Mary Queen of Scotland & the Isles (167 page)

"More information?" asked Elizabeth wearily, as Walsingham hurried in
to her privy chamber, papers clutched under his arm. "I am not sure I
wish to know any more. But no, ignorance is always worse than pain.
Pray proceed!" Her head was aching; she had been feeling ill for the
past three days. She was sure it was bad carp that she had eaten on
the previous Friday.

"You will rejoice at this news, Your Majesty," said Walsingham.
"Dumbarton Castle has fallen! A surprise attack on it has taken the
stronghold for the Lords! Only Lord Fleming escaped, by scrambling
down the rock and making his getaway. But all the rest are prisoners
.. . with the exception of Archbishop Hamilton. They hanged him in his
priestly robes."

"Who dared?" asked Elizabeth. "Was there no trial?"

"It was the Earl of Lennox who ordered the execution. He now claims
that the Archbishop murdered his son Darnley."

"When he came to the hearings, he swore it was Bothwell. He cannot
have it both ways! Oh, what is the truth up there? Is there any
regard for truth?" She was close to tears.

"Your Majesty," said Walsingham, "I thought you would be pleased."

"Pleased? With more murders and lies up there? You fool!" She threw
her fan at him. She hated the fan anyway; it was Spanish.

Walsingham ducked. "We work very hard for you," he said
self-righteously. "Is it our fault that the world is a foul and
disloyal place? Leslie has betrayed his Queen, and told us the extent
of the plots. Now we have stumbled on another link: Norfolk has been
sending money to the Queen's party in Scotland. It is French money,
crowns and francs, direct from her dower allowance."

"Well, what of it?" Elizabeth snapped. "How do you expect her to
spend her money? Aiding the Earl of Lennox?" She poured some water
from a pitcher into a shallow bowl and dipped her handkerchief into it,
then applied it to her temples.

"I care not how she spends her money, but these servants of Norfolk who
were carrying the gold have betrayed him as well!"

Elizabeth sank down into her chair. "Tell me, pray, of something
besides betrayal. Is there no loyalty anywhere?" She felt even
sicker.

"Only to you," he said. "Cecil and I, Robert Dudley, Hatton, Sussex we
are all loyal! And we have discovered the few who are not. Are you
ready? The '40' in the codes was the Queen of Scots herself, and '30'
was the Spanish ambassador. And if you doubt this, the correspondence
recovered from Dumbarton reveals the extent of Mary's dealings with
Alva, the Pope, and Spain."

"What of Norfolk?" she asked faintly.

"He had ordered his servants to destroy all his secret letters from
Mary, but they hid them instead, and brought us to them. They were
hidden under floor mats, and the ciphers were in the roof tiles. The
Duke," he pronounced slowly, "is guilty of treason."

"Is there to be a trial here?" she asked. "Or am I expected to act
like the Scots and proceed without one?"

"In England there is always a trial," Walsingham said proudly.

"Even if the verdict is known in advance," said Elizabeth. "I remember
reading an account of the trial of an abbot: 'he was taken away to be
tried and executed." Let us not follow that example. Let us truly
examine the evidence before pronouncing."

Walsingham looked at her, puzzled. "So it can be dragged out as long
as possible?"

The wet and sleeting May was unseasonable even for Scotland. There had
been ice and snow even in April, and flowers did not appear until May,
when they were promptly frozen, some of them still in the bud. Each
side took it as an evil omen for the other: the King's Men, as the
Regent's party was now called, said that as long as the land was
divided, the skies would weep; the Queen's Men said that the very
Heaven shielded its face from the sight of traitors.

With the fall of Dumbarton Castle, the King's Men could now turn their
full attention to the stronghold of Edinburgh Castle, still held by
Maitland and Kirkcaldy of Grange. The foremost fortress commanded the
capital and held the regalia, the principal store of ordnance, and the
register house of the records of the kingdom. Day after day the
Queen's Men fired cannon balls down on the town, and when the Lords
attempted to hold a Parliament in the Canongate, they had to crawl
about on their hands and knees to avoid the cannon fire. Their enemies
dismissed the gathering which tried to pass forfeits against men still
loyal to Mary as the "Creeping Parliament," from the men's posture.

In control of Edinburgh, Mary's supporters held their own Parliament
the following month, in the Tolbooth, the traditional meeting place.
The regalia from the castle was brought down to give weight to the
proceedings, but the Parliament was less well attended than the
"Creeping" one just held. The Hamiltons, Huntly, and Lord Merries were
there, but in the summer a chilly one like the spring Cassillis,
Eglinton, and the hitherto loyal Boyd went over to the Lords.

In August, Regent Lennox called a Parliament at Stirling.

The Great Hall was readied for the occasion. Although there was little
money in the treasury, Lennox ordered all that could be done for show
and a few pence. The floors were scrubbed, the fireplaces cleaned, the
benches oiled. Flowers, gathered from the fields, were strung in ropes
and festooned over the walls and draped around the doorways. An
imitation set of regalia was made, and new robes were hastily sewn up
for the five-year-old King James.

