Chapter Forty-Three
HADRIAN’S WALL, OCTOBER TENTH, YEAR OF OUR LORD 1603
In another time and another place, this day would have been Thanksgiving Day. Mary Elizabeth thought back, fondly, to the times she and Gran had celebrated with traditional foods like turkey and stuffing and cranberries. Gran may have been brought up as a noble lady, but once she had jumped to the twentieth century, she quickly learned her way around the kitchen and became a competent cook. The food she served had been healthy and more than just edible, even if the presentation was not haute cuisine. Mary Elizabeth's mouth watered at the memories of Gran’s good cooking, but her heart called out with the thanks she carried within her. She had so many things to be thankful for, not the least being her time travelling gift that had allowed her to see so much: so many places in so many times.
She had timed this battle well. Her Thanksgiving Day from the past, and real time’s future, was a good day for victory and to give further thanks for the solidification of her right to the Scottish throne. The sun hadn’t fully risen, but she knew her men were armed and ready. The order had gone out the night before to claim the peak of the wall for miles around them, before the light of day touched the horizon. And that wasn’t all. She was not one to allow traditional seventeenth century warfare to dictate how they fought this battle. She would not line her men up to be picked off, one by one, by the enemy. The plan was to fight from all sides, and fight they would. Her men and scouts were scattered all over the countryside. They had, quite literally, surrounded the King of England and his army. He and his troops had nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. Only the Scots would be victorious on this day. That is, if everyone stuck to the original plan.
Lady Jane poked her head under the tarp that fell across the opening of her tent. “Something hot before you ride into battle?” she asked. She already knew the answer, but she had to ask. Her queen was not one to sit around eating when there was work to do and battles to be fought. And this was an important battle in her short reign. She would be, Lady Jane was sure, too nervous to eat.
Mary Elizabeth shook her head. “No, Lady Jane. I cannot eat a bite. Not until this day is over.”
“You must have something, my queen,” Lady Jane argued. “Just some broth and a few bites of dry bread. Enough to see you through the day. We cannot have our queen fainting in the middle of the battle."
With a deep sigh, Mary Elizabeth acquiesced, reluctantly. “Since you insist. But just a few bites and a couple of sips of that broth you carry.”
Satisfied that the queen had consumed enough nourishment to keep her upright, Lady Jane moved the tray aside and proceeded to help her mistress with the final dressing to prepare for the big day ahead. It took the two of them, and Lady Elizabeth Grace when she finally appeared, to place the breast plate in position and fasten it securely. The ladies then draped the ermine-lined velvet cape across the queen’s shoulders and carefully arranged her hair, now long after years of allowing it to grow again, so that it fell gracefully down her back. Lady Jane placed the crown on her head, carefully tucking it in, here and there, to make sure it was firmly placed.
Standing back, the ladies nodded their approval. “You look like a real queen,” Lady Elizabeth Grace remarked.
“I am.” Mary Elizabeth glanced at her sternly. The younger woman blushed. “My gloves,” she instructed.
Lady Jane quickly retrieved the gloves from the side table and helped Mary Elizabeth slide them onto her hands. They were of a thick leather that would hopefully protect her hands should a sword try to slice through. She wiggled her fingers to get them firmly in place and then reached down to her sword sitting in its sheath by her side. She was ready.
They heard footsteps outside and a boy’s voice calling out, “The queen’s horse.”
“It is time.” Mary Elizabeth studied her two ladies fondly. “I will be back and I will be victorious.”
“God bless,” the ladies said in unison. They followed Mary Elizabeth outside and held her cape while she mounted her horse using the mounting block. Once settled in the saddle, the ladies adjusted the cape so it draped over the horse’s haunches, making her regal presence one with the horse she rode.
She nudged her horse forward, walking gracefully through the camp. Cheers erupted as she made her progress. They intensified as she approached her armed escort that would lead her to the rest of the army already standing in position, on the wall and surrounding the English camp. The cheers became accolades. “Long live the queen! Long live Queen Mary Elizabeth! Scotland the free, for now and forever!”
The queen raised her hand to acknowledge the greetings, and smiled warmly to her people. They would risk so much by standing with her on this day. If they were not successful, they would probably lose more than just their lives. Their families would suffer abuse and eviction as the English lay claim to their winnings.
That is, if the English won. She, Mary Elizabeth, Queen of Scotland, was determined not to let that happen. She would fight to the death herself if need be, but she knew that would also be a futile exercise in bravado, as, without her as their queen, the Scottish people could not possibly claim their independence. At least not now, not in the seventeenth century.
“For Scotland!” she called out as she drew her sword, kissed it, and then held it high for all to see. “For now, and forever!” She allowed her sword hand to drop slowly to her side, keeping the sword in a firm grasp well away from her horse so as not to spook her.
“For Scotland! For now, and forever!” The soldiers marched gamely beside her, continuing their chants as they approached the old Roman Wall. As the sun rose over the horizon, the shadows of men lining the top of the wall were mere silhouettes, symbols of her power. They were unstoppable, strong, bold, and ready to follow her to victory. And victory they would have before the sun reached its peak. Of that she was sure.
