‘Of course,’ I said quickly. ‘I thank you for your kindness and accept what passed between us as only that.’
‘Yes,’ he said slowly. Was there disappointment in his eyes? ‘Only that.’
‘Are you recovered a little, Jenny?’ Mary was at the doorway. Had she seen us embrace? She looked distressed.
‘Majesty,’ I said, ‘I’m sorry if I caused you upset.’
‘Jenny, Jenny . . .’ She ran to me. ‘If it helps in any way then I gladly share the burden of your sorrow. Come and take some warm wine with me and we can talk of the happy times you spent with your father so that your memories remain pleasant to you.’
When Duncan Alexander had departed, Mary linked her arm in mine and said, ‘I hope you don’t mind that I went away with my attendants. I thought it best that in your worst moments I left you with Sir Duncan, your friend, to comfort you.’
I knew now that Duncan Alexander could easily become my lover – but was he a true friend?
Chapter 16
I WAS AWOKEN in the night by the clanging of bells. Amboise was under attack!
Gunfire sounded outside. Soldiers shouting, one louder than the rest, bawling orders. The roar of cannon – ours or theirs? If the rebels had heavy armament then this massive fortress might not be so impregnable. Another cannonade, and a cheer went up from the castle battery. Ours, then.
I wrapped myself in a coverlet and ran barefoot to the queen’s room. Mary was awake, with the Maries fussing around her. She insisted on going to the king. The corridors of his suite were heaving with courtiers and our guard had to push their way through. Francis went to Mary as she came into his rooms and they embraced. Catherine de’ Medici, who was already there, frowned at what she considered unseemly behaviour. I thought it touching – it revealed the deep affection between the king and queen.
‘The rebels mean to capture me.’ Francis gripped Mary fingers. His face had a ghastly pallor and he looked as though he might vomit.
‘They would have to come past me first, my love.’
‘You are so brave,’ he said. ‘Promise you’ll not leave me alone.’
‘Never,’ Mary promised him. ‘I will never leave you.’
Catherine de’ Medici snapped her fingers to summon more sentries for the royal apartments, then departed to confer with the Duke of Guise and the army commanders. Francis gazed piteously after his mother. She’d given him no word of reassurance or encouragement.
Mary pulled her dressing gown about her and, smiling, said, ‘Husband, this will be a long night, and you should allow me to regain the money you took from me in our last game of chance.’
In a surreal atmosphere, while men outside fought and died to save their lives, the King and Queen of France sat on the bed and played cards together.
So as not to be a target, we’d extinguished all lights except for the single candle next to the bed. I stood in the shadows by the window and wondered why Duncan Alexander had not appeared to assist us as he’d done in the past. Was he with the soldiers on the ramparts, or out there, moving silently through the darkness? A swathe of the forest was on fire, flames leaping high, sending sparks skywards. Then an explosion! A red and yellow blaze of light – and, from far away through the night air, the screams of injured men.
‘They must have hit a cache of gunpowder,’ I said.
Mary joined me at the window. I glanced towards the bed. Propped on his pillows, Francis had fallen asleep. ‘Poor lamb,’ Mary murmured. ‘He should have been born a second or third son. He is too frail to carry the role of kingship.’
‘And what of you?’ I asked. ‘How are you able to bear the burden of being queen?’
Mary took my hand in hers and kissed it. ‘With your help, Jenny.’
The wisdom of moving the court to the stronghold of Amboise was borne out: there were no casualties within the castle.
For most of March the situation was unresolved. But the Duke of Guise, rather than wait for future attacks, evolved a new strategy. Detachments of troops were sent out into the surrounding countryside to round up anyone lurking there. The tipping point in our favour came when the body of La Renaudie was brought in, shot dead by one of the Guise men. The rest of the rebels had no time or proper organization to mass their forces. And so the struggle was played out in skirmishes resulting in the capture of bands of men – genuine dissenters, but also mercenaries and a scattering of foreign troops. The castle dungeons began to fill with dozens, and then hundreds and hundreds of prisoners.
