Mary Queen of Scotland & the Isles (130 page)

"They have my son as a hostage," she said.

"That is a pity, but it is no reason to let yourself be taken captive
as well!"

They looked over to where they could see a knot of men on the other
side talking.

"Now! Let us escape now!" His voice was rising in frustration. "Can
you not understand?"

"It is better to pretend for a while and win them back," she said.

"These men are not Darnley, and they are not in love with you. They
hate you. This is not Riccio all over again. Mary, my love, if you
are mistaken, you will lose everything. Can you take that chance? Can
you trust their words, knowing that they have lied to you ever since
you set foot in Scotland, and hated you in their hearts? Run now,
while you still have the chance. Never voluntarily surrender your
freedom. Never!"

A band of men was coming up the hill, led by Kirkcaldy of Grange. He
had taken off his helmet, but was still wearing his other armour. Mary
stood her ground and awaited him.

"Most gracious sovereign," he said, bowing. "I protest our loyalty to
you, and you alone. We wish to serve you, but only if you are a free
creature, no longer in thrall to the Earl of Bothwell."

She did not allow him to kiss her hand, but drew herself up and clasped
her two hands together. "What assurances of safety can you give me for
my husband the Earl?" she asked.

"None," he answered. "They are determined to kill him if they can get
him."

"Ah," she said. "Those who ate with him, who toasted him, who approved
his advancement ... I must insist on his safety."

"Then, sir," he said, turning to Bothwell, "you had best leave now. I
can guarantee a safe conduct only until you are off the field. But if
you leave now, you can be well on your way to Dunbar before the Queen
joins the Lords."

Bothwell snorted in disdain. "The Battle of Carberry Hill, where not a
shot was fired," he said. "And this is your victory?"

"We have the Queen, sir. Now whether you will stay or not is your
affair."

"Save yourself!" said Mary.

"Save yourself," said Bothwell. "If you go with them, you are lost."

"Liar!" said Kirkcaldy. "Do not seek to persuade the Queen against
her own astute judgement."

"A word in private with my wife, if you allow," said Bothwell.

He drew Mary aside. "Mary, I cannot live with myself if, as your
husband and protector, I abandon you to these traitors."

She looked at him. He was exhausted from the last week, from the
escape from Borthwick, the hasty preparations at Dunbar, the attempt to
raise an army, the long march to Carberry Hill. He had been roasted
like an animal inside his armour while he waited in vain for someone to
accept his challenge to combat, had waited, nerves on edge, all day to
direct the battle that had never come. Her heart seemed to tear itself
in looking at him, having gone through this ordeal for her.

"I cannot live with myself if harm should come to you," she finally
answered. "They will kill you. I cannot let that happen. I must
accept their terms and surrender myself into their hands, for they will
not harm me. They will not harm their anointed ruler."

"Oh, you are so blind!" he cried.

"I love you," she said. "I cannot live without you. But we must part
for now, till the danger is past. Then, when I have won them again to
my side, I will send for you. Keep yourself safe until then, I beg
you. I must know that you are waiting for me."

He put out his arms and embraced her. "If they seek to declare me an
outlaw or condemn me for the Darnley murder, use this." He slipped a
piece of paper into her sweating hand. "It is the bond they signed at
Craigmillar. They are all guilty. This paper will convict them, if it
comes to it. Guard it well. It proves their villainy."

She clung to him, clutching his wide shoulders and burying her face in
his neck. "My life, my love, my lord, I cannot, I cannot " She began
kissing him frantically.

Slowly he disengaged her arms. "The armies stand ready to kill, unless
we end this." He kissed her once, firmly and sadly. "Farewell, wife.
Remember that you are my loyal wife, as you promised before God."

"What, do you doubt me?" She was hurt, and wanted to call him back,
hold him again, kiss him until he was warm with her. "Bothwell "

He was already a few yards away, nodding toward Kirkcaldy in a mocking
manner. "Allow me to mount my horse," he was saying.

Mary rushed over to him and embraced him, surprising him and almost
causing him to lose his balance. "My dear heart, I will never forsake
you nor stop loving you, and will wait for you forever!"

He looked at her, as if he would imprint the image forever in his mind.
"Nothing can part us," he finally said. "I love you, wife of my
heart." Then he stepped away again, and quickly mounted his horse.
With a quick farewell gesture, he gathered the reins and put spurs to
his mount, and galloped away with three of his servants. Mary watched,
refusing to move, until he disappeared from sight on the road to
Dunbar.

FIFTY-SEVEN

Mary stood watching the empty road for a moment, as if to seal him in
safety. Then she turned back to Kirkcaldy, who was standing in mock
deference with his helmet tucked under one arm.

"My Lord of Grange," she said, "I render myself to you upon the
conditions you set forth to me in the name of the Lords." She extended
her hand to him; he knelt and kissed it. Then he rose and helped her
to mount her horse, which had been led over to them. He remounted his
black charger and preceded her down the hill, around the shiny, useless
field cannon. As she descended, she passed the puzzled, tired faces of
her forces, and tried to reassure them by smiling and giving them
encouraging words as she dismissed them and thanked them.

