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Solution Manual for Fundamentals of Logic Design

7th Edition by Roth

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 and applications as well as providing help with some of the more difficult topics. Since all
of the units have study guides, it would be possible to assign some of the easier topics for
self-study and devote the lectures to the more difficult topics.

At the University of Texas a class composed largely of Electrical Engineering and

Computer Science sophomores and juniors covers 18 units (all units except 6 and 19) of
the text in one semester. Units 8, 10, 12, 16, 17, and 20 contain design problems that are
suitable for simulation and lab exercises. The design problems help tie together and review
the material from a number of preceding units. Units 10, 17, and 20 introduce the VHDL

2
© 2014 Cengage Learning. All Rights Reserved. May not be scanned, copied or duplicated, or posted to a publicly accessible website, in whole or in part.
 hardware description language. These units may be omitted if desired since no other units depend
on them.

1.2 Some Remarks About the Text

In this text, students are taught how to use Boolean algebra effectively, in contrast with
many texts that present Boolean algebra and a few examples of its application and then leave it to
the student to figure out how to use it effectively. For example, use of the theorem x + yz = (x + y)
(x + z) in factoring and multiplying out expressions is taught explicitly, and detailed guidelines are
given for algebraic simplification.

Sequential circuits are given proper emphasis, with over half of the text devoted to this
subject. The pedagogical strategy the text uses in teaching sequential circuits has proven to be very
effective. The concepts of state, next state, etc. are first introduced for individual flip-flops, next
for counters, then for sequential circuits with inputs, and finally for more abstract sequential circuit
models. The use of timing charts, a subject neglected by many texts, is taught both because it is
a practical tool widely used by logic design engineers and because it aids in the understanding of
sequential circuit behavior.

The most important and often most difficult part of sequential circuit design is formulating
the state table or graph from the problem statement, but most texts devote only a few paragraphs
to this subject because there is no algorithm. This text devotes a full unit to the subject, presents
guidelines for deriving state tables and graphs, and provides programmed exercises that help the
student learn this material. Most of the material in the text is treated in a fairly conventional manner
with the following exceptions:
(1) The diagonal form of the 5-variable Karnaugh map is introduced in Unit 5. (We find
that students make fewer mistakes when using the diagonal form of 5-variable map in
comparison with the side-by-side form.) Unit 5 also presents a simple algorithm for finding
all essential prime implicants from a Karnaugh map.
(2) Both the state graph approach (Unit 18) and the SM chart approach (Unit 19) for designing
sequential control circuits are presented.
(3) The introduction to the VHDL hardware description language in Units 10, 17, and 20
emphasizes the relation between the VHDL code and the actual hardware.

1.3 Using the Text in a Self-Paced Course

This section introduces the personalized system of self-paced instruction (PSI) and offers
suggestions for using the text in a self-paced course. PSI (Personalized System of Instruction)
is one of the most popular and successful systems used for self-paced instruction. The essential
features of the PSI method are
(a) Students are permitted to pace themselves through the course at a rate commensurate with
their ability and available time.
(b) A student must demonstrate mastery of each study unit before going onto the next.
(c) The written word is stressed; lectures, if used, are only for motivation and not for
transmission of critical information.
(d) Use of proctors permits repeated testing, immediate scoring, and significant personal
interaction with the students.
These factors work together to motivate students toward a high level of achievement in a well-
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© 2014 Cengage Learning. All Rights Reserved. May not be scanned, copied or duplicated, or posted to a publicly accessible website, in whole or in part.
 designed PSI course.

The PSI method of instruction and its implementation are described in detail in the following
references:
1. Keller, Fred S. and J. Gilmour Sherman, The Keller Plan Handbook, W. A. Benjamin, Inc.,
1974.
2. Sherman, J.G., ed., Personalized System of Instruction: 41 Germinal Papers, W. A.
Benjamin, Inc., 1974.
3. Roth, C. H., The Personalized System of Instruction – 1962 to 1998, presented at the 1999
ASEE Annual Conference. (Go to http://search.asee.org and search under Conference
Papers for “The Personalized System of Instruction”.)

Results of applying PSI to a first course in logic design of digital systems are described in
Roth, C.H., Continuing Effectiveness of Personalized Self-Paced Instruction in Digital Systems
Engineering, Engineering Education, Vol. 63, No. 6, March 1973.

The instructor in charge of a self-paced course will serve as course manager in addition to
his role in the classroom. For a small class, he may spend a good part of his time acting as proctor
in the classroom, but as class size increases he will have to devote more of his time to supervision
of course activities and less time to individual interaction with students. In his managerial role, the
instructor is responsible for organizing the course, selection and training of proctors, supervision
of proctors, and monitoring of student progress. The proctors play an important role in the success
of a self-paced course, and therefore their selection, training, and supervision is very important.
After an initial session to discuss proper ways of grading readiness tests and interacting with
students, weekly proctor meetings to discuss course procedures and problems may be appropriate.

A progress chart showing the units completed by each student is very helpful in
monitoring student progress through the course. The instructor may wish to have individual
conferences with students who fall too far behind. The instructor needs to be available in the
classroom to answer individual student questions and to assist with grading of readiness tests
as needed. He should make a special point to speak with the weak or slow students and give
them a word of encouragement. From time to time he may need to settle differences which arise
between proctors and students.

Various strategies for organizing a PSI course are described in the Keller Plan
Handbook. The procedures previously used for operating the self-paced digital logic course
at the University of Texas are described in “Unit 0”, which is available from Prof. Charles H.
Roth, [email protected]. At the first class meeting, we handed out a copy of Unit 0. The
students were asked to read through Unit 0 and take a short test on the course procedures.
This test was immediately evaluated so that the student could complete Unit 0 before the
end of the first class period. In this way, the student was exposed to the basic way the course
operated and was ready to proceed immediately with Unit 1 in the textbook.

During a typical class period, some of the students spent their time studying but most
of the students came prepared to take a unit test. At the beginning of the period, the instructor
or a proctor was available to answer student questions on an individual basis. Later in the

4
© 2014 Cengage Learning. All Rights Reserved. May not be scanned, copied or duplicated, or posted to a publicly accessible website, in whole or in part.
 period, most of the time was spent evaluating unit tests. We found that a standard 50 minute
class period was not long enough for a PSI session. We usually scheduled sessions of 1½ or
2 hours or longer depending on class size. This allowed adequate time for students to have
their questions answered, take a unit test, and have their tests graded. Interactive grading of
the tests with the student present is an important part of the PSI system and adequate time must
be allowed for this activity. If you have a large number of students and proctors, you may
wish to prepare a manual for guidance of your proctors. The procedures that we used for
evaluating unit tests are described in a Proctor’s Manual, which can be obtained by writing
to Professor Charles H. Roth.

1.4. Use of Computer Software

Three software packages are included on the CD that accompanies the textbook. The first
is a logic simulator program called SimUaid, the second is a basic computer-aided logic design
program called LogicAid, and the third is a VHDL Simulator called DirectVHDL. In addition, we
use the Xilinx ISE software for synthesizing VHDL code and downloading to CPLD or FPGA circuit
boards. The Xilinx ISE software is available at nominal cost through the Xilinx University Program
(for information, go to www.xilinx.com/university/index.htm). A “Webpack” version of the Xilinx
software is also available for downloading from the Xilinx.com website.

SimUaid provides an easy way for students to test their logic designs by simulating them.
We first introduce SimUaid in Unit 4, where we ask the students to design a simple logic circuit such
as problem 4.13 or 4.14, and simulate it. SimUaid is easy to learn, and it is highly interactive so that
students can flip a simulated switch and immediately observe the result. In Unit 8, students design a
multiple-output combinational logic circuit using NAND and NOR gates and test its operation using
SimUaid. Students can use the simulator to help them understand the operation of latches and flip-flops
in Unit 11. In Unit 12, we ask them to design a counter and simulate it (one part of problem 12.10). In
Unit 16, students use SimUaid to test their sequential circuit designs. They can also generate VHDL
code from their SimUaid circuit, synthesize it, and download it to a circuit board for hardware testing.
In Unit 18, students can use the advanced features of SimUaid to simulate a multiplier or divider
controlled by a state machine.
LogicAid provides an easy way to introduce students to the use of the computer in the logic
design process. It enables them to solve larger, more practical design problems than they could by
hand. They can also use LogicAid to verify solutions that they have worked out by hand. Instructors
can use the program for grading homework and quizzes. We first introduce LogicAid in Unit 5. The
program has a Karnaugh Map Tutorial mode that is very useful in teaching students to solve Karnaugh
map problems. This tutorial mode helps students learn to derive minimum solutions from a Karnaugh
map by informing them at each step whether that step is correct or not. It also forces them to choose
essential prime implicants first. When in the KMap tutor mode, LogicAid prints “KMT” at the top of
each output page, so you can check to see if the problems were actually solved in the tutorial mode.

Students can use LogicAid to help them solve design problems in Units 8, 16, 18, 19 and other
units. For designing sequential circuits, they can input a state graph, convert it to a state table, reduce
the state table, make a state assignment, and derive minimized logic equations for outputs and flip-flop
inputs.

The LogicAid State Table Checker is useful for Units 14 and 16, and for other units in which
students construct state tables. It allows students to check their solutions without revealing the correct

5
© 2014 Cengage Learning. All Rights Reserved. May not be scanned, copied or duplicated, or posted to a publicly accessible website, in whole or in part.
 answers. If the solution is wrong, the program displays a short input sequence for which the student’s
table fails. The LogicAid folder on the CD contains encoded copies of solutions for most of the state
graph problems in Fundamentals of Logic Design, 7th Ed. If you wish to create a password-protected
solution file for other state table problems, enter the state table into LogicAid, syntax check it, and
then hold down the Ctrl key while you select Save As on the file menu. The Partial Graph Checker
serves as a state graph tutor that allows a student to check his work at each step while constructing
a state graph. If the student makes a mistake, it provides feedback so that the student can correct his
answer. The partial graph checker works with any state graph problem for which an encoded state table
solution file is provided.

The DirectVHDL simulator helps students learn VHDL syntax because it provides immediate
visual feedback when they make mistakes. Our students use it for simulating VHDL code in Units 10,
17, and 20. Students can simulate and debug their code at home and then bring the code into lab for
synthesis and hardware testing.

1.5. Suggested Equipment for Laboratory Exercises

Many types of logic lab equipment are available that are adequate to perform the lab
exercises. Since most logic design is done today using programmable logic instead of individual
ICs, we now recommend use of CPLDs or FPGAs for hardware implementation of logic circuit
designs. At the University of Texas, we are presently using the XILINX Spartan-3 FPGA boards,
which are available from Digilent. The Spartan-3 FPGA has more than an adequate number of
logic cells to implement the lab exercises in the text. The board has 8 switches, 4 pushbuttons, 8
single LEDs, and four 7-segment LEDs.. Information about this board and other CPLD and FPGA
boards made by Digilent can be found on their website, www.digilentinc.com. We use the board
in conjunction with the Xiliinx ISE software mentioned earlier.

