by Jane Yolen
The men looked at one other in confusion. Obviously they recognized him and were doubtful about how to proceed.
One who wore a black bonnet stepped forward, making an unconvincing show of dignity. “She is an escaped thief, sir,” he said, pointing at me. “We must take her to the sheriff.”
“Is it true, girl? Are ye a thief as well as a fool?” Knox asked.
I took a gulp of breath and shook my head. “I snatched my life from their knives and their gunpowder, sir.” I thought better of mentioning the king’s death till I could find out what it would mean for the queen. Whatever he was, Knox was no friend of hers.
“She lies,” black bonnet said.
“Then what is she accused of stealing?” Knox’s voice was loud. It seemed he had only the one way of speaking.
“We know not the details, only that she must be taken,” the man said, stretching an arm to grab me, but Knox drew himself up and interposed his tall crow’s body between us.
“This toon is awakened by a loud crack and when I come out to learn what is afoot, I find it the hand of man and not God that has done this terrible thing. Then ye loons come running fully armed in pursuit of a lass!” Knox did not moderate his voice, and all about us, house lights flickered on. “A lass!” He let the words speak volumes. “Beware, for the just God knows what we do and why we do it.” He raised his hand and pointed up towards the heavens.
The men glanced up nervously, as if God’s all-seeing eye might even then be scrutinizing their guilt.
“Our orders, sir,” black bonnet began, but his voice died away before Knox’s hard countenance.
“I will take her into my ain custody,” Knox said. “If she be guilty of a crime, I will bring her to justice. Ye hae my word on it.”
They gave way before him as though confronted by a force of nature, cowed simply by the power of his voice. If God Himself had spoken, I doubt they would have retreated more quickly.
Once they were gone, Knox returned his attention to me.
“Have ye escaped at last from that den of vice and iniquity?”
“From the king’s house, you mean?”
“Nae, girl, from the court of our idolatrous queen,” he boomed. “Is that why those cutthroats are chasing ye? To haul ye back?”
I stared at him, but my breathlessness gave me sufficient excuse not to answer. He took me by the arm again, but not at all roughly, and led me into Trunk Lane near the High Street.
“This be my manse,” he said, taking out a key and unlocking the door of a large house. He motioned me inside.
In the front room before a blazing fire, a girl scarcely older than me was pacing the floor with a baby over her shoulder. The baby’s eyes were fluttering but it was still fighting to stay awake.
“How is she?” Knox asked, closing the door after him. His voice was suddenly sweet and low with concern.
The girl put a finger to her lips. “Hssst, John, she is almost dropped off. Dinna ye be waking her. And who is this ye have brought home now? Another waif? Though not poor, by her dress.”
“This lass was being pursued through the streets by ruffians,” Knox explained. “Whether she be guilty of aught, I dinna know. But one thing I do know: There be all manner of mischief afoot tonight.”
“What mean ye, John? And what was that noise?”
“Gunpowder,” I answered without thinking. “An explosion.”
Knox fixed his gaze upon me. “And what do ye know of it?”
“Only what I heard said on the street,” I said quickly.
Knox frowned. He knew as well as I that the only ones on the street this late at night were evildoers and ...
And me! I shivered, having been caught so easily in a lie. I resolved to hold my tongue, for the queen’s sake, if not for my own.
Knox’s frown deepened. “Lass, ye will stay here with my wife, Margaret, while I discover what haunts the streets.”
His wife? Surely not! Knox was fifty years or more and his wife more like my own age. I had supposed her the maid or the baby’s wet nurse or a daughter come home with her own infant. But I schooled my face. I would not embarrass the man who had saved me.
“Thank you,” I said, my gratitude genuine.
When the door shut behind him, I turned back to Margaret. The baby was now sound asleep on her mother’s shoulder, a bubble of milk on her pretty mouth.
“Come,” Margaret said, “I’ll find ye a bed for the night.”
As I followed her to the back of the house, through the long dark hallway, I thought that she looked and sounded as if she came from an upper-class family. Strange, then, that she should be wed to the old preacher.
But perhaps no stranger, came the answering thought, than my own Queen Mary should have married such weak kings.
In the morning one of Knox’s sons brought me a plain white bowl of water to wash in, then took me back to the kitchen to join the family for breakfast in a crowded, low-ceilinged room made graceful by daylight.
I bowed my head with the rest of them as Knox said a lengthy grace. Then we set to our salted porridge and oatcakes.
No one spoke, not even to mention the explosion.
How can they just sit in silence? I wondered. Even pigs at the trough say more.
I was desperate to learn what Knox had discovered. So by way of opening a conversation, I said, “The sun seems to be shining this morning after so foul a night.”
Margaret and the boys lowered their eyes.
“We dinna converse at the table,” Knox informed me. “Our thoughts should be filled with gratitude to God for all His gifts. Besides, idle talk interferes with the digestion.”
I finished my breakfast in silence.
When the interminable meal was done, Knox summoned me to the dark-paneled front room, where he gestured for me to sit down opposite him on a straight-backed chair.
“This be what I learned last night,” he said.
At last, I thought, leaning towards him.
