"So you want to know what it is to be a man?" His voice was rough.
"Very well, then. You be the man. Take me. Take me against my
will."
Mary felt an unfamiliar sensation of fear. He was, suddenly,
different. His eyes held a cold, staring look. "Nay, what a foolish
thought!" She tried to pull herself away, but he held her fast. There
was surprising strength in his grip. "Pray, release me."
"No." He stuck his face up into hers. "Then if you won't play my
game, I'll punish you!" With astonishing speed, he flipped her on her
back and began pulling at her clothes.
"Henry, no!" What had come over him? He smashed his lips down on
hers, causing her to bite her lip, and she could smell an odd but not
unknown odour. What was it? It was something she had tasted before.
He was ripping at her underclothing, exposing her. "Don't move!" he
was hissing in her ear. "Don't move! I command you!"
Instead of obeying, she tried to throw him off. He clamped his hand
down over her mouth and breathed, "You must not defy or disobey your
husband! You know that you are to be submissive to my will!"
"Mmmm mmmm " she kept trying to speak. What was happening to him?
Then, suddenly, she recognized the smell. It was whisky. He was
drunk. She almost laughed with relief. That was all it was.
"Hush!" he said. He was biting her shoulder; his free hand was still
ripping at her clothes. Like a madman, he held her a victim while he
satisfied his desire.
Outside she could hear the sound of a soldier's horn being blown,
announcing that it was time for camp supper. It seemed very far
away.
John Knox, left behind in Edinburgh, wrote his description of the
failed rebellion and said, "Albeit the most part waxed weary, yet the
Queen's courage increased manlike, so much so that she was ever with
the foremost."
Yes, he had to admit it: the Queen had matchless courage. And the
rebellion had come to nothing. Lord James and his compatriots had had
to flee into England and take sanctuary there.
I warned him, thought Knox. I warned him there were not enough sure
men on his side. The fence-sitters came down on the wrong side of the
fence.
Back in Edinburgh, Mary gratefully took possession of Holyrood again.
Entering the palace, she was struck with the thought that only a short
while ago the rebels had come there, hoping to enjoy it. Never had it
seemed more precious to her.
Late that night, she knelt in front of the ivory crucifix from St.
Pierre and spoke softly to it.
"Dear Lord," she whispered, "thank You for delivering my kingdom." But
inside there was a deep sadness. She could not help but remember her
high hopes, her trembling expectation when she had first received the
summons to return to her land, before this very cross.
"I have tried, in all ways, to be a wise ruler. I have sought Your
guidance. Yet some nobles have been dissatisfied, and rewarded my
efforts with treason." That was the truth of it, and it hurt, even if
they had been thwarted.
"Please help me!" she blurted out in a louder voice. There had been
more disturbing episodes with Darnley, violence followed by
unctuousness, and she was frightened. At times he seemed to change
into a person she did not recognize.
And he showed no interest in helping her with the aftermath of the
rebellion, the justice to be administered, the rewards given. It was
as if he had no part or concern in the country at all, although he kept
begging to be granted the Crown Matrimonial. Sometimes, when he was
being rough, he would say, "No wonder I will not sign the papers or
attend the Council meetings, when you withhold my rightful title! Do
it, and then I will!" Her answer was always the same: "Show yourself
worthy first."
A sound! Someone had come into the room! Mary froze, afraid it was
Damley. But a gentle hand was placed on her shoulder, and she heard
Mary Seton's soft voice saying, "I will pray with you." She knelt down
beside her mistress and kept absolutely still. Not until Mary rose did
Seton stand as well, rising in that beautiful motion that gave grace to
all she did.
"It sorrows me to see your heart so troubled," said Seton.
"There is nothing that He" she nodded toward the crucifix "cannot
cure."
Seton took her hand and led her to a chair. She sat opposite her and
took both hands in hers. "I thought that marriage would bring you
happiness," she said.
"So did I," said Mary. "And I cannot say I am unhappy. I have some
happy news. I think I am with child."
"That is happy news! And what does Lord Damley say?"
"I have not had the opportunity to tell him."
"I see." Seton waited to see if Mary would say anything else. Then
she said, "I am sorry about Lord James. I know it grieves you in many
ways. Betrayal is worst when it comes from those who have reason to
love us."
Yes. That was it. He was no ordinary rebel. "He deluded himself that
he would receive support from Queen Elizabeth," Mary finally said. "But
when he got to England, all he got from her was a public scolding. He
was humiliated before the foreign ambassadors." She laughed. "I was
pleased to know that Elizabeth could be counted on to support me during
a crisis. My sister sovereign has proved my good sister indeed!"
