Spy for the Queen of Scots

by Theresa Breslin

  I also saw that Knox was impervious to Mary’s personal appeals to him. His face was unflinching, his stance unchanging since he entered the room. He seemed to absorb Mary’s nervous energy into himself and clearly relished the chance to air his views, becoming swayed by the passion of his own rhetoric.

  Mary lapsed into doleful silence. Seeing her despondency, Lord James approached and spoke quietly to her.

  Eventually she said, ‘In essence, what you are saying is that rather than my subjects doing as I say, it is for me to do as they order me.’

  ‘Both princes and people must obey God’s rules.’

  ‘Aye, sir,’ Mary retorted. ‘Your God in your kirk is what you mean. But I believe the kirk of Rome is the true kirk of God, as my conscience tells me.’

  ‘Your conscience is that of an unschooled woman.’

  ‘A woman I am,’ said Mary. ‘Unschooled I am not.’

  ‘Unschooled in the manner of right judgement.’

  ‘Who shall be judge?’ Mary addressed her question to everyone present.

  Lord James looked at John Knox as the dinner bell began to sound within the palace.

  ‘I will pray for you,’ Knox said as he took his leave.

  He bowed his head but I, who ushered him out, was discouraged to hear him say to the friend awaiting him in the corridor: ‘The woman has a proud mind, a crafty wit, and an indurate heart set against God and His truth.’

  Duncan Alexander was one of those in the antechamber when I returned. He was watching my face and it looked for a moment as though he would speak to me. I would have liked to talk over John Knox’s comments with him, but Sir Gavin came up to me and said, most kindly, ‘I see that Mr Knox’s lecturing has cast you down. Perhaps we can meet later and I will try to cheer your spirits?’

  ‘Perhaps,’ I replied absently.

  Abruptly pulling on his gloves, Duncan left the room.

  When Mary went with Lord James to report to the privy council on what had passed between her and John Knox, it was clear that the lords themselves thought that the preacher had gone too far. Even those lords most opposed to Mary’s rule, Morton and Ruthven, two distinctly unpleasant men, could not countenance changes that threatened their personal authority.

  There were murmurs of dissent and annoyance, with the Earl of Argyll saying, ‘John Knox takes too much upon himself that he interferes in the social order. That should be no concern of his.’

  I was by the door, where I usually stood during these conventions yet was able to hear and see very well. I was amused by the earl’s remarks, for it was widely known that John Knox had lectured him and his wife, the Countess Jean, about their public marital arguments and separation.

  ‘It may be that John Knox feels that the people should be heard,’ William Maitland said carefully.

  Mary stated equally carefully: ‘I am a ruler placed in this position on earth by the Lord God Almighty. Let us have absolute clarity here. If, as John Knox says, his God is the true, all-powerful one, then it is his God who intended this to happen. Thus I, as anointed Queen of Scotland, brought up since childhood to be aware of my duties and taking advice from yourselves, the best of men’ – she included them all in her gaze –‘make rules to govern the realm. Yet if the ordinary people, untutored and with little learning, unable to read or write, deem these decisions to be unwise and decide to act contrary to my wishes, then am I to regard them as not just my equal but my superior?’

  Lord James looked to William Maitland, who raised his hands, palms up, and shook his head as if he had nothing to add.

  Mary was trembling with suppressed rage and exhaustion. ‘This man Knox preaches insurrection. Have a care, gentlemen, for if the day comes when the people sweep away my power, they will also do the same to yours.’

  William Maitland was vexed by the outcome of the meeting between Mary and John Knox. He’d hoped that she might see reason in the Reformed faith and be guided towards Protestantism.

  ‘My faith is imbued in me and I in it.’ Mary spoke gently to him, for she had come to respect his advice and admire his diplomacy. ‘If I do not hold true to my faith, who would believe me true to any other thing?’

  ‘John Knox has unyielding dogmatic opinions, and his belief that his interpretation of the word of God is the only one leaves little room for manoeuvre,’ William Maitland conceded.

  ‘Yet the man is inconsistent in his obduracy,’ Mary replied. ‘He rants so much against women and called Mary Tudor a Jezebel, but when her sister Elizabeth ascended the English throne he took pains to write her a most obsequious letter to ingratiate himself with her.’

