It opened on 3 September when, although the regalia was still in Edinburgh Castle, a crown, a sword and sceptre were carried before the small figure that strode out, with a specially made tiny gold coronet on its head, to the throne in the great hall of the castle. Behind him walked his proud grandfather, robed, like the little boy, in velvet and ermine. Much rehearsal had been needed for James to memorise the words he had to say; having done so, he looked up at the roof and seeing the gap left by a missing slate, piped up ‘This Parliament has got ane hole in it.’1
In modern times, everyone hearing this would probably have doubled up with laughter. But in those days the child’s words were taken to be an ill omen. Heads were shaken. This could only be a perfect example of the mouths of babes bringing forth truth. Disaster must lie ahead.
It came just a day later. The Hamiltons were waiting their chance. A party of Queen Mary’s supporters, led by Sir Thomas Kerr, the Laird of Ferniehirst near Jedburgh and Kirkcaldy’s son-in-law, together with William Scott of Buccleuch, Kirkaldy’s closest friend, had devised a plot to kidnap the king.
Kirkaldy planned to lead the raid himself, but was dissuaded from doing so on the grounds that, in the event of his death or capture, there was no one to replace him as leader of the queen’s cause. Nonetheless, afraid of what might happen should those in charge lose control, he gave special instructions to Sir David Spens of Wormeston, a fellow laird in Fife, to make the regent his prisoner ‘and wait upon him, to save him from his particular enemies’.2
Despite having received Wormeston’s sworn word that he would obey these instructions to the letter, Kirkaldy was nonetheless apprehensive when, just after sunset on 3 September, the party of armed men, led by the Earl of Huntly, Lord Claud Hamilton, Sir William Scott of Buccleuch and the lords of Arbroath and Paisley, set out to ride through the night. With mounted men leading spare horses to carry prisoners, they reached Stirling at four o’ clock in the morning, just before the first light of dawn.
The night watchmen had just finished their rounds as a man called George Bell led the party of armed men up a narrow passage into the town. Bursting into the streets, shouting ‘God and the Queen! A Hamilton! A Hamilton! Remember the Archbishop!’, they divided their forces.
A Captain Halkerston was sent to stand at the market cross to prevent houses being damaged while Buccleuch and Ferniehirst’s Border men, well practised rievers, stole all the horses from the stables and took them to the town gate called the Nether Port. From there, together with those the troopers had led, they would be used to carry the prisoners back to Edinburgh, their hands roped behind their backs.
In the meanwhile, Captain Halkerston having failed to reach the market cross, the soldiers were plundering the merchants’ booths. In the ensuing chaos it was their commanders who actually marshalled the Protestant lords, together with the regent, forced at the point of a sword from their lodgings, down the steep street heading towards the Nether Port. However, once on flat ground, Wormeston, to whom Matthew Lennox had surrendered on the promise that his life would be spared, obedient to his word to Kirkaldy, tried to secure Matthew’s safety by mounting him behind him on his horse.
It was now first light. The Earl of Mar, realising what was happening, managed to raise sixteen of his armed guard. Charging down from the Castle, joined by men of the town, they drove off the attackers.
The prisoners were rescued, but in the confusion, a Captain Calder, an expert marksman, took his chance. Matthew, easily recognisable by his height and bearing, sitting astride behind Wormeston, was an easy target. Calder raised his musket and fired.
