Mary Queen of Scotland & the Isles (69 page)

One by one they blew out the candles, one by one they removed their
bejewelled clothes until they lay together in the great royal bed,
smooth young flesh seeking its own.

"You have made me King," he finally murmured, the first words he had
spoken since entering the chamber.

"King indeed; King of everything," she whispered.

"This bed is my realm, your body my land," he said. "Let Christopher
Columbus and Francisco de Coronado go to America; you are my new-found
land and I seek to explore it all."

Outside in the streets of Edinburgh, the citizens were causing a tumult
about the marriage, and some near the Mercat Cross stepped aside as the
royal herald approached the Cross, then mounted its base and unrolled
his parchment. Two trumpeters blew a fanfare as he read the Queen's
proclamation that her beloved husband Henry, Lord Darnley, Duke of
Albany, was henceforth to be styled and honored as Henry, King of
Scotland, by her own wishes.

No one cheered.

A week later, another proclamation was read at the same site, this time
at high noon. Three blasts of the royal horn followed, officially
declaring the Lord James Stewart, Earl of Moray, an outlaw and rebel
traitor to the Queen.

TWENTY-THREE

And is my armour ready, my love?" Darnley was waiting anxiously in his
bedchamber at Holyrood as Mary sought him out in his quarters. She had
had an unpleasant discussion with Lord Seton; not that Seton himself
was unpleasant, but the topic was: the rebellion of her brother Lord
James, and the refusal of him and his compatriots to appear at her
summons.

"I had no choice, did I?" she kept asking her faithful Master of the
Household. "I had to call for men and arms to support me. Now I must
take the field against him." Lord Seton shook his head. "It is a
tragedy." "This is the second rebellion against me by a subject!" Mary
could hardly believe her own words. "First Huntly, now Lord James.
And after all I have done for him!"

"It is because of all you have done for him," Riccio's voice piped
up.

Lord Seton looked up in surprise. "I thought we were alone," he said
pointedly.

Riccio emerged from the little side room. So that was where he had
been hiding!

"Forgive me, I could not help overhearing," Riccio said. "I was
addressing some correspondence in the turret room. But, my dear Queen,
as I said, it was precisely because of all you had done for him. You
gave him vast tracts of land, elevated the bastard to be the greatest
in the land. Is not the rest predictable?"

"No," she snapped. "I despise ingratitude! It is the one failing I
cannot tolerate!"

"He had no incentive to follow you any longer. Withholding favours
would have been a surer method of ensuring his loyalty."

"I am his Queen, by divine right of royal blood!"

Riccio shook his head pityingly. "I think his own portion of royal
blood is speaking more loudly to him."

"I will be revenged upon him!" she cried, leaving the room and rushing
to Darnley's quarters. Now there was Darnley, waiting, eager for his
armour.

"I I know not." She had forgotten about his armour, which was to be
gilt and was being hastily made up for him by local blacksmiths by
welding other pieces together, and coating them with gold.

"Oh." He looked so disappointed. Then he brightened and said, "What
will you wear?"

"I shall just borrow some men's half-armour. And as I shall wear it
under my clothes, it is not important that it be ornamented or even fit
very well."

She allowed herself to admire Darnley in his setting. He had overseen
the furnishing of his apartments, and had paid particular attention to
his bed. Only the finest velvet hangings were selected, and on them
were embroidered his own familial crest and lineage.

"Do you know what my mother has on her bed hangings?" he had said,
holding Mary dreamily one afternoon after a tender interval of
lovemaking. He had begun to laugh. "She has images of saints pinned
to them! Only pinned that way she can ch-ch-change them according to
the s-s-season!" He was laughing so hard he could hardly finish the
sentence. "My mother. I shall always think of her that way."

"I should like to meet your mother," said Mary. Darnley talked about
her a great deal.

"No, you wouldn't. She's a harridan."

Now Darnley was standing, fingering the hangings on his own bed. "I am
tired of the purple," he said. "Perhaps I shall change to gold."

He had only had the purple for a month! "I am afraid all such
expenditures will have to wait," she said. "In order to pay for the
troops to march against

Lord James, I must pledge my jewellery. Five thousand men are costly
to maintain in the field."

Darnley dropped the bed curtain. "Thank you for my armour!" he said.
"I had no idea that it would be such a sacrifice."

She smiled at him. "Consider it a wedding gift," she said grimly.

Mary had issued a call to arms for able-bodied men, asking them to
muster at Edinburgh with fifteen days' provisions. Five thousand had
come to follow her banner, with the Earl of Morton leading the advance
guard, and the Earl of Lennox commanding the rear guard. Riding with
Mary in the midst of the host were Darnley, the Marys, the lords who
were still loyal, and Riccio. Just before leaving, she had released
Lord George Gordon from prison, where he had languished since his
father's rebellion, and restored him to his hereditary title as Earl of
Huntly.

