‘My faith fills me up,’ was how she explained it to me, ‘and satisfies all the needs of my heart and body, soul and spirit.’
She had recourse to her religion to see her through this crisis. In need of consolation at the loss of a surrogate father, she asked her uncle, the cardinal, to have masses said and then spent time in the convent at Rheims with her Aunt Renée.
King Henri finally died on the tenth of July 1559, and almost immediately a coterie of favour-seekers clustered around Mary. She wanted to believe that they shared her sadness, but knew that the underlying reason was that she was the wife of the future king. The Guise family was in the ascendant, and these sycophants sought any connection they could make. As soon as Francis was crowned, Mary would be queen of one of the leading countries in the world; she was fabulously wealthy, and able to bestow gifts and take revenge on anyone who’d slighted her.
The Maries discussed the situation endlessly. ‘Our Mary will be Queen of France,’ they said, ‘and help rule the court and the country. As widow of the former king, Catherine de’ Medici is now a Queen Dowager these matters are no longer her concern.’
Duncan Alexander smiled when he heard this. ‘Plotting and power-wielding have too long been a part of the life of the Medici woman,’ he said. ‘She’ll not give it up now.’
Chapter 14
IN SEPTEMBER THE bells of the Cathedral of Rheims pealed out to announce a new king.
As it was scarce two months since the death of his father, Mary had advised her husband to wear a suit of burgundy velvet, while she’d adopted white for her royal mourning. Francis, who loved bright colours and ostentatious displays of wealth, often appeared ridiculous when bedecked with rings and earrings and clad in cloth of gold and heavy lace. Today, with Mary at his side, the young king looked regal. Catherine de’ Medici, officially now the Queen Dowager, was in deepest black and bore a new personal insignia of a broken lance. But it was the banners of the new King and Queen of France that caused most comment, for amidst the French and Scottish emblems was the English coat of arms.
Duncan’s face was grave. ‘I thought that with King Henri dead they’d have had the good sense to drop that pretension. Imagine the fury of Elizabeth of England when she reads the report her ambassador is sure to send her.’
‘Mary is strongly influenced by her Guise relatives,’ I said. ‘They try to convince Mary that the English throne is her birthright.’
‘At this very moment Mary’s mother is struggling to keep even the Scottish throne secure for her daughter. She has barely enough troops at her disposal to defend Edinburgh, and cannot contain the rebels as she would like. The preacher Knox whips up his Scottish congregations to civil disobedience while many of the Protestant lords seek money and armed men from England to help them overthrow her.’
I already knew some of this from my father’s letters. Duncan must have his own private sources of news. But if he was friendly with James Hepburn, the Earl of Bothwell, then he would be able to travel swiftly to and from Scotland: in addition to being a Border lord, Bothwell was Admiral of the Scottish navy, with a choice of ships under his command.
‘The Guises wish to rule the world,’ Duncan went on. ‘If left unchecked, they will bring ruin to this country and mine.’
But who was there to restrain them? At the moment neither Francis nor Mary were enjoying good health. Francis’s strength seemed to have dissipated further. He was now racked with coughs and his skin erupted in boils. Mary, who desperately desired to have a child, was suffering from bouts of swooning in an attempt to convince herself that she might be pregnant. Letters from her mother had prompted her to ask for an increase in the supply of arms and soldiers to Scotland.
She was distressed by the response. ‘They are refusing to do it, Jenny!’ Mary was trembling when she told me. ‘I am Queen of France and Francis is king, and they will not do as we have requested!’ She gave a harsh laugh. ‘The queen dowager said I could leave her to manage the affairs of state and suggested that I occupy myself by planning the festivities to celebrate Christmas. I went to my Guise uncles and told them that my mother, their sister, is surrounded by enemies, and they say there is nothing they can do. I explained that she needs more soldiers to arrest the preacher, Knox, and the rest of those involved in this uprising, but they will not order a fleet of ships to go to her aid!’