  William Maitland lapsed into silence when he discovered that Mary knew of this. He was yet to learn that Throckmorton, the English ambassador to France, had a sympathy and secret admiration for Mary and had on occasion been indiscreet.

  The meeting with Knox troubled Mary for months. His personality was a topic of discussion among her ladies as we sat one evening eating in the small supper room attached to her bedroom. I’d not mentioned the comment Knox had made to his friend as he left Mary. She was dejected enough by her lack of success with him.

  ‘I did not think he would throw over his beliefs and embrace our faith,’ said Mary, ‘but I did think we might come to an accommodation within our disagreements. I can appreciate the writings of the Reformers.’ She smiled at me. It was a secret between us that I had shown her Protestant pamphlets. ‘But although they are insufficient for me,’ she went on, ‘I respect that this is not the case for others. I’d hoped John Knox might respond in kind.’

  ‘It is nigh impossible for any woman to gain the respect of John Knox,’ said Jean, Countess of Argyll. Since becoming estranged from her husband, the earl, she lived at court. She was one of King James’s illegitimate children, and Mary kindly welcomed her older half-sister into our company. ‘He urges me to avoid wrong-doing, which he declares to be the natural trait of females.’

  ‘It is hard to believe that John Knox married and lived content with his wife until she died,’ Mary commented.

  ‘Many men do consider women their inferior,’ I said. With sudden insight I saw that this was not the case with Duncan Alexander. When we’d debated serious issues of religion or science, he’d always listened to my views and responded with sound arguments.

  ‘Yes,’ Mary agreed. ‘But often with men it is so they may have the opportunity to act as our protectors in order to present themselves as dashing and strong. John Knox not only believes us to be inferior, he holds to the opinion that women are in some way evil.’

  ‘The sin of Eve to tempt Adam besmirches all of us for ever after,’ said Marie Seton.

  ‘No one mentions that Adam should have been stronger willed,’ I said crisply. ‘If it’s true that Man is supposed to be the head of women, more intelligent and stable, and put on earth to guide and govern them in all things, then surely the greater sin was that of Adam’s, in that he did nothing to help a poor weak creature.’

  ‘Some women do like to be dominated,’ said Marie Beaton. ‘I confess I like mastery in a man.’

  Marie Livingston put in, ‘I’ve heard that many women go to hear Preacher Knox speak and seek his advice, not only on Biblical interpretation but on personal matters.’

  ‘Isn’t that curious?’ Mary mused. ‘That he berates them and they accept this?’

  ‘Is it because he gives them a place for their opinion, whereas before there were few opportunities for women to be heard and not much to talk about apart from domestic matters?’ I asked. ‘Surely it’s a good thing that, as women, we can now enquire and debate upon religious matters.’

  ‘Except,’ Mary laughed, ‘Preacher Knox permits no debate. It is his opinion and his alone that supersedes all others.’

  ‘I fear that by his own hand he will be undone,’ I said.

  ‘How so?’

  ‘One of the new Acts of parliament is to allow each child in Scotland to be educated – albeit only if they attend his
kirk. When women learn to read and write they will think for themselves, and then, truly, there will rise up a “monstrous regiment” who will not be so obedient to him, or indeed to anyone.’

  We laughed as we ate, but Mary now knew that this man would not go away or modify his manners. Knox had tasted the power of his own words and seen their effect, and nothing would silence him. With him using the pulpit as a platform for his opinions, Mary’s rule in Scotland would always be turbulent.

  But soon there were more pressing matters to worry about. Within a year, the north of Scotland, under the Earl of Huntly, had risen up in rebellion.

  Chapter 27

  ALTHOUGH SCOTLAND LAGGED behind France in material wealth and opulence, I found the intrigue taking place equal to that of the French court. And the blood ties of the nobles with their links to royal lineage were, if anything, more convoluted.

