"You are wrong," he said. "It is in my purview. Yes, I will grant it.
I will pay any price! Oh, what a hardheaded woman of business this is
the second time I have had to pay a fine over Bessie. The first, when
she learned of it, was that I give her the lands of Nether Hailes and
its castle. Now Crichton. I have paid such a high price for her
favours, Bessie might as well have been Salome." He sounded angry.
"Well, what else? Has that churchman cried the banns?"
"No," said Maitland. "He refuses to."
"What? Bring him here!"
"And Morton, Argyll, and Atholl have met at Stirling. Others were
summoned."
"Who?" Bothwell slammed his fist down on the table and yelled.
"Who?"
"My Lord, I know not, I swear it. I only know that after the meeting
Atholl galloped north, and Argyll west, and Morton to life."
"To gather an army," muttered Bothwell. "So soon. Get that preacher
in here!"
The Reverend John Craig stood before Bothwell and the Queen. They had
at least changed into fresh clothes, and Mary had taken her place upon
her throne under the canopy of state, to lend weight and authority to
the proceedings.
Craig was a thin, balding man with sharp features. He looked
remarkably like Knox, or what Knox would have looked like had he been
clean-shaven. Fleetingly Mary wondered if it was a requirement for all
Reformed ministers to have that look: lean, small-eyed, pale,
straight-spined.
"Why have you not announced our forthcoming marriage?" Mary asked in
her gentlest tone. "We requested you to do so straightway."
Craig shot looks back and forth between Bothwell and Mary. He shifted
on his feet. Finally he said, "So it is true! I did not believe it!"
and the disdain in his voice could not have been greater had he beheld
the Witches' Sabbat in full orgy. "Will you sign a paper to that
effect, releasing me from responsibility in looking away from sin?"
"Yes," snapped Bothwell.
"What sin?" inquired Mary. She could see Bothwell glowering at her
for pursuing it.
"What sin? You dare to ask what sin?" The preacher was incredulous.
"The kidnapping and ravishing of the Queen, not to mention common
adultery, collusion between yourself and your wife, and suspicion of
murder of the King."
"Do you mean me? Suspicion of murder?" inquired Bothwell.
" "You are the man!" as Nathan said to King David. But you are worse
than King David. He only committed adultery with Bathsheba and killed
her husband only! whereas you have kidnapped, raped, and degraded your
own sovereign, in addition to killing her husband and committing
adultery with a maidservant."
Bothwell gave out a roar and reached for his sword.
Mary rose from her chair and grabbed his arm. "Never! Do not strike
him!" She turned to Craig. "Doubtless your master, Mr. Knox, will
rejoice at all this. Truly there has been sorrow in Scotland, but I
mean for there to be a new beginning. It is my royal request that the
marriage be performed. And I will appear at a meeting of Parliament to
give all the reasons for it, and I pray the people will be content."
"Never!" said Craig. "It has gone too far. They cannot stomach any
more! As God is my witness, they will abhor and detest this
approaching marriage as much as I do!"
Mary stood in the Tolbooth, in the same spot where Bothwell had stood
only a month earlier. All the eyes gazing down at her were either
hostile or blank. The Lord Chancellor, Huntly, was both. All the
Lords of Session who were still in Edinburgh were there, but a
suspiciously large number of seats were empty. Various Kirk
dignitaries, in sad-coloured clothes, lined the walls.
"I am minded," she said, "to make you privy to my thoughts concerning
the Lord Bothwell. I was very angry when he interrupted my journey,
and took me to Dunbar against my will. But when, in spite of my
sending for aid, none was forthcoming, and his behaviour toward me
gentle and good, by and by I came to listen to his words and to
entertain his suit. His proposal of marriage was an honest one, and
one that had been already approved by the Lords and barons. He showed
me the signatures. And so, keeping also in mind his former loyal
services toward the crown, I agreed to become his wife."
Not a single smile, nor even a hint of one, lightened any face. They
sat in judgement of her, looking down smugly.
"And thus, I am content and forgive him, and all others with him for
his actions during those ten days. I ask that you do likewise, my good
people." She lifted her hands in supplication, although the law was
that only her royal pardon was required.
Her steps were heavy as she made her way back to the royal apartments.
She had heard the derisive comment, "So the laws of Scotland, which
pardon rape if the woman later acquiesces, is now used to blanket over
murder as well? She perverts even the law for her lusts!" It was a
Reformed minister, naturally. He looked away, embarrassed, when he
realized she had heard him.
But even in her own apartment she found no security. Her dear French
confessor, the Dominican friar that Lord James had scowled at, was
waiting.
"Your Grace," he said, "I must ask leave to return to France. I can no
longer stay."
"Oh, good Father Mamerot! You have been with me always, do not leave
me now!" she cried.
