The Ballad of the Five Marys

by Donald Smith

  I said I would wait a while for her answer, but that in the meantime we should fetch Prince James from Stirling, and put him under the same strong protection enjoyed by Her Majesty. She agreed to this and I departed.

  The Queen was pale and strained without her usual bloom. It was not a love match I offered, but alliance with a statesman and soldier. She was no longer the girl but a mature woman in need of a husband – a Queen without strength of arms unless some nobleman provide them.

  While Mary pondered my plea – not, surely, unexpected as she pretended – events were moving against us. Morton was wavering despite signing the Ainslie bond. Kirkcaldy was openly calling for the Queen to be wrested from the hands of the late King’s murderers. William the ever upright, but a man to be reckoned with nonetheless. Could he not have rested content breeding little Granges? Argyll had withdrawn from Court, and Athol too. But I could cow them into submission, once the main thing was grasped.

  The time for action had arrived, and I am the man to strike boldly when the time is right. To gamble when the stakes are high. Earl Bothwell always in the foremost. Keep faith.

  Maitland of Lethington

  I HAVE COME Home tonight to Lethington with thankful relief. Today I looked death in the face and lived, but only through Mary’s gracious intervention. He would have cut me down like some beggar in his path, or a quivering hind pinioned by hounds. There is no mercy in his nature, and now he has the Queen herself in his power.

  Yesterday began normally enough with Her Majesty’s visit to Stirling. Melville and I were of the party with Mar and a modest escort. We were hospitably received at the Castle though Mary surprised the company by asking for James to be given over to her care in Edinburgh. Mar’s genial face closed at that request, since his mind read this as Bothwell’s care, and so did others present. He filled an awkward silence by saying that he would need the full Council’s written authorisation, before surrendering his guardianship. Mary reddened but restrained any impulse to anger, seeming to accept this refusal.

  We went up to the nursery to find a screaming infant vigorously rocked in a vain attempt at pacification. She had the child onto her knee and danced him out of his fury. You could see the Stewart blood in his colour and his temper. A fine roistering bairn. He was unfamiliar with his mother, and so curious. She patted and petted with a will, till the nurse took him back for feeding. It was affecting to see the reluctance with which she gave the little prince over. When he had gone she sat a while and rocked the empty cradle.

  It was time to set off for Edinburgh, but the Queen became indisposed with the old pains in her side, so we stopped for the night at Linlithgow in order that she could rest. Starting off again this morning we approached the Almond Bridge, to find a large body of horsemen gathered there. Bordersmen with Bothwell at their head.

  He splashed through the water onto our bank, and warned us of an ambush on the road into town, aiming at Her Majesty’s capture or destruction. Dispatching a messenger to the Provost, Mary agreed to go into East Lothian with the Earl’s escort. When I questioned the necessity, and the source of this reported ambush, he rode his horse between me and the Queen, took her bridle and led her over the river.

  We had no choice but to follow on, riding hard for Dunbar, where the castle was fully garrisoned and clearly ready to receive us. As soon as Mary had dismounted and gone inside, both Melville and I protested at this barefaced abduction of Her Majesty. Contemptuously Bothwell turned Melville’s horse at the head and slapping its rear quarters sent it galloping out the gate. Then he pulled me out of the saddle and put his dagger to my neck. He was within an inch of driving it home when Mary herself appeared, hurrying over the yard to interpose herself between the Earl and his murderous intent. Reluctantly he lowered the blade and at her insistence stepped back, leaving me free to mount and ride away after Melville.

  Never have I felt death’s chill so near. I am expecting Fleming hourly. I need her embrace like a child roused from sleep by bad dreams. But this is no fantasy from which we can suddenly awaken; we are trapped in our own worst fears.

  Sister Beth

  ‘SISTER ELIZABETH, BETH.’

  ‘Leave me be.’

  ‘I have a warm posset for you, Sister.’

  ‘God strike me down, your reverence, I just closed my eyes for a moment.’

  ‘It’s me, Francesca, your novice once, Sister.’

  ‘Could you not have said before, lassie, and spared me the fright. What is it you want? ’

  ‘Look, I have warm milk with spices and a lace of brandy.’

