by Donald Smith
I am not the only one to be heard attentively. I have watched her manner with my compatriots, and with French courtiers. She is at home in both languages but only it seems truly at ease with her family. Yet they will send her back to rule Scotland, alone, and the mother and daughter so lately reunited will be divided once more. That is the Guise ambition – to rule through the royal houses of Scotland and of France. Their influence reaches everywhere, and the talk is all of Marie de Guise becoming Regent of Scotland.
James Stewart has been at court again to see his sister. For one so young he is close and silent as the tomb. Prior of St Andrews he may be by royal convenience, but he is no churchman. Nor does his religion look to Rome. I detect ambition rigidly concealed.
We converse at length about the Regency. He understands the game of power and hints that his own contacts in England, and those in exile, want a Protestant Scotland and eventual union of the crowns. He was trying to gauge my intent, but I managed to be confiding and indefinite. The Scottish lords will as ever bide their time to choose the most advantageous loyalty. Stewart the Bastard may be made of sterner metal than their type.
Twice he mentioned William Kirkcaldy of Grange, as if his stay in France had special significance. I have marked Kirkcaldy here at Court as a handsome hothead. It seems that John Knox too is still wandering somewhere in Germany in exile. He is the kind of zealot any nation should avoid. The Protestants offer reason and conscience in place of blind obedience, but Knox wants to endow his own doctrines with divine authority. Yet the Bastard remains in correspondence with this preacher, whose reputation is high amongst the godly sort. Is Knox a principle for him or a tool?
Stewart is returning to Scotland ahead of the Guise.
Are our lives guided by providence or by fate? The men who will join a Scottish ring around our Queen are already linking hands. William Maitland meets all those who will mould events in Scotland. The threads were spun in France, for good and ill.
The Court moves back to Paris. Kirkcaldy is also in town having obtained a royal commission for service in the army. We agree to meet in a tavern, The Golden Cockerel on the Île de la Cité, but when I arrive Grange is ensconced with young Bothwell, Earl Patrick’s puppy, who has just arrived at the Scots College. My family knows the reiving ways of these Hepburns who covet their neighbours’ acres. Bothwell’s cold gaze shows that he knows that too, but disdains to care.
But Bothwell is an amusing young blade scarcely into britches and swaggering with self-conceit. He and Kirkcaldy make a striking pair. Grange red haired, fair, locks and beard neatly trimmed, curled close in the court fashion. Hepburn is dark complexioned with flowing black hair and a youthful beard. The eyes are black too, though piercing and intense when his concentration is aroused. He sports an earring and a broken nose as if some vagabond was his mother; but then maybe she was.
They are two military men discussing tactics in their cups. I am left to one side as a duller, bookish gentleman. Young Hepburn is no sluggard when it comes to the history of war. He argues a point about light cavalry which Grange concedes. They move beakers and flagons around the table like Hannibal amongst his elephants.
We order wine with olives, then beef, and more wine. Bothwell waxes in his cups, describing the whores he has enjoyed in Paris. First he will take her foremost and then by the arse and then again. I see the disgust in Kirkcaldy’s eyes. His father, the old Treasurer, schooled him Protestant Bible in hand. But Hepburn was educated by his uncle the Bishop, who has eleven bastards at the last count. Yet the dissolute prelate of Moray founded the Scots College in Paris. The ways of God defy any reason.
I take my leave unnoticed while Kirkcaldy is holding Bothwell by his flowing locks and banging his head on the table to wake him up. I cannot question Grange tonight. What I have to ask cannot be tried within another’s hearing, even when unconscious. Walls have ears in whispering Paris. Even the tables.
It is a relief the next day at court to be flocked by Mary’s attendants flapping silken banners for some game or dance. Sunlight dispels the gloom of Paris taverns, and a fresh breeze blows away night vapours. I can shed grave time, and be innocent once more, playing amidst the trees at Lethington, harvesting fallen apple blossoms under my mother’s careful eye.
