The Queen's Almoner

by Tonya Ulynn Brown

  “A lot has changed since you resided within these walls. Added security was necessary after the king and queen began to receive death threats. And just this night we have had to resort to secret passwords and gestures to protect the integrity of the castle and ensure the protection of our queen.”

  I nodded silently but did not move as I waited for Maitland to give instruction to a footman to notify Mary we had arrived. I watched as the footman then turned to another servant and whispered something into his ear before he went to deliver the message to the queen.

  Minutes later I was ushered up the stairs into the queen’s antechamber. Preparing myself for a distraught queen, I was surprised to find her completely composed—and not alone. For standing in front of the fire, leaning on the mantle was none other than the Earl of Bothwell. He had just tossed some parchment into the fire and was watching it slowly burn, the edges curling upward before the flame caught hold and completely obliterated it. He straightened when he saw me, and an annoyed look crossed his face as he turned to survey me. But before he had a chance to address me, Mary ran to me, grabbing my hands and pulling me further into the room.

  “Oh, Thomas!” she gasped, and I noted a slight look of fear in her eyes. I expected her to be fully overcome with grief, but alas, she was not. She led me to a chair close to hers and begged me to sit. I obeyed, but it wasn’t until Bothwell excused himself from the room for a moment that I felt at ease to speak to her. I looked at her, searching her face for some emotion, some sign to prove to me that the rumors were not—could not—be true.

  As if she were reading my mind, she spoke softly, “I do not know what to feel or how I should conduct myself in this matter. I feel I cannot grieve for the loss of my husband. Already there are edicts being sent throughout Scotland blaming me—nay, accusing me of Henry’s death. I am appalled! I know we did not have a love-filled marriage, as I had hoped. He was cruel and vindictive, and acted as a spoilt child most of the short time we were married. Yet, he is the father of the future king of Scotland. And why would I risk this precarious throne I sit upon? Why would I throw away my chance at England’s throne for such a ghastly scandal? I had hoped there would be a reconciliation. I truly was trying to fix what was so horribly broken. If I had just had a little more time I fully expected that we could have resolved our issues. But now…” For the first time since I entered the room I heard her voice weaken and saw the tears threaten to spill down her cheeks. I could not imagine the humiliation and rejection my beautiful queen had suffered at the hand of this devil. While living he had caused her so much torment and pain, and now his death threatened the very downfall of her kingdom.

  “Mary, we have to get you out of here; away from here and the potential danger that still lurks behind every door. You can come to St. Andrews, then we’ll go north to the Earl of—”

  “There’s no need to worry yourself, priest. I will ensure that Her

  Highness is safe. We shall contact you should she be in need of spiritual guidance.” The earl had stepped back into the room. The hair on the back of my neck stood up when he drew near. His use of the title, priest, dripped with contempt for me, and his presumptuous attitude toward Mary reeked of a familiarity toward her that I did not care for.

  “My lord,” I said the words with as much solicitude as he had for me. “I am not a priest.” My hand instinctively curled into a fist, and I stood, stepping in front of him before I knew what I was doing. His eyes widened in surprise, and then a smug expression overtook his face. To assault an earl would be sure imprisonment for me, and it took everything within me not to wipe the smirk off his face. I had to remind myself that now was not the time or place to settle my score with this loathsome rakehell. “And it is more than Her Majesty’s soul that concerns me. Whoever has done this horrific deed may very well have evil intentions toward the queen herself. I would have her removed as far from here as possible until we can be sure.”

  He smiled an insincere, mocking smile. “I can assure you, dear friend, she is completely safe. The intended target has been struck. We must look ahead now, to the future of our dear queen and the future of Scotland.” He moved to stand beside her and touched her protectively by placing a hand on her shoulder. Just like the third crow in my dream. In that instant, the meaning was made plain to me, and I understood what, or rather whom, the crows in my dream represented. This third crow would be her downfall.

  A quick look at Mary’s face told me she either felt uncomfortable at his touch, or uncomfortable that he did it in my presence. She stood up and moved away from Bothwell, summoning a maid to bring tea before turning to face us again.

