by Alison Weir
The Commons, however, would not be silenced. By the end of the month it had become obvious to Elizabeth that they had her in a corner, for they had still not voted her the money she badly needed, and it was unlikely they would do so whilst she remained uncooperative. She could either forgo her much-needed funds and dissolve Parliament, or she could give in. The original dispute over the succession was turning into a battle over the privileges of monarch and parliament, and she had no wish for a showdown over that sensitive issue. Wisely, she capitulated, conceding that members might have a free discussion on the succession question, and remitting one third of the subsidy she had asked for. The Commons were so overjoyed and gratified at this that they agreed to proceed at once to the money bill without debating the succession. But when Parliament tried to incorporate the Queen's promise to marry into the preamble to the bill, she took one outraged look at the draft presented for her approval, and scrawled in the margin, 'I know no reason why my private answers to the realm should serve for prologue to a subsidy book; neither do I understand why such audacity should be used to make, without my licence, an Act of my words!'
The preamble was discreetly removed, leaving in the draft just a brief reference to Parliament's pious wish that the succession question would be resolved in the future. This of course dashed the hopes of Mary Stuart, who had expected her claim to be ratified by Parliament.
On 2 January 1567, Elizabeth dissolved a chastened Parliament, sourly advising its members, 'Beware however you prove your prince's patience, as you have now done mine! Let this my discipline stand you in stead of sorer strokes, and let my comfort pluck up your dismayed spirits. A more loving prince towards you ye shall never have.'
She behaved as though she had won a contest, but Cecil pointed out that she had been rather the loser, passing her a memorandum in which he enumerated what had not been achieved: 'The succession not answered, the marriage not followed, dangers ensuing, general disorientations.'
In November 1566, Mary had discussed with her advisers ways of freeing herself from Darnley, but to little effect. The marriage could not be annulled because that would call into question the legitimacy of her son. Some lords wanted her to arrest Darnley on a charge of treason, but she was reluctant to do so because foreign ambassadors were already assembling at her court for the christening of Prince James. This sumptuous Catholic ceremony, the last of its kind in Scotland, took place on 17 December at Stirling Castle. Queen Elizabeth stood godmother, and was represented by the Earl of Bedford, who presented her gift of a golden font, intricately carved and vividly enamelled. It had, however, been made for a much smaller baby, and Elizabeth felt bound to apologise, explaining she had not realised how much young James would have grown. Darnley, simmering with resentment, refused to attend his son's baptism.
After the christening, Bedford conveyed another message from his mistress, which brought welcome news, for Elizabeth had promised to block any legislation prejudicial to Mary's succession in return for an undertaking that her cousin would refrain from pressing her claim while Elizabeth lived.
Mary had by now turned for support to James Hepburn, Earl of Bothwell, to whose castle at Dunbar she had fled after Rizzio's murder. He had rallied his followers and her other supporters there, and returned with her to Edinburgh in triumph. Bothwell was described by one of his contemporaries as 'a glorious, rash and hazardous young man', but his cultivated manner, acquired during a sojourn in France, masked a ruthless and unscrupulous character. He was a Protestant, and had recently married the virtuous Lady Jean Gordon. Lady Jean, however, could not offer him a crown, and it was his desire for this that now fuelled his pursuit of the Queen.
Already Bothwell was hated and resented by his peers for his favour with her, and Bedford reported 'His influence is such as David [Rizzio] was never more abhorred than he is now.'
On 24 December, the day on which Darnley took himself off to stay with his father, the Earl of Lennox, at Glasgow, Mary formally pardoned Rizzio's murderers. It was now obvious that she was looking for a way to rid herself of her husband, and she confided as much to Maitland at a conference of nobles held that month at Craigmillar Castle near Edinburgh.
'Madam, let us guide the matter among us, and Your Grace shall see nothing but good, and approved by Parliament,' he soothed.
'Nothing must be done to stain my honour and conscience,' insisted the Queen. Nevertheless it was during that same conference that Bothwell and other lords first conceived a plot to murder Darnley, though there is no evidence that Mary either knew of it or gave her consent to it.
