Dagger in the Crown (Tam Eildor mystery no.1)

by Alanna Knight

  Once again, Tam asked himself whether Darnley was still alive. If he too had fallen victim to someone's scheming, what move could be expected next?

  Chapter Sixteen

  Wednesday 18 December 1566. Evening

  The Queen was hosting another great banquet for the visiting ambassadors and her nobles, with a masque organized by Sebastian 'Bastian' Pagez, her favourite valet from Auvergne, who was expert in such matters.

  A platform decorated with laurel holding six singing naiads piled high with the first course of the banquet was pulled into the great hall by dancing rustic gods and twelve satyrs carrying torches.

  At the round table where the Queen sat with her thirty chosen guests, the satyrs handed their torches to bystanders. Taking the dishes from the naiads, they proceeded to serve the Queen's guests, while nymphs sang appropriate ballads. Overcome by their success as waiters, the satyrs put their hands behind them to wag their tails.

  The English guests were shocked and sorely affronted by this vulgar display, sensitive to an inaccurate but widely held belief in Europe that Kentish men were born with tails, in token of divine disapproval of the murder of Thomas à Becket.

  Some stood up in protest and, bowing briefly but politely to the Queen, deliberately turned their backs on the scene. Her Grace, unaware of the legend, was in turn bewildered and put out of countenance.

  Speedily the Duke of Bedford explained. Dignified apologies were made and accepted, order restored and the satyrs, ignorant of a possible international incident just averted, were somewhat bemused as they bowed themselves out.

  For the remaining courses of the banquet, the platform reappeared, once as a rocky hill - Parnassus with a fountain, the Castalian spring - and later as a globe from which a child emerged, symbolism to compliment the infant Prince; sadly this finale caused the platform to collapse.

  Anxious glances were cast in the Queen's direction. Would she consider this another dark omen regarding the Prince's future? To everyone's relief, she joined in the laughter and applauded the servants' scramble to restore the platform's equilibrium.

  Without further disasters, the company passed into the moonlight and hard frost of the December night, where, under a clear sky shining with the brightness of a thousand stars, a wooden fortress had been constructed near the churchyard of the Holy Rude.

  Ice like diamonds gleamed on the castle's ancient walls as the royal party took their places on a raised platform beneath a sheltering canopy, where brazier fires added to their comfort. From this vantage point they were to be entertained by a mock battle, the fortress under siege by real soldiers from the castle guards, assaulted by a weird assortment of mythical creatures. The attackers were kept at bay by 'fire-balls, fire-spears and all other things pleasant for the sight of man'. This pyrotechnic display had taken forty days to prepare and set back the treasury by nearly two hundred pounds.

  As the last gleams faded from the demolished fortress, signalling the end of the christening celebrations and the imminent departure of ambassadors and their retinues, Tam gave a sigh of relief. He had looked frequently and anxiously towards Bothwell, seated at the Queen's side during the noisy mock-war explosions. Was he still in danger, despite his certainty that he had nothing to fear from the 'Spanish lady' here in Stirling?

  And for Tam there was the still-unsolved mystery of Archie Crozer's disappearance. Was his the body in the Nor' Loch? If that was so, Tam felt suicide was a very unlikely cause.

  While it would be more comfortable to believe that Jenny's lover had lost his taste for marriage and in a last-minute bid for freedom had simply deserted her and their unborn child, having met that close-knit, vengeful family, Tam had now decided this was unlikely. He had a strong feeling he had not heard the last of the red-headed carter.

  Even as Tam made his way up to his attic floor, Henry Darnley, the Queen's consort, sat in his room, which he had seldom left since Mary's arrival in Stirling. During that time he had suffered sundry imaginary grievances and plotted revenge as he ached with disease brought about by his own folly, which he pretended to ignore but which, if he lived long enough, would claim his life and his sanity.

  Meanwhile, he resolved to show them who was king. He thought angrily of M. du Croc, who had

  refused to listen to his complaints and spiteful allegations against the Queen, as well as the plots he was certain were being fomented against him.

