by Alex Nye
I recalled the black shadows I’d noticed beneath his eyes; the fevered look he did sometimes bear.
“How much truth is there in this message?”
Maitland hesitated, and shrugged. “We have only the messenger’s word for it.”
I read the missive they gave me.
“He wants me to go to him at once,” I said. “He wants to beg my forgiveness.”
“How can we trust this?” Moray said, pacing the room. “One moment he is writing to the Pope himself, threatening to leave the country, the next he suddenly requests his wife’s presence at his bedside. It is madness.”
“He is afraid,” Maitland advised. “That is what motivates him. He is afraid of what might happen to him once the pardoned lords return. He turned double-traitor against them, remember. They will bear a grudge, and he knows this.”
I felt suddenly heart-sore for my young husband; despite the pain and grief he did cause me. He was a spoiled child, ruined by his parents, and now his enemies were ranged against him. He was reaping the consequences of his actions.
“But why is he asking for Marie to go to him now?” Moray said. “He left in haste. If he had wanted her companionship so badly, he could have remained at the baptism with the rest of us instead of running away. It’s a trap. It must be. His father, Lennox, will be behind it.”
“There is only one thing for it,” Maitland said. “Your Majesty will need to venture into Lennox country in order to bring him out. If he remains there, we cannot control his actions. We need him safely under our noses again, so that we can see exactly what he is about.”
“But the risk to Her Majesty?”
I silenced them both.
“I will take that risk.”
There was a long silence.
“We will give you enough men-at-arms, Your Grace, that they can defend your person if need be,” Maitland conceded.
“Lennox and his men would not dare make a challenge,” Moray said in a low voice that carried the sting of threat in it.
“I will be equal to the challenge,” I said quietly. “I can manage my own husband.”
Moray and Maitland exchanged looks of admiration. For all that we went through in the months after this, I saw the look and I recognized it for what it was.
“Come,” I said. “I have a journey to prepare for. I will take only the men-at-arms you suggest and one woman with me.”
“Who will that be, Your Grace?”
“Mary Seton,” I replied.
I set out from Stirling Castle on a cold frosty morning towards the end of January. I was to visit my sick husband in Glasgow, a small area beside the Clyde which his father did reckon among his territories. He lay ill, and I was hastening to his bedside, a dutiful wife to the end, despite his treachery.
Bothwell and Moray both accompanied me as far as Callendar House, where they left me to complete the rest of the journey alone.
There was a white frost on the ground as I neared my father-in-law’s estate, and it was bitterly cold. I have no fear of the cold, however, not when I am mounted on horseback. It is one of life’s greatest pleasures, which I have been sadly denied in these latter years. I rode at the head, as feathers of snow gently drifted to the ground. I wrapped my fur-lined cloak closer about my shoulders for warmth, and we slowed to a walking pace as we entered Lennox country. The stillness of the surrounding countryside was unnerving suddenly. The horses of my men-at-arms were frisky with the cold, tossing their heads lightly. Were they nervous? What did they sense in the air? The whiff of conspiracy? I have always listened to the mood of any horse I ride.
It was a dangerous undertaking, to enter Lennox country; I knew this. I was at the mercy of Darnley and his father, should they decide to take action against me. If they were foolhardy enough. I trusted my own judgement.
Glasgow was a small town clustered around a dark cathedral on the banks of the Clyde, and as I entered its narrow streets I was surprised at their emptiness. Deserted. No one about.
The few houses were shuttered and silent, as if all had been forewarned of my arrival. I had already sent word that I refused to stay with my father-in-law but would lodge instead in the Archbishop’s house across the way, where I felt marginally safer. I had also brought my own apothecary with me from Stirling to attend to Darnley.
On the afternoon of our arrival, as I crossed over the square to visit my husband in his father’s house,
I felt watched, spied upon. The quiet stone houses seemed to have eyes, which followed me as I walked, although I could not see them. Feathers of snow still drifted and spiralled on the air.
“I will go alone, Mary,” I told Mary Seton.
“Marie, is that wise?”
“Have no fear, my friend,” I reassured her. “I will return safely.”
“We shall see how ill King Henry really is!” I added.
I was ushered into the dark rooms of his father’s house, staircases lit by flickering torches in the gathering dusk. Darnley’s man-servant led me up a spiralling flight, oak panels surrounding us as we crowded in.
When I saw him in his apartment I was shocked. The signs of illness I had observed when at Stirling Castle had blossomed into a greater malady that now ravaged my young husband’s body. His arms had erupted into pustules and he wore a taffeta mask to hide his face, which was now scarred and pitted with pocks, many of which were open running sores. His breath was heavy and malodorous.
I sat down heavily on a high-backed chair at the foot of the bed, as far away from him as I could manage. I could not remain standing as my knees were trembling with shock, but I would fain hide the fact.
He regarded me in silence from beneath his stained mask.
“You came!” he said.
I nodded.
“Of course I came.”
“I did not expect you.”
“I had word my husband was dangerously ill. And here you are.”
