For My Sins

by Alex Nye

  Borthwick was sitting back at his ease, glad to be entertaining his Queen and her consort. I sat rigid, peering into the dark where shapes and outlines were becoming more vague.

  I stood up and moved towards the window, just as one of Borthwick’s men burst into the hall with the news that the rebel lords had been seen in the glen.

  “They’ve surrounded the castle walls!” he declared.

  Borthwick’s countenance changed and he rose in silence to follow his steward out onto the staircase. “I will speak with them.” he said, as he left.

  Bothwell and I were left to wait alone in the banqueting hall. His face was pale in the smoky candlelight.

  “I am well punished for having loved you,” I murmured.

  He looked at me then glanced away. We heard voices below, but could not make out the import of their dialogue.

  “They will not hurt you, Marie,” he said after a while.

  “You cannot be certain of that!”

  Borthwick returned in a few moments. His countenance was grim. “They are requesting that Lord Bothwell be brought out to them,” he said. “They are suggesting that their quarrel is not with the Queen, but with her husband.”

  “And do you believe them?”

  Borthwick shrugged. “It is true I would not trust any one of them with my own life, let alone Your Majesty’s.”

  I glanced at Bothwell.

  He looked wary; I saw in his face a shadow of doubt or suspicion. He expected me to feed him to the lions, to abandon and forsake him. I saw it all in an instant,

  and in that same instant my heart contracted and expanded. He was the father of the child in my womb and as such, I would not forsake him. I had married him against my own wishes; it had been a matter of coercion, but I was not without affection for him and I would not deny the man as my husband. I did not like to see him look so fearful.

  I took Bothwell’s hand and spoke to him hastily. “You must escape alone. Now! Otherwise they will never let you leave here.”

  Then I turned to Lord Borthwick. “Do they know that Bothwell is here?”

  Borthwick shook his head. “I told them I had no guests, but they refused to believe me. They just repeated their demand that Lord Bothwell be given up to them.”

  “Then there is still time.”

  Bothwell turned to our host. “Is there another way out of the castle?”

  “There is a postern in the southern wall. It leads out onto a steep escarpment of loose stones. They will not expect anyone to exit from there. If you can negotiate the scree and make your way to the bottom, then keep to the undergrowth and trees on that side, you may escape notice.”

  “It is true that they will not expect me to escape alone,” he said.

  The banqueting hall burst into movement. As we hastily equipped Bothwell with a pouch of water and some oats, a cloak and weapons, he turned to me and began to issue instructions.

  “Mary, if I manage to evade the lords outside, I will make my way to Black Castle. Meet me there in three days’ time if you can. Then we will ride on to Dunbar and from there send out a summons across Scotland to muster an army against them. The Catholics in the north will rise up.”

  I nodded, and whispered “Black Castle. In three days’ time.”

  “Borthwick here will give you an armed escort. You will not be alone, but go in disguise. It can be done, Mary.”

  Then he kissed me swiftly on the forehead, and was gone.

  We watched, breathless, from the southern wall as he sped down the side of the steep escarpment. I listened for the sound of a cry and the clatter of men-at-arms, but there was nothing, just a scattering of loose stones as they clattered downwards. I held my breath again. Would that alert any guards posted nearby?

  I watched the darkness swallow Bothwell. He was on foot and alone. When he was finally out of sight I turned back to my host, Lord Borthwick. “Let me speak with them!”

  I went out alone onto the battlements of the tower and gazed down on the cluster of rebel knights gathered beneath.

  They fell silent at my sudden appearance. Perhaps they were surprised that I went unaccompanied.

  I looked down on them, their weapons glinting in the moonlight. I scanned the crowd carefully. I could see Morton, Ruthven and Lindsay among their number, the very same who had murdered my friend Rizzio, and whom I had pardoned on Christmas Eve at my son’s baptism in Stirling, on the advice of Maitland and Moray. The cruel irony of them appearing here now, below this castle, to threaten me, was a bitter pill to swallow. I had shown them mercy, as requested by my closest advisers: they themselves had undoubtedly had a hand in the explosion at Kirk o’ Field which killed Darnley – and yet here they were now! They had the bare-faced audacity to challenge me here in my own kingdom, and claim to ‘free’ me from the clutches of my husband.

  I called down to them through the gloom. “What is it that you want with me, gentlemen?”

  There was a ripple of unease among them before Lindsay spoke. “Our quarrel is with the Earl of Bothwell, not the crown!” he bellowed up the steep side of the castle walls. “Send him out to us…Ma’am!”

  “I will do no such thing!”

  There was more movement below and some discussion. Then another, Kirkcaldy of Grange spoke. “We are here to request Your Majesty to abandon your husband and accompany us back to Edinburgh!” came the cry from the darkness beneath.

  “For what reason?” I called.

  “We have occasion to believe that Your Majesty is in thraldom…”

  “I am no one’s captive, Ruthven – other than this crowd massed here below. That is the only threat I feel – although I thank you for your consideration.”

  I oiled the final word with plenty of venom.

