"What do you mean," asked Mary, "Papist agent?"
"Well, he was employed by the Archbishop of Turin, wasn't he?"
"What of it? Archbishops everywhere keep large staffs."
"They think that he must be a Papal agent."
"Who's 'they'?" demanded Mary.
"The Lords .. . Ruthven and Lindsay and Morton."
"But not Lord James and Maitland. Of course not, they are too
intelligent, even if he did make fun of them in his skit. Very well,
Melville. Your criticisms are well taken." She signed. Abstain from
all appearance of evil is to be my lot. "But it was fun."
He nodded. "I wish I could have been there," he said wistfully.
ELEVEN
Mary had spread out one of her large maps of Scotland for Riccio to
study.
"You are so insistent to know where all things are located, what lands
lie next to what, who owns what here, you may see for yourself!"
Outside, the snow was still gently falling, falling in the opalescent
haze of a February afternoon. It had been a lazy, enclosed, wintery
Sunday. Mass had been celebrated as usual, with Riccio singing, and
then there had been a large midday meal, following which everyone had
drifted back into the Queen's chamber to read, play cards, and daydream
beside the fire. Her lutenists and viola players entertained for an
hour, and Mary truly thought this the sort of Sabbath the Creator had
had in mind when He commanded rest upon the seventh day.
But then Riccio, with his ever-busy mind, which never took a Sabbath,
began asking questions. "Lord Bothwell, where are his lands?" "How
far north are the Earl of Huntly's lands?" At length she had taken
down one of her scrolls now that her library was all unpacked and
bidden him study the geography of Scotland.
Now his dark head was bent over the part of the map showing the Lothian
region. "Crichton. Is that where the wedding took place? Is that in
the midst of the Bothwell territory?"
Last month, Bothwell's sister Janet had married one of Mary's half
brothers, Lord John Stewart. Mary herself had attended the ceremony,
and even spent the night in the castle. She had been pleased with the
match, for
Lord John, happy and free-spirited as a child, had turned into a wild
young man. She hoped that marriage would calm him down.
"Yes. His ancestral lands lie in that region."
"Why is he so reckless?" Riccio asked bluntly. He had never seen
Both-well, who had been employed in the Borders and did not come to
court. Mary had invited him to come at the time of Francois's requiem,
but he had returned the mourning cloth she had sent and said he could
not be there, without giving a reason.
"Do you refer to the escapade with Alison Craig?" asked Mary.
"What else?"
"Ah, they were young "
"Perhaps the Marquis d'Elboeuf was, but Lord John and Bothwell were
not."
Mary laughed. "Men will be men."
"From what I understand, it was not men being men, but a deliberate
insult against the Hamilton family. To try to visit Hamilton's
mistress "
The Hamiltons. Next in line to the throne. Although merely tepidly
Protestant, they had withheld their allegiance to Mary until several
months after her return, only sheepishly making their way down to
Edinburgh around Christmastime. There were really two Hamiltons to be
reckoned with: the father, Duke of Chatelherault, who was timid but
hardly evil, and his son, "young Arran," who was reputedly unstable in
his wits. No wonder Queen Elizabeth had rejected his suit!
Bothwell had a long-standing family quarrel with the Hamiltons, as Mary
understood it, one of those typically Scottish feuds that was handed
down over the generations.
"It was a combination of men being men and trying to embarrass young
Arran," Mary explained. "Arran makes himself out to be as holy as John
Knox, yet he's availed himself of a married woman. So Bothwell and my
brother and my uncle set out to show the world what he was about."
"Enjoying themselves in the process," said Riccio.
"Well, that is all over now," said Mary. "The Hamiltons came out to
seek revenge, but John Knox reconciled the parties." Poor Bothwell to
be lectured to by John Knox! It was a worse punishment than an honest
sword-thrust.
Bothwell had seemed in high enough spirits at his sister's wedding
since then, proud to be able to provide a festivity that included his
Borderers' bounty for a feast eighteen hundred wild does and roes,
rabbits, partridges, plovers, moor fowl wild geese, wild duck and
drake, and even hedgehog and afterwards, celebratory sport down in the
bracken-grown meadow by the River Tyne.
Riccio stabbed his finger at a large section of the map showing a
region of Scotland that was shaped like a bulge on the upper right
side. "This section it is the lands of the Earl of Huntly?" he
asked.
"Yes. The Gordons control that land," said Mary. She would like to
see it, to go beyond the nearby lands she had visited.
Just then Madame Rallay told her that Lord James wished to see her.
On the Sabbath? Mary hastily rolled up the map and told Riccio to
retire to the outer chamber. But before he could leave, James entered
the room. Riccio scurried out, almost running between his legs. James
stared after him in distaste. Then he turned to Mary, and she could
see that he was genuinely disturbed.
