"What are the Orkneys like?" she asked, eating more of the oatcakes
than she wanted to. She was very hungry after all. "I have always
wanted to see them."
"I told you, marry me and I will take you there. They are cold, but
clean, like an eagle. They seem almost to soar. They are
incorruptible. My ancestor was Earl of Orkney. I assume it is in my
blood to love it." He poured a large amount of wine into his goblet
and diluted it with water.
"How long ago was that? Why is your family no longer there?"
"Long, long ago. In 1397 my ancestor received the title. And then,
later, my family was forced to sell the earldom to James III."
"I will make you Duke of Orkney and Lord of Shetland," she said
impulsively.
"But not King," he said.
"No."
"It is better thus. I am content that my sons be princes; I am a field
soldier and a sea captain first and foremost."
A flood of relief washed through her; the unspoken worry had been
answered. This would be no repeat of Darnley. Ironically, this man,
better suited to wear a crown, would not hanker after it.
Days passed in the tower, and they turned day into night and night into
day, sleeping when they pleased, eating whenever they liked, making
love, lying and talking. They created their own rhythm and fashioned
the hours to their own desires, and the sun rising and setting had
little to do with it. It seemed like a dream, and each did things that
surprised the other. Mary astounded him with her knowledge of weaponry
and ability in cards; he surprised her by his love of poetry and
music.
"I know you like to think I spent all my time fighting in the Borders
or sailing off the coast, but the truth, which it pleases you to
forget, is that I was educated in all the classics. I even brought
some here to show you." He pointed toward a small pile of books, proud
like a boy. "I wanted you to see some of my library."
She went over to them and picked one up, turning its pages idly.
"Virgil. And look Aelian on The Order of Battle. A military book! I
think I have more need of that than poetry."
"The ideal life supplies them both. Like life in the Borders. There
is much poetry in the Borders, beautiful ballads that ring with fine
phrases like "The wind doth blow today, my love, and a few small drops
of rain; I never had but one true love, in cold grave she was lain,"
and "You crave one kiss of my clay-cold lips, but my breath smells
earthy strong; If you have one kiss of my clay-cold lips your time will
not be long." Then it goes on to say, "Tis down in yonder garden
green, Love, where we used to walk, The finest flower that ere was seen
is withered to a stalk." "
He reached for his lute. "I should have given it its music. It is
missing half a life without its music." He touched the strings and the
rounded sweet notes came forth. " The stalk is withered dry, my love,
so will our hearts decay; So make yourself content, my love, till God
calls you away." His rich voice trailed off.
She felt herself shivering. "Think you they will make a ballad about
us?"
"They already have," he said, shaking his head. "These things spring
into life before the events are even over."
"Sing it." She both did and did not want to hear it.
"As you command. It is not very flattering. It is about me." He
plucked the lute.
"Woe worth thee, woe worth thee, false Scotland! For thou hast ever
wrought by a slight; For the worthiest prince that ever was born, You
hanged under a cloud by night."
"You notice how the Lord Damley has now become 'the worthiest prince
that ever was born," " he said. "Thus do ballads make their own
truth.
"The Queen of France a letter wrote, And sealed it with heart and ring,
And bade him come Scotland within And she would marry him and crown him
King.
"There was an Italian in the place, Was as well beloved as ever was he,
Lord David was his name, Chamberlain unto the Queen was he.
"For if the King had risen forth of his place, He would have sat him
down in the chair, And though it beseemed him not so well, Although the
King had been present there.
"Some lords in Scotland waxed wondrous wroth, And quarrelled with him
for the nonce; I shall tell you how it befell; Twelve daggers were in
him all at once.
"When the Queen saw the chamberlain was slain,
For him her cheeks she did wet, And made a vow for a twelvemonth and a
day The King and she would not come in one sheet.
"Then some of the lords of Scotland waxed wroth And made their vow
vehemently, "For death of the Queen's chamberlain The King himself
shall die."
"They strewed his chamber over with gunpowder, And laid green rushes in
his way For the traitors thought that night The worthy King for to
betray.
"To bed the worthy King made him bound, To take his rest, that was his
desire; He was no sooner cast on sleep, But his chamber was on blazing
fire.
"Up he leaped, and a glass window broke, He had thirty feet for to
fall. Lord Bothwett kept a privy watch Underneath his castle wall.
"What have we here?" said Lord BothweU, "Answer me, now I do call."
" "King Henry the Eighth my uncle was, Some pity show for his sweet
sake! Ah, Lord BothweU, I know thee well; Some pity on me I pray thee
take!"
