The Raven's Heart

by Jesse Blackadder

  “They have run like rats, and shown themselves cowards,” Darnley says. “They have no spine to fight.”

  “A cornered rat is vicious and a rat’s bite can kill,” says Bothwell. “We must strike hard, and soon.”

  “I agree, Lord Bothwell,” the Queen says. “I am reappointing you as Lieutenant General of the Borders to lead the army.”

  “My father is to lead the army, my dear,” Darnley says. “It would be unseemly if someone other than the Lieutenant General of the Royal Army took the lead.”

  “I have not made that appointment yet.” There is a chilly silence.

  “I can make ready to ride to Stirling at once, while Your Graces discuss the details of the battle,” says Bothwell.

  The Queen dismisses us, saying she will send word. Rizzio is frowning and I have seen that look on Darnley’s face before. There is a sullen cast to his pretty features.

  ≈ ≈ ≈

  Rizzio meets with us again later in the day. “We will all ride for Stirling in the morning to meet with Lord Lennox, who will lead the army.”

  “The Earl of Lennox is not much of a soldier,” says Bothwell. Rizzio nods. “She wishes you to run this battle, but the King and his father will be at its head.”

  Bothwell shrugs wearily. “Very well.”

  I follow Rizzio outside. “How goes the marriage?”

  “Until today, it has gone well,” he says, checking to ensure we are alone. “But they have fought all afternoon over this matter. The Queen has conceded that Lennox can lead the army, though he’s days away and will hold us up.”

  “What of the rest? Can she bear him?”

  “I sent him a courtesan before the wedding to teach him some decent ways. It seems to have worked. She looks happy, does she not?”

  I look at him closely. “It is hard to imagine the boy as King.”

  “He is the King consort only.” Rizzio winks. “The Queen has sense enough not to give him the crown matrimonial until he proves himself.”

  “The crown matrimonial?”

  “With it, he becomes her equal. His word carries the same force as hers, and if she dies he takes the crown himself.”

  “So he is not a real king yet?”

  “Not quite.”

  “What of Queen Elizabeth and the succession?”

  He claps his hand on my shoulder. “Darnley has won his prize, but the Queen and you are no closer to yours. Elizabeth is furious that Mary married an English subject without her permission. She has sent the Countess of Lennox to the Tower and ordered Darnley and his father to return to England. She is on the side of Lord James and the rebels.”

  ≈ ≈ ≈

  In the morning we ride for Stirling. The Queen and Darnley lead us through the High Street before leaving the city and I have never seen such love for her on the faces of Edinburgh’s people. They cheer and wave and jump up and down as she passes.

  At the Tolbooth the Queen halts. She thanks the people and pledges that we will drive the rebels out for good. She calls on the citizens to bravely defend Edinburgh in her absence. Even the soldiers are smiling and it seems impossible she could ever be defeated. The cheers rise and half deafen us. William, who so rarely smiles, is alight, and Bothwell is grinning too. We ride out through West Port and break into a canter down the hill to join the legions of fighting men.

  Our reception in Stirling is less effusive, but still warm. The people crowd the streets to greet the Queen as we wind up toward the castle, having stationed our fighting men down on the plain with the armies of those lords who are loyal to the monarch. The younger Huntly, pardoned and given back his family lands, Fleming, Lindsay, Livingstone, Ruthven, Athol, Mar, and, of course, Hume and his clan.

  John Blackadder of Tulliallan has gathered a small army from his estate and ridden to Stirling. William sends word for me to join them in the Blackadder pavilion for a council of war. When I arrive, I find the whole clan gathered. John and Margaret’s two boys are there in the tent, along with other cousins I barely know. The Blackadders have not gathered often, lest the Hume clan hear of it and set an ambush.

  William sits with his cousins Edmund and Jock, two of the boys from the disreputable branch of the family that raised him. Since the Queen’s return to Scotland saw William all but give up sailing, they have taken over his ship, though I warrant it is a darker and meaner business under their leadership. I doubt they carry Sophie’s Jews to safety any more.