  “We must insist, Your Grace, that you meet our request. Abandon Bothwell here and return with us to Edinburgh!”

  “And why on earth do you imagine I would comply with such a request? Am I a subject that I should take orders from you? I do not think so, my lords.”

  Lord Borthwick, apparently unable to bear this abuse of my person any longer, suddenly appeared on the ramparts beside me and shouted down, “The Earl of Bothwell will be long gone by now. He escaped early this morning.”

  There was a pause as they allowed this piece of information to sink in.

  “And why should we believe you?” Ruthven called back.

  “The man is a scoundrel!” Borthwick shouted. “What would you expect?”

  We heard the jangle of harnesses and the pawing of the horses against the ground as Lindsay turned in his saddle. “You have no choice, Your Majesty. You will need to comply in the end! You must leave Bothwell to his fate and come with us!”

  “I shall not abandon my husband at your bidding!” My voice rang out across the darkness of the glen.

  “It will be to your own destruction!” he roared back, his voice bouncing off the tower and echoing in the depths of the lonely forest behind him.

  I stayed up on the battlements, listening until the last of them had begun to move away.

  “I do not trust them!” Lord Borthwick said at my side. “They will not go far.”

  “Let us hope Bothwell has escaped!”

  I wondered if I would ever see Bothwell alive again.

  Journey to Black Castle

  June 1567

  Not all of the country was against me. The Protestant lords – and Knox, of course – resented the idea of a Catholic queen and took great delight in trying to bring me down. But there were others in Scotland who did not approve of their rash actions and were not fond of Knox’s heretical diatribes.

  The odds seemed stacked against me, here in this remote corner of my kingdom. However, I was not yet ready to be controlled by my enemies. I would resist them with the last breath emanating from my body.

  We wait
ed until we could be sure that the rebel lords had disappeared, then the following night I prepared to make my escape. I borrowed the clothes of one of Borthwick’s retainers and in my room in the tower I shed the gown I had been wearing since I left Edinburgh.

  With my height and slender figure, it was easy to pass myself off as a young man. I am quite broad across the shoulders and have a narrow waist. In my youth I was very agile; I would think nothing of riding all day in the saddle with hardly a break.

  My nausea had left me and I felt focused.

  One of Borthwick’s female servants attended to me and passed me a small, distorted looking-glass.

  “Thank you, Meg,” I said, and smiled. She had been kind to me since our arrival at Borthwick’s castle, and I appreciated this.

  “Do I pass as a young man, do you think, Meg?”

  “Easily, Your Majesty.” she murmured.

  I stared in amazement at my reflection. It was Darnley’s ghost who stared back at me. We were cousins of the same blood, he and I, and the resemblance shone through, as I stood there dressed in the garb of a young nobleman. My long auburn hair was bound tightly beneath the brim of a broad velvet cap and I had a great warm plaid to arrange and wrap around my person. This would be my only bedding for the night, as I ventured across country on foot along the most remote paths we could find.

  “I wish that My Lord Borthwick would let me accompany you, Ma’am. There will be no female company to offer you comfort.”

  “That’s a kind thought, Meg, but it will be best if I go alone. It is a dangerous journey.”

  “Will you be safe, Your Majesty?”

  “I have every intention of remaining so, Meg.” I smiled, “I have no desire to fall into their hands…”

  Meg looked angry and muttered, “Traitors and cut-throats! They would sell their own mother if the price was right.”

  Borthwick had chosen a young guard to accompany me.

  “He will defend Your Majesty with his life. Your Grace has nothing to fear,” Borthwick assured me.

  I bid goodbye to his servants and retainers who were gathered in the great hall. The expressions on their faces were sombre; I knew that they feared for my safety and I was grateful for this show of deference and support.

  Then I bid farewell to my kind host in the darkness of the inner-courtyard, the shadow of the tower looming over us. “I will not forget your kindness,” I told him.

  I could hardly see him in the shadows now, but I heard him murmur, “Your Majesty deserves better than this!”

  “God bless you. It will be an adventure,” I assured him. “I am in no doubt that I will arrive in one piece at Black Castle and we shall meet again to rise against our enemies. And then you and your kind will be rewarded,” I finished.

  We turned away into the darkness, my young guide and myself. Like Bothwell, I was on foot and almost alone. We slid our way down the steep side of the escarpment, listening out for returning horses the while.

  We floundered across the moat, and struggled up the other side through the wild greenery of the glen. My clothes were damp and dripping with fetid river-water.

  “Do not worry, Your Majesty,” my young guide, Euan, assured me. “Your plaid will dry quickly enough in this heat.”

  I looked at him. I could not believe that he alone was the only soldier to protect me against the hostile forces ranged against us. The thought seemed incredible; if the rebel lords could have known how vulnerable I was at this point, they would never have left their post outside Borthwick’s castle but swooped upon us like a hawk.

  We stumbled on through the undergrowth, while the bats did glide in the air around us, and the owls screeched.

  We had not gone many yards when I saw something that made me freeze. A figure standing out stark against the trees.

  A guard had been posted here.