“And here I am!” he repeated.
“What is it that ails thee, Darnley? Have they been able to identify a cause?”
His eyes slid away from me and his jaw worked quietly beneath the mask. “It is an old malady.”
“I have brought my own apothecary to attend to you. He will know what…”
“There was no need. I have my father’s doctors at hand.”
There was an awkward silence, while I smoothed my gown.
“An old malady…” I murmured, glancing across at him. “One wonders…”
“Syphilis, Marie. It doesn’t take an expert to work it out. My brain is ravaged by it.”
“You need proper attention, proper care,” I said. “It is not too late to give you the treatment you need. Mercury baths.”
Darnley was listening intently.
“We can attend to you properly in Edinburgh, if you return with me.”
His eyes fixed on me. He blinked like a lizard.
“How can I trust you, Marie?”
I looked at him questioningly.
“Why did you pardon those men?” he asked.
“Because I had no choice.”
“They are my sworn enemies. Do you think they will be happy to see me reinstated by your side, after I betrayed them?”
“None will harm you while you are at my side.”
“How can you promise that, Marie? You have witnessed their handiwork before now.”
I paled at the memory. I had thought to forgive Darnley for his part in Rizzio’s murder, but the anger was still there.
“Aye, my husband, and so have you!” I spoke more sharply than I intended. “You had a hand in that work too, remember.”
He was cowed slightly, for despite his petulance he could not deny it.
“It is beginning to grow dark outside,” I added, and I got up to light more candles. They flickered into life, throwing into sh
arp relief his ravaged countenance beneath the mask.
I glanced out the window where I could see the blackish-grey gables of the Archbishop’s House opposite. There were candles burning behind those upper panes too, figures passing to and fro. It made me feel less vulnerable, knowing that I had my supporters across the way should Lennox decide to take action against me. I had put myself at his mercy, sitting here in his house, largely unprotected. If Lennox wanted to make a striking blow against me now, he could. I had taken that risk.
“May I tell you something, Marie,” Darnley said now. “When I sit here in the dark, I have these terrible thoughts. I am afraid of dying.”
In spite of myself my heart was moved to pity.
I moved towards the head of the bed and laid a hand on his shoulder. He grasped it tightly between his fingers. We had never known such intimacy as this since before the birth of our son, and it shocked me. There was such a distance between us, such a gulf, and yet suddenly the gap was bridged – in a moment – through this confession of fear.
But it was not enough.
It was regret only. Not genuine remorse.
Fear of failure. Shame. All of those things.
“You will not die, Darnley,” I reassured him. “You are too young. You are younger than myself by four years. Perhaps that was our trouble all along. You are just a boy.” I glanced down at him sadly. “You will survive. This is just a temporary phase in your illness.”
“We were happy once, were we not, Marie?”
I looked at him sharply.
Could I trust these words?
Why was he suddenly so soft and compliant when only days before he had been like a hornet in a nest of wasps?
“I have not been a good husband to you, Marie. I know. But things could be different.”
There was something about his manner that made me suspicious. I did not entirely trust him.
“Stay with me here tonight,” he urged. “Don’t leave!”
I looked towards the narrow aperture, where I could just glimpse the outline of the Cathedral against the dark sky.
“Stay here? With you?”
He nodded. His eyes were feverish.
“But I cannot.”
“You will be safe. No one will harm you, Marie. It is all I ask of you. To stay with me, at my pillow, while the nightmares ride my dreams.”
“Madam,” a voice spoke from the shadows. It was Darnley’s own man-servant. “A lady has appeared below and insists on…”
At this point there was a clatter of footsteps
on the wooden stairs and Mary Seton appeared in the doorway. “Your Majesty,” she said breathlessly, “I came across…”
“Calm yourself, Mary,” I said gently. “I have agreed to remain here tonight. With my husband.”
Mary gaped at me incredulously. “I do not think that entirely wise, Madam.”
“We will stay here. For tonight. Just this once. You can return for us again in the morning, Mary, and I will be here. I promise.”
Mary Seton left us and Darnley lay back on his pillows, exhausted and weak. He appeared genuinely ill and I took pity on him. I knew it was a risk, but I was unafraid. Let Lennox do his worst. Let him try. It would only prove to all just what a treacherous animal he was.
And so the night passed.
There were long unbroken silences, during which I simply sat and watched the candles burn low. Darnley slept, but I did not. I drifted between sleep and wakefulness, wondering what the future had in store, how I would handle the mess and confusion that my personal affairs had become. I thought of my cousin Elizabeth, down in England, and how she had managed to avoid taking a husband so far, and I wondered how she had contrived to avoid the issue for so long. For it seemed that a husband was only ever a burden, rather than a cause for celebration. I envied her, although I had heard it said she envied me.
However, I would not have my son Prince James unmade. He was the happiest consequence of my bargain.
