Hammond brought me a dark gray stallion named Achaius. I took his reins, but he was anything but steady. Eyes wide, the horse huffed a breath through his nose and stamped an indignant hoof in protest.
“I’m sorry, sir, but he is the fastest horse at Holyroodhouse. A little temperamental, but he’ll warm to you. Just stroke him like so.” I ran my hand along Achaius’ mane as Hammond had shown me. I spoke softly, calming him to my instruction. “Come on, Achaius,” I whispered. “I need you to truly be a friend to me tonight. I have a noble assignment for you, and you must not deter from it.” I stood a moment longer, stroking the stallion and speaking gently to him. His breathing slowed, and I decide to make my move. I had wasted too much time as it was. I mounted him, and surprisingly, he did not resist. We headed toward the outer gate, and as soon as we hit the extremities, I thrust him into a full run.
The evening air was chilled, and I was glad I had thought to bring my cloak. I also congratulated myself on bringing a torch—for it was the only light I was to have. A new moon hung pale and low in the sky leaving very little light to illuminate the night. How did Mary plan on getting back in this blackness? I rode Achaius hard until ahead I saw the torchlight of the queen and her Marys. Their voices drifted back to me, but I could not tell what they spoke of, for I wanted to keep my distance. I did not want Mary to think I thought her incapable of sound judgment, although I did wonder at the wisdom of such a choice. We rode for another quarter of an hour before they finally stopped. The queen chose a small pub owned by a man named Doyle. He was a respectable man, and the establishment was not altogether void of approbation. They dismounted and entered the building, while I hung back a little way off to avoid any suspicion.
I led Achaius to a grassy spot along the roadside and lifted off to give him rest. I figured it would be some time before I saw Mary again, so I decided to situate myself for a spell. The night was chill and black, but it did not stop the citizens of Edinburgh from frequenting their nightly rendezvous.
Three-quarters of an hour later, someone approached. At first, I could not tell what sort of man he was for he rode without a light. As he came into the town, I caught a glimpse of his palfrey and the ornamented bit that decorated the noble steed. The arch of its neck, and its refined gait were all tell-tale signs of the breed of beast and man. I stayed hidden from his view. When he passed by, I saw his face. It was Arran. The same Arran pursuing Mary.
He dismounted in the shadows of a house owned by a local merchant named Craig. There had been rumor for some time that Arran was secretly carrying on an affair with Craig’s daughter, Alison. I did not want to believe such idle tongues, but I continued to watch in silence as Arran crept toward the back of the house and disappeared into the blackness. What he did was not my concern, but I tucked the discovery away in my mind for later use, should his marital advances toward Mary come to fruition.
Night drifted on, and eventually my torch burned out. I fell asleep and started awake when I heard the town crier call out the third watch. Not long after, the doors of the public house flew open and a sea of people poured forth as if the crier had summoned them home. In the darkness I could no longer distinguish the women, so I watched to see who mounted the royal horses. Thankfully, it did not take long for them to find their way to their horses, and I watched as they each mounted their steeds. They did not do too badly for courtly women, but from the way she mounted her horse, I immediately recognized which one was Mary. Ever since we were young, she would always pat the horse’s rump three times and click her tongue as she would place her heel into the stirrup. I never understood why the horse would not take off running when she clicked her tongue, but it was as if the three pats signified an understanding between them. Of course, I saw her do this little routine with her ponies when she was little, but it evidently worked on her horses too.
I hung back for several minutes, giving them a head start as not to put myself under suspicion. Thankfully, the rest of the night was uneventful, and I followed them until they entered into the protective gates of the palace. When I felt it would be safe, I then slipped quietly into the stable, leading Achaius to a cozy stall. By the time I entered in through the courtyard door, the ladies had already slipped in through the garden.
I had almost reached my apartment when I practically collided with a silhouette in the corridor. “I beg your pardon.” It was late, and now that I knew Mary was safe, I was only thinking of my bed.
“Did she make it home safely?”
I jerked my head up at the sound of Isobel’s voice. She carried a candle to light her way, and in the glow of the flame, I could see a teasing glint in her eyes.
“Excuse me?” I felt like a boy who had just been caught sticking a thumb into his mother’s pie.
“Did the queen make it home all right? That is where ye went, correct? Ye followed her to make sure she arrived safely?”
“Aye, she is safe.”
A knowing smile spread across her face, and she turned to go. Then, she paused in afterthought. “She is very fortunate to have someone like ye looking out for her.”
I nodded in agreement, then said, “You better return to your chamber too, my lady, or the queen might not be the only damsel needing protection.”
She giggled, then curtsied to me and turned to make her way back down the hallway. I watched her until she reached the end of the corridor and turned out of sight. Then I retreated to my rooms. I might have trouble sleeping after all.
~6~
October 1561
Three weeks after Mary’s after-dark excursion, a messenger on horseback approached me as I finished collecting charitable donations in town.
“Thomas Broune?” he asked.
“’Tis I.” I noticed that our exchange had garnered some attention.
He handed me a note then dismounted his horse, handing me the reins. “You are to take the horse and return to the palace immediately.”
