Mary Queen of Scotland & the Isles (63 page)

It must be three or four now. She tiptoed over to her bed and climbed
into it. She was naked, and her clothes were still in Darnley's room.
How would she hide this from them? They always helped her dress,
bringing her warmed undergarments to her and folding her nightgown to
put it away.

The nightgowns were in the elm wood chest on the far side of the room.
Could she find her way over there in the dark and extract one silently?
Cautiously she crept out of bed, feeling her way toward it. She felt
the silk carpet under her feet and knew when she was halfway there.
There was a heavy chair to be avoided.

At last she reached the chest and lifted its lid, bidding it be silent.
It obeyed. She pulled out the top gown, knowing it by feel to be the
rose-coloured wool one lined with satin. She had had it since before
Francois's death, although she had not worn it often since, as it
seemed too bright and luxurious for her in her widowhood.

I'm no longer a widow, she thought suddenly, but a bride. I'm no
longer a virgin, but a wife.

She climbed back into bed and slid beneath the covers, feeling
altogether a different creature from the one who had last slept there.
Her body was hot and dirty and stuck to the fine silk lining of the
gown.

She had never felt vaguely unclean before, except after a hard day of
riding, and even that was a different sort of grime and odour, although
there was a similarity.

Ding-ding-ding-ding. The little clock struck the hour. So early. So
late.

But I am safely back, and no one knows. It is my secret, mine and
Darnley's.

The sun streamed in the windows and the clock was sri king
ding-ding-ding-ding-ding-ding-ding-ding-ding when she awoke. Her
eyelids were sticky and her body was stiff, and there was an aching
rawness between her legs.

The Marys were dressed and bustling around the room. One of them
Flamina was winding the clock, another was cleaning her jewellery with
a soft cloth and paste of gum araganet and alabaster. The Great Harry
lay like a child's trinket awaiting its turn.

Mary asked for a bath, and the warmed, perfumed water was brought up
straightway and poured into the large tin bathing tub placed near the
fireplace. Behind the screen she allowed her robe to be removed, and
then quickly stepped into the tub. She had a horror that prints from
Darnley's hands would be visible on her body, that his lip-prints would
show on her skin. Would the warm water bring them out? She slid down
farther.

"Your Majesty, shall I add the oil of sandalwood we got from the
gypsies to the water?" called Flamina over the screen.

Would it blot out that strange odour she had carried with her from
Darnley's bed to her own and thence into the tub?

"Yes, please."

Flamina stepped around the screen and took the flask of oil and poured
it in a long thin stream into the water. It spread out in little
droplets on the surface and floated like miniature opals there. She
sniffed the stopper. "Exquisite. It reminds me of something eastern.
Myrrh. Or Balm of Gilead, whatever that may be. I have always
imagined it to be languid and rich, like this."

"Thank you." Mary splashed the scented water over her shoulders.

"You kept late hours last night."

"Yes." could not sleep. And I needed to speak with Riccio about the
arrangements for the the ceremony for the revival of the Order of the
Thistle, which I mean to hold soon."

"The Order of the Thistle?"

"Yes. It is it is the ancient chivalric order of Scotland, like unto
the Order of the Garter in England and the Order of St. Michael in
France. It has not met since my father's death, and only a few knights
are left." Nervously she splashed more water over her shoulders.

"But you cannot revive it, as you are a woman," said Fleming. "Women
cannot be knights and wear the golden spurs."

"I will appoint a substitute," said Mary. "I am the sovereign of the
Order. And it is needful that Scotland restore herself to her former
glory and dignity." She looked at Fleming. "You may leave me now."

Leave me, leave me, let me alone, to think of what has happened, of my
husband, my secret.. ..

The oil of sandalwood gave off delicate fumes, enveloping her, filling
her nostrils.

TWENTY

Darnley thought he heard a knock on his door. On the door of the
King's quarters! His quarters. Why did so many people keep
interrupting him? He could have no peace! He hid his whisky bottle
under his mantle, which was lying in a heap where he had discarded it.
He was halfway across the room when he decided to return and have
another fortifying sip. He had learned, now, how to swallow this
stinging stuff, quickly, so that it did not burn his mouth.

He tugged on his sleeves to make sure they covered his wrists and then
flung open the door. To his surprise, standing outside was James
Hamilton, the old Duke of Chatelherault. The white-haired, broad-faced
old man looked as though he had come on a mission that was distasteful
to him; his repugnance of Darnley was written all over him.

"What do you want?" Darnley sneered. This was his enemy, his father's
enemy, the man who dared oppose their claims to be next heirs in line
for the throne. Well, now he'd see! Darnley would be sitting on that
throne, the throne they had coveted. And my child will be King, he
thought. To his surprise he found he had said the words out loud.