6
© 2014 Cengage Learning. All Rights Reserved. May not be scanned, copied or duplicated, or posted to a publicly accessible website, in whole or in part.
 6
© 2014 Cengage Learning. All Rights Reserved. May not be scanned, copied or duplicated, or posted to a publicly accessible website, in whole or in part.
Unit 1 Solutions
II. SOLUTIONS TO HOMEWORK PROBLEMS
Unit 1 Problem Solutions
1.1 (a) 757.2510 1.1 (b) 123.1710
16 | 757 0.25 16 | 123 0.17
16 | 47 r5 16 16 | 7 r11 16
16 | 2 r15=F16 (4).00 0 r7 (2).72
0 r2 16
(11).52

∴ 757.2510 = 2F5.4016 16
= 0010 1111 0101.0100 00002 (8).32
2 F 5 4 0
1.1 (c) 356.89 ∴123.1710 = 7B.2B16
2
10
16 | 356 0.89 = 0111 1011.0010 1011

7 B 2 B
16 | 22 r4 16
16 | 1 r6 (14).24 1.1 (d) 1063.510
0 r1 16 16 | 1063 0.5
(3).84 16 | 66 r7 16
16 16 | 4 r2 (8).00
(13).44 0 r4
16
(7).04 ∴1063.510 = 427.816
= 0100 0010 0111.10002
∴ 356.8910 = 164.E316 4 2 7 8

= 0001 0110 0100.1110 00112

1 6 4 E 3
1.2 (a) EB1.616 = E × 162 + B × 161 + 1 × 160 + 6 × 16–1 1.2 (b) 59D.C16 = 5 × 162 + 9 × 161 + D × 160 + C × 16–1

= 14 × 256 + 11 × 16 + 1 + 6/16 = 3761.37510 = 5 × 256 + 9 × 16 + 13 + 12/16 =

1110 1011 0001.011(0)2 1437.7510
E B 1 6 0101 1001 1101.110016
5 9 D C
7261.38 = 7 × 83 + 2 × 82 + 6 × 81 + 1 + 3 × 8–1 2635.68 = 2 × 83 + 6 × 82 + 3 × 81 + 5 × 80 + 6 × 8–1

= 7 × 512 + 2 × 64 + 6 × 8 + 1 + 3/8 = 3761.37510 = 2 × 512 + 6 × 64 + 3 × 8 + 5 + 6/8 =

111 010 110 001.011 1437.7510
7 2 6 1 3 8 010 110 011 101.1108
2 6 3 5 6
1.3 3BA.2514 = 3 × 142 + 11 × 141 + 10 × 140 + 2 × 14–1
+ 5 ×14–2 1.4 (b) 1457.1110
= 588 + 154 + 10 + 0.1684 = 752.168410 16 | 1457 0.11
16 | 91 r1 16
6 | 752 0.1684 16 | 5 r11=B16 (1).76
6 | 125 r2 6 0 r5 16
6 | 20 r5 (1).0104 (12).16
6|3 r2 6 ∴ 14
57.1110 = 5B1.1C16
0 r3 (0).0624
5 B 1 1 C (2)
6
(0).3744 .2
6

7
© 2014 Cengage Learning. All Rights Reserved. May not be scanned, copied or duplicated, or posted to a publicly accessible website, in whole or in part.
Unit 1 Solutions
464
6 5B1.1C16 = 010110110001.00011100 2=2661.070 8
(1).4784 2 6 6 1 0 7 0

1.4 (c) 5B1.1C16 = 11 23 01.01 304

5 B 1 1 C
1.4 (d) DEC.A = D × 162 + E × 161 + C × 160 + A× 16–1
∴ 3BA.2514 = 752.168410 = 3252.10026 16
= 3328 + 224 + 12 + 0.625 =3564.625
10

8
© 2014 Cengage Learning. All Rights Reserved. May not be scanned, copied or duplicated, or posted to a publicly accessible website, in whole or in part.
Unit 1 Solutions
1.5 (a) 1 11
1111 (Multiply) 1.5 (b, c) See FLD p. 730 for solutions.
1111 (Add) ×1010
+1010 0000
11001 1111 1.6, 1.7, See FLD p. 730 for solutions.
11110 1.8, 1.9
1111 (Sub) 0000
1.10 (a) 1305.37510
−1010 011110
0101 1111 16 | 1305 0.375
10010110 16 | 81 r9 16
5 r1 (6).000

1.10 (b) 11.3310 ∴ 1305.37510 = 519.60016

16 | 111 0.33 = 0101 0001 1001.0110 0000 00002

6 r15 = F16 16 5 1 9 6 0 0
(5).28 1.10 (c) 301.1210
16 16 | 301 0.12
(4).48 16 | 18 r13 16
1 r2 (1).92
∴ 111.3310 = 6F.5416 16

= 0110 1111.0101 01002 (14).72

6 F 5 4 ∴ 301.1210 = 12D.1E16

= 0001 0010 1101.0001 11102

1 2 D 1 E
1.10 (d) 1644.87510 1.11 (a) 101 111 010 100.101 2 = 5724.58
16 | 1644 0.875 = 5 × 83 + 7 × 82 + 2 × 81 + 4 × 80 + 5 × 8–1
16 | 102 r12 16 = 5 × 512 + 7 × 64 + 2 × 8 + 4 + 5/8
6 r6 (14).000 = 3028.62510

∴ 1644.87510 = 66C.E0016 1011 1101 0100.10102 = BD4.A16

= 0110 0110 1100.1110 0000 00002 B × 162 + D × 161 + 4 × 160 + A × 16–1
6 6 C E 0 0 11 × 256 + 13 × 16 + 4 + 10/16
= 3028.62510
1.11 (b) 100 001 101 111.0102 = 4157.2 8 1.12 (a) 375.548 = 3 × 64+ 7 × 8 + 5 + 5/8 + 4/64
= 4 × 83 + 1 × 82 5 × 81 + 7 × 80 + 2 × 8–1 = 253.687510
= 4 × 512 + 1 × 64 + 5 × 8 + 7 + 2/8 3 | 253 0.69
= 2159.2510 3 | 84 r1 3
3 | 28 r0 (2).07
1000 0110 1111.01002 = 86F.416 3|9 r1 3
= 8 × 162 + 6 × 161 + F × 160 × 4 × 16–1 3|3 r0 (0).21
= 8 × 256 + 6 × 16 + 15 + 4/16 3|1 r0 3
= 2159.2510 0 r1 (0).63
3
(1).89
∴ 375.548 = 100101.20013
1.12 (b) 384.74 1.12 (c) A52.A411 = 10 × 121 + 5 × 11 + 2 + 10/11 + 4/121
10 10
4 | 384 0.74 = 1267.94
4 | 96 r0 4
4 | 24 r0 (2).96 9 | 1267 0.94
4|6 r0 4 9 | 140 r7 9

9
© 2014 Cengage Learning. All Rights Reserved. May not be scanned, copied or duplicated, or posted to a publicly accessible website, in whole or in part.
Unit 1 Solutions
4|1 r2 (3).84 9 | 15 r5 (8).46
0 r1 4 9|1 r6 9
(3).36 0 r1 (4).14

∴ 384.7410 = 12000.2331134...
∴ A52.A411 = 1267.9410 = 1657.84279...

10
© 2014 Cengage Learning. All Rights Reserved. May not be scanned, copied or duplicated, or posted to a publicly accessible website, in whole or in part.
Unit 1 Solutions
1.13 544.1 = 5 × 92 + 4 × 91 + 4 × 90 + 1 × 9–1 1.14 (a), (c) 16 | 97 .7
9
= 5 × 81 + 4 × 9 + 4 + 1/9 (b), (c) 16 | 6 r1 16
= 445 1/910 0 r6 (11).2
16 | 445 1/9 16
16 | 27 r13 16 (3).2
16 | 1 r11 (1)7/9 ∴ 97.710 = 61.B3333....16
0 r1 16 (a) 61.B3333..16
(12)4/9 = 110 0001.1011 0011 0011 0011 0011... 2
16 (b) 1 100 001.101 100 110 011 001 100 11... 2
(7)1/9 = 141.5 4631 4631.... 8

∴ 544.19 = 1BD.1C716
= 1 1011 1101.0001 1100 01112...

1.14 (d) 3 | 97 .7 1.15 1110212.202113

3 |32 r1 3 01 11 02 12.20 21 10 = 1425.6739
3 |10 r2 (2).1 Base 3 Base 9
3 |3 r1 3
00 0
3 |1 r0 (0).3
0 r1 3 01 1
(0).9 02 2
3 10 3
(2).7
∴ 97.710 = 10121.2002....3 11 4
12 5
1.14 (e) 5 | 97 .7 20 6
5 |19 r2 5 21 7
5 |3 r4 (3).5
0 r3 5 22 8
(2).5
∴ 97.710 = 342.322..5
1.16 (a) 2983 63/64 =
10
1.16 (b) 93.7010
8 | 2983 0.984 8 | 93 0.70
8 | 372 r7 8 8 | 11 r5 8
8 | 46 r4 (7).872 8|1 r3 (5).60
9|5 r6 8 0 r1 8
0 r5 (6).976 (4).80

∴ 2983 63/6410 = 5647.768 (or 5647.778) ∴ 93.7010 = 135.548 = 001 011 101.101 1002
= 101 110 100 111.111 1102
(or 101 110 100 111.111 1112)

1.16 (c) 1900 31/3210 1.16 (d) 109.3010

8 | 1900 0.969 8 | 109 0.30
8 | 273 r4 8 8 | 13 r5 8
8 | 29 r5 (7).752 8|1 r5 (2).40
9|3 r5 8 0 r1 8
0 r3 (6).016 (3).20

∴ 1900 31/3210 = 3554.768 ∴ 109.3010 = 155.238

= 011 101 101 100.111 1102 = 001 101 101.010 0112

11
© 2014 Cengage Learning. All Rights Reserved. May not be scanned, copied or duplicated, or posted to a publicly accessible website, in whole or in part.
Unit 1 Solutions
1.17 (a) 111 111 1.17 (b) 1 11 11
1111 (Add) 1111 (Subtract) 1101001(Add) 1101001 (Sub)
1001 1001 110110 110110
11000 0110 10011111 110011

1111 (Multiply) 1101001 (Mult)

1001 110110
1111 0000000
0000 1101001
01111 11010010
0000 1101001
001111 1001110110
1111 0000000
10000111 1001110110
1101001
100100000110
1101001
1011000100110
1.17(c) 1 111 1
110010 (Add) 110010 (Sub) 1.18 1 1 1 1 1
11101 11101 (a) 10100100 (b) 10010011
1001111 10101 01110011 01011001
0110001 00111010
110010 (Mult)
11101 11
110010 (c) 11110011
000000 10011110
0110010 01010101
110010
11111010
110010
1010001010
110010
10110101010

1.19(a) 101110 Quotient 1.19(b) 11011 Quotient

101 )11101001 1110 )110000001
101 1110
1001 10100
101 1110
1000 11000
101 1110
110 10101
101 1110

11 Remainder 111 Remainder

1.19(c) 1100 Quotient 1.20(a) 10111 Quotient

1001 )1110010 110 )10001101
1001 110
1010 1011
1001 110
110 Remainder 1010
110
12
© 2014 Cengage Learning. All Rights Reserved. May not be scanned, copied or duplicated, or posted to a publicly accessible website, in whole or in part.
Unit 1 Solutions
10
01
1
1
0
1
1
R
e
m
a
i
n
d
e
r

