"By the yew," said Archibald, pointing to a gigantic tree standing
alone about a hundred feet from the house, surrounded by bracken and
lichen-covered boulders. Carefully they made their way across the
field, feet slipping on the stones and getting snow inside their
boots.
Under its sheltering, low-hanging limbs, the tree seemed like a tent
shielding them from the wind.
Morton settled himself on one of the flatter boulders, spreading his
cloak underneath him. "You laugh," he said sternly to Bothwell. "But
there are spies everywhere. And it is imperative we not be
overheard."
Maitland the bridegroom spoke first. "The problem is simple,
gentlemen. The Queen regrets her marriage with Lord Darnley. We
regret her marriage. There is no one who does not regret the marriage,
except Darnley himself and his proud father. It is time that the
marriage is ended in the time-honoured way: till death us do part.
Having just heard that vow myself, it inspired me."
"Yes," Bothwell said. "Divorce, annulments .. . they leave too many
unsettled questions."
"And they don't punish the offender!" Morton snarled. "He betrayed us
over the Riccio affair turned on his own clan, the Douglases! It is
not to be borne! I had many months to brood upon it while I was
exiled, first to England, then Flanders, then back again to England."
His dark eyes were glistening.
"So you'll strike the first blow?" said Archibald. "Keep up the
family tradition, and use Bell-the-Cat's great sword. It's been in
your keeping for a reason."
Morton fingered his bushy red beard. "I dare not," he finally said.
"What?" Bothwell was incredulous. "What did we bring you back for,
then?"
"That is just it," he said gruffly. "I have just received a royal
pardon for one murder. I dare not commit another so soon."
The wind rose and rattled the tree branches against each other.
Everyone glared at Morton, until he finally cried, "I despise him, and
I would gladly strike not only the first blow but all the rest if the
Queen would commission me."
"She has commissioned you. She has commissioned all of us," said
Maitland. "At Craigmillar, we discussed it and her only condition was
that it must not blot her honour."
"But 'it' was left undefined," admitted Bothwell. "She stated she
wanted her freedom; when she said 'it," that was what she meant."
"Do it, and she'll thank you for it afterwards," said Archibald.
"Not without her express command," said Morton stubbornly. "In
writing
"She'll give it," said Archibald.
"Then you procure it," said Morton.
"That I will," Archibald said indignantly. "And right speedily."
"But how will we do it?" persisted Maitland. "We should settle on a
plan right now, since" he nodded mockingly toward Archibald "we are
protected so effectively against eavesdroppers."
"Stab him in the fields," said Bothwell. "He is a fool for hawking,
even in foul weather. It would be easy to lure him out into the wilds.
And then "
"We would have to murder his attendants Standen, Taylor...."
"You have overlooked the fact that the Lord Darnley knows you hate him
and would therefore be suspicious of invitations from you to go riding
far afield," said Maitland smoothly.
Morton's face fell. "True. But murder within a palace is difficult.
Too many people about. Look what happened with Riccio."
"We can ambush him as he passes from one palace to another," Archibald
suggested. "Then it could be blamed on outlaws and brigands."
"Hmmm .. . yes," said Maitland. "But it would depend on how large a
party he was travelling with."
"We could ambush him on the way to his eternal hawking," said Bothwell.
"That would have the advantage of a smaller party and a remote
location."
"Someone would have to inform us of his movements. That means someone
very close to him would have to be brought into the conspiracy," said
Maitland.
"Sir James Balfour is known to keep company with him," said Archibald.
"And he's corruptible."
"But he might betray us to him," Bothwell objected.
"Poison?" asked Maitland. "There is always that old standby."
"Again, there is the problem of needing someone close to him to
administer it," Morton pointed out.
"Not if it is given at a public affair, a banquet."
"Perhaps the simplest way is best," Maitland said briskly. "Arrest him
for treason in the name of the Queen, and when he resists, kill him. In
self-defence, of course."
"Get the commission," said Morton to Archibald. "For I will be sorely
disappointed if I cannot avenge my own betrayal."
FORTY-SIX
Mary stood looking at Archibald Douglas, the swarthy murderer who
should have belonged to the Black Douglases instead of the Red ones. He
had requested a private interview with her, and she had granted it on
the eve of her departure to Glasgow. But when he whispered his request
in her ear, she could scarcely believe it.
"No!" she cried. "No! I will not even listen to such a wicked
suggestion! Get you from my sight!"
Permission to kill Darnley? She, of all people, wanted Darnley kept
alive. Dead men beget no children.
She had even hurriedly dispatched Bourgoing to Glasgow to treat him,
lest he might succumb to his disease before she could reach him and
spend one night behind closed doors with him.
