Mary moaned as she read his letter. ‘My brother is deserting me when I need strong men around me.’
I was deeply disturbed by this. Was he going to London to rally support against Mary? On previous occasions he’d accepted help from England for his own ends. Bothwell reassured the queen that she would fare better without her half-brother.
Surrounded by enemies, Mary refused to charge anyone with her husband’s murder. It was left to Darnley’s father, the Earl of Lennox, to demand justice, and he named the Earl of Bothwell as the man he wanted brought to trial.
‘You cannot appear at a public trial, James,’ Mary said to Bothwell when we heard he’d been summoned to the Tolbooth in Edinburgh at the beginning of April.
‘Indeed I will,’ was his reply. ‘But I’ll take some of my Borderers with me, and we’ll see who dares appear to accuse me.’
With several thousand men billeted in Edinburgh and no one prepared to press charges of any sort, the Earl of Bothwell was acquitted by the court.
Four days later he carried the sceptre in the royal procession as the queen opened parliament.
After that Bothwell was in constant attendance on Mary.
I watched, helpless, as he wove around her a sticky web of charm and cajolement. Foreign dignitaries and councillors could not have an audience alone with her without incurring his resentment. He came to visit her when we went to stay at Lord Seton’s family home, one of the few places where Mary felt safe among friends. Bothwell insisted on numerous private meetings with her.
‘He proposes to her continually,’ I confided to Jean and Marie Seton.
‘What, exactly, does my Lord of Bothwell propose?’ Jean asked sarcastically.
I blinked. ‘Why, marriage,’ I replied.
‘With James Hepburn, one cannot always be sure,’ she replied. ‘He already has a wife.’
‘He claims his wife has agreed to divorce him.’
‘I hope the queen has refused him.’
‘Yes, and she receives letters from France advising her not to marry him, but . . .’
‘But what?’ Jean asked in alarm.
‘She feels they do not understand the situation here.’
‘Who does? I, who have lived here my entire life, can scarce follow the tortuous path of Scots politics.’
‘Her French relatives still hope to gain in some way if Mary makes a marriage of state. But she has been let down by them before. I suppose that is the great attraction of Bothwell. He has never disappointed her.’
‘I have heard that said about him before in connection with women,’ Jean quipped.
‘Gracious!’ Marie Seton shook her head at her.
‘Sir Duncan Alexander is in Edinburgh,’ I said, ‘and has sent me note to say that Bothwell has coerced some of the lords and bishops, including Morton, Argyll, Huntly and Maitland, into agreeing that it might be a good idea.’
‘Some of those are people whose opinion carry great weight with the queen,’ Marie Seton said in a worried tone. ‘William Maitland, for instance.’
William Maitland, one of Mary’s first advisers in Scotland, was now married to Marie Fleming, and the queen rated his wisdom highly. Therefore it was significant that he was among the group of courtiers who, shortly after this, went with Mary to Stirling to visit her son, now ten months old. We dallied there for a few days, playing with the prince, who was an alert and happy child. On our return, on the outskirts of Edinburgh, we were stopped on the road by the Earl of Bothwell and his men.
‘There is unrest in the streets,’ he told us, ‘and my spies have uncovered a plot to assassinate the queen. The rest of you ride on to Holyrood as normal. I will take the queen with some of her attendants to my castle at Dunbar for safety.’
I urged my horse on to draw abreast of Mary’s. ‘I am unhappy with this,’ I said. ‘Perhaps we should go on to Edinburgh, for Sir Duncan Alexander is there.’
Mary glanced around helplessly. ‘I do not know what to do for the best . . .’
The nobles with her looked ill at ease. Her personal guard began to close about her. Bothwell’s men put their hands to their swords.
Mary raised her hand to forestall any violence. ‘I will go to Dunbar. If I cannot trust the Earl of Bothwell, whom can I trust?’
‘Bothwell had an army with him,’ I told Duncan later. ‘We protested, but we could not stop him from doing what he wanted.’
And neither could I stop him from doing what he wanted when he took Mary to his own apartments in Dunbar Castle for the night and barred anyone else from entering.
