The Wild Queen

by Carolyn Meyer

  When I cried out and tried to protect my secretary with my own body—surely they would not kill their pregnant queen!—the one with the pistol held it to my belly and my unborn child. They stabbed Davy over and over until he stopped screaming. Finally, I did too.

  Henry held a dagger but could not bring himself to use it. Someone snatched it away from him and thrust it into Davy’s throat, the final savage blow, leaving the king’s dagger in the victim’s body like the signature on a royal decree: Henry R.

  “It was your wish that he die,” the murderer growled at Henry. “This proves that you were a part of it, and you cannot deny it and lay the fault on others.”

  “You?” I cried. “You ordered this?” I stared at my husband, unable to say anything more. As I grasped that this was all his doing, that he was behind the plot to assassinate my secretary and friend, I seethed with hatred.

  The assassins left, and Henry opened his mouth and closed it again, shaking his head, as though he could not believe it himself. He was plainly not accustomed to such violence and bloodshed.

  “Why have you done this, Henry?” I asked in a low voice, stifling the revulsion I felt for him. “What has David Rizzio done to you to deserve this fate? What have I done, that you use me so ill?” When still he said nothing, I raised my voice. “Answer me!”

  Henry was pale, trembling with a mixture of fear and rage. “I am your husband, and on the day of our marriage you promised to obey me. But you betrayed me with him,” he said, his voice breaking. “Everyone takes me for a cuckold, and they laugh at me and hold me up to ridicule.”

  “I have not betrayed you, you fool!” I cried. But I realized that my life was still in danger. One shout from Henry, and the assassins would return for me. I must use some other approach with him, and I repeated my words in a placating tone. “Henry, I have never betrayed you. I am a loyal wife. What is it you want of me?”

  “You pay me no attention,” he complained, pouting like a petulant child. “You preferred to play cards and make music with that foreigner rather than come to my bed.”

  “It is not for me to come to your bed, my lord, but for you to come to mine,” I reminded him, for that was the way of husband and wife, no matter what their ranks. “Now I beg you, leave me in peace.”

  ***

  I sat in my bedchamber, weak and speechless from shock. Blood was everywhere. In the outer chamber David Rizzio lay dead, his furred damask gown and blue satin doublet slashed to shreds. There were, I learned later, fifty-six stab wounds in his poor body Shortly, several of the assassins returned. I nearly fainted, for I thought they had come for me. Instead, they dragged the body away and flung it down the staircase.

  I did not yet realize that guards had been posted all around; I could not leave, nor could any of my friends come to help me or offer comfort. I was a prisoner.

  No more tears now, I decided. I must think upon revenge. But first—escape!

  The assassins allowed only Lady Huntly, George Gordon’s elderly mother, into my apartment, along with two servants. I was surprised to see her there, for we had once been adversaries. Lady Huntly was the widow of old George Gordon, who had denied me entrance to Inverness Castle, and in the confrontation that followed I had ordered the execution of two of her sons. In an odd twist of fate, Lady Huntly and her son George had later become my supporters. But now, unnerved by what had just happened, I wondered if she might have changed her allegiance once again, and I was on guard.

  When the servants cautiously entered the supper room to clean up the disarray caused when the table was overturned, Lady Huntly quietly delivered a message sent by her son and Lord Bothwell.

  “Earlier this evening in another part of the palace, they heard the shouts and screams coming from the tower,” she whispered. “They had no idea of what was happening, but they believed they too might be in danger and made their escape by a rope let down from a window. They are on their way to Dunbar Castle, but they asked me to assure you that they have vowed to rescue you. We must speak no more of this now.” In a voice intended for the ears of any eavesdroppers, Lady Huntly announced, “Time for you to rest, madam, for the sake of the child as well as yourself!”

  Sleep was surely out of the question. While Lady Huntly dozed, I passed the long night pacing through my chambers, sometimes weeping in sorrow, sometimes barely suppressing my fury.

