The Raven's Heart

by Jesse Blackadder

  I bow my head. “It is only foolish tavern talk.”

  “Talk that has reached across the seas to Bothwell’s ears, and yet it was he who commended Darnley to me when all other advice lay with foreign princes.”

  “Bothwell begs your leave to return and speak with you of these matters himself.”

  “He does not have my leave,” she says. “I have plenty of advisers here in Scotland.”

  “I shall tell him.”

  “You will send a message. I want you here. I need someone to counter this foolishness. You will speak of Lord Darnley’s accomplishments and qualities. You will spread the word that he is worthy to be King of Scotland.”

  She looks at me. “It is as important for you as for me. Should I marry him, he strengthens my claim to the throne. Elizabeth herself has sent him here. Her parliament is debating succession right now and this can only help. As I promised you, once it is certain, you have your reward.”

  The twist of her hand and my life turns again. I nod, but don’t answer.

  She leans across and raises my chin with her fingers. “Ah, Robbie, what has happened to you? I should not have sent you away, not you who were so loyal to me back when I knew nothing of being a queen.”

  Her eyes hold me, and they are tender, as if she could never have sent Angelique to the gallows.

  “I will have some new dresses made for you. You must be longing for something womanly after six months as a soldier.”

  “No, Your Grace.” My answer comes out abruptly and she raises her eyebrows.

  “I will serve you better as a man. I can be your eyes and ears in the world. It is safer in your court too. Alison was too closely watched by Lord Hume.”

  It is the first time I have refused an order, although both the order and its refusal have been couched in diplomatic terms. Not for nothing have I been a courtier for more than three years. She considers me for a moment. Is she completely blinded by Lord Darnley, or does she notice that she no longer holds my heart?

  “You are right,” she says, sitting back and reaching for her wine. “You can be a gentleman of my chamber. At any rate, Lord Hume is busy with his estates and little at court.”

  “Thank you,” I say.

  “If you are so suspicious of Lord Darnley, then I will not tell him you are a woman. You may keep an eye on him and let me know what you observe.”

  A burst of laughter comes from across the room and I look at Rizzio and La Flamina leaning over their chess game.

  The Queen follows my gaze. “I have appointed Rizzio as my personal secretary. He is a most canny adviser.”

  “What does he think of Lord Darnley?”

  “You know, I think he is rather taken with him,” she says, with a sideways glance. “He pressed me for a long time to marry into Spain or France, but now he has come around to Darnley and, if anything, is the strongest advocate of this match.”

  “It sounds as though your mind is made up,” I say.

  “Not quite. He is charming, but there is much to consider. Elizabeth has not made her wishes clear yet and I would have her blessing first.”

  “We must pray that she sees sense.”

  She stretches out a hand and runs her finger down my cheek. “I have ordered a new room made up for you,” she says. “I hope it will be to your liking. There is a large fire in there—this cold must be painful to you, after France. It is still painful to me even after four winters. Tomorrow, join us in court and you will see more of Darnley for yourself. When these evil storms pass, you may go out among the people again, but this time to speak instead of listen. I put my full trust in you.”

  “And Lord Bothwell?”

  “I will write to him in the morning and tell him I have need of you here. When the weather clears, we shall go hunting. It will be like the old times. I think you will find Lord Darnley is a worthy companion.”

  Twenty-two

  I no longer love the Queen, and now she finds me irresistible. The more aloof I become, the less I act like a servant, the more she likes it. She wants me as close as in our early days, her friend and confidante. She keeps me by her side, she confides in me, she rides out with me, she asks my opinions. And I, who do not care, come to enjoy this unexpected taste of power.

  I see that when you keep your desires secret, the world is more likely to hand them to you. I decide I will not say a word about the castle. I will do what I can to bring her closer to the English throne, but I will let her believe I am indifferent to my reward.

  Lord Darnley has used the bitter winter as his excuse for settling into the life of the court. It is he who woos the Queen with a ceaseless flow of flirtatious glances, kisses, light-footed dancing, poetry, discussion, hunting, and promises of sport when the weather clears. It is he whose desire is writ large, whose pursuit is soft but relentless.