On May the sixth Mary and I travelled separately to Edinburgh, where Mary made an announcement that she was convinced of Bothwell’s devotion to herself and to Scotland and would acquiesce with those nobles who thought she should marry him. They were free to wed, as Bothwell’s wife had just been granted a divorce.
When we were alone together the night before her wedding, I didn’t need to ask Mary the question why. In deep distress, she told me, ‘My courses were due. They are late.’
‘You may be carrying his child?’
She nodded.
‘There are many reasons for a woman’s monthlies to be late,’ I pointed out. ‘Ill health, tension, a cold.’
Mary shook her head.
‘But it can happen. Mine have been delayed on occasion, and I knew I couldn’t be pregnant for I have never . . .’ My voice faded away.
‘I’ve had to loosen my clothes.’
‘Bloating is quite a common ailment in women,’ I babbled on. ‘An upset or irregularity of the bowels can cause a swollen stomach.’
‘Already I feel life inside me.’
I stopped talking. I’d heard women say this. Especially with a second baby when they have become more familiar with their body and can practically pinpoint the very moment of conception.
‘They were due about ten days after he abducted me,’ said Mary. ‘I know that they will not come. What am I to do? There is no way to conceal it. A woman pregnant with no named father is an outcast. If I appeared in public, I might be stoned in the streets. The best I could look for is to be banished to France. I know he has an affection for me, but his heart and his ambition is bound to Scotland, so he . . . he might not come with me’ – she smiled sadly – ‘even if I were prepared to follow him to the ends of the earth in a white petticoat. I would lose my son, my kingdom, my country, and my friends. It would kill me, and the child within me. I have to marry him.’
‘There must be some redress in law,’ I protested. ‘If he forced his will upon you . . .?’
‘I cannot speak of it,’ she said. ‘I will not speak of it.’
And she never did. Not then, nor later.
And the world was left to wonder about the days Mary had spent in Dunbar Castle with James Hepburn, the Earl of Bothwell. And I wondered too why the lords who’d been forced to accompany us to Dunbar had not raised any objection when we were compelled to go there. And why Mary herself had not argued with her abductor.
No matter the whys and wherefores, I was witnessing Duncan Alexander’s premonition of doom unfolding before me and was powerless to halt it. I found myself wishing that the pregnancy would fail or Bothwell might be killed in battle. What was I thinking? Wishing death upon another human being? Had I become like those people who eliminated anyone who stood in their way or proved inconvenient to their plans?
At Holyrood Duncan asked me, ‘What’s amiss?’
‘Nothing,’ I said dully. ‘Nothing at all.’
He looked hurt that I would not share whatever was troubling me. But I knew that Mary’s life depended upon silence.
I was sick in my spirit and he must have noticed and took pity on me, for, in a moderate tone he asked, ‘Has the queen indeed gone quite mad, as rumour claims she has?’
‘No,’ I said, ‘but I would not blame her if she had, so ill used and abused has she been.’
Duncan’s eyes focused upon my face. ‘I understand,’ he said slowly. �
�At least, I think I understand.’
There was a silence.
‘By Bothwell?’
I nodded.
‘The brigand! When he can have his choice of many women – and,’ he added viciously, ‘often does.’
‘Even though he is seizing his chance for advancement, I do think perhaps he might love the queen.’
‘Perhaps. Yes, perhaps you are right,’ Duncan conceded. ‘She is a striking woman, and very witty and compassionate.’
My heart jolted. And I wondered that I could feel jealousy when I was considering casting this man off for another.
‘Mary has always been attracted by Bothwell’s strength and held to him as her most unwavering supporter, and he has proved that at some cost to himself,’ I said. ‘Therein may love grow, and they may fare well together.’
‘If they were a lord and lady with estates to govern, maybe,’ said Duncan. ‘But Mary is queen. The Lennox Stuarts and the Douglas family have become her implacable enemies. They see Bothwell, and include Mary, as the prime cause of the death of their idolized son, whom they thought would, one day, be sole ruler of Scotland. Already they prepare to swarm around them like hounds at a stag. The lords who bonded with Bothwell to kill Darnley now have him and Mary as useful scapegoats. They did not risk so much to get rid of Darnley only to see him replaced by another tyrant who will take their authority from them. All these factions will unite to tear them down.’