  The ambassador's excuse had infuriated him. Since Lord Darnley was 'not now in good correspondence with the Queen', the French King had instructed du Croc to 'enter into no dealings on his behalf.

  Darnley swore he would have his revenge. Let them continue to wonder why he had not appeared for his son's christening. He hoped it would embarrass Mary for playing up to the English Queen. He suspected that Elizabeth had always been against the marriage and had instructed Bedford as her proxy not to accord him the privileges due to the King of Scotland. He had decided that he would not give Bedford and the English the satisfaction of seeing how far he had fallen, how low was his prestige in the Scottish court.

  All he wanted was some support from France, such as a fleet kept in readiness off the Clyde, near enough to Glasgow and his father's home, so that if one of his most earnest plans came to fruition, he could successfully abduct the infant Prince James from the royal nursery here at Stirling and rule Scotland as his guardian.

  Such was also, he knew, the secret hope and plan of Mary's half-brother Moray and of Elizabeth's ambassador Cecil, to dethrone Mary and put an end to her as a rival queen.

  A pretty intrigue, but du Croc had refused to listen. And when Darnley insisted, he had pointed out that as there were two doors to the suite of rooms, should the King as he called himself, enter by one, then he, du Croc, would speedily leave by the other.

  If only Mary had behaved like a queen, forgetting and forgiving. After all, Riccio was just a damned servant and a foreigner too. If only the Scottish nobles had not forced him to go with them to the supper room in Holyrood that night and then used his own dagger on the wretch.

  And not for the first time his mind turned to ridding himself of Mary Stuart, who had failed to fulfil her early promise of granting him full recognition and powers of kingship. Worst of all, she had turned from a passionate lover into a cold, calculating woman.

  Disposing of her had always been at the heart of all the schemes of his father, who had dinned into him since childhood that as he, a Lennox Stuart, and Mary were cousins, they had equal rights to the throne. His father had whispered into his ear frequently enough that he could see the vision glorious: his son as king.

  If only Prince James had not been born. If only Mary had miscarried, or died on the night of Riccio's murder. For her death had been the unspoken intention of the Scottish lords, of Ruthven with his pistol hard pressed against her stomach.

  Darnley had realized almost too late his own danger by implication in the plot, but Mary had helped him escape the consequences of that night's dread deed. She had shown great strength and courage, for, against all the odds, she, a frail and heavily pregnant woman, and their unborn child had survived.

  He tried to console himself that Mary was not immortal. She was frequently ill with mysterious symptoms. Should she die suddenly, he was hopeful that there would not be too many awkward questions asked about a queen who had been sickly since childhood.

  Then with himself as regent, at last in a position of power, for a babe could not deny the plans or policies of his father and guardian, he would seize the opportunity to speedily dispose of his enemies, putting all those who had opposed or slighted him under the executioner's axe.

  He could, he would, make it happen. There were others in the court who plotted in secret, who would stand by him. He would put his faith in some accident that might be arranged for Mary and thus rid himself of this burdensome wife who was Queen.

  He took another goblet of wine, held it high in a toast: To the King of Scotland.

  All was silent out
side the windows, the absurd fireworks seemingly at an end. And suddenly he needed company, for he felt sorry for himself, lonely and rejected, with a wife who hated him, was cold, refused his bed and picked quarrels with him.

  He had to confide in someone. Strange how thoughts of murder always aroused his lust. He summoned his valet, whispered instructions, sat back in his chair and waited. He felt almost cheerful at last.

  For tonight he had a new lover at hand, eagerly awaiting his summons in the antechamber. A lover. At least he hoped that was how the night would end, although there had been only hints at the consummation he desperately needed.

  That made him angry, unused to being thwarted, his merest whim obeyed. Boys and women leapt into his bed, obedient to his command. He was King, after all, impatient and not to be satisfied with a few caresses, an almost chaste kiss or two, he thought, as the door opened and a handsome youth in black velvet was ushered into his presence. He bowed low.

  'Come!' And Darnley stepped forward to greet him, kissed his cheek. There was no resistance, a shy smile. Eager to please. 'You may remove your bonnet.'

