Mary Queen of Scotland & the Isles (194 page)

One who lives yet, and wishes to depart.

My enemies, no envy hold for me:

My spirit has no taste for greatness now.

Sorrow consumes me in extreme degree,

Your hatred shall be satisfied, I vow.

And you, my friends, you who have held me dear,

Reflect that I, lacking both health and fortune,

Cannot aspire to any great deed here.

Welcome, therefore, my ultimate misfortune;

And pray that when affliction ends my story,

Then I may have some share in Heaven's glory.

She waited to see if any more words came, but there were none. Then
she glanced over to see Jane gazing at her with a stricken look.

"Dear Queen, you look like a goddess of sorrow," she said. "It is
wrong to be so sad on such a glorious, sunny day."

Glorious, sunny day .. . But that is why I am sad, my friend.

Mary smiled wanly.

"It is nearly time for the noon meal," said Jane. "Come, we must
return." She spoke to the magpies. "You will have to wait for your
portrait to be finished."

The courtyard of Chartley was bustling. It took Mary a moment to
remember that it was Saturday, the day the brewer came.

Ordinarily she felt excited about it, but today she did not care. What
difference, what letters he brought? What difference, what went on
in

France, or Spain, or Scotland? She would sleep away the rest of her
life here, sealed away, like the bats slumbering in their tower. It
did not matter. None of it mattered.

She did not even talk to Nau about going down to the cellar. In a way
she was tired of the teasing letters, the post, the secret messages.
Children's games that were swept away each night by the adults, that is
all they were. Something to keep the prisoner occupied.

After the dinner, in the hot part of the day, the ladies lay down. Mary
was tired already, and the heat made her drowsy. She was sound asleep
when Nau touched her gently. She awoke with a start.

"Sssh." He gestured round them. All the women were sleeping, lying
still. "Your Majesty, it has come. Your summons to freedom," he
whispered. "Arise, and read it."

Too late. It was too late. She closed her eyes and shook her head.

"I have just finished deciphering it. Please, read it quickly! Else
it must wait until next week for an answer."

His voice was excited and trembling. As quietly as possible, she rose
from the bed and tiptoed through the bedchamber and out into the
audience chamber. Only then did she sit down on a window seat and read
the letter, freshly written out in plain language by Nau.

It was from Anthony Babington. Dear Anthony. It was good of him to
write.

But her eyes widened as she read.

A Spanish invasion. A small English army to rescue Mary, with
Babington at its head. A smaller band of six unsuspected courtiers to
assassinate Elizabeth at the same time. . who for the zeal they bear
unto the Catholic cause and Your Majesty's service will undertake that
tragic execution. It rests that according to their good deserts and
Your Majesty's bounty their heroic attempt may be honourably rewarded
in them if they escape alive, or given to their heirs. I ask that I
may be able by Your Majesty's authority to assure them of this
promise.

She felt a rush of fear and cold dread come upon her. What did he want
from her? She reread the letter, this time seeing the words:

We await your approbation; when we have received it, immediately we
will engage to succeed or die. I humbly beg your authorization to act
in your royal name, and ask that you direct our proceedings.

They wanted her to act as their general! But how could that be? She
turned and looked at Nau, with bewilderment.

"Is it not what we have been waiting for?" he was whispering. "Yes no
I know not!" Mary felt close to tears. "What answer shall I return to
him?"

"I that a longer answer will follow, that for now I merely acknowledge
having received the plans." She held her head between her hands, as if
she could squeeze wisdom and an answer out of it.

Nau bowed and went to his writing room to complete the task before the
brewer left for the day. Even a paragraph took an hour or so, because
it all had to be translated into code.

Mary was no longer sleepy, but shiveringly wide awake. What should she
do? Always before, she had made it a policy never to entangle herself
with any of these plots, purposely never to authorize anyone to act in
her name. It was that which had saved her. In the Northern Uprising,
the Ridolfi Plot, the Throckmorton Plot, she had communicated with the
plotters but never acted as their commanding officer. Elizabeth knew
that and appreciated it, if no one else did. But this one was
different.

Anthony Babington was organizing it. Anthony, whom she had seen grow
up, who had been her companion for years, and who was, evidently, more
devoted to her than her own natural son! For her, Anthony was willing
to risk his life. The appeal was personal, from a personal friend who
wished to deliver her after seeing firsthand what her conditions of
captivity were. She was deeply touched.

And that he had been able to find Englishmen brave enough to "undertake
that tragic execution" was extraordinary. Supposedly everyone was in
love with their Faerie Queen. But these were not foreigners who had
volunteered for the duty. "Six noble gentlemen, all my private
friends" what had the letter said?

Mary unfolded it and reread it carefully. The men were most likely
young, with their whole futures before them, like Anthony himself. "Who
for the zeal they bear unto the Catholic cause ..." How had young ones
even maintained loyalty to the old religion?

