An Accidental Tragedy

by Roderick Graham

  As always, when surrounded by misfortunes, Mary found solace on horseback in the open air. A ‘justice ayre’ was due to be held in Jedburgh and Mary, with Moray, Lethington, Argyll and Huntly, rode south to attend. These ‘ayres’ were circuit courts held sporadically in royal boroughs, much like the English assize courts of comparatively recent times, and it would not have been uncommon for the monarch to attend. It was also an opportunity for the Privy Council to meet away from the capital. The court lasted for a week and adjourned on 15 October, when Mary, accompanied by Moray and a retinue of courtiers, rode to visit Bothwell, who was injured and in his castle of Hermitage.

  Bothwell had led a punitive raid against the Elliots, under the outlaw John Elliot of Park. He had captured Elliot, who managed to escape on foot, but Bothwell stumbled after him in pursuit and was stabbed in the head, body and hand before he managed to shoot Elliot. He then passed out from loss of blood. His servants found him and dragged him back to Hermitage where he was now convalescing, having sent Elliot’s head to Edinburgh.

  Bothwell was now taking centre stage in Mary’s affairs, having previously been told that he would never receive any favour from her. A totally self-serving opportunist, he was now one of her most senior courtiers, a bitter opponent of Darnley’s and, since it was greatly to his advantage, fiercely loyal to Mary. He was one of the more interesting men in Mary’s life and his portrait miniature gives us many clues. He was sturdily built, although of below-average height, and described as being ‘of great bodily strength and beauty although vicious and dissolute in his habits’. His direct gaze in the portrait makes it quite clear that not only had he no fear of anything, he was also very easily roused. In short, not someone one should stand too close to if one wanted a peaceful life. The earl had not had a peaceful life, nor had his ancestors. His father, Patrick Hepburn, had vied with Darnley’s father for the hand of Marie de Guise and other Hepburns had made ‘suspicious connections’ with the widow of James I as well as Mary of Gueldres, wife of James II. With the castles of Hermitage, which he held in trust as a royal castle, Crichton, and now Dunbar, the latter two both in the Lothians, he could control swathes of southern Scotland while harrying English advances, as well as exercising vigorous control over the Debatable Lands. Hermitage alone could hold a garrison of up to 1,000 men. The family’s recourse was always to the sword first and to the negotiating table last.

  Bothwell had been well educated, spoke French as well as Latin and had travelled widely across Europe, often only just keeping ahead of trouble. Mary had met him in France when he was fleeing a legal action for breach of promise brought by his Norwegian mistress, Anna Throndsen, and he had been imprisoned in both Edinburgh Castle and the Tower of London. One of his earliest mistresses was Janet Beaton, the 61-year-old aunt of the queen’s Mary Beaton. She had had five husbands and was widely regarded as the most adept witch in Scotland. Whatever skills she had taught the 24-year-old Bothwell were more likely to have been in the dark arts than in courtly love. Now married to the fortunately rich Jean Gordon – fortunately since Bothwell was perennially short of money – he still had casual affairs, even consummating one with Bessie Crawford, a blacksmith’s daughter, in the tower of Haddington Church. As the royal party rode over the Border hills, speculation as to the queen’s motives for the sudden visit was at its height.

  Hermitage was thirty miles distant from Jedburgh and Mary’s party rode there and back in a single day. Mary, theatrical as usual, was mounted on a white palfrey, which unfortunately sank in a bog and had to be rescued. The bog is still called the Queen’s Mire. A sixty-mile ride, plus a few hours at Bothwell’s side, was a long day – Melville had travelled the distance from Edinburgh to Berwick in a day, but alone and over much better ground than the rough Border tracks – and such an adventure in dangerous country put the entire party at the risk of kidnapping or worse. However, an ad hoc Privy Council was held at Hermitage which lent some validity to the journey.

