by Alex Nye
“And give myself over to an army of rebels?”
“Those are our terms.”
“You care so much about Darnley’s death, Maitland, when you were one of those who organized the same?”
“I care for the security of the realm. It is my job.”
“And who appointed you?” I asked him.
“I am, of course, indebted to Her Majesty, it goes without saying, for allowing me to retain office, but I am obliged to remind you that I held office before you arrived on these shores.”
“Ah, is that it?” My eyes glinted. “I am a foreigner still? And if I were more like my sister Elizabeth,
down in England, I’d have sliced your head off for a traitor long ago.”
He paled in shock. “Traitor is a strong word!”
“I trusted you, Maitland.”
He faltered for only a moment. “Our cause is merely this. To avenge the King’s death and bring the King’s murderers to justice.”
He and I both knew the emptiness of those fine words.
“You know as well as I do that half the men down there are guilty of Darnley’s murder.” I watched him. “Such hypocrisy doesn’t worry you? Even before the eyes of God?”
“It is for your own safety, Ma’am!” he added weakly.
“For my own safety?” I laughed. “How you do turn things about, Maitland! It is for my own safety that you have taken up arms against me?”
Then I stood up and spoke loudly. “If you seek justice against the late King’s murderers, you know where to
find them.” I glanced down at the enemy lords ranged below us. “Look to yourselves!”
Then I turned my back on him.
Bothwell had watched this exchange from a distance, but he came forward now with a proposal.
“If their quarrel is with me and not with Her Majesty then why not settle the affair by single combat? Select an opponent from within your own ranks, and I will fight him.”
Maitland glanced at Bothwell with obvious disdain and looked to me for confirmation.
“I won’t allow it,” I said. “I will not be dictated to by rebels and traitors. Let them look to their own consciences.”
Maitland rode away, disappointed.
“Why will you not let me fight in single combat, Marie?” Bothwell asked. “It could settle the affair without prejudice to yourself.”
“Because I do not believe them. They seek to humiliate me.”
The sun was directly overhead now and I could feel a blinding headache pulsing behind my eyes. It was oppressively hot. As I glanced around I realised that more of our number had melted away. Our forces were slowly diminishing, some drifting towards the Pinkie Burn to quench their thirst but not troubling to return. As the afternoon wore on, my courage began to fail me, and my hopes were dashed.
Far beneath us I could see they were taking Bothwell’s offer of single combat seriously and lists were being drawn up.
I glanced upwards and saw that a line of enemy horsemen had cut off our retreat to Dunbar. They had crept round to the back of us to ensure we could not escape.
We were surrounded.
“It’s hopeless, Bothwell,” I said, calling him to my side. “Look!”
“I have no choice,” I murmured. “We must accept defeat, or compromise.”
“You cannot trust the rebel lords, Marie. You said so yourself. I tell you, let me fight one of them in single combat.”
I shook my head. “No, Bothwell, they would not allow it to rest there. We must seek a different compromise. I am still their queen, their Sovereign.”
I looked at him sadly with a dawning realisation in my eyes. Whether or not Bothwell knew it, those men below – massed against us in their hundreds – would not allow us to remain together. The confederate lords would never accept him as my husband. With him at my side, I could not remain Queen. I needed to compromise.
I swallowed.
I felt suddenly bereft. I could not bear the thought of being alone, without his support.
He looked about. “We have lost a battle, Marie, but we have not lost the war.”
I blinked away tears. “I am going to parley with Kirkcaldy of Grange. Of all the men gathered below, he is the most honourable. I know him. He is a gentleman and a man of his word. With him, I will reach a compromise.”
“You cannot do this, Marie.”
“I must. You know there is no other way.”
He glanced around at the depleted forces. Those that remained were tired, hot and thirsty, weary of the consequences.
I called a messenger towards me and sent him down to the opposition, asking Kirkcaldy to come alone. We watched as the single rider approached the troops below and waited for their response.
“I will come for you, Marie,” Bothwell said. “And I will raise another army. Be sure of that.”
I nodded. “I know you will,” I said.
The response did not come as quickly as I would have liked.
It was six o’clock in the evening when Kirkcaldy rode up the hill on his black charger. As I watched him approach, I felt Bothwell touch my arm. It was the last contact I remember having with him, before we would be severed forever.
Kirkcaldy ignored Bothwell when he approached, and spoke only to me. He knelt before me, his head bowed.
I watched him in silence.
When he had straightened again I spoke as calmly as I could.
“Avenging King Henry’s death is a poor excuse for taking up arms against your sovereign, Kirkcaldy!”
He coughed and spoke quietly, “Your Majesty, it is said that you have allied yourself with a murderer.”
I shook my head. “Bothwell is no murderer and I do not ally myself with him. He is my husband. We are lawfully wed. He is the…” I almost went on to add that he was the father of my unborn child, but something stayed my tongue.