“Thank you, but I can walk briskly and be there in less than a quarter of an hour.” I placed the reins back into his hand.
“I have my orders, sir.” He shoved the reins back at me.
Before I could properly thank him, he had already crossed into the town’s square.
I tore open the note and saw a quickly penned letter from Mary. Knox had arrived this morning, and she was meeting with him within the hour. I mounted the horse and struck off immediately, tucking the note into my pocket.
When I arrived, I handed the horse off to Hammond and sought out a messenger to inquire as to where Mary was. I searched for several minutes until I reluctantly admitted there was no one around. Was there no one in this blessed house that could run a message for me?
Finding no one, I had no choice but to find her myself. I decided to start in her apartments, for I figured she was probably still there preparing herself. I climbed the stairs, skipping every other one in order to get there faster. However, I was stopped at the top of the long staircase by Mary Fleming.
“Thomas,” she whispered. “Mary will be down shortly. Meet her in the great hall in five minutes.” She looked over her shoulder before shoving another note into my hands. Then louder, she said, “I’m sorry, Thomas, but Her Majesty can’t be disturbed right now. She is dressing in preparation for her meeting with John Knox.”
I nodded at her in understanding, then tucked the note into my pocket until I had reached the bottom of the stairs. Trying to avoid prying eyes, I tore open the note and read quickly:
Thomas,
Whatever happens, please do not leave the great hall. Even if James demands it.
M.R.
So her brother was being a boor. Well, let him try to stop me. There was no way I would leave her on her own to face that wolf, John Knox.
When I reached the hall, Mary had already seated herself, and Mary Seton was adjusting her skirts. I sought permission into the hall but was stopped short by Lord James.
“Thomas, you will have to wait outside. This is a p
rivate interview between Her Majesty and Reverend Knox.”
“Sir, my presence was requested. May I not speak with her before he is permitted entrance?”
“I'm afraid that is quite out of the question. The interview is set to start immediately.”
“Will you not grant our queen her wish that I may waylay her fears and calm her uneasiness?” We spoke in heated whispers now, and I began to feel as if we were gathering an audience.
“Her Majesty has nothing to be afraid of. By and by, I am here for her assistance and am at her complete disposal should she desire anything.”
As James continued to exult himself, I heard Mary call out to him. “James, please. I desire Thomas' honesty and advice. I have requested his presence during this interview.”
“Your Majesty, this is a private interview that is best kept between those who have a need to know.” He tossed his reply over his shoulder, not taking his eyes from me.
I watched as a battle of wills ensued. Mary sat, her back straight and her head lifted, sure of her request. James too stood stiff as a pin as if he were ready to unsheathe his sword to fight for some holy cause. He turned an ear toward her, all the while keeping a guarded eye on me. Slowly, he turned his head from me and walked to where Mary was seated. In hushed tones a discourse followed. No one could make out the words that were spoken, but everyone knew what was said.
After several minutes, he returned to where I stood and hissed the whispered words at me. “It seems I have lost this battle. My sister made a compelling argument in which she is convinced that she is in need of your support. Not to mention, she is the queen. Come.”
And with that he led me to the inner side of the room and pointed to a chair that I was permitted to situate myself in. He commanded that I not interfere with that which was about to take place, then abruptly left me.
A half a minute later Arran appeared. His powdered appearance always unnerved me. I had no use for a man that took more pains in front of the looking glass than the Queen of Scotland herself. He wore a sleeveless crimson doublet sewn of crushed velvet, with a ruffled sleeve attached on each side of the shoulder. His carefully chosen Venetian breeches matched the overcoat perfectly with small, cream colored stripes of lace overlaying more crimson velvet. His mustache was waxed to a very fine point on both sides and his black hair lay in perfect rows of waves falling just above his shoulders. Vanity was the word that came to mind whenever I saw him, and today was no exception.
What concern was this of his anyway? Had Mary requested his presence too? I really couldn't see why matters of a spiritual nature held any interest to him. Everyone knew he was a Catholic-turned-Protestant and a member of the Lords of the Congregation, a Protestant band of Scottish nobles with English sympathies. The Lords made it their aim to bring about reformation in Scotland, but it was obvious to all that their true plan was to strengthen Scotland's ties with England.
He took a seat beside me then leaned in to whisper something toward me. “I do hope the fairies play elsewhere today. I've so hoped to see Mary settle this nonsense with Knox so that we might move on to some more glorious endeavor.”
What sort of nonsense was he uttering? I heard tell that Arran oft spoke of celestial beings, creatures from the underworld and other such absurdities. He even claimed once to have seen Fideal, the water spirit that inhabited Loch Na Fideil. For several years now rumor had coursed its way through Scotland that he was losing his wits. I was beginning to see why.
I fastened my eyes on him but did not speak, for no sooner had he taken a seat next to me than Knox appeared in the doorway. Immediately, as if on signal, every person who attended the queen departed, save for James, Arran, and me. The doors to the great hall were closed, and only five of us remained appurtenant to the conversation.
Mary spoke first, breaking the odd silence that hung so awkwardly between them.
“Sir, I have thought for several weeks on that which I have desired to inquire of you. Do speak plainly before me and alter not your conversation on my account.”
