“My dear Margaret, this pretty head of yours must not be troubled with such tiresome matters. I have no wish to see Dr. West.”

“Why?”

“Other matters occupy me.”

“You are ready to dance and joust, to hunt and hawk. Why cannot you meet the ambassador sent by the King of England?”

His eyes narrowed and his lips tightened. “I do not care that my subjects should be arrested and made prisoner. It is an unfriendly action.”

“Dr. West wishes to explain this matter to you.”

“I will tell you this much,” he said. “Sir Patrick Hamilton has escaped out of England, though his brother Arran remains there. They have not been well treated in your father’s domains. That does not please me. And if your Dr. West is here to attempt to persuade me not to receive the French embassy, you may tell him he is wasting his time. I understand he has seen you. Now let him return to his master and tell him that in Scotland it is the King who decides what shall be done; and when his subjects have been maltreated he is not to be won over with soft words.”

“You are cruel to me,” cried Margaret. “And I in my present condition!”

James laughed softly. “Nay, when was I ever cruel to you? Everything in reason that you ask for is yours. You shall have pleasure, fine clothes, precious jewels. But you must not meddle, my love, in matters which do not concern you.”

He left her then, and when he had gone she stared sullenly before her. Again she had been insulted. In England, they would know that not only was her husband unfaithful to her, but he would not discuss matters of state with her. She was nothing more than a doll to be played with and set aside — she was there merely to become pregnant as soon as possible so that he might dally, in good conscience, with his mistresses.

Some might be content to accept such a position; not so a proud Tudor.

James was always remorseful when he disappointed his Queen. She was so much younger than he was that he forgot she had left childhood behind. He always saw her as the girl of thirteen she had been when she first came to him.

He sought therefore to placate her with childish amusements. He spent a great deal of time with her discussing the entertainments, but she was listless because it seemed wrong to her that these pleasures should be planned for the visiting French embassy who were enemies of her father.

To please her, James brought two Moorish girls to her who had come to Scotland from Portugal. They were very beautiful girls and their dark skins and flashing eyes attracted a great deal of attention among the Scots.

“They wish to become Christians,” James told her. “I am going to give them into your care.”

For a while Margaret was interested in the girls. She took them into her household and they were baptized — one as Margaret and the other as Ellen. Margaret grew fond of them — particularly of Ellen who became generally known as the Queen’s Black Ellen. They appeared at the jousts, where they attracted attention, and the Queen took great pleasure in dressing them in gold and scarlet to show off their extraordinary dark beauty. No tournament was complete without the Moorish girls; they would be placed near the Queen, and their desire to serve her was apparent to all.

But Margaret could not be long content with the services of these two lovely girls; she wanted power, the first place in her husband’s affections and councils.

James, watching her, began to wonder whether he knew his Margaret after all, and to placate her he did see Dr. West, and he allowed the Queen to attend a meeting at which Sir Patrick Hamilton was present and at which he declared on oath that his brother Arran had been ill-treated in England.

After the meeting, James took his Queen by the hand and led her to her apartments; when they reached them he kissed her gently on the brow.

He said little but his meaning was clear. There, he was saying, you see, you should not meddle in politics if you are wise. What can a young girl — albeit she is a queen — know of what is happening at the courts and in the countries of her husband’s enemies?

When my child is born, thought Margaret, when I hold my little son in my arms, then everything is going to be different.

The people of Edinburgh had rarely seen such splendor as they did that June when the French embassy was welcomed to Scotland.

The Castle and Holyrood House were the scenes of banquets, masques and plays; in the courtyards of Holyrood House a play, written by English Cuddy, was performed; but what delighted the people more than anything were the brilliant jousts in which Scotsmen tested their skill against the French. These took place during the warm summer days and they were accompanied by all the pageantry and color that could be devised.

To the tournament came the Queen’s Black Ellen, in a litter carried on the shoulders of fourteen men, from the Castle to the scene of the tournament. The people applauded her and marveled at her exotic beauty; the strangeness of the French delighted them also and the people declared their loyalty to a king and queen who could give them such pleasure.

Margaret was especially cheered whenever she made her appearance. Her pregnancy was very noticeable now, for her time was near and the people were sure that she carried the heir of Scotland. She had lost her firstborn but that sorrow was forgotten now that she showed signs of giving Scotland the heir.

All through the day it seemed the minstrels played and the trumpets sounded. The French knights acquitted themselves well and it was all the Scotsmen could do to hold their own against them. This was disconcerting because they had been inclined to underestimate the skill of these lithe Frenchmen whose clothes were far more dandified than their own, and whose manners were almost effeminate by Scottish standards.

The Scotsmen would have been defeated but for the sudden appearance of a stranger in their midst. They did not know who he was, but he wore the Scottish emblems and he defeated the first of the French champions with an ease which set the crowd roaring with delight.

He jousted again, and again was the victor.

Soon everyone was talking of the man whom they called the Wild Knight, who appeared every day at the jousts, and one by one challenged the French champions, all of whom went down before him.

The French muttered together that this was no man; it was a god of some kind; it was impossible to beat him at the joust, for he was unconquerable.

At the end of the last day of the jousting, the King announced that there was to be a grand feast which he was calling a Round Table of King Arthur.

This was the climax of the brilliant entertainment. Margaret, seated beside the King, was to give the prizes for those who had won honors in the jousts, and the citizens of Edinburgh crowded into the Palace to watch their King and his guests and to marvel at the splendor they saw.

Margaret was happy, for there was little she enjoyed so much as these displays and there was no question now of her importance. She was the mistress of the revels, the Queen, who would give the prizes and proudly carried the heir to the throne. The heat was overpowering and she could wish that her confinement was behind her and she already the mother of a healthy boy; but she could not complain of the homage all — including the King — bestowed on her. If only he had been a faithful husband! If only he respected her intellect as he did her beauty, how contented she would be! But she must enjoy life while it was good.

The King whispered to her: “What think you of my Round Table?”

“A fitting end to all the pageantry,” she answered.

“Let us call the child Arthur.”

“Why, yes!” she cried. “And whenever I look at him I shall remember this day.”

When it was time to present the prizes all declared the first prize should have gone to the stranger, the Wild Knight who was the conqueror of all; and, said the French champions, they felt they should not take their prizes while he, who excelled them all, did not come forward to take his.

There was a hush in the hall, for it seemed that the event for which all were waiting — the prize-giving — would not take place unless the identity of the Wild Knight were revealed.

Then James rose and addressed the assembly.

“My friends,” he said, “since you insist on my revealing my identity, I will do so. I am the Wild Knight, and I trust our guests will not think hardly of me for the injuries I may have inflicted upon them.”

His words were cut short by a great cheering which shook the hall.

Margaret turned to him, her eyes shining, as the child moved within her.

If he were but my faithful husband, how happy I should be, she told herself.

Margaret was brought to bed in the middle of sultry July. The last weeks had been difficult ones, and she feared that she was a woman who must suffer more than most at the time of childbirth.

Her ladies were about her bed; but the King did not come near her; he could never bear to look on suffering.

“But when my son is born,” murmured Margaret, while her women wiped her brow with a kerchief smelling of sweet unguents, “it will all be worthwhile.”

At last, after much travail, the child was born.

Margaret heard the whispers in the apartment and her heart sank.

“A maiden bairn.”

“Alas, alas, Her Grace so longed for a son.”

The child lay in her arms and James came to stand by her bedside, to smile at her, to soothe her; and to try to pretend that he was as delighted with the birth of his daughter as he would have been with that of a son.