by John Guy
Although Rizzio’s murder nine months before had struck at her sense of personal security and loyalty to servants, Mary had put her revulsion aside in the interest of reconciling her volatile and factious lords to the crown and to each other. Her policy was magnanimous, but she had never fully grasped the limitations of the honor culture in Scotland, where a stance of loyalty to the crown was an attractive option to lords wishing to advance their own ambitions, but was primarily an option chosen for self-interested reasons. Mary’s lords wanted to serve her solely on their own terms: they were incapable of settling their grudges even when they got what they wanted. Now she had pardoned Morton and the Douglases at a time when her disillusionment with her husband and her abdominal pains caused her to choose the path of least resistance. It was a crucial error.
Yet there was more to this than met the eye. Mary had performed an astonishing volte-face. She had always refused to pardon the Rizzio plotters. How had this change come about?
Part of the explanation lay in her policy of reconciliation, which took on its own momentum. But the key was her anticipation of a dynastic settlement with Elizabeth, which would lead to a new treaty to replace the offensive and dishonorable clauses of the treaty of Edinburgh. So far, the negotiations had been conducted at the level of queen to queen. Elizabeth had taken charge of her own diplomacy toward Mary, and Cecil was left out until the perfect opportunity to intervene presented itself, when Elizabeth named Bedford, of all possible ambassadors, to attend the baptism.
Bedford was one of Cecil’s closest allies and particularly susceptible to his views. He was to talk privately to Mary during the baptism celebrations and persuade her to pardon Morton and the rest, allowing them to come home. In return, Cecil would not hinder the reconciliation of the queens.
This does not mean that Cecil had changed his attitude toward Mary. His move was deeply cynical. He was double-crossing Mary, because he was well aware that as soon as the pardoned Douglases returned to Scotland, they would demand their revenge on Darnley, and the resulting feud would put more on Mary’s plate than she could handle and so doom any chances of an understanding with Elizabeth.
Cecil’s intuition was correct. On January 9, Morton wrote to him from Berwick as he prepared to cross the border. He said he was so grateful for Cecil’s intervention to obtain the pardon, he would do him “such honor and pleasure as lies in my power.” Nothing would be too much trouble, whether it was to be performed in Scotland or elsewhere.
As if in concert, the very same day, Bedford, whose route crossed Morton’s traveling in the opposite direction, reassured Cecil that Morton was wholly beholden to him.
It was doubtless for this reason that the editor of the enlarged edition of Holinshed’s Chronicles, published in January 1587 and barely two weeks before Mary’s execution at Fotheringhay, wrote that the “cause, the contriving and the execution” of Darnley’s murder was at least in part the responsibility of “great persons now living.” The term “the great personage” was well known at that time to mean Cecil. This statement was suggestively attributed to Morton in the Chronicles, where it was ingeniously interpolated into a quotation to evade censorship.
It is not, of course, that Cecil conspired to assassinate Darnley; he was far too clever for that. But from the beginning, his policy toward Mary had relied on attempts to destabilize her rule by causing mayhem at critical moments. He could, after all, have dissociated himself from Maitland and Knox if he had ever wanted to, by breaking off their secret correspondence. He could definitely have given Mary an early warning of the plot to murder Rizzio.
Morton was triumphant. The impossible had happened. The Douglases and their allies were heading back to Scotland, and Morton was set on a blood feud with Darnley for his treachery in denying his bond to kill Rizzio and letting his co-conspirators shoulder the blame.
The consequences were inevitable. Almost as soon as Morton arrived home, he arranged a rendezvous with Maitland and Bothwell at Whittingham Castle in East Lothian. The castle was a few hours’ ride from Edinburgh, and it was there, on or about January 14, that the conspiracy against Darnley turned into an assassination plot.*
We have Morton’s own account of it, one that is admittedly biased and incomplete. It was doctored to suit the circumstances in which it was given, hence it cast all the blame on Bothwell and minimized the role of others, not even mentioning Maitland. According to this ex parte testimony, as soon as Morton rode into the yard at Whittingham, Bothwell proposed that the lords deal with Darnley once and for all by killing him
Fortunately Drury, Bedford’s deputy and right-hand man at Berwick had his spies in Scotland and was watching events closely. He too was alert to the rendezvous. His reports, previously known only from brief printed extracts, prove that Morton and Bothwell were the joint ringleaders, not Bothwell on his own. When those responsible for the cover-up rewrote history to exonerate themselves, Morton’s role was airbrushed out of the picture. Always the invisible man where assassinations were concerned, he was agile enough to cast the blame on others. But the handwritten originals of Drury’s reports show that he was always there.