During the winter, Darnley fell ill. It was given out that he was suffering from smallpox, but it seems more likely that he had syphilis. Whatever his illness was, it had a debilitating effect and he took to his bed.
At least now Mary was enjoying good relations with Elizabeth. 'Always have we commended the equity of our cause to you and have looked to you for friendship therein,' the Queen of Scots wrote that January to her cousin. But this fragile amity was soon to be irrevocably shattered.
On 20 January, fearful that he might stir up trouble in the wesL of the country, Mary visited her husband in Glasgow and persuaded him to return with her to Edinburgh. Her manner was solicitous and she promised that, when he was well again, she would live with him as his wife. In the capital Bothwell was waiting to greet them and conduct them to an old house in Kirk o' Field, where Darnley had chosen to lodge rather than going to Craigmillar Castle at Mary's suggestion. Reputedly situated in healthy air, the house stood on a small hill near the city wall overlooking the Cowgate, and was surrounded by pretty gardens. Today the University of Edinburgh Hall of the Senate stands on the site of the Prebendaries' Chamber, where Darnley was accommodated. Beneath this room was a bedroom for the Queen, who visited him often and sometimes stayed at the house during his illness.
Bothwell had met with Morton that January and Darnley's assassination had again been discussed, but neither lord would later admit to initiating the subject. Bothwell had also talked with his kinsman, James Hepburn, of murdering Darnley. Although there is no evidence that Mary knew what they were planning, her contemporaries would come to believe after her husband's death that she had lured Darnley to Edinburgh at Bothwell's suggestion.
On Darnley's first night in Edinburgh, Mary sat up with him, talking, playing cards and giving every appearance of being a loving wife. Darnley's father, the Earl of Lennox, would later say that when he visited his son he found him sadly altered, desperately in need of company and comfort, and obtaining solace from the Psalms.
On 8 February, Mary announced that she was at last willing to ratify the Treaty of Edinburgh, and the next day her envoy left for England. Mary had intended to spend that night at Kirk o' Field with Darnley, but then remembered that she had promised to attend a wedding masque at Holyrood Palace. She took a fond farewell of her husband, pressing into his hand a ring as a token of her love, and then left in a torchlit procession for the palace.
11
'A Dangerous Person'
At two o'clock in the morning, on 10 February 1567, a violent explosion shook the city of Edinburgh, bringing people running to Kirk o' Field. They found the house a smouldering heap of rubble, while in the orchard lay the dead bodies of Darnley, naked beneath his nightgown, and his valet, Taylor. Marks on their throats indicated that both had been strangled: certainly they were not killed by the explosion, which had perhaps been intended to destroy the evidence of murder. It was thought that Darnley, sensing that something was wrong, had left the house with his servant to investigate and been attacked outside. An elderly neighbour had heard him plead, 'Pity me, kinsmen, for the sake of Him who pitied all the world!' The first person who ran out into the street nearby after the explosion was Captain William Blackadder, Bothwell's man, who was promptly arrested but swore he had merely been sharing a drink with a friend in a neighbouring house.
When the news was brought to the Queen, who had been awakened by the blast, she expr
essed shock and horror, and vowed that her husband's murderers would be speedily 'discovered' and punished. She expressed her belief that the murderers' intention had been to assassinate her also: had she not decided to attend the masque at Holyrood, she too would have been murdered, and she wasted no time in penning letters to foreign courts announcing her 'miraculous' escape.
There was no doubt that Darnley had been murdered: many people had a motive for doing away with him, or stood to gain from his death. Chief among them was the Queen herself, who had long since ceased to love him and had discussed ways of ridding herself of him. She also regarded him as a dangerous liability, and had recently complained to Archbishop James Beaton that it was well known how her husband was plotting to kidnap their son and rule in his name.
Bothwell wanted Darnley dead so that he himself could marry the Queen and rule Scotland. He was 'high in his own conceit, proud, vicious and vainglorious above measure, one who would attempt anything out of ambition', as one contemporary described him.
