Strands of My Winding Cloth

by G Lawrence

  Mary was due to go on progress, but Darnley refused to go with her. He was, by now, attempting to gain support from Catholic rulers in France and Spain by saying he would have the Mass restored in Scotland. Mary had distanced herself from the resurrection of the Catholic faith ever since the attack on Rizzio, and knew Darnley was putting her in danger from nobles who would not welcome such an idea. My cousin was becoming downcast and feeble in health as her husband brought nothing but strife to her court.

  After going to see her general, Bothwell, when he was attacked and almost slain when a rival clan raided his lands, Mary was visiting Jedburgh when she became perilously ill. She complained of a pain in the spleen, and vomited blood. Her body fell to convulsions, and she lost her power of sight. At one point, as she lay unconscious and barely breathing, her men believed she was dead. Her doctor, Charles Nau, saved her life, bandaging her limbs, forcing her to drink wine and administering an enema. Mary vomited and released noxious substances from her bowels, but within three hours she had her sight back. Darnley did not visit his wife as she lay close to death, but stayed away, sulking.

  Mary recovered and returned to Edinburgh, but her horse threw her into a bog on the way, and when she arrived at the palace she was in the first stages of a virulent fever. This time Darnley visited her, but he took no pains to comfort her. He took her sickness as an opportunity to berate her, and demanded again to be named King. Weakened by illness, and further depressed by her husband, Mary was brought low, so low she said to many she wished for Death to come, to release her from her pains. Believing she was dying, she said to Randolph that she wished me to become the protector of her child if she died. Clearly not trusting her husband, who had barely seen the boy, to care for his interests, she turned to me.

  “Ask the Queen, my good sister, to receive his life into her hands as though he were her own child,” Mary said to my ambassador. “And if my good sister never embarks on marriage, let my son be her son, and her heir, in Scotland and in England.”

  When I received this letter, I admit I was as touched as I was surprised. Whatever the problems over the years between Mary and me, she knew that I respected the right of royal blood and dynastic inheritance. Mary was not offering me the regency of Scotland. She was not offering that I take Scotland as mine in the event of her death. She was asking me to protect her son and his rights. It was the request of a loving mother, from one woman to another.

  That she would offer her child to me, that she would trust me to protect him, was not something I took lightly. I knew well enough that what she was doing was open to much interpretation, for to be the child’s ‘protector’ could be taken many ways, but still, it showed that she considered me a worthy guardian. It was clever really, for she was ensuring her child’s future by flattering me. But I believed there was also a real desire within my cousin for me to start looking on her child, as my child. I wrote to her, agreeing that in the event of her death, I would become her son’s guardian. “All that you have decided on here, I promise to bring to pass,” I wrote. “And know that I am touched beyond measure that you would put such trust and love in me. I will not fail you, my good sister, nor our son.”

  I sent word that in light of her new trust in me, I would respond in kind. Still rather annoyed at my Parliament’s interference and defiance, I decided to conduct these negotiations alone. I wrote to Mary saying I would no longer expect her to ratify the Treaty of Edinburgh. We would instead negotiate a new treaty, one of perpetual amity and peace. I also wrote I was willing to acknowledge her as my heir, as long as I did not marry and have children of my own. We would sign a treaty which demonstrated we were both lawfully ruling Queens, and neither would do harm to the other. This would remove any possibility of either invading or usurping the other’s throne. “The manner of proceeding is the way to avoid all jealousies and difficulties betwixt us,” I wrote.

  It was a guarantee of my safety, and an assurance of her future and her son’s. We would still encounter difficulties, I knew, one being my father’s will, which ruled Mary out of the succession and was likely to be used by others to thwart this plan, but I was confident of success. I was as close as ever I had been to naming an heir. And more than that, I was hopeful for the future.

  My cousin asked me to be her son’s godmother, and I accepted. Mary postponed christening James until such a time when she could call all the dignitaries and officials she wanted to Scotland. But even as she prepared to celebrate her son’s christening in style, there were rumours she was seeking to separate from his father. Being told that a divorce or annulment would endanger the legitimacy of her son, Mary’s lords advised her in secret to arrest Darnley for treason, for his involvement in the attack on Rizzio. But Mary was reluctant to do so. Arresting her husband for treason just as foreign envoys and dignitaries were flooding into the Court of Scotland would be highly embarrassing.

  The Earl of Bedford was sent to represent me at the christening, since I could not attend in person. He presented the golden font, carved with beautiful flowing leaves and cherub faces, and inlaid with gorgeous enamel. It was a little small, for which I told Bedford to make apology. “I did not realise how well and fine my godson, the Prince, would have grown since I ordered it made!” I wrote to Mary. The Queen sent back word that she minded not, for the font was a work of such beauty that all who came before it were struck dumb, dazzled by it, and she had every intention of using it in the ceremony. In addition to the great font, Bedford took promises to Mary. I told her that I would allow an inquiry into the will of my father, which had barred the Stewart line from the throne, and that I hoped this would show there was no cause for this clause to exist. Since there was disparity of opinion on whether my father had actually signed this will, given his fail state of health at the time of writing it, there was room to manoeuvre should I wish the clause to be rejected. Mary was delighted, and although she saw no need for the investigation into my father’s will, seeing it as obsolete, she was overjoyed to hear of my support for her and her son.