What a troupe of young beauty the Queen commands: Beaton with her ringed yellow curls, Livingston lithe and tall, and Seton with her wan face framed by raven hair. Fleming’s body swells with all the promise of female fullness. Yet they are merely planets attendant on Mary’s shining globe.
Kirkcaldy arrives resplendent in court dress, surmounted by a cap plumed in blue and gold. He is the centre of attention, the gallant soldier, mobbed by female devotees. Only Mary holds aloof knowing she is made to be the object, and not a source, of admiration. But her eyes betray envy, not of Grange but her more carefree playmates. These girls are no longer children in an orchard.
As the troupe is led away to lessons, I walk along a tree-lined avenue consulting with Kirkcaldy. In the open air we can be discreet. He came with a commission from the English Government to spy upon the French Court, where Scots have such easy access. But now that Mary Tudor reigns in London, English money has run dry, so he has joined the French army. Nonetheless his loyalty is unchanged and his message is that friends of England wish to count the Maitlands among their allies.
I do not declare myself, pleading Sir Richard’s years and his devotion to the Crown. Yet I hint at sympathy, and a desire to live in amity with our southern neighbour. I am not against reforming Mother Church. All things in moderation.
We agree to keep in touch, condemn Bothwell as a callow roué, and part friends.
I walk back towards the château, hoping to see the Marys and their Queen, without the radiance cast by Kirkcaldy’s sun. But everyone has withdrawn to their chamber for a midday siesta, so I go to mine and take up Machiavelli’s treatise. All teachers hitherto are bairns compared to this man’s probing of the human heart. Sophistries and calculations are laid bare like bones exposed beneath the surgeon’s knife. Subtle Italian, your land gives us more than all the Popes of Rome. Speak it not in Paris where truth dare not be uttered except in the dark.
Day Book of the Marys
We have sworn that from now on this book will be for our eyes alone. We shall write down what we want each other to read, but no one else. Seton, Beaton, Livingston, Fleming and Mary R. Our words against the world.
Beaton
I am surprised that anyone should resist the Queen. But some here at Court say that girls should not be educated in languages, history and philosophy, since their work lies in the nursery and in their husband’s bed. Mary’s oration praised the education of women, and the need for women rulers to be schooled in statecraft. They say this is an Italian fashion which leads to depravity, and effeminacy in government, because our sinful lusts sway the judgment of men who should be sober minded and led by reason. Eve should be neither counsellor nor ruler in the realm. That is all very well in books, but if the Adams we know are anything to go by, Eve should be accounted paragon.
Fleming
Beaton writes what she hears in the court and reads in books we are not supposed to study.
Beaton
The library is open for all to see – are we blind or unable to parse a Latin verb? Caveat lector. Anyway, Catherine the Medici will not allow such slanders to be spoken against her. Is she not a ruler in all but name? May she also smile on Mary Stewart.
Mary
Why should woman bear alone the burden of Eden’s sin? Is she not redeemed by Christ as much as man, and called to nurture, educate and govern where it is her appointed right? I summon Thomas More to my side; the wisest man in Christendom is my authority for female wisdom. Besides the King himself smiled his approval of my speech. Why be bound by old ideas?
Fleming
We have been reading in Plutarch’s Lives. Cleopatra was a queen who let her heart be ruled by passion. That is the lesson to be learned.
Livingston
She took Caesar and Mark Antony to her bed.
Seton
I do not think we should debate things we do not know.
Beaton
Why else do we read but to understand what we do not yet know?
Mary
But was that passion or policy? I mean Cleopatra.
Livingston
Surely love conquers all?
Beaton
Whose philosophy is that?
Seton
We should obey Mother Church and all her teachings.
Fleming
Love is dangerous.
Mary
That is why we must educate our minds and learn to guide the human heart. Not least our own.
