Spy for the Queen of Scots

by Theresa Breslin

  ‘I am happy, so happy.’ She held out her hands to her attendants, pleading, ‘I beg of you, be happy with me. Be happy with me.’

  Chapter 32

  SIR GAVIN REPORTED to us that John Knox had commented acidly on the amount of feasting that took place at the wedding. ‘Three John Knox diatribes have I suffered on this subject in St Giles kirk,’ he joked in mock complaint to me, ‘out of duty to report this man’s words to my queen.’

  ‘I think not to worry her with the details,’ I suggested. ‘Suffice it to say that Preacher Knox is less than pleased.’

  Mary heard of Knox’s reaction from a variety of sources, but for once she was unconcerned for anyone other than her beloved husband.

  Her gifts to him included titles and jewellery and his own apartments below hers, with a private staircase in the turret connecting them to her rooms. She named him king consort, but this needed the approval of parliament, which wasn’t due to meet until next March. Lord Darnley, or King Henry, as he liked to be called, was unhappy about that – as he was unhappy about a great many other things. Part of his problem was that he had no grasp of the machinations of statehood and the function of the privy council and parliament. He didn’t appreciate that his wife couldn’t automatically grant him anything he demanded. Mary gave him land but he wanted more. I entered her royal apartments one morning to see a map of Scotland spread out on the table, with Darnley poring over it.

  ‘Whose land is this?’ he asked, indicating territory belonging to Lord James Stuart.

  ‘It belongs to my brother, James,’ Mary replied reluctantly.

  ‘Why does he still own it when he has said that he will not countenance our marriage?’

  ‘I am hoping that Lord James, who is my half-brother and your good brother now too, will realize that he cannot stand against the crown. We may yet come to a peaceable solution.’

  ‘And this, and this,’ Darnley jabbed his finger at the map, ‘does he also own?’

  ‘Those too,’ Mary agreed. ‘They are fiefdoms inherited by dint of James having Stuart blood.’

  ‘I have Stuart blood,’ Darnley said, ‘and, being of legitimate birth a greater birthright than he.’ He pointed to the Moray area. ‘In what manner was the affluence of this estate wrested from the Earl of Huntly and given to my good brother?’ He emphasized the last three words with heavy sarcasm.

  ‘For loyalty.’ Mary spoke quietly, but her colour was high. ‘A wise monarch rewards loyalty.’

  ‘An unwise monarch gives away too much,’ Darnley replied. ‘Lord James Stuart has a plenitude of land and I’m minded to take a piece of it from him.’

  A deep revulsion for this man’s foolhardiness rose up in me. Lord James Stuart had worked hard to gain his present position and wielded too much power to bend his head to a petulant teenage boy. Did Darnley not even have the wit to be silent about his intentions rather than bray them aloud? Already some spy would be running to inform Lord James of what he planned. And this might be enough to prompt him to direct action.

  The speed with which they moved surprised us all.

  The following evening Duncan Alexander came to Mary’s supper room, where she was sitting with Darnley, to say that Lord James had formed an army with the Earl of Argyll and others, including the Hamilton Stuarts who did not want to be superseded by the Lennox Stuarts. Their aim was to rescue the queen and depose their new king.

  Darnley’s eyes became round with astonishment. ‘This Lord James cannot do!’

  ‘He aims to try,’ Duncan retorted.

  ‘Treachery!’ Mary cried, rising to her feet. ‘Treachery and base treason! Bring me armour! I’ll ride to fight him myself!’ She launched a tirade against her brother that he should reward her generosity to him in such a way. Her anger was so great that Darnley stood back and it was left to me to calm her.

  ‘I am resolute, Jenny,’ she told me. ‘I will not be ousted by that ingrate, be there five or fifty-five lords against me.’

  ‘There will be many lords who will not join in this revolt,’ I said. ‘And the ordinary people will see this pretend “rescue” for what it is – a grab for power.’

  At Mary’s first council-of-war there appeared among the lords loyal to her one James Hepburn, Earl of Bothwell. He strode in, clad in Borders battledress with a broadsword in his hand. One of the guards pointed out that he was not permitted to carry an unsheathed weapon in the queen’s presence.