  Disaster seemed about to strike when, back in Jedburgh, Mary fell gravely ill. A pain in her side which had been troubling her since her confinement developed rapidly and was accompanied by constant vomiting – over sixty times in three days – until on the third day she lost her sight. An immediate suspicion was that she had been poisoned, ‘particularly as among the matter ejected from the stomach was found a lump of a green substance, very thick and hard’. Mary summoned the council and especially cautioned them to look after the prince and to ensure his succession, presuming that Darnley would try to claim the crown for himself. She asked du Croc to recommend the prince to his master, Charles IX. The Bishop of Ross then prayed over her, as Mary wished to die in the Catholic faith. She also made a second will, endorsing the one she had completed before the birth of the prince. However, Mary felt sure that if she could weather the next day she would not die. In the morning she lost the power of speech and suffered severe convulsions. By nightfall her limbs contracted, her face distorted and her temperature fell so far that her close servants presumed she was dead. ‘The Earl of Moray began to lay his hands on the most precious articles, such as her silver plate and rings. The mourning dresses were ordered and arrangements made for the funeral. But Arnault, her surgeon, having observed that there were still some signs of life in one of her arms . . . used an extreme remedy in an extreme case.’ He bound her tightly from her toes upwards including her arms and forced some wine into her mouth, which restored some feeling. He then administered a clyster – an enema – which produced ‘suspicious results’. Since this account is based on a report by Nau, who had no reason to love Moray, the accusation of his seizing the rings and plate can be taken with the usual quantity of salt.

  This attack of illness was the most severe Mary suffered, but she was prone to pain in her left side, ‘below her small ribs’ for most of her life. The attacks were frequently accompanied by vomiting, often of green slime, and could be eased by outdoor exercise. There have been many attempts to diagnose her illness. Gastric ulcers as a result of stress have been presumed, and the medical profession has rushed to a diagnosis of porphyria, connecting the ill-defined symptoms to Mary’s royal blood, although there are no accounts of the vivid discolouration of the urine that is typical of the disease. The green colour of the vomiting indicates the ejection of bile, and the fact that the pain occurred in the region of her left kidney makes a diagnosis of recurrent kidney infections the most likely. At any rate, any diagnosis based on 500-year-old observations made by lay attendants is more speculative than clinically reliable.

  Darnley arrived in Jedburgh in a foul temper since he had not been summoned to attend the council, and stayed only a few hours, lodging separately from Mary. He had to borrow the bed assigned to the Bishop of Orkney. Du Croc said of Darnley, ‘His is such a fault that I know not how to apologise for it’, and Lethington wrote to the ambassador in Paris, ‘She has done him so great honour and he has recompensed her with such ingratitude, and misuses himself so far towards her, that it is a heartbreak for her to think that he should be her husband, and how to be free of him she sees no way out.’ She was moving perilously close to the position of England’s Henry II, who asked his knights if no one would rid him of ‘this troublesome priest’, or, in her case, husband.

  Bothwell did appear, carried on a horse-litter, to attend another Privy Council before Mary left Jedburgh. Her departure was hastened by her lodging, in a fortified house near the abbey, catching fire. Before leaving Jedburgh Mary paid the lutenist John Hume 40 shillings, and for ‘playing on pipe and whistle’ John Heron became richer by £4 Scots.

  Mary now demonstrated her remarkable powers of recovery by setting out on a progress across the Borders and up the east coast. It was not without incident since, when Sir John Forster, Warden of the English March, rode up to meet her, his horse bit hers on the neck and he struck her thigh with his stirrupped feet. He fell to his knees but she assured him that all was well. This royal courtesy was second nature to a Guise. The procession re
ached Dunbar, where Mary received news that Darnley was in close correspondence with Philip II of Spain and the Pope, claiming that Mary was being lax in forcing the Catholic religion on Scotland and that he, Darnley, with their support, would bring about a Catholic revolution. She confided to Moray, Huntly and Lethington that unless by some means or other she might be ‘despatched of the king, she should never have a good day. And if by no other way she could obtain it, rather than she would abide to live in such sorrow she would slay herself.’ With all this in mind she wrote to Elizabeth from Dunbar asking her to be the protector of the prince in the event of her death, since Darnley’s fragile grasp on sanity made the assassination of Mary a very real possibility.