"Does it not please you, what happened to the rebels when they were
granted audience with the English Queen?" asked Riccio, looking up
from the correspondence he was transcribing. Mary had been dictating a
formal reprisal of it to her uncle the Cardinal, full of balanced,
carefully chosen phrases. Riccio sensed a withholding, a distance from
the Cardinal. But then, the world had become a hostile place for her
since her marriage, full of people who disapproved of her choice.
Riccio suspected though he had no proof that the Cardinal was one.
"Ah my brother!" Her face grew sad. "To have lost his loyalty .. .
nay, I cannot lose what I never had. But I was so deceived in him!"
"Then what you have lost is your innocence, not a brother." "Aye. But
I shall miss him. Miss what he was to me, miss him as a person."
"You have a husband now. That should take the place of any brother."
"They are not the same." She was withdrawing again; it was the word
husband that had done it. "A husband is a new grafting, a brother an
old one."
"Yet a husband is supposed eventually to be the strongest bond there
is." "It takes time." She turned again to a letter. "Shall we
continue?" she said brightly.
Riccio put aside the writing materials. He was tired. It was tedious
work to make each letter perfect, to space the words correctly on the
page so they were visually attractive and worthy of the personage to
whom they were addressed. The ink smeared easily, and the smoother the
paper, the more difficult it was to keep the writing even.
"Now," said Mary. "Would you care to be present at the forthcoming
interview with Lord Bothwell, or do you wish to retire? I do not
expressly need your services."
Could he take her at her word? Interviews could be quite boring.
Just then Darnley appeared. He looked peevish. That decided Riccio.
"I believe I shall take my leave, dear Queen," he said, rising and
kissing her hand and then, impulsively, her cheek. He turned from the
writing desk and left the room.
Darnley glowered after him, then turned on Mary.
"You favour him above prudence," he said, pouting. "Servants should
not kiss queens."
"Indeed they should not," she agreed, to placate him. "But he is more
like a brother than a servant."
Still Darnley frowned. "I would think you have had enough of
brothers," he finally said.
His words caused an actual physical pain to pass through her. Enough
of brothers .. . not enough of a brother .. .
"He was once a good brother," she finally said. "I will cherish that
memory."
"You are charitable." Darnley sniffed. "Do you mean to be so to the
Earl of Bothwell?"
"Indeed. I must confess I admire his audacity. My justice was unjust,
in that I took the Earl of Arran's word against him words since proven
to emanate from the mouth of an insane man. Did he stand still for
them, wait patiently in prison? No, he escaped."
"And returned to Scotland without permission. Is that something to
admire? Why is his disobedience more commendable than that of the Lord
James? Because he did not see fit to raise an army against me, but
rather to aid me?"
"Yes." Darnley frowned again. "And now you wish to give him the
Lieutenancy of the Borders in preference to my father."
"And wherefore not? Bothwell is a native of that area. He knows it
well, knows every man in it. He knows the intricate braid of loyalty
and history, entwined in so complicated a pattern we can never make it
out. Your father" she had never come to like him "being from a
different area of the country, could never do suchlike. Loyalties are
very local."
"Bothwell did little enough," Darnley persisted.
"He did not need to. The rebels fled forthwith."
"Ummmm."
Mary went over to him, threw her arms around him. "Do not begrudge him
his recognition. We need him. We have lost so many others! Lord
James gone, and Kirkcaldy a very brave soldier! The very ones who
fought for me against Huntly turned against me. They were the foremost
soldiers in the realm!"
"The Earl of Bothwell," the guard announced.
"Pray admit him." Mary looked at Darnley, warning him. Darnley
retired to a far corner, seating himself with an injured air and
crossing his arms. He was so in shadow that no one would have seen
him.
Into the room walked James Hepburn, his hat tucked under his arm. He
came forward with purposeful steps, then knelt. All Mary could see was
the top of his reddish-haired head. Then he raised his face and looked
at her.
"Most gracious Queen," he said, "it has been four years since last I
saw you. Many things have happened during those years to change us
into different creatures. Yet I affirm and I am no flatterer that your
beauty has greatly increased, along with your power and reputation. You
are now a true Queen. Scotland is fortunate."
"Pray rise," she said.
"Indeed." He stood up, and she motioned him to her.
He walked, as stocky, muscular men do, with a sort of energetic
purposeful ness He was thirty years old now, and whatever deprivations
he had suffered in prison had been more than made up at the tables of
France afterward. He radiated compact strength and self-sufficiency.
"Lord Bothwell, you entered Scotland without our royal permission," she
stated.
He smiled. "I beg forgiveness, Your Majesty. I had a yearning to
return, and you were immersed in other concerns." He raised his
eyebrow. "I sought to spare you another administrative task that of
signing my papers."