Spy for the Queen of Scots

by Theresa Breslin

  ‘Hopefully this will appease the more militant Protestants,’ Mary told me, ‘and allow John Knox to preach a sermon of conciliation in St Giles.’

  It occurred to me that Rhanza, the maidservant to whom Mary had gifted her ring, might attend St Giles and be willing to let me know what was being said. I decided to speak to her as soon as possible: she would be a useful recruit to help me in my role as spy for the queen.

  Now that Mary had her royal cloth of state above her throne in Holyrood, it was time for her official entry into the city of Edinburgh. As if to make amends for the neglect of her first welcome, her nobles and courtiers organized a superb dinner at Edinburgh Castle, followed by a formal progress down through the city from the castle to Holyrood Palace.

  By this time French cooks were in place in the kitchens, and the meats served for dinner were accompanied by smooth sauces made from fine wine and herbs. One or two of those present made derogatory remarks about French cuisine. Again I wondered at the apparent lack of respect towards the monarch. Perhaps it was better that discontent was openly expressed than kept secret to fester. However, no one’s appetite was diminished. I glanced around the tables. From where he sat, Sir Gavin of Strathtay nodded at me and I smiled in return. He’d asked to be my escort in the procession, and I’d accepted.

  Since we’d arrived in Scotland Sir Duncan Alexander had not been near the queen’s apartments. True, he’d arrived outside the royal chapel with Lord James Stuart in time to stop an ugly situation becoming worse. But was this planned to enhance their reputation and draw Mary closer to them? It was obvious what Lord James wanted. As a reward for his support Mary had already promised him an earldom to celebrate his forthcoming marriage. But Duncan Alexander’s motives were much harder to ascertain.

  After we had eaten, Mary insisted on spending a few minutes alone in silent contemplation in the tiny chapel of St Margaret, a former Queen of Scotland. When she came out, Mary seemed at peace with herself and there was a quiet resolution in her manner.

  ‘I have prayed to this Scottish saint that her life might inspire my own,’ she told us. ‘She too came here in difficult circumstances and had to reign over a troubled, warring land. I will try to imitate her example of fortitude and patience.’

  We looked down upon the city and, beyond it, in the distance, the waters of the River Forth and the North Sea. I wondered if it crossed Mary’s mind that she might quit this country, sail back the way she’d come and live pleasantly in the sun on the lands she owned in France. At that point I hoped she would not, for I had a sudden overpowering presentiment that my own fate would be decided here in Scotland. If she entertained any thought of leaving, Mary did not share it with us. Instead she made her way down towards the main gate of the castle, where her lords were waiting to accompany their queen on her formal royal entry to the capital city of Scotland.

  Chapter 25

  UNDER A CANOPY of purple velvet and flanked by the highest nobles in the land, the Queen of Scots began her stately progress. As we took our places to walk behind her, I noted that Duncan Alexander was between me and the queen. With a deafening fanfare of trumpets we set off.

  A huge mass of folk had come into the city to see and be part of the historic occasion. Just beyond the castle esplanade stood a cluster of young men, full-bearded, dressed in plaid, and carrying claymores. One raised his arm, and I saw Duncan start and grasp his sword hilt. But the man had only a kerchief in his hand. He waved it above his head and cried out,

  ‘Welcome home, Mary, Queen of Scots!’

  Mary looked directly at the lad, tilted her head and gave him a captivating smile. He blushed! Being on that side of the street, I was close enough to see this rough Highlander’s cheeks actually redden like a young girl being paid her first compliment by a man. But far from being embarrassed, he crowed with glee and made some remark to his friends, who punched his arm and slapped him on the back to congratulate him – as though he’d been given a lady’s favour in a tournament.