  ≈ ≈ ≈

  The Queen calls me to her chamber one night after I have been back for a week. The Marys, her shadows, are there, along with Rizzio and a couple of her other ladies. At their center Darnley holds the floor. He is reciting some long poem, with enough wit to keep them all entertained.

  The Queen beckons me close, then stands and inclines her head, so that I follow her toward her bedchamber. She gestures for Seton to follow us. “Continue,” she says to Darnley as he falters a moment. “We won’t be long.”

  She is like a girl planning a party. Laid out on her bed is one of her male outfits, the plain dress of a merchant.

  “I want to surprise him,” she whispers. “Take him out on the streets in disguise. Help me dress.”

  It takes Seton a while to strip her of her garments and help her into the new clothes, while I, in deference to my persona of Robert, turn my back. I have not seen her do this for over a year, but she has lost none of her strong bearing once disguised. For a moment I glimpse what I once saw in her.

  “Now, let us invite him to join us.” Her smile is pure mischief, as if years of ruling have disappeared with her skirts.

  I lead the way back into the chamber, and Darnley, ever attentive, halts mid-sentence. When the Queen steps out behind me and faces him, there is a moment of silence while everyone waits to see his reaction.

  I am close enough to read what is in his eyes when he looks at her. Ah, clever Queen. Did she see how he looked at me and want the same for herself? He is undone for a moment, a flush comes to his cheeks, the hunger is naked in his eyes until he collects himself, claps his hands, and jumps to his feet.

  “What a fine gentleman you make, Madam.” He walks around her. “The illusion is extraordinary. Now that I see what you are capable of here, I shall doubt the sex of every person in this court.”

  She inclines her head, but not quickly enough to hide her smile. He stops, bows, and stretches out a hand. “Shall we dance?” he asks, and the ladies laugh.

  “No,” she says, and all fall silent. “Better than that. We will walk out and I will show you this city through the eyes of the ordinary man.”

  I stand back as he comes to her side, but she says, “Robert? You must accompany us and keep us from trouble. Let us show Lord Darnley the real Edinburgh.”

  She gives Darnley another merchant’s outfit to change into and we cover ourselves in heavy cloaks and hoods and draw on leather gloves. Thus wrapped, the three of us cross the courtyard, pass the guard, and step out into the street.

  The cobblestones are iced, so we must walk carefully and our slow movement is not enough to warm our bodies. In her fourth winter now, the Queen has started to adjust and does not feel it as keenly. Being from a softer clime, Darnley is shivering by the time we reach Netherbow Port.

  I steer them away from Sophie’s tavern, for I would hear the mood of the rest of Edinburgh myself. In the White Hart the air is a soup of ale, smoke, food smells, wet clothing, and raucous laughs. I shoulder my way through, looking for a table. Those by the fire have been taken by the wealthy merchants who are regular clients. The Queen looks across and frowns. She is accustomed to h
aving her desire the moment she thinks of it. I clap my hand on her shoulder and gesture toward a drafty table at the back, with a wink that is a warning.

  Darnley is more at home than I expected. He knows what to order, how to joke with the barmaid, how to push his way to the bar without causing offense. The accent and pitch of his voice shift just enough that he sounds wellborn but not noble. I am not the only one who is good at disguises.

  Within moments of him bringing the drinks back to our table, a woman approaches with a wide smile and a low neckline baring her cleavage.

  “Cold night, gents,” she says. “A body could freeze just walking to the tavern. What brings you here? Something special?”

  I open my mouth to answer, but Darnley beats me. “Good madam, I am come all the way from London to see if it is true what they say about Scottish women.”

  “And what might that be, laddie?”

  “Why, that you are so exquisite no king dares to rule you and only a queen of great beauty is fit to be above you.”