"Forgive me," he said, "for coming to you today. But there has been
such disturbing news...." He shook his head and then closed his eyes
as if trying to gain control of himself. Finally, after several deep
breaths, he said, "A plot has been revealed! Bothwell has urged young
Arran to kidnap you and take you as a prisoner to Dumbarton Castle,
there to to " Lord James choked.
Mary burst out laughing, a frightened laugh. Then she said, "How do
you know this?"
"Arran confessed it to John Knox! And then he wrote it to Randolph,
the English ambassador."
"But .. . where is he now?"
"He and Bothwell have been taken into custody," said Lord James. "Arran
is being held at his father's castle, and Bothwell is under house
arrest at Crichton."
"Then there is no danger?" Mary felt herself relax.
"Not for now. But they must be examined before the Privy Council,"
said Lord James.
Why was he so excited, if the danger was past? Mary said, "Of course."
Poor James was still clenching his jaw. "Dear brother, pray sit down,
take some refreshment. We can talk. We have little opportunity these
days, there is so much state business." She rang her little hand bell
and Madame Rallay appeared. "Have some cakes and drinks brought in,"
she told her. "And ask my musicians "
"No! No music!" said James quickly.
How foolish of her. Of course, no music on the Sabbath for him. "No
music," Mary agreed.
James took a seat on one of her little ebony chairs and stuck his hands
out before the fire. "You are right, dear sister. We need some time
together, apart from the council and other duties." He sighed. "How
like you to remember that."
"Soon you are to be a married man, and then your wife can remember it,"
she said. "You need someone to look after you, James."
Lord James was to be married in only two weeks, to Lady Agnes Keith.
"Yes, it is about time," he finally said. "I am almost thirty."
"One by one the bachelors fall," said Mary. "First Lord John, now you.
Next Bothwell or Argyll or Arran?"
"Next it should be you." James was looking at her with concern. Just
then she noticed that he was wearing a miniature pinned to his doublet,
of a man whose mouth was like his own.
"Who is that?" she asked, pointing at it.
He started and tried to cover it up, as if he had not realized he was
wearing it. "Why, it is the King, our father!" He acted
embarrassed.
"It is a fine study," she said. There was something vaguely familiar
about it. She compared the faces and realized how much fleshier and
broader her brother's was than the King's. Her own was closer to the
King's shape.
"Will you not consider marriage, dear sister?"
"You should wait until you have sampled it yourself before you urge it
on others," she replied. Why was he so persistent?
"But seriously, have you given any thought to it? I know that at one
time you were thinking of Don Carlos of Spain "
"I have no appetite for children," she said.
Just then Madame Rallay entered, setting down a tray of heated, frothy
milk caudle, and some tarts made with orange rind. The conversation
was suspended.
"But his domains "
"I do not care to go to Spain," she said.
"What of the Archduke Charles of Austria?"
She burst out giggling. "They say he has an enormous head!"
"Well, you seem not to mind weird-looking people. Riccio is in your
chambers enough, enjoying your company!" Lord James said
indignantly.
"He is in my outer chambers, not my inner." Mary could not stop
herself laughing, although she knew it annoyed James.
"There is King Erik of Sweden," he went on.
"He is writing love letters to Queen Elizabeth just now. When she has
rejected him, then I will consider him."
"Dear sister, what will satisfy you? "It is not right for man to be
alone "
"Always Scripture! Can you not speak your own mind unaided?" She
laughed. "Will you create an 'help meet for me," then? Make him
spring full-formed from my forehead, as Minerva came from Zeus "
"You are so silly, sister!" But he said it kindly. "How do you
imagine this fanciful mate to be?"
"Tall, like me. I've hardly met a man my height, it would be a
delightful novelty. Writes poetry. Sings. Rides. Loves me." She
was enjoying making him up.
"Of what complexion?"
"I care not."
"Is he athletic?"
"Oh, yes!"
"Learned?"
"Oh, yes!"
"Of royal blood?"
"But of course!"
"Handsome?"
"It goes without saying."
"My dear sister, I fear you will never find him."
"Perhaps that is why nuns become the brides of Christ. There is no one
on earth like that."
"That way is not permitted you."
"Yes." She had known that, at St. Pierre's. "My mate, I fear, will
be altogether of this earth." She watched James sipping his drink.
Some of the milk clung to his lips. "Now, as to this business with
Bothwell and Arran ..."
Mary took her place at the head of the Privy Council. Already waiting,
looking as if they were to attend a funeral, were all six of the inner
circle: Lord James, Maitland, Morton, Huntly, Kirkcaldy, Erskine. The
seventh, Lord Bothwell, was to be brought in to answer the charges
hurled at him by the noblest blood of the land, young Arran.