"I beg your pardon?" said the Duke. "Did I hear you correctly?" He
looked at Darnley and then smelled the whisky. Pointedly he looked at
the sun, which had not been up very long. "I have come to discuss the
long-standing differences between our houses, in hopes of reaching an
understanding. Will you not do me the honour to invite me in?"

"No," said Darnley. "No, I will not. When does one invite a foe to
step over his threshold?"

"But I come not as a foe." Chatelherault's voice was rising.

"Never as a friend!" cried Darnley. "You tried to betray the Queen,
and set your crazy son on her! The Earl of Arran, he fain would have
kidnapped her "

At the sound of his son's name, the Duke stiffened. "Do not insult my
family!"

"He's still crazy, is he not? Locked up in your house, as befits a
madman."

"I came to speak peacefully, but I see there can be no peace with such
an ass as you!"

"When I am well, I will knock your pate! Be thankful I have not yet
recovered my strength!"

"Fool! Fool of a boy!" The Duke turned his back and walked away.

Messengers were sent out all over Scotland to summon certain men to
Stirling to attend the ceremony of the Order of the Thistle, to be held
at Her Majesty's pleasure.

Lord James, in Edinburgh, decided that he had urgent business in the
city that would, alas, prevent his coming thither to Stirling.

William Maitland of Lethington, already departed for France to seek the
approval of the King and Queen Regent for the marriage of Queen Mary
and Lord Darnley, was not there to receive the summons.

James Melville made ready for the journey, puzzled as to the wherefore
of the ceremony.

Erskine, Morton, Ruthven, Lindsay, Argyll, and Kirkcaldy of Grange
accepted and began choosing their wardrobes.

Paul de Foix, the French ambassador, had been assigned quarters.

John Knox had not been invited.

James Hepburn, Earl of Bothwell, secretly returned without royal
permission to his ancestral home in Liddesdale, did not even hear about
it.

Into the Chapel Royal, now hung with royal banners and the green and
white banners of the Order (hastily sewn up to be ready for the
ceremony), Mary Queen of Scots came in procession, her head held high
and her gait majestic. Around her shoulders was the gold chain of the
Order, enamelled with thistles and sprigs of rue, last worn by her
father in 1540. Around her ankles were the golden spurs of knighthood,
and she wore a dark green velvet mantle the colour of an ancient
forest.

The fourteen men to be dubbed Knights Companion of the Order were
awaiting her, standing at attention. They had fasted and kept vigil
all night as custom demanded. Now she, with her attendants, took her
place in front of the altar.

The Lord Lyon King of Arms strode forward and puffed out his chest.

"Now you, as worthy knights, chosen by your sovereign to attend her in
this noble and ancient order, must come one by one and swear allegiance
to your Queen, and to the Order of the Thistle as well, bearing in mind
its motto: Nemo me impune laces sit He gestured toward the banner,
with the cross of Saint Andrew and the satin thistle superimposed. "
"No one harms me with impunity." "

The trumpeters blew two blasts on their silver horns.

Mary now raised her hands, and the long sleeves of her garment hung
heavy, almost to her knees.

"My good people, loyal nobles. As a woman, I am unable to perform the
ceremony, for I myself am not a knight. Therefore it is my pleasure to
exercise the ancient prerogative of choosing my knight to carry out the
duties of an office restricted to men and forbidden to women."

Everyone stood even straighter, waiting.

"Henry Stuart, Lord Darnley, come forth." Her voice rang loud in the
high-ceilinged chapel.

From one of the back stalls a movement: a tall, blue-velvet-clad figure
emerged from the shadows and walked down the center aisle. He took his
place before her. For a long moment he and the Queen stood close, eye
to eye. Everyone in the chapel was aware of the look that passed
between them: a look of desire and purpose. Then he knelt on the
footstool in front of her, his new-soled boots showing shiny leather
faces toward his audience.

"Take your oath," she commanded him.

"I shall defend the Christian faith with all my power," he said in a
loud voice. "I shall be leal and true to my Sovereign Lady, the Queen
of Scotland, and her successors.

"I shall use and exercise myself in the office of chivalry.

"I shall do diligence whenever I hear there are murderers, robbers, or
masterful thieves who oppress the people, and bring them to the laws to
the utmost of my power.

"I shall never fly from my Queen, master, or fellow in dishonour in
time of need.

"I shall fortify, maintain, and defend the noble Order of Knight of
which I am ready to receive the horse, arms, and knightly habiliment,
according to my power.

"I shall never bear treason about in my heart against our Sovereign
Lady the Queen, but shall discover the same to her. So help me God,
the holy Evangel, by my own hand, and by God Himself."

"Amen," said Mary. She bent down and lifted her gown, unbuckling the
golden spurs. Then she held them up and passed them to the knight
standing before her. She cupped his hands as she gave them to him.

"Fasten them on," she said. She took the sword that had belonged to
her father and then touched his neck lightly on each side.