by Jane Yolen
Then another boat landed with a report that her uncle, the Duke de Guise, had been killed, shot down by an assassin who had known him by the white plume in his hat.
I was in her chamber, losing once again to her at chess, when the message came. She turned so pale that her face looked like milk, then put her hand to her forehead and swooned, for though she had often quarreled with him, he was part of her family.
Regal Mary and I had to carry her to her bed. We loosened her collar and took the heavy pearl drops from her ears. Jolly Mary sent Eloise for a glass of red wine.
But this turmoil so afflicted her, she was struck down by a nervous fever.
Once again the Maries and I sat by her bedside, and just as she was getting better, she heard that another uncle, Grand Prior Francis, had died.
“My family,” she cried in French. “My poor family.” She put her hands to her head as if trying to keep her head from exploding. “Oh my dear companions, the happiest people are not those who continue longest in the world.”
Not one of us could console her, I least of all, though I knew what it was like to be without family.
I prayed for an end to her troubles, my brave beautiful queen. I prayed for a return of her health. Above all I prayed for a handsome prince to appear at her door, one with the charm and grace and youth her Scots lairds so badly lacked, and with the wits Don Carlos had lost.
And one spring day—but three years later—he came.
24
PRINCE CHARMING
I had asked the queen for a bit of garden. “My mother used to say that the seasons mean nothing without a bit of dirt beneath the nails,” I told her. What I didn’t say was that I could no longer remember what my maman looked like. I thought that if I could make a garden, it would recall her to me.
The queen had smiled and granted me a corner of the south garden at Holyrood, without my needing to ask further. I do not think the gardeners were pleased.
Such a change from the endless card games and dicing, backgammon and chess, and I was glad of that!
Once the February snows were past, I set out paving stones, and planted the borders with bulbs. As I lifted a clump of earth to my face and breathed in the dark, damp smell, I remembered my maman with such clarity, I burst into tears.
Just then the queen was taking a turn in the gardens with her little dog and the four Maries. She stopped to admire my corner and, ignoring my tears without comment, said, “When spring comes roaring in, so will your flowers, Nicola.”
On this particular spring morning I was planting some more bulbs, but kept changing my mind about where to put them. Near the castle wall? Away from it? Within the herbal knot I was planning?
At last I found a spot sheltered from the wind but still open to the sun. Perfect!
As I was patting the earth down, I heard the clatter of hooves. Turning, I saw a party of riders in close-waisted doublets and short Spanish capes approaching the gate.
For some reason I watched, though they meant little to me.
One of them displayed some documents to the sentries and they were let in. Dismounting, the three dandies left their horses in the care of their servant and walked in my direction. They gazed about in grudging admiration, and one—a stout bearded man—snorted through his nose like a horse.
“It will not make a bad home, Lord Henry,” he commented in English to the tallest of the three. It was not a language I knew well, but close enough to the Scots we spoke that I could understand most of it. “What say you, Giles?”
“Not bad—if it is kept clean.” Giles, a thin stork of a man, spoke in a high-pitched voice. His feathered bonnet and yellow leggings completed the bird look. “Do the Scots do that, do you think, Lord Henry? Keep clean?”
What right do these English have to talk that way about the Scots? I thought, then laughed silently at my defense of a people I had often complained of myself.
Lord Henry treated the stout man to a light punch on the chest. “You assume too much, Toby.” It was a reprimand, but said with a grin. “I have not yet commenced my courting of Queen Mary and already you have my feet under the kitchen table.”
Coming to court the queen? I decided to take a better look.
Lord Henry was dressed like a great noble. His crimson doublet had long vertical slits through which showed bright gold; his crimson hose was of silk; an otter-skin cloak hung jauntily from one shoulder. I thought him a bit lady-faced, for he was beardless, with the soft skin of a child, and he wore his gold hair shoulder-length. He was very tall. And certainly very handsome.
The three of them suddenly noticed me staring at them and sauntered closer, nudging each other and winking.