Then there were the other Scots lords, who hated Darnley, many still nursing a sense of betrayal over his treacherous behaviour to them after Rizzio's murder. The finger of suspicion even touched foreign princes with vested interests in Scotland: the Catholic champions, Philip II, Charles IX and the Pope, had no wish to see Catholicism besmirched by the scandals surrounding Darnley. Conversely, Queen Elizabeth was anxious to promote the ascendancy of the Protestant establishment in Scotland, as led by Moray, and Darnley was an obstacle to this.
But, for most people, in Scotland and elsewhere, the evidence pointed overwhelmingly to Bothwell - and, quite soon, to Mary.
On 24 February, having received from her agents in Scotland a far more sinister account of Darnley's murder than appeared in the official version that would shortly be sent to her, Elizabeth wrote to Mary from Whitehall with serious urgency. Instead of her usual 'Ma chere soeur , she began,
Madam: my ears have been so astounded and my heart so frightened to hear of the horrible and abominable murder of your former husband, our mutual cousin, that I have scarcely spirit to write; yet I cannot conceal that I grieve more for you than him. I should not do the office of a faithful cousin and friend if I did not urge you to preserve your honour, rather than look through your fingers at revenge on those who have done you that pleasure, as most people say. I exhort you, I counsel you, I beg you, to take this event so to heart that you will not fear to proceed even against your nearest. I write thus vehemently, not that I doubt, but for affection.
Catherine de' Medici commented to her circle that Mary was lucky to be rid of the young fool, but warned her former daughter-in-law that, if she did not immediately pursue and punish the murderers, France would deem her dishonoured and would become her enemy.
Mary, concerned to dissociate herself from the crime, ordered an inquiry, but the depositions of witnesses were extracted in often suspicious circumstances, even under torture. The Earl of Moray, who stood to gain power in Scotland if his half-sister were to be overthrown, was to retain control of all these documents and, therefore, they are unreliable as evidence. It is possible that Mary, whose health at the time was poor, was paralysed by indecision and reluctant to act against the man who, a week after Darnley's murder, was named in anonymous obscene public placards that appeared in Edinburgh as the chief suspect, Bothwell.
Darnley's parents suffered anguish, not only as a result of their son's death, but also because the Queen seemed to be doing so little to bring the culprits to justice. Elizabeth released a distraught Lady Lennox from the Tower and placed her in the care of Sir Richard Sackville. De Silva reported that the Countess believed that Mary 'had some hand in the business' as an act of 'revenge for her Italian secretary'. The Earl of Lennox successfully pressured Mary into allowing a private indictment of Bothwell for the murder of Darnley, but after an insulting travesty of a trial, which intimidated witnesses were too frightened to attend, he was acquitted on 12 April.
On 24 April, Mary, again convalescent after an illness, was travelling back to Edinburgh after visiting her son at Stirling, when Bothwell, reckless with regard to his reputation or hers - and possibly with her consent and foreknowledge, for she turned down an offer to rescue her - abducted her and bore her off to Dunbar, where he 'ravished' her, thus ensuring that it was impossible for her to refuse to marry him.
Shortly after the abduction, Lord Grey arrived from England with orders to tell Mary that Elizabeth was 'greatly perplexed' because the Queen of Scots had failed to bring to justice her husband's murderers yet had showered favour upon 'such as have been by common fame most touched with the crime'. Mary, of course, was incommunicado, and the message was never delivered. When Elizabeth learned that Mary had surrendered herself to Bothwell, she was shocked.
On 3 June, the Church of Scotland denounced Bothwell as an adulterer with one of his wife's maids and granted her a divorce. This left him free to marry Mary, their Protestant nuptials taking place on 15 May at Holyrood Palace. Afterwards, Mary asserted that she had had no choice in the matter, but there were many who thought her conduct depraved, and were now convinced that she had connived with Bothwell to murder Darnley.
