by Jane Yolen
Darnley reached for the brooch tentatively, as though it were a viper coiled to strike. Then he held it up, as if admiring the play of the light on the blue stones.
“Does she seek to buy her life with this bauble?”
“I am sure the queen is quite safe, Your Majesty,” I told him with another respectful bow.
“Why should you think that, girl?” Darnley snapped. “There has been more than one murder here already tonight.”
“More than David Riccio?” For the moment I was stunned and it showed on my face.
Darnley seemed almost pleased at that, and he grinned at me. “One of the royal chaplains, the Dominican, Adam Black.” He said it casually, then looked back down at the jeweled brooch.
“They murdered a priest!” This was as shocking to me as Davie’s murder, though I was scarcely acquainted with the man.
“Ruthven’s men had daggers drawn for Bothwell and Huntly, but those two escaped, leaving the hunters hungry for a kill. When the fox eludes him, a hunter will as gladly kill a badger.” He smirked. “A badger, you know, is black-and-white, like a priest. A pretty conceit I think.”
Play the pretty fool, I reminded myself, and answered: “Better than any I could invent, Highness. But ...” and I bowed again, “do you think that they might yet do injury to the queen?”
“If so, she has brought it upon herself.”
The man was impossible. But I was not there for pleasure. I was there to turn him to my will. Flatter him, I reminded myself. Flatter till it is done.
“You are so right, Majesty. She is my own queen but I see now how weak she is, how fragile her hold is on the throne. She was foolish not to have submitted to your will from the first.” I hoped I had not overdone it.
“That she was. She has not the spirit to rule as a monarch should, but is easily led astray by ugly, guileful foreigners.”
I wanted to snap back that for all his handsome face he was not worth half of what Davie had been. But I had the queen to think of, and my plan.
“As you say, Majesty, the queen is easily led. Especially now that she is with child. Women change when a child grows in the womb, you know. Perhaps that change will be enough to save her. Though it will depend upon your friends. They must be intelligent men. I am sure you would not consort with dullards.” I looked into his face with what I hoped was complete innocence. The kind Davie had so often accused me of.
“They have more than a sufficient measure of wit.” Darnley was relaxed now, and picked up his glass of wine to take a sip.
“Oh, then they might ... but no.” I put my hand to my mouth as if uncertain.
“What are you talking about, fool?” He stuffed the precious brooch into his pocket with his other hand.
“I am a fool,” I said, simpering at him. “I mean since they are intelligent men, rather than fools, they would never act contrary to their senses of honor, not even should they gain by it.”
“Speak plain, girl. Is this some tiresome riddle?” He drank another sip of the wine.
“I mean that their loyalty to you surely outweighs any advantage they might gain from your demise.” There. I put out the bait boldly. Now if the fish will only take it.
“My demise?” He laughed shallowly. “My demise? Nothing will happen to me. Why, within a matter of days the crown matrimonial will be mine, then I will reign supreme.”
“And justly so, I swear, though not all might agree.”
“Might they not?”
I moved closer, as if confiding a secret. But not so close that he might lay his hands on me. Take the bait, I kept thinking. “Ruthless men, Majesty, might think otherwise. They might see some ... great benefit in retaining the queen in power.”
“How so?” Intrigued, Darnley stepped into the circle of my confidence. I wanted to back away but I did not dare. I had to let him close enough to make him believe.
So I lowered my voice even further. A well-spoke whisper, Uncle Armand always said, makes the audience lean in. And Papa said often, The nearer the neck, the nearer the knife.
“Well, in a mere three months, sire, the queen will give birth. Once the baby is born, if the queen were to suffer an accident or to retire to some isolated tower, Scotland would have an infant king.”
“No infant can rule unaided, fool.”
Who is the fool now, I thought. You have taken the bait! “Then what would be done?” I actually batted my eyelashes at him.
“A regent would be appointed. Do you know nothing?”
“I know very little of such grand matters, I am sure,” I said. Though of course I knew what a regent was. The dowager Catherine de Medici still ruled France as regent for her son. “So will this regent ... and is that a gentleman again, sire? Re-gent? A small foolish joke. I apologize. La!—Great doings make my poor head spin! Will this regent be a commoner or a churchman?”
“He would have to be a noble. Or a council of regents.”
“Ah,” I said, opening my eyes wide. “Now I understand!” Though of course I had understood all along. “So a group of nobles could rule Scotland in the baby’s name.”
“Aye, that might suit them, if there were not already a king upon the throne. Me!” He smiled witheringly.
I stared at him, feigning a dawning realization. “Of course, Your Majesty. If they have any such regency plan in mind, it will come to naught if you are already declared king.”
“Exactly.”
Bait taken, I now set the hook! “Surely there is no question of their loyalties. But wait, sire. I have just remembered. They have already broken their oaths to the queen. Would they dare do any such thing to the not-quite-yet king?”
Darnley stepped back from me as if from a poxied wench. He drained the rest of his wine in a single gulp.
I continued. “Only a fool would suppose them to be more concerned with their own gain than with the good of the nation.” I kept my voice the innocent’s. “But then, I am a fool.”
