Life of Elizabeth I (67 page)

'By God's passion, that were to cut my own throat!' she cried. 'I will not have a worse in his mother's place. No, by God! Your master shall never be in that place.' This angered Melville, who was unaware of her fear of the consequences of naming any successor, but he controlled his annoyance and urged her to delay the execution, even for a mere week.

'Not'for an hour!' shouted the Queen in a passion, and stalked out of the room. She was also angered by a message from Henry III of France, who warned her he would deem it 'a personal affront' if she executed 
Mary'. That, she retorted, was 'the shortest way to make me despatch the cause of so much mischief.

Nevertheless, her reluctance to sign the warrant was obvious to everyone. Her councillors had not yet worn her down, 'albeit indeed they are very extreme in this'. They even produced for her precedents from ancient Greece to justify the death of the person who had been at the centre of every conspiracy against her, and Burghley argued, 'Were it not more than time to remove that eyesore?' Davison feared Elizabeth would 'keep the course she held with the Duke of Norfolk, which is not to take her life unless extreme fear compel her'.

By January, the suspense had become intolerable; terrifying rumours, put about by the Council to harden the Queen's resolve, alleged that the Spaniards had invaded, London had been burned, and the Queen of Scots had escaped, causing such outbreaks of panic throughout the kingdom that many men were going about wearing armour, and guards were posted on major roads. It was at this time that the Council informed Elizabeth that they had arrested and questioned the French ambassador in connection with a suspected plot against her life. This may well have been an invention calculated to frighten her into signing the warrant - certainly no further action was taken against the ambassador - but true or not, it certainly swept away Elizabeth's scruples about provoking the French by executing Mary.

'Suffer or strike!' she declared in Latin, pacing restlessly up and down her apartments. 'In order not to be struck, strike!'

On February, Elizabeth suddenly sent for the very efficient and respected Sir William Davison, who was deputising for an indisposed Walsingham. Two contradictory accounts of what happened next survive. According to a statement made later by Davison, Elizabeth told him that she was disturbed by reports of an attempt to liberate the Queen of Scots, and had therefore resolved to sign Mary's death warrant without further delay. Davison placed the document before the Queen, who read and signed it, saying that she wished the execution to take place as soon as possible in the Great Hall of Fotheringhay Castle, not in the courtyard. She instructed him to ask the acting Lord Chancellor, Sir Christopher Hatton, to append the Great Seal of England to the warrant, and then have it shown to Walsingham.

'The grief thereof will go near to kill him outright,' she jested grimly.

Her final instructions were that the warrant was to be sent to Fotheringhay with all speed and she 'would not hear any more thereof until it was done'.

Davison immediately showed the warrant to a relieved Burghley before taking it to Hatton, who attached the Great Seal, which validated the warrant so that it could be put into effect. The next day, the Queen 
sent word to Davison that he was not to lay the warrant before the Lord Chancellor until she had spoken with him again; when Davison told the Queen that it had already been sealed, she asked him, in some alarm, why he was in such a hurry. Fearing that she was about to change her mind, he asked Hatton's advice. On 3 February, both men went to Burghley, who at once called an emergency meeting of the Council, which debated whether or not to dispatch the warrant without further reference to the Queen. This resulted in a resolute Burghley taking it upon himself to insist that no councillor discuss the matter further with her until Mary was dead, in case Elizabeth thought up 'some new concept of interrupting and staying the court of justice'.

In order to spare Davison from taking the blame, all ten councillors present agreed that they would share the responsibility for what they were about to do. Burghley then drafted an order for the sentence to be carried out, which Davison copied and sent to Fotheringhay on 4 February with the warrant. His messenger was Robert Beale, clerk to the Council.

Elizabeth's version of events differed. She insisted that, after she had signed the warrant, she had commanded Davison not to disclose the fact, but when she learned that it had passed the Great Seal, she made him swear on his life not to let the warrant out of his hands until she had expressly authorised him to do so.

