by Donald Smith
I am reduced to making daily notes, so much has happened so fast. To what end we know not. God himself abides the outcome.
Seton
Our times are in His hand. Seton will keep vigil in the Chapel with Her Majesty tonight in remembrance of King Francis her former husband.
Beaton
There has been little sleep and much merriment for three nights, but before the day ends, Livingston has promised, with Fleming and I helping, to describe the marriage, for I can write no longer.
Livingston
At five o’clock on the first morning we dressed Mary in her mourning gown with the wide black hood and her white veil. Though we took a little wine, we abstained from food. When all was ready lords Lennox and Athol attended at her chambers in full ceremonial costume and led the Queen to the Chapel Royal.
There we waited with the Dean of Restalrig and other priests until the Duke of Albany was brought by the same lords. He was arrayed in gold and silver and bore himself proudly. As the banns were read for the third time, the lords and Ladies entered behind until the Chapel was almost full. A notary recorded that none spoke against the banns or gave any cause why the marriage should not proceed.
The vows were spoken in the Catholic rite. Three rings were placed on Mary’s fingers. They knelt. The musicians sang and many prayers were spoken. Then Darnley rose and taking a kiss withdrew to her chamber while the Mass was said.
Coming out from the Chapel into the general apartments, Mary gathered many round her, and at her invitation, though displaying reluctance, each drew out a pin from her garments, signifying an end to her mourning. Then we closed around her and taking her aside robed her anew in blue and gold with a shining headpiece in silver satin. But she did not go to bed, saying to us all that she did not marry for lust but for the sake of her kingdom.
Feasting followed with the whole Court in attendance. They went to the balcony to show themselves to the people. Trumpets were sounded and largesse scattered to the cheering multitude. The Heralds processed to the gates and proclaimed their Majesties King Henry and Queen Mary to rule jointly in both their names. This was heard in silence within the company, none saying ‘Amen’, save only my Lord of Lennox who cried ‘God Save His Grace.’
Then the King and Queen were led to table, sitting to left and right at the head. Each was served by three earls as carver, cupbearer, and taster. When all was done the tables were taken out and dancing began, followed by supper and music and dancing, till they went to bed.
And so it continued for two further nights. We saw the new masque of ‘Diana Despoiled’, which Maister Buchanan produced in celebration of Lord Lennox’s triumph. There were numerous players with singers, acrobats and fools, such as we have not seen since leaving France. The Queen’s fool Margritte ran about crying ‘give me a bairn’, while beating the men with her wand.
Beaton
But who will call him King Henry, when all can see he is plain Darnley still? Though mightily pleased and condescending to all, especially the Marys.
Maister Knox added his own commemoration of the wedding, by preaching against ‘balling, dancing and banqueting’ while the things of God lie barren and neglected. ‘Carnal marriages,’ he said, ‘begin in happiness but end in tears’, though he pretends not to touch on the present case. The Marys would have been disappointed with his approval. But Darnley was muttering in his cups that he would slit that scarecrow’s godly windpipe, if he did not give over croaking.
Royal Marriage
Scotland, 1565–1567
Mary
A GREY SUMMER day without diversion. Darnley is asleep after staying up late drinking. I call a groom and ride out of Holyrood on my favourite mare. Along the dykes we go towards the river, when something turns me back in the direction of the Castle. I slip up the hill at a trot and canter through the gatehouse.
There are royal rooms here which I have not used. More secure, I suppose, than the Abbey, but exposed to the east wind even in a milder season. The guards are startled to see their Queen so anonymous, but I pass through the portcullis and up the stony road, leaving my horse outside the inner gate.
My mother sought refuge here, and tried to govern from this ancient fortress. They blockaded her in, and abandoned their Queen even in her illness. My Scottish lords.
She must have walked in this courtyard and along these high ramparts.
Until you could walk no longer.
