For My Sins

by Alex Nye

  “Never, Ma’am?”

  “Not like this, no. I believe this is the worst winter since I arrived.”

  Flakes began to swirl and eddy from a low-scudding sky.

  “The guests are staying overnight again. The weather does not promise to be lifting.”

  I loved Stirling Castle.

  I could see the shrubbery partitioned into beautiful terraces below, though bleak and austere. We were so high, the land falling away, a panorama of mountains marching across the skyline. Deer and elk could be glimpsed in the plains far below, and up here the wind was cutting. It blew through the narrow, stone passageways and wound its way into the courtyards.

  The fires were built up as darkness descended, the raised baskets in the hearth piled high with black coal.

  Lord Lennox would have been delighted. Another evening of music and dance during which Lord Darnley could display himself to his best advantage.

  “Lady Jean,” I asked, turning back to the room where a fire burnt in the grate. “What do you think of Lord Lennox’s son?”

  “What do I think of him, Ma’am?” she asked.

  “Yes – as a person.”

  “Well, as a person he is… very charming, I suppose. He can sing and he can dance and he can be… entertaining…”

  “And?”

  “And what, Ma’am?”

  “Well, is there anything else you can say to recommend him?”

  Lady Jean looked distinctly awkward.

  “Recommend him for what, Ma’am?”

  I laughed.

  “The lords have been urging me to find a husband, Lady Jean. And so I must oblige, but it is difficult to be certain about one’s options.”

  “He is a Catholic, Ma’am.”

  “So my brother was telling me. I am a Catholic also.”

  There was a small silence. When Lady Jean did not reply I grew bold, and went on.

  “He has other factors to recommend him.”

  “Such as?”

  “He has a very strong claim to the English throne.”

  “Ah!”

  “He has Tudor and Stuart blood running in his veins. His grandmother was sister to King Henry, Elizabeth’s father. That makes him – technically – Elizabeth’s heir.”

  Lady Jean was sitting on a low stool by the fire, sewing. She looked up as I said this.

  “Why do you seek my opinion? It sounds as if you have already made your decision.”

  “Anyway, none of it is of any consequence at all,” I added lightly. “I have no intention of marrying the man – despite my brother’s fears.”

  Lady Jean stabbed a needle through her tapestry and winced. “Ouch!”

  She sucked at her pale finger where a drop of red blood had appeared.

  There was another banquet that night. Platters of food appeared from the kitchens, borne on servants’ shoulders. It takes an army of staff to keep the castle equipped and functioning. As the snow fell on the cobbles, the candles and fires continued to burn and Lord Darnley made himself ever more amenable.

  In a lull between courses I glanced at him across the crowded Hall. We were a merry party, food and drink being consumed, firelight and candlelight flickering against the high stone walls. I thought back to my days with Francois back in Versailles, that early marriage bed where neither of us had known what it was to love. We played at being grown-ups but at no point had passion or romantic love ever entered into the way we saw each other.

  Now I began to wonder if life could be different, if there was an experience I was yet missing.

  I had been struggling to rule Scotland on my own now for nigh on five years. I had put down rebellion, mustered support, made my presence felt among the people, tried valiantly to steer an even path between the Catholics and Protestants while throughout Europe a Reformation raged. As I watched Darnley dance, and play the lute, and speak to me with such wit and charm, I began to believe that he could stand by my side and help me in this herculean task of mine. I convinced myself that he would be worthy.

  And all the while my brother Moray watched, as did Bothwell, and they knew what they knew.

  Within a few weeks I made my intention to marry Darnley known.

  Moray was furious.

  He refused to speak to me for days on end, and when this had no effect and it became clear that I intended to marry Darnley anyway, he took off. Made himself scarce.

  This was the beginning of our rift.

  Fotheringhay Castle

  September 1586

  I sit in silence, surrounded by the absolute darkness of my chamber, listening to the walls creak, the mice in the wainscoting. Time passes slowly – or not at all.

  Memories are all I have left.

  It is with a shock that I realise I am not alone.

  A figure is standing in the corner, his back to me. He was not there a few moments ago.

  Fear creeps down my spine in ice-cold trickles beneath my heavy garments, my kirtle and silk petticoat, my gown and cloak.

  The figure does not move or speak. I cannot make out his features. He is a black silhouette, merging with the shadows.

  There is something oddly familiar about his outline.

  He begins to turn his head very slowly, and terror grips my soul.

  I wait, my needle poised in mid-air.

  I do not want to cast my eyes on it; I do not want to look.

  It is my half-brother, Moray.

  His ghost cuts a sad and sorry figure.

  “Are you real?” I whisper, but he does not reply.

  I attempt to ignore him, but the figure moves closer.

  “What do you want?”

  I try to remain calm, steel myself against these visions. Why must I be tormented by my memories? What is it they seek?

  I pick up my needle again and begin to sew, as a form of distraction. The action soothes me, settles my nerves.

  He moves closer, puts his head on one side and stares at me accusingly.

  “You were such a brilliant politician, brother, but it did you no good in the end.”

