The Captive Queen of Scots

by Jean Plaidy

  Elizabeth Curle stammered: “Have no fear for him, Your Majesty. But I think he will doubtless die of sorrow . . . as I fear I may.”

  “Nay, you must live and remember this: Your sorrow is greater than mine. So do not mourn for me. You will be released from your prison. Think of that.”

  But neither Jane nor Elizabeth could trust themselves to speak. They turned away. Then Elizabeth brought the widow’s coif—made of lawn and bone lace—which they set on the chestnut hair, and over it placed the flowing veil of white gauze.

  “There,” he said, “I am ready now. Dressed as for a festival. Leave me for a while . . . that I may pray for the courage I may need.”

  They left her and she went into her oratory, where she remained on her knees until the first light of that wintry morning was in the sky.

  THE CLOCK WAS STRIKING EIGHT and Mary was with her faithful friends.

  “I have finished with the world,” she had said. “Let us kneel and pray together for the last time.”

  Thus they were when Shrewsbury, Kent, Paulet and some others came to take her to the hall of execution.

  When these men entered her apartments her servants burst into wild weeping, but Paulet sternly admonished them and said there must be no more delay.

  So the mournful procession, from the Queen’s apartment to the hall, began; and when they came to the outer door of the gallery, Paulet sternly told them that they must come no farther; such a storm of indignation met this edict that after some argument it was agreed that she might select two only of her women and four of her men servants to accompany her to the scaffold. So she chose Jane Kennedy and Elizabeth Curle with Sir Andrew Melville, Bourgoigne her physician, Gourion her surgeon, and Gervais her apothecary.

  Having made this selection she turned to the others and took her last farewell. It was a deeply affecting scene, for they threw themselves at her feet and the men wept with the women; and even when they had been separated from their mistress and the doors closed on them, the sound of their lamentation could be heard in the hall.

  Melville was weeping silently as he walked beside her.

  “Woe is me,” he said, “that it should be my hard hap to carry back such heavy tidings to Scotland.”

  “Weep not, Melville, my good and faithful servant. Rather rejoice that you see the end of the long troubles of Mary Stuart. Know, my friend, that this world is but vanity and full of sorrows. I am Catholic, thou a Protestant; but as there is but one Christ I charge thee in His name to bear witness that I die firm to my religion, a true Scotchwoman and true to France. Commend me to my dearest and most sweet son. Tell him, from my example never to rely too much on human aid, but to seek that which is above . . . .”

  As Melville’s tears continued to flow she turned her face from him, for his grief unnerved her.

  “May God forgive those who have thirsted for my blood as the hart doth for the brooks of water,” she murmured. “Oh, Melville, dry your eyes. Farewell, my good friend. Pray for thy Queen and mistress.”

  So the procession made its way into the hall, led by the Sheriff and his men. Sir Amyas Paulet and Sir Drue Drury came next, followed by the Earl of Kent and Robert Beale. The Earl Marshal of England, who was the Earl of Shrewsbury, walked before Mary whose train was carried by Melville, Jane and Elizabeth. The Queen’s physician, surgeon and apothecary came last.

  In the hall a fire was burning in the great fireplace close to the platform which had been erected for the grisly purpose. This platform was twelve feet square and two and a half feet high, and a rail had been set up around it.

  On the platform was the block and the axe.

  Certain spectators—almost a hundred of them—had been allowed to take their stand in the hall.

  It was difficult for Mary to mount the platform, so infirm had her limbs become, and it was Sir Amyas who stepped forward to help her.

  She smiled at him. “I thank you, sir,” she said. “This is the last trouble I shall give you.”

  She saw that a chair covered with black cloth had been placed on the platform, and here she sat while Beale read the death warrant.

  When he had finished, she asked if her almoner might be brought that she could say a last prayer with him, but this was denied her, while the Dean of Peterborough, who had come forward, made futile efforts to induce her to change her religion.

  To him she made answer; she would die in the faith in which she had lived.