" "I'll pity thee as much," he said, "And as much favour I'll show to
thee As thou had on the Queen's chamberlain
That day thou deem est him to die."
"Through halls and towers this King they led, Through castles and
towers that were high, Through an arbour into an orchard And there
hanged him in a pear tree."
"That's a lie! It's all lies!" she cried.
"Of course it's lies, and mixed up ones at that. First the King is
worthy, then the lords want to kill him for killing the Italian, then
he's worthy again, then the lords want to blow him up ... some
imagination. Darnley changes character every other verse."
"But you are made to be the murderer," she said slowly. "And they knew
I banished Darnley from my bed. Truth twists itself round lies and
makes a braid. It is not all lies after all." She found herself
shaken. "Do you think all this is finished yet, or will there be more
twists and additions to the story?"
"Once we are married, we will be stronger than all their plots and
lies."
She looked down at her finger, gleaming with an enamelled ring. Slowly
she pulled it off and handed it to BothweU. "This is your betrothal
ring," she said.
He took it and looked at it, puzzled. "This is covered with bones and
tears," he said. "Black enamel and gold. Is it a fitting betrothal
ring?"
"It is what I have with me now. In taking it, you pledge to share my
fortunes as they come, unexpected and perhaps woeful."
He kissed her and slid the ring on his smallest finger.
FIFTY-THREE
They rode slowly back toward Edinburgh, torn from their secret life in
the tower only ten precious days! ready to face whatever lay ahead.
Huntly, Maitland, and Melville had been released days earlier, and the
divorce had already been set in motion. There were to be two divorces,
a Protestant one and a Catholic one, just to cover any future
objections from any camp. The Protestant one was to be based on
BothwelPs adultery Tvith Bessie Crawford, and the Catholic one on the
blood relationship between Jean and her husband; four generations
earlier an Earl of Bothwell had married the daughter of an Earl of
Huntly. The banns were to be cried as soon as possible by the pastor
of Giles High Kirk; luckily Knox was still in England and they would
have to deal only with his substitute.
As they passed through the little villages, curious people lined the
paths, but they stared silently. No one cried, "God bless that sweet
face!"
They are inspecting me to see if my clothes are torn or if I look
anguished, Mary thought. If I were covered with bruises, that would
content them.
But her defiance grew more and more shaky as she rode nearer Edinburgh.
The eyes of the people were not cruel, just puzzled .. . and betrayed.
They could not understand what was happening. She felt as if she had
indeed betrayed them, for they were obviously frightened and
insecure.
Ahead of her, Bothwell was riding placidly along. She could see
Edinburgh on the horizon, could spot Arthur's Seat rising up,
dazzlingly green with the new May grass. Now Bothwell was slowing,
waiting for her to catch up.
He looked down the road. "I do not see anyone," he said. "But I think
it best that we do not enter the city by the Netherbow Port. Let us
come in as close to the Castle as possible, and make for it
straightway." His voice did not sound very confident.
"So we should stay in the Castle?" she asked.
"Aye. I have appointed Balfour its captain, to secure it for us."
"Balfour? Whatever for?" She distrusted that skull's face.
"For past services he has rendered," said Bothwell. "Come."
They could see the ruins of the buildings at Kirk O'Field as they
skirted the southern side of the town walls. Nothing had been cleaned
up, and stones lay in heaps, with single ones flung far outside the
wall. On their right was the orchard where Darnley's body had been
discovered. Mary turned her head away as they passed.
Once inside, by way of the West Port, they found the streets oddly
empty.
Although a few people were there to stare at them, they hurriedly made
their way up to the castle gates and scurried to safety behind its
walls.
In the royal apartments, they found Maitland waiting for them. He was
sunk in agitated melancholy, leaning crossed arms on a table and
staring at nothing. He jumped up when they entered the room.
Bothwell threw his gloves on the table with no ceremony. Mary asked
Maitland how he was.
"All is confusion and disarray," he said glumly. He looked at her as
if he hated her for putting him through this, for demeaning himself so
on such a task. Poor bridegroom!
"The divorce hearings?" asked Bothwell, without giving Mary a chance
to say anything.
Maitland rolled his eyes. "Shameful. They have dragged out every
detail about your .. . doings with Mistress Crawford. Your wife
questioned the man you had posted as a lookout. He even told about the
time you ..." He stopped, embarrassed. Mary turned away.
"Has it been granted?" asked Bothwell. "That's all I care to know."
"Your wife "
"So she is still my wife!"
"No, your former wife, she demands that you grant her Crichton Castle,
or she will not free you."
"I grant it," said Mary, in a small voice.
"It is mine," said Bothwell.
"All properties are ultimately mine," Mary insisted.