Kirkcaldy softened. “If you will only come over to the Confederates, Ma’am, I can promise you – with my life – that all will be well, and the quarrel ended.”
“Yes, Maitland said as much, but you know, I find it hard to trust his word of honour. That is why I have sent for you. I have reason to believe you are more a man of your word.”
“Your Majesty,” he said, lifting a hand to his chest.
This was a gesture I have never trusted in a courtier and I should have recognized it now – but I did not. Perhaps Kirkcaldy truly believed that he could help matters.
“I am ready to consider their proposal,” I said. “But what of Bothwell?”
“What about him, Your Majesty?”
“Will he be allowed to go free?”
Bothwell was watching and listening to this exchange, eager to interrupt, but Kirkcaldy would not look at him or acknowledge his presence.
There was a short silence.
“I cannot promise,” Kirkcaldy began awkwardly.
I interrupted him. “Then I cannot agree to your terms. That is my condition. That Bothwell be allowed to go free.”
I had an ulterior motive for such a request. There was my concern for Bothwell’s well-being as the father of my child, of course, but in addition to this was the half-conceived idea that I would have need of his support in raising an army once we had left the field of battle. All was not lost and I was far from giving up. I merely wanted the day to end without bloodshed or deadlock.
Kirkcaldy’s eyes opened wider. He had evidently not hoped for as much as this. “Your Majesty can count on my word of honour.”
“He will be given a safe conduct and allowed to leave the country if he wishes, unharmed?” I asked, following up my advantage.
“You have my word!”
Once free, Bothwell might be able to gather support from the Catholics abroad.
I turned my back on Kirkcaldy and approached Bothwel
l. “They will spare your life if I give myself up to them.”
“It is madness. I don’t trust him.” He glanced at
Kirkcaldy over my shoulder. “How can you be certain they will not try to depose you and act as Regent over your son?”
“I cannot be. But I have to take that risk. There is no other way, otherwise neither of us may be able to leave the field alive.”
I glanced at Kirkcaldy wearily over my shoulder.
“Tell the confederate lords I agree to their terms.”
Kirkcaldy visibly swelled beneath his breastplate, so elated was he with his success. Where Maitland – the prince of diplomacy – had failed, Kirkcaldy, a down-to-earth knight, had succeeded.
I could not help but notice the gleam of satisfaction in his eyes as he turned to Bothwell, shook his hand and said, “I’d advise you to depart as quickly as you can. I give you my word you will not be followed or opposed.”
How the men do reach their agreements, how they do ratify their bonds. It is often a language which excludes women, even those of us – like Elizabeth – who rule them.
Then Kirkcaldy mounted his charger and sped off, back to the enemy troops waiting below.
Once we were alone Bothwell turned to me, a look of remorse in his eyes. “All is not lost, Marie. We will see each other again soon.”
“I think not,” I murmured.
He took me in his arms then, a last embrace, while the tired soldiers of the two armies looked on. Bothwell did not care what they thought. He mounted his horse, and leant down to me. “I will raise an army,” he whispered.
I said nothing, but watched him as he rode away.
For the first few yards I could almost believe this was not happening, but as he grew more distant I was hit by the powerful realisation that I really was alone. There was no one else on that lonely summit I could turn to.
The sun had not yet set, nor the heat of the day faded. I watched him – a solitary figure becoming smaller on the horizon. Then he was gone.
I had half-hoped that he might look back.
He did not.
I never saw Bothwell again.
I had reliable information afterwards that he spent some months trying to raise an army for me, but he was unsuccessful in his efforts. He fled to France and died ten years later in a prison cell in Denmark. They say he died a madman, fettered to a stake. Rumoured reports found their way to my secluded tower, for the story of our romance had become the stuff of legend and myth by then, but I listened with only half an ear. I knew to trust not such rumours. The warmest heart grows cold with waiting.
I entertained hopes for the first couple of years.
I listened for the pounding of hooves, the jingle of a harness, but it never came. In the end I turned to other, fresh followers to champion my cause. I was never short of admirers who fell under the spell of Mary Queen of Scots. There have always been those ready to risk all for the sake of our cause.
I mourned Bothwell.
I mourn him still, to some extent.
But of him, I never speak.
No one will know the truth. I breathe not a word of that private and most intimate of stories. Except perhaps to the forlorn ghosts who haunt me here, and they will not repeat it to a living soul. I can be certain of that.
Since his death I have oft wondered if he would appear in ghostly form, along with the others – Knox, Darnley, Morton, my brother Moray. But there is no sign of him.
It is my hope that Bothwell loved me enough to leave me in peace.
Fotheringhay Castle
October 1586
Darnley’s ghost detaches himself from the shadows and leans towards me.
“I didn’t come here to seek vengeance, or to hurt you.”
“You’ve nothing to seek vengeance for, Darnley. I never did you a wrong turn, and I certainly had no hand in your murder. If there were a court of law here now, they could acquit me of any part in it. If they had a mind to.”
