Mary, Queen of Scots (57 page)

Later that day, Mary created Bothwell Duke of Orkney and Lord of Shetland, “placing the coronet on his head with her own hands,” and knighted four of his adherents, including Black Ormiston.
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An undercurrent of anger and discontent was seething in Scotland at the prospect of the marriage. Mary’s confessor, Roche Mameret, and some of her other friends warned her against taking Bothwell as her husband, but she would not listen, insisting that “her object in marrying [was] to settle religion by that means.”
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It would appear that she was too deeply in thrall to, and intimidated by, Bothwell to resist his persuasions. All her acts at this time suggest that he had come to dominate her. If worldly nobles went in fear of him, how much more would he overawe the Queen in her weakened state?

On 13 May, John Craig again vehemently defended his position before the Council, but was formally rebuked for his disobedience. “My Lords put me to silence and sent me away,” he wrote.
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Bothwell’s armed forces were increasing in number. On 13 May, Drury reported that the Confederate Lords had sent Mary word that, unless she discharged her soldiers, and paid heed to her nobility, they would not obey her commands. He added that there was friction between Mary and Bothwell because of jealousy on both sides, and that they had engaged in a quarrel lasting half a day. Since Bothwell was the most jealous man alive and would scarcely allow Mary “to look at man or woman,” it was believed that they would not long agree after their marriage. “He is offended for a horse which she gave to the Lord of Arbroath [Lord John Hamilton],” while she “much misliked” the fact that Bothwell’s former wife was still installed in Crichton Castle.
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Despite these tensions, the marriage contract was concluded and signed on 14 May. Huntly, Maitland, Fleming, Lindsay, Bellenden and the loyal Herries were among the witnesses.
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The contract maintained the fiction that Mary was still her own mistress. It stated that Her Majesty, being destitute of a husband, living solitary in the state of widowhood, and yet young and of flourishing age, apt and able to procreate and bring forth children, has been pressed and humbly required to yield unto some marriage. The most part of the nobility naming the noble Prince, now Duke of Orkney, for the special personage, Her Majesty has allowed their nomination, having recent memory of the notable and worthy acts and good service performed by him.

Yet while the contract enumerated Bothwell’s virtues, it also provided that he should undertake no public business or bestow no gift, privilege or place without the Queen’s consent, and that all official documents were to bear either the Queen’s signature or joint signatures, but never his alone.

On the eve of his marriage, Bothwell was having doubts about Balfour’s loyalty, and with good reason, as events would prove, for Balfour was determined to side with the winning faction. On 14 May, Drury reported that John Hepburn, Laird of Beanston had been appointed Governor of Edinburgh Castle in Balfour’s place.
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Melville says he was “intimately acquainted with Sir James Balfour. I knew how matters stood between Bothwell and him, namely that there were some jealousies arisen.” Melville had warned Balfour “that the Earl intended to have the castle out of his hands, for [although] the Earl and he had been great companions, afterwards he [Balfour] would not consent to be present [at Kirk o’Field] nor take part with the murderers of the King, whereby he came in suspicion with the Earl of Bothwell, who would no more credit him, so that he would have had the castle out of his hands.” Acting on behalf of the Confederate Lords, Melville “dealt with Sir James Balfour not to part with the castle, whereby he might be an instrument to save the Prince and the Queen, who was so disdainfully handled.” Accordingly, Balfour refused to leave his post,
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and since he had control of the ordnance and the royal treasure, Bothwell had no choice but to leave him in it or risk a bloody confrontation. Alienating Balfour, however, would prove to be his biggest mistake.

Drury also mentioned that the Confederate Lords were beginning to “muse much” on Maitland’s prolonged stay with his supposed enemies. Maitland, also, it appears, was waiting to see which faction would emerge victorious. His overriding consideration, however, was the salvaging of his long-cherished plans for the peaceful union of Scotland and England, and it was almost certainly for this reason that he would not, at this stage, abandon the Queen.