King David’s Tower stands high above me, but spread out all around are the hills, the plain, the river unrolling like a map. If man could fly as a bird this is where he should circle and wheel over the earth. Free, so free and light in the air. Like a winged spirit.
I should come here more often, away from Court, to where I can be alone. But then they would follow me. I am not permitted to be by myself any longer.
He is a handsome gallant. His accomplishments would shine in France. He bore Elizabeth’s sword of state. When we dance together, he draws admiring eyes.
When he lies tangled in the sheets, unconscious, he breaks into a sweat and I wonder if he is ill again. Is that a strange odour in the air? He is my husband and comes to my bed when and how he pleases.
We are not able to talk together about what is most important.
The old chapel is neglected. Inside is dusty, with stools and benches stacked as if in store. The Blessed Sacrament is absent yet it is peaceful and sheltered. Queen Margaret knelt before this altar, and prayed for the rough King of Scots whom she had wed. She was a stranger to this land, fleeing from the storm. But her heart was for the poor, the orphaned, and for the children she gave Scotland. So many Kings and Queens came from her womb.
Saint Margaret of Scotland. Her faith gave strength and consolation. She sought solitude. Pray for me, Margaret. Pray for me, Mary. Pray for me, Mother. For you know my hopes and my fear.
Elizabeth will not aid me. She will not recognise my right or take me to her heart. Perhaps she is afraid, alone at the centre of Cecil’s web. Yet she is free and unwed. I cannot count on her help, even when that is what she wants to give. She cannot live by her own desires.
Lady Lennox is royal, descended, like me, from Henry Tudor. Does she think kindly of me when my own family leaves me to fend for myself? My own mother lost to me. She is the mother of my husband, a new King Henry. We are all Stewarts and Tudors also, thistles and roses entwined.
She sent me Darnley. My fresh-faced long limbed wooer, determined to please and gain his place. And I was charmed, seduced by his attentions. She is sent to the Tower for her part in my marriage, yet prison is nothing to such a woman if her ambition is finally fulfilled.
What does her jewel mean, her enigmatic gift? I have worn it inside my bodice these last days, and open its encrusted crown when alone or pensive. Two hearts joined by a love knot and pierced by Cupid’s arrows. ‘What we resolve’.
MSL: Matthew and Margaret; Lennox and Stewart. Does love provide the key? Is Darnley my cipher?
Open again, within the winged heart. Beneath are engraved hands and the horn, a skull and crossbones. ‘Death shall dissolve’. Only death; though even death may not dissolve the bond of love, if we are faithful beyond the grave.
Close one lid, then the next, all enwrapped in a golden heart inscribed with a Crown, which is borne aloft by Faith, Hope, Truth and Triumph. For surely these shall, no should, overcome. Then at the centre of the labyrinth – ‘Who hopes still and endures, shall win the prize of their pretence.’
To what do we pretend, other than the thrones of England and of Scotland joined as one? That is what Lady Lennox wants, and all of Europe supports my cause, except Cecil who would have me Queen of Nowhere. Even the Protestants want our two kingdoms made into one, if I will renounce religion. Randolph boasts openly that one Mass is but a feather in the scale against the wealth of London.
Beaton taunts and teases him, because she knows he will never have her hand. Does Randolph take to her bed? Opposites attract, and sometimes affinities
repulse one another. I used to condemn such behaviour.
Is Lady Margaret instructing me to forsake all else for love of her son? Or does she hint at a concealed purpose? No insensate jewel can answer such questions; only the heart against which it leans. And my heart is unknown, though my own.
I cannot stay any longer, confined by this dusty stone. I do not want to be calm or still, when my rule is threatened, my marriage attacked. I must act like a Queen and enforce my will. Those who believe I am supine before their lordly whim will receive a sharp lesson. I am like you, Mother, in self-command, but have also learned that there is a time to strike back and show no weakness. I am born to rule, this nation at the least, and will not deny my birthright for any man. I shall be a Queen first and foremost.
