Mary Queen of Scotland & the Isles (160 page)

Cecil came straightway and, smiling wanly at her, proffered a gift.
"For New Year's, Your Majesty," he said.

"Ah, yes. The Year of Our Lord fifteen hundred and sixty-nine," she
said. "Am I allowed to open it now? I am in need of something to lift
my spirits. I fear they are sagging mightily."

"Oh, indeed you may. This is not the formal gift I shall present at
the court ceremony, but something for your personal use." Cecil patted
it. "I would be most pleased if you would open it."

"Thank you, then." She unwrapped it and found a long box with an
envelope attached. "You have written verses," she said, with delighted
surprise.

"Indeed, as everyone else at court does, I thought I would try."

Elizabeth skimmed them. "Well done. I believe you are becoming
younger and younger. Only the young understand poetry. Now" she
opened the long box "what's this? Ah " She extracted a fan of
exquisite workmanship. Its blades were carved in arabesque patterns,
and the silk covering was painted with roses and lilies; about half the
fan was pure lace. "Why, Cecil!" She was genuinely touched.

"I know you are fond of fans, and suffer in the heat."

She laughed outright. "But, Cecil it is only December!"

"Well, we like to plan ahead."

"Indeed we do," said Elizabeth, and her smile faded. "I have heard
rumours," she suddenly said. "Rumours about the earls of Westmoreland
and Northumberland. That is why I added them to the commission, to see
if they would betray themselves. "

"What rumours?"

"That they are plotting with the Queen of Scots ... for what, I am not
sure. For more than just her escape, I fear. I believe it may be
another Pilgrimage of Grace sort of venture. You know, the north has
always clung to the old ways ... it is very secretive and inward. The
families of Northumberland and Westmoreland have been almost like
monarchs safe in their domains. I pray it will not lead to treason. So
the Queen of Scots is enticing them!"

"Your Majesty, I warned you, and Knollys warned you, that she is a
danger. Knollys even said it would be impossible to hold her, and that
she herself told him that if she were not set free, she would consider
herself at liberty to take any means to free herself. She believed
that after this commission you would restore her to her throne, and so
she has waited patiently and made no overt moves. But you will not do
that, will you? Let us speak honestly."

"Thump on the arras, Cecil, and check the windowsill," said Elizabeth.
When he started to rise, she put out her arm and stopped him. "Nay, do
not. Even if you found no one, I believe our words might still be
overheard. I will not deliver my verdict in advance. But I can tell
you that things have not gone as I had hoped. Things are not resolved
by this conference. Lennox is still clamouring for vengeance, like a
tiresome parrot. Knollys begs to be released from his duty, and so
does Lord Scrope. There are rumours that the Duke of Norfolk is toying
with whatever the two northern earls are planning. The Lord James
fears to lose control of Scotland by his long absence."

"Well?"

"I have come to the reluctant conclusion that we must find a more .. .
permanent situation for Mary. She must be placed out of danger."

"Her danger, or yours?"

"Both." Elizabeth smiled sweetly. "She must be moved away from the
north. Bolton is too close to the earls of Northumberland and
Westmoreland. And these makeshift arrangements must be improved upon.
I will find someone who is willing to be her .. . long-term host.
Someone who is rich enough to have many dwellings to choose from, and
can house her in royal comfort. Someone who lives a fair distance from
both London and the north. Someone who is married, and proof against
her .. . charms. I almost said 'wiles'! Someone who is Protestant,
and has no wistful leanings toward the old religion. Ah, where shall I
find such a lord?"

"You impose many conditions. But doubtless one will suggest himself."
He looked at her in consternation. "But, please, Your Majesty, can you
not tell me as your chief minister, as the one who must know your
thinking in order to execute it what are your true feelings about the
Queen of Scots?"

Elizabeth thought for so long that Cecil assumed she meant not to
reply. Finally she said, "I do not know." Her voice was soft. "Truly
it depends on her behaviour from now on. I cannot pass judgement on
what went before. It is too confused and contradictory, and most of it
is compiled by her enemies. But now she has a clean slate. She can
choose to live circumspectly and loyally, and in time .. . well, time
brings in many revenges. Time can be her friend. Time, in this case,
is probably the best friend she now has. But if she turns to false
friends like Philip, and English traitors, then .. . that is her
choice."

On January tenth, 1569, Elizabeth gave her appraisal of the hearings.
Cecil stood, and requested all the commissioners to stand while he
read, " That forasmuch as there has been nothing deduced against the
Regent and his government that might impair their honour and
allegiances, so, on the other part, there had been nothing sufficient
produced nor shown by them against their sovereign, whereby the Queen
of England should conceive or take any evil opinion of the Queen her
good sister, for anything she had yet seen. "

The Lord James was free to return to Scotland, and even given a
five-thousand-pound loan. Queen Mary was to remain in custody.