It is different with me, Mary thought. I was brought up Catholic,
instructed in the faith when it was not only allowed but expected. I
now must maintain the faith because I am a visible symbol of it. But
for a young person to embrace it, at a time when it is outlawed! I
blush to compare their faith with mine.

And that they do this in fear and with misgivings .. . "undertake that
tragic execution." They see it as tragic, not good, not an adventure.
And it would be tragic. Murder is always tragic, and those who
maintain otherwise are lying to themselves. I am glad they would see
it as tragic, otherwise they would be no better than the Lords in
Scotland, who saw killing as a sport.

Of course I will not agree to it. I cannot. But if I did what
justification would I have?

She got up and began to walk about her chamber, nervously fingering her
rosary.

To begin with, she told herself, I have been detained here illegally. I
have tried every means, over the years, to gain my liberty. I begged
Elizabeth for a private hearing, I asked to be heard by Parliament. I
laid aside my royal prerogative and submitted to the degrading "York
Hearings" when first I arrived. I tried to marry my way out of prison,
only to have my betrothed executed. I have watched my sympathizers and
co-religionists hounded out of the country, likewise imprisoned, even
executed. Only then did I turn to foreign help, begging for relief
from France and Spain. The French discarded me and the Spanish merely
toy with me. If this time they are in earnest, then .. . ?

She sighed. Of course she would not do it. Of course she would not
lend herself to this plot. But what if Anthony went ahead with it
anyway, assuming that once the deed was done, she would bless it? Youth
will not wait, or it is not youth, she reminded herself.

The list of Elizabeth's perfidies, when enumerated like that, was
stunning. I came into this country to begin with because she promised
to help me! thought Mary. How could I forget? But Elizabeth has
hardened her heart against me, like Pharaoh. What was it Scripture
said about Pharaoh?

Mary called for Father de Pr6au. He would know. Was there, perhaps,
some spiritual principle here that she should follow? Perhaps
assassinating Elizabeth would not even be a grave sin. What about the
fact that the Pope's secretary had said, "Since that guilty woman of
England is the cause of so much injury to the Catholic faith, there is
no doubt that whosoever sends her out of the world with pious intention
of doing God service, not only does not sin but gains merit, especially
having regard to the excommunication sentence passed on her by Pius V
of holy memory." What could he mean by that? Certainly Anthony's
friends would be acting in "pious intention." He says it is for "the
zeal they bear unto the Catholic cause."

Father de Preau had arrived. He looked curious to see what she had
wanted, and surprised to see her pacing so rapidly.

"Ah, my dear, you must have improved. I have not seen you walking so
vigorously in many months."

She stopped, shocked. She had not even noticed how fast she was
moving. He was right. Then she realized why: she was excited, and
strength was flowing back into her. "Yes, our prayers have been
answered," was all she said. "Good Father, do you have the Scriptures
that tell the story of Moses in Egypt?"

"Why yes. Shall I fetch them?"

"Please." When he went to get them, she continued her thinking. Would
this be a sin? Or was it merely a clever test?

"Here, Your Majesty," said Father de Pr6au, a bundle under his arm. "It
is most inspiring that you wish to pursue this. So many never venture
beyond the Gospels and Epistles. Now, as to Moses and Pharaoh ... let
me see...." He put the volume down on a table and searched. "Here, in
the Book of Exodus .. . yes. The Lord says, "I have seen all that hath
befallen you in Egypt. And I have said the word to bring you forth out
of the affliction of Egypt.. .. But I know that the king of Egypt will
not let you go, but by a mighty hand. But I shall harden his heart,
and he will not hear you: and I will lay my hand upon Egypt and will
bring my people out of the land of Egypt, by very great judgements."
Is that what you wished to know?"

"Yes. Read me about Pharaoh's heart being hardened." "Hmmm. "And
Pharaoh's heart was hardened, so that neither this time would he let
the people go." "And his heart was hardened, and the heart of his
servants, and it was made exceeding hard." "And the Lord said to
Moses: Pharaoh will not hear you." "

"Yes!" said Mary. "It is all true! "His heart was hardened, and the
heart of his servants' Cecil, Paulet, Shrewsbury! 'and it was made
exceeding hard." "Pharaoh will not hear you." I wrote her once,
saying, "Be not like the serpent that stoppeth his ears," and begged
her to hear me. But no!"

Father de Pr6au closed the Scriptures. "Please do not excite yourself.
It is merely the old, old story of Moses "

"It is more than that!" cried Mary. "More than that!" And I will
bring my people out, by a very great judgement. Great judgement
indeed! she thought. But of course I will never agree to it. Never.

She was alone, before the crucifix. It was very late and the household
was sleeping. Mary had insisted to her ladies that she wished to be
completely alone for her devotions. Now she knelt in front of the
crucifix that had seen her through so many decisions, and spoke softly
to it.