Clerks bring another pile of charters, papers for signature, orders of Council. Yesterday’s mountain still towers unfinished. He takes himself off for three days hunting, without a word. Henry and Marie, King and Queen of Scotland; when His Majesty deigns to address state business. Everything is left to me without a thought or backward glance. Refused my bed he goes rooting elsewhere for his pleasures.
Maitland says we should make a stamp of his signature and apply it at our own convenience.
‘Is that not forgery?’
‘No, for we are reproducing what is authentic.’
‘How do I know you are not copying my signature as well?’
‘Your Majesty knows that would be impossible, it is so distinctive.’
‘I see you have studied the question.’
He examines me with his soulful eyes, gauging my mood. It is lighter since he came to relieve my struggles. I have paid little attention to Maitland in recent months, but his small, bustling figure contains kindness and great insight.
As we are together privately in the charter room, I ask him to weigh the factions, now that Moray is openly defiant. I have done this so many times in my head, but it is reassuring to hear it in another’s voice. He reinvents the world in patterns of the mind, making slight precise gestures and taking off his bonnet to show graying hair and a deeply lined brow.
For the Earl of Moray, there is Hamilton, Argyll, Glencairn, Lindsay, Boyd and Ochiltree, father of Knox’s new bride. And worst of all Kirkcaldy, whose Protestant allegiance seems to overtop all his gallantry. I thought I knew William Kirkcaldy as a faithful friend.
Yet Hamilton might send men, and waver at home in Lanarkshire. If Argyll is threatened in his homeland, he will withdraw westwards into the mountains and leave Glasgow to my loyal subjects. We reckon like a merchant’s tally.
‘For Your Majesty, there is Athol, Lennox, Errol, Lindsay, Ruthven, Morton, Seton, Home and countless gentlemen. It is a goodly number, though Hamilton and Argyll can each count on an army.’
My husband brings in the Stewarts by his father, and the Douglas by his mother. But I did not expect Morton himself to join my party. Maitland noted my surprise.
‘Lady Douglas has surrendered her claim to the Earldom of Angus to Morton’s nephew. Now he can strip the lands and rents for his own profit.’
‘That is the key to Morton’s support for my marriage. And his Protestant soul,’ I reflected bitterly.
‘I expect religion plays small part in his case.’
There was humour and a barb in his reply.
‘You are right. I apologise, Maitland. The rebels call on Elizabeth to help them. An English army might tip the scales against me.’
‘But we shall write and remind Her Majesty of England that all Christian Princes will be ranged against her, if she aids treasonous revolt. She abhors disobedience. And what if Spain or France were to come to your side by attacking England?’
‘Will they?’
‘No, but thinking they might should be enough to keep the English border secure.’
Again a wry smile played over the Secretary’s neat features, which seem somehow compressed within his round face.
‘Moray believes Elizabeth will send weapons and money because Cecil and Leicester urge it.’
‘Forgive me, Your Majesty, but it is a fault in your brother to presume that others estimate him at his own valuation.’
‘Even Knox has tempered his fires this time.’
‘He has fallen out of love with Moray, but no one believes that the Protestant faith is threatened by your marriage, not even Master Knox, the fount of every godly fear and suspicion.’
It is a relief to be so frank on this subject, which was impossible when Moray shared our counsels.
‘I have promised not to overturn the order of religion, Maitland, and I am sincere.’
‘Of course. Yet it might be prudent to reissue your proclamation on religion.’
‘Not if I have to sign one more official paper.’
‘In this way you will isolate the preachers, and separate the rude propagandists from their patrons. The populace hungers for calumny and filthy imputations.’
‘The poor priests have been spattered with eggs, beaten, and worse, in the High Street of my capital. It is vile and disgusting. One day this will have an end.’
‘It is Your Majesty’s person, not the priests for whom I am anxious. Be politic, Highness, always politic, for we will not fathom the multitude.’
Maitland resumed his bonnet and turned back to the papers.
