by John Guy
When the Castilians were finally led out in chains, they included a young Protestant reformer named John Knox, who had abandoned his previous career for the life of a preacher after meeting Wishart, the man burned by Beaton, in his native East Lothian. Knox had no hand in the cardinal’s murder, but approved of it. He came to St. Andrews, where he preached in the castle chapel and in the town. His teaching was that “the pope is antichrist” and “the Mass is abominable idolatry”: his oratory was so compelling that he won many converts.
Knox had to row in the French galleys for eighteen months. Then Somerset arranged for his release and safe-conduct to London. It was to be a fateful move, because Somerset’s secretary and master of requests was a young Cambridge graduate and rising star named William Cecil. He was the man destined to be Mary’s nemesis, and now he met Knox for the first time. It was partly through Cecil’s influence that Knox received job offers in England and was appointed one of Edward Vi’s chaplains.
Somerset’s response to Strozzi’s recapture of St. Andrews Castle was to order a final round of the Rough Wooings. In late August, an army of fifteen thousand men arrived at Newcastle. Somerset marched at the head of his troops to Berwick and continued into East Lothian. In a change of tactics, he intended to settle permanent English garrisons in Scotland. He meant to occupy and subdue the country, and so force it into submission. His army was shadowed by an accompanying English fleet as it made its way north, ready to open fire if his troops were ambushed by the Scots.
For once, Arran had his own forces ready. When on September 10 the English infantry surmounted a hill close to Inveresk, near Musselburgh, on the eastern approaches to Edinburgh, they were confronted by the largest Scottish army in history. Some twelve thousand troops were skillfully positioned behind defensive trenches on the west bank of the Esk. They were put there to block the road into Edinburgh, and since on one side of them lay the sea and on the other an impenetrable marsh, Somerset would have to either launch a frontal attack or wheel his army around.
As Somerset turned in search of a defensive position, Arran attacked. The armies clashed on the hills above the hamlet of Pinkie. For an awesome moment, it looked as if the Scots pikemen could win. Then the English ordered a shock cavalry charge and fired their heavy guns to deadly effect. As the Scots buckled, Arran fled. His troops panicked. In the bombardment and ensuing carnage, ten thousand Scots were scythed down and killed. It was a second Flodden: the way lay open to Edinburgh and Stirling. Mary, aged four and three quarters, was hastily carried in a litter by night to Inchmahome Priory, a remote spot on an island in the Lake of Menteith, some eighty-five miles from the battle.
Somerset did not reoccupy Edinburgh. Instead, he started to build a grid of quick, cheap forts from coast to coast in an attempt to hold the country at his will. If he expected this to work, he miscalculated. The backlash was so massive, it led to the one thing he had inexplicably overlooked: the removal of the Queen of Scots to France.
Far from tolerating union with England on the back of a military conquest, Arran made his terms with Henry II, accepting the offer of the duchy of Châtelherault in Poitou and the promise of a bride for his son. The bargain was sealed in January 1548, and within a month, negotiations were under way for Mary’s betrothal to the dauphin.
Henry II could not have spoken more clearly. He promised to liberate Scotland from Somerset’s garrisons. In keeping with his style, this was to be a Guise family affair. Francis, the eldest son of Claude Duke of Guise, already seen as the outstanding military strategist of his generation, was put in charge. He was to plan the campaign jointly with his brother Charles, Cardinal of Lorraine, the most gifted administrator at Henry II’s court. The Guise brothers were, of course, the uncles of the young Queen of Scots.
In readiness for her voyage to France, Mary was moved to Dumbarton Castle, already confiscated from Lennox and secured to the pro-French party. With Somerset increasingly bogged down in provisioning his garrisons, the greatest danger to the young queen was from an attack of measles. Rumors that she was dead were quickly contradicted. The prospects for her safety were good, as an advance party of French troops had arrived to defend her, equipped with enough money and ammunition to last a year.
