Refusing to call it a war, and trying to put a good face on the
cancelled meeting with Queen Elizabeth, Mary merely announced to her
people that she had long wished to travel to the northern regions of
her realm, and only the projected meeting in England had stood in her
way. Since it was only August, there was ample time to convert the
southern progress into a northern one, and therefore she would set out
for Aberdeen and Inverness straightway. She insisted on giving it
every appearance of a true hunting and hawking progress to the wilds,
bringing her Marys with her, as well as ambassador Randolph. If Lord
James saw fit to have a few extra soldiers along, well, it was only to
help clear roads and assist with the transport wagons. She even
announced that she intended to visit the Earl of Huntly in his castle
at Strathbogie, giving him the opportunity to stop his aberrant
behavior before it was too late. As for his son, Sir John Gordon, he
should give himself up to authorities in Aberdeen forthwith.
The journey had started well enough, and they made their way up to
Perth and then, to avoid the mountains, stayed on the more rolling
countryside on the way to Aberdeen, where the Gordons held their power.
There was indeed good hawking near Glamis in the golden autumn
afternoons, and Mary could not help relaxing and even taking pleasure
in the flirtations between Randolph and Beaton, and the more restrained
courting of Maitland and Flamina. Flamina had not lost interest in
him, for all that he seemed to Mary to be staid and too controlled for
the likes of her.
Mary was gratified to see a large number of Catholic wayside shrines
still standing; the farther away from Edinburgh they went, the looser
was the grip of the Kirk. The little hand-painted shrines, draped with
garlands of wildflowers and heather, seemed to be at the crossroads to
reassure her.
Upon reaching Aberdeen, a fair-sized town on the eastern seacoast, Mary
made a point of visiting Scotland's newest university, founded only
about sixty years before. "England has only two universities, whereas
we have three," said the Chancellor proudly. Mary inspected the
library and made a resolution to bequeath some of her own books to
increase the collection of this young university.
Having established her presence in the area, and given the Huntlys time
to come to her, Mary at last issued her order that Sir John Gordon give
himself up to the authorities, if not in Aberdeen, then at Stirling.
Still no one appeared, except Lady Huntly with a large retinue of
attendants, who begged her to be merciful to both her husband and
son.
But the wife could not substitute; where was Huntly?
"Dear Queen," said Lady Huntly, "he feels punished for his zeal for the
Catholic faith. For you have ignored his suggestions "
"Yes, his suggestions were rash and went against common sense," said
Mary. "Just as his failure to come and present himself to me does now.
He thus appears a petulant, unstable rebel."
"He looks for you to come to our castle at Strathbogie," she said.
"He looks in vain unless he comes to me first," said Mary. "And you
may tell him " She hesitated. Should she do it now? Yes, why not? She
looked over at Lord James, standing beside her, attired in his
forest-green velvet, looking, she thought, most noble.
"Lord James," she stated, "you have been administering the rights and
revenues of the earl ship of Mar."
He nodded, his hooded eyes so like those of James V in portraits
looking guarded.
"These belong, by tradition and ancient right, to the Erskine family.
And of course you already have the abbotship of St. Andrews. It is
not needful that you hold the title to Earl of Mar as well."
His face betrayed no emotion; it was as unmoving as one of the carved
wooden heads at Stirling the ones which had so frightened her as a
child.
"But as you are a man of great authority as well as integrity, and
Scotland seeks to reward her loyal sons, I hereby proclaim you Earl of
Moray, the stewardship of which the Earl of Huntly has forfeited by his
treason."
A smile broke over James's broad face. "Thank you," he said.
Lady Huntly looked as though she had been slapped. "Madam," she said
quietly, "we have administered those lands faithfully for many
years."
"Yes, you helped yourself to the revenues without holding the title,"
said Mary. "Did you think to continue this forever? Or did you delude
yourself into thinking that I was not aware of it?"
"Madam, please "
" Tis done," said Mary. "And lest you lose more, tell your husband to
change his ways."
It began raining that night, and the weather turned foul. Maitland
told her that this corner of Scotland, protruding out into the North
Sea, could be one of the coldest spots in the realm when the winds blew
from Russia, and now she found that out for herself. They plodded on,
through desolate tracks of moor and moss, the hawking and hunting
forgotten. Word reached Mary that Sir John Gordon had decided against
surrendering at Aberdeen, and was now tracking them, following their
movements with a thousand horsemen, watching them from the cover of the
forests that dripped with the perpetual rain.
When they passed into the vicinity of Strathbogie, news was brought to
Mary that Sir John and his father planned to fall on them as they slept
in his castle, kill Maitland and Lord James, and abduct her. Then the
father would force her to marry his son, who was known as the
handsomest man in Scotland. The fact that Sir John already had a wife
did not seem to matter to their wild plans.