‘What else have I been, Secretary, since the nursery, except politic?’
Walking is the best thing at Holyrood, because the garden is so green. When the sun comes out, my roses and the summer beds show brightly against the foliage. Did you think of that when you planted out these borders? The foliage is never so brilliant in France except in spring.
Darnley came back to me yesterday like a child needing comfort and forgiveness. His bouts of dissipation waste his health, but I can take him in my arms like a nursemaid. He is tender then, happy to rest and be gentle. I took him breakfast in my chamber, so that I could serve him myself and we could gossip as we used to do when he came first to Court. He wants to meet the French ambassador with me today.
Why has the Medici sent her ambassador here? What does she want of me now that my marriage is done? It is good though to have news from France.
We sit together in the garden to enjoy the sun with wine and raisins. France wants me to negotiate with Moray and prevent a war against England. The French care only for what you can smell from Paris. They do not understand our nation. This is not some family falling out, but unlawful rebellion. If Moray and Knox have their way there will be no King or Queen other than a puppet crown. They want power to rule the commonwealth, as they style it, without reference to God’s appointed rulers. Every crowned head in Europe is in danger from their heresy.
I shall not compromise but crush them, otherwise there will be no peace in this realm and I will spend every day looking behind me, trembling for an assassin’s blow. Let the Medici consider that instead of France’s convenience.
Darnley supports me in everything I say but goes further, urging a Catholic league between France and Spain to reassert royal supremacy throughout Christendom.
Between the normal ambassador purrings, I saw Castlenau look shrewdly through Darnley as if to say, ‘and I wonder whose supremacy is uppermost in your mind, young man.’ Then he turned that keen gaze on me and asked how I would defeat the rebels.
‘Will you risk a war?’
This was the moment of error, as in the course of our inconsequential chatter that morning I had not told Darnley of my decision.
‘To play for time would be to surrender my queenship. I have freed young Huntly from prison and restored the Earldom to his name. As you know, Ambassador, the Gordon following matches that of either Argyll or the Hamiltons, and they ascribe the downfall of their father, the former Earl, to Moray. I have also recalled the Earl of Bothwell from exile. He will command my army, since he is a valiant and experienced soldier – a match, I believe, for Kirkcaldy.’
‘And no lover of my Lord Moray,’ murmured the ambassador
in appreciation of the hostile forces I was unleashing on my errant brother. He will think differently in the future of this young and untried queen.
‘Bothwell,’ spat Darnley, ‘in command. Over my dead body will that earringed pirate order about a Lennox Stewart.’
The Ambassador looked shocked. I was angry but unmoved, refusing to reply. So he hurled his goblet to the ground and stormed off shouting for a horse. There ends our reconciliation.
‘My husband is young, Ambassador, and at times impetuous.’
‘Indeed.’
‘By combining Huntly and Bothwell, north and south, against the rebels, I believe I can defeat them.’
‘Your Majesty should have been born a man. Yet what a loss that would have been to the Pantheon of Beauty.’
Every word of this conversation, amplified and embroidered, will be repeated at the Louvre, to general satisfaction.
Darnley met later with Castlenau, and asked him to request the order of St Michael and an invitation to visit the French Court as King of Scots. He spoils everything with willful pride. Fleming tells me that boasting one night of being King of England, he swore all the Protestants in Scotland were nothing compared to the English Catholics who would support him. Who can restrain or control his foolishness?
He is friendly with Rizzio – perhaps my dear David can temper this rashness. Or James Balfour whose company he also seeks. But I do not trust Balfour: he has already turned his coat against Moray. I must ask Maitland’s advice, and not let him drift from my side at any cost. He is shrewd and farseeing in his myriad minded fashion.
Bothwell is back, pacing into the audience room like some animal returned into the wild. There is a spring in his step, only partially curbed. He comes straight forward and kneels, as if the last year in exile had never been. I give him my hand.
‘Majesty, I shall be your champion against all.’