  “James, be a dear and see that the removal of my son to Stirling is proceeding as I instructed. Please be sure to remind Grace that I want him wrapped in the gray woolen coat and matching hat that I mentioned to her earlier.”

  A dark look overtook him, as if he were not accustomed to being ordered about like a servant. “Your Grace, I will send a maid to see to your instructions.”

  “I would like to have a word with Thomas in private,” she spoke bluntly. “Please see to the instructions personally, Lord Bothwell. I would feel much better knowing that you are securing his safety.” The transition she made from the more familiar use of his given name to his title drove the order home to him. He pursed his lips together in resolution then tilting his head slightly, he bowed, then removed himself from the room.

  When he was gone she turned once more to me. “Lord Bothwell has promised me safe escort to his family home at Dunbar. He thinks I will be safer there. We will be leaving before sunrise. The prince is to be escorted to Stirling Castle and will be under the care of the Earl of Mar until we can be reunited here at Holyroodhouse once more.”

  “Why Dunbar? Why Bothwell? Do you plan to marry him?” I could feel the heat rising to my cheeks due to the blood boiling in my veins.

  “Why do you pose such a question within hours of my husband’s death?”

  “There have been rumors,” I said.

  The color drained from her face, but my words did not deter her. “I cannot think on such things presently. Bothwell is the captain of my guard. He is the most logical choice to task him with the responsibility of the prince’s safety—and for mine. I trust him; he is one of few people of whom I can say that about.”

  I winced at her cutting words. There was a time when I was one of those trusted people. Did she not believe that anymore?

  “You ask how I can pose such a question at this time. I will tell you. I suspect that Lord Bothwell had something to do with the murder of the king. I see the way he looks at you. I see how he conducts himself around you. He is a mixed bag of obedient servant and commanding leader. He is loyal to you and will do anything that you command. Yet, he thrives on your powerlessness and inability to protect yourself.”

  Mary’s eyes flashed, and immediately I could tell that I had hit upon something.

  “You sound rather presumptuous. What makes you say such things? What emboldens you to speak of a man that you have scarcely been around? How do you know these things?”

  “I saw it from the moment I laid eyes upon him at your breakfast table five years ago. From the moment I met him, I knew he had designs toward you. What is frightening is that he is just the type of man who will succeed at whatever he puts his mind to. And you have played right into his hand. You allow him too much liberty. And a man with much liberty will always strive for more. Take heed, my lady. Do not entangle yourself too closely with this man. Call to mind your own words at how dangerous he can be. Wisdom demands that you exercise caution. For the sake of your prince and your throne, go nowhere with him.”

  A mixture of anger and hurt crossed Mary’s face, and I knew not whether my words had taken their desired effect on the queen or had strengthened her resolve.

  I would never know, for within seconds of finishing my sentence, a servant burst in. “Lord Bothwell has been taken away, at this very moment! He’s been accused of plo
t and part in the murder of the king!”

  ~32~

  April 1567

  I had heard enough. I removed myself from Ainslie’s tavern where I and thirty other clergy and noblemen had been invited to dine with the pardoned Bothwell. Returning to my lodgings, I scrawled a quick note to Mary, asking for an audience with her as soon as possible.

  I finally received word from Mary two days later. She was not in Edinburgh but would be returning in three days and arranged to meet me once she arrived.

  I bid my time in much angst as I awaited my appointment with the queen. I saw little of anyone, took my meals in my room, and kept to myself for the better part of my time. However, four days after the meeting at Ainslie’s tavern I decided to step out for some air and dine at the Hoary Oak. I found a quiet corner and settled in, hoping to take my meal in peace.

  I had almost succeeded in my singular endeavors when I heard a familiar voice speak my name. I looked up to see Lord Fleming, another of Bothwell’s invited dinner guests, staggering toward me with his wooden tankard still in hand. He smelt of whiskey, and he looked as though he had slept in the same clothes for a week.