“Look, a mudlark. Does it talk, do you think?” piped Giles.
“Mayhap it can be persuaded to fly in our direction and then we will find out what is under all that dirt,” said Toby.
Only then did I realize how filthy I must be from all my digging. But such talk needed an answer. “Unless you are raiders, sirs, come to pillage my garden,” I said, “I see no reason for flight.”
“It does talk!” Giles exclaimed in mock surprise. “And in English.”
“With quite a bite for a bird,” Toby added.
“Your tongue has a queer touch to it, mudlark,” remarked the young lord.
“I am from France,” I explained.
“And are you a little piece of French soil that follows the queen around to remind her of her former realm?” Lord Henry asked. He softened the question with a smile of surprising charm.
“When she had a husband to keep her warm?” Toby added.
I glowered. “It is dirt honestly come by, which is better than stolen finery, sir.”
“Stolen? What do you mean, minx!” Lord Henry was suddenly outraged and moved towards me. “Do you call us thieves?”
“I mean only that your companions take their splendor from you, my lord,” I responded, with an expression of complete innocence. “As everything on earth receives its light from the sun.”
In truth, he did look very magnificent. I had seen tapestries and paintings depicting the gods of ancient Greece. He resembled them closely, with his gold hair and his jewel-like eyes.
“So you have a sweet tongue after all.” He laughed, flattered as easily as he had been provoked. “Girl, find the queen. Tell her Henry Lord Darnley, great-grandson of Henry the Seventh, humbly seeks the honor of entering her presence.” He sounded anything but humble.
“Her presence is not here, sir, for you or for anybody else to enter. All that is left is her absence, if that is any honor to you.”
“What are you talking about, you noisy little sprat?” Darnley was quickly upset again. “Where might she be found?”
“She can be found for certain in Fife,” I replied, pointing to the north with my trowel. “At Wemyss Hall. Gone hunting.”
“That puts a crimp in your own hunt, I should say, Lord Henry,” fat Toby brayed, as though it were all a great joke.
Silencing him with a cold look, Darnley turned back to me. “Girl. Bother—what is your name?”
“I am Nicola, the queen’s own fool,” I answered, stepping out of the flower bed and making a curtsy.
“The queen’s fool, eh? Are you a particular favorite of hers?”
“She likes to hear me jest and sing, or watch me dance, sir.”
“A dancer, eh?” said Giles. “Perhaps you will show us a pretty leg.” He made a rude gesture which I pretended not to understand.
“If you are a favorite of the queen,” Darnley said, ignoring his companion, “perhaps I can become one also. Will you say a kind word to your mistress for me?”
He reached into his pouch and pulled out a silver coin which he tossed high above my head. I jumped and snatched it from the air, making Lord Darnley and his friends laugh heartily.
“You see what a generous fellow I can be, pretty fool?” said Darnley. “I wager that will buy you more than a few flowers.”
“Indeed it will, sir,�
� I answered lightly. “I shall be head gardener before the day is out.” I wondered, though, why a stranger should reward me so richly for nothing yet accomplished.
“Remember, you and I are special friends now, and you must speak of me so to your mistress, the queen.” Lord Henry smiled.
“Ho! Look what comes!” cried Toby, motioning at a small hunched figure making his way towards us followed by a lanky companion.
Giles murmured into Toby’s ear and the pair of them sniggered.
I reddened, for they were mocking Davie, the one person at court who was my true friend. And the queen’s friend, too, for she had raised him up to be her own secretary. In the queen’s absence, Davie was in charge of seeing that the palace was run properly. He was a bear for rules, was Davie. Not everyone in the palace was pleased. At times not even me.
Slowly Davie approached Lord Darnley and, bowing low, said, “Sir, I have just been told of your arrival. Welcome indeed. This chamberlain will show you and your companions to suitable quarters. The queen is expected back in a day or two.”