The main French expeditionary force disembarked at Leith on June 17. An armada of 130 ships transported 5500 infantry and 1000 cavalry, striking fear into the occupants of Somerset’s forts. Many of the French soldiers were veterans who had served in Italy. Their captains were professional commanders, most of them retainers of the Guises. They were loyal to their commanders and dedicated to their country, unlike many of Somerset’s soldiers, who were foreign mercenaries.
Early in July, the French forces laid siege to Haddington, Somerset’s principal fort in the eastern Lowlands. A week later, Parliament convened in the nearby abbey and, after only a short discussion, approved the treaty between Scotland and France. The French lieutenant-general, André de Montalembert, Sieur d’Essé, explained that Henry II had “set his whole heart and mind for [the] defense of this realm” and sought to betroth Mary to his son.
Parliament quickly acceded to this as “very reasonable.” The potential sticking point was national autonomy, but as Henry II had promised to defend Scotland’s laws and liberties “as these be kept in all kings’ times past,” the terms were easily ratified.
The day after Parliament ended, Mary of Guise wrote to her brothers, “I leave tomorrow to send her [Mary] to him [Henry II], as soon as the galleys have completed the circuit.” To confuse the English naval patrols, the commander of the French ships sent to fetch Mary sailed around the north coast of Scotland, skirting the Orkney Islands and back down the west coast to the Clyde. It was a dangerous, roundabout route.
On July 29, Mary kissed her mother goodbye and boarded her ship, which was Henry II’s own royal galley. Although only five and a half years old, she carried herself like a queen. Her embarkation was watched by Jean de Beaugué, an army veteran and friend of d’Essé, who wrote: she is “one of the most perfect creatures that ever was seen, such a one as from this very young age with its wondrous and estimable beginnings has raised such expectations that it isn’t possible to hope for more from a princess on this earth.”
As Mary walked down the narrow steps from the castle to the pier, she registered her personal trademark. Whatever she did and wherever she went in the future, whether her actions and behavior were to be applauded or demonized, she would prove to have this gift of conjuring a sense of occasion.
There followed a week’s delay caused by storms and a smashed rudder. The ships were tossed about violently at anchor, and Mary discovered that she was among the few on board immune to seasickness. It was perhaps the first occasion in her life when she found she could be strong while so many others around her were weak.
On August 7, the flotilla finally reached the open sea. It was Mary’s first big undertaking, her debut on the international stage. She visibly relished the part. Her high spirits were observed by Artus de Maillé, Sieur de Brézé, a Guise retainer whom Henry II sent as his ambassador for the voyage. In a series of letters written on board ship, he informed her anxious mother, “The queen, your daughter, fares as well and is, thanks to God, as cheerful as you have seen her for a long time.”
After a rough crossing lasting eighteen days, almost twice as long as had been estimated, the galleys reached St.-Pol-de-Léon, a small haven not far from the busy port of Roscoff in Brittany. From there the party was to travel on to St.-Germain-en-Laye, Henry II’s favorite château, built on a cliff overlooking the River Seine on the outskirts of Paris.
Exhausted by the storms, everyone was glad to relax for a few days before starting the next stage of their journey. Mary needed to rest. Her voyage was the beginning of an adventure, and yet she must have felt some apprehension. She was unsure if she would ever see her mother again. And although from here on she was feted wherever she went as “la petite Royne” (“the little queen”), it was not just bec
ause she was royal, but because she was pledged to marry the dauphin of France.
3
Arrival in France
IN SPITE OF Mary’s understandable apprehension as she first set foot in France, she was far from alone. At least a dozen familiar faces surrounded her. Her mother had chosen a personal retinue to escort her, balancing Henry II’s representatives, the Sieur de Brézé and his companions, with a roughly equal number of Scots. Lords Erskine and Livingston came first. Parliament had made them Mary’s official guardians while she was away. Lady Fleming, an illegitimate daughter of James IV and one of her mother’s closest confidantes, was next. She was appointed Mary’s governess, taking charge of her female staff. Janet Sinclair, Mary’s old nurse, was still constantly at her side. In addition, Lord James Stuart, one of James V’s illegitimate sons and Mary’s half-brother, took his place in her party. Aged seventeen, he was on his way to Paris to attend university. This was perhaps the first time that Mary had met the sibling who would later come to play such a momentous role in her life. For now, however, he was crisscrossing between Paris and Edinburgh, ostensibly training for a career in the Church, but in reality just waiting for an opportunity to enter the limelight.
