In High Places

by Bonny G Smith

  At last, the men had all signed the bond, sworn their fealty, and paid their homage. All now stood assembled before her once again. The acrid odor of melting wax filled the air; as each lord signed, he had placed his seal upon the parchment. When all was done, Lord Herries scrolled the bond, the many seals dangling from it, and handed it to her.

  As soon as the parchment touched her hand, they all cried, “God Save the Queen!” With tears of emotion welling up in her eyes, she addressed the men before her; these men who had demonstrated their devotion to her cause.

  “My Lords, I thank you with all my heart for your loyalty. I promoted my brother from royal bastard to Earl of Moray, and he has done naught but prove himself a bloody tyrant who, with his band of godless traitors and common murderers, seeks to seize my throne and my son, and rule Scotland in his innocent name. Well, I say, he shall not!”

  Cheers rang out again at these words; as she waited for the noise to die down, her eyes took on a faraway look, and she knew a moment of bitter grief for having pardoned those she had just called murderers, for Rizzio’s death. It had been done in the name of peace and reconciliation, and God knew, nothing could bring poor Davey back. But it made her heart ache all the same.

  When all was once again quiet, she said, “I grieve that this unrest in Scotland shall once again pit brother against brother, and father against son; for me, it is a fight against my brother, and through him, my own son. But fear not; God is on our side, and I shall not rest until I have been revenged!”

  At this, the cheers were deafening, and with the voices of her men ringing in her ears, she bowed and departed to the Council Chamber.

  ###

  Mary sat at the head of the table eying her new Council. There was her brother-in-law, the Earl of Argyll, who would command her army; the earls of Eglington, Cassillus and Rothes; Lord Herries, Lord Seton, Lord Hamilton, and many others besides. Her loyal men!

  “Well, My Lords,” she said. “It has come down to this. We have an army; when and where shall we do battle with the Earl of Moray?”

  “If it please Your Grace,” said Archibald Campbell, the Earl of Argyll, “we should consider alternatives to open conflict. Our numbers are superior to those of the Earl of Moray, but many of the men have no arms. We have done our best to equip those who have flocked to Your Grace’s banner, but our resources do not stretch to being able to ensure that all may have proper weapons. And many of these men are as yet untrained, and so are undisciplined.” And truth to tell, now that he was faced with it, carrying out his duty as commander of the army had begun to frighten him. He had little military experience, and now realized that he may not…one must needs face facts! …be up to the challenge. He had been appointed Lord Lieutenant of the Realm only because he had brought the most men to the field.

  To Mary it was all very frustrating; she had an army, and if the information provided by Lord Hamilton’s men was reliable, her forces outnumbered those of her brother by more than two to one. But even she must concede that having superior numbers was of little help if there were not enough weapons to arm them all properly. James had possession of the treasury and control of the crown revenues; he commanded the mighty arsenals of Edinburgh, Stirling and Dunbar. She, on the other hand, had no money and no ordnance. She had immediately dispatched John Beaton to France to beg for soldiers to come to her aid; but if they came at all, they would not arrive in time for this battle.

  Mary leaned forward. “And my Lord Hamilton? What is your counsel?”

  “Your Grace,” said James Hamilton, second Earl of Arran and Duke of Châtellerault. “The Earl of Moray had neither the right nor the authority to depose Your Grace, nor to subject the prince to an unlawful coronation. You have denounced his dishonorable actions and we, your loyal lords, have put our names to the bond that you now hold.” She eyed him carefully; so they were of the same mind. Fight, and fight without delay. The Hamiltons had as much cause to hate her bastard half-brother as did she; they too had suffered at Moray’s hands, and had more right to any regency than he did. Until her son was born, Arran had been next in line to the Scottish throne after herself, being descended from James II of Scotland in the female line. In point of fact, for Moray to seize the regency was an insult to the entire Hamilton clan.