  The hour was at hand. She must now prepare herself for the block. Seeing this, the two executioners came forward and begged for her forgiveness.

  “I forgive you and all the world with all mine heart,” she told them, “for I hope this death will give an end to all my troubles. Come, Jane. Come, Elizabeth.”

  Shuddering the two women stood as though unable to move. Jane was shaking her head as though she had not until this moment realized that they could come to this.

  “Nay, nay,” Mary scolded. “You should be ashamed to weep. See how happy I am to leave this world.”

  They were trembling so much that they could not assist her, and she herself took off her pomander and rosary. “I should like the Countess of Arundel to have this in memory of me,” she murmured. But Bulle, the executioner, laid greedy hands on it. “Nay,” he insisted, “it is mine.” And he snatched it from her and put it in his shoe.

  Jane Kennedy’s anger temporarily overcame her grief. “Give it to me,” she cried. “You heard Her Majesty’s wish.”

  Bulle shook his head, and Mary interposed: “Let her have it. She will pay you more than it is worth.”

  But the executioner still shook his head and grumbled that it was his and he would keep it.

  “It is a small matter,” murmured Mary. “Come, help me remove my gown.”

  Standing in her petticoat of crimson velvet and her plaid camisole, she looked toward Jane who held the handkerchief with its gold-fringed border with which she was to bind Mary’s eyes.

  Jane’s hands were shaking so much that she could not fold it, and her tears fell onto the handkerchief as she bent over it.

  “Weep no more, Jane. Rather pray for me. Come, I will fold the handkerchief.”

  This she did, and Elizabeth and Jane placed it over her eyes.

  She stood regal yet piteous, the handkerchief shutting out the sight of the block, the axe, and the faces distorted in anguish or alive with curiosity.

  This is the end, she thought, for I shall never look on the world again.

  Paulet signed for Elizabeth and Jane to leave the platform, and they were hustled away while Mary was led to the cushion on which she was to kneel.

  The moment had come. The Earl of Shrewsbury lifted his baton, and his cheeks were wet with tears as he did so.

  “In Thee, Lord, have I hope,” murmured the Queen. “Let me never be put to confusion. Into Thy hands, O Lord, I commend my spirit.”

  There was a tense silence in the hall. The axe was raised, but then it was noticed that Mary was gripping the block with both hands beneath her chin. Bulle signed to the second executioner to move them. This he did, and the axe fell. The blow struck Mary’s head but did not sever it, and there was a deep groan throughout the hall. Bulle struck again, and again the blow was ineffective. For the third time the axe fell, and this time Mary’s head rolled away from her body.

  With a cry of triumph Bulle seized the chestnut hair and, to the horror of all, the head, covered with short gray hair, rolled from his grasp, leaving him clutching the chestnut wig.

  “God save Queen Elizabeth,” he said.

  “So perish all her enemies!” cried the Dean of Peterborough.

  There were few who could look unmoved on that scene. Bulle had stooped to take the Queen’s garters, which were, like the pomander, his perquisite, when from the red velvet petticoat there crept Mary’s little Skye terrier who was whimpering piteously as he ran and stopped to cower between his mistress’s head and her body.

  Elizabeth and Jane came forward. “I pray y
ou,” they said to Paulet, “allow us to take Her Majesty’s body. Do not allow it to remain here to be degraded by those who would snatch at her garments.”

  The Earl of Kent told them to go away. They no longer had a mistress; they should regard her fate as a warning.

  Weeping bitterly, Jane and Elizabeth were dragged away from their mistress, but the little dog could not be moved, and snarled at all who approached him.

  LONDON WAS WILD WITH JOY. The fair devil of Scotland was no more. Their Queen was safe; Protestant England was safe. Light the bonfires! This was as good an excuse as any to dance and make merry.

  The King of France received the news in sorrow, and there were memorial services in Notre Dame for Mary Queen of Scots. The King of Spain heard the news with his usual serenity. In his shipyards building should go on apace. The death of Mary Queen of Scots would make no difference to the dream of Philip II.