The wine had brought an uncomplimentary flush to his face. “I have guards to protect me.”
“Guards? Oh, yes. Right.” I put a hand to my temples. “Such things escape the mind of a fool.”
Darnley was trying to affect an air of unconcern, but he was now hanging on to my every word. Reel him in, I thought. Be careful, though. Don’t overdo the drama. But Darnley seemed unaware of my overacting, so I went on.
“But sir,” I said, looking around as if afraid to be overheard, “how good are these guards? True, they may save you from a knife in the back or a lance in the side. Yet there are subtler methods, the kinds sorcerers are wont to use, like poisons that cannot be traced. Still ...” and I paused as if musing, “what Scottish noble would possibly sink to such base practices? This is not Italy after all.”
Darnley was tugging at his jerkin and his eyes had become glazed, as if he were in the grip of a fearsome vision.
“Have you heard ... talk of Lord Ruthven?” he asked.
“That he indulges overly in ale and wine, do you mean?”
“No, fool, have you heard that he practices magic!” His flushed face was now an odd shade of green.
“Magic? That is surely nothing but empty gossip. He studied abroad. Alchemy, I think. And yet ...” I looked around again. This time he looked around with me. “They do say that where there is smoke a fire must be burning.”
“Ruthven has been called a warlock,” Darnley muttered to himself, clenching and unclenching his fists.
I hugged myself and shivered. “I wish you would not speak of such things, Your Majesty. Tales of witches and their poisons are frightening to a simple fool like me.”
All at once he leaned forward intently. His breath stank of wine and fear. “Listen, girl, there may be danger here you do not comprehend, danger to both the queen and to me.”
“To you?” I exclaimed aghast. “Surely not, Your Majesty!”
“If I say there is danger, then there is! Do not contradict me!”
I hung my head. “I am a
fool, sir, indeed.”
“Tell the queen that she and I must look to each other, as our own best friends. Only in that way can we find safety.”
“I doubt the queen would believe such a story from my lips, Majesty. She will think it the ravings of a ... mere fool. Can you not explain these matters to her yourself, in the language of the court?”
“Yes, of course,” Darnley agreed. “That is exactly what I will do. But you must be out of here, before anyone knows you have come.”
I spread my hands helplessly. “As you surmised, Your Majesty, I cannot fly, for all that my head is full of feathers.”
He pulled a key from his jerkin and started for the rear stairway. “These steps will take you to a passage that leads to the servants’ quarters. Go soft now and be sure that neither Ruthven nor any of the others get wind of this visit.”
He unlocked the door and signalled me to be gone. I paused for a final curtsy, prompting him to turn me around and give me a shove in the small of my back. Then he slammed the door shut after me. I heard the key turn in the lock. Praying that this desperate move would be blessed with success, I started down the steps.
King to queen.
Check.
31
ESCAPE
I had trouble falling to sleep that night. And when I did, I dreamed of the bloody stag again, its noble head in my lap. Awaking in the pearly light of morning, I checked in the mirror to see if I were still soaked with blood, but my night shift was unstained.
Sighing with relief, I thought suddenly: The queen—she is the one who needs my help now. So I dressed at once, in a plain, dark dress with but a touch of lace at the collar.
“Forgive me, Davie,” I whispered. “I have no mourning clothes but these.”
I had not been able to get back to the queen’s chamber after leaving Darnley. Two new guards had been at the door and would not let me in. By now the queen must be desperate to know.
Unless ... unless Darnley had already gotten to her himself.
There was an unnatural hush as I walked down familiar halls. Doors and gates normally ajar were now closed and guarded. The passageways through which clerks and scholars had gossiped only yesterday were now patrolled by armed men. Even those few courtiers I met became tight-lipped when they saw me, refusing to divulge by so much as a glance where their loyalties lay.
And I did not ask.
I did not dare ask for fear of giving the game away.
When I got to the west wing where the queen had her apartments, I found it the most heavily secured of all.
The devil owns this place, I thought.
But still I was determined to report back to the queen.
How?
And then I had it! Even if her regular attendants had been forced to leave, someone still had to fetch her meals. I would be that someone!
I found the nearest stair and fled down to the kitchens, where cook was barking orders. I watched from the doorway as his big hands slapped the heads of his assistants for spilling the milk or using too much salt. It was such a homey, familiar tumult that, for the first time that day, I felt almost safe.
Lazing on a stool in the corner near the hearth, a red-faced soldier sampled any food that was carried close to him. He looked at ease, but I noticed he never stopped eyeing the hurrying servants. He was in command of the kitchen now, not cook.
Cook had finished preparing a tray of cold mutton, kippered salmon, cheese, bread, and wine on the silver tray used for the queen’s meals. “Hamish!” he called. “Perhaps she will eat this. Puir lady hasna supped all day.”
A gangly boy, not more than thirteen, answered the summons, loping across the kitchen to stand before cook. He rubbed the side of his pointy nose with one bony finger.
“Ye take that up to the queen and mind ye come directly back,” cook ordered gruffly, casting a quick glance over at the soldier. “Dinna wander any place yer not supposed. And dinna speak to a soul or I will gie ye sech a clout, yer head will spin round three times widdershins on yer scrawny neck.”