  “But even so,” said Lord Seton, “it will take an Act of Parliament to ratify the bond, and your reinstatement as queen.” The beacon of Mary’s gaze swung over to Lord Seton; he knew her well enough to see that his words had annoyed her. “But on the other hand,” he said carefully, “it has indeed become evident that only by right of arms can Your Grace truly win back your place.”

  “Still,” said Argyll, now feeling his panic rise, “we have mustered troops in their thousands, that is so; but even superior numbers may not win the day. We need time to train many of these men, who are not soldiers; time to find the means to properly arm them once they have learnt to fight.”

  Mary’s eyes scanned the table. “And you, my Lord Herries? What say you?”

  Lord Herries pursed his lips. “I believe that Your Grace should assemble the army at Dumbarton Castle, where my Lord Fleming awaits us. There are many advantages to such a plan; the castle has a mighty store of weapons; and it is well-stocked. Its position renders it well-nigh impregnable. An army could withstand a siege there. This would buy us enough time to shape the army we have into a fighting force. And if the unspeakable should happen, the castle has a harbor from which Your Grace could make an escape.” Many of the men around the table nodded and murmured their agreement.

  Mary’s eyes glittered with anger. Siege! Escape! How dare they suggest such things to her! Withstanding a siege was little better than the imprisonment she had just endured; and although her recent escape from Loch Leven had excited her and stirred her blood, she had no wish to make a habit of it. But she held her tongue; she could not afford to alienate even one of these loyal men by showing her displeasure.

  And there was another thing; few of these men realized it, but Dumbarton Castle held unpleasant memories for her. It was there that she, at the age of eight, had spent her last months in Scotland before being spirited away to France. It was the last time, the last place, that she had seen her mother on Scottish soil. No, she would not go to Dumbarton Castle. But she must needs find some way to appear to agree, whilst planning something quite different. She needed an ally; the Earl of Argyll was to lead the army; the Hamiltons, led by the Earl of Arran, held a mighty grudge against the bastard Earl of Moray. If any of these men were of her mind, namely, that immediate battle was preferable to months of waiting and uncertainty, then it should be one of these two men. But whereas Argyll seemed hesitant, Hamilton did not.

  Whilst the Council aired their views and debated what had been said so far, Mary regarded the Earl of Argyll from under hooded lids. She must proceed with caution; it was the Scottish way to change sides with the weather, and Argyll was no different than any Scottish lord in that regard. He was married to one of her father’s many bastards, her half-sister, Jean; and yet he had always been close friends with Moray. He was brother-in-law to them both. He and Moray had fallen out over her forced abdication, with which Argyll did not agree, and so now he fought for her side. But for how long? Where did his loyalties really lie? She knew that Argyll had been involved in the murders of both Davey and Darnley; also, he had mightily disapproved of her marriage to Bothwell. He had joined with Moray and other Protestant leaders in fighting her and Bothwell, leading to her capture at Carberry Hill. But he had broken with his former allies over the question of deposing her; and now here he was at Cadzow, the ostensible new leader of the Queen’s Party, and the commander of her army. Mary looked directly at him for several moments, but either he did not see her or purposely would not meet her gaze. That needed thinking on!

  Lord Hamilton looked up at her and their eyes met across the table. They held each other’s gaze for a long moment; it was almost if they had spoken. Somehow she knew that they were in acc
ord, and that both wanted battle as soon as possible. Here was her ally, then!

  Mary thought back to when they had all been riding south from Niddry to Cadzow. She had not donned her breeches or breastplate; she had ridden in her queenly attire, making it a point to ride amongst the men and speak with them. While it was true that many of them had no pikes, or swords with jewels in their hilts, they still had the knives and axes they had brought with them, which were just as deadly in hand-to-hand combat. None of the men who had flocked to her banner had come unarmed in that sense. The time she had spent amongst the soldiery had not been wasted; she could see in their eyes that many had been beguiled by her charm. They would fight for her. It could be done; it should be done.