  We paused on the crest of the High Street. Flags bearing the lion rampant of Scotland and the diagonal white cross of St Andrew upon a blue background flew from public buildings. Tapestries and coloured hangings were draped over the sills of upper windows and the projecting galleries of houses, where burghers and merchants stood with their wives and children, all dressed in their best clothes. Wooden platforms had been built at intervals so that the nobles not taking part in the procession might have a better view, while a guard of honour on either side restrained the commoners. A troupe of actors dressed as Moors in splendid sparkling costumes stepped out in front of us, and a great roar went up as the waiting spectators realized that the queen was on her way.

  We gasped as a waterfall of flower heads and petals tumbled from on high onto the street before us. Mary smiled up at the boys perched on the roof slates, who were emptying baskets crammed with roses, lavender, herbs and leaves. Reaching out, she caught a handful and threw the petals back at them. They whooped in delight and the queen joined in their laughter. The incident set the tone for the rest of the progress. Nervous tension slipped away from Mary, for she was now in a situation where she was supremely confident – making personal contact with other human beings. She was fully aware of the power of her looks and personality and used these to best advantage. In this relaxed, happy frame of mind, she began to work her magic.

  Suddenly the drum beat and the music seemed louder and merrier. The mummers who capered in front of us were lighter of foot. The pungent smell of roasting meat from the taverns promised tastier meals. The cries of the vendors were light-hearted and witty. Children skipped along beside us, mimicking the mummers. Mary took some of the coins she had put in her purse and scattered them over their heads to draw them out of the way of the horses’ hooves.

  They cheered her for this gesture, and people pressed forward to get a better view. In addition to the gentry looking from their windows, the common folk had been given time off their work to watch the royal progress. The streets were dense with apprentice boys and maidservants, men in blue capes and bonnets, shopkeepers and washerwomen. Parents hoisted their children up onto their shoulders so that they might catch a glimpse of the queen. Little girls held out offerings of posies and Mary’s ladies collected them as we passed by.

  Wine flowed from the water spouts at each junction. Mary halted at Tron and Tolbooth to view each tableau or watch dancers and singers perform. Scenes depicting virtue and grace were acted out by young women dressed in flowing robes. I wondered how John Knox viewed these, and where he was amongst all the joyous celebration.

  But his influence was soon felt. As we neared the Butter Market the scenes became biblical, and a group of children stood ready to present the queen with gifts of books. They seemed unsettled when doing this, and as I watched, they glanced anxiously at the dark-clad adults standing to one side. Among these I recognized the man who had tried to intimidate me outside the chapel in Holyrood. There was a look of grim satisfaction on the face of Lord Lindsay. The queen received the books graciously, glanced at them and lowered her head. Duncan Alexander hurried to her side and asked if she wished him to take them to one of her attendants for safekeeping.

  Mary gave him a grateful look, and he handed the books to me, narrowing his eyes as he noticed Sir Gavin at my elbow.

  Taking them, I saw why Mary was upset, for they were of the Protestant religion. A calculated insult – or perhaps a reminder to her that it was only through Knox’s tolerance that she could ride unmolested in her own city. I looked up. Her head was turned to see my reaction. I flashed my eyes towards Lindsay and lifted my chin high. Mary followed my gaze and understood my message. She raised her head and sat proudly in her saddle, making her smile brighter, her largesse more bountiful.

  At the end of the High Street we reached the Canongate, where several children stood to recite some verses. When they’d finished, one girl spoke up: ‘Ye must walk in the ways of the true religion and cast off the false words
of the Roman priests.’

  ‘I will hold dear what is true to me,’ Mary replied civilly, ‘as you must hold fast to what is true for you.’

  The child nudged the one beside her, who’d no doubt been primed to deliver a similar maxim to the queen. But Mary urged her horse on, and we saw the gateway to Holyrood and within a short time we were safely inside.

  The queen was wearied with the day’s events but she called Lord James and William Maitland to discuss the incidents. ‘Preacher Knox arranged these events deliberately to rile me,’ she began.

  ‘If so, I’m sure he merely wanted a representation of the Reformed religion of our country,’ Lord James said, trying to soothe her.

  ‘I’m prepared to interpret the gift of books as such, although it might surprise you to know that I have already read the Book of Common Prayer and find much that is good within it. But when a chit of a child has the effrontery to lecture the queen in public on the error of her ways, then something must be done.’