I backed away from the doorway and found a spot further along the passage where I could intercept Hamish. Soon I heard his footsteps on the stone floor.
“Where are you off to then, Hamish?” I asked, stepping directly into his path.
He jerked to a halt, almost dropping the tray. Though he knew me as one of the queen’s intimates, he had been warned not to speak to a soul, so he bobbed around, trying to find a way past.
“Well, Hamish?” I asked.
His need to obey cook warred with his wish to please me.
“To the queen,” he said at last. “I mun hurry.”
I let my mouth drop in surprise. “Hurry? I would have thought you would be dragging your feet, Hamish.”
He stared at me, a puzzled frown creasing his thin, freckled features. Hamish was not particularly bright. “Be this some of yer jesting, Fool Nicola?”
“Peril is never a jest, Hamish,” I said. “You are either a greater fool than I or a braver man than any I have ever encountered.”
“Why say ye so?”
I stared back. “Are you unaware of the danger? Surely you know what happened to Sir John Gordon and the poet Châtelard?”
“Beheaded?”
I nodded ponderously. “They would be alive today if they had not fallen under the queen’s spell. Coming into her presence led directly to their execution. First the bewitching, then the beheading.”
Hamish looked like he wanted to scratch his sandy thatch of hair but was afraid of dropping the tray.
“And now David Riccio has fallen victim to the same fate,” I said. “The king is jealous of any man who comes near his wife.”
“Any man?”
“Even that old priest Adam Black. Simply because the queen met him in the confessional, he was put to the knife.”
I could see that Hamish was paling. “I be only a humble ...”
“Low rank offers no protection,” I said with a grim shake of my head. “In fact, it makes the imagined insult all the greater.”
His hands shook so hard, the cutlery rattled on the tray.
“Look, Hamish, I am in no danger, being a woman. I will take the tray for you. Master Cook need never know.”
“Would ye do that, Fool Nicola? Would ye really?” He was so ponderously grateful, I almost felt guilty for tricking him.
I took the tray from his unresisting hands and made off with it as though it were the greatest prize in Christendom. When I reached the royal apartments, I held it under the noses of the guards, saying haughtily, “The queen’s repast. To be delivered posthaste.”
They laughed at my fine words, looked under each bit of food for the Good Lord knows what, then let me by.
Inside the antechamber there was a surprise awaiting me. Lord James was there talking with the queen. His heavy, bony face looked gloomier than ever, and she was making a great show of gratitude and friendship towards him.
I set down the tray and kept my distance, head bowed.
“Whatever wrongs you think have been done you,” Lord James said gravely, “these men were acting for the good of their country. You must be prepared to practice forgiveness.”
Forgiveness! Davie’s body with its hundred wounds seemed to rise up before me.
“Forgiveness? Ever since I came to Scotland,” the queen snapped, “I have been given opportunities to practice that particular virtue!”
I looked up at her words, and she nodded at me, as if my presence was all that kept her calm. Suddenly I understood the problem, even without Davie to explain it to me. A confrontation with Lord James now would do the queen no good. She needed to keep him on her side if she were to go free.
“We will talk about the return of your lands at another time,” she said to Lord James. “When I have the freedom to do it!” She stressed the word freedom so he could not miss her meaning.
“Madam,” I said, offering the tray.
She clutched her belly and groaned. �
��You must leave me, Jamie. I suffer labor pains and would have only my maids attend me.”
Lord James got a peculiar expression on his face, almost one of fear. He made a perfunctory bow and departed.
“Men!” the queen said when he was gone. “Heroes in the bedroom till it comes to the birthing of babes! My midwife tells me she always puts the husband out else he faints at the first blood.” She seemed entirely well now. Her pains had been all pretense.
I put the tray on a little table by a chair, and turned. “How does Lord James come to be here, Madam? I thought him in exile in the south.”
She sat down heavily on the chair but did not even look at the food. “He has just returned. He knew I would have need of him now.”
“But if he is here, he must have known what was going to happen,” I said. “Perhaps he was even part of the conspiracy.”
“You are much less the fool than the court thinks you, Nicola,” the queen said. “Is his timing not exquisite? If Parliament had met today—as I had originally intended—all his lands would have been confiscated. But nothing can be proved against him without Davie. And so I now need Lord James as an ally.” She sighed and put the back of her hand to her forehead. “How I dislike deceit, Nicola, and how much of it there is in kingship. But I must rise to the challenge.”
Going into her bedroom, I poured rose water into a flowered bowl. Then, dipping several of linen cloths in the water, I wrung them out, and brought them to her.
She patted one cloth on her forehead and another on the back of her neck. “I cannot fight them all, Nicola. For my child’s sake, I must befriend those I can and take my revenge on the rest.”
“And what has become of Davie?” I asked tentatively.
“Buried in a makeshift grave like a pauper,” the queen whispered bitterly. “But that will be corrected! As can much else.” She smiled suddenly, like the sun after a Scottish shower. “Nicola, I do not know what you said to the king last night, but he came early this morning, declaring his love, begging my forgiveness.”