Chapter Forty-Four
The sun blossomed as it moved higher above the horizon. Cheers echoed along the wall as the queen and her men gazed down upon the English camp, still relatively quiet, obviously waiting for the appointed hour to start the battle, trusting that no one would dare fight before that time. That was the English way: stiff and proper, everything planned down to the minute as to who stood where and when the battle would commence. It was a fallback on the medieval era which doted on the idea of chivalry.
Mary Elizabeth, having studied history extensively, knew that the history of warfare certainly didn’t benefit from this English mannerism on the battlefield. Her plan was more blunt and to the point. Her men, the ones surrounding the camp, had started to make their move. She could see their figures descending upon the unsuspecting English army, galloping faster with decided purpose as they came closer to the camp. Hence the cheers from the men on the wall. They were yelling their battle cries, the rallying call of the many clans who stood beside her to support her claim. It was a powerful moment, an emotional moment. The queen sat on her horse, pride and gratitude warming her smile.
As she watched, she smelled the smoke of many fires burning along the length of their side of the Roman Wall, ready to ignite the powder kegs that sat readied in the 32-pound cannons placed at strategic intervals. Jamie had seen to the improvements of the powerful cannon, but not so much that they would overstep their bounds in the history of this military tool. He had overseen the Scottish blacksmiths in the manufacture of dozens of cannons, some for this battle and others to protect important castles within Scotland itself. There was also their growing Navy to consider. If the ground forces at Hadrian’s Wall were unsuccessful, the Scottish Navy was on its way to the Port of Tyne, armed with their own cannon and crews of fighting men armed and ready for battle if need be.
The longer guns for land use along the wall and the shorter guns for the ships would all make their marks more decisively, if not as accurately, as the commanders would like. It had been a challenge to mount the cannon effectively along the wall, but the result was a hidden force from the enemy, one that w
ould inflict considerable damage. An advancing cavalcade of English invaders would meet with unexpected opposition and hardship as they tried to mount the steep slope to overtake the wall. It was a clever tool of defense, and one that the Scottish planned to use well and with determined precision.
She surveyed the east, knowing Jamie was leading the force from that direction. She recognised his horse, draped with the Royal Stuart colours. Her heart went out to him. He was riding into his destiny as he had witnessed his demise. A tear broke free from the corner of one eye and she let it trail down her cheek. They had made their peace with each other and with their fates. Some things couldn’t be changed, no matter how many times they jumped through time.
The English camp began rustling into action, men arising from where they had made their bed for the night and from the tents that housed the higher-ranking lords. Some were dressed, those who had slept outside in their own clothes. The lords and their helpers were fussing to pull on cloaks and weaponry as they dashed out of the tents. It was a scene of complete chaos which intensified as the Scottish force reached the camp and started hacking away, first at the tents and defense structures waiting to be used at the assigned battle time, then knocking swords and lances out of the hands of those men who had managed to make a stand, feeble though it was.
The battle was over almost before it had begun. Jamie led his contingent directly to the king’s tent and pulled his horse up short facing the entrance. His voice could be heard across the moors as he called with purpose and power, “My Lord King James I of England, we have you surrounded and we request that you come with us.”
There was movement around the royal tent. The Scottish forces next to the queen yelled enthusiastically as they saw the king exiting his tent. That’s when it happened. A lone English archer, one unnoticed by the Scottish invaders, lifted his bow and took aim. He let the arrow fly and it whizzed through the air, meeting its mark.
“No!” the queen screamed. She watched with horror as Jamie toppled lifeless from his horse. “No!”
She sat frozen on her horse, incapable of thought or action. She had known this was coming. Jamie had warned her. She just hadn't known when or how. And seeing how easily her men had overtaken the English camp, she had thought, she had hoped, the timeline had somehow changed and Jamie witnessing his death on a battlefield would come at another time, another place.
She was startled out of her complacency by the yelling of the captain in command of her soldiers on the wall.
“Over there,” he yelled, pointing to the horizon. The English banner flew high and ruffled in the breeze as a mounted force approached the camp from the west. “Rally around the queen. Protect her at all cost!”
The English had not fallen for the ambush at dawn. It didn’t matter. Mary Elizabeth had expected as much. Jamie had argued late into the night, pointing out that they needed to be prepared for the unexpected. They needed a reserve army, one unseen by the enemy, in case another force appeared to rally in defense of the captured king.
Mary Elizabeth was contemplative. Jamie had been right. Again. What was she to do in the future, now that the man by her side, the one with all the right answers, was no longer there? But hadn’t he assured her that he would see her again in the future? Her future, his past?
She pulled on the reins and faced to her scout. Billy Langley, now Sir William Langley as she had knighted him as soon as she was crowned queen, had remained reliable and faithful all these years, ever since that first night in the tiny cottage near Fotheringay. His younger brother hadn’t been so lucky, falling at the battle of Alnwick all those years ago. His parents were also deceased, but Sir William had firmly attached himself to the Scottish cause and, in particular, to the Scottish Queen. “Go. Now.”