  ‘God bless you, child, for I’m far spent. Are we writing today?’

  ‘We haven’t written for weeks, Sister, you’ve been so poorly.’

  ‘Have I? Well, God knows, I’ve cause. But we must write. There are things I have to tell before, well before. I can’t bear them on my own any longer. It’s too hard. Have you got your quill? Sit down beside me and keep an old woman company. Don’t leave me till we have it all scribed.’

  ‘Is it about the Queen?’

  ‘Aye, and other things? Where will I start?’

  ‘With Earl Bothwell, after Darnley’s murder.’

  ‘There’s no play without the Devil, right enough. He was home again, married to Jean Huntly and riding high. I provided for the wedding feast at Crichton. Hundreds of deer were slaughtered; mountains of salmon broiled. Then Darnley was blown up and throttled at the Kirk o’ Field. Nothing like making certain, to be sure.’

  ‘Was Bothwell guilty?’

  ‘In it up to his neck, but never alone. They all wanted rid of that pocky lad, including Mary, though she never spoke her mind outright. So our Jamie decided he would speak it for her. It was like cauld kail re-het, for this was Earl Patrick’s aim, to marry the widow. Only Jamie was more willing to force his suit. Pat would upend a serving lass though not a Queen; our bold boy had no like scruples. The Edinburgh crowd was already naming him assassin, so he had to get her in his hands before anything was proved against him. He kidnapped her on the road from Stirling and brought her here to Dunbar.’

  ‘We’re in Haddington, at the Convent House.’

  ‘I know that, booby, but then I was at Dunbar. They made it a fearful rocky place, safe by sea and land. It was Signor Ubaldino’s work, that dear man.’

  ‘Why were you at Dunbar?’

  ‘He had me brought there to manage the household after his sister left. And to prepare for entertainment. Which shows he knew who was coming.’

  ‘The Queen.’

  ‘Aye, Queen Mary herself, the bonnie lass – woman I suppose. And long like her mother with the supple limbs and thick auburn hair when she let it down. She had beauty, that’s the plain truth, even in that plight. Widowed, kidnapped, and denied her own counsellors and servants. That was what he needed to exercise his wiles. To have her in his power alone. He planned it all like some thieving raid.’

  ‘Did he, you know, Sister?’

  ‘I’m failing, Francesca, my glass is running out. So I want you to put this down in words. Not my kind of words, like gossip, but church words, book words. It’s on my conscience and I can’t rest easy till I spit it out. Who knows the next bout might be my last. It’s burning in my chest, but I think a sup of wine might ease me after the posset. Good girl. Are you ready? I need to remember, and settle my accounts.

  ‘He chased off Melville and then Maitland. They shot out of Dunbar like ponies on the bolt. I showed the Queen up to her chamber. It was next to Bothwell’s. She had no female attendant apart from me. I was her Mary, so I made all comfortable and ordered supper to be served for her and his lordship in private.

  ‘They sat late, Francesca, I swear, arguing and discussing. Those were no love birds. Then he goes into his chamber. But he went to her in the night – sheets tell their own tale – and she took him into her bed. Why give way to him? She a queen and he but a needy earl who had snatched her in the country like a reiver. Aye but he had something that swerved wome
n into his arms. There was the Danish woman who lived at Morham believing he would marry her. There was that wee whore he wynched in Haddington, when Lady Jean proved cold. And there was some French hussy of high degree who possessed his body and wanted more. Her letters and poems were lying in his bedchamber at Dunbar. I only know a few French words but they were all in those letters. I’m not saying Mary Stewart loved him but she felt desire, in Dunbar at least. I should know.

  ‘Not that she got much by it, all the same. He was off after two nights in the love nest to Edinburgh. It was not her body he wanted but her hand in marriage. He had the first and was impatient to grab the second. Where the bold Pat had failed he would triumph, the Hepburns would never look back. It was too valuable a prize to let slip love dallying.

  She was weepy when he left, and lay abed. I cosseted her with cordials and sweetmeats. She lapped up the attention like a child denied affection. She was a lovely woman, and used to command, but conscience troubled her peace. Put that down clearly, lass, I know the signs all too well. He was married and she barely a widow. Most of all she craved rest, and release from fear. She had enough and more than enough trouble for one lifetime. James Hepburn seemed safe harbour from a storm of dangers.