  Gavin had given up trying to explain the intricacies of the Scottish clan system to me: ‘Suffice it to say that clan chiefs, lords and lairds have their own personal armies and rule their estates like kingdoms. Clan members owe loyalty to their chief first, before any monarch. To complicate matters, Mary’s father, King James, had about a dozen children from all sorts of liaisons. Each of their mothers made sure her child was given land and a title and an important position in the state or the Church. Reaching adulthood, these children have ever greater ambitions. We have the Hamilton Stuarts warring with the Lennox Stuarts as to who has the closest royal bloodline. Lord James Stuart, as eldest natural son of our former king, is in fact the nearest, but being illegitimate he is barred from the succession. But as he is allied to the omnipotent Douglas family, with Morton at its head, he might claim supremacy over all.’

  ‘That happens with every monarch,’ I said. ‘It was the same with the kings of France.’

  ‘Yes, but the advantage France has over Scotland,’ Gavin quipped, ‘is that it is so much larger. A French king can dispatch an illegitimate son to an inaccessible spot in the Pyrenees, award him a pension, and never expect to see him at court again. Scotland is o’er small to do that. Some of King James’s offspring have ended up in Falkirk, scarce a half-day’s gallop away.’

  Falkirk may have been only a short ride away, but there were more remote, mountainous places in the kingdom. Mary was determined to tour as much of her country as she could, but journeys were difficult. There were wolves prowling the woods, and bad weather made roads impassable. Moreover, Protestants became bolder in their attacks on Catholic places of worship. A visit from the queen, who insisted on having her private mass, would often cause an outbreak of vandalism in a town, with statues smashed and abbeys and convents raided.

  ‘They are as barbaric as the English army once was when they pillaged our country,’ the queen’s chaplain complained. ‘Beautiful works of art are being wantonly destroyed.’

  ‘We might hope for a better welcome in the north,’ Mary said, for she was determined to see the Highlands.

  During the summer of the following year a royal progress took place in the area of Aberdeen, near the home of the Catholic Earl of Huntly. Huntly, alarmed at the rise of Protestantism and the benefices from former Church lands being granted to ministers of the Reformed Church and Protestant Scots lords, decided to grasp an opportunity while the queen was visiting the north. The Earl of Morton and Lord James, who were travelling as our escorts, brought news that, alarmed by what he saw as Mary’s laxness in dealing with Protestants, Huntly had armed his men. He was setting out to capture the queen and compel her to marry one of his sons, who had declared undying love for her. Mary’s reaction was swift. Acting on the advice of Morton and Lord James, she sent for reinforcements.

  Among those who answered her call was Lord Lindsay.

  I was taken aback when Sir Gavin told me this.

  ‘You’ve already met Lord Lindsay?’ he asked me.

  ‘Yes,’ I replied, ‘and have no wish to again.’

  ‘He can be a bit of a boor,’ Gavin said, ‘but he has a stout heart nonetheless.’

  ‘A bit of a boor!’ I exclaimed. ‘When we tried to attend mass on that first Sunday, Lord Lindsay barred the way of the queen and physically threatened me.’

  ‘Oh! I didn’t realize. He is no personal friend of mine,’ Gavin said quickly. ‘I hardly know the man. I was only repeating what I’d heard others say of him.’

  ‘Best not to do that in future then,’ I replied in chilly tones.

  It was a unique unpleasantness between us. Afterwards I felt guilty, especially as Gavin had taken time to ride beside me on our journey north to point out interesting features of the countryside as we passed through his family estates. Contrite at having upset me, over the next days he plied me with little gifts to restore us to our former friendship. As Duncan Alexander seemed to have withdrawn from me, I welcomed his company.

  Lord Lindsay arrived with his men and joined forces with the rest. We watched them assemble at Corrichie and then dressed Mary, as she’d commanded us, in the colours of Scotland. Wearing an iridescent blue velvet riding habit with white leather gloves and boots and a long white veil trailing from her silver headdress, she could never be mistaken for anyone but a queen. As she rode beyond their forward positions to face them, I followed with her page, Anthony Standen, who carried her personal banner. A loud hurrah! went up from the soldiers. Lord James and the other commanders came to meet her. They did not look best pleased at the presence of their queen. Lords Morton and Ruthven glowered at her; Lindsay gave me an evil grin.

