Mary was now dressed for the elaborate ceremony that was part of the
reception of the Earl of Lennox back into Scottish society. She sat in
state in her presence chamber at Holyrood, waiting for him to make the
final part of his journey down the Canongate. At this very moment he
was being officially pardoned at the Mercat Cross by the Lord Lyon King
of Arms, heraldic representative of the Crown, and his outlawry was
being rescinded. The wand of peace would be delivered to his
representative, and then he would come here.. ..
Matthew Stewart, or Stuart. What do I know of him, really? she
thought, as she waited. I know he's a second cousin, being descended
from James II. I knpw there is a French branch of his family that
spells its name Stuart, just as mine was spelt that way there. It
dates back to the Hundred Years War, when Sir John Stewart of Darnley
was one of the commanders of a Scottish force that helped the French in
their struggles against the English. John Stewart turned into John
Stuart, Sieur d'Aubigny, and his family is still there.
I know Matthew himself spent many years in France in his youth and even
fought with Francois I in his Italian wars. He came back to Scotland
briefly, joined the pro-English group, and was therefore declared a
traitor and expelled. He went south to England and married Lady
Margaret Douglas, my father's half sister, and has been at the English
court ever since.
She could hear the sound of the crowd outside. Lennox must be
approaching. Swiftly she continued to review exactly what she knew of
him. The Lennox Stuarts were the hereditary enemies of the Hamiltons,
because both claimed to be the most direct descendant of James II, and
therefore the next natural heir to the throne after the monarch's
children.
My father favoured Lennox's claim, she remembered. He promised, if he
had no child of his own, to recognize Lennox as his heir to the crown.
But then I was born, and Lennox turned traitor and was banished.. ..
The trumpets were announcing his arrival. Mary could hear the
footsteps as his large company mounted the stairs, and then the doors
swung slowly open and the guard proclaimed, "Matthew Stuart, Earl of
Lennox, petitions to be admitted."
Standing in the midst of a retinue of some forty gentlemen, a
middle-aged man was looking steadily across at her.
"You may enter."
As he approached, she thought of his strange background, and how he
would seem foreign to most of her nobles. But for this very reason,
she expected him to contribute something to court, as he had a breadth
of outlook and experience few local lords could match.
"Welcome," Mary said, rising from her throne and allowing him to
embrace her and bestow a kiss of homage. "As my cousin, as the husband
of my dear father's sister, I render you all affection and respect."
He bowed low again, his bejewelled back looking like that of a
patterned tortoise. Then he straightened and smiled.
He had once been handsome, that much was evident. His round face still
bore traces of boyish appeal, and his eyes were kindly.
Mary smiled at him. "We are pleased that you return to us, and pray
that you find your estates in good order," she said. His hereditary
estates were in the midwestern area of Scotland, near Glasgow, and
before he could pass by to inspect them, he must be formally pardoned
and received by the Queen and the nobles.
"Your Majesty is too gracious," he said.
"Another ale!" The serving girl called out to the tapster, and
Melville gave her a conspiratorial smile. She smiled back, a long,
slow smile, and he wondered what if anything it betokened?
She brought him the refilled leather mug and he paid. Probably
nothing, he thought. It betokens nothing and it is just as well. I
must needs keep my breeches on and my purse guarded. But it is sweet
to imagine all the unknown things that could pass with an unknown
woman.
"Where are ye comin' from?" the man seated on the bench next to him
asked suddenly. His voice was unpleasantly pitched.
"Edinburgh," replied Melville. He had to raise his voice to be heard
above the clatter in the dining room of the inn. "I'm on my way to
London."
"To see the Queen?" bellowed the man, then broke out singing,
"Pussycat, pussycat, where have you been? I've been to London to look
at the Queen!" His fellow diners stared at him with distaste.
"No," Melville lied. How surprised they would be if he were
truthful.
"How long have you been on the road?" asked the man.
"Five days. I stopped first at Berwick, then at Newcastle."
The man whistled and a bubble of pork fat flew from his lips, from the
meat pie he was eating. "You move swiftly. Another day should see you
in London. Or St. Albans at least."
"I hope so. What condition will I find the road in?"
"I've heard that the road to London is dry and well travelled just
now," said the serving girl, mysteriously reappearing just at
Melville's left shoulder. "A group from London was here last night.
They stopped early as they liked our sign."
Indeed it had been the sign, beautifully painted, that had caught
Melville's eye: The Jolly Tortoise. A finely rendered tortoise with
black and yellow markings danced in a field of strawberries. It
promised an inn with clean linens and a good table.
"So did I," he said. "But I must then leave early tomorrow."
He was just as happy to rest, eat, and drink before the next stage of
his journey. Once he arrived in London he would find scant rest;
indeed, he would have to guard every word he spoke, his mission was so
double-sided.