  ‘It’s a strange thing, Francesca. Women can command better than any man. And see how things need to be arranged. As I should know as well as anyone. But times we surrender without reason. She was in that state, wanting to lose her will, for a while at least. God knows she paid a sore price.

  ‘For twelve days she rested in my care. But then the Earl returned with a great following. He shut himself up in her chamber. But not to woo, not our Jamie; I had my ear to the door. It was all about divorces with legal papers from the Court and from the Church. He said his union to Lady Jean Gordon was banned by the Pope so he had to divorce, which was odd reasoning for a Protestant. But I would swear, Francesca, that they had a dispensation for the marriage. Aye and what about Bothwell himself? Some rumoured he was Marie de Guise’s bairn which made Mary half sib. They never asked the Holy Father about that. But folk would smear anything with foul, sticky tongues. Pat got nowhere near the Guise’s bed.

  ‘They set out for Edinburgh in state, to enter the capital together. He was already King in his mind’s eye and bore himself like the master. He had waited a long time for this moment and nothing would sour it. She looked neither left nor right, like someone whose course had been set by fate.’

  ‘Was that the last you saw of them?’

  ‘Of the Queen, God help her. He came running back later, but I’d gone. Couldn’t look at him. Shall never see his devil face again.’

  ‘Are you alright, Sister? Shall I write anything more?’

  ‘I’ve never spoken about it. There was no one I could tell before.’

  ‘Don’t. We’ll have some supper. Drink this now, you’re white.’

  ‘I need no drink, may it never pass my lips again. Listen to me, lassie. When he had gone off with his new conquest to play the King, they released a woman from the cellars. She had been down there since I arrived to make all ready for the royal arrival. You could see why. She was beautiful beyond describing, with golden hair and a full mature figure. Not young but still in her prime. Yet she had a lost look about her, the empty eye. This was his bed skivvy when nothing else would serve. They said she had been kept at Hermiston, and brought here when Dunbar became his stronghold. They named her Christine Sinclair. Write that clearly.

  ‘She was no Sinclair. I knew her, as God’s my witness, the minute I set eyes on her bonny face, for my own child taken so many years before to Hermiston. She was wandering about now like some lost calf bleating for its cow. Where was Earl Jamie? She had few words but repeated them over and again. They told her he had gone to Edinburgh to marry the Queen. I can hear that cry still tearing at my breast. Like she herself had been torn from it so long before.

  ‘They tried restraining her. I watched like one turned to stone. Then she ran out the postern. I had to sit down and force breath back into my body.’

  ‘Did you make yourself known to her, Sister?’

  ‘They brought her body back the next day. She had walked into the sea and lain down beneath the cold salt waves.’

  ‘God be merciful to you and yours.’

  ‘I had her in my arms again. I helped to lay her out. We stripped off the sodden clothes from that smooth white body. Then we saw.’

  ‘What was it, Sister?’

  ‘Tender flesh, my own flesh, cut and scored. Her skin was scarred across the back and shoulders and on the breast, even on the breast. Red angry weals, raised to the touch. Aye, you may stare. His idea of sport, to inflict pain because she was slave to his will, his filthy passions, laid bare for all to see.

  ‘So she was buried fast, with only my prayers to carry her soul over. But our Lady Mother has pity enough for all her daughters. Her heart can heal, though we cannot forget, nor yet forgive. Come to my old weary arms, lassie. Beth Hepburn has room here for a world of sorrows. Mother Mary be my witness, I never delighted in another’s pain.

  ‘I crawled back here to our house, the old done woman you’ve known so long. And she’s gone to her rest, poor lamb, where I’ll join her shortly. He’s dying in some foreign land, tethered to a post. Bound like a dumb beast. I take no pleasure in it, mind, yet I have no pity either. I save that for my lost bairn, and for Mary Stewart. Our troubles have no end. God has questions to answer too, when all’s said and done.

  ‘Ach, stop greeting. You’ve a kind heart. Pass me over that box of scents. Dab this behind your ears, and we’ll freshen up. I don’t need to be smelly. See that little phial – it’s a fragrant balm. Splash some on my bosom. I’m old meat but I’m not rotten yet.’