  Darnley did not attend the christening of his own son. He was not missed.

  A few days after the ceremony, for the sake of peace, Mary pardoned the murderers of her friend, David Rizzio. All in Scotland seemed to indicate a time of peace was upon us, but as it turned out, it would not last for long.

  Chapter Eighty

  Whitehall Palace

  January 1567

  “They say the boy is sick with syphilis,” I said to Robin as he lounged by the fire, drinking wine and devouring a plate of walnut comfits with great relish.

  “I can affect little surprise at that news, Majesty, having seen the state of Darnley some mornings when he lived at your court… stumbling to his duties with the scent of drink and whores rising from his body.”

  I wrinkled my nose. “What a husband for my cousin to have been lumbered with!” I mourned. “I pity her, Robin, in honesty I do. I wish now there had been another method to use to stop my cousin marrying into Spain.” I paused. “But at least she has her son. That thought gives me peace.”

  I stared off, watching my new chamberer, Mary Shelton, make her quiet way about the chamber, tidying as she went. Mistress Shelton was quite a mature lady to have entered my service, being close to fifty years old, but I had reasons for allowing her employment. One reason was that she was kin. Her mother, Anne Shelton, had been the sister of my grandfather, Thomas Boleyn, making her a cousin of my mother. But the motive that had prompted me to accept her above all others was that once she had served my mother, and if rumour was to be believed, had served her in many ways other than simple fetching, dressing and carrying.

  When my mother had been in peril as my father’s love for her waned, a woman who supported Imperial interests had become his lover. In response to this, my mother had gone to her loyal kinswoman and asked her to take her rival’s place in his bed, promoting Boleyn interests in an effort to save her from harm. The lady had done as she was asked, and managed to bring abo
ut a temporary reconciliation between my ill-fated parents. Long ago, Kat had told me this, and I had retained an interest in Mary Shelton ever since. Although some, whose memories were confused after so many years, said that it was her sister, Margaret Shelton, who had been my father’s mistress, it was not so. Mary had been the more beautiful of the two sisters and was a woman much admired for her intelligence; just the type of lady to attract my father’s interests, and that of others. She had once been promised to the unfortunate Henry Norris, who had cut short their engagement by dying along with my mother, and had also attracted the poet, Thomas Wyatt, with whom she was a contributor to a book of poetry, riddle and verse which was still being copied, added to and read at court even to this day. Her background, and the fact that she had attended upon my poor mother in the last days of her life in the Tower of London, made Mary interesting to me. I had had no chance, as yet, to speak to her about the past, and was wavering in my mind as to whether to bring up the subject at all, but no matter if we spoke of the past, or of my mother or father, I was glad to have her there in my chambers.

  Sometimes we need a reminder of the past about us. Sometimes we need to remember all that has gone before, and learn from it.

  “You admire her, in many ways, do you not?” Robin asked, drawing my thoughts from the past back to the present. For a moment I thought he was speaking of Mistress Shelton, and turned to him with a confused face. But then I realised that Rob was not privy to my thoughts, and was speaking of Mary of Scots.

  “I admit I do, Rob.” I came to warm myself at the fire. Outside the wind was howling, fresh and wild, as it tossed sleet and rain through the winter skies. “Sometimes she is naïve and childlike, but often enough she has proved her strength and her courage. She has shown she can set aside her own wishes and act for the good of her country.”

  “As you have so often done,” Robin noted. I looked at him to see if that old grimace of disappointment was on his face. It was not.

  Lately, since our latest talk at Woodstock, Robin and I had entered a new stage in our friendship, and in our love. He had assured me that he had intended to play no part in the rebellion of the Commons and the Lords, and, when I looked back, I had to admit he had not been in the eager detachments of those assaulting me. Norfolk, in fact, had publicly admonished him for not taking a larger part, and Robin had retorted that he was first my servant, and his loyalties lay with me.

  Truly, my friend was restored.

  We understood each other now. Bound together, in our love for one another, we yet understood that we would ever be apart. He had become as my best friend, as a Kat at my side. We had found peace together, at last, and that was worth more to me than all the gems on my gowns, or coins in my coffers.

  “Aye, Robin, I have put aside my own wants often for the good of England, and I believe Mary is capable of the same sacrifice. Has she not shown it when she married Darnley? I thought little of her at the time, but now I recognise that she understood before she married him that he was a fool. It did not take long for his mask to slip. She put aside her own feelings of disgust which were left when her illusions of love faded, and she married him for political gain. And now she has a son, and the future of Scotland, and perhaps England too, is secured in him. Were I to die this day, I would hope that my men would see the same. I would hope they would set aside their fears on her sex and her religion, and see her as I do.”