  In the small hours just before dawn, I heard a timid knock at the door to the secret stair. “Mary, unlock the door.” It was Henry! How dare he come here now! “I have something to say regarding your safety—yours and mine,” he said softly “We must talk. Let me in.”

  I considered for a moment. I despised this man for his cowardice, his arrogance, his treachery He had used me. Now, I thought, I had best use him. I needed to win him over, at least until he publicly recognized the child I carried to be his own. If he insisted it was David Rizzio’s, and he was certainly cruel enough to do so, then my child would be born a bastard.

  I swallowed my loathing, pushed aside the tapestry that concealed the door, and opened it for my husband.

  I had never seen a man appear so frightened and so sorry for what he had done. I believed the fear—his eyes were filled with it. But I was less convinced that he was truly contrite, no matter how much regret he professed. I vented my anger at him without mincing words.

  “Do you have any idea of the wrong you have done me?” I demanded. “Do you really think I can ever forgive you, let alone forget? I find it difficult to believe that you are sincere in your apologies or in the affection you claim to feel.”

  Henry whimpered and repeated again how much he repented of all the harm he had caused. “Perhaps if you were to pretend that you are in labor and about to give birth prematurely, they will take away the guards,” he suggested. “They refuse to listen to me.”

  I was reluctant to trust him, but I did grant that since he claimed to recognize the evil he had done, it was up to him to find a way to get us both out of it.

  I agreed that later I would cry out with pain and we would summon the physician and the midwife. I would send messages to my loyal friends to help me escape. After we settled on a plan, Henry left, and I was about to take some nourishment when my brother the traitorous earl of Moray shoved past the guards and into my outer chamber.

  “Sister!” he exclaimed. “Has any harm come to you?”

  I still harbored a great deal of anger toward him, and I had no reason to trust him any more than I did my husband, but my strength suddenly deserted me. I collapsed, sobbing, into his arms. “Oh, my brother, if only you had been here! I have never been so heartlessly treated!”

  Taking my hand in both of his, Lord Moray knelt before me. “If I had only known, I would have come to you sooner,” he said. “I would have done all in my power to prevent this horror.”

  I did wonder at this, for with so many people engaged in the conspiracy to murder my poor friend Davy, it seemed unlikely that my brother had known nothing about it, and it seemed even more unlikely that he would have done anything to prevent it. Yet I badly needed his support, and it seemed better to leave some things unsaid, at least for now.

  ***

  Later that day I put Henry’s plan into action. I cried out and called for a physician to attend me. After a cursory examination, the physician informed the lords that I would surely miscarry if I did not leave Holyrood. The lords promised to remove the guards if I agreed to sign papers pardoning them. I knew that to reestablish my authority in my kingdom, I would have to forgive many whom I would have much preferred to punish—including those who had plotted the murder of David Rizzio. But first I had to escape from Holyrood. Henry passed along the word that I had signed the necessary papers—a lie; I had not—and the lords, believing him, removed the guards and withdrew for supper.

  As soon as the guards were gone, I smuggled a message through Huntly’s mother to Bothwell and Huntly telling them to wait for me at Seton Palace, ten miles east of Edinburgh. Then I s
ent word to Arthur Erskine, my chief equerry; Thomas Stewart, my captain of the guard; and a page named Anthony—three men I trusted.

  We will meet at midnight in the Canongate cemetery, the messages informed them, referring to the cemetery in the shadow of the old abbey of Holyrood. Have four strong horses saddled, and be ready to ride.

  Chapter 38

  Escape

  TWO DAYS AFTER the terrible murder of David Rizzio, I was ready to make my escape. I prayed that no guards still lurked; that somewhere the rebel lords slept soundly, assured that I had pardoned them; that Erskine and Stewart and my page were waiting with horses and had not been detected; that the messenger had gotten through to Lord Bothwell and Lord Huntly; that my husband would not suddenly turn on me treacherously, as he had in the past. I prayed that all would go well.