  Elizabeth was uneasy. I never desired it, she said. It was never my will that she should die.

  But she spoke thus for her Catholic subjects, and she rested happier in her bed after the death of that hated rival.

  And all those who had lived and served Mary continued to mourn for her.

  Jacques Nau and Gilbert Curle remained long in prison, for their obstinacy had not endeared them to their jailors. Bessie Pierpont was soon released from the Tower, but she did not marry Jacques Nau who continued to be a state prisoner. Eventually she settled down with a Yorkshire Squire named Richard Stapleton; and when he was at length released, Nau returned to his native France and there married a Frenchwoman. Gilbert Curle found his faithful wife, Barbara, waiting for him on his release; and with his daughter Mary, whom the Queen had baptized, and his sister Elizabeth, went to Antwerp where they lived happily for the rest of their lives.

  Jane Kennedy married Andrew Melville; and on their return to Scotland they were favored by King James for the manner in which they had served his mother. It was this favor, however, which resulted in Jane’s death, for when she crossed the Firth of Forth on her way to greet James’s bride, Anne of Denmark, the boat in which she was traveling capsized and she was drowned.

  Mary’s Skye terrier refused all food after her death and died of his misery.

  IN ORDER TO SHOW THE WORLD that she had not wished the Queen of Scots to die, Elizabeth ordered that she should be buried in state in Peterborough; and on the black velvet pall which covered her coffin a gold crown was placed as it was borne to the Cathedral. Here it remained for twenty years, until her son James ordered that it should be removed to Westminster Abbey and placed in the center aisle of Henry VII’s Chapel.

  Many were the friends who mourned Mary. Seton who herself had not long to live in her convent; Jane and Andrew Melville; the Curles; Bessie; Jacques; all her friends in Scotland; all her friends in France; and there were some in England, for all who had known her—even such as Shrewsbury and Paulet—could not help but respect her.

  It was said that the Queen of Scots was dead. But for many it was as though she still lived, because for them—and for many who came after—she would never die; and in the years to come there would be those to love and mourn her.

  Reader’s Group Guide

  ABOUT THIS GUIDE

  Against a backdrop of royal pageantry, political strife, and bloody uprising, The Captive Queen of Scots contains many themes: duty and personal freedom, tradition and individual expression, love and heartbreak, betrayal and loyalty. This guide is designed to help direct your reader’s group’s discussion of The Captive Queen of Scots.

  QUESTIONS FOR DISCUSSION

  1. “It was difficult for any man not to be touched by Mary. Her beauty was indestructible, but it was not merely her beauty which was appealing; it was a certain helplessness; a certain fragility; she was completely feminine, possessed of all that was most appealing to men,”. Do you agree with Melville’s sentiment? What was your initial opinion of Mary, Queen of Scots? Did your feelings about her change as you read The Captive Queen of Scots?

  2. Bothwell’s influence hangs heavily over Mary for the entire book. “She thought of Bothwell then and she was sick with longing for him,”. Why is Mary so captivated by him, and obsessed with finding him? What do you think would have happened to Mary if she didn’t marry Bothwell? Would she have met with the same fate? Why or why not?

  3. How are Mary’s relationships with the men of her court different than those she had with women?

  4. Throughout the book, Mary characterizes herself as impulsive. What are some examples of her impulsivity? Was it beneficial for her to be impulsive? Why or why not?

  5. Rumor and innuendo have enormous influence over the lives of the characters in The Captive Queen of Scots. What are some examples of destructive rumors, as well as beneficial ones? Why does rumor hold so much power? How does Mary employ it?

  6. There are many prisons depicted in The Captive Queen of Scots, both physical and metaphorical. Discuss.

  7. “All her life she had recovered quickly from adversity because her optimism had been one of her strongest qualities and, she guessed, always would be,”. What do you think was behind Mary’s optimism at this point in the book? How did that optimism change the longer she was imprisoned?