  ‘I’m sure no harm was intended. After all, you did say that everyone should be at liberty to express their own beliefs.’

  ‘Good brother, Lord James,’ Mary replied in irritation. ‘I know that you seek to keep my life trouble-free, but I am aware that John Knox delivered a sermon against me decrying my private observance in the most vituperative terms.’

  ‘You are?’ he said.

  ‘I am indeed,’ she snapped. ‘For every one person who brings me pleasant news there are half a dozen others to burden me with tales of woe and discord.’

  ‘Perhaps John Knox has yet to come to the accommodation that your proclamation regarding religious freedom applies also to Catholics,’ suggested William Maitland.

  ‘Then it is time that he did,’ said Mary. ‘I can delay no longer. Summon Preacher John Knox to my presence.’

  I was glad that she hadn’t revealed the sources of her information regarding the utterances of John Knox. In addition to what Rhanza told me, my new acquaintance, Sir Gavin of Strathtay, repeated portions of his sermons to us, adding in caustic comments and jokes as he did so. John Knox had been incensed by Mary’s insistence on attending mass despite his express wish that it and all priests be banned. On the Sunday after the incident at the chapel in Holyrood he’d delivered a sermon in St Giles, declaring the mass to be the most serious danger to Scotland in all history, and that he’d rather face an invading army of ten thousand men than allow it.

  ‘John Knox told his congregation that if they accept the mass being said in Scotland, then God will desert the country,’ Sir Gavin reported to us. ‘The force of his rhetoric had them terrified. For all that he scorns masques and balls, he himself provides pure theatre. He is such a showman. I swear that more than half the folks who attend do so for the drama of his presentation.’

  Gavin had taken to joining us for an hour on the afternoons when we worked at our embroidery. It was a favourite indoor pastime of Mary’s, one of which John Knox would have approved – unlike the dancing and gaming that she also loved.

  ‘He threatens hell fire to scare the wits out of his flock,’ said Gavin, ‘and then throws in a promise of redemption every now and then to keep them hopeful.’

  ‘And also so that they will return,’ Mary added shrewdly.

  ‘I’m sure he deliberately doesn’t trim his eyebrows so that his expression is more fearsome,’ Gavin went on cattily. ‘He dresses in a black winged overcoat, flings his hands in the air and juts out his chin with its horribly unkempt beard, glaring and shouting at folk to make them quake with fear.’

  Gavin loved to personalize his attacks and, on occasion, Mary had to chide him for being uncharitable, but it was useful to have extra news in addition to that coming from the official channels of the queen’s advisers.

  Lord James was wary of calling Knox to Holyrood to meet the queen. ‘He may overwhelm you. John Knox is a powerful orator.’

  ‘And dangerous,’ added William Maitland.

  ‘I know that he is dangerous,’ said Mary. ‘He is in constant touch with John Calvin in Geneva, who has been an insidious enemy to Catholic countries for many years.’

  The two men looked surprised that she received reports not given her by either of them.

  ‘Calvin has infiltrated spies and agitators throughout the whole of France, some of whom have recently been arrested for causing trouble,’ Mary continued.

  ‘Have you heard that this is so?’ William Maitland asked cautiously.

  ‘Oh, letters come from France . . .’ Mary waved her hand carelessly.

  Lord James and William Maitland exchanged glances.

  It might have been wiser for Mary not to draw attention to the fact that she had independent sources of information. Although she loved playing with codes and using symbols in her embroidery work, she wasn’t skilled in real artifice. She hadn’t the guile required to manage a network of spies. In this respect Elizabeth of England and Catherine de’ Medici were far superior. Lord James immediately took steps to ensure that her personal mail, both incoming and outgoing, was filtered through him.

  And I think that was why, when she realized her correspondence was being intercepted, Mary later decided to appoint as her letter writer someone she befriended and trusted. Thus she would come to depend greatly on the services of an Italian called David Rizzio, who first came to her attention as a musician but eventually became her private secretary – with disastrous consequences.