13
© 2014 Cengage Learning. All Rights Reserved. May not be scanned, copied or duplicated, or posted to a publicly accessible website, in whole or in part.
Unit 1 Solutions
1.20(b) 100011 Quotient 1.20(c) 1011 Quotient
1011 )110000011 1010 )1110100
1011 1010
10001 10010
1011 1010
1101 10000
1011 1010
10 Remainder 110 Remainder

1.21 (a) 4 + 3 is 10 in base 7, i.e., the sum digit is 1.22 If the binary number has n bits (to the right of the
0 with a carry of 1 to the next column. 1 + 5 + radix point), then its precision is (1/2n+1). So to
4 is 10 in base 7. 1 + 6 + 0 is 10 in base 7. This have the same precision, n must satisfy
overflows since the correct sum is 10007.
(b) 4 + 3 + 3 + 3 = 13 in base 10 and 23 in base (1/2n+1) < (1/2)(1/104) or n > 4/(log 2) = 13.28 so n
5. Try base 10. 1 + 2 + 4 + 1 + 3 = 11 in base 10 so must be 14.
base 10 does not produce a sum digit of 2. Try base
5. 2 + 2 + 4 + 1 + 3 = 22 in base 5 so base 5 works.
1.23
(c) 4 + 3 + 3 + 3 = 31 in base 4, 21 in base 6,
.363636....
and 11 in base 12. Try base 12. 1 + 2 + 4 + 1 + 3 =
= (36/102)(1 + 1/102 + 1/104 + 1/106 + …)
B in base 12 so base 12 does not work. Try base 4.
= (36/102)[1/(1 – 1/102)] = (36/102)[102/99]
3 + 2 + 4 + 1 + 3 = 31 in base 4 so base 4 does not
= 36/99 = 4/11
work. Try base 6. 2 + 2 + 4 + 1 + 3 = 20 so base 6
8(4/11) = 2 + 10/11
is correct.
8(10/11) = 7 + 3/11
8(3/11) = 2 + 2/11
8(2/11) = 1 + 5/11
1.24 (a) Expand the base b number into a power series
8(5/11) =3 + 7/11
N = d3k-1b3k-1 + d3k-2b3k-2 + d3k-3b3k-3 + …. + d5b5
8(7/11) = 5+ 1/11
+ d4b4 + d3b3 + d2b2 + d1b1 + d0b0 + d-1b-1 + d b- 8(1/11) = 0 + 8/11
-2
2 + d-3b-3 + …. + d-3m+2b-3m+2 + d-3m+1b-3m+1 8(8/11) = 5 + 9/11
+ d-3mb-3m where each di has a value from 0 to 8(9/11) = 6 + 6/11
(b-1). (Note that 0’s can be appended to the number 8(6/11) = 4 + 4/11
so that it has a multiple of 3 digits to the left and 8(4/11) = 2 + 10/11
right of the radix point.) Factor b3 from each group Repeats: .27213505642…….
of 3 consecutive digits of the number to obtain
N = (d3k-1b2 + d3k-2b1 + d3k-3b0)(b3)(k-1) + ….
1.24 (b) Expand the base b3 number into a power series
+ (d5b2 + d4b1 + d3b0)(b3)1 + (d2b2 + d1b1 +
N = dk(b3)k + dk-1(b3)k-1 + … + d1(b3)1 + d0(b3)0
d0b0 )(b3)0 + (d-1b2 + d-2b1 + d-3b0)(b3)-1 + …. +
+ d-1(b3)-1 + …. + d-m(b3)-m
(d-3m+2b2 + d-3m+1b1 + d-3mb0)(b3)-m where each di has a value from 0 to (b3 -1).
Each (d3i-1b2 + d3i-2b1 + d3i-3b0) has a value from Consequently, di can be represented as a base b
0 to [(b-1)b2 + (b-1)b1 + (b-1)b0] number in the form
= (b-1)( b2 + b1 + b0) = (b3-1) (e3i-1b2 + e3i-2b1 + e3i-3b0) Where each e
j
so it is a valid digit in a base b3 number. has a value from 0 to (b-1). Substituting these
Consequently, the last expression is the power expressions for the di produces a power series
series expansion for a base b3 number. expansion for a base b number.

1.25(a) (5 - 1) = 45, (52 - 1) = 445 and (53 - 1) = 4445 1.26(a) (b + 1)2 = b2 + 2b + 1 so (11b)2 = 121b if b > 2.

This mial expansion for the

1.25(b) (bn-1) = (b - 1)(bn-1) + bn-1 express base b number with n digits (b - 1)(b - 1) … (b - 1)
= (b - 1)bn-1 + (b - 1)bn-2 + bn-2 ion is
= (b - 1)bn-1 + (b - 1)bn-2 + … the
+ (b - 1)b + (b - 1) polyno
14
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 Unit 1 Solutions
1.26(b) (b2 + b + 1)2 = b4 + 2b3 + 3b2 + 2b + 1 so
(111b)2 = 12321b if b >
1.26(c) 3.
(b2 + 2b + 1)2 = b4 + 4b3 + 6b2 + 4b + 1 so
1.26(d) (121b)2 = 14641b if b >
6.
(b3 + b2 + b + 1)2 = b6 + 2b5 + 3b4 + 4b3 + 3b2 +
2b + 1 so (1111b)2 = 1234321b if b > 4.

15
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Unit 1 Solutions
1.27(a) (0.12)3 = (1/3 + 2/9)10 = (2/6 + 8/36)10 1.28 1.29
= (3/6 + 2/36)10 = (0.32)6 5-3-1-1 is possible, but
43 2 1
1.27(b) (0.375)10 = (3/8)10 = (0.3)8 6-4-1-1 is not, because
0 00 0 0 there is no way to
1.27(c) (a-1R-1 + a-2R-2 + ... + a-mR-m)Sn will be an 1 00 0 1 represent 3 or 9.
integer for every N only if Rm divides Sn for 2 00 1 0 Alternate
some n. Hence, each factor of R must be a factor Solutions:
of S, not necessarily the same number of times. 3 01 0 0
1.27(d) 4 10 0 0 5311
For a specific number N, (a-1R-1 + a-2R-2 + ...
+ a-mR-m)Sn will be an integer if each factor of 5 10 0 1 0 0000
Rm is a factor of either Sn or 6 10 1 0 1 0001 (0010)
(a-1Rm-1 + a-2Rm-2 + ... + a-m) 2 0011
7 11 0 0
1.30 5-4-1-1 is not possible, because there is no way to 3 0100
8 11 0 1
represent 3 or 8. 6-3-2-1 is possible: 4 0101
9 11 1 0 (0110)
6321 5 1000
9154 = 6 1001 (1010)
0 0000 1110 0001 1001 1000 7 1011
1 0001
8 1100
2 0010
9 1101 (1110)
3 0100
4 0101 1.32
5 0110 1.31 Alternate Alternate
6 1000 Solutions: Solutions:
7 1001 62 21 5221
8 1010 0 00 00 0 0000
9 1100 1 00 01 1 0001
2 00 10 (0100) (0100)
1.33 Alternate 2 0010
3 00 11 (0101) (0101)
Solutions: 3 0011
4 01 10 4 0110
73 21 5 01 11 5 1000
0 00 00 6 10 00 6 1001
1 00 01 7 10 01 7 1010 (1100)
8 10 10 (1100) (1101)
2 00 10 8 1011
9 10 11 (1101)
3 01 00 (0011) 9 1110
4 01 01 1100 0011 = 83 1110 0110 = 94
5 01 10
6 01 11 (a) 8 4 -2-1 (b)
1.34
7 10 00 The 9’s
0 00 00
8 10 01 complement
1 01 11 of a decimal
9 10 10
2 01 10 number
A 11 00 represented
3 01 01
B 11 01 (1011) with this
4 01 00
weighted code
5 10 11
can be obtained
B4A9 = 1101 0101 1100 1010 6 10 10 by replacing
Alt.: = " " 1011 " 7 10 01 0's with 1's
8 10 00 and 1's with
0's (bit-by-bit
9 11 11
16
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Unit 1 Solutions
complement).

17
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Unit 1 Solutions
1.35 (a) 222.2210 1.35 (b) 183.8110
16 | 222 0.22 16 | 183 0.81
16 | 13 r14 16 16 | 11 r7 16
0 r13 (3).52 0 r11 (12).96
16 16
(8).32 (15).36

∴ 222.2210 = DE.3816 ∴ 183.8110 = B7.CF16

= 1000100 1000101 0101110 0110011 0111000 = 1000010 0110111 0101110 1000011 1000110
D E . 3 8 B 7 . C F

1.36 (a) In 2’s complement In 1’s complement 1.36 (b) In 2’s complement In 1’s complement
(–10) + (–11) (–10) + (–11) (–10) + (–6) (–10) + (–6)
110110 110101 110110 110101
110101 110100 111010 111001
(1)101011 (–21) (1)101001 (1)110000 (–16) (1)101110
1 1
101010 (–21) 101111 (–16)

1.36 (c) In 2’s complement In 1’s complement 1.36(d) In 2’s complement In 1’s complement
(–8) + (–11) (–8) + (–11) 11 + 9 11 + 9
111000 110111 001011 001011
110101 110100 001001 001001
(1)101101 (–19) (1)101011 010100 (20) 010100 (20)
1
101100 (–19)
1.36 (e) In 2’s complement In 1’s complement 1.37 (a) 01001-11010
(–11) + (–4) (–11) + (–4) In 2’s complement In 1’s complement
110101 110100 01001 01001
111100 111011 + 00110 + 00101
(1)110001 (–15) ( )101111 01111 01110
1 1
110000 (–15)

1.37 (b) In 2’s complement In 1’s complement 1.37 (c) In 2’s complement In 1’s complement
11010 11010 10110 10110
+ 00111 + 00110 + 10011 + 10010
(1)00001 (1)00000 (1)01001 (1)01000
1 overflow 1
00001 01001
overflow

1.37 (d) In 2’s complement In 1’s complement 1.37 (e) In 2’s complement In 1’s complement
11011 11011 11100 11100
+ 11001 + 11000 + 01011 + 01010
(1)10100 (1)10011 (1)00111 (1)00110
1 1
10100 00111