Davison might have been mistaken, but this is unlikely. It has been suggested, both by contemporary and more recent historians, that Burghley, realising that the Queen wanted someone else to take responsibility for Mary's death, chose Davison to be a scapegoat, but there is no proof of this. On the contrary, Burghley held a high opinion of Davison's abilities, asserting that he was capable of any office in the realm; he is hardly likely therefore to have regarded him as expendable. The only plausible explanation must be that Elizabeth herself had picked Davison to shoulder the responsibility - and the blame - for Mary's death. In her view, this would be morally justified under the Bond of Association.

What is undisputed is that, as Davison gathered up his papers and made to leave the room, the Queen detained him. Acting on the often- repeated advice of Leicester, Whitgift and others, she suggested that he ask Paulet, as a signatory of the Bond of Association, to ease her of her burden and quietly do away with Mary, so that Elizabeth could announce that Mary had died of natural causes and so avoid being held responsible for her death. Davison was horrified, asserting that Paulet would never consent to such an unworthy act, but when the Queen told him that wiser persons than he had suggested this, he reluctantly agreed to write to Paulet.

After the warrant had been dispatched, the unsuspecting Queen sent for Davison again and told him she had had a nightmare about Mary's execution. He asked her if she still wished it to go ahead. 'Her answer was yes, confirmed with a solemn oath in some vehemency,' but she added 'that it might have received a better form'. She asked if he had heard back from Paulet, but he had not.

Later that day a letter did arrive, but it was not the response the Queen desired, for although Paulet was one of those who was urging her to let the law take its course, he would not stoop to murder. 'My good livings and life are at Her Majesty's disposition', he wrote, 'but God forbid that I should make so foul a shipwreck of my conscience or leave so great a blot to my poor posterity as to shed blood without law or warrant.'

When she was shown his letter the next morning, Elizabeth complained about its 'daintiness' and wondered aloud why Paulet had ever subscribed to the Bond of Association. She 'blamed the niceness of those precise fellows who in words would do great things for her surety, but in deed perform nothing'.

Two days later, on 7 February, Elizabeth instructed Davison to write a 'sharp note' to Paulet, complaining of the fact that 'it was not already done'. Davison, realising that she was still hoping that Mary could be disposed of by covert means, insisted that Paulet required a warrant 'and not any private letter from me' as 'his direction in that behalf. That was the end of the matter.

In fact, the warrant arrived at Fotheringhay that day, and in the evening, Paulet told Mary she must prepare to die at eight o'clock the following morning. She took the news well, and was quite cheerful at supper that evening. Afterwards, she wrote farewell letters and gave instructions for the disposal of her personal effects. She then spent several hours in prayer before falling asleep at about two o'clock in the morning.

When she awoke, the sun was shining; the 'very fair' weather was interpreted by Protestants as a sign that God approved of the execution. As she was made ready, Mary wept bitterly at the prospect of saying goodbye to her servants, but she had composed herself by the time she was summoned to the Great Hall.

At eight o'clock on Wednesday, 8 February 1587, escorted by the Sheriff of Northampton and attended by her ladies, her surgeon, her apothecary and the master of her household, Mary, Queen of Scots entered the Great Hall of Fotheringhay Castle, watched by three hundred spectators. Many were astonished to see that this almost legendary beauty was in fact a lame, plump middle-aged woman with a double chin. Her manner, however, was dignified and calm, and she had dressed herself with care for this, her last public appearance: 'On her 
head a dressing of lawn edged with bone lace; a pomander chain and an Agnus Dei; about her neck a crucifix of gold; and in her hand a crucifix of bone with a wooden cross, and a pair of beads at her girdle, with a medal in the end of them; a veil of lawn fastened to her caul, bowed out with wire, and edged round about with bone lace. A gown of black satin, printed, with long sleeves to the ground, set with buttons of jet and trimmed with pearl, and short sleeves of satin, cut with a pair of sleeves of purple velvet.'

As she approached the black-draped scaffold, strewn with straw, she turned to her ladies and said, 'Thou hast cause rather to joy than to mourn, for now shalt thou see Mary Stuart's troubles receive their long- expected end.'