  John gestures for everyone to move closer. “There will be spies everywhere. We must cleave to each other with all the honor we possess.” He gestures. “Now William will speak.”

  William stands. “Thank you, brothers. We have the chance to be avenged. Lord Hume, though he is a known ally of Lord James, has judged he would be better to support the Queen this time. We believe he has brought his whole clan here. They will be concentrating on the rebels and not expecting an attack from the rear. This is our chance.”

  There is silence for a few moments.

  “We fight on the same side,” says John. “Are you suggesting an open attack?”

  “We watch them carefully and maneuver to separate the Wedderburn Humes from Lord Hume,” William says. “Then we must strike, all together and hard.”

  John stands. He is the head of the family and William, the disinherited son, slowly sits.

  “Too dangerous,” says John. “We’ll fight near them. When the opportunity arises, we’ll pick them off one at a time. You and I, William, shall aim for David Hume of Wedderburn and Alexander Hume of Blackadder, but we shall approach them like assassins.”

  William clenches his fists. “They will believe we are still afraid of them.”

  “Courage must be tempered with caution,” John says. “I will not have more of this family slaughtered for no reason.”

  “What colors will you fight in?” I ask.

  William turns to me. “You’ll be fighting too. You’ve had lessons from Bothwell himself. Don’t you want Hume blood on your sword?”

  John looks from William back to me. I keep my face expressionless.

  “Margaret would hate to hear this, but it is your own choice,” he says at last. “We will dress as peasants. We could be fighting under any of the lords.”

  William scowls. “I want them to know who has killed them.”

  John turns to him sharply. “You must strike like a snake. Fast, invisible, unexpected. This is revenge and we have only the slimmest of chances.”

  I stand, my heart beating fast. “This endangers all our efforts. The Queen has promised the castle in return for my service as soon as she is named Elizabeth’s heir. Would you risk that by murdering the kin of one of her loyal lords? You might strike David and Alexander down and even escape alive, but I tell you, the Queen will not be pleased. This could lose lives and our chance at the castle in a single stroke.” I sit down again.

  “You have nothing to contribute to a council of men,” William says through gritted teeth. “You will have to prove yourself on the field if you want to make a suggestion here.”

  Every man in the room is watching me. “I am not afraid to fight with you,” I say. “But it will get us nowhere. I beg you, don’t throw our chance away like this.”

  John steps back into the middle of the pavilion. “This has been a bloody struggle for our family. Too many Blackadders have lost their lives for this castle and I will not add to the tally willingly. But we must act as one. We will spill Hume blood. Vise a la fine.”

  See it through to the end, the words that twine around the snake on the family crest. There is a roar of assent from every man in the tent. William turns to look at me and I nod with the rest of them.

  ≈ ≈ ≈

  At last Lennox arrives at Stirling, five days late, fat and flustered. Within two hours Bothwell has struck camp and the armies are ready to march under the standards of their lords.

  Stirling’s citizens are relieved to see the last of us. They line the streets and cheer our backs and won
der how they will feed themselves through winter without the food and drink that we have stripped from their stores. The men are just as relieved to be moving. It is harder for an army to wait than to fight once it is wound up for battle.

  William and I are riding with Bothwell at the front of the armies and so we do not have the chance to watch Lord Hume and the different branches of his family march out under their banners.

  Bothwell is so delighted to be riding out at last to do battle with Lord James that a grin is spread across his features. He winks when he catches me staring at him and claps his hand on the hilt of his sword. “Don’t be afraid, Robbie. You’re on the winning side. A good way to fight your first battle.”

  William is smiling too and the whole of the Queen’s army is at my back. Perhaps it will be as John says: we will strike hard and invisibly at the might of Hume. Perhaps we shall find Alexander Hume, who holds Blackadder Castle, and cut him down.

  My longing for the castle rises in me, hot and sharp, and I want to strike a blow for it that will make my family look at me with respect. Taking the life of a Hume is a possibility in my hands this day and my lifelong fear of them turns into blood-lust. I can feel it humming through my body as we canter south.