Mary’s maids of honor and official playmates were her four best friends: Mary Fleming, Mary Beaton, Mary Seton and Mary Livingston, the so-called four Maries. All almost exactly her own age and the daughters of leading Scottish families, they had first appeared as Mary’s companions when she was taken by her mother to the island priory of Inchmahome. Mary Fleming, Lady Fleming’s daughter, enjoyed preeminence by virtue of their blood ties, and Mary treated her as her cousin. She was famous for her quick wit and love of life. Mary Beaton’s beauty was second only to Mary’s, with whom she later shared a love of literature and poetry. Mary Seton, who stayed by Mary’s side for almost her entire life, was famous as a hairdresser, able to braid and crimp the always fashion-conscious Mary’s auburn hair into a new style every day. Lastly, Mary Livingston, Lord Livingston’s daughter, loved the outdoor life and dancing.
Their nickname was a joke. The “Three Maries” was the name given in France to a well-known Catholic devotional manual for noblewomen. The three saints were the Virgin Mary, Mary Magdalene and Mary the wife of Clopas, who stood by the cross at the crucifixion of Christ. Mary undoubtedly knew this book, probably found it tedious and her playmates a great deal more fun, and so invented the moniker. It reflected the wicked, mildly blasphemous sense of humor for which she was later renowned. It did not pass unnoticed that during the long and grueling crossing she had taunted those of her companions who, unlike herself, were seasick.
As soon as the galleys landed at St.-Pol-de-Léon, advance word was sent to Paris that Mary was on her way. Henry II had already given orders that all the towns and villages near his palace at St.-Germain be carefully checked to make sure that none of the stonemasons had been in contact with plague during the extensive rebuilding projects. Mary was to be welcomed by her grandparents Claude Duke of Guise and Antoinette of Bourbon, to whom an outrider was sent. Another messenger set out on the long journey across the Alps to Turin, where Henry II was visiting his northern Italian garrisons, to inform him of Mary’s arrival. Such was the attention due to the princess pledged to the dauphin of France.
After everyone felt sufficiently rested, their baggage was loaded onto carts and they set out across country for Nantes, at the mouth of the Loire, where they boarded a river barge for Orléans. Illness, probably gastroenteritis, struck down some of the men. Lords Erskine and Livingston were violently sick, taking months to convalesce. Far worse, Mary Seton’s brother, “le petit Ceton,” died of a “flux of the stomach” at Ancenis, some twenty miles from Nantes on the way to Angers. Mary and her female attendants did not succumb, possibly because they took more care than the men about what they were drinking. It was considered a normal precaution for royal and aristocratic women to carry bottied water in their luggage, whereas the men would have consumed local wine and beer.
Little Seton’s fate gave Mary her first close experience of mortality. After the funeral, the party returned to their barge to resume their journey through the lush, densely forested Loire Valley. Somewhere along this part of the route, the Sieur de Brézé, the Guise retainer who was Mary’s official escort, received orders recalling him to Guyenne in the south of France, where a peasant revolt had broken out against the salt tax. He left Mary in the care of her grandmother, Antoinette of Bourbon, who had met the party and guided them home.
Antoinette recorded her first impressions of Mary in her letters. “I assure you,” she began, “she is the prettiest and best for her age that you ever saw.” “She has auburn hair, with a fine complexion, and I think that when she comes of age she will be a beautiful girl, because her skin is delicate and white.” Antoinette noted that her face was well formed, especially the chin, although maybe it was a little long. In deportment “she is graceful and self-assured. When all is said and done, we may be well pleased with her.” The duchess added with barely concealed condescension that the rest of Mary’s retinue, Lady Fleming excepted, were less good-looking and “not even as clean as they might be.”