  Bothwell shoved his face into that of the soldier. ‘And are you prepared to stop me?’ he enquired cheerfully.

  The guard stood back and Bothwell entered, saying, ‘I heard that your majesty is seeking arms for your personal use.’

  Duncan Alexander gave a shake of his head and rolled his eyes as Bothwell knelt before Mary.

  ‘I present you with a broadsword I had forged especially for you,’ the earl told her.

  Mary touched Bothwell on the head and bade him rise, while Darnley stared suspiciously at him.

  ‘Your experience in soldiering will stand us in good stead, my Lord Bothwell,’ said Mary, accepting his gift.

  Bothwell grinned. Standing up he struck his chest aggressively with his fist. The sound grated on his mailed leather jacket. ‘Anyone who survives in my wild Border lands is a worthy soldier.’

  ‘I think perhaps you outrank all others in this sphere,’ said Mary. ‘I have decided to appoint you lieutenant general of our army.’

  At this announcement Darnley looked as though he might have a fit. ‘I will not agree to this! I want my father, as head of the Lennox Stuarts, to have the chief commission.’

  Mary paled as her husband contradicted her. All their other disagreements had been over petty things, like his name appearing after hers on state documents. This was their first major row and it was conducted in public.

  ‘I honour your father,’ Mary said, staring at him. ‘But I will have Bothwell to lead the army.’

  I moved closer to her as, incandescent with rage, Darnley began to argue with his queen. ‘I, as king, must lead out our army. I’ve had a new suit specially made for the purpose.’

  David Rizzio sniggered.

  Darnley whipped round. ‘Hold thy tongue, weasel,’ he said, ‘else I might cut it out.’

  Mary’s eyes beseeched the onlookers for support.

  Duncan Alexander spoke quietly. ‘I do believe the queen seeks to protect your majesty. Let James Hepburn, the Earl of Bothwell, ride at the head of the troops rather than put yourself in danger.’

  ‘I am equal to any in swordsmanship,’ declared Darnley.

  As Bothwell reached for his own sword Duncan leaped forward to restrain him. One of the lords present openly laughed and remarked to a friend, ‘Yon laddie would mince up and down with a rapier in one hand and a lace handkerchief in the other while Bothwell’s good broadsword cleaved him in two.’

  Hearing this, Darnley stormed out of the room in pique.

  ‘Every time I am in trouble, my Lord Bothwell comes to my aid,’ Mary murmured. She was resting in her apartments after the council meeting.

  ‘He is loyal,’ I said in neutral tones.

  ‘You are silent, Sir Duncan,’ said Mary, ‘which I have found to indicate that you may have reservations about what I am saying.’

  ‘Bothwell is loyal enough,’ Duncan replied. ‘But he did ask you to pardon the Huntly children for their father’s rebellion and grant the earl’s second son, George, the right to inherit the title.’

  ‘That I did gladly, if only to teach Lord James a lesson.’

  ‘It is because Bothwell wants to marry George’s sister, the daughter of the former earl, for the family can pay him a rich dowry.’

  ‘I will consent to the marriage. Lord Bothwell deserves rewards. He keeps the lawless Border lands safe to benefit Scotland.’

  ‘That he does,’ Duncan agreed. ‘And he is my friend . . . of sorts, but reckless with it. It does no harm to remember that what Bothwell does is for Bothwell’s benefit. Unless, of course,�
� he allowed himself a smile, ‘there is the prospect of a battle. In which case James Hepburn will fight with anyone.’

  Mary herself led the troops to Stirling, and I was never more proud of her. She sat on her horse with a breastplate of silver steel in place of a sequinned stomacher, a pistol in her belt and Bothwell’s broadsword in her hand. She’d relented so that Lord Darnley rode beside her, and he was well pleased with himself in his special suit of gilded armour. The queen was closely guarded by Bothwell’s men, and to Duncan Alexander’s annoyance I was not far behind in her train.

  Marie Seton told me that she’d heard Sir Duncan say to the queen that it wasn’t seemly for any of her ladies to be part of the active army. To which Mary had replied that if it was seemly for her, then it was seemly for any other lady. On the march I had no occasion to speak to Duncan, yet as we travelled he seemed to be always in my sight.