Drury knew that Morton and Maitland had attended the rendezvous; with Bothwell. So had Morton’s cousin and chief henchman, Archibald Douglas, whose servants later admitted that he was at the scene of the murder, where he managed to leave one of his slippers. (He was said to have worn slippers to muffle his footsteps.) Sir James Balfour was another conspirator. Although one of Darnley’s protégés on whom he relied, he had changed sides and now supported Morton and Bothwell. He was no stranger to assassination, as he had been an accessory to Cardinal Beaton’s murder all those years ago. He now procured the bulk of the; gunpowder, for which he was remembered, because instead of paying cash, he bartered it for olive oil. Balfour cannot be pinned down to the meeting at Whittingham, but later sought a pardon for his role in the conspiracy.
So at the heart of the plot lay Morton and Bothwell, who were assisted by Maitland, Balfour and Archibald Douglas. Others in full support included Argyll and Huntly. Moray prudently stood aloof. He was a conniver, because he knew when the explosion would take place and made sure to be away at his house in Fife that night. He had foreknowledge of the murder, but decided to “look through his fingers.” He had always loathed Darnley, whom he blamed for his exile in England after the Chase-about Raid. It was typical of his self-serving ambition that Moray made no attempt to warn his sister of her peril.
Darnley, meanwhile, had left Stirling and gone to Lennox’s heartland at Glasgow. He stayed there, as Bedford briefed Cecil, “full of the smallpox.”
In fact, his complaint was secondary syphilis. He had massive skin eruptions, his whole body covered with evil-smelling pustules, for which he was prescribed a remedy known as “salivation of mercury” lasting six to eight weeks. This had been the standard treatment for syphilis for the past thirty years. It involved sweating the patient while administering large doses of mercury either orally or topically as ointment. The doses were given until the gums ached, the teeth loosened and saliva flowed copiously. The patient’s breath began to stink as the gum tissue died from the toxic mercury. Despite this, the treatment could be effective. It usually ended with a series of medicated (usually sulfurous) baths.
Mary decided to confront Darnley in his bolthole and persuade him to return with her to Craigmillar Castle. We can see exactly how this came about. On January 20, she alerted her ambassador in Paris to her intentions. She had been warned by one of the ambassador’s servants, William Walker, that just as she had feared before, Darnley was plotting with the Lennoxes to kidnap Prince James and crown him. He then planned to rule as regent for the next twenty years, keeping Mary forever in prison.
Walker had identified his source. It was William Hiegate of Glasgow, another of the ambassador’s men. He had flaunted his information to Walker, claiming that Darnley was so jealous of the lords who advised Mary, either they or he had to go. If necessary, he would ki
ll Mary’s councilors to get them out of his way.
In Mary’s judgment, this report of Darnley’s threats rang horribly true. He had talked this way the previous autumn, when du Croc had witnessed his tirades. She summoned Hiegate, who denied his words He would admit only to hearing a rumor that Darnley himself was in danger, which he had reported to Lennox, thereby putting Darnley on his guard.
Mary felt deeply vulnerable. She was unsure of her ground, but she cursed Darnley. “And for the king our husband,” she exclaimed, “always we perceive him occupied and busy enough to have inquisition of our doings.” She knew that his spies were observing her while he and his father carried on with their cabals.