‘Kill them all.’
I was behind Mary’s chair during the council of war when the Duke of Guise stood up to make this declaration. Another noble, a suspected Protestant sympathizer, objected, saying, ‘Their leaders declare that they intended no harm to the king. They wish only to speak to him and place their grievances before him.’
‘Then why not apply for an audience with the king?’ the duke asked.
At this point Mary spoke: ‘Perhaps it would not have been granted to them.’
He raised his hand dismissively, as if he’d no need to explain the situation to her. Mary rose to her feet. Even in soldier’s dress the duke was smaller than her. She faced him, eyes hard with lingering resentment that he’d denied her request to send more troops to Scotland to help her mother. The duke dropped his hand to his side.
Catherine de’ Medici, watching this, did not interfere. She too was unhappy with the power that the Guises now held in France, but was in no position to take it from them.
‘Majesty,’ the duke addressed Mary more respectfully, ‘no monarch can allow armed insurrection. If a person approaches the king bearing arms, and refuses to lay them down when ordered, then that person is guilty of treason. The punishment for treason is death.’ He looked at the queen dowager for confirmation.
Catherine hesitated. The truth was far more complicated than that: everyone who approached the king was first thoroughly vetted by the Guises, so few who disagreed with them in faith or politics obtained a hearing. The rebels had wanted to steal Francis away, they said, in order to put their case to him; to make the King aware that the Guises were corrupt and had too much influence – the Duke of Guise in command of the greatest armed force in France; his brother, the Cardinal, in charge of the treasury. These two held secret meetings to decide foreign and domestic policy without referring to any other state council of France.
‘The punishment for treason is death,’ the duke repeated. He stared at Catherine de’ Medici. ‘Is that not so?’
Catherine looked around the table and then replied, ‘That is so.’
And thus we were locked into witness to a spectacle of such dreadful brutality that, despite differences in faith or politics, or petty jealousies, the women of the household came together to weep and pray.
In an orgy of barbaric killing, over a thousand men were executed. Commoners were tied together, sewn into sacks and thrown into the Loire. Lesser gentry and soldiers were cruelly tortured and strung up from the balconies and battlements overlooking the town, that their mutilated bodies might be seen and a message sent throughout France. The fifty noblemen who’d taken part were lined up to be decapitated on the same day.
The Duke of Guise upon his horse and Catherine de’ Medici on a chair sat stolidly through the executions. The king and queen were also required to witness the beheading of traitors, but it wasn’t long before Mary, swooning, had to be led away. The possibility that she might be pregnant couldn’t be discounted, and emotional stress could endanger the life of a royal child. Catherine de’ Medici refused to permit Francis or his younger brother, Charles, now ten years old, to leave the courtyard.
And through all of this, of Sir Duncan Alexander there was no sign.
When next I saw him it was summer and the court was at Fontainebleau, where the state councils were assembling to address the problems of religious dissent and an empty treasury.
Despite being a Catholic, Catherine de’ Medici saw benefit in negotiating with t
he Protestant Elizabeth of England so that both countries could enjoy a period of peace and prosperity. King Francis had neither the wit nor the will to involve himself in these matters. Mary’s attempts to conduce him to do so were continually foiled by him sneaking away to go hawking and hunting like a child truanting from lessons. With the king absent from important meetings, Mary was left ignorant as to what was happening.
On the afternoon of a state assembly which I knew Catherine de’ Medici was attending, I took the chance to renew my acquaintance with one of her ladies, Louise d’Albret. I had originally sought her out as a source of in formation, but I found that I liked Louise for herself. She was thoughtful, and cared about her country and her mistress. While Mary rested, I sent Louise a note inviting her to walk along the terraces with me, and deliberately led her in the direction of the rooms where the meeting was being held.
‘Tush!’ I said as we found our way barred by sentries. ‘These endless assemblies! Whatever do they find to talk about for so long?’