It was a freezing cold night and there was only a small fire in the hearth. I did not want to call any of his servants to attend to the blaze, as I felt too vulnerable still, being here alone. I would rather wait in the dark until morning. I wore a thick cloak of Florentine serge which I kept wrapped over my shoulders as I rested and I was glad of it now, gathering its folds close about me. The stubs of two candles flickered on the mantelshelf, casting monstrous shadows across the wall behind Darnley’s bed.
He looked sordid and sad. The malodorous mask was stained and dirty, and did little to conceal the unsightly yellow sores. I was disgusted and appalled, yet at the same time he called forth my compassion. I had been closeted with him for so long I felt my cloak must have absorbed the taint of his breath.
It was a relief when morning came and I was still there, alive. No one had accosted me.
Daylight broke above the Cathedral and I looked out to see its dark buttresses stark against the sky. Still no one stirred in those quiet streets. I felt sure that Lennox’s men were behind closed doors, armed to the teeth, watching me. Waiting for the word to strike.
After all, Darnley was my own cousin. I do not – and never have – disputed his claim to either throne. We shared a grandmother between us. But the fact of the matter was that I was the ruling sovereign and he was not. If anything happened to me, our son James would rule in my place and Darnley would no doubt step in as his Regent. So I was fully aware what my husband stood to gain in the event of my own demise. However, I had little doubt that my loyal supporters would not tolerate a coup against me, should he be so foolhardy as to attempt it, along with his father, Lennox.
I knew where the land lay and I was prepared to take a risk to win Darnley over.
Well, it appears I succeeded. At the end of my short stay in Glasgow, I managed to leave Lennox country without a fight on my hands, and Darnley came with me, borne in a litter over the rough country tracks back to Edinburgh.
I wonder what his father had to say about that decision?
I do not know, because he did not once make an appearance in my presence.
Edinburgh
February 1567
It was a freezing cold February day. The ice had not melted from the Clyde, but moved in great ice-floes over the surface. Our horses’ breaths steamed on the air and we gathered in the courtyard at dawn, outside Lennox’s house where a horse-litter waited. Darnley was conveyed inside it, propped up by pillows and covered in blankets and furs. I think my companions wondered at my concern for him, the way I petted and ensured he was safely ensconced.
The road was rough, and he leaned out of the litter at one point and cried out against the men conveying him to be careful of the ruts. Their faces were stoical and I merely smiled patiently.
Of Lennox there was no sign.
We headed east towards Edinburgh. The forests and barren landscapes passed in silent monotony. The charms and spirits of this ancient land lived in the landscape. Stories were still told of ancient curses and grudges, spells of witchcraft and evil deeds. Wolves and bears still haunted some of the more desolate areas, and the further north one travelled the wilder that land became.
But we were heading east, not north, back to so-called civilization. I knew that Moray, Maitland and the others were all waiting for me, wondering what the outcome of my visit would be, and how well I had succeeded in drawing Darnley to my side again.
Did I have him in the palm of my hand? Truly?
Or was he playing his own game, one with a hidden agenda?
The frost had hardened the earth to iron and the horses’ hooves smacked the ground unremittingly. Serried ridges of mud, crusted over, made the tracks almost impassable, but we made our way across the icy inhospitable tracts of land.
A messenger caught up with us to deliver the news that Craigmillar Castle was being made ready for Darnley’s arrival.
As we saw the angular rooftops of Edinburgh coming into view in the distance, with the castle louring ominously on its rock and Arthur’s Seat skulking further down, Darnley suddenly ordered the litter to be stopped. It was lowered onto the tracks and I turned in the saddle to see what the commotion was about.
His head appeared between the canopy curtains and he shouted for me to attend, waving an arm towards me.
“What is it, Darnley?”
“They said I am to go to Craigmillar?”
“That’s right…”
He shook his head furiously. “On no account will I be taken there.”
“But it’s the best place for you, Darnley. We can treat you properly there, with mercury baths…”
He met my gaze. “It lies far outside the city limits, Marie.”
“And?”
“And…I would be vulnerable to attack from traitors.”
“There are no traitors wishing you ill, Darnley,” I said patiently.
“If I cannot stay in Holyrood with you, then I will stay in St. Mary’s-in-the-Field instead. I will take a house there.”
I stared at him, defeated. “But we have not made the place ready.”
“Then make it so,” he snapped.
I sighed and turned my horse around, then informed our men of the change of plan.
“My husband does not wish to stay in Craigmillar,” I instructed them, “so we will repair to Kirk o’ Field instead.”
Glances were exchanged and there was some murmuring among their ranks, but we continued our journey with this new destination in mind. I was weary and had ceased to care what happened to any of us by now. I merely wanted my rest. I had been advised to bring Darnley out from his father’s protection in Glasgow, back here to Edinburgh where we could keep an eye on him. My duty was done.
I sent word to Maitland, keeping him informed, and it was not long before a rider returned with the news that the change had been accommodated and my lords had located a suitable house in that square which would serve the purpose of housing Darnley in his sickness.
As we entered the city the roughened track gradually became rough cobblestones, slippery with slush and ice. The rooftops were mostly hidden beneath a mantle of snow.