‘Francis’s sister has been welcomed in Spain by her new husband, King Philip,’ I said. ‘And while we are happy for her, it means that France has secured the friendship of a larger country and no longer needs Scotland as an ally against England.’
‘Then what will become of my mother and my realm?’ Mary cried.
I shook my head. ‘I do not know,’ I said.
My father had written to say that he’d had to sell some of his furniture to pay his soldiers’ wages. By Christmas everyone knew the seriousness of the situation in Scotland. The Protestant lords declared that, because of her French sympathies and Catholic religion, Mary’s mother was not fit to be regent. They deemed her views injurious to the well-being of Scotland; her place should be taken by the head of the Hamilton Stuarts, who, after Mary, was next in line to the Scottish throne.
It was now apparent that there was also a power struggle going on in France between the queen dowager and the Guises as to who was actually ruling. Catherine de’ Medici received foreign ambassadors, led government council meetings and formulated policy, but they held key positions within the state and had command of the army. To curb the mounting civil unrest, Catherine favoured appeasement and tolerance of Protestant views, whereas the Guises wished the reformers exterminated. But these reformers were not merely religious zealots. Among their number were high-ranking nobles who wanted political change, and they began to join forces with the intent of removing the Guises’ domination.
Worry about her mother overcame Mary and she took to her bed. With Francis also ill with winter fever, the court moved to Blois, where it was thought the air was better, for them both to recover. And it was at Blois in the spring of the new year that a messenger arrived to say that the Scots lords had signed an agreement with Queen Elizabeth: English soldiers would be sent to Scotland to fight the French army and drive them out.
‘My mother’s health is breaking down under the strain.’ Mary lay in her bed and wept. ‘She suffers from palpitations of the heart. English troops have entered Scotland and she is in extreme danger.’
‘As we are – if we remain here . . .’
I caught my breath. Duncan Alexander had appeared unannounced in the doorway of the queen’s bedchamber. ‘Sir!’ I protested.
‘Here are men’s clothes, plain and dark, for yourself and the queen,’ he told me brusquely. ‘Put them on and prepare to leave at once.’
‘Her majesty cannot be moved,’ I said.
‘There are rebels gathering in every village,’ he told me. ‘If we stay here, we will be trapped in a castle we cannot defend.’
‘How do you know this?’ I folded my arms. ‘I will do nothing until you explain yourself.’
Duncan grabbed my shoulders and shook me. ‘I’m going to the stables to arrange transport,’ he said tersely. ‘If you are not in boots, hose and tunic by the time I return then I will strip that gown from you and dress you myself.’ He strode out of the room.
I rang the calling bell, and the Maries hurried in to assist the queen. Fingers fumbling, I donned the clothes as Duncan had instructed, and was barely finished when he returned. We began to put together some of Mary’s things.
‘Take no luggage,’ he said. ‘Bring only what is essential.’
Marie Livingston dumped the cases containing Mary’s most precious jewels on the bed and bundled them in the top sheet. ‘I’m ready,’ she announced.
‘Good girl!’ said Duncan, and I was pricked by a thorn of jealousy that he’d praised her and not me.
Quickly I emptied our personal papers into a carrying bag and tied it to my waist.
‘
My husband, the king . . .’ Mary’s voice shook but she was calm. ‘I cannot leave without him.’
‘Arrangements have been made for King Francis and his mother. We are travelling separately.’
Carriages stood in the courtyard. Duncan helped me and the queen into one and got in himself. It was then that I noticed he was fully armed. We jolted out of the gate and onto the road for Paris, Mary and I clinging to each other as we were tossed from side to side. After about ten minutes Duncan stuck his head out of the window and shouted for the coachman to halt. He had the door open and the steps down before the wheels stopped turning.
‘Get out as fast as you can and run for the trees,’ he told us. Then he threw a bag of coins to the driver. ‘Carry on to Paris. Stop for no one.’
We crouched in the bushes by the side of the road as the coach thundered away. Duncan took two daggers from his belt and handed one to the queen and one to me, saying quietly, ‘Slide that down inside your boot. Hopefully you’ll not have need of it.’