Matthew fell forward, thrown by the force of the bullet onto his horse’s neck, as Wormiston, wounded by the same shot, was dragged from the saddle by the regent’s bodyguard, to be hacked to pieces by the mob. Terrified that his assailant would next attack the king, Matthew would not dismount until once more within the courtyard of the castle. Collapsing, he was carried in to the castle, past poor little James, who, having run to the door to find out what was happening, saw his grandfather born past him with blood pouring from his wound. Matthew, aware of him standing there, choking back his groans of pain, muttered to those near enough to hear him, ‘If the babe be well, all is well.’3
Laid on a bed, his wound was seen to be fatal. The bullet had cut his bowels. He was dying from loss of blood. Told this, he summoned the lords who had just been rescued from Kirkaldy’s men. Gathered round him they stood with bowed heads as he told them that it had been their choice, rather than his own ambition, which had made him regent of Scotland, a charge which he had undertaken because he had been assured of their assistance in defending the young king, ‘whose protection by duty and nature I could not refuse’. He asked them to choose some worthy person to fill his place, to protect his servants and lastly, as the power of speech was leaving him, he whispered ‘I commend to your favour my servants, who have never received benefits at my hands; and desire you to remember my love to my wife, Meg, whom I beseech God to comfort.’4
Matthew Lennox, his titles proclaimed by a herald, was buried with great ceremony in the chapel of Stirling Castle. As his coffin was lowered there was silence amongst the company, assembled beneath the vaulted roof.
Elsewhere, in the same building, the screams of a man in torment were muffled by the thickness of the walls. Captain Calder, the captured marksman, was being broken on the wheel. As a scapegoat for the Hamiltons, he suffered the worst of medieval tortures before death brought merciful relief.
Notes
1 Spotiswood’s Ecclesiastical History
2 Bingham, C., The Making of a King, p.58
3 Strickland, Lives of the Queens of Scotland and English Princesses, p.383
4 Ibid., pp.383–4
43
THE LENNOX JEWEL
It was Queen Elizabeth herself who broke the dreadful truth to Margaret of her husband’s death. The queen was at Lees, an estate belonging to Lord Rich, when the news of the murder of Matthew Lennox was brought to her. William Cecil, now Lord Burghley, who was with her, showed his concern for Margaret by promptly writing to Sir Thomas Smith, Clerk of the Council, on 8 December 1571. First describing what had happened, he continued: ‘Let Mr Sadler know thereof; but otherwise disperse it not, lest it be not true that he is dead, and I would not knowledge come to Lady Lennox before she shall have it from the Queen’s Majesty.’1
Margaret is thought to have been living in Islington, at Canonbury House, at the time when Matthew died. Named after the canons of St Bartholemews who built a manor house in the fourteenth century, it had been rebuilt in 1520 before being acquired by Sir John Spencer, together with adjoining land.
The fact that Queen Elizabeth in person told Margaret of what had happened, suggests that she was then attending court. Elizabeth must have tried to console her by telling her that his last words were for her, ‘his dear Meg’.
Margaret’s own reaction to the brutal death of the husband she had so much loved is not recorded. Known to have been hysterical on word of her son’s murder, she may in this instance have collapsed again or else, from sheer strength of character, remained stoic in the public eye. All that is known for certain is that in reaction to both deaths, she set about finding a jeweller who created one of the most beautiful and original memorials to both the husband and the son she had lost.
The Lennox Jewel, eventually bought by Queen Victoria in 1842, is now in the Queen’s Gallery in Edinburgh. During what remained of her lifetime, Margaret wore it constantly, either on a ring tied to her girdle or on a chain round her neck.
A heart of gold, enamelled with emblems, it epitomises the depth and constancy of her love for the man thrown by fate in her way. The front of the heart shows the Douglas badge in gems. Two angels, in enamel, support the Scottish crown, made of emeralds and rubies. Below them two others hold a large oval sapphire, emblem of widowhood, while the heart remains symbolic of that of Robert the Bruce, carried by the Black Douglas in a pilgrimage ag
ainst the Saracens in Spain.
The golden heart opens to show a green wreath surrounding two hearts of red enamel with an inscription ‘QUILAT BE RESOLVE’, together with a monogram of the letters ‘M.S.L.’ (Margaret Stuart Lennox) entwined. A death’s head in black on a white ground surmounts the words ‘DEATH SHALL DISSOLVE’. Two hands clasped and a green hunting horn are above another inscription reading ‘QUHA HOPIS STIOL CONSTANTLY WITH PATIENCE SAL OBTEIN VICTORIA IN YAIR PRESENCE’, ‘who hopes still constantly with patience, shall obtain victory in your presence’.