"I must. My superior has so ordered me. I cannot stay." He looked
genuinely pained, as if he were about to cry. He held out his arms and
encircled her shoulders.
"Your superior? But I am the Queen." Her voice was small and
muffled.
"The Pope, Madam. The Pope," he said. "The Holy Father ... the Holy
Father orders me to separate myself from you until such time as you
amend your life. He himself says that he will have no further
communication with you until then. He says that you are damned!"
Mary gave a cry and fell to the floor.
So early in the morning it was still night, about four o'clock,
Bothwell took her hand and led her to the old chapel at Holyrood, where
they were married by a Protestant minister. No priest would have
anything to do with the rites, nor would any upstanding minister of the
Kirk, so Bothwell had prevailed upon the Bishop of Orkney, a man known
to turn his coat to line his purse, to conduct it.
The pliable Earl of Huntly was there, as well as the faithful lords
Livingston and Fleming, and a few other lower-ranking noblemen. There
was no procession, no music, no beautiful costumes. Mary was forced to
endure a sermon about Bothwell's repentance of his earlier evil life.
When she said the vows, she kept feeling that they were not real.
This man is not a true priest; he has no authority. These rites are
not binding.
"Will you take this man, the Duke of Orkney and Lord of Shetland, to be
your husband? Will you love him, honour him, keep him, in sickness and
in health, keeping yourself only unto him, as long as ye both shall
live?" the Bishop intoned.
"Yes, I will," she said, but her voice was faint; only Bothwell and the
clergyman could hear it.
It was so dark in the chapel she could not even see Bothwell's face.
All this seemed like some mysterious rite, as if she were entering the
underworld. She half expected to see Cerberus, the three-headed dog
that guarded Hades, bark beside her. And Bothwell turn into Pluto, the
god of the shades, of death.. ..
He ~was taking her hand, slipping a ring onto it. His fingers were
cool.
"I now pronounce that they are man and wife together," the Bishop was
saying. Bothwell squeezed her hand. Still she could not see his
face.
"What God has joined together, let no man put asunder," the Bishop
warned. Bothwell turned to her.
Do not touch me, else I can never leave your side, can never come up to
the green earth again, but must wander forever in the silent darkness
and flickering fire lakes of Hades.. .. Her heart was pounding in
fear.
He bent down and kissed her, sealing her as his.
FIFTY-FOUR
Mary ran her hands over the glistening gold font. She loved the feel
of gold, its lustre, its glow that was unlike any other metal. It
never felt as cold as steel or iron; there was some warmth stored away
in the heart of gold, she could swear it. Perhaps that was the true
source of its magic.
The jewels sapphires, rubies, emeralds, and pearls winked on its rim.
They formed a pattern like a vine, a vine that grew only precious
stones.
The workmanship was exquisite. Had it been made in England? Or had it
come from Italy or France?
Sighing, she poured some perfumed water into it and then dropped a few
petals from the blooming branch of apple tree that Madame Rallay had
brought in. Pear had once been her favourite, but no, not pear, never
pear again.. ..
She swirled her fingers in the water, watching the petals bob and
circle. This font, the gift of Queen Elizabeth for the baptism .. .
was it only five months ago? She had been shocked by Elizabeth's
generosity, touched. It meant that Elizabeth felt herself to be truly
the prince's godmother.
She did not want to give it up.
Bothwell had told her of the desperate need for funds to pay their
soldiers, who must protect them against any uprisings. The treasury
was empty. Her money from France had quit coming, dried up, for all
that it had been promised her in perpetuity. There were ways of
getting around that. Delays. Papers. Lawyers. Exchanges of
property.
"And you gave away so many crown lands," he had said. "You were so
generous. The Lord James owns tracts half the size of the
Highlands."
"You benefited from my generosity," she had reminded him.
"Aye. But now, I fear, comes the hard part. You will have to pawn
your jewels. And that font it's precious gold!"
"I cannot," she had said. "It means so much. It is more than just a
font, it is a bond between Elizabeth and me."
He had looked sadly at her. "Mary, all it can be to us now is
thirty-three ounces of gold, which we desperately need."
She could hear his voice again in her mind. But she tilted the font
and drained the water out into a basin, then wiped it dry with a linen
cloth. She touched the font again, lovingly.
No. She would not give it up. Once it was gone, it was gone forever.
And later, when all was calm, she would bitterly regret it. She folded
its velvet covering back over it, and was returning it to its box when
Bothwell flung open the door without knocking first.
"Where is it? You promised to have it delivered to the goldsmith this
morning. He has had his fire at full smelting heat for two hours!"
"I have changed my mind. I will pay the smith for his coal, but I wish
to keep the font."
"Pay him with what? That is the point, you cannot even pay for a
goldsmith's coals! Now, give me that!" He wrenched it out of her
hands.