On 14 May, on being informed that her Lords would not consent to her marriage unless she ratified the Ainslie’s Tavern Bond, Mary formally pardoned all those who had signed it, and promised that neither she nor her heirs would ever “impute a crime or offence to any of the subscribers thereof.”
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The Queen and Bothwell had now done everything in their power to give a semblance of legality to their marriage and appease their opponents. On the evening of 14 May, with the wedding on the morrow, Melville ventured to return to court, and found Bothwell in a good mood. He even asked Melville to join him and his friends at supper, but after a while, “he fell in discoursing of gentlewomen, speaking such filthy language that I left him, and went up to the Queen, who expressed much satisfaction at my coming.” It seemed, however, that she hardly knew what she was doing.

“WANTONS MARRY IN THE MONTH OF MAY”

MARY WAS MARRIED TO BOTHWELL at 10 a.m. on 15 May 1567 in a Protestant ceremony that was conducted by the groom’s adherent, Adam Bothwell, Bishop of Orkney, who was no relation;
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in his sermon, the Bishop spoke of Bothwell’s “penitence” for having been an “evil liver.”
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Mary’s agreement to a Protestant ceremony is proof of her complete subjugation to Bothwell’s will. Not only was he of the reformed faith, but he doubtless wished to retain the favour of those Protestant Lords who had supported his marriage, and probably convinced the Queen that a Protestant ceremony would go some way towards healing the religious divisions in her kingdom.

Melville, writing decades later, says that the wedding took place in the great hall of Holyrood Palace, but the
Diurnal
claims that it was solemnised in “the old chapel,” that is, the abbey church, which was now the parish church of the Canongate. The Queen wore her widow’s weeds, as she had done at her marrige to Darnley; her only sartorial concessions to the occasion were to have her black gown trimmed with braid, a yellow gown relined, which was presumably the gown she changed into after the ceremony, although there is no record of this, and a black taffeta petticoat refurbished.
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The
Diurnal
states that “there was not many of the nobility of this realm there,” yet, although many Lords had joined the Confederates, some did attend, notably Huntly, Maitland, Crawford, Sutherland, Fleming, Boyd, Oliphant, Glamis and Livingston.
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Archbishop Hamilton and the Bishops of Ross and Dunblane were also present. Nau says these Lords “gave proof that they looked on the union with great satisfaction as greatly tending to the advantage of the kingdom.” Nevertheless, “at this marriage there was neither pleasure nor pastime used, as was wont to be used when princesses were married.”
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There was a solemn wedding breakfast, to which the public were admitted; Mary sat at the head of a long table and Bothwell at the foot, and they and their guests ate in silence.
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Although Mary had laden Darnley with gifts prior to their wedding, her only present to Bothwell was some fur for his nightgown, which had been removed from one of her mother’s cloaks.
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Mary was soon regretting her heretical nuptials; by participating in them, she believed she had put her immortal soul in peril. “On her return from that unlawful ceremony, the Queen could not help weeping. At once she sent for the Bishop of Ross, and with many tears unlocked the secret of her heart; she showed many clear signs of repentance and promised that she would never again do anything opposed to the rites of the Catholic Church.”
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That night, a placard appeared on the gates of Holyrood, bearing a Latin quote from Ovid: “Wantons marry in the month of May.”

On the wedding day itself, the Bishop of Dunblane was sent to the French court to announce the Queen’s marriage, give her version of the abduction and other events that had led up to it, and secure the approval of Catherine de’ Medici and Charles IX. He also carried letters from du Croc. The Bishop’s instructions were to “make true report of the Duke of Orkney’s whole life, and especially of his behaviour and proceedings towards us, [and] that we have been very content to take him for our husband. From his first entering into his estate, he dedicated his whole service to his sovereign.” The Bishop was also to say, tellingly, that, from the time of Darnley’s death, as Bothwell’s “pretences began to be higher, so his proceedings seemed somewhat more strange,” and the Queen was “now so far committed to him that we must interpret all things to the best,” even though he had displayed “plain contempt of our person and use of force to have us in his power.” The Bishop was further to emphasise the fact that the Protestant ceremony had been chosen rather from “destiny and necessity than her free choice,” for Bothwell was more concerned with placating his Protestant associates “than regarding our contentation, or weighing what was convenient to us, that has been nourished in our own religion and never intends to leave the same for him or any man on Earth.”
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It was soon obvious that all was not well between Mary and Bothwell. On the morning after the wedding night, the Queen sent for du Croc, who had diplomatically avoided attending the ceremony on the grounds that he had received no mandate from France to recognise Bothwell as Mary’s husband.
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When he arrived, he found Mary and Bothwell together, but “perceived an estranged demeanour” between them. Mary asked du Croc to excuse her for it, “saying that, if I saw her sad, it was because she could not rejoice nor ever should again, for she did nothing but wish for death.”
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Bothwell must have heard this, but made no comment.