Evidently agitated, Bothwell had rushed to Edinburgh and now was
insisting that he and Huntly would accompany her partway to Glasgow.
Delighted to see him on any excuse, she was touched that he was so
concerned. She arranged to spend the one night en route at Callendar
House, the home of Mary Livingston's family. That way she was assured
of safety and also of an opportunity to see Lusty again. Although
Lusty came back to court regularly, bringing her little son, they had
had few private moments together in the past two years.
The late-January day was comparatively mild as they set off, leaving
Edinburgh behind. Even so, the route was mired and blocked with fallen
trees and mounds of ice, so their pace was slow. Bothwell led the way,
riding out proudly, his alert eyes searching the road on either side
for anything amiss. She loved to watch him ride. His reddish hair
gleamed sleekly in the low-slanting sunlight.
I wonder if the child will have his reddish hair? she thought, and
instantly a feeling half of guilt and half of excitement flooded her.
The child. She carried his child!
She had felt ill this morning, and so the ride would have been
unendurable, except that it meant she could spend it in his company,
and she cherished the queasiness as proof of the child's existence.
Bothwell had tried to indicate that he had information for her, but as
yet they had had no opportunity to communicate. Five hundred horsemen
with glittering steel armaments surrounded them and stretched out for
almost a mile behind them, a long, shining dragon's tail.
They reached Callendar House, near Ealkirk, by late afternoon; it had
taken all day to travel twenty-five miles. As the sun was setting
behind the stone tower, bathing its rough walls in pink, Mary was
grateful to dismount and come into the open door where Lord Livingston,
his wife, and her dear Lusty stood waiting for her. She rushed to them
and embraced them, her friends for so many years.
Mary Livingston, round-faced, buxom, with her simple life ... it agreed
with her, evidently. She looked healthier than any women at court.
That night there were French songs which Bothwell knew well, since he
spoke perfect French reminiscences, and guarded talk. No one indicated
that anything was other than perfectly and boringly in order.
On the stairs going up to their rooms, Bothwell was able to lean over
and whisper, "Double your care. I now know that Lennox has some scheme
in hand with the Continent. Secret money has been sent from the Pope,
and a Jesuit has arrived here."
"But I am Catholic!" she whispered back. "Why would the Pope plot
against me? Your information is, must be, incorrect."
"No! I agree, on the surface it is confusing. But "
Lord Livingston came up beside them, effusively describing their
quarters whilst simultaneously apologizing for them.
"... I fear they may prove too small, forgive me. But the new hangings
on the bed, just in from Paris, I persuade myself that they will please
you "
"Indeed, yes, I am sure," said Mary. She had begun to feel ill again,
and wanted nothing more than to lie down with a basin nearby. And she
needed to finish hearing what Bothwell had to say.
But he was firmly escorted to another wing of the house and there was
no opportunity.
As Mary stretched out on the bed, closing her eyes to rest and quell
her stomach, Mary Livingston came to bid her a good night's rest. She
lingered for a moment at the foot of the bed, and at the sight of that
loved and familiar face, Mary felt profoundly comforted. She longed to
be able to confide in Lusty, but even as she was tempted to do so, the
utter impossibility of it showed her the great gulf now separating her
from her former life. She could not tell Lusty, or anyone who had
known her earlier. There was no one in whom she dared confide now,
except Bothwell. She was completely alone without him.
Early the next morning they parted, Bothwell to return to Edinburgh and
thence back to Crichton, Mary to continue the remaining twenty-five
miles to Glasgow. Lord Livingston took Bothwell's place accompanying
her.
As they made their way carefully over the winter landscape, penetrating
deeper and deeper into the hostile Lennox Stewart territory, Mary was
aware of a feeling of disquietude. The western part of Scotland had
different loyalties and its own strongmen.
Along the way they skirted the high earthworks that were the remains of
the second Roman wall, called the Antonine, now completely overgrown.
Mary felt a great sadness remembering that Darnley had once been
interested in the traces of the old Romans. He had once been
interested in many things or so she had thought.
Outside of Glasgow they were met by Thomas Crawford, a servant of
Lennox's. He was there to call to Mary's attention lest any should
miss the insult that his master was not present to welcome her.
The poltroon! Was he cowering in his chamber in Glasgow Castle,
chewing on his nails? Or was he merely mocking her?
She could not hide the contempt in her voice as she said, "There exists
no medicine against fear."
"My Lord has no fear in himself, but only of the cold and unkind words
you have spoken to his son," Crawford bristled.
What a disagreeable, proud fellow this Crawford was like master, like
servant. "Have you any further commission?" she asked.
"No," he admitted.
"Then hold your peace," she ordered, and signalled her party to go
around him and continue the journey into Glasgow.