Mary
I shall write to Maman, since she is still travelling home. Where is Scotland? It is lost to my mind, but I can draw it from Ptolemy’s map. It is far north from here, and flat in its lower part though mountainous above. It takes a long time to sail there especially if English ships attack. I could not go home with Maman, but must stay at Court in France. It is not fair to leave me behind. I want to be beside my mother so we can be queens together in my father’s kingdom. I want to go there. What use is being Queen if I cannot command?
Fleming
Mary is very poorly with racking pains. When the pain recedes she lies without moving or speaking. Some say it is her mother’s going and some that she has a fever which will not be calmed. When my mother left I had to be obedient and serve the Queen as before. It is a great responsibility looking after all the Marys.
Seton
I pray for our Mary to God’s Mother, so that her sickness may be healed. Mother of Sorrows, by the sorrowful wounds of Jesus your Son, have pity on us all parentless and far from home. Amen.
Livingston
I have had enough of sickrooms, and will go riding with Sir William Kirkcaldy. He is a true Scottish knight.
Our Queen must have entertainment to recover, not solemn little Francis coming silently to hold her hand, or Seton always counting rosary beads. I think I know the game she needs. Have fun and forget.
Fleming
There is new colour in Mary’s face, and she asks for fruit to eat. Praise be for we could not bear another loss. Her life is precious but fragile. It is our task to nurture and protect Mary since she is destined to play her own part in all this history we are supposed to read.
The Queen has the same lessons as Dauphin Francis. He is heir to the throne of France but she is already the ruler of Scotland. William Maitland explained it to me. Because Mary has come of age her mother can be Regent rather than the Hamiltons. They are very proud even in France.
Livingston
Hamilton’s son, the Earl of Arran, called on us at Court. He rolls his eyes like a madman and drools in his food. There is something wrong with that boy and I pity anyone who has to marry him. He is a dribbler.
Beaton
Marrying is not the question. Government is. Mary learns the duties of Princes. Together she and I have read Cicero on public conduct. That was when she scolded Francis for not attending. He always wants to go and play like a child, and his Latin is hopeless.
Mary
I love the poets best – Du Bellay and my own special Ronsard. I try to translate him into Latin, Scots, English and Italian, but he sounds best in French – mon coeur pensif, mes yeux, chargés de pleurs. Why should I be sad? Is it that sweet poison that flows into the deeps of my heart? Who has stolen into my heart? You must guess of whom I speak.
Seton
The Latin poets are best for philosophy and learning. Such as George Buchanan, the Scot who writes in Latin. The French poets are light and frivolous. Most of the Scots poets are rude.
Livingston
Seton is a prude.
Fleming
No one should be called names in this book.
William Kirkcaldy came again today to the Louvre, and stayed with us in the gardens. After a while he walked along the flowering borders with Her Majesty, taking her by the hand and listening courteously to all her remarks. He is very handsome and a true gentleman admired by all, but I kept them in my sight as a chief lady-in-waiting should.
Beaton
We make too much of these Scots gallants. Have they nothing to do in Scotland?
Fleming
Beaton is shrewish, and was very rude to William Maitland.
Seton
He may be a Protestant.
Fleming
Perhaps, but he is very clever and will be Her Majesty’s servant in Scotland.
Livingston
So he says. I do not like the way Maitland stoops over you and purrs like a cat.
Beaton
Let them all come to Court. Mary is Queen of all the Scots.
Fleming
We made marmalade today, as Mary is not receiving visitors. We tied on our aprons, and sliced quinces into a jelly pan. We smear each other’s cheeks with sticky juices. Seton is the best jam maker of us all. We shall preserve our fruits in jars layered with sugar.
After our cooking we sang. Mary accompanies her lute like an angel changing her tone in harmony with the room or her mood. She is the best musician among us.
Mary
My little dog Francie is sick and cannot play. I hope that he will be better soon as I love him very much.
