She could not help laughing. "Nay, you are incorrigible! That was not
your true reason."
He made a little gesture of humour.
"But whatever your reason, once here, you proved loyal to us in the
recent rebellion. We are grateful for that, and return you to your
former appointment as Lieutenant of the Borders, and commend you for
your vigilance in securing the Borders for us when they were, of late,
threatened."
"No one came my way," he said. "The rebels slipped across the border
to Carlisle on the far western side, away from my jurisdiction. Oh,
they've since migrated to the eastern side. I hear they now lie at
Newcastle, sustained by an insultingly paltry subsidy from Queen
Elizabeth."
Mary felt herself start. So Elizabeth was supporting them, despite her
haughty words to the contrary!
"Newcastle," he continued, "is a dreary town with a stout castle. And
those ruins of the wall nearby: poets and scholars make much of them.
Perhaps the Lord James can amuse himself with them. He can sit amongst
the moss-covered, tumbledown mounds and speculate on the passing of
time and of queens." He paused and cocked his head. "Elizabeth
publicly ordered him from her realm as a traitor. Yet there he remains
and even receives support from her."
Was that a question? "Then things truly are not what they seem," Mary
finally said.
"I could not agree more," Bothwell answered.
"Yet who is to be trusted?" A thin voice issued from the corner:
Darnley's.
"Until I know who speaks, I dare not say," said Bothwell, with a smile.
"It might prove too dangerous."
"The King speaks." The slender voice came again.
"Ah." Never had Bothwell's voice sounded richer and thicker. "Then
must needs I say, trust only those who love your liege lady and Queen
as devotedly as you do. Although she is beautiful, kind, clever, and
trustworthy, there are those who dislike her for all those virtues, and
would work her harm. "Tis a mistake to assume a good ruler will be
beloved. Her very virtues can inspire envy and hatred among lesser
men."
"The rebels are considerably lessened men now," said Mary. "For they
will forfeit all their lands and titles as soon as Parliament meets. No
more Earl of Moray. He overreached himself."
"A dangerous thing, Your Majesty." Bothwell sounded amused. "A good
lesson for us all."
"Then don't overreach yourself with this lieutenancy she's given you!"
shrieked Damley, suddenly standing up.
"I wouldn't think of it," said Bothwell earnestly. "I'm content with
what Her Majesty sees fit to give me."
After Bothwell had taken his leave, with assurances of loyalty, Mary
turned to Darnley.
"You need not be so harsh," she said, sinking down in a chair.
"I do not trust him," was Darnley's cold answer.
"He has done nothing to merit distrust, unlike all the others. I had
to expel Ambassador Randolph for his part in encouraging the rebels.
Morton remains here, but I know he dallied with my brother and keeps up
a constant correspondence with him for all that he led my troops and is
Chancellor of the realm. It is true that Argyll did not openly support
the rebels by bringing his promised troops, nor did he flee with them,
yet he has forfeited my trust, for he betrayed both sides."
"Do you, then, hold loyalty so dear?"
"Above all else. Once someone has betrayed me, or even looked on and
not lifted a voice or sword to halt the traitors, he is forever lost to
me."
"A sad thing, passing sad, to be lost to you," Darnley said, kissing
her hand. His beautiful, long-lashed eyes were closed.
Now she would tell him. Now, when he was being sweet.
"Henry, we have a joyful event before us. We are expecting an heir ..
. see, even now he makes me tired. But I can rest. For the next seven
months there will be quietness and pleasure a perfect climate for the
baby."
Darnley's face was flooded with happiness. "A baby! Oh, Mary, my
love! A baby, our baby!"
She felt relief, although she had not known how uncertain she was of
his response. Of late, his response was so unpredictable.
Damley hugged her. "I am eager for the birth, and proud to be the
father of your child. The father of a king that is what I will be! An
undisputed king. He'll not need to get Parliament's approval for his
title, nor rely on his wife to procure it for him!"
"Oh, leave this. You worry it like a dog a bone."
"You order me to leave you? Very well!" He turned and rushed toward
the door.
"I did not order you to leave me, but to leave the subject "
The arras flapped as he slammed the door of the chamber behind him. It
was a familiar sound, and a familiar sight.
Mary left the audience chamber and made her way into her bedchamber.
She was tired, and moved slowly. So far the pregnancy had made itself
felt mainly by causing her to feel drowsy all the time and draining her
of energy. She had not suffered any of the nausea or fainting
Bourgoing had predicted. She still carried on all her duties, which,
in the aftermath of the Chaseabout Raid, had turned from battlefield
action to political decisions. It was tiring.