Du Croc also reported, as did Melville, that, the next day, when Mary was alone in her cabinet with Bothwell, “she cried aloud, then sought for a knife to stab herself, or else (said she) I will drown myself.” Arthur Erskine and “those who were in the chamber adjoining the cabinet heard her. They think that, if God does not aid her, she will become desperate.” Du Croc added, “I have counselled and comforted her the best I could these three times I have seen her. Her husband will not remain so long, for he is too much hated in this realm, as he is always considered guilty of the death of the King.”
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Clearly, the reason for Mary’s distress was Bothwell.

Mary’s behaviour was hardly that of the woman described by Buchanan, who was so passionately in love and moved by lust that she had been prepared to connive at murder, abduction and rape in order to marry her lover. Had this been the case, she would surely have been ecstatic at the fulfilment of her desires. Instead, she was suicidal. The Protestant marriage ceremony, which she obviously saw as an unforgivable betrayal of her faith, must have had a lot to do with it, but Bothwell’s behaviour towards her was also a factor. It is tempting to speculate that he had somehow alienated her on their wedding night; claims that he practised buggery may not have been unfounded, although, as we have seen, they emanated mainly from his enemies. However, Mary’s distress had been evident before the wedding night.

Some writers have suggested that, once he was safely married, Bothwell revealed to a horrified Mary his part in Darnley’s murder. It is more likely, however, that he kept quiet about it, for there is evidence—as will become clear—that, when he later said a last farewell to her, he gave her a copy of the Craigmillar Bond, revealing the names of the Lords, including himself, who had plotted against Darnley. What her marriage did perhaps, in a very short time, bring home to Mary was that she had both abased and compromised herself by marrying Bothwell.

There is some evidence that Mary’s jealousy was aroused by her husband’s continuing relationship with his ex-wife. De Silva heard that, after his marriage, “Bothwell passes some days a week with the wife he has divorced.”
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Maitland told Mary that Bothwell had written to Jean more than once, to tell her that he still regarded her as his true wife, and Mary as merely his concubine,
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and du Croc informed his government: “No one in this kingdom is in any doubt but that the Duke loves his former wife a great deal more than he loves the Queen.”
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Even if there was not much love or affection between Mary and Bothwell, this would have been an inexcusable slight to the Queen.

Such snippets of information and gossip as survive show that it was probably Bothwell’s own demeanour that was responsible for Mary’s misery. She had been his virtual prisoner for the three weeks before their wedding, and in that time he had taken control of her life. Now that they were married, he revealed himself as a Jekyll and Hyde character, sometimes dour, forbidding and even indifferent, sometimes embarrassingly over-familiar and given to using coarse and even obscene language in her presence. He dictated who might, and who might not, have access to, and speech with, her, and insisted on being present. The Confederate Lords complained that “no nobleman nor other durst resort to Her Majesty to speak with her or procure their lawful business without suspicion, except by him and in his hearing, her chamber doors being continually watched with men of war.”
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Maitland told du Croc that Bothwell “would not let her look at anybody, or anybody look at her, for he knew very well that she loved her pleasure,”
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and flew into ungovernable rages if she showed the slightest favour to other men, or even to her female friends. The Calvinist in him criticised her for seeking frivolous, worldly diversions, and obliged her to give up the pastimes she so enjoyed,
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music, card games, hunting, hawking and golf. “In private, he was so beastly jealous and suspicious that he suffered her not to pass a day in patience, without causing her to shed abundance of salt tears”;
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according to Maitland, “from the day of the marriage, there had been no end to the Queen’s tears and lamentations.”
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In public, however, Bothwell’s manner towards the Queen was one of “great reverence.” Although, as her husband, he had the right to wear his cap in her presence, he made a point of going uncovered, “which it seems she would have otherwise, sometimes taking his cap and putting it on.”
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The royal couple made sure they were seen together as often as possible, and Drury wrote on 25 May that “they now make outward show of great content.” They often went riding, but were always surrounded by an armed guard.
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It is highly unlikely that Mary was ever in love with Bothwell. Certainly she recognised his strengths and his good qualities, but these had of late been compromised in her eyes by his “rude” conduct towards her; her ambivalent attitude and her resentment towards him are evident in her instructions to the Bishop of Dunblane. To the end of her days, she would maintain that she had married Bothwell for reasons of state. Nevertheless, she was now duty bound to love and obey him, and she may already have suspected that she was pregnant, which, as far as she was concerned, and later declared, represented an insurmountable barrier to her ending the marriage.