‘I won’t abandon her,’ I said.
‘Nor should you.’ He smiled at me and said, ‘I will try to guard you both.’
Then he did an unexpected thing. He leaned forward and kissed me on the forehead.
Without quite knowing what I was doing, I reacted by wrapping my arms around his waist and holding onto him. I needed Duncan’s strength and resoluteness. For a moment I believed absolutely that he would keep me safe, and I understood why Mary Stuart clung to Bothwell despite sound reason showing it to be an error.
Duncan stood completely still. I detached myself and stood back. Although close to tears, I was strangely unembarrassed by my actions. ‘I am happy that we are friends again,’ I said.
‘Friends,’ he repeated. ‘Yes indeed, Jenny. I have always wanted to be a friend to you.’
Chapter 41
MARY STUART, QUEEN of Scots, and James Hepburn, Earl of Bothwell, were married on the fifteenth of May 1567.
The service was conducted according to the Protestant rite, and within a day Mary was bitterly regretting her perceived betrayal of her own faith.
‘I have ransomed my soul and my salvation!’ she cried, and her body was racked with sobs. ‘I have lost what was most dear to me. I should have died at Jedburgh when I was still worthy of redemption.’
I could find no words to help her. Mary’s physical and mental energy was expended. Each day Marie Seton and I had to coax her to eat and dress. She didn’t read her correspondence and wouldn’t see ambassadors or attend council meetings. When Bothwell presented himself to do the latter a furious row broke out between him and William Maitland, which ended with Maitland resigning his post.
I took a different tone with Mary when I learned of this and bullied her into being more active. ‘Whatever God rules in Heaven,’ I told her, ‘would not wish to see you like this. Think of your mother, who fought to keep your country for you. Your presence is required in matters of state.’
Mary rallied a little, but now Bothwell had tasted power and held sway over her, and all business was conducted with him there.
As Duncan had predicted, the disparate factions joined forces, and at the beginning of June, Morton, Lindsay and the others announced they intended to take Mary away from her husband, declare their marriage invalid, and reinstate her to rule alone until her son came of age.
Mary became hysterical when she heard the names of those against her: ‘Some of these men put their names to the document agreeing to my marriage with James Hepburn! How can they now side with rebel lords who oppose it?’
‘We can defeat this confederation of rebellious nobles,’ Bothwell bragged confidently during a hastily convened council of war. He pointed to one of the Border lords, the Earl of Borthwick, who had come with an offer of support in the face of the rebel proclamation. ‘As I am loyal to queen and crown, so are my friends loyal to me.’
‘Apart from one who is most crucial.’ Duncan Alexander had arrived late and unkempt to the meeting.
Bothwell glared at him. ‘Who might that be?’
‘He who governs Edinburgh Castle.’
‘James Balfour is there by my favour and will not desert me.’
‘Morton has offered to overlook any link Balfour might have to the death of Lord Darnley. As our cunning earl holds the receipt Balfour signed for the purchase of the gunpowder, your erstwhile friend has decided to throw in his lot in with the rebels.’
‘I’ll rip that base traitor’s head from his shoulders!’ Bothwell jumped up from the table to rush from the room.
Mary shrieked for Duncan to bar his path.
‘James Balfour stocked and armed the garrison before revealing his change of heart,’ Duncan said, forcing Bothwell back to his chair. ‘He’ll barricade himself in and withstand any siege we might mount.’
Bothwell sat down, grinding his teeth in fury and promising a thousand painful deaths for Balfour should he ever catch him.
‘The queen cannot remain here,’ Duncan spoke again. ‘If it comes to war we cannot defend Holyrood Palace.’
‘Your majesty is welcome at my castle,’ offered Lord Borthwick.