Her horse splashed across the little stream, and suddenly she was
facing the hostile faces of the other army. The men glared at her and
even began to mutter in tones that showed disparagement.

Kirkcaldy escorted her to Morton, who was standing, arms crossed,
waiting. As she dismounted and walked through the men, she was aware
of them staring and tittering at her short, borrowed dress, all stained
and dusty now. She kept her head high and her eyes on the glowering
Morton. Next to him was the Earl of Atholl, and Ruthven and Lindsay.
Fleetingly she noticed that the young Ruthven looked like a warlock,
too, although a handsomer, tawny version.

"My lords," she said, "I am come to you, not out of any fear I had of
my life, nor yet doubting of the victory, if matters had come to the
worst, but to save the spilling of Christian blood; and therefore have
I come to you, trusting in your promises that you will respect me, and
give me the obedience due to your native Queen and lawful sovereign."

Morton stepped forward, moving in his clumsy, shuffling gait. He bent
his knee. "Here, Madam, is the place where Your Grace should be, and
here we are ready to defend and obey you as loyally as ever the nobles
of this realm did your ancestors."

"Burn her! Burn the murderess!" yelled some of the men standing
nearby. "Kill her, she is not worthy to live!"

Mary's blood ran cold. These were not faceless crowds, but men who
were so close they could see her face, could step forward and kill her
themselves. And what were they calling her? Murderess? Did they
truly think that? She pressed the paper Bothwell had given her closer
to her bosom. What names were on it? In privacy she would see. But
the hatred of the men, the viciousness of their tone .. .

"What is your purpose?" she asked Morton, letting the words ring out.
"If it be my blood you desire, take it. I am here to offer it. You
need wait no longer, and it is not necessary to seek the Earl of
Bothwell to exact revenge." She stood there, daring them to take her
and bind her. She was also daring the soldiers to come forward and
stab her.

When no one moved, she realized they still hesitated to proceed against
her person, and a desperate plan came to her. The Hamiltons .. . there
seemed to be movement on the road. Were they on their way?

"Good my lords, let me go and meet the Hamilton party, thanking them
for their efforts on my behalf, and dismissing them."

A sneer spread over Lord Lindsay's face. "Such royal courtesy is not
necessary," he said.

"I wish it," she answered. To her dismay, no one overrode Lindsay or
said he had no authority to pronounce what she could or could not do.
She tried to turn and remount her horse, but the young Ruthven grabbed
her arms.

"No," he said firmly. "You will go nowhere but where we say."

He had laid hands on her! She besought the others by looking at them,
but they did not interfere. Ruthven forcibly turned her back in the
direction she had been standing.

Then Atholl and Morton advanced with the banner of Darnley and stood on
either side of her. "How is this, my lord Morton?" she asked, trying
to keep her voice steady and scornful, free of distress. "I am told
that all this" she pointed toward the army "was done in order to get
justice against the King's murderers. I am also told that you are
chief among them," She was sure his name was first on the list hidden
on her person.

He merely tossed his head and said, "Come, Madam. The day grows late."
Ruthven then turned her around again and made her mount her horse.
Then, slowly, they began the ride back to Edinburgh.

Ahead of her rode Atholl and Morton with the banner held between them
like an arch, which she was forced to ride beneath. On either side of
her were two thugs, a Master Drumlanrig and the notorious Kerr of
Eawdonside, who had threatened to shoot her during Riccio's murder. The
fact that he had been banished from Scotland for it did not trouble the
Lords, who evidently welcomed him in their midst.

As they rode along, Kerr leaned over and began whispering, "Murderess!"
She did not even attempt to answer, knowing he was a murderer himself.
When she ignored him, he spoke louder. "Adulteress!" She kept her
eyes straight ahead. "Whore!" He raised his voice to a shout. "Whore!
Slut! Rolling in Bothwell's bed, with your husband and his wife
looking on! Slut! Taking on stable boys and grooms and guards to
satisfy your lust!"

"Bothwell took them, too! The world knows he's a sodomite!" Drumlanrig
joined in.

She willed herself not to listen to these obscene, and silly,
accusations. They were like schoolboys trying to think of new dirty
words. Catamite. Necromancer. Onanite.

Her lack of response infuriated them, and they began shouting, "Whore!
Murderess!" The soldiers marching along took up the cry, adding, "Burn
her! Kill her! She is not worthy to live!"

The sound of their voices hungry, yearning, strident struck fear into
her. They were like eager dogs straining at the leash, wanting to leap
at a throat. They were a killing mob.

Ahead of her, Morton and Atholl plodded along, making no attempt to
quiet the soldiers, tacitly encouraging it. Only Kirkcaldy held up his
sword menacingly to keep them at bay. Now they were approaching
Edinburgh, and townspeople were coming out to meet them, lining the
road in curiosity. It was dark, but torches were lighted and the
people could see them well enough as they passed.