  Without taking her eyes from the Earl of Arran’s gaze, Mary held up her hand for silence. Lord Hamilton was senior amongst them, in both age and rank. It was for him to have the last word among her advisors. “My lord of Arran,” she said. “All that said, then, what is your counsel?”

  Still holding Mary’s gaze he said, “Your Grace, let us proceed to Dumbarton by way of Rutherglen Castle; there we may acquire some arms, I am certain. We shall march west, but stay south of the River Clyde. We must cross the river at some point to reach Dumbarton; we shall certainly swell our ranks along the way.”

  It was a good plan; everyone would think their advice had been taken and all would be content. Her lips curled in a secret smile; because the lords of her new Council did not know the Earl of Moray very well if they believed that he would allow an army six thousand strong and growing daily to pass unchallenged so close to his own in Glasgow. James would guess that she was making for the security of Dumbarton; this move to the west should draw him out and he would attack. And then she would crush him utterly.

  Somewhere between Glasgow and Dundrennan Abbey, Scotland, May 1568

  It had been a wet, gloomy day; there had been little to help one distinguish the hours between sunrise and sunset. Willie knew he should have been sleeping; all the others were. But he simply could not.

  During Mary’s ten months at Loch Leven, he had often been close to the queen, but only for brief periods of time; long enough to deliver a message, or a load of wood to her rooms. But since her escape from Loch Leven he had stayed almost constantly by her side. Almost as if he were a faithful dog! It was heady stuff for him to be so continually in her presence; he was in love with her. And now she was in danger again, just as she had been on that fateful afternoon when he had rowed her away from captivity to freedom.

  But this was different. This time they were all in great danger, so grave that they dared not travel by day. This would be the third night the little band of fugitives would spend fleeing south, as far away from Glasgow as they could get.

  The last hours before moonrise were supposed to have been George’s watch, but Willie had not awakened him. The days were chilly, the nights very cold, but they dare not risk a fire. Willie shivered as the wind rose ever so slightly, causing the rain to blow into the sheltered space under the outcropping of rock under which they all, except him, were sleeping. Instead, he had spent the extra hours watching Mary sleep. Even now he marveled at the way her lashes curved and made little shadowed crescents on her cheeks. Somehow, lying there asleep, she looked so vulnerable, so helpless; she looked much younger than her five-and-twenty years.

  Although he was cold and uncomfortable, it made him glow with an inner warmth to see Mary so snuggly wrapped in his plaid. Willie glanced over at George, who lay huddled at the entrance to the little cave. His plaid had been sacrificed as a pillow for Mary’s head. Between them, they had made her as safe and comfortable as possible. But it was now full dark, somewhere above the clouds the moon was up, and they must be on their way. They had been three days now out in the open; they simply must reach some sort of shelter before they must sleep again. Perhaps by now it was safe to risk approaching a farm or a village. Or praise God, mayhap they would reach the abbey at Dundrennan before daybreak.

  Willie seemed to have a sixth sense where Mary was concerned. Regardless of her plight, she was still a queen, and he was keenly aware of her delicate sensibilities. Upon awakening, everyone usually had the same need. Her needs must be seen to first, not only because of who she was, but to spare her any embarrassment. That such consideration from himself might embarrass her he had never even stopped to consider. He only knew that she was the queen, a being apart, and must be treated as such, whether she slept in a magnificent tester bed hung with silk and silver tassels, or on the cold, hard stone floor of a cave in the wild, wrapped in a servant’s plaid.

  “Your Grace,” whispered Willie, gently shaking Mary’s shoulder. He had never touched her before, not in such a manner; he had kissed the warm, soft flesh of the back of her hand, but then so had all of her other courtiers. This was different. To him, it was almost as if he were touching a scared shrine. “Your Grace,” he said again, this time a little closer to her ear.