Beaton
James Stewart came to see Her Majesty. He was dressed all in black, with a black beard and eyes. He wants Mary to make him Earl of Moray instead of Prior of St Andrews as he does not want to be a priest. It was more telling than asking, because he says he is closer to her in blood than anyone else. He spoke about their father James when he was young. She drank in every word and called him brother. But he seems very gloomy and something about him scares me. He has a dark complexion and a black shadow beneath his smoothly shaven cheeks. His big nose is crooked and his eyes are too small. He is going back to Scotland anyway and I am glad. Everyone there calls him the Bastard.
Livingston
I agree with Beaton. I did not enjoy his Lordship’s visit either. James Hepburn is much more amusing. His curly dark hair tosses and tumbles when he shakes his head and bows close towards you, or kisses your hand very slowly. Does he have thick lips? Or is that just an effect of his earring? I think he is most gallant.
Beaton
Popinjay with his gold earring. A gilded boy with a bashed nose. His lips make me shudder.
Livingston
At least he rides and likes dogs, which is more than you can say for Maitland or Lord James
Seton
William Maitland always takes me to feed my pony, as he is my cousin.
Mary
William Kirkcaldy is the perfect knight.
Livingston
Today we shall embroider, and then dance. Let us put books aside, and trace patterns on the canvas.
Join hands in a ring, then break and change and turn again into the circle.
When we dance with Mary we are stars and constellations moving in the sky. We shine. But we are only circling round to receive her light.
Mary
I cannot shine without my Marys. Let us remain forever partners in the dance.
Beaton
As long as Mary is in our circle she will be protected. Until we cannot bear the brightness.
Livingston
The herald has come to announce a royal festival. At last something is happening. I thought we might die of boredom.
***
Fleming
Queen of Scots and of France. What she has always desired is finally decided. To wed dear Francis and reign in France. God be praised.
Beaton
For Francis it is nothing more than a holiday or a new suit of clothes. He will have his playmate, his sister, beside him. As he was brought up to expect.
Livingston
Mary to marry. The whole Court is looking on with envy. Queen Catherine, Poitiers, the King himself gives place. Ou
r Mary is the love of every eye. I love weddings and this one will be very special.
Seton
What will become of the Marys? Are we still to be closest in Her Majesty’s household? I pray that it may be so. I want always to be with her.
Beaton
The Marys must all grow up. This marriage secures Scotland for France and for the true Catholic religion. Marie de Guise will continue to rule Scotland. It is the Queen’s right and the Scots commissioners will have to acknowledge her. The Guise are triumphant behind the throne.
Fleming
The commissioners have arrived. Two earls and Lord James Stewart, broody as ever, and Beaton’s cousin James the archbishop, the Laird of Dun, and my own dear brother John, Lord Fleming. When I see and touch John suddenly I long to be home. Will we ever be allowed to return? I do not feel that France is my home.
Livingston
Dreary commissioners are not interested in feasting and hunting. While our Mary is radiant in a whirl of parties and outings. Everyone attends on her joyfully, but old Erskine of Dun goes round with a Bible in his tunic. We are missing Kirkcaldy since he went home. Lord John is nice but married. Kirkcaldy is a proper man. Even Jamie Hepburn was entertaining, with his squashed nose. What kind of place is Scotland? I am not sure I want to return there.
Beaton
Livingston is bored and flirtatious. Why does she not court some French attention if Scots are not to her taste?
Livingston
So Beaton has her eye on Monsieur? Why not name names in our book? Fleming has a new correspondent. William Maitland has written a letter from Scotland.
Fleming
Maitland is made Secretary of State in Scotland. He is clever and kind and better than all the knights or gallants.
Beaton
Fleming loves Maitland. Livingston loves Kirkcaldy.
Mary
Now that I am to be married, I shall not write more in this book. Though I will still read it sometimes.
Seton
Maister Buchanan came today to make poems with us. He is very clever and becoming famous.