  Chapter 26

  IN THE FIRST week of September John Knox came to Holyrood for his meeting with Mary.

  The privy councillors were not present as Mary had decided to try to make it as informal as possible. She hoped to win Preacher Knox over with directness and an offer to work together for the benefit of the people and the country. I stood at the window, Lord James was by the fireplace, while Mary remained seated.

  The outer rooms and corridors were crowded with the queen’s French attendants, avid to see this man they’d heard so much about. I too was interested in meeting him and noted the accuracy of Sir Gavin’s description as he strode into the queen’s receiving chamber. John Knox had the mien of an evangelical prophet, with thick eyebrows, beard and hair, and stared at us unabashedly with bright blue eyes, his piercing gaze seeming to condemn our dress, which appeared gaudy compared to his sombre clothes. His manner radiated anger and suspicion, but perhaps with a glimmer of delight at the prospect of a fight with a foe he might easily vanquish.

  But Mary was intelligent and resourceful and had prepared for this encounter. Together we’d discussed the Protestant pamphlets and read his infamous text, First Blast of the Trumpet Against the Monstrous Regiment of Women, in which he stated his belief that women were frail, feeble and foolish creatures.

  ‘Sir,’ she began, ‘I strive to understand why you attacked my mother in the past and now myself as queen of this country. You say that it is not natural for a woman to rule, that it’s a subversion of good order, equity and justice; yet it is by God’s providence that I stand here as the natural and rightful heir of my father, King James of Scotland. Surely if God had wished it otherwise then He would have sent my father a son in place of me?’

  John Knox examined the queen, casting his eyes over her, before replying. Mary had dressed modestly, in the most discreet of black dresses, with a plain headdress and no makeup. When he answered her, I sensed a tinge of disappointment at finding nothing to criticize in her appearance.

  ‘Your father, the king, was sent sons,’ Knox reminded her. ‘Two boys who, by dint of who knows what carelessness, died prematurely.’

  Mary’s hands fluttered to her throat.

  I was appalled. Was he blaming her mother of neglect – or worse – for Mary’s two baby brothers dying in infancy? He must know that she had a deep affection for her mother and that such a statement would wound her.

  With great patience Mary went on, ‘Nevertheless, it has come to pass that I am anointed by God’s grace Queen of Scotland and therefore govern I must.
Do you say that you will not abide by my rule because I am a woman?’

  Knox gritted his teeth and replied, ‘I suppose as St Paul suffered life under the Emperor Nero I must thole it as best I can.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Mary, ‘but not, as reported to me, without never-ending derisive remarks and criticism.’

  ‘Perhaps you should attend my sermons,’ Knox suggested, ‘and listen yourself to what I say. I have a duty to speak out.’

  ‘You have no duty in that respect,’ said Mary. ‘You are not a member of my council.’

  ‘As a minister to my congregation, it would be wrong of me to keep silent.’

  ‘But you go so far as to incite against me. What right have you to do that?’

  ‘I speak only the truth.’

  ‘The truth as you see it,’ Mary answered smartly.

  ‘By close study of the Bible, with prayer and advice, I interpret the word of God.’

  ‘It is by God’s grace that I am anointed Queen of Scots,’ Mary repeated. ‘One is not born into one’s place here on earth by happenstance. And God has set me over my subjects and thus they should obey me. If you go against that, you go against the will of God.’

  ‘A subject is not bound by the religion of their ruler,’ argued Knox.

  ‘Do you further say then it is lawful for subjects to act against their ruler?’ Mary asked him.

  ‘Children might act against their father if they thought their father intended to kill them, and so subjects should imprison a ruler who plans to kill the children of God.’

  It was at this point Mary told us afterwards that despair seeped into her soul. John Knox was learned and able, with a wealth of knowledge of theology and experience in debate. She saw that no matter what she tried to argue, he would make a counter claim and attribute it to be right by Divine will.