  When we discovered that Lord James Stuart had moved west to Glasgow, Mary insisted we follow at once. The sight of their queen on the high roads, dressed for battle and prepared to defend her throne, caused more and more men to rally to her standard.

  ‘The fox has run again for cover,’ Bothwell gloated as the forward lookouts came back to tell us that Lord James had fled before we reached the city. ‘We will find his trail and hunt him down.’

  ‘Yes, but where?’ Duncan asked.

  ‘To Edinburgh.’ Mary had opened a note she’d just received. ‘Lord James thought the city would welcome him, but my faithful Lord Erskine has turned the cannon of the castle upon him! John Knox may fulminate from the pulpit, but the citizens and many of the Protestant lords will welcome their queen.’

  ‘It is time to offer blandishments to his supporters,’ Duncan advised her. ‘Promise free pardons to Argyll and the Hamilton Stuarts with their lands restored, and they’ll leave off their revolt.’

  In triumph we went back to Holyrood Palace where Sir Gavin of Strathtay had elected to remain and garrison with his men. With what followers he had left Lord James was heading for the Borders, whereupon Mary, accompanied by Bothwell and his men, rode after him and chased the remainder of the rebels clear into England.

  The people did love her for it. Scotland had a queen who was not only the most beautiful in Europe but as daring and brave as any king. They didn’t believe Lord James’s excuse for his rebellion – that he wanted to keep the kingdom Protestant. They saw his actions as one of the former king’s illegitimate sons trying to steal the throne from the rightful heir.

  And there was evidence to show that Mary had no intention of trying to reconvert Scotland to Catholicism. She’d given grants to Protestant churches, kirk ministers were now salaried – so much so that the pope in Rome wrote to chastise her for it.

  Mary returned to Edinburgh elated, and with the hope of establishing a compassionate government which would bring the rowing nobles together to heal the wounds of division. But although she had circumvented a national rebellion the battles within her own household went on. Encouraged by his parents Darnley demanded that she give him the crown matrimonial – which meant that if she died, he and any future heirs he might have would inherit the throne. The ambitions of the Lennox Stuarts were an open secret within the court. Gavin tried to sound out our opinions, but Mary, showing loyalty to her husband, forbade any gossip on the subject. Unfortunately Lord Darnley was less discreet and made others aware of his displeasure.

  One morning I came upon them arguing. I’d entered Mary’s bedchamber, where Marie Seton was tidying the queen’s clothes. She waved her hand in the direction of the adjoining supper room, saying, ‘Her majesty has gone to sit and read her letters.’

  The door was ajar and I went in, not realizing that Lord Darnley had come up from his apartments via the private staircase.

  ‘The kingship of Scotland is my right!’ he cried, scowling at Mary in fury. ‘By my own lineage there is royal blood in my veins.’

  ‘I do acknowledge you as king,’ Mary replied in the tired voice of one who has gone through the same argument several times. ‘Your head is on coin of the realm. You are titled King Henry.’

  ‘I command you to award me the crown matrimonial. It is your duty as a wife to obey me.’

  ‘May I remind you what “royal” duty entails?’ Mary held up the paper she was holding. ‘This is an ambassador’s letter requiring reading, discussion and appropriate action. Do you do your duty as a king and attend to any such matters?’

  I backed out of the room and into the bedchamber. ‘He has taken to haranguing her of a morning,’ Marie Seton whispered. ‘That is’ – she made a face – ‘the mornings he is able to rouse himself at a reasonable hour.’

  ‘No wonder she is weary,’ I whispered back, for we’d both commented on how tired Mary was of late.

  As her partnership with her husband became more strained, Mary’s councillors fluctuated between supporting her and Darnley. With Lord James banished in England and a good deal of William Maitland’s time occupied in romancing Marie Fleming, it was David Rizzio who increasingly attended to the queen’s correspondence. He vied with Sir Gavin in putting forward his opinions and sought favours from the queen, wearing expensive clothes from the royal wardrobe and borrowing small pieces of jewellery for special occasions – which he then failed to return. When the keeper of the wardrobe approached one of Mary’s attendants for advice on how to deal with this, a message was relayed to him saying that Master David Rizzio was to be accommodated without prejudice in whatever he wished.