1.38 (a) In 2’s complement In 1’s complement 1.38 (b) In 2’s complement In 1’s complement
11010 11010 01011 01011
+ 01100 + 01011 + 01000 + 00111
(1)00110 (1)00101 10011 10010
1
00110
18
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Unit 1 Solutions
1.38 (c) In 2’s complement In 1’s complement 1.38 (d) In 2’s complement In 1’s complement
10001 10001 10101 10101
+ 10110 + 10101 + 00110 + 00101
(1)00111 (1)00110 11011 11010
overflow 1
00111
overflow
1.39 (a) add subt 1.40 (a) complement
101010 101010 i) 00000000 (0) 11111111 (-0)
+ 011101 - 011101 ii) 11111110 (-1) 00000001 (1)
(1)000111 001101 iii) 00110011 (51) 11001100 (-51)
1 overflow iv) 10000000 (-127) 01111111 (127)
001000
(b)
(b) add subt i) 00000000 (0) 00000000 (0)
101010 101010 ii) 11111110 (-2) 00000010 (2)
+ 011101 - 011101 iii) 00110011 (51) 11001101 (-51)
(1)000111 001101 iv) 10000000 (-128) 10000000 (-128)
overflow
1.41 (a) (16)(4) = 64, add 2 0’s to get 6400 1.42 (a) If A + B < 2n-1 - 1, then the sign bit of A + B is
(10)(2) = 20, add 1 0 to get 200 0 indicating a positive number with magnitude
(7)(1) = 7 A + B. If A + B > 2n-1 - 1, then the sign bit
6400 + 200 + 7 = 6607 of A + B is 1 indicating a negative number with
n
magnitude 2 - (A + B).
(b) (dn-1dn-2 … d1d0)20 = dn-1(20)n-1 +

dn-2(20)n-2 + … + d1(20)1 + d0(20)0 = (b) If A > B, then A + (-B) = A + (2n - B) = 2n

dn-1(2)n-1(10)n-1 + dn-2(2)n-2(10)n-2 + … + (A - B) is > 2n so there is a carry from the sign
+ d1(2)1(10)1 + d0(2)0(10)0 = The general term position that is ignored and the sum is (A - B). If
in the expansion is di(2)i(10)i. The multiplication A < B, then A + (-B) = A + (2n - B) = 2n -
by (10)i adds i 0’s on the right of di(2)i. (B - A) is < 2n and > 2n-1 so there is no carry
from the sign position and the sign bit is 1.
(c) The algorithm would be divide d-i by 2i and 2n - (B - A) represents a negative number of
shift the result i places to the right, then add all magnitude (B - A).
terms.
(c) After ignoring the carry from the sign position,
(d) 15/2 = 7.5 shifted right 1 place is 0.75 (2n - A) + (2n - B) = 2n - (A + B). If (A + B) <
10/4 = 2.5 shifted right 2 places is 0.025 2n-1, 2n - (A + B) > 2n - 2n-1 = 2n-1 so the sign
7/8 = 0.875 shifted right 3 places is 0.000875 bit of 2n - (A + B) is 1 indicating a negative
0.75 + 0.025 + 0.000875 = 0.775875 number with magnitude (A + B). If (A + B) >
2n-1, 2n - (A + B) < 2n - 2n-1 = 2n-1 so the sign
bit of 2n - (A + B) is 0 indicating a positive
number with magnitude 2n - (A + B).

1.43 A and B positive: Overflow does not occur if result represents a negative number with magnitude (B - A).
A + B < 2n - 1 - 1 in which case A + B has a sign
bit of 0 and has a magnitude of A + B.
A positive and B negative and A > |B|: A + 2n -
1 - B = 2n - 1 + (A - B) > 2n - 1 so there is a carry
from the sign position and, after the end-around
carry, the result is (A - B).
A positive and B negative and A < |B|: A + 2n -
1 - B = 2n - 1 - (B - A) < 2n - 1 so there is no carry
from the sign position and the sign bit is 1 so the

19
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 Unit 1 Solutions
1.43 if A + B < 2n - 1 - 1 in which case
cont. 2n - 1 - (A + B) > 2n - 1 so the sign bit is
A and B 1 and the result represents a negative
negative: number with magnitude (A + B).
(2n - 1 - A)
+ (2n - 1 -
B) =
2
n
-
1
-
(
A
+
B
)
a
f
t
e
r
t
h
e
e
n
d
-
a
r
o
u
n
d
c
a
r
r
y
.
T
h
e
r
e
i
s
n
o
o
v
e
r
f
l
o
w 20
© 2014 Cengage Learning. All Rights Reserved. May not be scanned, copied or duplicated, or posted to a publicly accessible website, in whole or in part.
Unit 1 Solutions
1.44 Two positive numbers 1.45 There is no overflow if the carry into the sign
No overflow: 0x…x + 0x…x = 0x…x position equals the carry out of the sign position.
carry in = 0 = carry out There is overflow if the carry into the sign position
Overflow: 0x…x + 0x…x = 1x…x does not equal the carry out of the sign position
carry in = 1, carry out = 0 unless an end around carry causes a carry into the
sign position.
Two negative numbers
No overflow: 1x…x + 1x…x = 1x…x No overflow Overflow

carry in = 1 = carry out 10101 11001

Overflow: 1x…x + 1x…x = 0x…x + 11010 + 10101
carry in = 0, carry out = 1 (1)01111 (1)01110
1 1
A positive and a negative number 10000 01111
No overflow: 0x…x + 1x…x = 0x…x
carry in = 1 = carry out
No overflow: 0x…x + 1x…x = 1x…x
carry in = 0 = carry out

1.46 If bn-1 = 0, then bn-22n-2 + bn-32n-3 + … + b12

+ b0 is the value of the positive number. If bn-1 =
1, then
- 2n-1 + bn-22n-2 + bn-32n-3 + … + b12 + b0
= - (2n-2 + 2n-3 + … + 2 + 1 + 1) +
bn-22n-2 + bn-32n-3 + … + b12 + b0
= - [(1 - bn-2)2n-2 + (1 - bn-3)2n-3 + …
+ (1 - b1)2 + (1 - b0) + 1].
The expression in brackets has each bit
complemented and 1 added to the result.

21
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Unit 1 Solutions

16
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Discovering Diverse Content Through
Random Scribd Documents
simple as to be nearly a fool, and yet not so nearly but that he had
been able to beget Lord Arran, a real fool. When he understood that
this swaggering young prince was indeed his queen, he gave up
bowing and waving his hands, and dropped upon his knee, having
very courtly old ways with him.
‘Dear madam, dear my cousin, the Lothians show the greener for
your abiding. ’Tis shrewish weather yet in the hills; but you make a
summer here.’
‘Rise up, my cousin,’ says the Queen, ‘and come talk with me.’ She
drew him to a settle by the wall. ‘What news of your house and
country have you for me?’
‘I hope I shall content your Majesty,’ he said, rubbing his fine
hands. ‘We of the west have been junketing. We have killed fatlings
for a marriage.’
She was interested, suspecting nothing. ‘Ah, you have made a
marriage! and I was not told! You used me ill, cousin.’
‘Madam,’ he pleaded somewhat confusedly, ‘it was done in haste:
there were many reasons for that. Take one—my poor health and
hastening years. Nor did time serve to make Hamilton a house. It
was a fortalice, and must remain a fortalice for my lifetime. But for
your Grace——’ He stopped, seeing that she did not listen.
She made haste to turn him on again. ‘Whom did you marry? Not
my Lord of Arran, for he is pranking here. And you design him for
me, if I remember.’
‘Oh, madam!’ He was greatly upset by such plain talk. ‘No, no. It
was my daughter Margaret. My son Arran! Ah, that’s a greater thing.
My daughter Margaret, madam——’
‘Yes, yes. But the man—the man!’
‘Madam, the Lord of Gordon took her.’ He beamed with pride and
contentment. ‘Yes, yes, the Lord of Gordon—a pact of amity
between two houses not always too happily engaged.’
 There is no doubt she blenched at the name—momentarily, as one
may at a sudden flash of lightning. She got up at once. ‘I think you
have mistook his name, cousin. His name is Beelzebub. He is called
after his father.’ She left him holding his head, and went swiftly
towards the door.
The dreary Châtelard crept after her. ‘My prince—my lord!’
‘No, no; I cannot hear you now.’ She waved him off.
Bowing, he shivered at his plight; but ‘Courage, my child,’ he bade
himself: ‘“Not now,” she saith.’
All dancing stopped, all secret talk, all laughing, teasing, and love-
making. They opened her a broad way. The Earl of Bothwell swept
the floor with his thyrsus: he was disguised as the Theban god. But
she cried out the more vehemently, ‘No, no! I am pressed; I cannot
hear you now. You cannot avail me any more,’ and flashed through
the doorway. ‘Send me Livingstone to my closet,’ she called over her
shoulder, ‘and send me Lethington.’ She ran up her privy stair, and
waited for her servants, tapping her foot, irresolute, in the middle of
the floor.
Mary Livingstone flew in breathless. ‘What is it? What is it, my
lamb?’
‘Get me a great cloak, child, and hide up all this foolery; and let
Mr. Secretary wait until I call him.’
Mary Livingstone covered her from neck to foot, took off the
scarlet cap, coifed her head seemly, brought a stool for her feet: hid
the boy in the lady, you see, and all done without a word, admirable
girl!
The Queen had been in a hard stare the while. ‘Now let me see M.
de Lethington. But stay you with me.’
‘Ay, till they cut me down,’ says Livingstone, and fetched in the
Secretary.
 She began at once. ‘I find, Mr. Secretary, that there is room for
more knaves yet in Scotland.’
‘Alack, madam,’ says he, ‘yes, truly. They can lie close, do you see,
like mushrooms, and thrive the richlier. Knaves breed knavishly, and
Scotland is a kindly nurse.’
‘There are likely to be more. Here hath the Duke married his
daughter, and the Lord of Huntly that brave son of his whom of late
he offered to me. Is this knavery or the ecstasy of a fool? What! Do
they think to win from me by insult what they have not won by open
dealing?’
Mr. Secretary, who had known this piece of news for a month or
more, did not think it well to overact surprise. He contented himself
with, ‘Upon my word!’ but added, after a pause, ‘This seems to me
rash folly rather than a reasoned affront.’
The Queen fumed, and in so doing betrayed what had really
angered her. ‘Knave or fool, what is it to me? A false fine rogue! All
rogues together. Ah, he professed my good service, declared himself
worthy of trust—declared himself my lover! Heavens and earth, are
lovers here of this sort?’
Mary Livingstone stooped towards her. ‘Think no more of him—ah
me, think of none of them! They seek not your honour, nor love, nor
service, but just the sweet profit they can suck from you.’
The Queen put her chin upon her two clasped hands. ‘I have
heard my aunt, Madame de Ferrara, declare,’ she said, with a
metallic ring in her voice which was new to it, ‘that in the marshes
about that town the peasant women, and girls also, do trade their
legs by standing in the lagoon and gathering the leeches that fasten
upon them to suck blood. These they sell for a few pence and give
their lovers food. But my lovers in Scotland are the leeches; so here
stand I, trading myself, with all men draining me of profit to fatten
themselves.’
‘Madam——’ said Lethington quickly, then stopped.
 ‘Well?’ says the Queen.
‘I would say, madam, the fable is a good one. Gather your leeches
and sell them for pence. Afterwards, if it please you, trade no more
in the swamps, but royally, in a royal territory. Ah, trade you with
princes, madam! I hope to set up a booth for your Majesty’s
commerce, and to find a chafferer of your own degree.’
She understood very well that he spoke of an English alliance for
her, and that this was not to be had without a husband of English
providing. ‘I think you are right,’ she replied. ‘If the Queen of
England, my good sister, come half-way towards me, I will go the
other half. This you may tell to Mr. Randolph if you choose.’
‘Be sure that I tell him, madam.’
‘Good dreams to you, Mr. Secretary.’
‘And no dreams at all to your Majesty—but sweet, careless sleep!’
The Queen, turning for consolation to her Livingstone, won the
relief of tears. They talked in low tones to each other for a little
while, the mistress’s head on the maid’s shoulder, and her two hands
held. The Queen was out of heart with Scotland, with love, with all
this skirting of perils. She was for prudence just now—prudence and
the English road. Then came in the tirewoman for the unrobing, and
then a final argument for England.
Monsieur de Châtelard, who truly (as he had told Des-Essars) was
a foredoomed man, lay hidden at this moment where no man should
have lain unsanctified. I shall not deal with him and his whereabouts
further than to say that, just as Frenchmen are slow to see a joke,
so they are loath to let it go. He had proposed on this, of all nights
of the year, to push his joke of the ballroom into chamber-practice.
Some further silly babble about ‘wifely duty’ was to extenuate his
great essay. If jokes had been his common food, I suppose he would
have known the smell of a musty one. As it was, he had to suffer in
the fire which old Huntly and his Hamilton-marriage had lit: his joke
was burnt up as it left his lips. For the Queen’s words, when she
found him, clung about him like flames about an oil-cask, scorched
him, blistered him, shrivelled him up. He fell before them, literally,
and lay, dry with fear, at her discretion. She spurned him with her
heel. ‘Oh, you weed,’ she said, ‘not worthy to be burned, go, or I
send for the maids with besoms to wash you into the kennel.’ He
crept away to the shipping next day, pressing only the hand of Des-
Essars, who could hardly refuse him. ‘His only success on this
miserable occasion,’ the young man wrote afterwards, ‘was to divert
the Queen’s rage from Monsieur de Gordon, and to turn her
thoughts, by ever so little more, in the direction of the English
marriage. He was one of those fools whose follies serve to show
every man more or less ridiculous, just as a false sonnet makes
sonneteering jejune.’

