by Alex Nye
Rizzio was screaming and had been dragged along the floor away from me, while men struck blows at him with their daggers, stabbing with such force that the life was beaten out of my poor friend. I can hear those terrible punching blows even now.
They dragged him out of my turret chamber, across the floor of my bedchamber where his body left tracks of blood, and out into the main hall beyond. They then thrust him from a high window and his corpse lay mangled and bloodied on the cobbles below.
As his screams died away I stood helpless, Lady Jean and Lord Robert both shocked into silence at my side. Darnley still held me back.
“Traitors!” I sobbed.
Then I turned to my husband.
“You will pay for this.”
In spite of his bravado, he appeared alarmed by what he had done.
I picked up Rizzio’s lyre from the floor.
“He was my friend. He had done nothing wrong,” I said.
I turned on Darnley once more.
“You will live to regret this day. I promise you that.”
Darnley had released his hold on me now and looked uneasy. As I held my arms across my rounded stomach, shielding it from his touch, I saw what I fancied were the first flickerings of remorse in his eyes.
Throughout the rest of the palace I could hear the pounding of heavy footsteps running up and down the corridors, and men shouting.
The danger to my life – and that of my child – was not yet over.
After some moments I went with my half-brother and sister to the door of my room, but we found our way barred by George Douglas, standing four-square at the entrance. He was armed.
“I demand to leave this room,” I ordered, looking him in the eye.
George Douglas met my gaze with a look of such deep disrespect that it sent a cold wave of fear through me.
“I cannot allow that,” he said, without addressing me with my proper title.
“I demand that you address me by my proper title,”
and when he still refused to budge, I made a move to lift his dagger aside, but he responded by pointing it directly at me.
“What? Am I a prisoner now?”
“Leave this room and I shall cut you to pieces,” he snarled.
I paled in shock. The point of his dagger was still smeared with my own dear Rizzio’s blood.
At that moment I heard a commotion of voices in the courtyard below my windows. I ran across the room and would have leaned out, but my assailants would not allow it. The whole area below was filled with the flickering of lighted torches and I heard the Provost of Edinburgh shouting up at the Palace, demanding to see the Queen.
“They fear you have taken me hostage,” I cried. “They have sounded the tocsin.”
George Douglas and his nameless minions slammed the shutters closed.
“This is treason.”
“We act in the name of Protestants everywhere, and of Knox’s Kirk.”
“And you think they listen to you?” I cried, indicating the window from where the townspeople were gathered below to check on the safety of their queen.
“You are nothing but an upstart, Douglas. A rebel and a traitor. And one day you will die a traitor’s death for what you have done this day,” I spoke in a low hate-filled voice.
“Calm yourself, Mary,” I heard Lady Jean whisper. “Think of the child.”
I turned then, and became aware that Darnley was no longer in the room with me. He had slipped away unnoticed, coward that he was.
Lady Jean and Lord Robert were then ordered to leave, and I was to spend the rest of the night alone in my bedchamber – a prisoner – guarded by dangerous armed men, Douglas cut-throats mostly.
I paced my room all night – a prisoner in my own Palace – and as I watched the grey beginnings of a new dawn filter into the room across the blood-streaked boards, I felt Darnley’s child stir inside me. A tiny curled-up bud of being, quivering uncertainly. I laid a hand across my belly and gave myself up to my fears. It would be a child born not of love, but hate. This is what I feared.
Holyrood
March 1566
“You have a visitor,” a voice said.
I turned my head and looked back at the doorway in surprise.
“My brother!” I rushed towards him then stopped. We regarded each other in silence.
“I thought you were in England?” I asked, perplexed.
“I was,” Moray replied. “But I came back.”
I looked at him shrewdly. It must have taken him more than a week to ride from London. What had brought him back here so suddenly, at this particular hour, when I had need of him most?
Coincidence?
I had banished him from my land, and yet here he was again. He must have heard of my incarceration in the Palace. Instantly I suspected him of having foreknowledge of the plot to kill Rizzio, but I was not about to let him know that.
“What drew you back so soon?” I asked.
“I was already on the road. And when I arrived back in Edinburgh, I heard that Holyrood was in turmoil.”
I kept control of my temper.
“Turmoil? Conspiracy, you mean.”
“I am sorry for you, my sister.”
I glanced up at him. He appeared to be sincere for a moment. Could I trust that sentiment?
“Thank you, but I need a little more than your pity, Lord James. Perhaps…” I considered my words carefully for a moment. “I am ready to concede that perhaps you were right about Darnley, after all.”
He watched me in silence.
“When I chose him for a husband, I had no idea he would betray me.”
“He is a jealous fool, but it has been to the advantage of others to make him jealous. He is their play-thing, their tool. They have used him – he is simply too foolish to realise that yet.”
My blood froze.
“And you?” I asked. “Are you among their vile ranks too?”
“I am here to help you, Mary.”
I observed him narrowly.
“It’s outrageous the way you have been treated. I would never have allowed them to incarcerate you like this. If I had been here at the time, Morton and Ruthven would not have dared…”
I smiled. “I need your help, brother.”