  To my surprise, his ghost speaks.

  “Your son remains grateful to me to this day,” it replies.

  “My son is a fool. He was your puppet. I know about puppets and masters.”

  “Do you?”

  “You paid a heavy price for becoming Regent over my son. No one lasts long in the Scottish court these days – so I hear.”

  For they killed my half-brother in the end, stabbed him in the back, while another villain – Morton – took the role of Regent over my son.

  The door to my chamber opens suddenly, letting in a band of yellow light from the corridor outside and a candle borne aloft.

  “Madam,” Jane whispers, reappearing on the threshold. “You were talking to yourself. Be easy in your mind now.”

  When I glance back over my shoulder I realise that the room is empty.

  “Did you see anyone just now, Jane?”

  She shakes her head.

  “No one passed you in the corridor?”

  “Of course not. How could they?”

  Holyrood Palace

  June 1565

  It was a wet June. The endless rain provoked boredom. Perhaps that is why I agreed to Darnley’s plan.

  It was ten o’ clock at night when I stood in the darkness of my room, straightening my doublet and hose. I had changed into a suit of Darnley’s, velvet doublet, silk hose and leather jerkin, and wore a large cap on top of my head, with my auburn hair tucked neatly away out of sight.

  We looked like brothers standing there beside each other and Darnley erupted into laughter.

  “Shush!” I warned him. “You’ll wake everyone.”

  He stifled another outburst, and then grabbed me by the wrist. “Come on,”
he said.

  “But you don’t know the way,” I reminded him.

  I pushed in front of him and led the way down a back staircase, out into the Edinburgh night.

  “Are you sure about this, Mary?” he asked me.

  “Of course I am sure. It will be an adventure.”

  It was dusk outside and a pale yellow moon hung low in the sky, in readiness for nightfall.

  “What if someone recognizes me?” I asked nervously.

  “It will be dark soon and no one would guess.” He looked me up and down. “You look like a man.”

  “Thank you.”

  “A long, lean lad of healthy build,” he corrected himself.

  As we walked side by side toward the postern, I felt an incredible sense of freedom. I could go anywhere, do anything, be anyone I liked. Disguise is a powerful thing.

  As we strolled together past Kirk o’ Field, I glanced at the silent square of houses, desolate and grim in the fading light, and a shiver ran down my spine.

  We neared the city wall, and passed through the gate without any difficulty. Then we headed through the Cowgate and up towards the closes and vennels of the High Street.

  “Come, Mary, I will show you some of my old haunts.”

  “But you have been in Edinburgh but a few short months,” I remarked.

  “I waste no time in making myself familiar with the locals. You will see, people know me.”

  “If they know you then they’ll recognize me as well.”

  “People only see what they want to see. You’d be surprised how remarkably blind people can be.”

  These words would come back to me later, when I would find myself leading Darnley to the houses in Kirk o’ Field for a very different purpose other than a night of revelry.

  The dusk had grown thicker by this time and torches flamed on the walls of the narrow closes, flickering against the stone walls. The cobbles were slick with rain and mud, but I didn’t care. I was beginning to feel a delicious sense of excitement.

  A knot of people stood blocking our way along the passage.

  Darnley pushed through them.

  I hesitated, unsure.

  “Ah, Darnley,” someone cried, “good to see you this evening.”

  Then there was a short silence, followed by, “Who’s yer young friend, then?”

  “My cousin,” Darnley replied without batting an eyelid. No one would be any the wiser.

  “Your cousin now, is it?” I felt invisible eyes looking me up and down, assessing.

  “Well, ye mind how ye go, Darnley, my boy. Don’t be getting into any fights this night.”

  I frowned and glanced at Darnley, who avoided my gaze.

  “Do you usually get into fights?” I asked him when we had passed through the crowd.

  He changed the subject, stopping in front of a rough-looking tavern with mermaids painted on its sign.

  “I’m not really sure about this, Darnley.” I hesitated, but he propelled me forward with a hand gently placed in the small of my back.

  “Come on, Mary. Let’s take risks. Dare to be different.”

  The fumes of alcohol and body sweat inside were overwhelming. I watched Darnley down his first jug of ale. He placed a frothing pewter jug before me on the gin-soaked table – the wood was sticky with spilled drink. I must have looked unsure, because he winked encouragingly and whispered in my ear, “Remember Mary – the most fun you will ever have in your life. No protocol here.”

  I lifted the jug and sipped gingerly. It washed to the back of my throat. I spent the next while pretending to drink the rest, but leaving the liquid largely untouched.

  A ‘friend’ of Darnley’s joined us at the table, which alarmed me at first. He and Darnley seemed to speak in a secret code, as if they were sharing a private joke from several nights ago.

  “Ye no’ gambling tonight, man?”

  “Maybe not tonight,” Darnley replied, glancing at me.

  His companion was introduced as Scythe “on account of the fact my nose looks like one,” accompanied by raucous laughter.

  I was aware of this stranger watching me, as I fastidiously sipped at my drink.

  “You’re no’ drinking, man’?” he said then and clapped a heavy hand on my shoulder.

