“What business is it of Lord James’s?”
“He comes on behalf of the lords to report, before Bothwell can get here, that he is guilty of slandering both our Queen and Elizabeth in France,” Rizzio says with a smile. “He has called them both whores, or some such.”
“She surely won’t believe it’s true,” I say, turning away impatiently.
“There are witnesses.”
“It does not take much for a man to fall from favor here,” says Darnley. “A word of accusation in her ear and her love is lost.”
“All the more important, then, for a man to conduct himself impeccably,” says Rizzio. “Do not be petulant, my Lord. Stay true to her and you will win out.”
“I have seen no man truer to her than Bothwell, but I am afraid of that expression upon her face,” I say.
“Observe, my Lord,” Rizzio says to Darnley. “In Scotland, when the Queen wears such a look, we whisper that heads will roll—often her suitors’. It may be to your advantage that a scandal with Bothwell takes her attention from you.”
When Lord James finally leaves, the Queen beckons me to join her. She is white with rage.
“What do you know of this?” she asks.
“I know nothing except that some evil rumor comes about your loyal captain.”
“It has been witnessed in France that these very words have come from Bothwell’s lips: ‘There is not between the two queens one honest woman.’”
“I have never heard him speak of you without love,” I say. “Does Lord James say who these witnesses are?”
“He does, and furthermore they will testify against Bothwell.”
“To what charge? Hearsay?”
“Treason.”
“Your Grace, you surely can’t believe this is anything more than Bothwell’s enemies plotting against him. He has never been untrue to you.”
“How can I know that? He has been imprisoned for much of the time I have ruled. He escaped and ran away from Scotland. I have barely been able to have him here in court, he is so rough and uncouth.”
“He has been defending your Borders with his life, while the other lords grow fat here in Edinburgh!”
“Enough. I am in no mood for this. Is there not one person left in this domain who respects me?”
I bow my head.
Later in the day, Bothwell’s old friend Sir William Murray is given permission to speak to the Queen, though she refuses to see him privately. In front of the court he lowers himself to one knee.
“Your friend Lord Bothwell has abandoned his post in France and returned here without my permission,” she says. “What excuse do you make for him?”
“Your Grace, Lord Bothwell begs your pardon for his presumption,” says Sir William. “He says there are matters of grave importance he must discuss with you, which could not be entrusted to letter or messenger. His concern, as always, is for your well-being and the well-being of your kingdom. He begs that you grant him an urgent audience.”
“Indeed. But I hear that Bothwell has committed treason and has come racing to Scotland to deny the charge.”
Sir William blanches. “I do not know of this, Your Grace,” he stammers. “Lord Bothwell has ever been your loyal servant. Surely you remember that he has served you all these years and your mother before you, often at great personal cost? Perhaps some rumor has been exaggerated or some action misreported?”
“Perhaps,” she says. “But until I have further intelligence on this matter, I will not grant Lord Bothwell an audience. Keep him by you, Sir William, so that I know his whereabouts.”
“Your Grace, it may be that an audience with him could lay this matter to rest.”
“No!” Her voice is loud enough to reach every corner of the room. There is a shocked silence. Sir William bows his head lower.
“Lord Bothwell is to remain in your keeping, Sir William, until I am ready to speak to him. That is all.”
≈ ≈ ≈
With Bothwell confined, she leads the riders of the court out on the first hunt of the season.
Both horses and riders are soft-muscled and out of condition after the winter, and the single deer that the beaters flush out of hiding in the park is a poor, wasted creature with hardly the strength to run. But we set off in pursuit, the dogs baying. It is a tonic to me to lean low over my mare’s neck, to see the trees sprouting tiny buds and the spring flowers pushing through the soil.
The Queen and I draw ahead of the others, as always, but soon there is the sound of hooves behind us and Darnley gallops up. He strikes the horse a blow with his whip and it keeps pace with us, though at least he has the wit not to overtake the Queen. He has a strong seat, though by the look of his hand on the whip he would ride a horse into the ground without a second thought.