I pride myself on being a woman of resourcefulness. There have been many times when I have found myself a prisoner and yet managed by stealth, duplicity and sheer force of will to effect an escape. If only I could be so inventive now.
After Moray left, I remained alone in my bedchamber, waiting. It wasn’t long before I received a visit from Darnley. I had urged my brother to contrive an excuse to be alone with my husband and speak with him urgently; I was confident that this tete-a-tete would have the desired effect.
Darnley was afraid of Ruthven, Morton, Lindsay and Douglas – the very men who had encouraged him to turn traitor against me. They had used his jealousy of Rizzio and his insecurity about being named King. Now he was more afraid of them than he was of me.
“I am sorry, Mary,” he begged. “I have made a grave error.”
“You come to me now?” I wept. “After what you have done?”
“I did not think it would end in this way, with you being treated so brutally…”
“Our child could have died.”
He sat on the edge of the bed and refused to look at me.
“Is that what you wanted?” I cried.
When he didn’t answer at first I added quietly, “But of course it is. You wanted our child dead, because the poor unborn mite will obstruct the way for you. You are driven, Darnley, driven by your own ambition – and if either myself or our child stand in your way…” The truth dawned on me with a sickening lurch of emotion. Any child of ours would be first in line if anything happened to me. “Isn’t that right, Darnley?
”
“I made a consummate error and I regret it.”
“Yes, you have erred. You chose to throw in your lot with evil men. And to trust them instead of your wife, the queen.”
He glanced over his shoulder towards the wooden panels of the closed door, beyond which we could hear guards marching in the corridor outside. He was afraid. Those same men who had told him to overthrow his wife and queen could now just as easily turn traitor against him. He was pale with nerves and fear.
I wiped away the tears that sprang from my eyes. Enough tears, a voice inside my head said clearly. I must think on revenge.
“You should have trusted me,” I murmured, mellowing slightly, swallowing back my rage. I spoke my next words smoothly and sweetly. “You should trust me now, and maybe together we can escape, and turn the tide of events in our favour.”
He stared at me. “What are you proposing?”
“Poor Darnley,” I whispered, “you never loved me.”
“If I had never loved you, I’d have no need to feel jealous of our poor friend Rizzio.”
I flinched at the mention of that name. Then I studied my husband calmly. Let him believe that it was love motivating him, if that’s what he wanted. But I would never trust Darnley again. I would play him like a fish in order to secure my own release. A fat carp hooked on the end of my line, to be landed and gutted.
“Mary, I know there is nothing I can do or say to make you believe me.”
I withdrew my hand from his grasp and he gave me a look then that I could almost believe.
“I will forgive you, Darnley,” I said carefully. “But I will never forget. If you promise that you are willing to change, then there is a way out of this.”
He lifted his head hopefully.
“I need your help, Darnley.”
His eyes gleamed.
“Of course. I’ll do anything,” he said excitedly. “We’ll stand together again.”
The sight of his enthusiasm repulsed me somewhat, but I hid it well. If I was to escape this den of lions that paced the corridors of my Palace, I needed Darnley’s help and assistance. I could not do it alone.
I sat down at my desk and wrote a letter to the two individuals I knew I could rely upon.
“What is it? What ails the queen?”
It was midnight and my wails were filling the empty rooms of the Palace, echoing to the rafters. George Douglas stood in the shadows looking pale and perplexed as others gathered in the doorway behind him.
I emitted a deep groan from the depths of my being and clutched my belly.
“I need a nurse,” I spoke breathlessly.
“She needs a nurse,” Darnley echoed.
“Fetch the midwife.”
“No!” I cried. “Fetch Lady Huntly. She will deliver me.”
Footsteps pounded away.
Darnley mopped my sweating brow while the others looked on.
“Give her privacy,” he demanded, and slammed the door shut in their faces.
Lady Huntly was sent for and eventually arrived amid much bustle and confusion.
“How is she?” she asked. The door was opened and a funnel of candlelight fell forward into the room. She was led into our midst and immediately began issuing orders.
“Stand back, man,” she murmured, forcibly pushing Darnley aside. “This is woman’s work.”
Darnley backed away while Lady Huntly knelt beside the great bed where I lay marooned and clutching my abdomen in pain.
The door closed on our little tableau.
Once we were alone I opened my eyes wide and sat up straight. Lady Huntly observed us both with a wry look on her face, then nodded wisely.
I took out the letter with haste, slipped it into her hand and whispered, “Please, pass this to your son. And to Lord Bothwell.”
She smiled and hid it in the folds of her clothing.
“Not even a Douglas would dare to look here,” she said, patting her chest.
“Come along now, Your Majesty,” she urged. “Keep up the performance or they’ll think our business here is done. And we cannot have that.” She spoke with positive glee, as if she was rather rising to the occasion and enjoying the drama of it all.
While that good lady and Darnley watched, I broke out in cries again, and I must admit that I indulged in the performance. I could see that Lady Huntly did too; Darnley was too distracted by his own terror to notice or appreciate much. He kept glancing nervously towards the door, as though afraid one of them might enter at any moment and beat him.