THREE

Mary jounced and jolted along as her horse made its way painfully over
the rutted roads if they could be called that in the icy landscape
between Bolton and Tutbury. Just after the conference ended, she had
received an abrupt order from Queen Elizabeth: she and her household
reduced immediately to half its size were to be transferred to the
custody of the Earl and Countess of Shrewsbury, one hundred miles to
the south. No promises, no explanations, no apologies. Just go.

Mary had resisted; she had refused to travel during this dangerously
cold and severe winter. But it was to no avail. Her Majesty the Queen
of England decreed that she must go, and go she must.

Now the journey was proving every bit as onerous as she had feared, and
more so. The January winds were unrelenting, and they ripped across
the landscape, already lying prostrate under heavy snowfalls. She had
become ill after the first day's journey, but had been able to keep
going. Lady Livingston had become so sick that they had had to leave
her behind on one of their stops, this one at Rotherham. All along the
way, Mary's heart was so heavy from the news about the conclusion of
the conference that she had to force herself to look at the
landscape.

After all, I may never get another chance. This is England, the land

I

wanted to see so badly that I insisted on coming, despite all the
advice of my best friends, she thought. This is Elizabeth, my sister
sovereign, who promised to help me in distress. She has helped me so
much that she got me to agree to a hearing to allow my subjects to
justify themselves to me so I could be restored to the throne, and as a
result my so-called sins were aired in public but I was not allowed to
defend myself even though she stipulates that I must "clear" myself
before she can condescend to see me. I must clear myself, but I am not
allowed to speak! Ah, it is all so obvious! And so I am to be kept a
prisoner while my brother returns merrily to Scotland, with English
money in his pocket!

And why could she not free me as well? Because she means yet to help
me, she says. O ye holy angels, have you ever heard such convoluted
logic?

They were passing down through Yorkshire, following the course of the
River Ure. This was the area trampled by the Pilgrimage of Grace, when
forty thousand peasants had risen up to protest the religious changes;
she could see exactly what they had protested, in the ruined ribs of
the great Cistercian monastery, Fountains Abbey. Her little party made
its way past the remains of the Abbey just at sunset. They showed
stark and white like a skeleton on the already white landscape; this
ruin was the handiwork of Henry VIII, the great spoiler and reformer.

The rebels had been in control here, briefly, before they were
betrayed. Henry VIII had tricked them into laying down their arms and
sending a leader to London. Then he killed him, thought Mary. Trusting
a Tudor is most unwise I know that now. Would I had known it earlier.
I never thought to find Henry VIII in the bosom of a woman. The more
fool I. They spent a night in Ripon, then the next night in Wetherby.
The next day they were to make their way to Pontefract Castle, at the
southernmost extremity of Yorkshire. Daylight came late, and so they
were not mounted and ready to set out until well after ten o'clock.
Even so, a dull purplish grey light suffused everything and made it
hard to see the cracks and sleek stretches of ice on the path. There
were few other travellers, and it made England look as bleak and empty
as stretches of the Scottish moors. Mary was deep in thought when a
party of beggars hobbled out of a hedge by the side of the road and
began crying for alms. They scrambled round the horses, squeaking like
mice, holding up their babies, crying, "Food, alms, if you have mercy!"
Their feet were bound in rags rather than boots or even shoes, and
their hands were bare, black with dirt. They looked like witches.

I, too, am a beggar here, she thought with a shock. I had to borrow
clothes; I was almost as naked as they when I arrived in England.

"A moment," she said, reining in her horse. She dug in her purse for
some coins. Lord Scrope would be annoyed; let him be. "Pray you,
wait." She turned and signaled to her guards. "Here." She pressed a
coin into one man's rough hand. He kept hanging on to her saddle, and
she attempted to detach him. "That is all I may spare," she said.

The man rubbed the coin and then bit on it. His teeth were
surprisingly sound. He caught her eye and mouthed, "I am Hameling."

Hameling! One of the Earl of Northumberland's men. Of course! Now
she recognized him.

"Move on here!" Lord Scrope was saying.

Quickly, Mary pulled an enamelled gold ring off her finger and gave it
to him. "Bid the Earl remember his promise to help me," she said,
pushing him away. "Get you gone now!" she said loudly.

As they plodded away, he winked at her.

Her heart was leaping with excitement as they made their way onward in
the smudged winter day. She was not alone; she was not forgotten.

Pontefract Castle, with its gloomy associations of royal murder it was
there Richard II had been starved to death reared up before them and
then swallowed them up in the twilight. Within its walls dripping with
cold, Mary tried to sleep. Her party, reduced now to only thirty
persons, was huddled on makeshift beds.

Northumberland. Northumberland was sympathetic to her cause. That
meant that his friend, Westmoreland, probably stood with him. Both
those earls had been present representing Elizabeth at the conference.
That they were unswayed by the prejudicial hearings was a miracle. And
Westmoreland wife was Norfolk's sister. A sturdy piece of cloth of
family sympathies was being woven a piece of cloth that might serve as
her escape mantle. So thinking, she slept more soundly than she had in
weeks.