It was Lord James who benefited from Huntly's rebellion, she thought.
It was Lord James who reaped the reward of his fall. Now, at least,
the son will always be the enemy of his father's enemy. And the enemy
of my enemy is my ally.

The rebels, under Lord James, had gathered at Ayr, on the west coast of
Scotland. He was not alone; the Duke of Chatelherault was with him, as
an hereditary enemy of the Lennoxes, and so was Kirkcaldy of Grange.
That hurt Mary as well as surprised her; she had always thought
Kirkcaldy loyal and clear-headed. The Earl of Argyll was also on their
side. Reports were that they had only about twelve hundred men, but
were expecting northern troops from the Earl of Argyll to join them
shortly.

"We will engage them in battle before their reinforcements come!" Mary
cried. "On to Ayr!" She and her troops streamed out of Edinburgh,
banners flying, in late August. The days were golden and hazy, and it
was easy to pretend they were just on a progress through the
countryside, enjoying the mellow warmth and seeing the farmers bringing
in their harvest. But under her scarlet and gold embroidered riding
dress was the light armour she had felt called to wear, and under her
hood and veil she wore a steel helmet. She carried pistols, thrust
into her waistband, to have instantly to hand.

Behind in Edinburgh she had left Erskine in command of the castle, and
had told Randolph that if he attempted to aid the rebels with money
from England for Lord James had attempted to put a religious colour on
his insurrection by painting it as a matter of Protestant conscience
outraged at the wedding of two Catholics she would have his house
surrounded by guards.

They marched westward, through Linlithgow and Stirling and thence on to
Glasgow. The weather held, still giving their venture a holiday air.

To Mary's surprise, the rebels did not stand to fight them, but instead
attempted to slip past them and take advantage of her absence in
Edinburgh. Wheeling the troops around, Mary's forces retraced their
own steps back toward Stirling. But suddenly a violent storm hit;
water spilled from the heavens like Noah's downpour, swelling the small
streams to raging forces.

The rain was coming down so hard that it ran into their mouths and left
them gasping for air. When they reached the banks of the usually small
stream called the Carron, some of the men were swept away and drowned
in what was now a mighty river.

"Let us stop! Let us stop and wait here!" cried Darnley. The rain
was running off his helmet like a veil, and his hair straggled out from
beneath it.

"Nay!" cried Mary. "We cannot! We must press on!" She looked at the
churning, muddy waters of the rampaging stream, and crossed herself.
"God have mercy on the souls of the lost." Then she urged her horse
forward, praying that she not be swept away. Her horse, a strong
swimmer, made the other bank safely. Behind her, Darnley was
following, his arms clutching his horse's neck.

The rebels entered Edinburgh just ahead of the storm, but could not
take the city. There was no sympathy for their cause; the townspeople
did not rally to them, and Erskine, loyal to the crown, fired on them
from the castle, so they were forced to flee. This time they retreated
back in the direction of Stirling, then went south to Dumfries, where
they waited forlornly for English aid.

Mary's army stopped at last, and tents were pitched in the field. She
was excited beyond measure; word had just been brought to her of the
rebels' flight. She stood in the door of the tent, holding its flap,
watching the sunset that was now staining the waters of the subsiding
Carron.

"I wished for this," she murmured. "I wished to see what it was to be
a man, and wear armour, and lie out in the fields all night. They say
you should be careful what you wish for, that it will surely come to
you."

"And do you like being a man?" asked Darnley, who was stretched out on
the camp bed.

"In some ways."

"Fighting is such fun!" cried Darnley. "I have enjoyed it
immensely."

"We have done no fighting as yet," said Mary. "All we have done is
ride and chase the rebels."

"Indeed, we should call it the Chaseabout Raid. Lord James and his men
have kept out of our way," said Darnley. "He will flee across the
Border by tomorrow. Unless Bothwell intercepts him."

"Aye. Bothwell rules the Borders. But I did not charge him with
tripping the rebels."

"Why ever not?"

"I am testing him. He reentered Scotland without permission, still
technically under arrest. He has yet to come seek an audience. So I
am curious whether he will now come actively to our aid, or look the
other way. He may perhaps be bitter at his mistreatment at my hands.
Again, it was directed by Lord James!" With a sickening realization,
she saw that many of her actions had been urged on, prompted and
promoted, by Lord James, actions that had driven men away from her and
left her isolated and in his hands.

"Never mind about that," said Darnley. "Come here!"

Puzzled at the tone in his voice, she ignored it. "Look at the river,"
she said. "The Carron .. . but to the poor men swept away, it proved
to be Charon himself."

"I said come here!" Darnley was smacking the camp bed. "And close the
tent flap!"

Mary went over to him, where he was lying full length, a strange look
on his face. As she came near him, and bent over, he grabbed her and
pulled her on top of him. His fingers were digging into her neck.