  The result was that on 7 November 1566 Elizabeth instructed Bedford to tell Mary, ‘We would never do or suffer anything to be done prejudicial to her right, and would earnestly prohibit and suppress all attempts, directly or indirectly, against the same, and that she might well assure herself of our amity.’ A stumbling block to Mary’s claim had always been the last will of Henry VIII, which disinherited the Scottish claimants, wishing instead that the English crown should pass to the house of Suffolk. But this will, made when the king was dying, was stamped only with a sign-manual, and Henry may never have seen it himself. Elizabeth certainly thought it should be ignored. She withdrew her requests for the ratification of the Treaty of Edinburgh and replaced it with a simple treaty of perpetual amity. This provided both parties with a suitable agreement. Elizabeth did not have to acknowledge the inevitability of her death without issue, while Mary became the heir apparent, with the prince as the next in line to both kingdoms. In effect, in 1566, the Union of the Crowns became a foregone conclusion.

  The religious situation in Scotland was in a state of comparative equilibrium and in October Guzmán de Silva reported to his master Philip II, admittedly from the distance of London, ‘Mass is said everywhere and the Catholics can attend it freely, whilst others may hold their services without any interference.’ A statement filled more with hope than reality. However, he did report on 14 November,

  I received today a letter dated the 1st inst from the queen of Scot by one of her servants who is on his way to France and Rome. He has been instructed to tell me that the queen had heard that her husband had written to your Majesty, the Pope, the king of France and the Cardinal of Lorraine that she was dubious in the faith and asked me to assure your majesty that as regards religion she will never with God’s help fail to uphold it with all the fervour and constancy which the Roman Catholic Christian religion demands.

  Mary was refuting Darnley’s accusations.

  On 20 November Mary arrived outside Edinburgh to lodge at the castle of Craigmillar. Here the most controversial event of her short stay in Scotland was to take place.

  Still not fully recovered, she ‘vomited a great quantity of corrupt blood, and then the cure was complete’, and another visit by Darnley to Craigmillar did nothing to improve her morale. She confided to du Croc, ‘I could wish to be dead.’ Du Croc, a thorough ambassador, talked with Darnley and concluded that the marriage was now in a terminal phase: ‘The injury she has received is very great and her Majesty will never forgive it. I do not expect any good understanding between them, unless God effectually puts it to his hand.’ The Scottish nobility agreed wholeheartedly.

  As Mary pondered the problem of how to rid herself of her ill-chosen husband, her nobles took upon themselves the task of providing the solution. Early one morning towards the end of November, Moray and Lethington discussed how to persuade Mary to pardon Morton for Rizzio’s murder and also how they could remove Darnley. The pair consulted with Argyll, who was still in bed, and while in general agreement they sent a servant to fetch Huntly. He agreed to their suggestion but, as a quid pro quo, insisted that his lands be restored to him. With this agreement the quartet visited Bothwell, who favoured Mary’s divorcing Darnley since he was certain that a way might be found to legitimise Mary’s son. His family had a long history of legitimising random offspring. They all drew a deep breath and took their plans to Mary, who was breakfasting before her morning ride. Lethington first proposed that if Mary pardoned Morton and the Rizzio assassins, their evidence against Darnley would be enough for a divorce to be sought. In any case, with Mary’s powerful connections to the authority of Rome, a divorce on the grounds of consanguinity could be arranged. Mary grasped the point at once and said that it must be without prejudice to her son. In other words, the marriage could not be declared invalid since the prince would then be a bastard, but if Rome would agree to a dissolution of the union on other grounds, then she might approve. This course of action seemed fraught with difficulties and a more secular plan was discussed. However, all the parties realised that since Darnley was the king it was impossible to try him for treason; he had merely fulfilled his own expressed intention. He might accept going into a more-or-less enforced exile, but his unreliability made this unlikely. Lethington then suggested that there was a third solution of which they were all only too aware, although none of them dared name it. Lethington merely suggested ‘other means’, which Moray would object to but could be persuaded to ‘look through his fingers’. Mary knew exactly what he meant and only said that she only hoped that nothing would ‘be done against her honour’. Mary knew that these ‘other means’ meant a recourse to violence and, most probably, assassination, but now she simply asked that she should be declared blameless of the deed. With only this weak qualification coming from Mary, Lethington now knew that the decision could be put into effect. He assured Mary: ‘Let us guide the matter among us, and your Grace shall see nothing but good, and approved by Parliament.’ The council knew they now had carte blanche to murder the king, but had to be certain that Mary knew nothing whatsoever of the details of the plot. They also knew that their queen was a pastmaster of ignoring that which was inconvenient for her. Lethington, Bothwell, Argyll and Huntly, with Sir James Balfour, who was legally trained, drew up a careful document, later signed by Morton, vowing that ‘he [Darnley] should be put off by one way or another; and whosoever should take the deed in hand, or do it, they should defend and fortify as themselves’. This was the infamous Craigmillar Bond. Not surprisingly, no copies of it now exist.