“Indeed, fellow.” Darnley raised an elegant eyebrow, for as ever Davie was dressed like a popinjay, in a bottle-green doublet decorated with gold braid. “And who might you be?”
“David Riccio, your lordship, secretary to the queen.”
“Stand straight in the presence of his lordship,” Giles demanded, as if he had not noticed Davie’s crooked back.
Davie smiled, but it did not reach all the way to his eyes. “I could stand no straighter, not if all the kings and princes of the world were enthroned before me.”
“I like a man who is always bowing to me,” Toby snorted. “I believe I like it very much.”
I thought to answer for Davie. A fool can say much that a secretary cannot. But Darnley spoke first.
“I shall take a downstairs chamber. I am so fatigued from my journey, I do not wish to be further vexed by a set of stairs.”
“I shall see that it is as you desire,” Davie responded.
“And perhaps later you will tell me where in this fair city a gentleman might pleasurably pass the lonely hours of the night.”
I think my mouth dropped open; the chamberlain’s certainly did. Giles sniggered again.
Even Davie seemed caught off guard by this request, but he only smiled amiably. “I will give it some thought and make my best recommendations to you, my lord.” Then, with a sweep of his hand, he indicated that the chamberlain would lead them to the palace.
As he went, Lord Darnley cast a final glance over his shoulder at me. “Little mudlark, you may come and dance for me in private, once you are cleaned up.”
“Was that an order?” I blushed and whispered to Davie in Italian as the men left with the chamberlain.
“Do not worry, Nicola. I will see he finds ample distraction. He will not remember asking you to his chamber.”
“Do you think he has really come to woo the queen?” I asked.
“So, I believe, he intends.”
“And in her own house he asks for a place to ... to ...” I could not say the words.
Davie looked somber and nodded.
“But he is very handsome, is he not, Davie?”
“Handsome?” Davie almost spat out the word. “Yes, I suppose he is handsome. But he is a carrion crow in peacock feathers, Nicola. The queen will not be fooled.... And neither should you.” Then he added, “Now, once you have bathed, come take supper with me. I have a new card game. Once you learn it, you can teach it to the queen. ”
I nodded and waved to him as he turned and made his slow careful way back to the palace.
It was two days before the queen returned, by which time Lord Darnley was already notorious in the alehouses and gambling dens of Edinburgh for carousing and drinking till daylight. I had the reports from the cook and the potboy, and from Davie as well. A carrion crow indeed!
But for the queen’s benefit, Darnley assumed once again the appearance of a perfect prince when she returned, even reciting a poem for her which he claimed to have composed on the spot, though I had heard him practicing it out in the garden.
The turtle-dove for her mate
More dolour may not endure
Than I do for her sake ...
The queen was quite taken with him.
“Is he not a very godling?” she said at the banquet and ball given in his honor where—dressed in white with gold ornaments at his neck and breast—he performed competently on the lute.
“Apollo or Pan?” I asked.
Although most everyone laughed, even Lord Darnley, the queen’s eyes narrowed. I took this as a warning. And as I never wanted to displease my queen, I did not pursue the jest.
25
A HUSBAND FOR THE QUEEN
For many days after, I do not believe I ever saw the queen without Lord Darnley at her side, walking together, reading poetry, or dancing with a special lightness of step. She put away her mourning clothes and was now dressed in cramoisie or blue or carnation or sometimes even yellow. And she went fully bedecked with a rich parure—the belt with the long end, brooches, broad chains from shoulder to shoulder, clasps, rings, ear bobs, and pearls. She had not seemed so happy in a long time, certainly not since King Francis had been alive.
I believe I was a little jealous, and said so to Davie. “The queen rarely sits with just the Maries and me now.”
“She will have to marry someday, you know,” he said, then added with a twinkle, “and you are not a suitable suitor!”
I understood what he was saying. That even were I Queen Mary’s sweet sister—as England’s Elizabeth styled herself in letters—I could never come between Queen Mary and whoever was her king.