Mary gave a tiny cry of fear.
‘Hush, I implore you,’ he whispered.
Keeping low, we followed him on a rough track through the woods until we came to the river. There was a barge moored to the bank, of the type used to transport goods. The bargeman sat gnawing on a piece of cheese. He must have heard us but didn’t turn his head as we clambered aboard and crouched down among the barrels and boxes. When we were settled Duncan cupped his hands over his mouth and imitated a bird call. The man threw the remainder of his bread into the water and cast off, poling his craft out into midstream so that the current would carry it forward. In this way Mary and I came safely to the huge castle at Amboise on the Loire.
And there we lived through a nightmare of utter horror.
Chapter 15
AT FIRST THE reports of an armed uprising appeared to be a false alarm.
After fleeing Blois, the court and adherents of the Guises reassembled, secure behind the ramparts of the heavily fortified castle at Amboise, and an effort was made to try to continue as normal. It seemed that the greatest inconvenience was to our new king, Francis. As no one could safely venture outside the castle, he was prevented from hunting. But by now I was well acquainted with one of Catherine de’ Medici’s ladies and knew that she was extremely worried. Infiltrators had reported back to her that the most prominent leader of the reformers, a man called La Renaudie, had met with representatives of a number of noble families at a place called Hugues. Among these were some who might make claim upon the throne, and they had agreed to supply the dissenters with men and arms. The movement was now an armed rebellion which could escalate into war.
On a personal level I was seriously angry with Duncan Alexander. He’d spoken to me rudely, giving me orders as though I were his servant. Moreover, despite his apparent loyalty to Mary, there was no real indication of where his sympathies lay. From previous discussions with him I knew that he was a religious sceptic, but I’d taken that to include all religions. Was he with these reformers or not? That he himself was a spy, and perhaps even ran a network of agents, was very likely. He’d had advance warning that an attempt was to be made to capture the king and had arranged our route to freedom through local contacts. But Mary wouldn’t entertain any criticism of him. When I asked her how she thought Sir Duncan Alexander was able to get us secretly to Amboise, she said, ‘Does it matter how he did it, Jenny? We are safe now.’
The episode energized Mary. The enforced activity of our flight and the success of the escape galvanized her into attempting to become more involved in state affairs. In this way she hoped to help her mother and her native country. She insisted on attending an ambassadors’ reception arranged by Catherine de’ Medici, who wanted to show the world that rebel factions would not be allowed to interfere with the running of the court.
‘At times I am overcome with stress about our situation here; but then I think of my mother in Scotland, who is holding out against the rebellion of her lords,’ Mary told me.
For once I took strength from her to calm my own anxieties. My father’s latest letter was a scribbled note to say that the French troops were besieged in the port of Leith, while Mary’s mother was a few miles away, trapped in Edinburgh Castle.
‘I know that God has set me upon this earth for a purpose,’ said Mary. ‘Thus I will endeavour to do His will. Now let us show that we are not intimidated by any threat to our person.’
She waved Duncan towards me. ‘Join me in the morelia. They perform this dance in England, and anything they can do, we must excel at even more.’
Duncan bowed and held out his hand to take mine. But I wasn’t reconciled with him. He’d not apologized for the way he’d spoken to me in Mary’s bedchamber at Blois, and I was still unsure of his motives. If I was to protect Mary, then I should remain watchful and aloof, so I hesitated to offer him my hand.
Duncan tilted his head. ‘Do not feel obliged to—’
I raised my voice and interrupted him: ‘How can you say such rude things?’
His face flushed; he was clearly offended by this public reprimand. ‘You would rather not dance with me?’ he said, dropping his hand.
Now I felt my own face colour. I was aware of a growing silence around us. Would he walk away and humiliate me in return?
‘I’d not impose upon your time, sir,’ I said, very formally.
Without speaking further he escorted me to my place, then crossed the floor and touched the arm of the Countess of Vierzon Bourges. She laughed up into his face, her dark curls bobbing as he led her onto the floor.
