Tudors Versus Stewarts

by Linda Porter

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  ON THE NIGHT of 9–10 February 1567, at about two in the morning, a huge explosion awoke the citizens of Edinburgh. Mary wrote to Archbishop Beaton the next day:

  The house wherein the King was lodged was, in one instant, blown into the air, he lying sleeping in his bed, with such a vehemency that of the whole lodging, walls and other, there is nothing remaining, no, not a stone above another, but all either carried far away or dashed in dross to the very stone. It must be done by the force of powder and appears to have been a mine. By whom it has been done, or in what manner, it appears not yet.

  The Council, she went on to say, was already looking for the perpetrators of this deed:

  and the same being discovered, which we wot God will never suffer to lie hid, we hope to punish the same with such rigour as shall serve for example of this cruelty for all ages to come. Always whoever has taken this wicked enterprise in hand, we assure ourselves it was designed as well for ourself as the King, for we lay the most part of all the last week in that same lodging (and was there accompanied with most of the Lords that are in this town) and that same night, at midnight, and of very chance tarried not all night, by reason of some mask at the Abbey [Holyrood House]; but we believe it was not chance but God that put it in our head.14

  The Scottish Privy Council, writing the same day to Catherine de Medici in France, gave a very similar account and identical interpretation, that the intended target had been the queen herself, and many of her nobility. They also gave an assurance of a speedy enquiry that would lead to the apprehension of the assassins and told the French queen mother that ‘having once discovered them, your majesty and everyone shall see that the country of Scotland will not willingly endure a disgrace on her shoulders such as would be heavy enough to make her odious to the whole of Christendom, if these guilty persons remain hidden or unpunished.’15

  Yet despite this united front of queen and council in assuring the French that Darnley’s murder would not go unpunished, there was much that was left unsaid in these missives. The king had not died as a result of the explosion; his body and that of the servant who slept in the same room as him were found under a tree in the garden next to the Provost’s lodging, with a strange array of articles, including a chair, a cloak, a dagger and a coat nearby. This suggests that they had heard suspicious noises from below in the house and escaped from a window (the chair may have been used to lower the ailing Darnley), and climbed a wall, only to be apprehended and despatched in the grounds. There were no obvious marks on the bodies, leading to the supposition that they died from suffocation. As enquiries were made of neighbours, there were reports that a man had been heard crying out, ‘O my brothers have pity on me for the love of him who had mercy on all the world.’ If so, then Darnley had recognized his murderers. And though great emphasis had been placed, by both Mary and her councillors, on the narrow escape that she herself had had, it was natural for sceptics to question whether it was just too convenient for her to have left Kirk o’ Field so late on a cold winter’s night to attend the festivities of the marriage between Bastian Pagez, one of her favourite French gentlemen valets, and Christian Hogg, a lady-in-waiting.

  Mary ordered the court into mourning and had her husband buried in James V’s vault at Holyrood. The Privy Council offered a reward of £2,000 to anyone identifying the murderers. Overwhelmed by the enormity of what had happened and by now aware that rumours of a threat to her own life were circulating in Spain and the Netherlands, Mary suffered a further collapse. Henry Killigrew reported to London that she was heavily veiled and scarcely able to speak when he went to offer his condolences on 9 March. Meanwhile, the identity of those who had planned and participated in the murder of Henry Stewart remained the source of speculation, some of it very public. As early as 16 February a placard was placed on the door of the Tolbooth in Edinburgh blaming, amongst others, the earl of Bothwell and Sir James Balfour, whose brother owned the house at Kirk o’ Field. Others believed that Mary’s household servants, including Pagez himself and the brother of David Riccio, were the prime movers and organizers of Henry’s death. Nor was the queen herself spared humiliation. Her complicity was speedily assumed. One of the anonymous placards depicting a mermaid with a crown on her head and a hare with the Bothwell family crest went further in its allusion to an adulterous relationship between the queen and the earl.

  To this day, it is not possible to say definitively what happened or who, if anyone, took the lead. Later depositions were obtained under the threat of torture and so should be viewed with caution, colourful and detailed though they are. There is, however, a broad consensus that the earls of Morton and Bothwell, with Sir James Balfour, were actively involved in a conspiracy that resulted in the king’s death. If there was a chief organizer, it was probably Balfour, who had composed a bond for Darnley’s death and stored the gunpowder at his own houses in Edinburgh. Bothwell’s men delivered and fired the gunpowder (in a rather amateurish way) and Morton’s Douglas allies patrolled the area to make sure that Henry did, indeed, die. This probably explains the last, desperate plea of the young king to his own kith and kin not to harm him. Historians remain divided about the extent, if any, of Mary’s involvement. Over the centuries, opinion has swung between the absolute conviction of her guilt, based on the so-called ‘casket letters’ proffered later by Moray as evidence and now known to be forgeries, and the equally strong protestations of her complete innocence which have largely characterized recent interpretations. We shall never be able to say with certainty how much Mary knew but she was certainly aware of the fact that her husband was universally detested and would not be mourned except by his parents. She had brought him back to Edinburgh because she was afraid of his unpredictability and his intentions towards their son and she knew full well that her advisers were pressing to be rid of him. The manner of his death may have been a genuine shock to her but only a very naïve woman would have been surprised by it.

