All this to dispatch one man. But it would take this much to make sure
he was truly dead. Evil was difficult to kill.
Another great explosion tore the fabric of the entire structure, and a
pillar of fire shot out the top and into the dark night sky.
What if Mary had been in there, as Damley had planned?
Feeling dazed, he made his way back to Holyrood, hugging the back
streets and skirting the tumbledown portions of the wall. He had to
tell Mary what had happened, had to see her to dispel the horrible
vision he had had of her inside the conflagration.
People had rushed out into the streets, shrieking and pointing. Pulling
his cloak over his face, he made his way through them. It was too dark
for anyone to identify him, but his innate caution was operating even
in his shaken state.
He reached the postern door of Holyrood in his wing of the palace. He
turned to go to Mary's apartments, but it was too late. The
passageways were filled with gibbering servants and guards. He could
not risk seeing her privately. Quickly he made his way to his own
room, stripped off his clothes, and dived into his bed. The clothes
had not lost their body heat before there was a knock on the door. One
of the palace guards rushed in.
"What is the matter?" asked Bothwell, rubbing his eyes.
"The King's house is blown up, and I think the King is killed!"
"Fie! Treason!" cried Bothwell, bolting out of bed, and grabbing his
clothes.
The Earl of Huntly, blond hair tousled, came running in, followed by
the earls of Argyll and Atholl.
"We must go to the Queen!" said Bothwell, pulling on his last boot.
They streamed out into the passageway and rushed toward Mary's
apartments. The entire antechamber was filled with frightened
servants.
"A noise like twenty cannon!" cried Mary Seton, clutching at
Bothwell's sleeve. "Oh, sir, what was it?"
"How the devil should I know?" he snapped, pushing her aside. Did
people suspect him already?
"Treason! They are coming for us!" wailed one of the French pages.
"Be a man, then!" said Bothwell. "Stand and fight!"
The Queen's inner door stood open, and she was standing just within,
clad only in her sleeping gown, her hair loose and tangled. She turned
a puzzled, imploring look at him.
"There has been an ungodly noise, like thunder and guns," she said.
"What terrible thing has happened? Has there been an attack?"
Bothwell took a deep breath. It was he she was asking, not anyone else
in the room.
"No. A horrible accident. The King is dead. Killed by an explosion
in his house," he said.
"Dead?" She looked uncomprehending.
"Dead," he said, fixing his eyes on hers.
"Do we know that?" said Huntly. "All we know is there has been an
explosion. We don't know the extent of the damage, or if anyone
survived. Why do you say that?" he challenged Bothwell.
"Unless he was well beyond the vicinity of the dwelling unlikely at
this hour and in his condition he had no chance." I made sure of that,
he thought. When I have to kill, I make sure it is carried out. But I
do not relish it unlike the rest of you.
Mary slumped against Madame Rallay in shock or relief?
"Go," she said softly. "Go and see what has happened."
"Aye." With pleasure, he thought.
Motioning to the others, he left the chamber.
Mary stood watching from her window as Bothwell and the men made their
way across the courtyard and up the Canongate. Smoke was still visible
far to the left, marking the place where Kirk O'Field had stood.
Outside, in the streets, was a tumult.
Darnley was dead. How had it really happened? Had the powder
accidentally gone off, or had it been deliberately lit? What had
Darnley said when Bothwell apprehended him?
"Your Majesty."
She turned and saw Sir John Stewart of Traquair standing behind her.
"Tell me what happened," she said weakly, waving the others away and
drawing him aside. "You were there."
"No, Your Majesty, I was not." He looked saddened and embarrassed.
"Bothwell left me behind here to protect you in case Darnley had sent
assassins after you. So I did not see what happened. I only know .. .
they are saying that Bothwell and his men are the ones who did it. He
or rather, someone claiming to be him and his friends were seen passing
up and down the High Street through Edinburgh, carrying the powder.
Tonight."
"But he was with us all night!"
"I know. But whoever wishes the people to think otherwise staged the
actors well."
Mary was shaking. It was not only she or Darnley who was to be a
victim tonight, then. It was Bothwell as well. Someone else had
discovered Darn-ley's plot and the gunpowder and had decided to use it
to eliminate both Darnley and Bothwell together.
Who? Lord James?
But then he would want to eliminate me next.
Does he? Where is he now? He said St. Andrews, but
She collapsed in shock.
She awoke and saw that daylight had come, filling her chamber with
murky light. She tried to move and felt a great heaviness and pain in
her belly. There were thick cloths and oozing stickiness under her.
Someone was dabbing her face. The warm, scented water felt soothing.
"You have had a heavy onset of your monthly courses," said Madame
Ralley, close to her ear. "There was much blood, clots, and other
matter. But it is over now, and there should be no further pain.