  I crept backwards and motioned to my guard who had seen him also. We crouched low and watched the solitary figure. He was watching and waiting, but he had not yet seen us.

  We carefully retreated, back the way we had come, and took a different route, cutting south-east away from his line of vision, treading warily, softly, desperate not to make a sound. But it was inevitable. A twig snapped underfoot like a pistol shot in the darkness and we froze.

  The figure turned his head, but he clearly was not as vigilant as he ought to be. He yawned in boredom, having assured himself that this was merely a sound of the night, and continued his vigil.

  We crept on in relieved silence.

  When we were confident that we had put a good enough distance between ourselves and the sentinel in the trees, we stopped and listened. Complete silence met our ears. An owl screeched and I could feel the skin on the back of my neck prickle. I was aware of the swoop of leathery bats’ wings, gliding almost silently on the night air. The whisper of them caught my ears now and again.

  We remained cautious in fear of other guards posted in the woods. They might well be watching for the flurry of an escaping figure on horseback. They would not expect Her Majesty to venture out into the night alone and on foot, disguised as a man.

  We walked on in silence all that night. My guide was able to follow the direction of the stars and moon, and used these to navigate our way in the dark. When day broke we lay down to rest in a hollow where we could be confident no one would pass. I lay my head in the heather, wrapped the plaid around me and slept. When I woke, we drank river-water and I ate the oatcakes that Euan offered me. Then we continued our journey.

  We saw no one.

  I was alone, other than this one companion who guarded me. Part of me was exhilarated by the journey, despite the hardships of hunger and thirst, and sleeping rough on the heather. The anonymity of it held a certain charm. I had shed the trappings of royalty.

  At last. If only for a brief moment.

  When night fell again, I wrapped the plaid about me and lay on the coarse heather which prickled and scratched my back. As I gazed up at the star-filled sky I felt free, despite the fact I was evading my enemies, men who would seek to capture and imprison me if they could.

  I felt humbled by the grandeur and ferocity of this wild landscape through which we forged a path. I was dispossessed, more naked than the day I was born. For at my birth I could already boast a great number of titles, honours, castles, future responsibilities, my life mapped out before me…whereas now I had nothing but my wits to guide me, as well as the expertise of my faithful guard Euan.

  The summer-scorched land around me was wild and remote. I loved it. I felt unencumbered, even in my distress, capable of flight. Maybe a small part of me wanted to stay in that wilderness, eating plain oats, sleeping on heather in the open air, the friendly sky as a canopy above my head.

  It could not last, of course.

  I was never free to be myself, but was destined from birth to carry the burden of royal responsibility.

  It was an arduous and difficult journey. Often I wondered if we were lost, and partly I did not care. Perhaps I would never be found again, but would remain here forever, wandering the countryside.

  We headed due east and kept our heads. We hardly spoke.

  On our fourth night in the open, exhausted in every muscle and limb, we spied a stark fortified donjon on the skyline.

  Euan stopped and pointed ahead.

  “Black Castle,” he said.

  Bothwell had promised he would be waiting here with horses and an escort to ride us to Dunbar.

  I laboured on through the gloom and the castle keep loomed larger above me. The drawbridge was down

  and we walked cautiously forward, two lone figures in the dark with all this oppressive silence around us, uncertain of what to expect.

  Suddenly from the portcullis a figure leapt forward, taking us by surprise.

  I gasped and Euan murmured evasively, “Her Majesty has come for he
r escort.”

  The shadows seemed to come alive with more figures breaking away from the walls and assuming the shapes of humans and horses.

  I heard a familiar voice amongst them. “It is alright. She has come!”

  Bothwell’s voice.

  He came towards me.

  “I half did not expect to see you here!” I said.

  “You did not?”

  “I was not sure if you would have met with disaster along the way.”

  “I promised, Marie, did I not?”

  “Promises are easily broken. I have learned that before.”

  He led me towards the horses. “Come. There is no time to rest.”

  “But Her Majesty is tired,” Euan protested.

  “We cannot take that risk. We need to leave immediately. We have horses ready. Can you manage the journey, Marie?” he asked me.

  “I am exhausted.”

  “We need to reach Dunbar before they close in.”

  “Then let us leave now.”

  “My wife has a fighting spirit,” Bothwell announced.

  And so we continued our journey from Black Castle and thence to Dunbar, with hardly a pause. I was merely glad of a horse to ride and the compulsion to flee did keep the fatigue from overwhelming me completely, despite the burden of what I carried in my womb.

  As we rode on in the dark, a tiny doubt occupied my mind. When we paused at a burn to allow the horses to drink, I had occasion to speak quietly with Bothwell, away from all the others.

  “When you left me, Bothwell, were you sure that I would escape the confederate lords? They were ringed all around Borthwick Castle.”

  “I know your ingenuity, Marie. I knew you would outwit them.”

  “You could not have been certain.”

  “You have done it before. And you will do so again.”

  “And what if I hadn’t escaped? What if I had fallen into their hands?”

  I could feel his eyes on me in the darkness, his hands loosely holding the reins. “Then I would have raised an army to rescue you.”