Lent opened, therefore, with omens; and with more came Lady
Day and the new year. The Gordons, being summoned, did not
answer; the Gordons, then, were put to the horn. The Queen was
bitter as winter against them, with no desire but to have them at her
knees. As for lovers and their loves, after George Gordon, after the
crowning shame of Monsieur de Châtelard, ice-girdled Artemis was
not chaster than she. My Lord of Bothwell, after an essay or two,
shrugged and sought the border; the Queen was all for high
alliances just now, and Mr. Secretary, their apostle, was in favour. He
was hopeful, as he told Mary Fleming, to see two Queens at York;
and who could say what might not come of that? And while fair
Fleming wondered he was most hopeful, for like a delicate tree he
needed genial air to make him bud. You saw him at such seasons at
his best—a shrewd, nervous man, with a dash of poetry in him. The
Queen of England always inspired him; he was frequently eloquent
upon the theme. His own Queen talked freely about her ‘good sister,’
wrote her many civil letters, and treasured a few stately replies. One
wonders, reading them now, that they should have found warmer
quarters than a pigeon-hole, that they could ever have lain upon
Queen Mary’s bosom and been beat upon by her ardent heart. Yet
so it was. They know nothing of Queen Mary who know her not as
the Huntress, never to be thrown out by a cold scent. Mr. Secretary,
knowing her well, harped as long as she would dance. ‘Ah, madam,
there is a golden trader! Thence you may win an argosy indeed.
What a bargain to be struck there! Sister kingdoms, sister queens—
oh, if the Majesty of England were but lodged in a man’s heart! But
so in essence it is. Her royal heart is like a strong fire, leaping within
a frame of steel. And your Grace’s should be the jewel which that
fire would guard, the Cor Cordis, the Secret of the Rose, the
Sweetness in the Strong!’
Mary Fleming, glowing to hear such periods, saw her mistress
catch light from them.
‘You speak well and truly,’ said Queen Mary. ‘I would I had the
Queen of England for my husband; I would love her well.’ She spoke
softly, blushing like a maiden.
‘Sister and spouse!’ cries Lethington with ardour. ‘Sister and
spouse!’
For the sake of some such miraculous consummation she gave up
all thoughts of Don Carlos, put away the Archduke, King Charles, the
Swedish prince. Her sister of England should marry her how she
would. Lethington, on the day it was decided that Sir James Melvill
should go to London upon the business, knelt before his sovereign in
a really honest transport, transfigured in the glory of his own fancy.
‘I salute on my knees the Empress of the Isles! I touch the sacred
stem of the Tree of the New World!’
Very serious, very subdued, very modest, the Queen cast virginal
eyes to her lap.
‘God willing, Mr. Secretary, I will do His pleasure in all things,’ she
said.
The Lord James, observing her melting mood, made a stroke for
the Earldom of Moray. Were the Gordons to defy the Majesty of
Scotland? With these great hopes new born, with old shames dead
and buried—never, never! The Queen said she would go to the North
and hound the Gordons out.
 CHAPTER VII
GORDON’S BANE

On the morning of Lammas Day the Queen heard mass in the

Chapel Royal with a special intention, known only to herself. Red
mass it should have been, since she felt sore need of the Holy
Ghost; but she had given up the solemn ornament of music for the
sake of peace. So Father Lesley read the office before the very few
faithful: her maids, Erskine, Herries, the esquires, the pages, the
French Ambassador, the Ambassador of Savoy—with him a certain
large, full-blooded Italian, of whom there will be something to say
anon. Mr. Knox had been scaring off the waverers of late: the
Catholic religion was languid in the realm.
She knelt before the altar on her faldstool very stiffly, and looked
more solitary than she felt. Her high mood and high endeavour still
holding, there was but one man in Scotland who could make her feel
her isolation, make her pity herself so nearly that the tears filled her
eyes. Her brother James and his party, ostentatiously aloof, she
could reckon with. All was said of them long ago by that old friend of
hers now facing God in the mass: ‘Your brother stands on the left of
your throne; but he looks for ever to the right.’ With this key to the
cipher of my Lord James, what mystery in his sayings or doings?
Then the grim Mr. Knox, who had worked her secret desires, and
since then railed at her, scolded her, made her cry—she had his
measure too. He liked her through all, and she trusted him in spite
of all: at a pinch she could win him over. Whom, then, need she
consider? The Earl of Bothwell—ah, the Earl of Bothwell, who
laughed at everything, and had looked drolly on at her efforts to be
a queen, and chosen to do nothing to help or hinder: there was a
man to be feared indeed! She never knew herself less a queen or
more a girl than when he was before her. Laughed he or frowned,
was he eloquent or dumb as a fish, he intimidated her, diminished
her, drove her cowering into herself to queen it alone. Christ was not
so near, God not so far off, as this confident, free-living, shameless
lord. Therefore now, because she dared not falter in what she was
about to do, or see herself less than she desired to be, she had sent
him into Liddesdale to hold the Justice-Court, and had not cared
even to receive him when he came to take his leave. Lady Argyll,
who had stood in her place, reported that he had gone out gaily,
humming a French air. With him safely away, she had faced her duty
—duty of a Prince, as she conceived it. And here she knelt in prayer,
prone before the Holy Ghost—solitary (but that is the safeguard of
the King!)—and searched the altar for a sign of assurance.
Over that altar hung Christ, enigmatic upon His cross. The red
priest bent his head down to his book, and made God apace.
The Queen’s lips moved. ‘My Saviour Christ, I offer Thee the
intention of my heart, a clean oblation. If I do amiss in error, O
Bread of Heaven, visit it not upon me. I have been offended, I have
been disobeyed; they call upon me to claim my just requital. But be
not Thou offended with me, my Lord, and pardon Thou my
disobedience. As for my punishment, I suffer it in seeking to punish.’
It is not often that women pray in words: an urgency, a
subjection, a passionate reception is the most they do—and the
best. But she prayed so now, because she felt the need of justifying
herself before Heaven, and the ability to do it. For Bothwell was in
far Liddesdale, and she on her throne.
In three days’ time she was to go to the North; and, though the
country knew it not, she would go in force to punish the Gordons.
You may judge by her prayers whether she was satisfied with the
work. Plainly she was not. Her anger had had time to cool; she
might have forgotten the very name of the clan, except that their
men had had honest faces, and that two of them had certainly loved
her once. But she had not been allowed to forget: the record
remained, held up ever before her eyes in the white hand of Lord
James. Contumacy! Contumacy! Old Huntly had been traitor before,
when he trafficked with the enemies of her mother, and tried to sell
herself to the English king. The Gordons would not surrender; they
had mated with the Hamiltons, a stock next to hers for the throne.
Was there not a shameful plot here? Would she not be stifled
between these two houses? Yes, yes, she knew all that. But they
were Catholics, they had shown her honest faces, two of them had
loved her. She was not satisfied; she must have a sign from heaven.
God was made, the bell proclaimed Him enthroned, Queen Mary
bowed her head. Now, now, if the Gordons were true men, let God
make a sign! The tale was told that once, when a priest lifted up the
Host above his head, the thin film dissolved, and took flesh in the
shape of a naked child, who stood, burning white, upon the man’s
two hands. Let some such marvel fall now! Intimacies between God
and the Prince had been known. She hid her face, laid down her
soul; the vague swam over her, the dark—a swooning, drowning
sense. In that, for a moment, as vivid clouds chased each other
across her field, she saw a face, a shape—mocking red mouth,
vivacious, satirical hands, the gleam of two twinkling eyes: Bothwell,
hued like a fiend, shadowing the world. She shuddered; God passed
over, as the bell called up the people. With them she lifted her head,
stiffened herself. The spell was broken. Without being more
superstitious than her brethren, she may be pardoned for finding in
this experience an ominous beginning of adventure.
Nevertheless, she so faced the heights of her task that, on the day
appointed, she set out as bravely as to a hunting of stags. Jeddart
pikes, bowmen from the Forest, her Lothian bodyguard—she had
some five hundred men about her; too many for a progress, too few
to make war. She herself rode in hunting trim, with two maids, two
pages, two esquires; her brother, of course, in command; with him,
of course, the Secretary. At fixed points along the road certain lords
joined her: Atholl at Stirling, Glencairn and Ruthven at Perth, these
with their companies. Lying at Coupar-Angus, at Glamis, at Edzell,
her spirits rose as she breasted the rising country, saw the cloud-
shadowed hills, the swollen rivers, the wind-swept trees, the sullen
moors, the rocks. She grew happy even, for motion, newness, and
physical exertion always excited her, and she was never happy
unless she was excited. No fatigue daunted her. She sat out the
driving days of rain, bent neither to the heat nor to the cold fog. She
was always in front, always looking forward, seemed like the keen
breath of war, driven before it as the wind by a rain-storm.
Lethington likened her to Diana on Taygetus shrilling havoc; but the
Lord James said: ‘Such similitudes are distasteful. We are serious
men upon a serious business.’ She rode astraddle like a young man,
longed for a breastplate and steel bonnet. She made Ruthven
exercise her with the broadsword, teach her to stamp her foot and
cry, ‘Ha! a touch!’ and cajoled her brother into letting her sleep one
night afield. Folded in a military plaid, so indeed she did; and
watched with thrills the stars shoot their autumn flights, and listened
to the owls calling each other as they coursed the shrew-mice over
the moor. She pillowed her head on Mary Livingstone’s knee at last,
and fell asleep at about three o’clock in the morning.
In the grey mirk—sharply cold, and a fine mist drizzling—
Lethington and his master came to rouse her. Mary Livingstone lifted
a finger of warning. The Queen was soundly asleep, smiling a little,
with parted lips and the hasty breathing of a child. Mary Seton, too,
was deep, her face buried in her arm. The two men looked down at
the group.
‘Come away, my lord: give them time,’ said the Secretary.
But my Lord James did not hear him. He stood broodingly,
muttering to himself: ‘A girl’s frolic—this romping, fond girl! And
Scotland’s neck for her footstool—and earnest men for her pastime.
O King eternal, is it just? Man!’ he said aloud, ‘there’s no reason in
this.’
Mr. Secretary misunderstood him, not observing his wild looks.
‘Give them a short half-hour, my lord. There are two of them
sleeping; and this poor watcher hath the need of it.’
The Lord James turned upon him. ‘Who sought to have women
sleeping here? Are men to wait for the like of this? Are men to wait
for ever? She should have counted the cost. I shall waken her. Ay!
let her have the truth.’
 ‘She will wake soon enough,’ says Lethington, ‘and have the truth
soon enough.’
The Lord James gave him one keen glance. ‘I command here, Mr.
Secretary, under the Queen’s authority. Bid them sound.’
The trumpet rang; the Queen stretched herself, moved her head,
yawned, and sat up. She was wide awake directly, laughed at
Livingstone for looking so glum, at Seton’s tumbled hair. She kissed
them both, said her prayers with Father Roche, and was ready when
the order to march was given.
When she came to Aberdeen she was told that a messenger from
the Earl of Huntly was waiting for her with his chief’s humble duty,
and a prayer that she would lodge in his castle of Strathbogie. This
was very insolent or very foolish: she declined to receive the man.
Let the Earl and his son Findlater render themselves up at Stirling
Castle forthwith, she would receive them there. No more tidings
came directly; but she learned from her brother news of the country
which made her cheeks tingle. It was the confident belief of all the
Gordon kindred, she was given to know, that her Majesty had come
into the North to marry Sir John Gordon of Findlater. He was to be
created Earl of Moray and Duke of Rothesay to that end. True news
or false, she was in the mood to believe it, and cried out, with hot
tears in her eyes, that she could have no peace until that rogue’s
head was off. Needing no prompter at her side, she took instant
action, marched on Inverness and summoned the keys of the castle.
They told her that the Lord of Findlater was keeper; none could
come in but by his leave. Findlater! But the man was out of his
mind! She grew very quiet when, after many repetitions of it, she
could bring herself to believe this report; then she sent for
Lethington and bade him raise the country. The counsel was her
brother’s, and meant that the clans—Forbeses, Grants, MacIntoshes
—were to be supported and turned against the Gordons. The Lord
James considered that his work was as good as done. So did the
captain of the castle of Inverness; and rightly, for when his charge
was surrendered he was hanged. The town did its best to appease
the Queen with humble addresses and crocks full of gold pieces; but
she concealed from nobody now that she had come up with war in
her hands. Captains and their levies were sent for from the south;
roads marked out for Kirkcaldy of Grange, Lord John Stuart, Hay of
Ormiston; rendezvous given at Aberdeen. And presently she went
down to meet them, full of the purpose she had.
Old Huntly came out to watch. They saw his men, some hundred
or more, in loose order at the ford of Spey. Queen Mary’s heart leapt
for battle, real crossing of swords to crown all this feigning and
waiting; but the enemy drew off to the woods, and nobody barred
her road to Aberdeen. Uncomfortably for herself, she lodged at
Spynie on the way, where Bishop Patrick of Moray made her very
welcome. He was Lord Bothwell’s uncle, true Hepburn, a scapegrace
old Catholic, anathema to the good Lord James, and proud of it.
Something of Bothwell’s gleam was in his cushioned eyes, something
of Bothwell’s infectious gaiety in his rich laugh. Like Bothwell, too, he
was a mocker, who saw things sacred and profane a uniform,
ridiculous drab, shrugged at the ruin of the faith in Scotland, and
supposed Huntly had been paid to be a traitor. The Queen’s fine
temper made her sensitive to depreciation of the things she strove
at; under such rough fingers she was bruised. She felt cheapened by
her intercourse with this bishop; and not only so, but her business
sickened her. The old pagan made light of it.
‘’Tis but a day in the hedgerows for ye, madam. Send your terriers
—Lethington and siclike—into the bury, you shall see the Gordons
bolt to your nets like rabbits, and old Huntly squealing loudest of all.’
Now, the Gordons had been fair in her sight, noble friends and
hardy foes. But if George Gordon was to squeal like a rabbit, then
war was playing at soldiers, and she a tomboy out for a romp. She
left Spynie feeling that she hated the Gordons, hated their fault,
hated their chastisement, and hated above all men under the tent-
roof of heaven the whole race of Hepburn.
‘Vile, vile scoffers at God and His vicars! They make a toy of me,
these Hepburns. Uncle and nephew—I am a plaything for them.’
 ‘Just a Honeypot, madam,’ said Livingstone, and was snapped at
for her respect.
‘Am I “Madam” to you now? What have I done to make you so
petulant?’
‘I wish you would be more “Madam” to the Hepburns,’ replied the
maid. ‘I could curse the whole brood of them.’