We packed hurriedly and left that night. Duncan saw us onto the road and then went to alert Lords Seton and Fleming and inform the Hamilton Stuarts that a battle was most likely.
With a detachment of troops, the Earl of Morton followed us to Borthwick and camped before the castle. We stood on the battlements as his representatives approached as if to parley, but instead they hurled such abuse and taunts that Bothwell had to be restrained from running downstairs to throw himself upon them. He fumed at his forced inaction but declared that he’d send a messenger to Huntly to bring reinforcements from the north. The next day the unfortunate messenger was paraded before us, bleeding about the head and face where his nose and ears had been hacked off. Mary swooned against me at the grotesque spectacle and I began again to think of Amboise.
‘Give up the Earl of Bothwell!’ Morton shouted up at her. ‘Allow us to rescue you from his evil influence.’
Mary steadied herself and made to refuse him when a thought came to me: ‘Say that you want to deliberate on his offer,’ I told her.
‘Never.’ She was resolute. ‘I’m no craven betrayer of those who protect me.’
‘Pretend to agree. It will give us time.’
Even hot-headed Bothwell could see the sense in this. ‘If they think you are considering their proposal, they’ll be off-guard tonight,’ he said to Mary.
‘Then we can send another messenger,’ she agreed.
‘No,’ said Bothwell. ‘I must be the one who goes. Only I can raise the Border families, and it will easier for me to contact Huntly and the rest. And you, my love,’ he stroked her hair, ‘will be safer here with me gone.’
Despite her protests, Bothwell insisted on carrying out his plan. That evening they took their leave of each other while I stood at the window of the great hall, looking down at the cooking fires of the rebel camp. I was joined by Lord Borthwick, who’d found a man who knew a secret way through the valley forest. We turned at the sound of footsteps. Bothwell was emerging from the turret staircase that led to Mary’s room. I wished him good fortune for although I disliked him I would not have wanted Morton to get his hands on him. Then I went to Mary and we huddled together under a blanket in the window embrasure of her room.
‘Do you love him?’ I asked.
‘He is going out to risk his life for me. How can I not love him?’
We held onto each other until dawn, when we heard the blast of a hu
nting horn from the distant hills. Then we knew that he’d won free, whereupon we both gave way to a fit of weeping.
When Morton and the others realized that Bothwell had eluded them, their anger intensified and they let us know that they intended to bring up heavy ordnance. Borthwick Castle was a high, twin-towered building with solid walls more than six feet thick, but nothing can withstand unrelenting cannon fire. Lord Borthwick was too much of a gentleman to voice his concerns to the queen, yet we sensed that he was worried.
‘I wish Sir Duncan Alexander were here to release us from this trap we are in,’ I said to Mary.
Bothwell sent word to say that if Mary could try to leave the castle while our enemy was busy bringing up their cannon then someone would be there to lead us to safety.
‘Being a woman, I have always been made to feel inferior, but I will show that I am as brave as any man,’ Mary declared. ‘Give me a sword and I will fight my way through!’
‘My mind is more on how we went from Blois to Amboise,’ I replied. I showed her the knife Duncan had given me that night, which I always kept about me. ‘We might try our luck as lads again to make our escape.’
Duncan was in my thoughts as we dressed ourselves in tunic, hose and boots and pinned our tightly rolled hair under caps. I remembered how angrily he’d spoken to me, and I saw now that it might have been anxiety that had caused him to behave thus. I was shaking with nerves as Mary and I went over to one of the smaller windows of the great hall. Lord Borthwick had ordered the windows on the other side to be opened wide and his musicians to play merry tunes as loudly as possible.
‘The sound of sound of singing and dancing should distract them from what is taking place elsewhere,’ Mary whispered to me.
I looked at her. Her spirits were rising, as if the call to action had stirred her courage. The stable groom had made a rope harness for us to sit in, and amidst the racket of bagpipes, viola and trumpet we were lowered from the window. Our guide took us to the postern gate and we flitted like shadows across the sward below. We passed so close to the enemy camp that we could hear them speaking. Their talk was of how easily the castle would fall once the cannon arrived and the walls were brought down.
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