Jamie had made it quite clear to Sir William what was to be done in this scenario. The three of them had talked alone well into the night. They had held several meetings after dark over the weeks, always choosing a secluded spot, telling no one where they went or with whom they met. There were spies in the queen’s court. She didn’t know who they were, but she and Jamie had their suspicions. Sir William had even made some suggestions. However, there had been no time to act on the threat of spies, only time to prepare for the unexpected, which they had.
With the queen’s command, Sir William nodded before moving away from the force that guarded the hill. The mounted English were quickly approaching. Mary Elizabeth could only imagine the smirk now plastered on her brother’s face. He was so sure of himself. What he didn’t realise was that so was she.
The queen raised her sword high, and gave the rallying cry. “Scotland the free! For now, and forever!”
Not waiting for arguments to hold her back, she led the charge down the slope toward the approaching cavalry. She would lead her people to victory, even if she did suffer a few cuts and bruises in the process. What sort of ruler sat back and let the others do the dangerous jobs?
Her protectors were startled at the queen’s sudden charge, but they were left with no choice but to follow. They had the advantage of being at a higher point to commence the charge. With the queen’s strong presence leading them forward, how could they possibly fail? She heard her captain give the orders to fire the cannon. It was essential in their defense, even if it meant losing some of their own men as well.
They might have lost more than just a few men to cannon, though, if Sir William hadn’t made it to the hidden camp beyond the western link of the wall. The Scottish queen might have failed.
She knew how to fight; no one could argue that. As she charged into the melee, slashing her sword left and right, she managed to unmount several English and wound others. Their momentum slowed, however, as the English kept coming, their numbers far exceeding that of the Scottish.
Just as the English captain grabbed the reins of the queen’s horse and took her sword, the battle cry of the Scottish shattered the English presumption of victory. Sir William led the charge of her reserve troops. Success was close at hand.
Although a little startled at the audacity of the English captain in his attempt to take her captive, Mary Elizabeth quickly regained her composure. Before the captain could react, the queen retrieved her sword from the startled man. She instantly gave it a good swing. The captain dropped his sword as the queen’s grazed his wrist with considerable and unexpected force. Before he could respond in kind, she held the point of her sword at his neck and had grabbed his reins.
“George Gordon, Captain of the king’s Guard and the king’s heart.” She pushed the point deeper, a streak of blood dribbling down his neck, his eyes betraying his fear. “Too bad you will not see your lover again, as I will not be seeing mine.” With that, she slashed the sword across George’s neck, shock and disbelief registering on the victim's face before he slumped forward in the saddle, his life draining from him almost instantaneously.
“Take me to your king.” She reached over to make sure her victim was safely straddled on his mount. “Oh, but perhaps you cannot take me now, so I shall take you. I do believe the victory is ours.”
The rest of the battle was over in mere minutes, the verge of Scottish defeat obliterated. The queen guided the captain, what was left of him straddled on his horse, toward the English camp. The king remained standing by his tent, his guards now on their knees with Scottish swords at their necks. He glanced up as the queen approached. Eyeing the familiar horse that carried his now dead lover, a look of grief made its way across his face before he managed to stamp it out and present himself with cold indifference.
The queen had noticed, however, even if no one else had. She was content; she had made her point clear. “You killed James Stuart, Earl of Moray. I have had the pleasure of taking the life of George Gordon.” Then, under her breath so that only the king could hear, “The one you hold most dear, my Queen Jamie.”
The king’s face reddened with anger, but he quickly checked that. He was in no position to fight back and words would only make things
more difficult. “What do you want?” he snarled.
“I had hoped we could settle this in a more reasonable manner,” she said, loud enough for all to hear. “Scotland will be free. For now, and forever.”
The cheer that erupted was deafening.
Chapter Forty-Five
HOLYROOD HOUSE, MARCH FIRST, YEAR OF OUR LORD 1649
The queen sighed deeply as she shuffled in her stiff-backed chair by the fire. Sitting still had never been easy for her, but now that the years had crept up on her and her joints showed signs of aging and arthritis, she was never comfortable sitting. In fact, she was never comfortable period. Where had all the years gone?
She pulled the little table closer to her so she could continue her writing. She had decided it was time to record her memories before it was too late. She had been working diligently on this project over the past few weeks. Time was short, for her at least. Time… It was always about time, the now time, the future time and the time between the times.
She knew that Gran, Lady Mary Catherine and Jamie had faithfully recorded theirs. She had read their stories, and prepared herself for each date in the journal that promised a visit from one or the other. The dates had proved accurate and she was pleased to be able to continue a connection with people she loved, people who had died years ago but whose pasts continued to be her present and her future. This time travel was confusing at times.
Confusing though it might be, one thing she knew for certain, her final days were coming to a close. All three time travel journals had an entry dated March first, 1649, today, and each stated that they had made their jump in time to say good-bye to Queen Mary Elizabeth of Scotland. It was evident, then, that Mary Elizabeth only had hours left to live. She had a lot she wanted to do in that time, so much to write about, so many things to tell her family, if only her old bones would allow her the strength and the perseverance to accomplish it all.
Queen Mary's Daughter Page 23