  In the aftermath, Moray, who had not signed the bond, claimed that although he was present he gave no explicit consent, and Huntly and Atholl also vehemently confirmed that Mary had no knowledge of the details of the plan. Her ignorance was protected by Lethington and the others, but she knew full well that she would shortly be a widow for a second time. There is a quasi-legal phrase, ‘qui tacet consentit’ – he who is silent, consents – and Mary was indeed very silent.

  In December arrangements for the baptism of the prince now dominated Mary’s mind. The Earl of Bedford was despatched by Elizabeth with an escort of forty horsemen and by 25 November he had reached Doncaster; by 3 December he was at Berwick waiting to be invited to meet Mary. He brought with him an enamelled gold christening font weighing twenty-eight pounds and worth £1,000 sterling as Elizabeth’s present to the infant, whose name was still a matter of speculation. Bedford’s invitation arrived two days later, the ceremony having been delayed due to the late arrival of du Croc, now the Duke of Savoy’s representative. France was represented by the Comte de Brienne, and Bothwell was given the task of receiving the foreign ambassadors. Charles IX sent a necklace of pearls and rubies and two magnificent earrings, while the Duke of Savoy contributed a jewelled fan, worth 4,000 crowns.

  The baptism would be an ideal opportunity for Mary to demonstrate the supposed unity in her kingdom as well as the continuity of the Stewart line. It was also the last gasp of the Renaissance splendour she had witnessed as a girl at the court of Henri II. Mary planned the entire ceremony with all the thoroughness of a Guise, but, unfortunately, she did not have the income of a Guise and the baptism plunged her into debt to the merchants of Edinburgh for £12,000 Scots, causing her, for the first time in her reign, to raise a sp
ecial tax.

  On 17 December the actual ceremony took place in the Chapel Royal of Stirling Castle. At six months, the prince was older than was usual for a Catholic baptism, but the various tumults in the court had caused unavoidable delays. The infant was lying in his private chamber, where he had his own household, supervised by the Earl of Mar as his guardian with the countess as his governess. His wardrobe was in the care of Alison Sinclair, and there were five noble ladies who acted as James’s ‘rockers’ as he lay in his cradle being soothed by his personal musician. There is no proof that Alison Sinclair was the daughter of the Janet Sinclair who had been Mary’s nurse, but if she was it would create a charming symmetry. At five o’clock in the evening the young prince was carried to the chapel by the Comte de Brienne as Charles IX’s proxy and was attended by the Countess of Argyll on behalf of Elizabeth. Barons and lesser nobility lined the passages from the prince’s chamber to the chapel, all holding candles – directly reminiscent of Francois II’s christening at Fontainbleau. They were met at the chapel door by the Archbishop of St Andrews flanked by the Bishop of Dunblane, William Chisholm; Robert Crichton, Bishop of Dunkeld, and John Leslie, Bishop of Ross, with the entire complement of the Chapel Royal in full clerical vestments. The prince was christened James Charles Stewart – ‘James’ for the continuity of the Stewart name and ‘Charles’ to please his godfather, the King of France. He was created Prince and Steward of Scotland, Earl of Carrick, Lord of the Isles and Baron Renfrew. At Mary’s request the practice of the priest spitting into James’s mouth was omitted, but in every other respect the ceremony was performed with the full pomp of the Catholic Church. In fact, it had been difficult to find Catholic nobles of sufficient rank to take part.