Fearing that Darnley was plotting a coup d’état, Mary went to Glasgow on her own initiative. But she was deceitfully encouraged by Bothwell and Huntly, who escorted her and provided her bodyguards on the first stage of her journey. They supported her plan to confront Darnley and bring him back to Edinburgh. Of course they did, because Mary had unwittingly played into the hands of her conspiring lords. She was about to become the instrument whereby Morton would be revenged on her husband for his treachery in the Rizzio plot.
Glasgow was swarming with Darnley’s armed retainers. Mary’s visit there was so fraught with danger, she needed bodyguards the whole time. Bothwell and Huntly had taken her as far as Callander House, the home of Lord Livingston, one of her former guardians and the father of one of her Maries. Thereafter, the Hamiltons, the family and followers of the exiled Duke of Châtelherault, provided her escort. As the most hated rivals and enemies of the Lennoxes, they were the ideal foil to a kidnapping attempt.
Mary left Edinburgh on January 20 or 21, arriving at Glasgow on the 22nd. She went straight to Darnley’s sickroom. Syphilis was known to be contagious, but as Mary did not propose to touch him, she was willing to take the risk. She did not visit him out of love or concern for his health. To preempt his suspected coup, she was determined to settle him at Craigmillar, a few miles from Holyrood, where the Catholic laird of the castle, Sir Simon Preston, was fiercely loyal to Mary and could be trusted to keep her errant husband safely under house arrest if she asked, him to.
Mary’s actions had nothing to do with the rendezvous at Whittingham Castle. She was ignorant of what her lords were plotting. She was concerned by the reports of Darnley’s intention to kidnap James and imprison her, which she had heard independently.
When Mary saw Darnley, she played on his character defects. She challenged him over the charges of Walker and Hiegate, and when he repeatedly denied them, she professed to be satisfied in order to win him over. He was so narcissistic, he refused to accept any blame for his plotting and cast himself as the victim instead.
Mary sat at his bedside, returning several times over the next couple of days. But he was becoming paranoid and refused to accompany her back to Edinburgh.
At last she did what had to be done. It is sometimes said that Mary, being the stronger of the two personalities, was able to dominate her spineless husband when they were talking face to face. While her charisma was always her best asset, it was not enough on this occasion. To win over Darnley, she had to prove her affection for him in the only way his carnal and degenerate nature understood. This meant offering to have sex with him again as soon as he was cured, as long as he first returned with her to Craigmillar.
Mary wanted to get Darnley back to Edinburgh, where she could watch his every move. If he was planning a coup, she had to detach him from the Lennox clan in their strongholds of Glasgow and Dumbarton. She had her own agenda, centered on her efforts to secure a final dynastic accord with Elizabeth. In comparison to that, everything else was secondary. She had a motive to keep Darnley under house arrest, but certainly not to kill him. If Darnley was to be murdered, everything Mary had yearned for since her return from France would be lost, because Elizabeth would instantly end their talks and even demand reprisals. Darnley, for all his failings, was her kinsman too.
The state of affairs after the baptism was one of exceptional complexity. There were three independent intrigues. Darnley was conspiring with the Lennoxes to imprison Mary and rule in the name of Prince James. She, encouraged by Bothwell and his allies, was determined to bring Darnley to Craigmillar, where he would be under her thumb. This would give Mary what she really needed: breathing space until her reconciliation with Elizabeth was complete. Finally, there was the assassination plot hatched at Whittingham Castle. Morton and the Douglases thirsted for revenge on Darnley, while Bothwell had seen an opportunity to step into his shoes. They planned to kill him, and whether they did it at Craigmillar or elsewhere was almost immaterial. The only place in the whole of Scotland that the assassination could not be attempted was in Glasgow, where the Lennoxes and their retainers held sway.
On January 31 or February 1, Mary arrived back in Edinburgh, bringing Darnley in a horse litter. But whereas she returned to her usual apartments at Holyrood, he was lodged in the relative isolation of a hastily furnished house on the outskirts of town, where he was to finish his medical treatment with a course of sulfurous baths.