We gain on the deer, the three of us neck and neck, the horses blowing but excited now, the deer bounding for its very life. When we are almost upon it, the Queen calls out and swings her horse around. Darnley’s charger rears back on its haunches when he pulls it to a halt. The deer crashes away into the woods, the dogs on its trail.
“You’re letting it go?” Darnley asks her, smiling.
She smiles back. “It survived the worst winter in my lifetime. It would be cruel to kill it before it has its strength back.”
“You are merciful. When we have all recovered from this winter, I hope I may join you in pursuing this one again.”
They smile at each other before the rest of the riders gallop through the trees and pull up around us, the horses dark with sweat, riders with flushed faces.
We take the long way back to Holyrood. I drop to the rear of the party to get away from their glances and his smiles. How can she bear such sycophancy? But it seems his humility is working on her as they ride back side by side at the head of the party, conversing privately.
Rizzio is waiting in the courtyard when we return, his face alight as he comes running to meet the Queen. Never one to miss a theatrical moment, he makes his announcement loud enough for the whole party to hear.
“Your Grace, Nicholas Throckmorton has arrived from London with news from Queen Elizabeth.”
The Queen’s face lights up, and she swings her horse in a tight circle before the grooms help her dismount. Behind her back, Darnley looks at Rizzio, trying to gauge what the news might be. Within the hour he may have stepped closer to being the King of Scotland, or Lord Dudley might have snatched the prize from his grasp. Elizabeth is famed for being capricious and unpredictable and Throckmorton might bear any news.
“Give me time to dress, and I will see him in my chambers,” she says to Rizzio.
Darnley and I are both left behind as she walks swiftly into the palace. He does not know that both of our lives hang in the balance here, on the word of the English Queen. My hope, just a small castle a day’s ride away. His, a kingdom.
Twenty-four
An air of expectation fills the palace as the evening closes in and the riders of the hunting party change into evening wear. We gather in the great hall, where a seat of honor has been set for the English ambassador. But time passes and there is no sign of the Queen or Throckmorton. We stand in small groups drinking and talking. There will be headaches tomorrow from so much wine on empty bellies.
At last, long after darkness has fallen and the dinner has spoilt, Rizzio sends for me. I find the Queen seated on a chaise by the fire in her chamber, hands over her face, shoulders shaking. Seton and Lusty are trying to comfort her and Rizzio stands nearby.
The Queen rises to her feet, her face tear-streaked. “She dares to call me her sister, she dares to say she holds me in affection! All this time, she has kept me waiting on her favor and now—this!”
I turn to Rizzio, eyebrows raised, as the Queen begins pacing.
“Elizabeth has sent word that no matter who our Queen marries, she will not name her as successor to the English throne,” he says.
At his words, the Queen gives a low, anguished cry, and weeps anew. Inside
me, something freezes.
“Almost four years I have wasted, unmarried, to take her instruction,” she says in a strangled voice. “I have become an old widow while she prevaricates, and all along she never intended to give me what is my right!” She collapses to the floor, sobbing. Seton rushes to her side and tries to hold her.
“Run for some laudanum, Robert, lest she do herself an injury,” Rizzio says.
I push open the door and step into the corridor. I do not care if the Queen hurts herself with her hysterics. The same despair is flooding through me. She, at least, still has her Scottish kingdom. My castle has been snatched from me again.
It is a long way through the corridors to wake the new apothecary, an elderly grizzled man who looks to have been chosen for his inability to commit an indecent act. He answers the door in his nightshirt and quickly takes me to the dispensary. I wait while he prepares the laudanum. At last he hands me a vial. He shows me a portion between thumb and finger. “No more than this much at once.”
I turn away from the sight of that room. As I run back down the corridor, Darnley steps out from a dark corner.
“Robert,” he hisses, dragging me close. “For God’s sake. Tell me what has happened.” His breath stinks of wine and he is unsteady on his feet, but his grip on my arm is like iron.