  Mary stirred, then opened her eyes. The sky was gray and brooding; there were no stars. Instinctively, she whispered, too. “Willie! What hour of the clock is it, think you?” She sat up, and as she did so, the plaid in which she had lain sleeping slipped off her shoulders. Willie retrieved it instantly and wrapped it around her. She must conserve whatever warmth there was inside the thickly woven tartan.

  “Sometime between compline and midnight, I should think, Your Grace,” he replied. “Methinks we must soon be on our way.”

  Her eyes met his for a long moment. “I thank you for waking me first,” said Mary. She arose quietly, pulled the plaid about her, and disappeared to the right of the outcropping of rock. When she returned, the little camp was astir and every one was making ready to continue their trek to the south. She was powerfully hungry, but she knew there was nothing to eat, so she held her peace. Perhaps they would find something along the way.

  The horses had been hobbled in a little copse of trees down the hill from the cave. As soon as they were all ready, they walked down, and as usual, Willie bent and helped her to mount. Her men had been worried about travelling by night, but secretly, she was glad. She recalled the wild ride she had made in the rain and wind from Jedburgh Abbey to Hermitage Castle the time Bothwell had been laid low by reivers. The impulse to take such a risk had been strong; she loved Bothwell and simply had to get to him, to see him, to care for his hurts, to save him if she could. Now her motivation was even stronger, and her lips curved in a sardonic smile that no one saw, as she contemplated how strong an incentive self-preservation was. For three nights now they had travelled in the dark to avoid detection, sleeping in the daylight hours. That suited her well; but she knew that sometime, she would have to face her defeat at Langside in the harsh light of day.

  ###

  Once mounted, the bedraggled party made their way down into the passes of the Glenkens. Few people lived in such a remote place; it was wild country, but it suited their purpose, which was to avoid detection. The rain came down in a gentle drizzle, soaking her plaid, which she had put over her head and held fast at the neck. There was no way to stay dry; she had not yet dried out from the day before, even in the shelter of the cave in which they had spent the night, for they had had no fire. There was nothing to do except to follow the horse in front of her and give herself up to thought.

  The tacit plan that she and Lord Hamilton had agreed to with locked eyes at the Council table at Cadzow had been put into effect; they had marched to Rutherglen Castle and there acquired a great store of weapons. Well-armed and confident, they had departed Rutherglen traveling west, staying well south of the River Clyde. She was beginning to despair of her assumption that she could draw James out of Glasgow, but just as they approached Langside, James’s army revealed itself, having taken cover in the narrow lanes of the village through which her army must pass on its way to the river crossing.

  The Lords, George and Willie all insisted that she remain out of the fray; and so she took her place atop a knoll that afforde
d a good view of the town. Her army advanced, and as it did so, she heard the unmistakable sound of gunfire. Her army was being fired upon by a barrage of hackbuts and arquebuses. Her army had no such weapons; in the resultant confusion, she saw Argyll push forward, hoping that their superior numbers might win the day. Many in her front lines were killed, but those who managed to run the gamut through the town found themselves facing the main vanguard of Moray’s army, which had been positioned just out of sight on the moor. The two armies clashed in a forest of pikes; for a few minutes it seemed as if her brother’s ranks were failing on the right flank, but at the last moment, she recognized the banner of Kirkcaldy of Grange. He arrived with a sizable force and broke Argyll’s ranks. In little more than forty-five minutes, her army, with its superior numbers, had been routed and her men were fleeing in all directions.

  It had been a bitter moment. Her foot itched to spur her horse forward, into the fray; perhaps she could help to restore order to the chaos, and they might yet win the day. But Willie, who knew her mind so well, pulled his horse in front of her path and said, “You canna’ win the day, Your Grace. It is over, and we must fly.”

  She knew a moment of madness when she was tempted to rear her horse and go anyway; but she knew that this would be folly. She was sure to be taken, imprisoned once more, perhaps this time even murdered. She was not afraid of death; but she had a deadly fear of imprisonment. Never again!