It was afterward said that this house was Mary’s choice. This is false. The house was the Old Provost’s Lodging, one of a group of dwellings leading off a quadrangle belonging to the old and partly ruined collegiate church of Kirk o’Field, on a site occupying high ground on the southern fringes of the capital. It was Darnley’s decision to stay there, and there is evidence to prove it. One of his own servants, later employed by Lennox, testified that “it was devised in Glasgow that the king should have lain first at Craigmillar, but because he had no will thereof, the purpose was altered and conclusion taken that he should lie beside the Kirk o’Field” (italics added).
Since a Lennox retainer (if committing perjury) would be expected to say the exact opposite, this testimony is compelling. John Hepburn, Bothwell’s cousin, stated about the same thing. Claude Nau, the brother of Mary’s surgeon and her secretary after 1575, also recorded that Kirk o’Field was Darnley’s choice, although he was not an eyewitness and wrote several years later.
Darnley was not stupid. He refused to lodge at Craigmillar because he loathed and feared Sir Simon Preston and had already heard whispers of a plot. But until Darnley was cured, he did not want to return to Holyrood. He was prodigiously vain and could not bear the thought of people seeing his pocks and pustules. Until his treatment was completed and his skin back to normal, he wished to remain in seclusion. Even in the privacy of his upstairs bedroom at Kirk o’Field, he wore a taffeta mask over his face.
He was willing to return to Edinburgh, but to a house of his own choosing. The one he selected was far enough away from the hurly-burly of the High Street and the Canongate, yet close enough for Mary to visit, which suited his sense of self-importance. It was vacant because it had recently come into the possession of Robert Balfour, brother of Sir James. It was situated near the top of a steep hill beside the fields, in an area known for its salubrious air. (Holyrood was on low ground and known for its winter smog from the burning of wood and coal fires.) This house was ideal for a convalescent. Where Darnley miscalculated was in the fact that Sir James had changed sides and was allied with Morton and Bothwell.
Darnley was installed at the Old Provost’s Lodging by Saturday, February 1, and was expected to remain there until at least the 10th, the earliest date his treatment was likely to finish. When cured, he planned to return to his usual apartments at Holyrood.
The layout of the building is important. The living quarters were in the older part of the house. Built on two stories with a cellar, it had two large bedchambers doubling as reception rooms, one above the other on each floor, two smaller galleries or withdrawing chambers for the servants, and an outside kitchen. A newer one-story extension comprised the hall or presence chamber, equipped with a leather chair of state beneath a black velvet canopy, but otherwise sparsely furnished.
The main house had three doors. The front door faced the ancient quadrangle.
There was a side door into a private garden, where Mary liked to walk and sing when she visited Darnley. There was also a postern gate, which led out of a passage from the cellar at the rear of the house. At the rear was a backstreet known as Thieves Row, on the opposite side of the town wall from the quadrangle. The town wall marked the boundary line of Edinburgh, and the back of the house abutted it.
A bathtub had been set beside Darnley’s bed on the second floor to enable him to take his medicated baths. The room had been made as comfortable as possible. The walls were hung with six tapestries and there was a Turkish carpet on the floor. There were two or three cushions of red velvet, a high-backed chair covered with purple velvet and a small table covered in green velvet. The bed, which Mary had given Darnley as his traveling bed only six months earlier—it had originally been her mother’s—was hung with violet-brown velvet, richly decorated with cloth of gold and silver and embroidered with flowers.
Directly below on the ground floor was Mary’s room. It contained a bed of yellow and green damask in which she slept when she stayed overnight, which she did twice. It is sometimes claimed that until the last moment, she had also intended to sleep there on the night of the murder. This is another story invented for the cover-up, because if Mary had planned to spend the night at Kirk o’Field, she would not have kept her horses waiting outside to take her back to Holyrood. When she announced her intention to leave and cried “To horse,” the equerries were ready and she left immediately. In fact, some who claimed Mary made a last-minute change of plan to avoid the explosion were forced to say that she walked back to Holyrood, which on a cold and pitch-black February night, in unsuitable shoes and a long dress, is improbable and was certainly not Mary’s style, quite apart from the fact that the night watchmen who patrolled the streets after dark would have spotted her.