"Sir John purports himself to be in love with you," said the young
messenger.
"Sir John is in love with himself and his power," said Mary. "But he
is not as powerful as he imagines." She turned to Lord James. "We
will not sleep there tonight!"
James looked at the dreary, raining vista. Already it was growing
dark. "There's the castle of Balquhain ahead," he said. "Let us try
to reach it."
The darkness was just closing in as they reached the castle at the
sloping foot of the dark mountain of Bennachie. They could feel the
watching eyes of Sir John and his men, waiting and biding their time.
As Mary settled herself in her hard bed, she could hear cries from the
mountains that sounded like wolves.
The next morning found them, still wary, picking their way through
mossy groves, cankered old pines, and brambles. Overhead, in the brief
respites between rains, Mary could see buzzards riding the air above
them.
Late in the day the royal party halted before the swollen waters of the
River Spey, which foamed and rushed over its banks.
"Can we ford here?" asked Maitland. It looked as though the water
would come up over their saddles.
"Aye!" Mary spurred her horse into the cold, turbulent water, which
indeed rose almost to her saddle. But the swirling currents failed to
suck them down, and her horse kept his footing on the weed-covered
rocks. She splashed across, and soon the others followed, soaking
their clothes and chilling themselves.
They came at last to Inverness, a town in the shadow of the highlands
overlooking the Firth of Moray, the northern body of water that cut
Scotland almost in half. Mary's weary party approached the royal
castle there a castle administered by Huntly as Sheriff of Inverness.
To their shock, they were refused admittance.
"Treason!" cried Maitland with genuine surprise. "To refuse to admit
the Queen to her own castle!"
They stood in the rain, looking up at the grey battlements running with
water. The sky overhead was the same colour, looking as solid as a
soldier's mantle.
Mary ordered her trumpeters to blow, and the sound brought out the
curious in the countryside and the surrounding hills; to them she cried
that she had been treacherously cast out. They rallied, with their
swords, staves, scythes and clubs, and Huntly sent word to his deputy
to admit the Queen's party, since the Highlanders were coming to her
aid. But it was too late to appease: the Queen's forces, upon entering
the castle, punished the castle's captain; he was hanged. Huntly was
now duly warned.
While they waited for Huntly's obedience, Mary and her party met at
last a company of Highlanders, for they took it upon themselves to keep
watch in the fields, sleeping out with no protection at all. They were
curious creatures, these men wearing furs and carrying claymores,
dirks, and leather-covered shields. And although she knew they could
not understand her, she exclaimed, "I am sorry I am not a man! I
should like to know what life it is to lie all night in the fields, or
to walk upon the causeway with a jack, a helmet, a Glasgow buckler, and
a broadsword!"
Yes, to lie there all night, keeping alert for the enemy.. . she would
revel in that!
Five days passed; no Huntly. Mary announced that they would turn back
toward Aberdeen, mayhap to meet with him there. On the way they would
stay with the Bishop of Moray, Patrick Hepburn, Bothwell's great-uncle
and a noted profligate.
"With him?" Lord James had looked disdainful. "Better to sleep out in
the fields!"
Mary watched the sheeting rain outside the castle windows. "Better
not," she said. "I think you can manage to guard your honour well
enough from the Bishop's taint."
They set out from Inverness, escorted as far as the Spey by two
thousand warriors of the Fraser clan, who had pledged loyalty to her.
There had been word that she would be attacked there, but nothing
happened, and she proceeded on to Spynie.
There, in the Bishop's palace, with its enormous defensive keep, old
Patrick Hepburn welcomed them. He did not look like the lascivious
gourmet he was supposed to be; he looked almost fatherly. But Mary had
already heard the stories of his trysts with married women and his
numerous bastards.
"Welcome, oh, most hearty welcome!" he was saying. His sandy-coloured
hair with flecks of white in it was in disarray. From his bed sport "I
have been most distressed to hear of the rebellion of the Earl of
Huntly. Have you encountered him yet?"
"No, he hides himself from us," said Mary. "It seems he does not dare
look us in the face."
"Ah! Then he must be the one man in ten thousand who does not wish to
do so!" said the Bishop. His eyes still had their kindly look, but
now it was more intense.
Now I see what there is about him, thought Mary. Unhappy wives find
understanding with the good Bishop, and compliments when they have had
none for years.. ..
I myself have had a round dozen women, and seven of them were other
men's wives. So the uncle was supposed to have said in a "married
woman as a mistress" bragging contest. But what a pity that so many
wives were neglected by their men that they were forced to seek the
lovemaking of a priest! The shame was on the husbands, thought Mary.
"It is less my face I wish him to see than my foot. He should kneel
before me," said Mary.
"As I do!" said the Bishop, kneeling with a flourish.