Unicorn Rampant Read Free Page A

seen to have somewhat shapeless features but a high forehead to suit his hat, a slack mouth from which a pink tongue was apt to protrude—for it was too large for the rest of him and consequently he dribbled fairly consistendy—and a wispy beard. Now aged fifty-one, his hair was beginning to thin and grey and he had developed a paunch—scarcely an impressive figure, save for those eyes.
    The musicians' leader got the message and the victorious paean ebbed away.
    "God be thankit," Majesty declared thickly, and then nodded towards the stage. "Aye—och, maist appropriate and homologous. Aye, and perspicacious, perspicacious. Was it no', Vicky? Mind, yon wifie that didna get the bairn was auld enough to ken better, as you could jalouse by her paps. She was yon Jean Stewart, Lindores' lady, if I'm no' mistak en, and no' far off a grand-dam e her ainsel', I'm thinking." He nodded sagely, and clapped on his hat again. "Now—what's next?"
    "Let us hope no more Latin poems, Sire," the good-looking youth on the King's left announced, in the loud and clear, if clipped tones of the English ruling class. He yawned, frankly.
    "Wheesht, Steenie, or they'll hear you," James said, equally audibly, and leaned over to pat the other's hand, to show that there was no real reproof intended.
    The Provost stepped forward from the ranks of the magistrates, dressed like them all in black velvet for the occasion, but this enhanced by a special fur-lined cloak, very fine. The Lord Lyon King of Arms, in heraldic tabard, raised his baton and intoned:
    "The Provost of Your Majesty's City of Edinburgh, Alexander Nisbet of the Dean."
    "Aye, well—he has our royal permission to speak," James nodded graciously. "But no' for too long, mind."
    Thus advised, the Provost bowed low and began. "Your Grace, in the name of your ancient capital and royal burgh of Edinburgh ..."
    He got no further meantime, James interrupting: "No Grace, man—Majesty. You should ken that by now. Grace was the auld Scots usage, aye. But now it's for archbishops and dukes and siclike, eh, Vicky? Majesty, mind. And this Edinburgh's no' the ancient capital at all, see you, Provost —Nisbet is it? Nisbet's a right Merse name, frae the Borders, is it no'? Mainly rogues come frae the Borders, I've found, guidsakes! Ask Alicky Home. I've been biding at yon Dunglass wi' him yester-night. Aye, and the Homes are the worst o' the lot. Eh, Alicky?" And he turned in his saddle to scan the ranks behind him, where the Earl of Home quickly changed his black scowl into a smile. "Aye, well—Perth and Stirling, aye and Dunfermline and even Roxburgh, no' to mention yon Forteviot, were a' capitals in their day, before Edinburgh. Sic transit, you ken. So dinna get too high in your opinion o' this bit town! Proceed, Provost man—proceed."
    Quite put off his stride, the chief magistrate hummed and hawed. "Majesty, I ... I crave Your Majesty's pardon. I ... ah, a slip o' the tongue, just. I was going to say ... I was going to say ..." Clearly, in his confusion he had forgotten just what he was going to say. Looking around him in desperation, he jettisoned his prepared speech. "I, I welcome Your Majesty on behalf of the City of Edinburgh, after your so long absence from it. To our loss, aye our great loss, to be sure. And, er, call upon the Town Clerk, Master John Hay, to make known the leal greetings of the Council and citizens."
    The Town Clerk, a bustling little lawyer, thus prematurely thrust forward, produced a large swatch of papers from inside his velvet, with which he fumbled—and which James and others eyed with some alarm. However, as befitted a man of words, he fairly quickly found his place and launched forth into a flood of, if not exactly eloquence, at least verbiage.
    "Your Gr . . . er, Majesty, blessed be God that our eyes are permitted once more to feed upon the royal countenance of our true Phoenix, the bright star of our northern firmament," he began, paper held close to his face the