  The youth had outstanding good looks, wearing his hair longer than was fashionable in court. Slightly built, but with good legs. He liked his boys and young men to be smaller than himself and beardless. 'You will take some wine with me. First.' The youth's eyebrows raised a little, a flicker of interest slipped across his face. 'As you please, sire.'

  Darnley smiled. 'Indeed, there is something you can do to please me exceedingly.'

  The youth bowed. 'As you wish, sire.'

  Darnley regarded him through narrowed eyes. 'You mentioned that you have a sister in court.'

  'Aye, Your Grace. A twin sister'

  'And where is she this night?'

  'She is maid to Lady Seton.'

  Darnley nodded. 'A twin sister, you said.'

  'Aye, Your Grace. We are like as two peas in a pod.'

  Darnley nodded again, this time eagerly. Twins, a boy and a girl, both young and comely. He licked his lips. That would be a new and novel experience. Female whores, male pages, servants, he had them in plenty, at the snap of his fingers. But twins, a brother and a sister, alike as two peas. He thought of lying between them, perhaps one on top, one below, the very thought of so many different positions sent the blood rushing to his loins.

  'This is what I wish.'

  The youth looked at him, smiling.

  'Fetch your sister. It is my command. I need to have you both - in bed to comfort me, this night.'

  The youth departed and Lord Darnley waited. From outside there was more noise, shouts and a burst of red light. A loud bang, the very last of the fireworks.

  He looked out of the window and saw that the artificial fort had been completely demolished, vanished under a pile of rubble.

  Gunpowder. In larger quantities, there would be enough to blow up a quite substantial house, leaving no trace, no survivors to bear witness. To talk and betray. He rubbed his hands together, a gesture of almost childlike glee.

  Aye, gunpowder. The very thing.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Inchmahome Priory. Thursday 19 December 1566. Morning

  Tam slept in the antechamber, where a trestle bed had been provided for him by Janet Beaton's command. He was grateful, her excuse that should any ask, he had much work on her behalf and she did not wish him to sleep on the overcrowded attic floors, carrying fleas and God only knew what other vermin on his person.

  His slumbers were peaceful and undisturbed by troublesome dreams, till he opened his eyes to the wavering light of a candle, with Janet's face hovering above him.

  'Wake up, Tam. The Queen commands that you accompany her to Inchmahome Priory.'

  Tam blinked at the window, still bright with stars of a frosty night. 'When do we leave?'

  'Now - immediately! And it is not "we", Tam. It is you! Her Grace knows better than to expect someone of my antique years on her wild revels. My Lord Bothwell and you are the chosen ones.'

  Wild revels at this hour? 'It is still dark,' Tam protested, pointing out the obvious.

  'No matter. She wishes to see the sunrise over the Lake of Menteith. So hurry up. I shall return to my bed,’ she added with a happy yawn. Watching him pull on doublet and hose, she said, 'Her Grace loves the old priory on the island. She was only four years old when her mother, the Regent, took her there for safety from Stirling Castle after the Battle of Pinkie and the possibility of her being taken hostage by the English King. Inchmahome was a natural choice, not only as an island sanctuary but because its commendator was Her Grace's guardian, Lord Erskine's son. It has fond memories for Her Grace and for the Maries, who were with her.'

  As Tam pulled on his boots, she added, 'You'll need a warm cloak. It is freezing outside.'

  Half an hour later, Tam had collected Ajax from the stables and joined a group of riders in the courtyard: five young men and six pages bearing torches. Janet's warning about the bitter dawn had been right and all were huddled in cloaks against the chill air that seemed to eat through to their bones.

  'Are we awaiting Her Grace?' he asked the tallest of the young riders next to him, clad in black doublet and hose, a black bonnet with a huge feather pulled well down over his eyes.

  'Her Grace is here beside you, Master Eildor,' was the whispered reply, and the Queen's laughing face turned towards him.

  Taken aback, he bowed, swept off his bonnet. 'Your Grace,' he stammered.