John Gordon defended two good castles, Findlater and

Auchindoune. He expected, and was prepared for, a siege; but when
the reinforcements came up from the Lowlands, somewhat to his
consternation the Queen joined them at Aberdeen and hung about
that region indefinitely, as if the autumn were but begun. Perhaps
the suspense, the menace, told on old Huntly’s nerves; at any rate,
something brought him to his knees. He sent petition after petition,
promise upon promise; was reported by Ormiston to be very much
aged, tremulous, given to sobbing, and when not so engaged,
incoherent. This worthy went to Strathbogie, hoping to surprise him;
failed to find him at home, but saw the Countess and a young girl,
strangely beautiful, the Lady Jean, sole unmarried daughter of the
house. The Countess took him into the chapel.
‘Do you see that, Captain Hay?’ says she.
‘What in particular, ma’am?’
There were lighted candles on the altar, a cross, the priest’s
vestments of cloth of gold laid ready. She pointed to these
adornments.
‘There is why they hunt us down, Captain Hay, because my lord is
a faithful Christian gentleman. And woe,’ cried she, ‘woe upon her
who, following wicked counsels, persecutes her own holy religion! It
had been better for her that she had never been born. Tell your
mistress that. Tell her that Gordon’s bane is her own bane. Ah, tell
her that.’
 He repeated the piece to the Queen in council, and she received it
in a cold silence, looking furtively round about her at the lords
present, for all the world (says Hay of Ormiston) as if she would see
whether they believed the words or not. Her brother sat on her left,
Morton the Chancellor on her right; Argyll was there, Ruthven,
Atholl, Cassilis, Eglinton. Not one of them looked up from the table,
or saw her anxious peering. Atholl whispered Cassilis without moving
his head, and Cassilis nodded and stared on. What did she think
during that constrained silence? Gordon’s bane her own bane! Could
it be true? Perhaps the gibe of old Bishop Hepburn came to her
timely help: ‘Rabbits in a bury, and old Huntly squealing first and
loudest.’
She threw up her head, like a fretful horse. ‘My lords,’ she said in
her ringing, boyish voice, ‘you have heard the message sent me by
the Countess of Huntly. I am not of her mind. Gordon has tried to be
my bane, but is not so now. I think Gordon’s bane is Gordon’s self,
and fear not what he can do against me. And if not I, why need you
fear? Take order now, how best to make an end of it all.’ Order was
taken.
Huntly was summoned before the council, and sent his wife. The
Queen would not see her. The royal forces moved out of Aberdeen;
John Gordon cut to pieces an outlying party; then the Earl joined
hands with his son, and the pair marched on Aberdeen. The fight
was on the rolling hills of Corrichie, down in the swampy valley
between, over and up a burn. Their cry of ‘Aboyne! Aboyne!’ bore
the Gordons into battle; their pride made them heroic; their pride
caused them to fall. It was a case, one of the first, of the ordnance
against the pipes. No gallantry—and they were gallant; no screaming
of music, no slogan nor sword-work, nor locking of arms, could hold
out against Kirkcaldy’s cannon or Lord James’s horse. They huddled
about their standard and so died; some few fled into the lonely hills;
but Huntly was taken, and two of his tall sons, and all three brought
to the Queen. John of Findlater and Adam were in chains; the old
man needed none, for he was dead. They say that when he was
taken he was frantic, struggled with his captors to the last, induced
so an apoplexy, stiffened and died in their arms. They guessed by
the weight of him that he was dead. All this they told her. She
neither looked at the body nor chose to see the two prisoners;
received the news in dull silence. ‘Where is the Lord Gordon?’ She
did ask that; and was told that he had not been engaged.
‘Coward as well as traitor,’ she gloomed; ‘what else is left him to
adorn?’
‘Madam, tumbril and gallows,’ croaked Ruthven, like a hoody crow.
Next morning she awoke utterly disenchanted of the whole affair.
Nothing would content her but to be quit of it. ‘I seem to smell of
blood and filthy reek,’ she said to her brother James. ‘Take what
measures you choose. Ruin the ruins to your heart’s content. The
house was Catholic, and I suppose the stones and mortar are
abominable in your eyes. Pull them down; do as you choose—but let
me go.’
He asked her desire concerning the prisoners. This caught villain
Findlater, for instance.
‘You seek more blood?’ she asked bitterly. ‘Take his, then. He has
had his fill of it in his day; now let him afford you a share.’
Adam Gordon? She took fire at his name. ‘You shall not touch a
hair of his head. I do not choose—I will not suffer it. He is for me to
deal with.’
He swore that she should be obeyed; but she called in Lethington,
and put the lad in his personal charge, to be brought after her to
Stirling. At this time Lethington was the only man she could trust.
Lastly, her brother hinted at the reward of his humble services to
her realm.
‘Oh, yes, yes, brother, you shall have your bonny earldom. God
knows how you have wrought for it. But if you keep me here one
more hour, I declare I shall bestow it on Mr. Secretary.’
 He thanked her, saying that he hoped to deserve such
condescension by ever closer attention to her business. She chafed
and fidgeted till he was gone, then set about her escape. With a
very small escort, she pushed them to the last extreme in her
anxiety to be south.
There should have been something of the pathetic in this struggle
of a girl to get out of throne-room and council-chamber; one might
almost hear the shrilling of wings; but Scots gentlemen fearful of
their treadings must be excused for disregarding it. They told her at
Dundee that the Duke of Châtelherault lay there, awaiting her
censures. Hateful reminder!
‘What can he want with me at such an hour, in such a place as
this?’
‘Madam, it is for his son-in-law’s sake he hath come so far.’
She flamed forth in her royalest rage. ‘Is the Lord Gordon so poor
in heart? Can he not beg for himself? Can he not lie? Can he not
run? He can hide himself, I know, while his kinsmen take the field.
Let him learn to whine also, and then he will be armed cap-à-pie.’
The old Duke was refused: let the Lord Gordon surrender himself at
Stirling Castle.
Thither went she, shivering in the cold which followed her late
fires; and sat in the kingly seat to make an end of the Gordons.
Thither then came the young lord whom she had once chosen to
bewitch, walking upright, without his sword. He could not take his
eyes from her face when he stood before her; nor could she restrain
her fury, though many were present; no, but she leaned forward,
holding by the balls of the chair, and drove in her hateful words
fiercely and quick.
‘Ah, false heart, you dare to meet me at last!’
He said, ‘I have offended you, and am here at your mercy.’
‘What mercy for a liar?’
‘There should be none.’
 ‘For a disobedient servant?’
‘None, madam, none.’
‘For a craven that hides when war is adoing?’
He answered her steadily. ‘Whether is that man the greater
coward who fears such taunts as these, and for fear of them does
hardily; or he that refuses to draw sword upon his sovereign, though
she throw in his face his refusal? If I was able to dare your enmity, it
is a small thing to me that now I must have your scorn. There is no
man in this place shall call me craven; but from your Majesty I care
not to receive the name, because I am proud to have deserved it.’
This was well spoken, had she not been too fretful to know it.
‘Do you think, sir,’ cried she, ‘to scold me? Do you think me so
light as to forget? I am of longer memory than you. Trust Gordon,
said you! Trust Gordon? I would as lief trust Judas that sold his
master, or Zimri that slew his.’
 Young Gordon held his peace, not knowing how to wrangle with a
woman. At the door there was some commotion—hackbutters
looking about for orders, the captain of the guard forbidding the
entry, his hand uplifted to shut men out. They told her that Lady