So I tried to like Lord Darnley. Really I did. But he exercised no charm over me. Nor over the rest of the court. When the queen was not present, he cuffed servants for the slightest fault, upbraided courtiers for their shortcomings, made mock of the Scottish nobles as “untutored brigands.” I even saw him kick the gardener’s dog, and a sweeter old gentleman one could not find in the canine world.
Once Lord James tried to raise the subject of Darnley’s behavior with the queen in her bedchamber, where only the four Maries and I sat with her. It was an early morning, so Lord Darnley had not yet risen.
The queen gave Lord James a frosty reception.
“Lord Darnley has learned his manners in a very different court from this,” the queen said. “If my Scots nobles are offended with his etiquette, he has every reason to take issue with them.”
“Take issue?” Lord James’s voice rose alarmingly. “You call striking Lethington on the head for laughing an issue? Or spitting ale in Maitland’s face because he dislikes the man’s politics an issue? Darnley is a spoiled child, vain and silly, Majesty.”
Her look sent Lord James from the room.
What surprised me more than Darnley’s behavior, though, was that Davie had begun making a show of befriending him.
“How can you do such a thing?” I asked when we were taking a walk in the garden. “You whom he has called a ‘black hump’ and a ‘pasty, undercooked piece of...’ ”
“He makes the queen happy and he galls the dour-hearted lairds,” Davie answered smoothly. “He is as much an outsider as I am, yet I do not dare provoke the Scots as he does. I take as much pleasure in their upset as I would in insulting them myself.” A wind blew a bit of a feather from his hat across his forehead.
“You told me he was a peacock, Davie.”
“Even a peacock can sing,” he said, “though you nor I may not like its tune.”
“Oh, Davie,” I said, putting my hand softly on his humped back, “I sometimes think we two are twins separated at birth.”
“Well, then, you have got the face and I the brains,” he jested. “Which is why you are loved and I am not.”
But we both knew that the only person who truly loved either one of us was the queen. It was part of her nature, I believe, to love best those whom she pitied. A saint’s
nature, some might say.
Oh my poor queen, who could have guessed that very nature would in the end be your undoing.
“Nicola, you must come at once,” said the queen, some weeks after my accounting with Davie. With an unusual abruptness she swept into the room where I sat with the Maries.
I looked up from my needlework. Pious Mary had been teaching me to embroider decorative letters which she then used to embellish her own religious mottoes.
Setting aside my work was no sacrifice at all, as I had little talent for it, my S’s looking like sick snakes and my R’s as badly humped as poor Davie. I stood up briskly. “Where to, Majesty?”
“To Lord Darnley’s sick chamber, Nicola,” she replied. “He is on the mend at last and has expressed a desire for some entertainment. I suggested that you might sing for him, and dance, and he agreed readily.”
Nodding obediently, I followed her out the door.
I wondered that she should be so excited over Lord Darnley’s recovery. It had only a been a case of the measles, after all, not the pox. Others had gotten through the same disease with much better grace. Yet here the queen was acting as his messenger. It was not seemly, but how could I task her for it? She was the queen, after all. She had the right from God to choose how she would.
As we rushed along the corridor, she said, “Nicola, while I have always exhorted you to be honest with me, I must ask you not to say anything which might vex Lord Darnley now.”
“I would not knowingly do that, Your Majesty,” I said, hurrying to keep pace with her.
“Oh, I know you would never intentionally cause hurt,” she said. “But you do have a wounding wit, my little Jardinière. Set an extra guard on your tongue. Lord Darnley has only begun his recovery. I would not have anything pose fresh hazard to his health.”
“I shall be the very soul of ...”
“Discretion,” she finished for me.
When we entered the room, Lord Darnley was propped up on his pillows, eyes closed. The appliquéd satin hangings were askew, and his embroidered coverlet had fallen to the floor. There were still patches of red on his cheeks from the measles, and for a moment he reminded me of the poor, dying King Francis.