  But more important, in my view, was the influence Rizzio had on the queen’s private business. I’d heard him discuss with the ambassador from Ferrara the contents of a letter that the queen had received from her Guise relatives. They knew of Darnley’s bad behaviour and suggested that if he became too troublesome, then the marriage might be annulled. They referred to the fact that the papal dispensation for them, as cousins, to marry, had arrived after the wedding ceremony. Rizzio gave a crafty grin. ‘This would make her majesty eligible to marry again.’

  For him to talk so freely was both foolish and highly dangerous. I began to watch Master David Rizzio more closely.

  He was indeed charming, as are many of those ill-favoured in appearance – as if God gave them grace and wit to compensate for their lack of looks. He was also musical, and Mary loved music. Often in the evening he played and sang to her. By day he began to encroach on William Maitland’s duties, commandeering more of Mary’s secretarial work.

  Darnley complained of this to her. ‘Why do you spend so much time with your private secretary, Master Rizzio?’ he asked.

  ‘I have a wearisome amount of work to do, my love. If you wish, you may read through the papers of state and give me your opinion.’

  ‘I had planned to go hawking this morning and I fail to see why you can’t accompany me,’ he said moodily. ‘It appears that you prefer to be with Master Rizzio and the lords of council. They call upon you and you do as they wish.’

  Mary went to her husband and, taking his hand, murmured, ‘There is only one person in all this land, one man on earth, who may command my body as he does my heart.’

  Lord Darnley allowed himself to be placated and went off to the stables.

  But, as on many similar occasions over the last months, a furrow had appeared on Mary’s forehead. And although Lord Darnley had been coaxed into a pleasant frame of mind and the queen responded with smile of her own, today the worry line between Mary’s brows did not quite smooth out. It marked a new departure, for they had now begun to row frequently in public; I did not doubt that there were many more rows in private.

  ‘A shorter honeymoon than most, then,’ commented one of the nobles.

  Mary put her hand to her temple, something I’d seen her doing often recently, as if her headdress was constricting. Marie Seton had noticed this too, and let out the stitching on the caps the queen kept for daily use.

  ‘I could have Rhanza bring an infusion of camomile,’ I suggested, ‘and yo
u might leave off working for twenty minutes.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Mary, adding, ‘And let us be alone together for that time.’

  Due to her marriage and pressure of work it was seldom now that Mary and I talked privately. We went into her supper room and sat side by side on a bench like sisters.

  ‘Jenny,’ Mary said, ‘I do believe I am with child.’

  ‘Oh! Oh!’ I hugged her tightly and then released her. ‘I’m sorry. I did not mean to crush you. A baby . . . Oh, it’s wonderful! A marvellous, marvellous happening!’

  ‘Is it?’ Her eyes were sad and she was very close to weeping.

  ‘Why would it not be?’ I was genuinely puzzled. ‘The country and the crown need heirs, and you adore children. Since we came to Scotland your heart has ached for the company of Francis’s younger brothers and sisters.’

  ‘That’s true.’ Mary nodded. ‘I am cheered by your words, Jenny.’ She leaned her head on my shoulder.

  ‘Are you are anxious about the practicalities of the birth?’ I asked, seeking a reason for her melancholy.

  ‘There is that,’ she agreed, ‘but also . . .’

  I waited.

  Mary sighed. ‘I fear my husband may not welcome this news.’

  Chapter 33

  TO BEGIN WITH, like the rest of the court and the country, Lord Darnley was pleased. He was puffed up by the messages of congratulation – but then it must have struck him that the arrival of his child would take him one step further from the throne. He pressed Mary ever harder to award him the crown matrimonial.

  Marie Seton and I often heard him mentioning the subject, alternating between ordering and begging her to comply with his wishes.

  ‘My husband is young and too inexperienced for such responsibility, Jenny,’ Mary confided in me. ‘I believe his parents have raised his expectations so that he now believes it is his right to rule this country, with me as a subservient wife.’