The Protestant Dean of Peterborough was waiting on the scaffold to offer her consolation, but she refused: 'Mr Dean, trouble not yourself nor me, for know that I am settled in the ancient Catholic religion, and in defence thereof, by God's grace, I mind to spend my blood.' As he insisted on praying aloud, she read her Latin prayers in a louder voice, weeping as she did so.

Then the executioner and his assistant came forward to help her remove her outer garments, so as not to impede the axe. 'I was not wont to have my clothes plucked off by such grooms, nor did I ever put off my clothes before such a company,' she observed. But there was a ripple of comment amongst the onlookers when she took off her black gown to reveal a low-cut satin bodice and velvet petticoat of scarlet, the Catholic colour of martyrdom; by this, together with the religious ornaments she wore and carried, she proclaimed herself to be a martyr for the Catholic faith.

When the executioner knelt before Mary to beg forgiveness for what he must do, she gave it readily, saying, 'I hope you shall make an end of all my troubles.' With great fortitude, she knelt and laid her head on the block, repeating over and over,
'In manuas tuas, Domine, confide spiritum meum
(Into Thy hands, O Lord, I commend my spirit).' It took two blows of the axe to sever her head, and such was the trauma to the spinal cord that her lips continued to move for fifteen minutes afterwards.

As was the custom, the executioner lifted the head by its hair and cried, 'God save the Queen!' But on this occasion, as he did so, the lawn cap and red wig fell off, revealing grey hair 'polled very short', except for a lock by each ear. The face, too, seemed to have changed, having become virtually unrecognisable in death.

Orders had been given that the body was to be stripped and all the clothes burned, so that no relics should remain as objects of reverence for papists, but when the executioner stooped 
to pluck off her stockings, he found her little dog under her coat, which, being put from thence, went and laid himself down betwixt her head and body, and being besmeared with her blood, was caused to be washed, as were other things whereon any blood was. The executioners were dismissed with fees, not having any thing that was hers. Her body, with the head, was conveyed into the great chamber by the sheriff, where it was by the chirurgeon embalmed until its interment.

That afternoon, on Walsingham's orders, it was securely encased in
 lead and placed in a heavy coffin.

When news of the execution reached London, the people went wild with joy. Bells were rung in celebration, guns thundered a salute, bonfires were lit, and there were impromptu feasts in every street. The celebrations lasted for a week.

But the Queen did not rejoice: when news of Mary's execution was broken to her at nine a.m. on 9 February, her reaction was almost hysterical. According to Camden, 'Her countenance changed, her words faltered, and with excessive sorrow she was in a manner astonished, insomuch as she gave herself over to grief, putting herself into mourning weeds and shedding abundance of tears.' She erupted, not only in a torrent of weeping, but also in rage against those who had acted on her behalf and driven her to this. Her councillors and courtiers had expected recriminations, but nothing like this, and they quaked in fear at the terrible accusations that were hurled at them. Hatton was paralysed with apprehension; Walsingham fled home to Barn Elms and feigned illness; Burghley and Leicester were banished from the royal presence. A frightened Burghley wrote to Elizabeth several times, begging to be permitted to lay himself'on the floor near Your Majesty's feet' to catch 'some drops of your mercy to quench my sorrowful, panting heart', and offering to resign, but his letters were simply marked 'Not received'.

Elizabeth was barely functioning, despite pleas from her councillors to 'give yourself to your natural food and sleep to maintain your health'. Yet although her grief and remorse were genuine, they were as much for herself as for her cousin, for she very much feared that God would punish her for Mary's execution, and she was also concerned about what would become of her international reputation when news of this terrible deed spread. Her chief preoccupation was to exonerate herself from blame. Therefore, after the worst outpourings of her misery had dried up, she deliberately affected to appear as ravaged as ever by emotion and regret, hoping thereby that her enemies would say that one so moved 
by the death of the Queen of Scots could not possibly have ordered it.