The reverse side of the jewel shows a red Tudor dragon, a phoenix rising from the flames, a Marguerite daisy and, most poignantly, a pelican feeding its young from its bleeding breast, signifying that Matthew died defending his grandson, the little king. Enclosing these emblems, lettering runs ‘MY STAIT TO YOU I MAY COMPARE ZOU QUHA BONTES RAIR’, ‘my state to yours I may compare, you whose bounty’s rare’.
Although large enough to hold a miniature, the locket is empty inside. The shell contains emblems of martyrdom, fire, stakes, a fiend and truth being drawn from a well. A crowned queen sitting on a throne would seem to indicate Mary Queen of Scots, and the inscription ‘GAR TEL MY RELEAS’, followed by several words made unintelligible by time, suggests that Margaret did eventually believe in Mary’s own sworn innocence of involvement in Henry Darnley’s death. Most probably this happened after she had been told that Bothwell, under examination, had declared most vehemently that Mary had been totally unaware of the conspiracy to kill her husband on that dark February night at Kirk o’ Field.
Note
1 Ibid.
44
A BOY UNRESTRAINED
Margaret is known to have been still in Islington, at Canonbury House, when she realised that Charles was getting out of hand. This was not altogether surprising: Charles, now 15, had been bereft of both his parents for the greater part of his life. His father had gone to Scotland when he was only 8, leaving Margaret to somehow make a living out of an impoverished Yorkshire estate. Then, by allowing his brother Henry’s marriage, without Queen Elizabeth’s consent, his mother had been held prisoner in the Tower of London for a period of almost two years.
During that time, left almost alone at Settrington, he must have run wild, making friends with the local lads, who probably taught him to drink, if nothing worse. His father had returned to England only briefly before going back to Scotland on Elizabeth’s orders, supposedly to retrieve his young nephew, the little King of Scots. Now, with his father dead and his mother constantly at court, Charles was no doubt trying out the delights of London and making questionable friends.
Margaret, struggling with her own grief and despairing as to what to do with her son, decided to ask Lord Burghley to take him into his household as a ward.
Islington, Nov.4.1571
My very good Lord
Entering into consideration with myself of the many ways I have approvedly found your Lordship most friendly to me and mine, I could not long delay to bewray [betray] unto you a special grief which long time, but chiefly of late, hath grown up upon me through the bringing up of my only son Charles, whose well-doing and prosperity in all things comely for his calling should be my greatest comfort – so the contrary I could not avoid to be my greatest dolour. And having awakened myself lately, I found that his father’s absence so long time in his riper years hath made lack to be in him in divers ways that were answerable in his brother, whose education and bringing up, living only at home with his father and me, at his coming to court I suppose was not misliked of. And though the good hap of this hath not been to have that help of the father’s company that his brother had, thereby at these years he is somewhat unfurnished in qualities needful; and I being now a lone widow, am less able to have him well reformed at home than before. Yet the special care that I have that he might be able to continue a worthy memory of his father’s house … hath enforced me for redress to desire your good lordship, above all the pleasures that ever you did me, to accept my said son into your house, to be brought up and instructed as the wards be, so long as shall be needful … From Islington, this 4 of November, 1571.
Your Lorship’s assured loving friend.
Margaret Lennox.
Endorsed –‘To my very good Lord, the Lord Burghley, at the Court.’1
Lord Burghley’s reply to Margaret’s appeal was to produce a tutor. Peter Malliet was a Swiss Protestant, a nephew of Huldrych Zwingli, the reformer and confederate of Martin Luther, who, after failing to cut off their food supplies, had been killed in a battle with the Catholic cantons in 1531.
Surprisingly, in view of his antecedents, Malliet fitted in very well with the household by now removed to the house in Hackney, once the property of the Percies, which Henry VIII had granted the Lennoxes shortly after their marriage. From there Peter Malliet wrote to his Swiss cousins, describing his employment.