  The great column marches for three days. The year has turned and the days are rapidly shortening, the temperature dropping. Our breath is mist in the mornings and the horses are growing in their winter coats.

  A day out of Dumfries a messenger gallops to meet us and the leaders of the army stop to greet him. The Queen sends for Bothwell and, when they have all conferred, Darnley pulls his horse into a theatrical rear, wheels it around, and canters down the line.

  “The rebels have fled in front of our strength,” he calls loudly. “They have stolen away to England, showing themselves for the cowards they are. We are victorious. God save the Queen!”

  The cheers roar out around us. I look at William. His face is bitter and he smashes his fist against his breastplate.

  Thirty

  The estates of the rebel lords, seized by the Crown, must be redistributed, and a new web of power woven that secures the allegiance of the loyal lords and binds them to the throne even more tightly. Rizzio, having studied the landholdings of Scotland, works with the Queen each day, discussing alliance and allegiance, power and persuasion. Scotland must also present a strong face to England, and the Queen must soothe Elizabeth’s rage and petition to have Darnley’s mother released from the Tower.

  For the first week Darnley attends the meetings, but his interest quickly wanes. After a tantrum in which he spills wine across a valuable map, ruining it, the Queen appoints me to keep him entertained. I must take him riding and hawking while she and Rizzio decide the matters of state.

  I take a perverse pleasure in my small cruelties to Darnley, riding far enough that I know he will complain on the way home, pushing our horses over rough ground to try and bruise his arse. For I came into the Queen’s chamber one morning when she was not expecting me. She was sitting on a chaise in her nightgown, her hair in disarray. The fabric of her nightgown was torn, and beneath, on the pale skin of her upper arm, I saw a plum-colored bruise. When she followed my glance and saw it exposed, she hastily pulled the sleeve up to cover it.

  “He is young,” she said. “He does not know his strength sometimes.”

  But she had to face away from me to compose herself. I kept my head bowed until she spoke in a normal voice again.

  Darnley has not changed with marriage. What a fool was I to think he might.

  ≈ ≈ ≈

  She calls Bothwell to discuss matters of state, and the new structure of power and favor in the kingdom plays itself out at the dinner table. Rizzio, seated next to the Queen, has never stood so high. Bothwell, after his disgrace, is now her most valued military adviser. She seats him by her other side.

  Darnley, coming in late with flushed cheeks from hunting, is forced to sit on Bothwell’s far side. He drinks heavily. When the Queen tries to include him in the conversation with Bothwell, he snaps at her. Rizzio leans across to speak to him, and is rebuffed too.

  But the Queen does not seem troubled. She and Rizzio converse with an easy intimacy, sprung from their many hours together. A stranger to the court could think Rizzio the King and Darnley a highly ranked noble.

  After dinner, the Queen and Darnley take to the dance floor together and for a while they are simply a handsome couple again, tall and slender, moving gracefully. But he lifts her up and holds her in the air, and something changes in his smile as he stares up at her. He continues to hold her suspended until she says something in an urgent whisper. Then he brings her down none too gently. When they return to their seats, her hand strays to her waist where he has gripped it.

  Bothwell makes his way to my side. “Perhaps the Queen’s marriage does not go so well,” he murmurs.

  “Perhaps not,” I say. “Lord Bothwell, how goes my father?”

  He shrugs. “Bitter. Old. I think he has forgotten that you are his daughter, not his son.”

  “I have almost forgotten it myself.”

  “Do you not wish to marry?”

  I laugh and gesture at my boy’s clothes. “Who would marry me?”

  “If I could give you freedom, I would marry you,” he says. “But serving the Queen has been very expensive. My creditors are holding my own castle. I have nothing to offer you.”

  “You are kind to think of it,” I say.

  “It is not kindness,” he says, his eyes fixed on mine. My body responds with a rush of heat, shocking me.

