare. My trumpets all are blown. But others will be calling
me home." Again he patted her hand. "Now read, I pray you."
" "I have glorified Thee on earth: I have finished the work which Thou
ga vest me to do. I have manifested Thy name unto the men which Thou
ga vest me out of the world. I pray for them: While I was with them in
the world, I kept them in Thy name: those that Thou ga vest me I have
kept, and none of them is lost, but the son of perdition." "
He sighed and let his eyes seek the lighted window of his study that
overlooked the High Street.
"So much vanity," he murmured. So many had passed beneath that window,
going to and from Holyrood Palace. He could hear the shouts and cries
of that day eleven years earlier when the Queen had made her ceremonial
entrance to Edinburgh, and she had passed by, jewels on her bosom and
grey cloak spread out across her horse's flanks.
"Son of perdition," he whispered. Yes, the son of perdition had been
lost, he had not succeeded in saving her. She had gone down to ruin,
in a trail of lovers and vice and murder. And it was not over yet.
"Jezebel ..." he sighed. "The dogs shall drink thy blood, as I
prophesied."
"John, do not torment yourself with her memory," said Margaret. "Think
of your children! Our little daughters think of them, not of her!"
"I think of Scotland, dear wife, and all things concerning her."
Scotland was in peril. In spite of the flight of the evil Queen, in
spite of the triumph of the Kirk, in spite of Elizabeth's recognition
of James VI, the country seemed to be in the grip of lawlessness and
disorder. Three regents had died in only four years, and there was no
one able to enforce government decrees. BothwelFs strongmen were no
longer at hand to control the Borders, where outlaws once again roamed
freely. The clan hatreds Hamiltons and Lennox Stewarts, Douglases and
Gordons raged on. Maitland and Kirkcaldy still held Edinburgh Castle
and rained cannonballs down on helpless townsfolk, although the other
lords loyal to the Queen Argyll, Huntly, Hamilton had retreated out of
the city.
Martha, Margaret, and Elizabeth, his three little daughters, crowded
round his bed. "Father!" said six-year-old Martha, pulling gently on
his beard.
"You may cut it a bit if you wish," he said. They had had a game about
his beard, with his daughter wishing to trim it. Sometimes he let her,
but once she had botched it and left him to preach at St. Giles with a
ragged beard flapping up and down. "You may even make it uneven."
"What is that?" asked Margaret, the four-year-old, pointing at a neat
stack of boards along one wall.
"No, you mustn't!" said her mother to Knox.
"And why should I not tell her? Tis to be my coffin, dearest. I asked
my friend Bannatyne to start preparing it."
Margaret the elder began weeping.
On the nineteenth, Morton came. The new Regent was stern and had aged
much in the past few months. The violent red of his hair and beard had
softened, and there were threads of white in them. His dark eyes were
troubled, although he tried to hide it from Knox.
Knox remembered him as he was in the first days of the Covenant of the
Lords of the Congregation. Morton had been a staunch supporter from
the beginning, and had never wavered like so many others. He had been
in the prime of life then, and was still flourishing. Now he had his
reward: the highest power in Scotland.
"Leave us alone," Knox asked the others who were present, and they
withdrew. Then Knox motioned to Morton to bend close. "Did you have
any knowledge of the murder of Damley?" he asked. "You must tell me
the truth."
Morton hesitated. Did a He to a prophet count as a heavier sin than a
lie to another man? Did Knox have the power to forgive sins? Could he
see through the lie? He had the gift of prophecy. "I I knew that
certain men wished to rid the world of him," he finally said. "But I
refused to be a party to it. I am ashamed to say it was not because of
pity for the King, but because of caution for myself. I had just been
allowed to return to Scotland after the Riccio murder, and I dared not
involve myself with another so soon."
Knox relaxed his grip on Morton's wrist. "You may then call the others
back in."
Lord Boyd, David Lindsay, and the new minister of St. Giles returned
to the bedside. Knox struggled to sit up, and Boyd placed a bolster
behind him and helped him.
"I am troubled about the lords still in Edinburgh Castle that daily
wreak havoc on the people in the streets of the city," he said in a
wavering voice. "I make a dying request of you, that you go to
Kirkcaldy in the castle and tell him, in my name, this: Unless he
repents of his desertion of the Lords, he shall die miserably. For
neither the craggy rock in which he miserably trusts, nor the carnal
prudence of Maitland, whom he looks upon as a demigod, nor the
assistance of foreigners, as he falsely flatters himself, shall deliver
them. He will be spewed forth, not by the gate, but by the wall."
He suddenly sat bolt upright and his voice deepened. "For he shall be
disgracefully dragged from his nest to punishment, and hung on a
gallows in the face of the sun, unless he speedily amend his life, and
flee to the mercy of God." His voice subsided. "The man's soul is
dear to me, and I would not have it perish if I could save it. "
"What of his companion, Maitland?" asked Morton.
"He is a godless man, I daresay even an atheist. I can hold out no
hope for him." Knox slid back down in his bed, wheezing and choking.
On the evening of November twenty-fourth, the gales were tearing at the
house. Knox was lying in bed, motionless, attended by his wife, his
physician, and the friends to whom he had entrusted his family. Evening
prayers were recited, and Knox stirred.
"Do you hear the prayers?" asked his physician.
"I would to God that you and all men heard them as I have heard them,
and I praise God for that heavenly sound." Knox smiled, and died.
Morton led the Lords in mourning at the funeral two days later. Knox
was buried in the new-built coffin in the yard of St. Giles, and as
the coffin was being lowered, Morton said, "Here lies one who neither
feared nor flattered any flesh."
In his will, Knox addressed the "Papists and the unthankful world,"
telling them that "because they will not admit me for an admonisher, I
give them over to the judgement of Him who knows the hearts of all."
The rest of his worldly goods were distributed to his family.
In February 1573, Morton was able to negotiate with Huntly and the
Hamiltons one at a time, and they at last agreed to recognize James VI
as King and Morton as Regent. Argyll followed suit. Only Maitland and
Kirk-caldy, barricaded up in Edinburgh Castle, held out for Mary. It
was six years since the death of Darnley, and one by one her supporters
had fled, died, or gone over to the other side.