Of late, confined by physical lassitude, she had enjoyed needlework,
particularly designing emblematic panels. At first it had been
something merely to keep her hands busy and keep idleness at bay, but
gradually it had grown into a challenging mental exercise and, beyond
that, into an easeful escape, an escape into a world where all was
ordered according to some arcane pattern. At present she was working
on a panel that depicted herself and Darnley in symbolic form. It
showed a land tortoise climbing up the base of a crowned palm tree. He
was the tortoise, she the tree. When the Marys had asked her what it
signified, she refused to tell. That was the virtue of emblematic
panels: they could mean anything.
She sank down into the sitting-chair that had been padded with a quilt
and positioned in front of the window, and took up her sewing box. The
design expressed her growing unease about Damley was he a land tortoise
seeking only to climb to a higher position through marriage? He harped
and harped on the Crown Matrimonial .. . why had not Parliament granted
it? Why was she so cruel as not to call Parliament and demand it?
In the meantime he paid scant heed to his kingly duties; he was never
there to sign documents, so a stamp facsimile of his signature had had
to be made. He was always hawking, or riding, or ... She pulled out a
thick strand of tawny silk and began separating the threads. She
threaded the correct number through her needle, holding it up to the
light. . going out at night. Where did he go? She used to descend
the winding staircase to his room after supper, hoping to see him
alone, only to find him gone, no matter how foul the weather. When she
questioned him about it, he would refuse to answer. Sometimes, very
late at night, she would hear a commotion in the courtyard as he would
demand to be let back through the gatehouse. His voice would be loud
and slurred. Even during the day the odour of wine was sometimes about
him.
She began filling in the yellow spots on the design of the tortoise's
shell. Pull the thread through, pull the thread out, pull the thread
through ... it was so soothing.
She was lonely, more lonely than she had ever been, because the one
person she should have been able to talk to, she could not.
I married to escape loneliness, she thought, and instead I have found
it in a most terrible form.
And the realm had not quieted with the end of the Chaseabout Raid.
There was still discontent; she could sense it in the silences about
her, in the sullen low spirits that seemed to pervade Edinburgh.
Darnley was heartily disliked; and now there were times when she, too,
disliked him. It had begun with his cruelty in the tent, during the
aptly named Chaseabout Raid.
This time last year he had not even arrived in Scotland, she thought.
Then he came and I loved him. Is it really over in so short a space?
Can love be so fleeting?
After the baby comes, things will be different. Yes, they will, they
must be.
But in the meantime ... I miss Lord James, she thought with surprise.
Miss his presence, and what I thought he was.
No more of that! she told herself sternly. What prince would have so
little pride as to miss a traitor?
TWENTY-FOUR
Darnley made his way along the back alleys running parallel to the
Canongate, his mantle muffling most of his face, walking hunched over
so he would not look quite so tall. He had got away again, escaped
from the stifling Holyrood to where he could breathe in peace. It was
an easy enough matter to disappear in the darkness of Edinburgh once
the sun went down. The good men of the Kirk were all indoors reading
their Bibles, most like! but Edinburgh offered more than just what the
Kirk sanctioned. In the wynds and closes there were taverns to drink
in and houses where other comforts were available.
Of the latter he had only recently begun to sample, in a timid,
hesitant fashion. The truth was, he felt guilty about it. He was,
after all, married. Why should he need to do this? But the things he
wished to do disgusted him, and obviously they would disgust his wife
as well. It was better to pay directly for it, to buy it from someone
who considered his ideas tame, or at the most merely routine.
And as for the drinking it was relaxing to go to an establishment where
that was the endorsed activity, rather than something that one was
always fighting to get a bit more of. Servers were so slow at
banquets! (Although the wine was the finest.) And in his chambers
there were always the valets, Taylor and Anthony Standen, who looked at
him if he poured out an extra dram or two. He knew they were keeping
count in their heads.
Damley pushed open the door of the Monk's Arse Tavern the one with the
sign showing a monk lifting his robes to display his naked buttocks. It
was a small, dark establishment just off Blackfriars Wynd, and Darnley
found it perfect for his purposes: it was popular enough thct he did
not stand out, but not overly crowded at this time of night. He looked
for a place on a bench and signaled to the serving woman before even
sitting down.
"Well! Good evening, Your Majesty!"
Darnley jumped. Who had recognized him? His eyes raked the room and
then he saw the muscular bulk of Archibald Douglas sprawled across one
of the benches. Archibald lifted a mug and saluted him.
Damn! Now he would have to go and sit with his distant relative. He
shivered a little; the saturnine, sarcastic Archibald was rumoured to
be a murderer, or for hire by murderers.
"Well met, cousin," said Darnley weakly, sinking down beside him. He
saw the bulging thigh of Archibald only inches from him on the bench;
Archibald did not move it, as politeness decreed.
"I did not know the Queen's husband favoured such places," said
Archibald. "What a happy surprise." He took a long drink from his
mug, and when he was finished, Darnley saw tiny droplets of ale
glistening on the beard-hairs around the man's mouth.