  The Lennoxes were devastated by the death of their son. All their hopes had been pinned on him and his murder brought despair. In London, where Cecil learned of Darnley’s murder four or five days after it took place but was still no clearer as to the identity of the murderers in early March, someone had to break the news to the countess of Lennox. Elizabeth, who wrote so forthrightly to her cousin about the need to bring to justice those responsible, sent Lady Mildred Cecil, her secretary’s wife, and Lady Howard to carry the terrible tidings to Margaret Douglas in the Tower. They mistakenly informed her that her husband had been killed as well. Overcome with anguish, Margaret became hysterical and the royal physician and the dean of Westminster were summoned by the alarmed ladies to give help. Cecil reported that Margaret ‘could not be by any means kept from such passions of mind as the horribleness of the fact did require.’16 Ill at the time himself, and overworked as ever, Cecil felt pity for the countess of Lennox and hoped that Elizabeth would show her ‘some favourable compassion’. Shortly afterwards Elizabeth agreed that Margaret could be moved from the Tower to the royal residence at Sheen. The countess soon learned that her husband, at least, was alive, but this did not lessen her heartbreak over the fate that had befallen her elder son and the growing suspicion that Mary Queen of Scots herself had connived in his death.

  The earl of Lennox heard of his son’s murder at Linlithgow and, fearing for his own life, returned to his estates in Glasgow. Yet his fear was mingled with a grim determination that he would have justice for Henry and he began a correspondence with Mary in which he urged action against the murderers. Although he had initially requested that a special session of the Scottish nobility be convened to try his son’s murderers, he was not happy when Mary appeared to refer the matter to parliament. It occurred to Lennox, once he thought more clearly, that murder trials were not a normal part of the Scottish parliament’s remit. Instead, he asked that those named on the placards be brought to trial. The problem here was that there was a large choice of candidates, as Mary pointed out. In b
elaboured correspondence with her father-in-law, she asked him to be more specific. Lennox believed that the queen now intended to protect the one man of whose guilt he was already convinced and whose intentions he feared above all others. That man was the earl of Bothwell. And he would now, for a brief and terrible period, take centre stage in Mary’s life.

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  THE UNFOLDING STORY of Mary Stewart’s downfall is well known but, like the Darnley murder, there are two entirely opposing versions of her part in it. Looking back into the past, it is all too easy to see a straight line that gives a plausible explanation for historical events. Yet there was nothing inevitable about what happened in Scotland in the spring and summer of 1567. It may seem, in retrospect, that the murder of Darnley led inexorably to his wife’s overthrow but this would not have been an outcome automatically assumed by contemporaries. Some may have wished it and the queen’s personal reputation was certainly compromised but she had already survived several grave crises, dealing with adversity in a skilful and resourceful manner and emerging stronger than before. She would not, however, do so this time.

  The disaster that overtook Mary has become the stuff of romantic legends, dewy-eyed films and numerous historical novels. In these versions of the past, the beautiful queen is in thrall to a handsome swashbuckler who risks all for her, a stirring tale of doomed love amid the Scottish mists. On the other hand are Mary’s contemporary enemies and detractors themselves, seeking to rewrite history as soon as they could, but in a less flattering mode. They labelled her an adulteress and murderess, a weak woman whose head was completely turned by an all-consuming love affair. So an inappropriate passion, only to be expected in a female, forms the basis of both these interpretations.

  Yet the truth, known to more than a few at the time, could not have been more different. This is not the stuff of one of history’s great romances but a sordid episode of kidnap and rape, of the desperation of a queen regnant trying to keep her throne and the last vestiges of her honour. Opportunism, violence, indignity and betrayal are its key features. Mary realized that she was becoming a victim of events that were spiralling out of her control. She was physically and mentally isolated, at the mercy of a loathsome man whom she had once trusted but who, in reality, cared not a jot for her.

  It is true, however, that Mary did not handle the aftermath of Darnley’s murder with any resolution. Bothwell was eventually brought to trial, the only one among those who were involved, but he was acquitted on 12 April 1567. The earl of Lennox, who had planned to attend the trial with three thousand armed followers, was told he could bring only six men into Edinburgh. He was already convinced that this was a show trial, being conducted for form’s sake, and so he stayed away. Within days of the trial, he left for England where he would eventually renew his pleas for Elizabeth’s help. The English queen was sympathetic – Darnley was her relative, too – but her government could not offer Lennox much practical support. Elizabeth and Cecil took no joy in the growing instability in Scotland which was likely to lead to further problems in the Borders. The English queen had come through a rough period with her parliament in early 1567, refusing with what seemed like absolute finality to nominate a successor but saying that she would marry ‘as soon as I can conveniently’. She had no such intention in reality, but the stand-off between queen and parliament and the continued friction with her ministers could not be allowed to continue. Elizabeth decided that she would cut her demands for financial support if parliament would back off about the succession. It was a clever, if necessary, ploy. But it brought further restrictions and heartache to poor Katherine Grey, shunted about from one place of house arrest to the next and closely guarded. Stress led to despair and ill health. Parted from her husband and elder son, Katherine lost the will to live and died at the beginning of 1568. There was a lesson to be learned from Elizabeth’s treatment of a cousin with a claim to the throne but Mary did not heed it. Her own travails were just about to begin in earnest.