  She chuckled. 'Hush!' And, pointing to the other four young men, 'There are our companions, Master Eildor.'

  Hearing her laughter, four faces turned towards them and Tam recognized the smallest and slightest of the quartet as Marie Seton. She raised a hand in salute.

  A horseman approached. 'Ah, here is Lord Bothwell.'

  Bothwell rode alongside, also dressed in black, swathed in a dark cloak.

  'We are ready to leave, my Lord,' the Queen said, and to Tam, 'You two gentlemen are to be our escorts.'

  The order was given and, as they rode down through the castle gates, Bothwell leaned across and thrust a pistol into Tam's hands.

  ‘I presume ye can use one o' these?'

  ‘Yes, my Lord,' said Tam, looking at the weapon with distaste.

  'It's already primed, so take care,' warned Bothwell.

  'Do you expect danger?' Tam asked.

  Bothwell shrugged. ‘I dinna suppose yell need to fire it, but one never kens what lies ahead.' And, looking over his shoulder as the troops gathered to ride down through the still-sleeping town and into the dawn, he grinned. ‘As ye should ken well from recent experience, Master Eildor, to ride unarmed is to court disaster.' Pausing to let that painful reminder sink in, he nodded in the Queen's direction. ‘A man would be a fool indeed not to be well prepared for every emergency wi' such a precious cargo.'

  Leaving the town behind, they rode swiftly along the flat approach road, the boggy mire Tam remembered from his arrival now transformed into rock-hard ice. As they galloped, the first gleam of sunrise touched the hills of the Campsie Fells, rose pink under the breaking clouds of a new day. Their breaths hung upon the icy air, their horses' hooves striking diamonds of light from the hard ground.

  They had ridden more than two miles when a horseman raced towards them. The Queen's troop halted and Tam recognized Sebastian Pagez.

  Bothwell rode forward, they spoke for a few moments and the Queen's excited laugh drifted back to Tam. He heard her bid the rider Godspeed back to Stirling and turned to the waiting group.

  'Pagez reports that the loch remains frozen hard and has been so for two weeks now. The canons at the priory told him that from their certain knowledge there is no possibility of a sudden thaw and if we take the route they have indicated, we can ride safely across the ice to the priory.' At the suppressed expressions of alarm, she continued, 'Rest assured, we are in no danger, mes amis, so be of good cheer. The canons have orders to await us with hot possets. We will break our fast with them.'

  Tha
t at least sounded like good news to Tam.

  ‘Are you enjoying our little adventure?' He turned to see that Marie Seton had positioned her horse alongside Ajax.

  He smiled. 'I will answer that question when we are safely on dry land.'

  As they moved off, she said, 'We must allow Her Grace some indulgence, for she has had an anxious time of late. She has been upset by Lord Darnley's unpredictable behaviour and still grieves for her darling little Ado, her favourite pet, greatly treasured as the last gift from her late husband, the King of France.' Marie shook her head. ‘As I told you, Stirling is not a happy place for her and she wishes to visit Inchmahome, where she was truly happy in the past, to take away the sour taste of the present.' She paused and looked across at Tam. 'That is not so hard to understand, surely?'

  'Not at all. But what is surprising is to masquerade in boy's clothes.'

  'Do you not approve, Tam?' she asked coyly.

  'From what I can see of you and your companions, I have no complaints.'

  Beaton and Fleming made convincing boys, but Livingstone would never have deceived anyone.

  Following his gaze, Marie laughed. 'The cloaks are useful for those of us with ampler curves.'

  Are those pages your servants also, in boys' clothes?'

  Marie laughed. 'Nay, Tam, they are the stable boys. Our maids would never ride so well.'

  This was Tam's chance and he took it. ‘And your new maid? How does she?'

  Marie shot him a curious look before replying. 'Bess is over her malaise and will go to Drummond with me. As for the other maid Lady Bothwell gave me . . .' She shrugged. 'I had nothing against her, but I did not care for catching her reading my private letters. Not dishonest, merely curious, I expect. Anyway, I'm glad to be rid of her and have my dear Bess back with me.'