  At times I had been betrayed by my own weakness, bursting into tears just at the moment I needed to show strength and resolve. But now I was calm and resolute, confident that I was doing this for my unborn child as well as for myself and for the loyal Scots who revered me as their queen. Still, as the midnight hour drew near, my nerves were taut, and I started when the tapestry concealing the door to the secret stair was pushed aside. Henry and the page Anthony entered my supper room, lately the scene of so much bloodshed.

  They signaled that all was well and it was safe to follow. In silence we made our way first down the secret stair and then down a narrow stair used by servants to reach the palace wine cellar. Anthony lit a single candle to guide us through a musty underground passage. I brushed past spiderwebs, drew in my breath at the scurrying of mice, and emerged at length into the fresh, cold air of the churchyard. By the light of a mist-shrouded moon I made out a fresh grave.

  “Who lies here?” I whispered to the page.

  “Signor Rizzio, madam,” he replied.

  I halted. “I must stop here and offer a prayer for him.”

  “There is no time for that, Mary!” Henry snapped.

  “Then I shall make time,” I said, and dropped to my knees in the damp earth and prayed while Henry paced in a torment of fear.

  The equerry and the captain of the guard were waiting just outside the cemetery with horses, and I was flooded with relief that this first critical piece of the plan had fallen into place. Scarcely speaking a word, we mounted—I rode pillion behind Erskine—and urged the horses into a trot, their hooves echoing much too loudly on the cobblestones of the sleeping city. But no one stirred.

  Once outside the walls, the horses settled into an easy canter toward Seton Palace. Still, I was not truly at ease until we were met on the road by Bothwell and Huntly accompanied by a number of loyal gentlemen called by Bothwell. We all embraced, jubilant that the second piece of the plan had succeeded, changed to fresh horses, and pressed on to Dunbar. It was another three hours’ ride, and we arrived just as dawn was breaking.

  To say that I was exhausted when we reached the royal castle hardly begins to describe my condition. Exhausted, yes, but also exhilarated! In fact, once I had refreshed myself and changed my clothing, seeing that the kitchen staff was not yet on duty, I dispatched several of the noble gentlemen to the henhouse to gather eggs, which I then cooked for them. We sat down to breakfast and ate heartily, congratulating ourselves on our escape.

  Everyone treated King Henry with respect that not a single one of us felt he deserved.

  That night my loyal servant of many years Sir James Melville came to sup with me. In a fit of sadness and gloom, I complained of Henry’s disloyalty and lack of gratitude for all I had done for him. Before I had finished my list of grievances, Melville responded, “It is because of his youth, madam. He is easily misled by those who wish to do evil.” Then he added, “I beg you, Your Majesty, to remember that you yourself chose him, though many were against your choice.”

  It was the wrong thing to say to me. I angrily dismissed my old friend, knowing in my heart that he was right.

  ***

  For several days I rested at Dunbar, a fortress looming high on a cliff above the North Sea. There I felt safe. My loyal supporters, noblemen and lairds alike, began to gather. I issued a proclamation calling for the lairds to muster their troops at Haddington, on the banks of the River Tyne. When I reached Haddington, which someone pointed out was the birthplace of my nemesis John Knox, nearly eight thousand men had assembled there, pledging their support.

  The next day I rode out at the head of my troops. Henry rode beside me. Lord Bothwell, Lord Huntly, and several others accompanied us as we entered Edinburgh and were welcomed with cheers from the common people. No one challenged me. No lives had been lost. I had successfully demonstrated my authority.

  But I could not bring myself to return to Holyrood Palace. The memories of what had happened there, the terror and the bloodshed in my own apartments, were too vivid in my mind. For several nights I stayed with friends inside the city walls until quarters could be prepared for me at Edinburgh Castle, with Turkish carpets on the floors, damask hangings on the walls, and elegant furnishings throughout the queen’s apartments. It had been a long time since any Scottish sovereign had lived in this great fortress; most had chosen Holyrood Palace instead. Holyrood was indeed beautiful, surrounded by lush parks and gardens, but Edinburgh Castle on its high volcanic outcropping was impregnable. Once I was comfortably—and safely—settled there, I turned my attention to punishing those responsible for the murder of David Rizzio.