“Surely you’re not asking me to break the Queen’s confidence?” I reply, catching my breath.
He twists my arm behind my back in a practiced move, wringing an exclamation of pain from me.
“Elizabeth has refused our Queen the succession, no matter who she marries,” I say, and his grip slackens. I pull my arm free and step back.
He lets out a breath. “It is not Dudley, then.”
“You are free to woo her now, with all your charms.” I rub my wrenched shoulder. “She has lost what she longed for—she may as well find some comfort if you can offer it.”
He laughs. “I can offer much more than comfort. My own claim to the throne is not far below hers. When the two are put together, they make one formidable claim in the place of two lesser ones. That is the comfort I can give her. More desirable than ever, wouldn’t you say?”
He grins at me in the dim light of the corridor. He has a young lifetime of ambition burning in him, hotter than even the Queen’s, as intense as my own. He knows that a throne is never easily won. For him this is a setback only.
The image of Blackadder Castle rises in my mind and I find myself clutching the vial so hard that it hurts. I have thought my chance to win it severed tonight, along with the Queen’s English succession, but I could align myself with Darnley and put his ambition into the service of my own.
“I must take her the sleeping draft,” I say at last. “She is in a terrible state. Let me go.”
He pulls the vial from my fingers, opens it, takes a quick swig, kisses the lip, corks it, hands it back to me. “Let her know we will share this sweet sleep tonight, and tomorrow I will speak of strategy with her.”
I say, “You’ve already lost her once through haste. Speak to Rizzio before you do anything.”
The laudanum is already taking effect, and he sways on his feet as I turn away. “Kiss her for me, Robert,” he calls, his voice slurring. I break into a run.
≈ ≈ ≈
When the Queen is drugged and calmed, Rizzio and I withdraw to the presence chamber, leaving the Marys to undress her. It is the first time I have been alone with him since my return and my gorge rises. But to succeed, I will need his help.
“This is grave news,” he says, waving me to a chair. “It is true, Elizabeth cannot wipe out the Queen’s succession rights, but refusing to name her is a serious threat. If Elizabeth dies unmarried and childless, which it appears is her intention, Parliament may find that another has a stronger claim. Especially if that other is a Protestant.”
I take up the goblet of wine he has poured. “Darnley is roaming the corridor drunk, saying that the two of them have a better chance at the throne together than either alone.”
“Foolish hothead,” Rizzio says. Then he smiles. “Or not so foolish. He is right. Their children would have a powerful claim if Elizabeth died unmarried.”
“She has not even agreed to marry him and you are planning what thrones their children might claim?”
Rizzio sits forward and fixes his gaze on me. “She will marry him, if he is not a fool, and you and I will see that he is not. He is our Queen’s best hope, and yours too.”
I shrug. “I do not care for the castle.”
“You lie,” he says. “You want it more than ever. And I will help you. I have made it my business to know more about Scottish lands and who has the care of them than any other in court. Lord Hume feels himself the ruler of the Borders. The Queen needs a way to assert her power over him. Your castle is the perfect tool.”
I stand and go to the fire so he cannot read my face. I know what treachery lies in his breast. But aligning myself with him may now be my only hope. “Why should she marry Darnley if his hand does not guarantee her the succession?”
“There is no one else suitable and no one who could bring her any closer to the English throne than he,” Rizzio says. “It will do her chances no harm, at least. Go and talk to Bothwell in the morning. Find out what he knows. We must decide if we shall put our weight behind this or not.”
I laugh. “You and I? To decide the Queen’s hand?”
He looks at me seriously. “You would be surprised what matters I may advise her in.”
≈ ≈ ≈
Bothwell is pacing the room in Sir William Murray’s house when I arrive the next morning.
“Has she come to her senses, then?” he asks.
“Not yet.” I sit down and accept a hot drink from a servant. “The Italian sends me. Throckmorton brings news that Elizabeth will not name the Queen her heir, no matter whom she marries.”