  Bothwell’s acquittal had two immediate effects. The first was the departure of the earl of Moray. His Hepburn rival seems to have been one of the few men that Mary’s half-brother feared. They had long had their differences and were never genuinely reconciled, despite Mary’s efforts. Moray was perhaps Scotland’s shrewdest politician. He knew Bothwell would be cock-a-hoop and he did not want to stay at a court where this undoubtedly ambitious rival held sway. If there was going to be trouble, he would rather bide his time elsewhere. Suddenly discovering a yearning for foreign travel, Moray took his leave of his sister, who acknowledged that she would miss his counsel, and departed for France and the Low Countries, nominating Mary as his daughter’s guardian. By the time he returned in August, his sister had lost her throne.

  The second effect was on the growing confidence of Bothwell himself. Never a man to underrate himself or miss an opportunity, he would not have regretted Moray’s departure. It removed probably the biggest obstacle to a plan now forming in his mind. Why should he not marry Mary himself? As her husband, he could enjoy power and wealth, control the future of her son and effectively rule Scotland. The queen had shown him favour and he had served her well, policing the Borders with diligence, even at the threat of his own life. She was still vulnerable following Darnley’s death, emotional and in dubious health. It would be a great coup and he had the daring to bring it off. True, there were matters that would need to be dealt with quickly, not the least of which was to secure a divorce from the wife he had married only just over a year before. But that could be handled. He had already been unfaithful to Jean Gordon and he doubted that she would oppose him. Then there was the question of how to gain the agreement of the lords and prelates whose support he would certainly need. But he had a plan for that, too.

  Just two days after his trial, Bothwell ensured that he played a prominent part in the opening of what was to be Mary’s last parliament, carrying the sceptre and surrounding the queen with a guard of his own men, a departure from protocol that was noted at the time (the role was traditionally held by the bailies of Edinburgh). This physical isolation of Mary was a sinister prophecy of what was to come. And in parliament, Bothwell made sure that his Protestant credentials were underpinned by supporting an act that formally placed the Protestant Kirk under Mary’s protection. He also ensured that his fellow conspirators in Darnley’s murder were bought off when Morton, Argyll and Huntly had the rights to their ancestral lands confirmed. In addition, Maitland and Lord Robert Stewart also received grants, while Bothwell decided to keep Dunbar Castle for himself. He was also confirmed in his hereditary position of lord admiral of Scotland. His hand was mightily strengthened but supreme power was not yet his. He needed the support of at least a majority of the country’s leading nobles and churchmen to legitimate his ambition. On the evening of 19 April 1567, the day after the parliamentary session ended, Bothwell made his most daring move yet. He invited a number of the most influential lords to a supper where wine flowed and his geniality, which most if not all of those present knew was superficial, was on full display. This studied hospitality is often said to have taken place at Ainslie’s Tavern on the Canongate but no such location is given in the sources and it seems more probable that Bothwell used his own lodgings, either in Edinburgh or in Holyrood itself.17 As the evening wore on, Bothwell produced the draft of a bond he wanted his fellow lords to sign. It was to confirm his innocence of Darnley’s murder and to undertake to defend him from further scurrilous lies. But the real blow was in the third aspect of the bond. He sought support for becoming Mary’s husband, should she ‘happen’ to choose him. This implies that the queen could make such a decision of her own free will. But in reality, Bothwell never intended to give Mary a choice.

  Nevertheless, there are aspects of the so-called Ainslie’s Tavern Bond that have never been adequately explained. Why did all but one of the twenty-five men present agree to sign the bond? It is easy to claim that Bothwell got them all drunk, or that they were so amazed by his effront
ery that their judgement deserted them and they signed anyhow. It is true that not everyone regarded such bonds as a permanent obligation and subsequently many of the men who had caroused with Bothwell on that spring night renounced what they had done and signed further bonds to free Mary from Bothwell’s control, though by then they were too late. Perhaps they would have stuck by Bothwell had Mary agreed willingly to marry him. When she did not, the signatories would have felt that Bothwell could no longer be supported. At the time, nine of eighteen Scottish earls signed, a remarkable display of unity. Only two of those present at the parliament, Moray’s father-in-law, the earl marischal, and the earl of Eglinton, a Catholic lord whose loyalty to Mary was unswerving, did not sign.