‘They have to deal with religious dissent,’ Louise said seriously. ‘Otherwise every country in Europe will be at war.’
‘But that’s unachievable! How can anyone do that?’ I prompted her.
‘I believe Queen Catherine has an innovative solution.’ She bent her head closer to mine and continued to chat as we wandered off in another direction.
And so it was through me that Mary first heard of the treaty that decided the fate of Scotland.
Days later, Catherine de’ Medici requested to see her. Forewarned as to the nature of the visit Mary chose royal purple for her dress, with sleeves of gold brocade that fell to the floor. She also requested high-heeled shoes from her wardrobe and, on her instruction, Marie Livingston strung her black pearls on a cordelle which Marie Seton wove through her hair. Around her neck we placed the sapphire necklace Catherine had given her on her wedding day to signify that Mary was now one of the French royal family. Mary also ensured that Francis, along with a full complement of both their attendants, was present.
As she entered the room I saw Catherine’s eyes mark the black pearls and then fasten on the sapphire necklace. Its significance was not lost on her – nor was Mary’s height, which forced her to look up at her daughter-in-law.
‘There is a need for the king and queen as monarchs of France and Scotland to sign this treaty,’ Catherine began, motioning to one of her attendants to hand over a document.
Mary regarded the parchment but made no move to take it. ‘What treaty would this be?’ she asked.
‘The Treaty of Edinburgh.’
Mary widened her eyes. ‘There is a treaty with the name of my capital city in Scotland and I have no knowledge of it?’
Catherine tutted in impatience. ‘You are aware that lengthy negotiations have been conducted. We must leave off draining our resources. Constant battles to contain civil unrest are expensive in money and men, and we cannot afford a foreign war. Our people need to concentrate on tending the land, growing crops and breeding livestock, else there will be insufficient food for us and they will be unable to pay their taxes.’
‘I have heard something of the terms of this Treaty of Edinburgh,’ Mary acknowledged. ‘It states that French troops will withdraw from Scottish soil, Elizabeth will be recognized as Queen of England, and also that she may take Scotland under her protection, thereby giving England an ability to interfere in Scottish affairs.’
‘France, England and Scotland have come to an agreement to unite against their enemies. We allow that Elizabeth is the true heir and has the right to sit on the English throne.’
‘Do we indeed?’ Mary said. ‘I am Queen of Scotland and I have not been consulted. My mother’s position as my regent in Scotland has been reduced to nothing, and I hear that some Scots lords have welcomed English troops to aid them in overthrowing her.’
Catherine de’ Medici pointed once more to the document. ‘These decisions are made with your best interests in mind.’
‘It further states that my heirs may not bear the royal insignia, arms, or title of England,’ added Mary, ‘even though if Elizabeth died without issue they would be next in line to the English crown.’
‘It was a condition imposed by Elizabeth of England.’
‘I will not ratify a treaty that reduces my country to a puppet state and denies my inheritance.’
‘The terms of the treaty have been agreed,’ Catherine stated.
‘Madam,’ Mary retorted, ‘I, not you, am Queen of Scots and of France, and entitled to make decisions and take action without recourse to others.’
Catherine de’ Medici went pale and then puce. Francis cringed away so that he was almost behind Mary’s skirts. But Mary Stuart had been crowned queen as a babe in arms and treated as such from her nursery days. She looked down at the smaller woman.
‘My husband and I will not ratify this treaty that denies any children we may have their true heritage. As I have admired your love for your children, good madam mother, I am surprised that you’d agree to such a thing that would disinherit any one of them and your future grandchildren.’
Had she merely insulted her person, then Catherine de’ Medici might have borne it better, but Mary Stuart had censured her on the one thing that was dearest to her – the promotion of her children – and called into question her statecraft.
‘It is a betrayal of everything my mother worked for in Scotland,’ Mary went on. ‘A betrayal of our history and heritage, our faith, our vow to our people and our country, and I will not sign it.’