Mary was expected to join Henry II’s children at Carrières-sur-Seine, just a few miles outside St.-Germain, where they were staying during the renovation of the château. She reached Carrières on Sunday, October 14, and was received in style. By now there were already four children in the royal nursery: Francis the dauphin, his two sisters Elizabeth and Claude, and a younger brother Louis, who would shortly die of measles before his second birthday. Later, four more children were born: Charles, Henry, Marguerite and one more son, also named Francis.
As Mary was to lodge with them, the issue of protocol arose. Who should enjoy precedence among them? It was settled that the dauphin would take preeminence, as he was male and the heir to the French throne. But would Mary, a queen in her own right, enjoy precedence over the others, especially Princess Elizabeth, the king’s eldest daughter, who was three and a half years old?
Henry II gave careful thought to this. In reaching his decision, his mistress, the redoubtable Diane de Poitiers, played a greater role than did his wife, Catherine de Medici. The domestic arrangements of Henry II were unorthodox but curiously serene. Catherine was the daughter of Lorenzo de Medici, Duke of Urbino, and the niece of Pope Clement VII. Henry had been forced to marry her in 1533 by his father, Francis I, who needed Medici support for his Italian diplomacy. Both parties were just fourteen, and it was a mésalliance. Perhaps not least because Catherine was expected to consummate her marriage in front of her father-in-law—he joked that she had “shown valor in the joust”—she disliked sex. She attained puberty late, and was infertile for almost seven years. There was even talk of repudiating her; in an age of dynastic monarchy, a barren queen was disposable. Catherine was highly vulnerable to a mistress and an annulment until her first child, Francis, was born.
In the years of her “sterility,” Catherine was supported by Diane, who saw every advantage in maintaining the status quo and every disadvantage in being displaced by a new and less accommodating wife. Diane forced Henry to spend more time in Catherine’s bed. In return, Catherine allowed Diane the space to exert influence. By the time Mary arrived at St.-Germain, Diane had a role in bringing up the royal children. She had the full attention of Jean de Humières, the official who in 1546 was put in charge of the royal nursery. His wife, Françoise de Contay, Lady Humières, assisted him, and thanks to Diane was able to retain her position after her husband’s death in 1550, when he was succeeded by Claude d’Urfé, formerly ambassador to Rome.
A few weeks before Mary reached Carrières, Diane sent a memo to Humières specifying the king’s decision on protocol. It granted precedence over all except the dauphin to Mary, who was to share the best room in the house with Princess Elizabeth. Moreover, she was to “walk ahead of my daughters because her marriage to my son is agreed, and on top of that she is a crowned queen.”
/>
Catherine de Medici saw Mary for the first time at St.-Germain. She found her beautiful and vivacious: “our little Scottish queen has but to smile to turn all the French heads.” Later in their relationship, Catherine was Mary’s keen antagonist, her motive not so much jealousy of her allure as a desire to protect the status of her own children and a growing fear and dislike of the powerful Guises. But such competition was absent while Henry II was alive. This menage à trois worked extremely well.
Mary was celebrated at court. Her half-brother the young Duke of Longueville, who rushed excitedly to meet her at St.-Germain, thought she was stunning. Likewise Jacques de Lorges, who had led the reinforcements to Scotland in 1545 that were paid in debased coin, wrote to Mary of Guise to say her daughter was so “charming and intelligent as to give everyone who sees her incomparable joy and satisfaction.” Hungry for news of her daughter, Mary of Guise was thrilled to receive this information.
On December 9, Henry II returned to St.-Germain. He had by then commissioned an artist to draw all the children’s portraits, which he received at Nevers in late October, and so was able to recognize Mary and greet her by name. When they finally met, he found her to be as flawless in manners as she was in looks. “She is the most perfect child that I have ever seen,” he wrote joyously to Montmorency, the constable of France. From that moment, she was, as he constantly said, “his very own daughter.”
Mary’s “coming out” took place a few days later, when her uncle Francis married Anne d’Este, daughter of Hercules d’Este, Duke of Ferrara. It was a glittering event to which the diplomats of Europe were invited. At the reception, Henry II rose to make a speech. He drew everyone’s attention to “my daughter the queen of Scotland,” whom he had wanted to dance with the dauphin.