  I spluttered into my foaming jug and glanced at Darnley.

  “My cousin is not used to being out this late. He’s young yet. It’s his first time,” Darnley said, trying unsuccessfully to steer the conversation away from me.

  “Well, ye’ve brought him to the right place then, if it’s a woman yer after,” and he gave me a sly wink.

  There was mockery in his look as he leant closer to Darnley and whispered loudly in front of me, “Not much of a lad, is he? More a lassie by the looks on him. Maybe it’s not the lassies he’ll be after, eh, Darnley? Eh?” He snorted and chortled with pleasure at his own ribald joke.

  Glad of the shadows, I glanced at Darnley uneasily, trying to communicate a silent request for help.

  That was when the women arrived, dressed in foul-smelling rags with ribbons and frills to soften the impact. Their faces were heavily rouged, like masks. They sent a shudder down my spine. I felt heart-sorry for them. When Darnley shot a look in my direction he realised he had gone too far.

  He stood up swiftly, took my elbow and led me away, back out into the fumes and mud of the passageway.

  “Mind how ye go, Darnley, man!” shouted Scythe after him, but Darnley took no notice.

  Once we were outside, under the swinging inn sign, he looked at me in the flickering torchlight.

  I glanced at the sign. “So that’s what the mermaids indicate is it? I should have known.”

  “Everyone knows. ‘Tis only a bit of fun, Mary.”

  “Is that what those women call it?”

  “Perhaps I have gone too far,” Darnley murmured. “I see that now.”

  “Is that the kind of place you often frequent?”

  “Of course not.”

  “That man seemed to know you very well.”

  Darnley shrugged. “Come, Mary,” he urged, trying to make up to me, “this was supposed to be a night of adventure. Let’s go somewhere else.”

  As we wove our way through the night-time vennels I began to smirk to myself.

  Darnley glanced sideways at me. “What is it?” he asked.

  “That man – Scythe or whatever he’s called. He doesn’t know it, but he just slapped his sovereign on the back and told her to drink up. What would he think if he knew?”

  Darnley laughed.

  It was a novel experience, to be loose in the city. The disguise seemed to work. No one appeared to recognise me, because no one would expect the Queen to dress as a man and wander the streets of her capital at night, accompanied only by her lover, without a train of ladies-in-waiting and men-at-arms acting as bodyguards. It alarmed me how well-known Darnley appeared to be in a

  city he had only arrived in three months ago. He had lost no time at all in making himself familiar with the night-time crowds. They all knew him for a rogue and a party-man in the most unlikely of places – drinking dens and taverns where you’d not expect to find a member of the nobility.

  “I’m a man of the people, Mary,” he told me, smiling. “If you marry me, you’ll have a popular ruler at your side.”

  I felt uneasy at his words. A warning ripple troubled my mind, but I was too busy enjoying the novelty of his company to take proper heed. I persuaded myself that it would be good to wed a man with such a strong sense of adventure and mischief, one who knew how to talk to ordinary folk and who was glad to escape the confines of Palace life. The thought gave me a thrill of excitement. This was a man worth being married to, not to mention his claim to the English throne, which could only strengthen my own claim.

  I silenced any misgivin
gs about what I had seen and heard that night – hints that his behaviour could perhaps deteriorate to levels I might not want to see, or know about.

  We were outside the city walls now, in open fields.

  Kirk o’ Field loomed on our right again. Its gable ends looked desolate under a pale yellow moon and one or two of the houses looked abandoned and half-derelict. Fenced-off fields stretched away behind them.

  I stood and stared at it in the stark shadows.

  Darnley threw an arm around my shoulder.

  “Come on, Mary,” he sang, pulling me after him.

  It should have been Darnley who stood there shuddering with a sixth sense. Neither of us yet knew that this would be the scene of his murder – and a plot against him which would have earth-shattering consequences.

  We laughed together as we crept back through the city postern in the early hours. The guard on duty was asleep – for which I was grateful.

  The Palace was dark and silent when we returned. No one had noticed our absence. None of my servants or ladies-in-waiting knew. I had asked them not to disturb me, claiming that I needed an unbroken night of sleep and would appreciate the solitude.

  As we re-entered the Palace with such ease, through a back stairway, it did not occur to me to question the security of the Palace guards. If we could so easily slip unseen into Holyrood in the early hours, how easy would it be for an enemy to do so, one with a murderous intent?

  There is a back staircase connecting the apartments at ground level with my own private apartments above. It gives egress into the tiny turret chamber just off my larger bed-chamber.

  This was how we made our way back into my rooms without being seen. The unmade bed with the pillows stuffed under the quilts was just as I had left it. Darnley held me in his arms, laughing.

  I felt giddy with the audacity and daring of it. This was the sort of freedom I had always craved. Oh, to be a man for a day. What woman would not crave that?

  Fotheringhay Castle

  October 1586

  Knox has appeared in my cell. I have no choice but to entertain these ghostly guests of mine. They emerge from the shadows as they please. I have no control over these nightly visitations.