  The woman laughs loudly and pinches his cheek. “Of course it is true. Our Queen’s beauty is famed. But if it is the Queen you are enamored of, why, we have our very own Mary upstairs here. Almost as tall as you, sir, red-haired, all dressed with a crown, and ready to grant you her royal favor. She doesn’t come cheap, but why should she?”

  Beside me the Queen stiffens.

  “Really? How much is she?” Darnley asks.

  “Thirty marks. But for all three of you, a better price. You must beware though, sirs. After an hour with the Queen, no ordinary woman will satisfy you again.”

  “That I can well imagine,” he says. “Let us think on it. My friend here is waiting for his ship to come in and the foul weather has quite delayed it. It may be that we cannot afford any queenly services tonight.”

  She leans over, gives him a loud kiss on the cheek, and disappears into the crowd.

  “It seems Scotland’s Queen is well loved in the capital,” he says, and takes a long swig of ale. I do not turn to look at the Queen, but I can feel her cold rage next to me.

  “Indeed,” she says. “It seems more of an insult to me.”

  He leans across the table. “But there, sir, you are quite wrong. The ordinary man of the city loves the Queen and dreams that she will grant him royal favors.”

  “You could say that the ordinary man of the city dreams of the Queen submitting to his base desires, when in reality he must serve her and can never hope for that reward,” I say.

  He turns to me curiously. “Have you spent much time with ordinary men, sir?”

  “A good deal of my life, sir. And you?”

  “Perhaps less, due to the accident of my birth. But I see no insult in a man desiring his Queen.”

  “You think good can come of every man thinking the Queen is a common whore?” the Queen asks.

  “Not a common whore; she costs thirty marks, no less,” he says. “But if you visit the taverns, you cannot expect to find a royal court. If you think this insults the Queen, then you have seen nothing of the insults the ordinary man makes when he is unhappy with his ruler. You have no idea, with respect, of the vile baseness that his insults will run to. I tell you, sir, this is a kingdom that is well satisfied with its ruler.”

  She exhales and takes a swig of her ale. “The Queen is well thought of in the whorehouses. It’s in the church where you will hear the most vile insults and lies about her.”

  “Well, then, it is best you do not go there,” he says. “I myself will go to hear this famous preacher of Edinburgh and the foolishness that comes from his lips. But for now, let’s forget such matters and enjoy ourselves. I will get us more drinks.”

  He disappears into the crowd and she turns to me, a question in her eyes. It is time to play her desire with all the skill I am learning.

  “He thinks as many men do, and that is no fault,” I say. “But beware of a man with such a face, who converses as happily with whores as with queens.”

  “That is the very thing I like about him. A prince must be able to speak to all his subjects.”

  “He is not a prince,” I say.

  “Not yet.” She turns to watch him coming back through the crowd. “Not a prince, yet.”

  He hands us the cups and sits down. I lift my drink, marveling at how easy it is to shape her longing.

  Twenty-three

  He has set himself to win her, but he makes the tactical error of playing his hand too soon.

  The court is still confined by the bitter winter. The days are gloomy and short, the nights seem eternal. The cold creeps into my bones, no matter what fires burn in the palace. Everyone is sick of the taste of salted meat. Edinburgh is a city of hedgehogs and badgers, all of us curling into ourselves for the long winter, slow and groggy.

  Except Lord Darnley. He sings to La Flamina, reads poetry to Beaton, plays skilful chess with Rizzio, discusses foreign policy with Maitland. He teaches us the latest dance from Elizabeth’s court and shows the musicians how to accompany it. He teases Lusty about her forthcoming marriage to John Sempill and no one mentions the vow that the Marys have taken not to wed before the Queen. Even Rizzio has fallen under his spell and they are often seen together conversing in Italian, a tongue that few of us in the court can speak.

  I am impervious to his charm. His sideways glances, his efforts to wheedle out my secrets, his knowing hints and winks, come to nothing. I invent reasons to absent myself from the Queen’s chambers in the long, dark evenings. She thinks I am in the taverns spreading word of Darnley’s qualities. Most of the time I am sleeping like a hibernating creature.