“The king’s house was blown up, and he and a servant were found dead in the garden with no mark of fire or bullet or knife upon them.” While he spoke, he kept his flinty eyes on my face. “The queen’s cloak was discovered nearby.”
I did my best not to reveal what was running through my mind.
“Do you know who was responsible?” I asked.
“Do ye?” He raised one bushy grey eyebrow.
My head pounded. Part of me wanted to confess all. But the other part of me held back, thinking. I knew that Knox had been the queen’s enemy for years. I was certain that all he wanted from me was information he could use against her. But if I accused Bothwell, I might also bring danger to the queen.
“I know nothing,” I said.
“Liars be the de’ils disciples,” Knox warned me. “Ye have lied to me once already, lass. We both know it. So say it plain—why were those armed men chasing ye last night?”
I could feel my cheeks flush. Take care, Nicola, I warned myself. Speak plain, but with the wisdom of the fool. “I bumped into them in the street,” I said. “They asked me for things I am ashamed to describe. So I fled and they chased after, accusing me of theft.” I looked directly into Knox’s eyes as I spoke, hoping to make him believe me.
Knox made a tsk sound with his tongue and clasped his hands over the beard that was like a cover on his chest. “Yer story sounds closer to the truth than theirs, but by how much I canna say.” He closed his eyes for a minute, deep in thought. When he opened them again he glared at me. “So ye know nothing of this murder of the king?”
“Nor any murder at all,” I maintained. “Not the king’s or David Riccio’s or anyone else’s.” I was so nervous in the old crow’s presence, that for all my warnings to myself, my tongue began to run away with me.
“Aye, yon scoundrel Riccio. He richly deserved his fate.”
I could hardly contain my outrage. “How can you say that, sir. He was the queen’s secretary and a faithful servant.” And my dearest friend,
I added, but only to myself.
Knox appeared surprised by my outburst. “He was a spy and a plotter.”
“A spy? Davie?”
“Are ye truly such an innocent, lass? Will ye fight God’s own truth? Yer Davie was an agent sent by the pope to destroy the reformed religion and set idolatry up in its place once more.” Righteous fury flamed from his eyes and I had to look away.
Fato, I thought. A wild fate had deposited me in the home of the queen’s greatest enemy. I could only save her now by remaining mute, like the girl who sewed nettles into shirts in the fairy tale. I set my lips together, prepared to say nothing more.
Just then there was a knock at the front door. One of the boys answered it and came to the study.
“Father,” he said, “Master Donald is here along with Master Gordon. They must talk to ye on a matter of some urgency.”
Knox rose. “Tell them I will be with them presently.” Then he turned to me. “I think we will have much more to say of this later.” He shut the door on me but neglected to lock it.
I waited until his footsteps had receded, then made my way quietly to the back of the house and down a dark corridor and past the sunlit kitchen where Margaret was busy kneading bread and talking in baby talk to her little girl.
I knew there had to be another way out of the house. Knox’s house was no place for a Catholic on a day when there was conspiracy and murder in the air. I might make an easy scapegoat, and then there would be no one to bear witness to my innocence except the queen.
Finally I found the door, a black oak barrier with a single latch. I lifted the latch and escaped into a small walled garden. But I knew how to climb walls, and a scraped knee notwithstanding, I was soon over it and into a twisting lane, and free.
38
SAFETY
Instead of going directly to the palace, I found myself drawn back to Kirk o’Field. I kept to the side streets and wynds, till I came to the square. From one of the lanes, I stared at the place where the king’s house had stood and shivered, though the morning sun was warm.
There was nothing left of the king’s house but a heap of rubble and a scattering of bricks. What furniture or hangings might have survived were gone already, picked clean by human scavengers. But the bitter stink of gunpowder still clung to the air.
If I had been but a minute longer dangling on the rope, I would have been rubble as well. A minute sooner in the garden, and I would have been strangled alongside the king.
Such a crowd was gathered—hawkers selling pies and pastries, peddlers offering their wares. It was like a holy day fair. A line of soldiers held the townspeople back from the garden while some officials strode about as if they knew what they were doing.
On the edge of the crowd I spotted a familiar head of curly hair and I edged over to him, taking care not to be seen by the guards.
When he saw me, Joseph’s face lit up with incredible relief. Taking me by the arm, he led me quickly away, back to that same small alley. His arms went around me.
“Nicola, little fool, we all feared the worst,” he said, his voice trembling. “The queen sent me to look for you. My heart ...” He hesitated, looked deeply into my eyes. “My heart was in pieces, like the house.” His arms were trembling, too.
“I saw what happened,” I told him. “Last night. I saw it all.”
He moved us further into the shadows made by the overhanging wood balconies. “Speak softly, darling Nicola. I doubt we have come to the end of this business.”
“Lord Bothwell was here,” I whispered. “He lit the fuses himself! I warned the king to flee, but they caught him in the garden. And his man, Taylor.”
“You saw that?”
I nodded.
“Where have you been since? All night we worried.”
“Would you believe in the house of John Knox? He saved me from Bothwell’s assassins.”
Someone ran past the alley, towards the crowd, and we shrank back even further into the shadows.