On 17 May, Bothwell presided over a meeting of the somewhat depleted Privy Council.
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Mary was never to bestow on him the title of King, but his actions left no one in any doubt as to who was wielding sovereign power. He himself wrote: “They placed the government of the country in my hands, with the wish that I should bring some order into the country.”
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The indications are that he would have been a strong ruler with a latent talent for diplomacy, but, lacking aristocratic support, he was not to be allowed a chance to prove himself.

On the 18th, du Croc wrote to Charles IX and Catherine de’ Medici relating the events of the past few days and enjoining them not to give any credence to the letters he had sent by the Bishop of Dunblane, for they were merely delusive. You can suppose that I did not entrust to him what I write to you. Your Majesties cannot do better than to make him very bad cheer, and find all amiss in this marriage, for it is very wretched, and is already repented of.

He went on to say that the Queen had summoned the Confederate Lords to attend her, but he did not think they would come. She herself must have suspected as much, for she had begged du Croc to speak to them and persuade them to return to their allegiance. Du Croc believed this would be futile, and although he was prepared to say “all that it is possible for me to say,” he thought it more advisable to withdraw and leave them to play out their game. It is not fitting that I sit there among the Lords in the name of the King of France, for if I lean to the Queen, they will think in this realm, and in England, that my King had a hand in all that is done. Why, if it had not been for the express command that Your Majesty made on me, I had departed hence eight days before this marriage took place. If I have spoken in a very high tone, it is that all this realm may be aware that I will neither mix myself up with these nuptials, nor will I recognise Bothwell as the husband of the Queen.
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Two days later, Drury reported the latest gossip from Edinburgh, stating that “there have already been some jars between the Queen and the Duke,” that Mary was distressed by them, and that “the opinion of divers is that she is the most changed woman of face that in so little time, without extremity of sickness, they have seen. It is thought the Queen has long had a spice of the falling sickness [epilepsy] and has of late been troubled therewith.” It is more likely that Mary was suffering from fainting fits brought on by stress. Drury added that Balfour was to carry letters to the English court announcing the Queen’s marriage.
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But if Bothwell thought by this means to get rid of Balfour, he was very much mistaken.

Bothwell’s influence was soon felt on the political scene. On 22 May, the Privy Council drew up a rota of Councillors who were to be permanently in attendance on the Queen; Morton was among them. A day later, the Council issued a proclamation reaffirming the recent Act of Parliament that had ratified the establishment of the Kirk.

News of the Queen’s abduction and marriage had by now reached England. Elizabeth, appalled, expressed “great surprise at these events, and deplores them very much as touching the honour of the Queen.”
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Fearful of the consequences, she was moved to write candidly to Mary with a few home truths:

Madam, it has been always held in friendship that prosperity provideth but adversity proveth friends. Wherefore we comfort you with these few words.

She went on to say that she had learned of her cousin’s marriage.

To be plain with you, our grief has not been small thereat: for how could a worse choice be made for your honour than in such haste to marry a subject who, besides other notorious lacks, public fame has charged with the murder of your late husband, besides touching yourself in some part, though, we trust in that behalf, falsely. And with what peril have you married him, that hath another lawful wife, nor any children betwixt you legitimate. Thus you see our opinion plainly, and we are heartily sorry we can conceive no better. We are earnestly bent to do everything in our power to procure the punishment of that murder against any subject you have, how dear soever you should hold him, and next thereto to be careful how your son the Prince may be preserved to the comfort of you and the realm.
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