  “Thomas, my good man.” He patted my back as he took a seat across from me. His speech was slightly slurred, and his eyes were bloodshot. I had never seen him this disheveled.

  “Fleming, what the devil has happened to you?”

  “Ah, Thomas, the more important question is, what happened to you? Where did you disappear to after Ainslie’s the other night?”

  “I couldn’t bear to hear Bothwell’s scheming any longer. It makes me ill to think about it, even now.”

  “Aye. You made a wise decision, leaving when you did. I wish I had been so wise. I have sold my soul to the devil.” He took a swig from his tankard then slammed the cup down heavily on the table. His eyes closed momentarily, and I thought he was going to go to sleep right there sitting up.

  “What mean ye?” I prompted. When he did not answer right away, I nudged him and repeated my question.

  “Bothwell, or Lucifer, as I like to call him.” He closed his eyes again, and I waited a second longer before prodding him again.

  “What about Bothwell? What has he done?”

  “He had a bond drawn up further acquitting him of all charges regarding the murder of the king. It also stated that he was the best choice to free Scotland from England’s grasp, and declared that he and the queen should be married.”

  “But he is already married!”

  “Aye, but that hasn’t stopped him. His wife has agreed to give him a divorce. From what I hear, she has grounds for it, that’s for sure.” He swished the remaining whisky around in his cup then took another mouthful.

  “I knew he was plotting something, but I can’t believe he actually took it so far as to suggest marriage to the queen. And a bond? Did anyone support it?”

  “Aye. Every man present signed.”

  “What? By your troth?” A slight buzzing hummed in my veins as serious alarm pushed me to the edge of explosion. “Fleming! By God, what happened?”

  The man looked as though he was about to have a mental breakdown. I softened my tone and tried again. “John, please. Tell me what happened at Ainslie’s.”

  “The man is an agent of the devil. But he’s good, mind you, he’s really good, Thomas.” He pointed his finger at me with these last words, then let his hand drop heavily upon his arm, followed by his head upon the other arm.

  I motioned for a server to bring some food. It was apparent that I was not going to get any more information from Fleming until he sobered up. After he took a little sustenance, I resumed my questioning. “Fleming, how did Bothwell managed to get every single lord to stand behind him?”

  He wiped his mouth with his sleeve, then stole another sip from his tankard. Luckily, I had convinced him to give the whiskey a rest and switch to a watery ale.

  “The man must have eyes and ears everywhere. He knew things about every single man in the room. When men started protesting his self-nomination as Mary’s next husband and Scotland’s next king, he began spouting tales, one after another of man after man. Tales of thievery and adultery—even murder. Things that no man would want brought to light and would pay any price to keep hidden. Every man has a price, and Bothwell had the coin to pay it.”

  “Even you?” The question surprised me when it spilled from my lips, but it was too late. However, Fleming didn’t seem surprised at all.

  “Aye, Thomas. I am not proud of it, but I have a family to protect, so even I paid the ultimate price to keep Bothwell quiet.”

  I nodded my head in understanding, but I had no idea what sin Fleming was guilty of. All I knew was that Bothwell was more dangerous than I had imagined. “The earl put you in a hard place, but I know you do not support this. I see that in your misery. Surely there are others who felt forced to compromise.”

  “Aye, I know of quite a few. They’re good men. But we are all weak in the flesh at times. Perhaps if you had stayed, you could have stood up to Bothwell. I know he would have nothing to ruin you with.”

  Perhaps, but only because he knew not my heart. If the Almighty were to choose to reveal my heart and mind to Bothwell, I too would have had to pay for my sins.

  “Fleming, can you draw up a list of names for me? The names of those men whose hearts have not been turned to Bothwell?”

  “Aye, I can.”

  I stood and laid my hand on his shoulder. “Good. Prepare that list, and I will stop by and get it from you tomorrow. Now, go home. Clean yourself up. Get some rest. We’ll talk more when you are rested.”