The ecclesiastic stood erect before her with his hands clasped neatly in front of him. His manner was relaxed, and he appeared completely unruffled by the queen’s request.
“Madame, I fear not you nor any other earthly prince. That which I speak is only by the authority of the word of God. No fear hath entered my mind and no hesitation into my heart. Ask what ye will, and I shall answer simply and without approbation.”
“You wrote a book some time ago. Tell me, think you that I have no authority since I am a woman? Or think you that because I keep Mass I have no just cause to seek fealty from my subjects?”
“Your Majesty, learned men from many ages have long held opinions contrary to common society. Whether written by pen or published by their lips, they have made known their grievances, and, in most cases, have learned to tolerate with a portion of patience those wrongs they could not right. If this realm is content to live within the unsanctified rule of a woman, then I shall bear it with the same grace as the Apostle Paul who contented himself to live under Nero. The book to which you refer was written for that Jezebel of England. My wish is that so long as ye do not defile your hands with the blood of the saints of God, then neither I, nor that book, shall be a thorn in your side.”
“You speak of Mary Tudor, yet think you this of women in general?”
“Indeed, Madame.”
This interrogation continued with Mary questioning Knox about his views on women leaders and Catholic doctrines, and Knox responding to the interrogation as if the questions had been leaked to him ahead of time. I had been at court long enough to witness a gentleman's typical reaction to Mary's beauty and grace. She had become quite good at using her charms to manipulate the male sex, causing them to acquiesce to whatever it was she wanted. Knox was not so easily affected. In fact, there was no trace of weakness toward a woman's persuasions at all. At least not one whom he considered to be an infidel.
The discourse continued in this manner for some time until suddenly Mary fell silent. No one spoke for a quarter of an hour, as we wondered at the cause of her muteness. Finally, James stepped forward and prodded Mary to give a reason for her silence.
“Your Majesty, has something offended thee? For what reason do you remain silent?”
As I watched Mary intently, the realization occurred to me that Mary felt vulnerable. It had been years since I had beheld it, but there was no denying the habit Mary had formed for herself to combat what she perceived as apparent weakness. She hated to cry in front of people who might misjudge her and use her weakness to their advantage. Whenever she felt the uncontrollable urge to cry, she would nervously curl a piece of hair at the nape of her neck around her finger, all the while pulling on it as hard as she could as if she were trying to pull it out of her head. I watched as she twisted and tugged, twisted and tugged until I was convinced she would truly succeed at pulling her hair out.
She turned herself toward the doors and abruptly left the hall without speaking a word to anyone. Lord James and Knox looked at each other in bewilderment, and Arran turned to me and asked, “What happened? Do you know why Her Majesty is upset?” I gave him an answer with the shake of my head, and then excused myself to check on Mary.
I followed her into the foyer but did not speak to her until we had reached the security of the upper corridor.
“Mary.”
She turned and looked at me with her swollen eyes and red nose. The tears had started coming against her will, and now she could barely speak to me for the sobs coming out of her mouth. I reached into the pocket of my robe and produced a piece of cloth for her to dry her eyes. Several more minutes passed before she gained her composure and was able to speak.
“What have I gotten myself into?”
Her eyes searched my face and begged me to provide an answer to her. I stood motionless, unable to ease her pain until she gave me more information. “What is it that Knox said that upset you so? It’s not like you to allow
one man’s resistance to rattle your wits.”
Indirectly she answered me. “I don't know how I will ever lead this nation as a respected sovereign with that man preaching sermons against me everywhere he goes. He does not recognize my authority and condemns me for merely being a woman. He scorns the tenements of the holy Catholic faith and spreads his blasphemous doctrine in every kirk from here to the Highlands.” She took a deep breath, only to continue, “It’s not as if he is asking me to change the color of my dress or to wear my hair differently. He’s asking me to change those things which I cannot. Those things that are the very essence of who I am. That I cannot and am not willing to do.”
She stopped speaking and stood there staring into the abyss. Her lip continued to tremble and finally one lone tear escaped down her face, cutting a new wet path through the ivory tones of her cheek. I reached out and brushed the tear away with my thumb, as I had done when we were children. But a strange feeling took hold of my stomach. A forceful urge like none I had ever felt before tugged at my chest. This strongman wrestled my conscience, beseeching me to give in to this new feeling. I was sure the change in my body heat was transmitted through my hand and would burn Mary's face if I didn't remove it immediately.
I shoved my hand into my pocket and stepped away from her with such force that a bolt of light from a spring thunderstorm could not have moved me with more power. My body tensed—ached even. I wondered if she could sense this new anguish overtaking me. I felt the sudden heat begin to search for escape through my forehead. I ran my fingers through my hair in an effort to wipe my brow unnoticed.
Mary moved closer to me in search of consolation, but I could not oblige her. She sought an arm to lean upon, but I could not allow myself to take advantage of this vulnerable situation. I took another step back in an effort to mask my desire to take her into me and indulge myself. Her face reflected her hurt feelings, and I couldn't bear the thought of injury toward her.
The Queen's Almoner Page 4