His sovereign mistress Queen Mary had sent him publicly to pursue the
Dudley offer while evaluating Elizabeth's sincerity, and at the same
time secretly to approach the Lady Lennox and ascertain exactly what
sort of man Lord Darnley had grown into. The Earl of Lennox was
anxious that his son follow him to Scotland to inspect his estates, but
Darnley needed Elizabeth's permission and a passport to do so.
Ordinarily, Melville would have looked forward to a lengthy visit at
the English court a visit long enough to permit him to have another
pair of boots made at his favorite cobbler's, to pass civilized
evenings of conversation and entertainment with Cecil and the Duke of
Norfolk, to meet with the Imperial and French ambassadors. He had been
honoured to be selected and elevated to the rank of trusted envoy. (Or
was it merely that Maitland was ill? he wondered.) But being charged
with a mission that involved deceiving Elizabeth was not a palatable
thing. She, the great deceiver, did not take kindly to others playing
her own game; worse yet, she could quickly spot it in others.
"I cannot eat but little meat My stomach is not good...."
The company began singing, and the loud voices and flushed faces
generated a happy heat of their own. Melville enjoyed it, and his own
anonymity.
Queen Elizabeth looked at him sharply as he approached her in the
garden at Westminster, where she was taking her customary early-morning
walk.
"Mr. Melville," she said, "are you come to me about the succession or
about my Lord Robert Dudley?" No hint of surprise to see him, no
opening pleasantries.
"Both, Your Majesty," he replied directly.
She laughed. "Welcome, then." She gestured round at her garden behind
its walls. The dampness of the river nearby made everything green. She
touched a branch of a thick, gnarled pear tree and then plucked off a
fruit for him.
"This is a butter pear tree. My father told me his fruiterer had
brought it over from Germany. Certainly it is very old. The pears
from it are as sweet as honey."
Melville nodded gravely. What was he supposed to do with the pear? It
was a soft, juicy one and would make a mess in his hand if he tried to
eat it now out of politeness. In fact it was so soft it was beginning
to ooze on his hand.
Elizabeth laughed. "Henry VII used to feed overripe fruit to his pet
monkey. You may throw yours down for the birds and squirrels."
Melville felt foolish as he wiped off his hands with his stiff lace
handkerchief. "I bring heartfelt greetings from the Queen my mistress,
your good sister and cousin," he said.
Elizabeth raised her eyebrows. "And what answer does she make of the
proposition of marriage offered by Mr. Randolph? That is, to Lord
Robert Dudley?"
She would give him no grace period, then, but would go straight for it.
Melville replied, "She awaits a conference between her ministers and
yours, great Queen; I mean most like between the Lord James and
Maitland on her side and my Lord of Bedford and Lord Dudley on
yours."
"Oh!" Elizabeth stopped walking and planted her feet firmly. Her
nostrils flared. "So you make small account of my Lord Dudley you name
him last! Well, sir, before you return to Scotland you shall see him
made a far greater earl than that of Bedford. Yes!"
Melville merely nodded. "How fortunate."
The morning light, still gentle and golden, lit up Elizabeth's face.
Melville saw her, for a brief moment, as the girl in the tavern, as a
lady of a modest house, as a merchant's daughter. Her golden red hair,
her fine white skin, above all the intelligence and person in the dark
eyes, made her a woman a man would be drawn to, were she placed in
ordinary life.
"I esteem Lord Robert as a brother," she was saying in her pleasing
voice, "and as my dearest friend. We have a bond between us, stronger
than that of husband and wife .. . and I would be happy to be his wife,
were I minded to marry. But I am determined to end my life in
virginity."
He almost believed her when she said it.
"But I offer him to my sister Queen in all sincerity, as he is the
person next to myself I may trust and would trust with the
succession."
"Does this mean, then, that should my lady the Queen of Scots marry
him, you would declare her or rather, them your successor?"
"Have I not said?" She jerked her head and began walking again,
leaving the row of fruit trees and pacing the bricked paths of the open
garden, where sweet williams and periwinkles formed a border.
"Have we your word on this? The solemn word of a prince?"
"Have I not said?" she repeated. "And now I ask you for I cannot
command you, being not your sovereign to keep company with Lord Robert.
I shall command him." She gave a wicked smile. "You shall come to
know him, and thereby can persuade your mistress the Queen as to his
virtues."
Queen Elizabeth later sent word that she would have Mr. Melville
attend her at dinner at Whitehall Palace, and stay for an entertainment
in the banqueting hall, and she would have him conveyed in the royal
barge, with its twenty oarsmen.
He was barely settled on a cloth-of-gold bolster inside the cabin and
expecting a pleasant journey on the river something one could not
experience in Scotland, which had neither navigable rivers nor a royal
barge when someone appeared in the doorway and then, ducking his head,
descended the steps into the cabin.