He slaps his knee. “Good. She can send Darnley back to England.”
“It is too late for that,” I say. “She’s lonely. Darnley is handsome and attentive. He says their claim on the throne is stronger together than either alone. Once the Queen realizes this, how could she not marry him?”
“Her ambition will be her ruin!” he says. “God, I would have married her myself and we could have ruled Scotland better than it’s been ruled since she was born!”
“If only you’d been taller, you might have wooed her.”
“If only she’d been shorter,” he snorts. “Perhaps these ruling women are half men, as Elizabeth likes to say. What else makes our Queen so freakishly tall?”
“Elizabeth said she had the heart of a man, not the legs,” I say. “But have a care. You are already under the charge of treason.”
“Treason,” he grunts. “That liar, Lord James, who would bring his sister down in a moment if he could have power in his hands again, accuses me. Our old friend Hume has no doubt had a hand in it. I tell you this, if the Queen truly wishes to marry Darnley, I will support her with all means at my disposal. You should do the same.”
I look at him in surprise and he shrugs. “If I were to speak freely, I would tell the Queen to send Darnley away at once. But I am in no position to say that. So you will tell her only that I am her faithful servant and I delight to hear that she will marry.”
“What of the rumors about him?” I ask.
“If she has lost her heart to him, then you must never let a word against him pass your lips. Go back and pledge yourself to this marriage. I see no other path to your castle.”
We both stand. “If the opportunity arises to put in a good word for me, please take it,” he says with a grin. “I’d like to hold on to my head a little longer.”
≈ ≈ ≈
I return to Holyrood in the dark of late afternoon. When I tap at Rizzio’s door, it is some time before he answers. At last he lets me in and I find Darnley flung across his bed, snoring in a drunken sleep.
“Don’t worry, I doubt he will stir until the morning,” Rizzio says
with a grin. “He has an appetite for liquor, this one, but no stomach for it. The Queen herself couldn’t rouse him now.”
I sit by the fire and warm my hands while he pours a whisky that sends fire down my throat. “Bothwell says he will support the Queen in her marriage if it is her will,” I say.
Rizzio rubs his belly. “Very politic. She has already sent Maitland to London with a letter demanding permission for the union.”
“I thought you wanted to gather information first?”
“She is beyond reason. She has gone to Leith with a small party, and we are to follow with Lord Darnley tomorrow. He does not know about the letter yet. It will not hurt for him to feel himself in our debt.”
“I cannot see how he will be in my debt,” I say, standing up to leave.
“She wants this marriage. She told Throckmorton today: “My heart is my own.” She has had enough of waiting on Elizabeth’s favor.”
“Does he know her mind?” I look toward Darnley, his face flushed in the firelight, his mouth hanging open.
“He has not been allowed to see her this day,” Rizzio says. “It’s best for now he knows little and is kept occupied—he has too many ideas of his own and too little experience. Tomorrow we will take him to follow the Queen.”
I cross the room, but he stops me by the door. “They will be married,” he says. “Are you with me?”
In the silence, there is a roaring in my ears, the roaring of the river that runs below my castle. Drunken Lord Darnley, with his innocent boy’s face and his lewd, knowing eyes, is my only means to get there.
“Yes,” I say, and in that moment, condemn her to him.
Twenty-five
Spring, the season of love. The Queen orders the court to Stirling Castle. Lord Darnley devotes himself to winning her back and I devote myself to helping him.
Seton is never distracted from her love for the Queen, but the warm season is playing its magic on the rest of the courtiers. Lusty has married John Sempill and left the court, the first of the Marys to depart from the Queen’s service. La Flamina pines for Maitland, sent with his letters to Elizabeth, caring not that he is near twenty years her senior and divorced. Beaton flirts openly with the English envoy, Randolph. Has the Queen directed her women to make love matches where it will do her the most good, counteracting the masculine play of power with a feminine web of liaison and desire, where words are whispered into pillows, and confidences made and broken?
The Raven's Heart Page 18