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Calderwood has preserved for us the objections taken by sceptics to the King’s narrative. [111] First, the improbability of a murderous conspiracy, by youths so full of promise and Presbyterianism as Gowrie and his brother. To Gowrie’s previous performances we return later. The objection against a scheme of murder hardly applies to a plan for kidnapping a King who was severe against the Kirk.
The story of the pot of gold, and the King’s desire to inspect it and the captive who bore it, personally, and the folly of thinking that one pot of gold could suffice to disturb the peace of the country, are next adversely criticised. We have already replied to the criticism (p. 40). The story was well adapted to entrap James VI.
The improbabilities of Ruthven’s pleas for haste need not detain us: the King did not think them probable.
Next it was asked ‘Why did James go alone upstairs with Ruthven?’
He may have had wine enough to beget valour, or, as he said, he may have believed that he was being followed by Erskine. The two reasons may well have combined.
‘Why did not Gowrie provide better cheer, if forewarned?’ (by Henderson?) it was asked.
To give the impression, we reply, that he was taken by surprise, and that the King came uninvited and unexpected.
‘Why did Ruthven aim a dagger at James, and then hold parley?’
Because he wanted to frighten the King into being ‘at his will.’
‘How could Ruthven trust the King, with the armed man alone in the turret?’
What else could he do? He locked them in, and was, through the failure of the man, in a quandary which made clear reflection necessary—and impossible.
‘It was strange that the man had not been trained in his task.’
If Oliphant is correctly reported, he had been trained, but ‘fainted.’
‘Why bind the King with a garter?’
In helpless pursuit of the forlorn idea of capturing him.
‘Why execute the enterprise when the courtiers were passing the window?’
Ruthven could not have known that they were coming at that moment; it was Gowrie’s ill-timed falsehoods, to the effect that the King had ridden away, which brought them there. Gowrie had not allowed for Henderson’s failure.
‘How could the King struggle successfully with the stalwart Master?’
He fought for his life, and Ruthven probably even then did not wish to injure him bodily.
‘Why was not the Master made prisoner?’
James answered this question when ‘posed’ by Mr. Bruce. His blood was up, and he said ‘Strike!’
‘The Earl likewise might, after he was stricken, have been preserved alive.’
Perhaps—by miracle; he died instantly.
The discrepancies as to the dagger and the opening of the window we have already treated, also the locking and unlocking, or leaving unlocked, of the chamber door, giving on the dark staircase, after Ruthven’s last hurried entrance (p. 69).
There follow arguments, to be later considered, about the relations between James and the Earl previous to the tragedy, and a statement, with no authority cited, that James had written to Gowrie’s uncle, to meet him at Perth on August 5, implying that James had made up his mind to be there, and did not go on Ruthven’s sudden invitation.
‘The Earl and Cranstoun were alone with the four in the fatal chamber. The others who were wounded there went up after Gowrie’s death.’
It may be so, but the bulk of the evidence is on the other side.
‘It is reported’ that Henderson was eating an egg in the kitchen, and went into the town when the fray arose.
It is also denied, on oath, by Gowrie’s cook, who added that he was ‘content to be hanged,’ if it could be proved. [114]
The Ruthven apologist (MS.) says that Henderson was waiting on the Lords who dined in the hall, and was there when the King’s servant brought the news that the King had ridden away.
‘The Master’s sword, after his death, was found rusted tight in his scabbard.’
The Master must have been a very untidy gallant. No authority is cited for the story.
The Murrays (who were well rewarded) were in Perth, ‘whether of set purpose let the reader judge.’
By all means let the reader judge.
The King knew Henderson (so the anonymous Goodman of Pitmillie said), but did not recognise the man in the turret. It was reported that Patrick Galloway, the king’s chaplain, induced Henderson to pretend to be the man in the turret.
As to the good man of Pitmillie, Calderwood did not even know his name. This is mere gossip.
Again, Calderwood, who offers these criticisms, does not ask why, of all concerned, Henderson was the only man that fled who had not been seen in connection with the fray and the tumult. If he was not the man of the turret, and if Andrew Ruthven, who also had ridden to Falkland, did not abscond, why did Henderson?
As to the man in the turret, if not a retainer of Ruthven, he was a minion of James, or there was no man at all. If there was no man at all, could James be so absurd as to invent him, on the off chance that somebody, anybody, would turn up, and claim to have been the man? That is, frankly, incredible. But if James managed to insert a man into the turret, he was not so silly as not to have his man ready to produce in evidence. Yet Henderson could not be produced, he had fled, and certainly had not come in by August 12, when he was proclaimed.
That James had introduced and suborned Henderson and that Henderson fled to give tone and colour to his narrative, is not among the most probable of conjectures. I do not find that this desperate hypothesis was put forward at the time. It could not be, for apologists averred (1) that Henderson was eating an egg in the kitchen: (2) that he was waiting on the gentlemen in the hall, at the moment when, by the desperate hypothesis, he was, by some machination of James, in the turret: (3) there is a third myth, a Perth tradition, that Henderson had been at Scone all day, and first heard the tragic news, when all was over, as, on his return, he crossed the bridge over Tay. As it is incredible that there was no man in the turret at all, and that James took the outside chance that somebody, anybody, would claim to be the man; the assailants of the King must offer a working hypothesis of this important actor in the drama. My own fancy can suggest none. Was he in four places at once, in the kitchen, in the hall, on the bridge, and in the turret? If he was in the kitchen, in the hall, or on the bridge, why did he instantly abscond? If James put him in the turret, why did he fly?
The King’s word, I repeat, was the word that no man could rely on. But, among competing improbabilities, the story which was written on the night of August 5, and to which he adhered under Bruce’s cross-examination, is infinitely the least improbable. The Master of Gray, an abominable character, not in Scotland when the events occurred, reported, not from Scotland, that Lennox had said that, if put on his oath, ‘he could not say whether the practice proceeded from Gowrie or the King.’ (Sept 30, 1600)
The Master of Gray wrote from Chillingham, on the English side of the Border, where he was playing the spy for Cecil. Often he played the double spy, for England and for Rome. Lennox may well have been puzzled, he may have said so, but the report rests on the evidence of one who did not hear his words, who wished to flatter the scepticism of James’s English enemies, and whose character (though on one point he is unjustly accused) reeks with infamy.
That of James does not precisely ‘smell sweet and blossom in the dust.’ But if the question arises, whether a man of James’s position, age, and temperament, or whether a young man, with the antecedents which we are about to describe, was the more likely to embark on a complicated and dangerous plot—in James’s case involving two murders at inestimable personal risk—it is not unnatural to think that the young man is the more likely to ‘have the wyte of it.’