  8. Mary shows grave lapses of judgment throughout the book in terms of the people with whom she places her trust. What are some examples of this? Why does she put her faith into people who she senses might betray her?

  9. “[Mary] was a woman who needed love,”. Is this an understatement? What do you think was the reason Mary craved affection?

  10. What do you think of the jealousy that Elizabeth holds for Mary, and the antagonism she continually inflicts upon her? What do you think might have been behind it?

  11. “He had often reminded her that he was her brother and that must mean the ties between them were strong,”. Did this passage, or another, foreshadow Mary’s bastard brother Jamie’s later betrayal of her? What did you think of Jamie, and the fate he met?

  12. Jean Plaidy fills The Captive Queen of Scots with vivid descriptions and imagery—of the period’s dress, pageantry, customs, castles, even the countryside. Which images stood out for you? Based on Plaidy’s depiction of life in medieval Europe, do you think you could have lived in these times?

  13. Mary’s execution is particularly violent. Do you think her persecution and eventual death would have been less brutal if she were a man?

  14. Mary, Queen of Scots is one of medieval history’s most fascinating and enduring figures. In reading the story of her life in the first person, was Mary’s legend enhanced for you? Why or why not?

  An Excerpt from The Queen’s Secret

  Bermondsey Abbey

  They have brought me to Bermondsey Abbey—a prisoner. They have discovered our secret. They have destroyed our happiness. It was what we always feared, but that does not make it any easier to bear.

  They have taken Owen. I do not know what they have done to him. They have separated me from my little ones. Edmund, Jasper and Owen . . . my beautiful sons and sweet Jacina, my little daughter. Where are they and what are they thinking? They are too young to be taken from their mother.

  What harm have they done?

  I used to say to Owen: “When I was young, I did as they wished. I had always known that royal princesses must accept, with bland acquiescence, the fate chosen for them. This I did. I played my part in uniting my poor tortured country with England. I did all that. Now, why should I not choose my own way of life? Why? What harm am I doing?”

  Owen used to soothe me, but he was at times a very worried man. How brave he was, how noble! His anxiety was all for me.

  I remember so vividly those first moments of ecstasy when we knew we must be together and, constantly, we were afraid that we would be discovered, and that someone would betray us. Most of my household were my friends, but there could be spies among them. How could one be sure?

  I used to try to reassure myself and Owen. “I am of no importance now,
” I would say. “Nobody is interested in me. They have taken young Henry away from me. That is all they care about. I have lost him, Owen. I have lost my baby. Oh, I know he is the King of England . . . the boy King. It is the way with all royal children. They are always taken from the mothers who love them. But now I have a new life with you, and I will live it . . . I will.”

  And so it was and the years passed. We were lulled into a certain blind security. We convinced ourselves that we were safe . . . most of the time.

  Perhaps we were careless.

  It is too late to think of that now. Here I am alone, a prisoner—though they pretend that is not so.

  “Queen Katherine is resting at Bermondsey Abbey, as she is in poor health.” That is what they say.

  And why is she in poor health? Because they have taken from her her husband . . . and he is my husband, for all they may say. They have already taken from her her firstborn, Henry, the King of England. They have taken all her beloved children. Poor health indeed! She would be in rude health if they would restore her to her family.

  None would guess that I was under restraint. When I arrived, the bells of the Abbey rang a welcome. The Abbess was waiting to greet me. She gave me her blessing and sprinkled me with holy water. I was taken to the church and stood before the crucifix, and I prayed fervently that Owen might be free and my children restored to me.

  Afterward the Abbess told me how honored she was to have the Queen of England in the Abbey, and the best accommodation that could be provided was found for me.

  But I was a prisoner. She knew I had been parted from all those I loved. But pretense must be kept up. I, Queen of England, had come to honor the Abbey of Bermondsey with my presence.

  There is not exactly a lack of comfort here, though it is simple, after the manner of abbeys. But I would have been happy to endure any physical discomfort if I could be with my family.

  My longing for them increases every day.