  It is nothing like what I felt for Angi. How could it be? Then, I knew no better than to throw myself open to her. Now my heart is a hard and twisted thing. Nevertheless, I had not thought to feel anything again. The castle was to be my fortress.

  “She comes,” he says. The Queen is moving toward us. I bow my head so she does not see the expression on my face.

  “Excuse us, Lord Bothwell,” she says. “Robert, dance with me.”

  I follow her to the dance floor and we join the flow of couples. When she leans in close to speak, none can hear.

  “I have not forgotten you,” she says. “I have been considering your castle, but it shall have to wait a little. I am with child.”

  The last sentence is in a whisper and she draws back smiling. “I will announce it tomorrow, but I wanted you to know.”

  “I thank you.” I drop my head. My hands are shaking and I try to still them so she does not feel it.

  “You are so formal now,” she laughs. “Do you remember when I first came to Scotland, just a girl? We had the leisure to ride all day and then dress up and roam the streets at night.”

  The dance finishes. I bow to her and then watch as she walks back to her seat. Rizzio shifts in his chair to let her pass easily and Bothwell does not take his eyes off her. The King, with his sulky face, looks like an overgrown child.

  I will not think of what creature will be conceived from such a union. My castle is not lost, and that is all that matters now.

  ≈ ≈ ≈

  The Queen invites her loyal lords to celebrate Christmas at Holyrood. The entertainments are lavish to celebrate her nuptials, her defeat of the rebels, and her pregnancy. No one mentions aloud the uneasy state of her marriage, or the fact that Darnley rode off in a temper to Linlithgow and then on to Peebles, staying away for three weeks before returning in time for Christmas.

  On Christmas Eve she invites her intimates to her chamber. The musicians entertain us, there is more food and more drink, and she plays cards with Rizzio and the ladies. The lords lounge in their sumptuous outfits.

  Rizzio, who is better than anyone at cards and loses only when it is politic to do so, wins another round. Beaton throws down her hand, pouts prettily, and refuses to play any longer. The party around the card table laughs. Rizzio bows low in apology. Lord Ogilvy takes his chance to step forward and invite Beaton to dance, and she blushes as she accepts. The musicians strike a lively air
and several couples join the dance. The card players sit back to watch while Rizzio shuffles with a fast snap-snap, the cards blurring as they move between his hands.

  “Pray, good Rizzio, where is my husband this Christmas Eve?” the Queen asks, her eyes on the dancers.

  “He is in the chapel, Madam.” Rizzio flicks the cards to each player.

  “The chapel?”

  He shrugs. “You are not the only one surprised. He has been on his knees these last three hours. He says he will spend the night there.”

  The Queen shakes her head, perplexed. “I wonder his knees can take the strain,” she murmurs. Then louder, “I’m pleased to see his devotion.”

  The players study their cards intently. In the corner the musicians finish their tune with a flourish and the dancing couples bow to each other and clap.

  “I wish you were a woman and I could dance with you tonight,” Bothwell says, coming up beside me and speaking into my ear.

  I jump, and laugh to cover the moment. “There are plenty of women who would dance with you. You could rescue Beaton from the advances of Lord Ogilvy.”

  “Beaton does not wish to be rescued. But perhaps you do? Or is there a secret love that you hide from the world?”

  “Are you prying?”

  “Yes,” he says. “How do I know who is the real person inside there? Sometimes a boy, a girl, a woman, a soldier, a spy—which of them is you?”

  There is another burst of clapping as the musicians strike a beginning note. Their next tune is a merry jig. The Queen claps her hands and says, “Dance!” Groaning in mock protest, the men push themselves to their feet and the ladies curtsy.

  The dancing becomes hard and fast to keep out the cold. Bothwell is still standing close beside me. I inhale his scent, a soldier’s smell of sweat and leather and horse, nothing like the scent of a woman. The way he looks at me makes me draw in my breath, and my cheeks feel as hot as Beaton’s look. I do not think at this moment he cares if I am boy, girl, woman, or man.