  First, I had to decide how to deal with my brother Lord Moray. On the one hand I needed his wisdom and support, but on the other hand I did not trust him, and for good reason. He was as treacherous as Henry. Each man believed he, and he alone, should rule Scotland.

  Then I had to deal with my husband. I learned that Henry had written a statement acknowledging his primary responsibility for the plot to murder Rizzio and promising to protect the others whom he had involved in the plot. There was his signature, Henry R, and the date, the seventh of March, two days before Davy had been set upon and stabbed to death. My husband was not innocent, despite his insistence that he was. He had not been led astray by evil men, as others had tried to persuade me. He was guilty, guilty, guilty! I would never trust him again, no matter what promises he made. I would not forget what he had done. And I would never forgive him.

  Everyone knew that my marriage was a shambles, but I had to take care not to make matters worse. I would have been within my rights to have my husband condemned to death for treason, but had I taken that drastic step, Henry might have countered by charging me with adultery—there were still those ready to believe that Davy was the true father of my unborn infant. Until my child was born and Henry had publicly acknowledged it as his own, I could not risk having him declare, in a fit of temper or vengeance, that the child was not his.

  As angry as I was at Henry, I did sometimes remember how I had adored this beautiful young man in the weeks before I had married him, how I had craved him, and—aye, the truth—lusted for him in a shameful way So doting I was, so wildly in love! But the passion had melted away like a late-spring snowfall. Once, I could scarcely bear to be apart from him. Now, I could hardly bear to be in his presence.

  But I could do nothing to get rid of him.

  The one good thing to come of my passion was the infant growing inside me. No matter what was happening, I kept up the pretense that all was well as the time of my confinement drew near. In early June I made the ceremonial withdrawal from all public life, drew up my will should I die in childbirth, arranged for the presence of a midwife, had the infant’s cradle prepared, and settled down to wait.

  Late one night I knew the waiting had ended. My child was about to be born.

  VII. All That Could Have Been and All That Was Lost

  THE EVENTS I DESCRIBE HERE took place long ago. I have been judged guilty of a murder I did not commit, the evidence against me fabricated by those who had everything to gain by depriving me of my rightful place on the throne. Throughout my lonely months of imprisonm
ent I have had ample time to contemplate the joy of motherhood, the wretchedness of an unhappy marriage, the exhilaration of victory, the despair of defeat. And though I confess that I am guilty of many sins, I will maintain until my death that I am innocent of any crime.

  Chapter 39

  Prince James

  ON THE NINETEENTH OF JUNE, 1566, I bore a son and duly named him James. My ladies had faithfully attended me throughout my ordeal, my good midwife had assisted, and the infant was pronounced both healthy and handsome. The big guns of Edinburgh Castle were fired and hundreds of bonfires lit throughout the city and beyond the ancient walls to announce the birth. Everyone rejoiced—from the nobles, who quickly gathered in my state bedchamber, to the humblest peasants pausing in their labors. A prince had been born to Scotland!

  Later that afternoon Henry came to visit me and to inspect his son. I desperately wanted to sleep, but I was most anxious that he acknowledge the boy as his own.

  “My lord,” I said, “God has given us a son.”

  Henry kissed the infant, and I felt immense relief. Perhaps now all would be well. But then, to my disappointment and disbelief, we began to argue about some trifling matter, an argument that quickly escalated. I reminded him that at the time of Rizzio’s murder, one of Henry’s accomplices had held a pistol to my belly. “If the gun had fired,” I cried, “both your son and I would be long dead!”

  It was a sour note on what should have been a happy day, and as soon as my husband left my chamber, I wept.

  The next day the High Kirk of St. Giles was crowded with worshipers from every walk of life, come to give thanks to God for sending the kingdom an heir. Within an hour of the infant’s birth, my friend Sir James Melville was on his way to England to deliver the news to Queen Elizabeth. I wondered how the queen would feel when she learned that I had done what she had not and perhaps never would.