  Kirkcaldy of Grange

  THE DARNLEY MARRIAGE was wrong and I opposed it. All I earned for my pains was exile and penury in England with Moray, until Rizzio was dispatched for his trouble and we came home. I kept to Fife and avoided Court. I had good reason to be at home, but equal cause to keep away. Violence breeds more violence; murder begets murder.

  But the old cause comes round again. Government thwarted, the kingdom divided, and amity with England threatened. By sword and Book we steadfast stand. I can hear the good Treasurer urging at my shoulder – time for Kirkcaldys to be up and doing.

  Who could rest with affairs as they stood? The King of Scots had been killed on his sickbed, or strangled attempting to flee. And Her Majesty, his own wife, made no haste to apprehend the culprits. The people were stirred up by dark suspicion. Placards demanded justice, accusing Bothwell and Mary herself of murder. Worse, of whoring herself to her own husband’s killer.

  Then Moray left for France, and I decided to follow, not add to Scotland’s woes through civil war. I thought that was Moray’s motive too, but James Stewart was ever a closed book. How simple I was, content to live secluded on my estates, unaware that half the nobility of Scotland were complicit in the crime. Did Mary know that then? They called no witnesses, for fear their part might be revealed. Even though Lennox demanded justice for his slaughtered son and Elizabeth instructed law from distant London. She should have looked closer to home.

  So Moray thought to make a clean pair of heels in expectation, or hope, of worse to come. And I was minded to go as well until things would mend or smash entirely. Then Maitland came between me and my intent. His messenger arrived, as we were packing to depart. The Queen was in great danger. Bothwell had seized her person and would now secure the crown. He must be stopped for sake of everything we held dear and had fought to maintain.

  How could I refuse such a plea? I rode immediately to Stirling where some of the nobility were gathering to prevent Bothwell and rescue the Queen. Mar came down from the castle to pledge Prince James’ safety. That wee lad was our guarantee now of Scotland’s and England’s future, two Protestant nations.

  Word came that Bothwell had already married the Queen, so we advanced to take Edinburgh. James Balfour was Castle Go
vernor at Bothwell’s bidding, but turned his coat again. A secret Council was held declaring Bothwell the late King’s murderer, on Balfour’s testimony. This was most convenient for them all. Then, pretending still to hold the Castle for Mary, Balfour delayed the advance of her supporters, while urging Bothwell to leave Dunbar as Edinburgh was ready to receive them back.

  In truth the Queen was blackened daily by pulpit and placard. But the deceit worked, drawing Mary’s forces as far as Seton Castle. Bothwell took position on Carberry Hill while we formed below, joined by Argyll’s reinforcements and the Ayrshire earls. Morton was principal, with

  Argyll heading the Protestant interest, but there were Catholics too, such as Athol, who felt Her Majesty mishandled.

  Bothwell came out and rode up and down with his banners defying us to single combat. Young Lindsay began to arm, swearing to avenge his cousin Darnley’s death, but Mary forbade the combat.

  Further parley followed with messages to and fro while the day grew hot. Fortunately we had streams and a well behind us while they baked on the hilltop. I could see men at their edge and rear beginning to slip away, and sent a company of horse round their flank to block off any retreat to Dunbar. We wanted to settle it there to our advantage.

  Concerned for Her Majesty, I offered to go up under a flag of truce. As I approached I saw Bothwell signal to a trooper to shoot, but Mary saw it too and stopped him, reproving the man for bloody treachery. I knew there could be no safety for the kingdom, or for Mary herself, until Hepburn was removed.

  The Queen was wildly clad in a short petticoat that showed her bare legs, and a common bonnet. Yet her cheeks were fired, her hair loose and she seemed in command. I bowed and offered her safe conduct back to Edinburgh and restoration of her government, if she renounced Bothwell. But she refused saying he was her lawful husband and not to be cast off like a worn garment.

  She charged us as rebels, demanding to know why we had risen against her. I said it was because her new husband was condemned for murder of the late King. She said he had been cleared of the charge by judicial process, and that any further matters should be investigated by Parliament not by armed combats or revolts.