Joseph shook his head. “Fortune chooses strange helpmates.”
“I do not think we can look to the old crow for any further help, Joseph. He would have me curse the queen and leave her.”
“Poor lady,” whispered Joseph sadly. “In the middle of the night, when the news came about the explosion, the four Maries were convinced that the queen, too, was to have been blown up. They routed me from my bed and told me, and as it seemed likely, we warned the queen. She has taken the child and fled to the safety of Edinburgh Castle.”
I shook my head and pulled away from him. “I do not know what to think, Joseph. She sent me to Darnley with a token to keep him safe. But safe from what? Safe from whom? Did she suspect? Did she know? Oh, Joseph, my poor head is roiling with bad thoughts.” I put both hands to my temples.
Joseph looked at me oddly. “It was only by the grace of God the queen did not sleep at Kirk o’Field last night. The grace of God and a servant’s wedding. You know that.”
I bit my lip so hard, I drew blood. “Joseph—I am certain it was Darnley alone they intended to kill, though they blew up the whole house ...” I sighed deeply. “A cannon to kill a flea.”
“No evidence,” said Joseph. “And no witnesses.”
“None but me.”
We stood apart from one another, our backs against the same crumbling stone wall, both thinking furiously.
“Servants in another part of the house were killed in the explosion, Nicola,” Joseph said at last. “The cook and several potboys.”
I crossed myself at the thought of those innocents. “I must go to the queen, Joseph. I must tell her what happened. I must find out what she knows.”
“No,” Joseph said, turning towards me. He put his hand on my arm. “I forbid it.”
“How can you forbid ...” I stopped when I saw the concern in his eyes.
“Bothwell’s men are everywhere. He says it is to protect the queen, but now I think he is waiting to seize you if you return, for you are a witness.”
I was near to tears. “But surely no harm will come to me once I am under the queen’s protection.”
“So my brother thought, Nicola.”
I started to tremble violently and Joseph put his arms around me. We stood together, breast to breast, without speaking. Without feeling the need to speak.
Suddenly there were shouts from the crowd.
“Look!” cried one man, then another. “Look what they have!”
A woman screamed, a high horrible keening that went on and on.
Joseph stepped out of the alley to find out what had caused the excitement. It seemed forever before he returned.
“Two more bodies, Nicola. Dug out of the ruin. They have been laid out on boards and are being carried into a nearby house. You do not want to see. They look like ... like meat too long on a spit.”
I shuddered again, then wiped the tears from my face.
“We must get you away from here immediately. It is not safe,” Joseph said.
Just then two men walked by the alley and one said in a clear voice as they passed, “Who would do such a thing to that braw laddie, the bonnie king?”
“Who do ye think?” his companion answered. “Her that took him to her bed has seen him to his grave. They found her cloak.”
Nearby a minstrel tuned his instrument and hazarded the first few lines of a ballad he called “The Tragedy o’ the Bonnie King.”
I stiffened with astonishment. “Fickle hearts and feckless souls,” I whispered to Joseph when they were well past. “One would hardly believe how much Darnley was loathed while alive.”
“Death can turn things topsy-turvy,” Joseph replied.
“Joseph, if I cannot go to the queen, you must. Tell her what I saw.
“Speak out against Bothwell? When he is the queen’s closest advisor and I but a secretary and a foreigner to boot.” He shook his head. “No, Nicola, no! It would be suicide. And for nothing.”
I put my hand on his. “But you would be tell
ing the truth.”
“I would be repeating the tale of the court fool, whose only function is to make others laugh.” Joseph made a face. “What is more, that fool is a girl, a foreigner, and a Catholic.”
“Joseph, you cannot be so ... fainthearted.” For a moment, I despised him for being so cautious with so much at stake.
“I am not being fainthearted, Nicola. I am being sane in an insane realm. There are already murmurs that this assassination is the work of the queen’s French and Italian attendants.”
“But that makes no sense at all!” I cried, flinging myself back against the wall.
“If a vengeful mob comes to drag me to the block, I will be sure to tell them so,” he whispered fiercely.
I let my shoulders slump. “Then what can we do?”
“If Bothwell can be separated from the queen and his hold on the court broken, then it may be safe for you to return.”
“And when will that be?” I suddenly thought: Davie would have made such a thing happen, not just waited for justice to take its own course. Then I remembered that Davie had died for such meddling.
Joseph’s comforting hand rested on my shoulder. “Many already suspect Bothwell. Let the matter come to open court, and then you can step forward.” He turned me round to face him. “In the meantime we must get you to safety.”
I straightened my shoulders. “What would you have me do?”
He thought a moment. “Meet me near the market cross at noon tomorrow. In the meantime stay out of sight.”
“Give the queen this,” I said, slipping the crucifix over my head. “Say I was unable to deliver it, but at least it kept me safe.”
Joseph put it back over my head and kissed me on the brow. “Let it keep you safe still,” he said.
I found a deserted spot by the north wall of the city, below the brooding castle crag. Very few folk passed. Those who did gave me but a passing glance.
I waited and I tried not to think, but there was nothing to do but think.