A spasm of jealousy convulsed me like a physical blow. Well, I wouldn’t watch. I made to go and then the Duke of Malpassant was at my side.
‘By your leave,’ he said, ‘I wondered if we might exchange a few words, Lady Ginette.’
‘I have a headache,’ I said miserably, ‘and beg to be excused.’
I went to my room, threw myself upon a couch and cried. I must have slept, for when I awoke it was almost dark. From the window I could see burning torches moving in the woods. The Duke of Guise had said that men were assembling there to mount an assault on the castle. I shivered and looked at the river. A heavily guarded barge was approaching the water gate. There were many soldiers on board and a group of riders with their horses. Couriers! Immediately I felt better. At last we might hear proper news from the outside world. We’d been cut off for days and I was due a letter from my father.
The ambassadors’ reception must have finished by now, I thought, so I decided to go to Mary’s apartments and let her know. I fixed my hair, washed my face and applied some powder to mask the blotches.
Missives from Scotland were always eagerly anticipated by Mary – not only for the treat of letters and gifts from her mother, but for the gossip provided by the messenger. The one who delivered these was a friend of Duncan Alexander and he greeted him as he arrived.
‘There is also a parcel, marked personal, for the Lady Ginette,’ he added.
Something in the man’s tone made me uneasy as I took the parcel from him. The only person who wrote to me from Scotland was my father, and of late he’d only had time to scrawl brief notes. To be private I carried the bulky package into a corner of the room. The writing on the outside was not my father’s. I broke the seal and a flurry of letters spilled out. As I knelt to gather them up, I saw the messenger speaking to Duncan Alexander and gesturing towards me.
The letters I held in my hand were my own – the ones I’d sent to my father over the years. And there was something else. A locket. My hands began to shake; I recognized the locket. It contained a likeness of my mother – she’d given it to my father on their wedding day. He never took it off.
Fear squeezed my heart. I unfolded a larger sheet of paper and began to read:
My Lady Ginette, it is with deepest sorrow that I write to inform you of the saddest of news. English cannon was brought to fire upon us here besieged in Leith and your father was tragically killed. Know tha
t he died a hero’s death, when—
‘No! Oh no!’ Crushing the letters and locket to my breast, I began to sob. ‘Father – beloved Father . . .’ This was not how it was meant to be. His commission was ended. ‘Come home!’ I cried out. ‘You are to come home. Home to the quietness of our lands at Hautepré. And I will visit you there and we will walk in the woods together and pluck flowers and . . . and . . . and . . .’
I sank down amidst the spread skirts of my dress and wailed. Someone was kneeling beside me on the floor. Arms encircled me as I rocked myself this way and that, keening in grief. Minutes of wildness . . . of anger with my father for remaining in Scotland; self-pity at being left alone in the world; and an aching, aching, loss inside me. And then, as I came back to the present, I became aware that the person bearing it all with me was Sir Duncan Alexander.
Mary Stuart had sent everyone else away. Only he remained. He didn’t try to cheer me with hollow words or encourage me to stand up and dry my eyes. He kept his arms around me as storms of weeping took hold, and waited a long time until at last they subsided. When I was ready, he helped me to my feet. Exhausted with spent emotion, I swayed, and he caught me and held me fast. And, yes, I clung to him. Forgetting all my suspicions and doubts, I was lost in the moment. Speaking gentle nonsense words, he patted me on the shoulder and smoothed my back with his hand. He was there. I needed him.
But then . . . something more. He stroked my head, brushed his mouth on my hair. I raised up my face, wet with tears. He kissed my forehead, then bent to kiss my tears away. His eyes darkening, and a wellspring of passion is there. I felt the thudding response in my own brain and body. I gasped.
Duncan sprang away. Hands by his side, fists clenched. ‘I beg your pardon,’ he spoke formally. ‘I apologize.’
‘I accept your apology,’ I said, my voice sounding strange to my own ears.
‘I meant only to assist you. To be kind. I’d no intent to take advantage—’
Spy for the Queen of Scots Page 11