  The next morning couldn’t come fast enough. I needed to talk to Mary. I was tightening the saddle on Achaius in preparation for my meeting with her when I heard the hard and speedy hoofbeats of a rider in haste. I turned to see a young man with a wild expression on his face. He quickly halted and spat out his news so fast that I had to implore him to slow down and start over.

  “My lord, Sir William Maitland has sent me with an urgent message. The queen…she has been abducted. She has been borne away to Dunbar Castle.”

  “Bothwell!” I spat his name like a curse then alighted Achaius in an instant. “Were they alone? How long ago?” I couldn’t decide what information I needed most.

  “Nay, my lord. Not alone. Bothwell has an army with him. About an hour ago. I came as quickly as I could. Truly, my lord.”

  “Of course you did, son. Take a minute or two to catch your breath, and then ride and tell Maitland that I’m heading to Dunbar.”

  “Yes, sir! May God be with you.” Admirably, he turned about swiftly and headed back from the way he came.

  I spurred Achaius into action just as quickly. I couldn’t help the wisp of fear that I might be too late. That I hadn’t been able to protect Mary after all.

  ***

  The imposing fortress walls of Dunbar Castle loomed before me as I finally approached by early evening. The scene was utter chaos outside of Dunbar. At least a hundred soldiers milled about the outer court, and another hundred or so lined the roads leading to the castle. Rumor said there were at least five hundred more soldiers within. The massive walls, which had been destroyed and rebuilt time and time again over the centuries, served its purpose well: to keep the queen within and everybody else out. Built on Dunbar Harbor, and surrounded on three sides by the North Sea, the castle was practically impenetrable.

  One thing blatantly stood out to me the closer I came to the castle. Where were Mary’s retainers? The men who swore allegiance to her and promised protection? Had they all turned to Bothwell?

  I had ridden Achaius hard but slowed as I approached the castle. The hair on the back of my neck stood on end, and I sensed that something was amiss. As I came closer, several retainers on horseback surrounded me and demanded I state my name and my business there. My name barely left my lips when one of them seized Achaius and pulled us forward.

  “What is the meaning of this?” I demanded.

 
“We have orders to bring you directly to Lord Bothwell.” A short man, with a pointy yellow beard, spoke first.

  “And you are…?” I pinned the man with a glaring look while I continued to maintain a hold on Achaius’ reins. If they arrested me it wasn’t about to be like a lamb to the slaughter.

  The man and his horse stood down momentarily, as he mumbled, “My apologies, Reverend Broune, but we were given strict instructions to bring you straightway, should you happen to come to Dunbar.”

  “I’m delighted,” I said dryly. “I want to speak to Bothwell as well. But my priority is my queen, and I wish to see her first and foremost.”

  The man shifted uneasily on his mount and gave a sideways glance to the guard next to him. Clearing his throat, he spoke with more authority. “Lord Bothwell would see you first.” With that he pulled on Achaius again. I slackened my hold on the reins and allowed us to be led without contest to the destination they desired for me, for it was apparent that I had no other choice.

  The inner walls of Dunbar were just as imposing as the outer. Dark and dank, the uninviting atmosphere reeked of isolation and despair. Adorned with the swords and shields of generations of fighting earls, even the rebuilt walls of the past decade gave off an ancient, melancholy feel.

  I followed the man with the pointy yellow beard, whose name I learned was Douglas. We encountered very few staff as we wove our way in and out of several rooms and two long flights of stairs. Upon arrival at what I deemed must be the uppermost part of the castle, we finally entered a room alive with a burning fire and wall hangings slightly more appealing than dead men’s weaponry. At last we saw two servants. The man, who appeared to be a valet of sorts, was assisting Bothwell in his partial state of undress, as the maid departed with a bowl of murky water and a rumpled towel folded over her forearm. Feeling as though we had intruded upon his privacy, I averted my eyes and began to inspect the green and scarlet tapestry that hung nearest my head. When he finally acknowledged our presence, his breeches were fastened, and he had donned a light gray tunic that still hung loose about his waist. His slightly damp hair was swept back, away from his forehead; an almost kempt look for the man who always appears to be weather-beaten.