He sniffs and reaches out a long white finger towards the missive on my table.
“What’s this?”
I turn the parchment away from him.
“More plotting?”
“If others should plot on my behalf, what is that to me? Can I control it?”
Darnley’s ghost smiles.
“You are a canny one, Mary. Always were.”
You think?
“Bothwell stays away because he doesn’t love you. Never did.”
Darnley’s words sting. I remember when Bothwell was my friend, and the one loyal supporter I could rely on.
I try to hide my disappointment.
When Bothwell took me to Dunbar Castle, and I found out what his real motives were, it was a rude shock to the system. But it is not something I care to share with Darnley or anyone else. That is a secret I will bear with me to the grave.
When they tell stories of us, and sing songs and invent ballads about us, they will be merely guessing. I will not apprise them of the facts. I will not tell them of how my heart was broken – not because he left me, but because he did not wait to win my hand by fair means. He stole it instead. By fair means or foul, he decided he would have me. It could have been by fair means if he had exercised just a little more patience. That was a shock I struggled to recover from. But none shall know of it.
Abduction and ravishment are not topics for polite conversation.
I lift up the parchment that lies curled at my side.
“You are a very persuasive phantom, Darnley. But I do not believe you are really here.”
He sighs.
“Besides, it makes little difference in the end. If I escape from here…”
“What do you mean, escape?”
I ignore him.
“Do you still dream of escaping?”
“I was very good at it, in the past. There were a few times I slipped the net when they least expected it. I am skilled at it.”
“You are being foolish, Mary.”
“I have letters sent to me. And I reply.”
“Letters?” he scoffs. “Do you think they have not been intercepted and copied before they go on to reach their destination? Lord Burleigh knows what he is about. He even plants the ideas in your head, and you do not know it. They have a whole wad of evidence against you.”
“I care not.”
“If you put your hand to that letter, Mary, you will die.”
“It is nothing, merely a proposal. And I am agreeing with it – that is all.”
“A proposal to rock the throne of England?”
“To escape from where they confine me! Is that wrong? Would not any sovereign do the same?”
He shakes his head.
“Besides, my actions are endorsed by God.”
“My murder had the blessing of Parliament, but that did not make it right.”
“Parliament is not the same as God, Darnley. You ought to know that. Divine law is another matter entirely.”
“So you make up your own laws which are above those of man?”
“Don’t be facetious, Darnley.”
“You are misguided, Mary. And your dreams of escape will see you ruined.”
“I am ruined already.”
“Then they will see you to the scaffold.”
I shrug. “It would be a welcome end to all my sufferings on this earth. My sorrows have been legion. Even our son denies me. If I could hasten my end, I would gladly do it. For in my end is my beginning.”
Darnley gazes at me.
“What do you mean by that, Mary? Do you mean to become a legend?”
“I mean nothing. I mean only that I will hold my head high to the very last. And neither you nor anyone else will gainsay me. I have nothing to fear, and nothing to be ashamed of before God.”
“Truly, Mary?�
�� he asks.
I look at him, this unwelcome phantom who can never rest in peace.
“Truly.”
Behind us we hear a door opening on heavy hinges. As I turn my head I hear Darnley’s voice whisper, “I believe you!”
And that is the last I hear from him.
He is gone, vanished in the darkness.
Would that the rest of them would leave me in peace!
As the door opens wider to admit Paget and Jane Kennedy, my fingers reach out nimbly to hide the evidence. The scroll of parchment with Babington’s proposal upon it is secreted safely within the folds of my clothing. It would be wrong to trust those closest to me, for it would put their own lives at risk.
My little dog Geddon paws the flags at my feet and nestles closer.
“Jane, I think he needs a walk.”
“I will take him, Ma’am.”
Carberry Hill
June 1567
When Bothwell was no longer visible on the horizon, I slumped onto the block of stone that had served as my throne all day.
The sun was beginning to set, gilding the treetops and the distant turrets and spires of nearby Musselburgh. I was hungry and thirsty, having eaten nothing since before we left Dunbar at dawn. It was still unbearably hot, even for this time of year.
I watched with indifference as Kirkcaldy left the rebel army beneath, having discussed with them our terms, and then came riding back up the summit to fetch me. He was quite the hero of the day. The other confederates were delighted with the success of his efforts although Maitland was perhaps a little put out.
“Ready, Your Majesty?” he gently prompted.
“I am ready.”
I mounted my own horse and suffered him to lead it by the bridle as we made our way slowly down the hill.
By the time I reached the enemy troops, I glanced back up at Carberry Hill to see who remained. It was deserted. They had all fled.
As we drew closer to the line of soldiers, I began to feel the first stirrings of doubt and misgiving. Had I made a mistake, a fatal error? Their faces looked stern, not kind. I waited for one kind word, for one of them at least to show some small sign of homage to their queen, but there was none forthcoming.