I have the office of governor and tutor to the young Earl of Lennox, brother of the King of Scots who was murdered, and uncle of the present one. His lordship is a great hindrance to his studies, but induced by the entreaties and promises of the greatest persons in this kingdom, I could not decline but to undertake that burden for a limited time, since I am at full liberty to leave this place whenever I choose. The youth is just entering on his sixteenth year, and gives great promise of hope for the future; for in case the present king, his nephew, should die without lawful issue, he is the sole successor by hereditary right to the Crown of Scotland, and is entitled to be placed at the head of that kingdom and empire. So also, no one is more nearly allied to the royal blood of England, after the death of the present Queen, than his mother, to whom her only son is the heir – although there is now held an assembly, called a parliament, to the end that the undisputed heir may be appointed. What will be the issue I know not. I hear, among other things, the capital punishment of the Queen of Scots has been debated. The Duke of Norfolk has been condemned, and still lies in the Tower.2
Malliet was of course referring to the imprisonment of the Duke of Norfolk who, while planning to marry Mary Queen of Scots, had been scheming with an Italian banker called Ridolfi to organise a Catholic rising with the aid of troops from Spain. Norfolk, found to be sending money to Queen Mary’s party in Scotland, had been arrested two months previously on 7 September and was now confined to the Tower. Even as Margaret wrote to Burghley, requesting help in controlling her son, Norfolk was being cross-examined, and in January 1552 was tried for high treason. His execution took place in the following June.
In the autumn of that year Queen Elizabeth was thinking of handing over Mary Queen of Scots to the Earl of Mar, who had succeeded Matthew Lennox as regent of Scotland during King James’ minority. Mar, however, died on 28 October, reputedly poisoned by Morton, who had entertained him to a banquet in his castle at Dalkeith the previous night. Following this tragedy, Queen Elizabeth, believing it safer to keep the queen in England, abandoned the idea of transferring her to the custody of Morton, now regent in Mar’s place.
Her policy, as advised by Cecil, was then to support the young king’s party in Scotland, with the result that the leading nobles, headed by Arran, were induced to sign the Pacification of Perth in February 1573.
The Earl of Morton, Margaret’s nephew as he was, then occupied the town of Edinburgh where the castle was still held by Kirkcaldy for Queen Mary. Reinforced by an English army commanded by Sir William Drury, and with cannons transported by sea to Leith, the king’s party began a bombardment against the ancient walls.
As often happens in early summer in Scotland, there was a period of what Melville called droughty weather. The draw-well dried up, and as the defenders became desperate for water, men were lowered by ropes ‘… over the walls and rocks of the castle to a well on the west side, which was afterwards poisoned, whereby so many escaped the shot died, and the rest fell deadly sick.’3
On 28 May, after eleven days of bombardment, the castle finally surrendered. Sir William Kir
kcaldy, Queen Mary’s most valiant protagonist, whom King Henry of France called ‘one of the most valiant men of our time’4, was tried and executed for treason; William Maitland of Lethington, Mary’s ‘Secretary Lethington’ upon whose advise she had so much depended on her first arrival in Scotland, died expediently, it is thought by his own hand.
Morton, for all his deviousness and brutality as a man, proved himself competent as governor, his authority being strengthened by the deaths of both Argyll and Arran during ensuing years.
Notes
1 Ibid., pp.397–8
2 Zurich Letters, second series, Parker Society, pp.200–2
3 Melville, p.101
4 Memoirs of Sir James Melville of Halhilll, p.27
45
CONNIVANCE OF MOTHERS
While the Queen of Scots, abandoned by the government of her own country, remained a prisoner in England in the custody of Lord Shrewsbury, Margaret Lennox, her aunt and mother-in-law, lived quietly in Hackney when not attending Queen Elizabeth at court. The Swiss tutor, Malliet, evidently got her son Charles under control, for nothing is heard of his escapades for the next two years. By that time, however, his mother was seriously considering his marriage; on this important question she was consulting some of her friends, most notably Katherine Duchess of Suffolk, the former Katherine Willoughby, now widowed after marrying the Duke, already by then an old man, when she was only 17.
While at court, Margaret asked Queen Elizabeth for permission to go to Settrington. The queen was immediately suspicious, believing on her spies’ information that Margaret was actually trying to arrange a meeting with the Queen of Scotland, with whom she was thought to have been in secret correspondence for some time.
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