Should I call Bourgoing?"
"No." He must not know. Had Madame Rallay guessed? But it must not
be a matter of record.
The child was gone. Or had there ever been one? Perhaps all the
symptoms had been due to strain, and there had never been a child at
all.
She began to laugh, hysterically. I needn't have gone to Glasgow, she
thought wildly.
"Sssh. Stop!" said Madame Rallay. She jerked her head toward the
door. "They will think you are laughing about his death. They will
think you are not unhappy about it. Then they may wonder if you know
more about it then you should."
Indeed I do, she thought. I know he meant to kill me.
An hour later she was up and dressed and had taken some nourishment.
She had to be ready for whatever news Bothwell brought.
"Madam," he said, when at midmorning he, along with others of the
lords, stood in her chamber, "it is passing strange, what we found."
"In the hot, smoking stones, the crushed and cooked bodies of his
chamber valets were found," said Huntly. "And there was not a stone
left standing; the house was totally demolished. It lies in a heap,
smouldering and steaming."
"But the King was not there." BothwelFs voice rose. "No, not anywhere
in the house. It was five o'clock this morning before we finally found
him, eighty feet away."
"Untouched by the fire," said Huntly.
"But dead," said Bothwell. "Very dead. Naked, too, at least below the
waist. There he lay, his privy parts exposed to the carrion crows, his
legs hard-frozen. Beside him lay his valet, Taylor. And on the ground
all sorts of things: a rope, a dagger, a chair, furred jackets...."
"No wound?" Mary asked.
"No wound, no cut, no bruise, no burn. Just dead," said Bothwell.
"Mysteriously dead."
"We had him carried into a nearby house and decently covered. Even now
he is being conveyed here, where you may behold his body," said
Huntly.
"And we will accompany you," said Maitland, who had appeared at her
side unannounced.
She did not feel able to walk even beyond her chambers, but she knew if
she demurred, it would be taken as a clear sign of guilt. The room was
filling up with people, all with bright, curious, accusing eyes. They
were all looking at her all except Bothwell. Alone of all people, she
wanted him to look at her, to sustain her. But he was purposely
looking elsewhere.
"Very well," she said, offering her arms to Huntly on one side and
George Seton on the other. She moved stiffly out of the room.
A sheet of nothingness had enveloped her. Darnley was dead. She was
delivered from him. Her great folly of tying herself to him was
exploded along with the house. But the unnaturalness of the death
meant that it was more than just a simple fact, an unalloyed
deliverance.
Why could he not have just died of his disease? she thought wildly.
Why this? It is his legacy to leave mystery and guilt. He sought to
kill me; now he will be exonerated, and trouble me even from beyond the
grave.
Ahead of her down the staircase trod Bothwell and Maitland. Where were
they going? Where was Darnley to be brought?
They ushered her into a windowless chamber on the ground floor.
Ordinarily it was used to store benches, trestles, and stools; as they
entered, servants were carrying these out. At the far end of the room
a makeshift bier had been set up, using two of the trestles and wide
planks. A pair of workmen were hastily hanging black drapes on the
wall behind.
"A seat for Her Majesty," Bothwell barked. His voice was rough and
terse.
Gratefully, Mary sank down on the cushioned chair they brought. She
felt faint and tremulous.
The doors at the end of the chamber flew open, and standing motionless,
six men-at-arms held a litter aloft. It looked, for one bizarre
moment, like one of the elaborate dishes served as part of the
entertainment at formal banquets. Just so the costumed servitors had
stood, proudly bearing sugar castles or gilded swans or forests made of
pastries to guests.
Even the reclining figure on the litter looked made of sugar icing, so
white was it. The golden hair looked like gilt, the rest all white:
the nightgown and the features, drained of blood.
"Proceed," said Maitland, and the men stepped forward smartly, looking
to neither the left nor the right. Darnley's sharp profile passed
before Mary's eyes.
It was true. He was dead.
Yet, instead of feeling elation, or relief, she was flooded with
horror. The sight of him dead was grotesque and terrifying. The young
should not lie so still, nor be bloodless.
Slowly she stood, and pushing away the helping arms of the courtiers,
she made her way to the bier where the litter had been set down. Tall
candles flanked his head and feet.
The sight of the waxen face pulled her to it with a mighty power,
almost commanding her to its side.
How motionless he lay! The utter, deep stillness of death, beyond even
that of granite or jewels, seemed to pervade her living breast. She
halted her breathing as if to breathe in his company were an
aberration.
His eyes were closed, and they had spoken true: there was no mark on
him. But he did not look alive; those who said "the dead but sleep"
had never gazed on a newly dead person.