Catherine de’ Medici stared at Mary. Then she switched her gaze to Francis. She smiled. ‘My son,’ she spoke softly, ‘you have the crown matrimonial of Scotland, given to you by your own wife. There are times when a king must make a decision.’
Mary’s look challenged her mother-in-law. Placing her hand deliberately in that of her husband, she declared, ‘We will not sign.’
Catherine de’ Medici’s eyes bulged. The courtier holding the treaty closed his. With obvious effort Catherine controlled herself. ‘So be it,’ she said curtly, and left the room.
‘There now’ – Mary stroked Francis’s cheek, speaking to him as a mother might a child – ‘it’s difficult for the queen dowager to realize that she no longer solely governs France, but see how she does begin to accept our authority as king and queen.’
Chapter 17
OF COURSE, CATHERINE de’ Medici didn’t accept that any authority other than her own should rule France.
Mary could be naïve, but even she recognized that. And she’d enough sense to study the terms of the treaty and was ready with an excuse when the English ambassador requested an audience to broach the subject.
Throckmorton pressed her, but Mary would not be moved on the issue of her inheritance and that of any child she might have. ‘I can accept my cousin as queen of her realm, as a respected sister and, hopefully, a friend,’ she told him. ‘But I need to discuss the issue of inheritance with the Scottish Privy Council before I sign the document.’
She parted with Throckmorton in good spirits. He, like many others, was a little in love with Mary Stuart. As he left, she turned to me and said, ‘I wonder what Duncan Alexander would think of this?’
‘Who knows,’ I said carelessly. ‘He’s never at court long enough for us to gain a true opinion.’
‘Sir Duncan has an estate to run in Scotland,’ said Mary, ‘and . . . other matters to attend to.’
‘He never tells us when he is leaving or where he has been when he returns. Who can be bothered with a man like that?’
Mary was studying my face. ‘I thought you were quite keen to be bothered by him,’ she said with a smile.
I shrugged. I was loath to admit how much I longed for Duncan’s company. I felt more secure when he was there, but also it would have comforted me to talk to him about my father. Mary had extended her sympathy to me at this time. ‘Someday, when we are able to travel, you and I will visit your father’s grave togeth
er, Jenny,’ she told me. ‘In the meantime I will have my aunt’s nuns say novenas for him.’
After Amboise I’d worried for weeks when Duncan had failed to appear. Had he sided with the rebels and been captured? I dreamed of his distorted face hanging from a gibbet and imagined him in the queue of nobles waiting to be executed. I both loved and hated him for causing me such distress. Then Mary said that in one of her recent letters her mother had mentioned he was in Edinburgh. A chill entered my heart when I heard that. He was safe and hadn’t let me know! He didn’t care for me – he was merely using me as a plaything to alleviate the boredom at court. I was seventeen now and should be looking for a husband. I’d soon be too old. Several noblemen had indicated their interest in me, especially after my father died and I inherited his estate. I resolved to consider a prospective bridegroom and not dwell any longer on a foolish, childish love.
There were other matters to distract my thoughts. We were again at Fontainebleau, where the Count of Cluny lived. Although I never saw him at any function, I was extremely watchful of what was happening at court here, and of the food and drink the queen might take. In this respect I was supported by the Maries and her other attendants, for since the rebellion at Amboise those nearest to her guarded her even more attentively. Our concern was vindicated when a member of the Guise household, Duke Fernand, collapsed and died after dinner one night. No cause for his sudden demise could be found. There was no indication of anything wrong with him . . . apart from a mottled rash upon his neck.
Catherine de’ Medici directed that his body be burned in case he’d died of Plague or some other infection that might be carried to the king. This was done swiftly; his cousin, the Duke of Guise, unable to protest as this summer the king’s health was more fragile than ever. Disposing of the remains in this way meant that no further medical examination could be conducted. If anyone remembered that it was the same Duke Fernand who’d delayed Catherine reaching King Henri on the fateful day of his death, then they were wise enough not to mention it. But I was acutely aware that we were within striking distance of the poisons of the Count of Cluny.
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