Elizabeth could only deplore her cousin's behaviour, which contrasted so unfavourably with her own at the time of Amy Dudley's death, and in a letter to Mary she wrote, 'Madam, it has been always held in friendship that prosperity provideth but adversity proveth friends, wherefore we comfort you with these few words.' She had learned of Mary's marriage, and, to be plain with you, our grief has not been small thereat: for how could a worse choice be made for your honour than in such haste to marry a subject who, besides other notorious lacks, public fame has charged with the murder of your late husband, besides touching yourself in some part, though we trust in that behalf falsely. And with what peril have you married him, that hath another lawful wife, nor any children betwixt you legitimate!
Thus you see our opinion plainly, and we are heartily sorry we can conceive no better. We are earnestly bent to do everything in our power to procure the punishment of that murderer against any subject you have, how dear soever you should hold him, and next thereto to be careful how your son the Prince may be preserved to the comfort of you and your realm.
Elizabeth told Randolph that she 'had great misliking of the Queen's doing, which she doth so much detest that she is ashamed of her'. Yet there were other reasons for her disapproval of the marriage. Randolph had long since warned her that Bothwell was 'as mortal an enemy to our whole nation as any man alive', and she feared that, to gratify his ambition, he might incite Mary to become her enemy. Bedford was therefore instructed to 'comfort' any Scots lords who 'misliked Bothwell's greatness'.
Two days after the wedding, Mary was already regretting what she had done, for Bothwell was proving a stern husband, frowning on frivolous pleasures and displaying jealousy of the influence of any other lords. The French ambassador saw her looking very sad and heard her wishing for death; at one point she was calling for a knife with which to kill herself. He noticed also that, despite her mental anguish, she could not resist Bothwell's physical attraction.
The Scots lords found the marriage intolerable. Having just rid themselves of Rizzio and Darnley, they were in no mood to endure the ambitious and ruthless Bothwell as King of Scots, and they were soon preparing for an armed confrontation with him. This took place on 15 June at Carberry Hill. Very little blood was spilt, but at the end of the day Mary was in the custody of her nobles and Bothwell had fled back to Dunbar, whence he escaped to Denmark via the Orkneys. The lords assured the Queen that they intended no harm to the Crown, but she soon found herself under guard like a common felon.
Thus she was led weeping and mud-spattered back to Edinburgh, and here it became starkly apparent how her subjects now felt about her. As she rode through the packed streets, they reviled her as an adulteress and murderess, and screamed, 'Burn the whore! Kill her! Drown her!'
'I will hang and crucify them all,' she cr
ied, but her humiliation was complete. Placards depicting her as a mermaid - a symbol for a prostitute - confronted her at every turn. It was clear that her reign was effectively over.
Two days after her degradation in Edinburgh, Mary was imprisoned in the fortress of Lochleven, which stood on an island in the middle of a lake in Kinross. She had nothing with her but the clothes she wore, and some weeks after her arrival she miscarried of twins, losing so much blood that she was obliged to rest in bed for some time. Meanwhile, Mary's lords were doing their best to whip up public opinion against her, and deciding how best to dispose of her.
Elizabeth, hearing of these events, was deeply concerned at the implications of the imprisonment of a queen by her subjects. Whatever Mary had done - and Elizabeth, deploring her behaviour, had little sympathy for her on a personal level - she was still an anointed sovereign, to whom 'by nature and law' her people owed loyalty and obedience, and their treatment of her was setting a dangerous precedent. It was unthinkable that a queen could be thus divested of her regal authority. Alarmingly, seditious ballads applauding Mary's deposition had begun to appear in England. For these reasons, Elizabeth was determined to fight for Mary's release.
On 20 June, one of Bothwell's servants was arrested and made to deliver to the Earl of Morton what later became known as the 'Casket Letters' - a collection of correspondence said to be between Mary and Bothwell which, if authentic, appeared to incriminate the Queen of being an accessory to murder. The lords responded by telling Mary she must choose between being put on trial, with the Casket Letters being offered as evidence, abdicating, or divorcing Bothwell. She refused to consider any of these options, asking only, according to her enemies, to be allowed to sail away on a boat with Bothwell to wherever fortune would take them. Meanwhile, the Pope, having heard about her recent behaviour, refused on 2 July to have anything further to do with her.