  On one such night she sends for me, late. A servant pounds on my door and I have time only to clamber from my bed and pull a cloak over my nightgown before hurrying to her chambers.

  The Queen herself is wearing gorgeous noblemen’s finery and she is striding about her chamber in agitation when I step inside the door.

  “I have need of your wisdom tonight as a woman,” she says. “Come by the fire.”

  The Queen’s fire burns the hottest of any in the palace and in my half-sleep I am grateful to stand with my back to it, its warmth licking through my heavy cloak. “What is it, Your Grace?” I ask, stifling a yawn.

  She strides the length of the room again before answering. “Lord Darnley has asked me to marry him.”

  I am shocked, but only that he has misjudged his timing so much. He has taken the first step, of charming her, but he has not taken the necessary second step—moving back and letting her taste the fear of not having him. He is too young, this accomplished boy, to know that desire must have fear within it.

  “It seems hasty,” I say.

  “I think it has gone to his head, knowing the Queen can be found in any whorehouse, and he thinks he might have what he wants just for the asking.” She turns to stride again. “What arrogance! He believes I will simper and smile and hand him the kingdom after three weeks’ acquaintance.”

  “What did you tell him?”

  “I said do not think to buy the Queen for a handful of shillings, and I sent him away. I am of a mind to send him home to England.”

  The room is silent while she pours herself a cup of wine, then pours one for me too and brings it over to the fire. I am starting to shiver and I gulp it gratefully.

  “What think you of this?” she says. “Speak plainly. I have no stomach for diplomacy tonight.”

  “Did something untoward happen?” I ask.

  She blushes. “He came at me.”

  I look at her, dressed in her boy’s playthings, and sigh. “Madam, it is two of the morning and he has been drinking.”

  “He forgets himself, and who I am,” she snaps.

  “No doubt he does. You dress as a boy and take him to taverns and whorehouses and then complain when he does not treat you as a queen.”

  She throws herself down in a chair, and her lip trembles. “Do you think I have encouraged his hasty behavior?”

  “If you wa
nt to be treated as a queen, you need to act as one,” I say. “He desires you, but it is equally clear you desire him and that marriage is the logical outcome. He has rushed you, but this proposal is surely not unexpected?”

  She rubs her face with both hands. “He is my most likely suitor yet, but I did not expect he would be so clumsy. If he cannot handle this, how will he handle ruling a council of nobles with far more cunning and experience? Perhaps I should be like Elizabeth and rule my country alone.”

  Bothwell would take the chance to warn her off this marriage, but I will not be so selfless. I shrug as if it is no matter. “Madam, don’t let a mistake determine his future, but watch now what is more important—how he deals with that mistake. Then make your choice.”

  “You are wise,” she says, taking my hand. “And cold! I have kept you from your bed. I will take your advice on this. Darnley will be reprimanded and we will see if he is man enough to change his conduct.”

  As I shiver back to my room, I pass Rizzio’s quarters. There is a glow of light under the door and I can hear a low mutter. Darnley’s voice is unmistakable.

  ≈ ≈ ≈

  At last the frost’s iron grip loosens. The days lengthen and the country dares to dream of spring. But as soon as the seas are passable and the ships begin coming in and out of Leith, Lord Bothwell returns to Edinburgh without the Queen’s permission. In the face of Darnley’s arrogance and Edinburgh’s restlessness after an ice-locked winter, the Queen is quick to perceive insult. Bothwell’s enemies sense their advantage and move with lightning speed.

  I have not even heard of Bothwell’s arrival when I come to court that day, but Lord James is already speaking urgently into the Queen’s ear when I arrive in her chambers, and there is a buzz of conversation in the rest of the room. Darnley, low down in her affection, stands by Rizzio looking glum.

  “What has happened?” I ask the Italian, steeling myself to speak to him, looking at his twisted shoulder rather than his face.

  “Your master has landed at Leith on a ship from France, unannounced and without permission,” Rizzio says. “His timing could hardly be worse.”