  Morton barely saluted before saying to Mary, ‘Madam, retire to the rear and let us do our work.’

  Before she could reply, Lord James said, ‘More fitting that you remain in safety, dear sister.’

  But the soldiers could see her and were stirring in expectation. ‘The queen!’ they shouted to each other. ‘The queen! Today we fight before the queen!’

  ‘I hear the battle cries,’ said Mary. ‘Were I a male heir you would not doubt that I could lead my army. I will prove to you that I have as much courage as any king.’

  She snatched the standard from Anthony Standen and, holding it aloft, left us to canter up and down in front of the massed ranks of cannon, horse and infantry.

  The roars of her delighted troops echoed off the mountains: ‘For Mary! For Mary! For Mary, Queen of Scots!’

  It was a heart-stopping moment. And then Mary turned and began to gallop furiously back towards us.

  ‘Oh no!’ I gasped as I realized that she’d no intention of halting.

  ‘Great God!’ Lord James swore. ‘She means to lead the charge!’

  A rider detached himself from the sidelines and raced to intercept her. His bonnet flew off and I saw that it was Duncan. But he was already too late. Mary would be past us before he caught up with her. Across the space I heard him shout my name:

  ‘Jenny!’

  Snapping out of my daze, I spurred my own horse to intercept Mary’s. Her mount spied me approaching and veered to the side, towards Duncan, who reached over and grabbed the reins. In seconds I was beside them and we ushered Mary away. When we reached our base she was afire with pleasure, for the men’s shouts of praise still sounded in our ears.

  The queen’s army soundly defeated Huntly’s men, with the result that the earl died of a seizure. His son was caught and executed. The Moray lands that bordered on Huntly were given to Lord James Stuart; with Huntly quelled he was now officially known as the Earl of Moray.

  In the circumstances this seemed to me to be correct and fitting, but Duncan Alexander’s analysis of the situation was different. He’d been appointed Mary’s battle messenger and I was with her when he returned, unsmiling, with the news of Huntly’s death.

  Noticing his expression, Mary chided him: ‘Won’t you rejoice with me, Sir Duncan, that Huntly’s power is broken?’

  ‘I am glad that the queen’s peace is no longer threatened,’ Duncan replied, ‘although whether your majesty’s life was in danger is a matter of co
njecture.’

  ‘Sir, may I remind you that the Earl of Huntly rose in rebellion against me! Are you declaring yourself in sympathy with his cause?’ It was the first time I’d heard Mary rebuke him.

  ‘I do have some sympathy with the earl, less so for his infatuated son.’

  Mary rose to her feet, a red flush of annoyance spreading over her face. My heart began to beat wildly in fear for Duncan. ‘Explain yourself, sir!’ she commanded.

  I willed Duncan to be silent, or to mollify her in some way, for although Mary had seen the sense in leaving the battlefield, she was still irked that he had curtailed her glorious moment. A lesser man might have done so, but this man, whom I thought I still loved, did not.

  Duncan gazed at Mary and then spoke slowly. ‘You decided to award your half-brother Lord James Stuart the Earldom of Moray before ever we set out for the north. I was told that you promised him these lands on the occasion of his wedding in February.’

  I looked in surprise at Mary, who glanced away. It was a measure of how much Lord James had inveigled himself into her life that she’d keep this secret from her closest confidantes. I was gratified by Duncan’s expression as he realized that I too had been kept in ignorance. And I saw why he was concerned by such manipulative power play. Moray bordered Huntly’s estates, and in the past the Earl of Huntly had drawn tithe and arms rights from there and surrounding districts.

  ‘By granting these to your half-brother, and other similar benefits to Morton and the rest, they grow in prestige, while Huntly’s fiefdom is diminished and indeed now broken altogether,’ Duncan continued.

  ‘They are my lands, and I may do as I wish with them,’ Mary stated, but her voice was less confident.

  ‘Indeed, majesty,’ he bowed his head, ‘you may.’

  ‘Fie, Sir Duncan,’ Mary said, striving to lighten the exchange, ‘I sense that there is more you wish to say on this matter.’

  Duncan looked up. ‘Only if you wish to hear it, majesty.’