  “Would you make a proclamation of this?”

  I shook my head. “I would trust her, if this treaty goes ahead. Although I admit the idea still fill me with dread, but there is a part of me that yearns to trust her.”

  I paused and smiled at him. “It is a most disturbing thing, Robin, to have the strands of your winding cloth gathering about you whilst you still live. To have all men think about your death, whilst you are alive. I never appreciated this until I came to the throne. I came to look on Katherine Grey, Mary Grey, on the Countess of Lennox and on Mary herself, with fear… because I knew that men would look to them as an alternative to me. And it is not far, from deliberating on the natural demise of a monarch, to considering plotting to end her life.” I shook my head. “No, not so far at all. Is it any wonder, therefore, that I would have all men think on the present, rather than the future? That I would have them think on what I may do with my life, rather than deliberate about my death?”

  I breathed in and gazed at the flames. “My sister felt the same about me; she became suspicious of me, dangerous towards me, for in me she could see her own death. How can anyone look into the gaping maw of mortality and not know terror? I am asked to name the one who will come after me. I am asked to look on my own death and fear it not. But how can anyone live, and live well, with Death at their elbow? And how can any love the one who is to follow them, when their future depends on your own demise?”

  “I do not believe we are to lose you soon, Majesty,” he grinned at me. “You look hale and bonny to me.”

  Taking hold of my skirts, I curtseyed playfully at the compliment, making him chortle. “I plan to be here for many years yet, my Eyes,” I informed him. “And I have had enough of Death. If I had Him here, I would tell Him that He hath stolen enough of our happiness, and should leave for another court. He has grown greedy, and has eaten too much at this feast.”

  “Command Death, then,” Robin said, setting his cup down and rising to kiss me on the cheek. “Only you could do so.”

  “I doubt such a spirit would listen to a mere Queen,” I said, putting my hands on his arms. There was a gentle warmth and affection between us, without the feeling that anything more was required other than us just standing here, together, as close in our hearts as we were in our bodies.

  “Perhaps Death will go to Scotland, on a winter progress,” Robin said. “And remove Darnley from his poor wife.”

  “Then Death would serve a useful purpose, for once,” I agreed.

  I wondered, later on, if Death had been there, listening.

  *

  I was distracted from thinking on Mary that month as my cousin, Margaret, Lady Strange, came to me with a problem. Lately separated from her husband, who she described as boorish and cruel, she had run into financial problems. Her husband owned and controlled all of their wealth, and since divorce would be a problem, seeing as Margaret was a Catholic and a dispensation would have to be granted by the Pope, which would not find favour with me, she was left with no money and remained bound to a husband she despised.

  “I will find a way to support you, cousin,” I said, looking on her worried face. Margaret resembled my aunt, Mary Tudor, so strongly that to order her to stand beside a portrait of my long-dead aunt was like seeing double. Her beautiful brow was furrowed with worry, and she twisted her hands into each other as she stood before me. In truth, I felt most sorry for my kinswoman. She was a good servant, my official trainbearer for ceremonies and events. She had served me loyally, and had never attempted, as my more odious cousins often did, to rise above her station. Clearly mortified to have to come to me for help in such a personal matter, Margaret was relieved to hear that I intended to help her.

  I entered into a financial agreement with the Stranges, allowing an income to Lord Strange and ordering that part of it was to be released to his wife. It had to be done this awkward way, since he was still her legal husband and master. Later that year, I presented Margaret with her own lodgings at court to further relieve her financial difficulties, and gave her permanent rights to be fed by my kitchens. I also paid her servant’s wages. There were many who said that I was cruel and unfair to all my cousins, but it was not so. If I was treated with respect and due deference, then I was kind and magnanimous in return. It was the same attitude with which I approached all my courtiers and subjects; if they were fair with me, I was fair with them. At least most of the time…

  And as I dealt with the unfortunate marital issues of one cousin, it seemed that another was doing all she could to heal the rift in her marriage.

  V
isiting her husband in Glasgow, Mary persuaded him to return to her side at court. Darnley was sick and weak, and his friends and family had deserted him. When she promised him he would live with her again when he was well, and that she wished to mend the hurt between them, Darnley was mollified. Bothwell was waiting for them at Edinburgh and took the royal couple to a house in the Kirk O’Field, which Darnley himself chose for his recovery. The Old Provost’s Lodge stood on a small hill, and was surrounded by lovely gardens, although the air was reported to be unhealthy.

  Mary was true to her word, sitting with her sick husband and tending to him with care which surprised many, seeing as she had so lately been set on separating from him. To all who saw the Queen, it seemed that she had set aside such ideas, and was determined to reconcile with him. Many praised this gentle forgiveness, but later, when people had cause to look back and remember this time, they would come to gaze with suspicion on the actions of their Queen, and wonder what truly lay in her heart towards her husband at that time.