On the day that he was vested in his ermine and velvet, the boy looked
at his grandfather and said solemnly, "I will open the proceedings."
His voice was low and he spoke in a dull monotone.

Lennox nodded. He stole a scrutinizing look as the boy stood admiring
the mock crown. The child had a head too big for his body and sad,
baggy eyes. He did not resemble either his gold-and-ivory father or
his sparkling, elegant mother. Truth to tell, he did not even resemble
the swarthy little Riccio. Where had he come from? He was like a
changeling. But no matter; the title of King would suffice to cover
all his shortcomings.

Trumpets sounded as the crown, sceptre, and sword were borne into the
hall on three separate velvet pillows, followed by the sombre, measured
steps of little James, then of his grandfather. James mounted his
throne and Lennox took his place below him. The Lords and burgesses
seated themselves, after a blessing was read by the ailing Knox in a
shaky voice.

Suddenly James, looking upward to a small opening in the ceiling, said
loudly, "This Parliament has got a hole in it!"

The assembly, including Knox, were struck with fear. The child was
prophesying!

" "Out of the mouths of babes and sucklings hast thou ordained
strength," " whispered Knox.

Kirkcaldy and his men were approaching the rocky cliffs of Stirling.
They rode silently, their guns and swords at the ready. So these Lords
meant to have a Parliament using imitation regalia? Did they think
themselves safe here? Did they vainly imagine that the only place
where they would have to assume undignified postures was within the
scope of cannon fire from Edinburgh Castle? How foolish! Their
enemies had arms, legs, and horses, and were not confined to
Edinburgh.

They climbed the path winding up to the castle walls, and a Queen's
sympathizer let them in the postern gate, as previously arranged. The
men fanned out, keeping a careful watch. The upper courtyard was
deserted; the Parliament was still sitting, evidently.

The sound of the horses' hooves penetrated into the Great Hall. The
men inside rose from their seats. They flung open the doors and
ventured out, nervously looking this way and that.

"Get them!" called Kirkcaldy, with a whoop. "Avenge the Hamiltons!"
He swooped down on one terrified laird and was chasing him when he
caught sight of Eglinton emerging from the hall. "Old friend!" he
yelled. "Rejoin us!" He grabbed the man and dangled him from the side
of his horse. Eglinton writhed and tried to twist free.

Kirkcaldy's men were chasing the Parliamentarians like a farmer chasing
chickens across a barnyard. Then from the building emerged both Lennox
and the little King.

"Stop!" cried Lennox. "I command you to surrender!"

A Captain Calder, one of Kirkcaldy's regular soldiers, turned in the
saddle and fired at Lennox. The Regent fell, gasping. Blood flew and
sprayed the King.

Kirkcaldy dropped Eglinton and cried, "Retreat! Retreat!" and
galloped toward the escape gate. His men followed, leaving bodies
strewn on the ground and Lennox gasping, tearing at his bloodied
doublet.

Lennox died in a few hours. Before allowing himself to be taken
inside, he had inquired about the King. "Is he safe?" he had
whispered. When Knox had nodded, then Lennox said softly, "If the babe
be well, all is well."

John Erskine, the Earl of Mar, was appointed new Regent; once again, no
one suggested restoring Mary to the throne. The King's Men continued
to rule the country in the name of James, and to batter away at
Edinburgh Castle, where Maitland and Kirkcaldy were still ensconced.
While deploring the violence and instability, the English government
continued negotiations to have the Earl of Northumberland delivered to
them for justice's sake. The Earl's wife, writing from the
Netherlands, offered a bribe for his safety, but the English outbid her
for two thousand pounds, and the Earl was delivered up from Lochleven
and handed over to the English.

All the evidence about the Ridolfi Plot and Norfolk's involvement was
complete by late autumn of 1571. The Spanish ambassador, Don Gerau de
Spes, the truculent crusader for Catholic insurrection, was expelled
from England. The fussing Spaniard was escorted to Dover and forced to
embark.

Norfolk's trial opened in January 1572. He admitted knowledge of the
conspiracy but denied involvement in it, and claimed that he had never
attempted to harness his considerable resources for any domestic
uprising. But he was unable to produce any proof of his innocence that
could counterbalance the proofs of his plotting the letters, the codes,
the gold, the breaking of his solemn signed oath to have no dealings
with Mary. He was found guilty of high treason and condemned to a
traitor's death.

In such a case, a royal warrant was also required before the execution
could be carried out. Elizabeth must put her signature and seal on the
order.

At length she signed an order that the Duke would be executed on Tower
Hill on Monday, February tenth, in company with two other traitors,
Berney and Mather.

Elizabeth was pacing in her chamber. It was late Sunday night,
February ninth. Outside the wind was howling, louder than the
crackling of the fire in her chamber. She had removed all her rings
and was massaging her fingers. Her wig was off, and she would
nervously run her hands through her hair every few minutes. Her hair
was long and still thick and healthy, but she had a full wardrobe of
wigs in elaborate styles. She never, however, wore hair of any colour
but red.