Huntly was there.
‘Let her in,’ says the Queen. ‘I will show her this son of hers.’
The widow came, feeling her way down the hall; distracted with
grief, using her hands like a blind man. Beside her, really leading her,
was a tall girl, exceedingly handsome, dark-haired, pale, with proud,
shut lips. She looked before her, at nothing in particular—neither at
the young Queen stormy on her throne, nor at the circle of watchful
men about her, nor at her brother’s bowed head, nor at the full
doorways. She saw nothing, seemed to take no part, to feel no
shame. Except the Queen only, she seemed the youngest there; with
the Queen, whose eyes she held from the beginning, she was the
only girl among these grim-regarding men.
‘Who is that? Who is that girl?’ the Queen asked Lethington,
without ceasing to look.
‘Madam, it is the Lady Jean Gordon.’
‘She has a frozen look, then. Why does she not see me? Is she
blind?’
‘They say she is proud, madam.’
‘Proud? What, to be a Gordon?’
She watched her the whole time of the process, finding her a cold
copy of her brother, admitting freely her great beauty, admiring
(while she grudged) her impassivity. She herself was all on edge,
quivering and intense as a blown flame, her face hued like the dawn,
her eyes frosty bright. The other was so still! But the Queen was
never quiet. Her eyelids fluttered, the wings of her nose; her foot
tapped the stool; she saw everything, heard every breath. Jean
Gordon had no colour, and might have been carved in stone—a
sightless, patient and dumb goddess, staring forward out of a temple
porch. Huddling in her great chair, resting her chin on her hand, her
elbow on her knee, Queen Mary watched her closely, sensing an
enemy; and all this while Lady Huntly called upon God and man to
testify to Gordon’s bane.
‘Malice,’—thus she ended her wailing,—‘Malice hath wrought this
woe; far-reaching, insatiable malice! There was one that craved a
fair earldom, and another the fair trappings of a house: there was
one must have the land, and another the good blood. Foul fare they
all—they have their desires in this world! Where is Huntly? He is
dead. Where is my fine son John? Dead! dead! Where is Adam, my
pretty boy? Fetters on his ankles, madam, the rats at his young
knees. Come, come, come: you shall have all the Gordons. There
you have the heir, and here the widow, and here the fatherless lass.
Let them plead for your mercy if they care. I have no voice left but a
cry, and no tears but bloody tears. What should I weep but blood?’
The Queen still looked at Jean Gordon. ‘Do you plead, mistress?’
she asked her.
‘I do not, madam.’
She turned unwillingly to Gordon. ‘What do you plead, sir?’
‘Nothing, madam.’
She flew out at them all. ‘Insolence! This is not to be borne. You
think to save your faces by this latter pride. You should have been
proud before—proud enough not to promise and to lie. You expect
me to be humble, to sue you to plead! If my mercy is not worth your
asking, it is not worth your receiving. My Lord Gordon, surrender
yourself to the law’s discretion. Madam, you gain nothing by your
reproaches; and you, young mistress, nothing by your silence. The
council is dissolved.’
Lord Gordon walked into ward. The Queen told Lethington that all
the forms of law must be observed; by which Lord Gordon’s
execution was to be understood.
 When she reached Holyrood she sent for Adam Gordon: this
shows you that a thaw had set in. She received him in private,
alone. This proves that she wanted something yet from the Gordons.
The lad stood shamefully by the door, red with shame, and by
shame made sullen. But the Queen had melted before he came; the
tears stood waiting in her eyes. ‘Oh, Adam, Adam Gordon, they have
hurt you! And you have hurt me!’ She held out her arms.
He looked at her askance, he fired up, he gulped a sob; and then
he jumped forward into the shelter of her and cried his heart out
upon her bosom. After a time of mothering and such-like, he sat by
her knee and told her everything.
His father’s exorbitant pride, Findlater’s ambitions, the clamours of
the clan and want of ready pence, had undone the house of Huntly.
Findlater was restless. He knew that the country would have him
chief; he knew that he was a better man than his father or the heir;
and old Huntly knew it too, and would never lag behind. His brother
Gordon, said Adam, was an honest man. For why? He had refused to
bear arms against her Majesty, when it came to that or ruin. That
hurt him so much with the kindred that he had gone away. If he was
a coward, Adam held, such cowardice was very noble courage. ‘And
be you sure, madam, from what I am telling you, that he loves you
over-well.’
‘He should love his wife, my child.’
‘His wife, indeed! Not he!’ cried Adam. ‘Why, he loved your
Majesty from the very first, and begged you to trust him. And should
he go back upon his word?’
‘Well,’ said the Queen, smiling, ‘maybe I will try him again.’
‘So please your Majesty, think of this,’ Adam said. ‘A man, they
say, weds with his hand. But he loves not with the hand.’
‘Would you wed with the hand, boy?’
He blushed. ‘I would, madam, if I must. But I would cut it off first.’
 The Queen was delighted with him. She asked about his sister—
was very curious. How old was his sister Jean? She was told.
Nineteen years! Younger than herself, then—and looking so much
older. Was she affianced? Not yet? What made the men such
laggards in the North? She looked proud and cold: was she so
indeed?
‘She is cold,’ says Adam, ‘until you warm her.’
‘A still girl,’ says the Queen.
And Adam, ‘Ay, deep and still.’
The Queen became pensive.
‘I think I might be pleased with her in time.’
Adam knew better. ‘No, no, madam. She is not one for your
Majesty.’
‘How so?’
‘Madam, so please your Majesty, when you love it is easy seen,
and when you hate also. All your heart beats in your face. But Jean
hides her heart. If she loves, you will never see it. If she hates, you
will never know it, until the time comes.’
‘And when should that be, Adam?’
‘Eh,’ says he, ‘when she has you fast and sure.’
This singular character attracted the Queen. She thought much of
Lady Jean Gordon, and for many days.

Hateful ceremonies were enacted over the ruins of the house of

Huntly. The old Earl in his coffin was set up in the Parliament-house
and indicted of his life’s offence: a brawling indeed in the quiet
garden of death. They flung shame upon the witless old head; they
stripped the heedless old body of the insignia it wore. The Queen
made a wry face when she heard of it.
 ‘Whose is the vulture-mind in this?’ she asked, but received no
reply from her stony brother. She bade them stop their nasty play
and deliver up the corpse to Lady Huntly to be buried. Then she
learned that the widow and her daughter and the condemned lord
had been present. She turned pale: ‘I had no hand in this—I had no
hand!’ she cried out breathlessly, and was for telling the mourners.
Adam Gordon told her that they would be very sure of it.
‘Well,’ she said, ‘I will trust them to be as true-minded as thou.’
She shortly refused to allow Gordon’s execution, and told her
brother so.
‘You and your friends,’ said she, ‘have paddled your hands long
enough. Go you to your homes and wash. The Lord Gordon shall go
to Dunbar to await my pleasure.’
‘Tell him,’ she said to Adam, ‘that because he asked not his life I
give it him; and say also that I trust him to make no escape from
Dunbar. Remind him of his words to me aforetime. If I trust him
again he must not prove me a fool.’
They say that, at this pungent instance of royal clemency, Lady
Huntly broke down, fell before her, and would have kissed her feet.
The Queen whipped them under her gown.
‘Get up, madam. But get up! That is no place for the afflicted. You
do not see your daughter there.’
It was very true. Lady Jean stood, composed and serious.
‘How shall I find the way into that fenced heart?’ thinks the
Queen.
But now she turned her face eagerly towards England, whither, Mr.
Secretary Lethington assured her, ran an open, smiling road.
 CHAPTER VIII
THE DIVORCE OF MARY LIVINGSTONE
(To an Italian Air)