We waited a while, and once my mock groans of pain had subsided, she made a hasty exit, with my letter secreted away. We watched her leave nervously.
I heard raised voices in the corridor outside, then Lady Huntly’s voice rose clear and confident above the clamour.
“Her Majesty is calm for now, but you have risked her life and that of the child. She needs absolute quiet.”
Another voice spoke then I heard her add, “I am warning you, if you attempt to harass her again, that child will not survive, and the consequences will be grave for all.”
I listened to this exchange, and then heard her footsteps fade. She was taking with her my secret missive, with its instructions to meet me the following night beneath the shadow of the churchyard wall.
I was left in peace, as Lady Huntly had instructed, despite the fact that George Douglas and Ruthven were itching to make their presence felt. Darnley left as well, to avoid rousing any suspicions. Part of me still suffered a twinge of suspicion and unease at letting him go; I wondered how far I could trust him. Had I really won him over? If he was a turncoat once, then he could be so again.
While they assumed I was taking my rest, I dressed myself in a riding cloak and lay beneath the covers of my bed, waiting for darkness to fall.
At half past eleven I rose and entered the small turret chamber off my main bedroom. One of the heavy tapestries moved and Darnley appeared. We regarded one another in silence. This was the same aperture through which Ruthven had appeared… The memory still echoed in the recesses of my mind, but I had no time to pay it heed in the urgency of the moment. All my thoughts and energies were focused on the task in hand. Everything else faded into obscurity for now, to be mulled over and dwelt upon later when I had the leisure.
Together we crept down the narrow stone staircase to his apartments, using the same route that Ruthven and my enemies had taken.
“We are fortunate. There are no guards set below,” Darnley informed me.
I was relieved to hear this. His private chambers beneath, were empty. My enemies had relaxed their guard. Stealthily, we cracked open the door and emerged into the darkness of the passage beyond. The wall sconces were not lit.
“What if they hear us?” Darnley whispered.
“Then we must be very quiet.”
I could tell that he was frightened. If those ruthless men discovered him helping me to escape, his life would be forfeit. His terror grew with each step we took as he began to realise the implications of helping me to flit the cage.
We felt our way cautiously, fearing that someone would hear us or grow suspicious, but the downstairs corridors were empty. They had not thought to set a sentry here,
and fearing that a miscarriage was due, had relaxed their guard somewhat after my performance earlier. Such womanly matters tend to make men distant and afraid. They trusted to the fact that I would be too ill to escape.
“Come,” I whispered to Darnley. “I know the way through to the servants’ quarters, and from there, down into the cellars beneath.”
Darnley was nervous, starting at every sound. We made our way in the dark, without the aid of torches.
We did not want to alert anyone to our presence.
Down in the cellar I found the entrance to a dark tunnel leading beneath the vaults of the abbey and
from there into the churchyard beyond, where I hoped my rescuers would be waiting with horses.
We groped our way forward, assaulted by the charnel-house smells of the burial vault. Dank stone and centuries’ old trapped air assaulted my nostrils. Darnley gagged and held a cloth to his mouth. I steeled myself and lit a torch. Light flared out in the shadows, picking out the detritus of bones and old graves lying around.
“This is where my own ancestors are buried,” I told Darnley.
I had no wish to join them just yet.
We stumbled on, surrounded by the final resting-place of my grandparents and great grandparents. I tried not to think about my poor mother. The air became cold and clammy, and wet stone shone before my eyes. When I missed my footing in the dark, Darnley automatically gripped hold of me to save me falling. The sudden intimacy struck a spark, moved me almost, but I knew better than to trust it. It was the final flowering of our love for one another, before it died for good.
I was surprised to feel him throw an arm around me as he led me protectively past stone coffins and tombs, surrounded by the smell of decay. Then we moved into single file, the better to negotiate the tunnel. I looked at his dark, cloaked shoulders just ahead of me. This was Darnley – my husband – and he had betrayed me in the worst possible way. He had allowed armed men to threaten my person in my own private room and had sanctioned, approved, conspired with them in the slaughter of my own dear friend. Rizzio had kept me company these past few years, sleeping faithfully on a chest in a corridor of the Palace, never far from my side. Now he was gone forever. Worse than this, Darnley had watched as they held a pistol to my womb where our unborn child lay vulnerable and unprotected. Now he had become weak and scared, afraid of his own shadow.
I had loved him too, and the disappointment was hard to bear. I felt scooped out, excavated by loss and sorrow, but at the same time realisation dawned. I lost any final illusions I had about Darnley; I was no longer his victim, happy to wait for him to come home, to overlook his faults. Instead I was the one in control. All of this transformation took place silently as we moved in stealth and darkness beneath the Abbey. The immense building bore down on us. I could feel its weight and its history – and I began to reflect that all of this was what Knox and his Protestant supporters sought to tear down and dismantle, stone by stone, removing statues from niches, leaving altars bare and stripped of their adornments.