The ranging eye of the Muse, sweeping up the little with the big,
rediscerns Monsieur de Châtelard, like a derelict ladybird, tide-swept
into Scotland once more. It is true, unfortunately, that you have not
yet done with this poet, though the time is at hand.
He came warily pricking back in October; and, nosing here and
there, found a friend in a certain portly Italian gentleman, by name
Signior David, who professed to be deeply attached to him on very
short notice, and whose further employment was, discoverably, that
of foreign secretary to her Majesty. Needing alliances—for his
venture was most perilous—Monsieur de Châtelard had sought him
out; and found him writing in a garret, wrapped in ample fur. A cup
of spiced wine stood by him, a sword and toothpick lay to hand: no
Italian needs more. He was a fine, pink, fleshy man, with a red
beard, fluff of red hair in his ears, light eyelashes, blue eyes. His
hair, darker than his beard, was strenuous and tossed.
He was not very clean, but his teeth were admirable. Monsieur de
Châtelard, coming in with great ceremony, credentials in hand,
hoped that he might have the satisfaction of making Signior David a
present.
The Italian was franchise itself. ‘Per la Madonna, my lord, you may
make me many presents. I will tire you out at that pastime.’ He ran
his eye over the Marquis D’Elbœuf’s letter. ‘Aha, we have here
Monsieur de Châtelard, poet, and companion of princes! Sir,’ said he,
‘let two adventurous explorers salute each other. If I were not a
brave man I should not be here; still less would your honour. A
salute seems little testimony between two such champions. You are
Amadis, I am Splandian. We should embrace, Monsieur de
Châtelard.’
 They did; the poet was much affected. ‘I come with my life in my
hands, Signior David.’
‘Say, rather, on the tips of your fingers, dear sir!’
‘You see in me,’ continued the Frenchman, ‘a brave man. You said
as much, and I thank you. But you see more. You see a poet.’
‘Aha!’ cries the other, tapping his chest with one finger; ‘and here
is the little fellow who will sing your verses as merrily as you make
them.’
‘Allow me to perorate,’ says Monsieur de Châtelard. ‘You see also,
signore, a disgraced lover of the Queen, who nevertheless returns to
kiss the hand that smote him.’
‘Sanguinaccio! my good friend,’ Signior David replied: ‘I hope I
don’t see a fool.’
Monsieur de Châtelard considered this aspiration with that gravity
it deserved. He hesitated before he made answer. ‘I hope not,
Signior David,’ he said wistfully; ‘but, as a lover, I am in some doubt.
For a lover, as you very well know, is not (by the nature of his case)
many removes from a fool. He may be—he is—a divine fool. Fire has
touched his lips, to make him mad. He speaks—but what? Noble
folly! He does—but what? Glorious rashness!’
‘Undoubtedly,’ said the Italian. ‘But does he not know—when a
Queen is in the case—that he has a neck to be wrung?’
‘He knows nothing of such things. This is the sum of his
knowledge—I love! I love! I love!’
The Italian looked at him with calmness. ‘I speak for my nation,’
he said, ‘when I assure you that an Italian lover knows more than
that. He considers means, and ends too. Hungry he may be; but
how shall he be filled if you slit open his belly? He may be thirsty;
but if you cut his throat? However, I am speaking into the air. Let us
be reasonable. How can I serve you, dear sir?’
 ‘Signior David,’ says the poet, ‘I shall speak openly to you.
Howsoever brave a man may be, howsoever dedicated to impossible
adventure, there is one wind which, blowing through the forest,
must chill him to the heart. It is the wind of Indifference. By heaven,
sir, can you sing before mutes, or men maimed of their hands? And
how are you and I to do admirable things, if no one admires, or
cares whether we do them or not? The thought is absurd. Here, in
this grey Scotland, which is Broceliande, the enchanted forest hiding
my princess, I suffer acutely from my solitude. Formerly I had
friends; now I have none. Sir, I offer you my friendship, and ask
yours again. Be my friend. Thus you may serve me, if you will.’
The Italian took up the fringe of his beard and brushed his nose
with it. ‘I must know one little thing first. What do you want with
your enchanted princess in the middle of your forest? Everything?’
Monsieur de Châtelard opened wide his arms, strained them
forward, clasped them over his bosom, and hugged himself with
them.
‘Everything,’ he said; and the Italian nodded, and sank into
thought.
‘If I assist you to that, good sir,’ says he presently, looking at his
client, ‘it will be a very friendly act on my part.’
‘Sir,’ replied the Frenchman, ‘I require a friendly act.’
Signior David looked down, ever so lightly, at the jewel in his
hand, which the poet had put there. ‘But!’ and he raised his
eyebrows over it, ‘it will be impossible for future rhapsodists to
devise an act more friendly than this! It might be—I do not say that
it will be, for I am a simple scribe, as you see—it might be a
partaking which Achilles would never have allowed to Patroclus.’
‘But you, signore, are not Achilles,’ urged Monsieur de Châtelard.
The Italian shrugged. ‘I have not yet found Achilles in this
country; but many have offered themselves to be Patroclus. ‘Come,’
he added, with a pleasant grin, ‘Come, I will serve you. We will be
friends. For the moment I recommend discretion. Her Majesty
returned but two days ago, and is already in the midst of affairs.
This annoys her extremely. She thought she had done with business
and might begin her dancing. But I cannot think that she will dance
very long, the way matters are tending.’
Monsieur de Châtelard went away, to brace himself for the
opening scene of a new act. He came often back again to see his
friend, to submit to his judgment such and such a theory. How
should the lover encounter his mistress, against whose person he
had dared, but not dared enough, the storming of the sweet citadel?
Here was the gist of all his inquiry.
‘Show yourself, dear sir, show yourself!’ was his friend’s advice,
whose own tactics consisted in never showing himself and in making
his absence felt.
The Frenchman, finally, did show himself, with very little result one
way or the other. The Queen, occupied as she had been with
Huntly’s ruin, and now with the patching up of a comfortable
fragment out of it, hardly knew that he was there. This was the way
of it. A lightly-built young man with a bush of crimped hair sprang
out of the press in hall at the hour of the coucher, and fell upon his
knees. ‘Ha, Monsieur de Châtelard, you return?’ If she smiled upon
him, it was because she smiled on all the world when the world
allowed it.
‘Sovereign, the poor minstrel returns!’
‘I hope he will sing more tunefully. I hope he will follow the notes.’
‘All the notes of the gamut, Princess; faithfully and to the
utterance.’
She nods and goes her way, to think no more about him.
From this unsubstantial colloquy, the infatuated gentleman drew
the highest significance. Why, what are the notes of the chant which
a lover must follow? There is but one note; the air is a wailing
monotone: Hardiesse, Hardiesse, Hardiesse! O Queen, potent in
Cyprus, give your vassal effrontery!
Amantium iræ! She had hopes that the piping times were come,
with an air cleaner for the late storms. She had won back young
Adam Gordon, as you know, and sealed him to her by kisses and
tears. She had hopes of his elder brother, now a faithful prisoner at
Dunbar. James Earl of Moray proved a kinder brother than Lord
James Stuart had ever been; Ruthven was gorged, somnolent now,
like a sated eagle, above the picked bones of Huntly. Morton was at
Dalkeith, out of sight, out of mind; Mr. Secretary wrote daily to
England, where Sir James Melvill haggled with bridegrooms; Mr.
Knox reported his commission faithfully done. He had laboured, he
said, and not in vain. Her Majesty knew that the two lords, Bothwell
and Arran, had been reconciled. He took leave to say that, since her
expedition to the North, he had rarely seen a closer band of
friendship between two men, seeming dissimilar, than had been
declared to every eye between the Earls Arran and Bothwell.
The news was good, as far as it went; it made for the peace which
every sovereign lady must desire. So much she could tell Mr. Knox,
with truth and without trouble. But—but—the Earl of Bothwell came
not to the Court. He had been seen in town, in September, when she
was fast in the hills; he was now supposed to be at Hailes; had been
at Hamilton, at Dumbarton, at Bothwell in Clydesdale. Why should
he absent himself? If by staying away he hoped to be the more
present, he had his desire. The Queen grew very restless, and
complained of pains in the back. What he could have had to do with
these is not clear; but the day came very soon when she had a pain
in the side—his work.
That was a day when there was clamour in the quadrangle,
sudden rumour: the raving of a man, confused comment, starting of
horses, grounding of arms; the guard turned out. The Queen was at
prayers—which is more than can be said for the priest who should
have lifted up her suffrages; for if she prayed the mass through, he
did not. The poor wretch thought the Genevans were after him, and
his last office a-saying. Whatever she thought, Queen Mary never
moved, even though (as the fact was) she heard quick voices at the
chapel doors, and the shout, ‘Hold back those men!’
She found Lethington waiting in the antechapel when she entered
it. He was perturbed.
‘Well, Mr. Secretary, what have my loving subjects now on hand?’
He laughed his dismay. ‘Madam, here is come, with foam on his
lips, my Lord of Arran, the Duke’s son.’
‘Doth he foam so early?’ says she. ‘Give him a napkin, and I will
see him clean.’
Presently they admitted the disordered man, frowning and
muttering, much out of breath, and his hair all over his face.
Kirkcaldy of Grange held his arm; the Secretary and Lord Lindsay
hovered about him; through the half-open door there spied the
anxious face of Des-Essars.
‘Speak, my Lord Arran,’ says the Queen.
‘God save us all, I must, I must!’ spluttered Arran, and plunged
afresh upon his nightmare.
If that can be called speech which comes in gouts of words, like
tin gobbling of water from a neck too narrow, then Lord Arran
spoke. He wept also and slapped his head, he raved, he adjured
high God—all this from his two knees. Mystery! He had wicked lips
to unlock. He must reveal horrid fact, devilish machination,
misprision of treason! God knew the secret of his heart; God knew
he would meet that bloody man half-way. In that he was a sinner, let
him die the death. Oh, robber, curious robber! To dare that sacred
person, to encompass it with greedy hands—robbery! God is not to
be robbed—and who shall dare rob the King, anointed of God? Such
a man would steal the Host from the altar. Sorcery! sorcery! sorcery!
When he stopped to gasp and roll his eyeballs in their sockets, the
Queen had her opportunity. She was already fatigued, and hated
noises at any time. ‘Hold your words, my lord, I beg of you. Who is
your bloody man? Who steals from a king, and from what king steals
he? Who is your sorcerer, and whom has he bewitched? Yourself, by
chance?’
Arran turned her the whites of his eyes—a dreadful apparition.
‘The Earl of Bothwell’—he spoke it in a whisper—‘the Earl of Bothwell
did beguile me.’
‘Then I think he did very idly,’ said the Queen. ‘He has been
profuse of his sorcery. Tell your tale to the Lord of Lethington, and
spare me.’
And away she went in a pet. Let the Earl of Bothwell come to her
or not, she did not choose to get news of him through a fool.
Yet the fool had had seed for his folly. He was examined, produced
witnesses; and his story bore so black a look that the council
confined him on their own discretion until the Queen’s pleasure
could be known. Then her brother, Mr. Secretary and others came
stately into her cabinet with their facts. Mr. Knox, said they, had
waited upon the Earl of Bothwell to urge a reconciliation with Lord
Arran. The Hepburn had been very willing, had laughed a good deal
over the cause of enmity—a kiss to a pretty woman, etc.—in a
friendly manner. The two lords had met, certain overtures were
made and accepted. Very well; her Majesty had observed with what
success Mr. Knox had done his part. But wait a little! Friendship grew
apace, until at last it seemed that the one Earl cared not to lose
sight of the other. Incongruous partnership! but there were reasons.
A few weeks later my Lord of Bothwell invites his friend to supper,
and then and there proposes the ravishment of the Queen’s person
—no less a thing!
At this point of the recital her hand, which had been very fidgety,
went up to her lip, pinched and held it.
‘Continue, my lord,’ she said, ‘but—continue!’
‘I am slow to name what I have been slow to believe,’ says my
lord of Moray, conscious of his new earldom, ‘and yet I can show
your Majesty the witness.’
 The plan had been to surprise her on her way from Perth to the
South, take her to Hamilton, and marry her there by force to the Earl
of Arran. Bothwell was to have been made Chancellor for his share.
He had asked no greater reward. The Queen looked down to her lap
when she heard this. What more? My lord of Arran concealed his
alarms for the moment, and told no one; but the secrecy, the weight
of the burden, worked upon him until he could not bear himself.
Before the plot was ripe he had confessed it to half-a-dozen persons.
Bothwell threatened him ravenously; his mind gave way—hence his
frantic penance. Here was a budget of treason for the Queen to take
in her hands, and ponder, wildly and alone. Alone she pondered it, in
spite of all the shocked elders about her.
If he had done it! If he had—if he had! Ah, the adventure of it,
the rush of air, the pounding horse, and the safe, fierce arms! Marry
her to Arran, forsooth, and possess her at his magnificent leisure: for
of course that was the meaning of it. Arran and his Hamiltons were
dust in the eyes of Scotland, but necessary dust. He could not have
moved without them. Thus, then, it was planned—and oh! if he had
done it! So well had she learned to school her face that not a man of
them, watching for it, expecting it, could be sure for what it was that
her heart beat the tattoo, and that the royal colours ran up the staff
on the citadel, and flew there, straining to the gale. Was it maiden
alarm, was it queenly rage, that made her cheeks so flamy-hot? It
was neither: she knew perfectly well what it was. And what was she
going to do in requital of this scandalous scheme? None of them
knew that either; but she again knew perfectly well what she was
about. She was about to give herself the most exquisite pleasure in
life—to deal freely, openly, and as of right, with her secret joy; to
handle in the face of all men the forbidden thing, and to read into
every stroke she dealt her darling desire. None would understand
her pleasure, none could forbid it her; for none could under-read her
masked words. And her face, as glacial-keen as Athena’s, like
Antigone’s rapt for sacrifice; her thoughtful, reluctant eyes, her
patient smile, clasped hands, considered words—a mask, a mask!
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