The Raven's Heart

by Jesse Blackadder

  She takes my arm and we hurry down the corridor. As we round the corner, she reaches into her chemise. Swift as a pickpocket she passes a folded note into the palm of my hand and murmurs, “To Bothwell at Dunbar.” As we round the corner and come across another knot of Douglas men, she drops my arm. “Get the Queen some food from the kitchens, lest she faint away from the lack of it,” she says and walks away.

  In the kitchen the Queen’s servants keep watch so that I am safe to unfold the square of parchment. In the Queen’s looping script it says, Stand by at Seton with horses tomorrow night.

  ≈ ≈ ≈

  I climb out the back of the wine cellar, creep through the cemetery, and emerge into Edinburgh. I make for Sophie’s tavern, where I beg a horse. The city is heaving and straining like a ship riding its anchor rope in the storm. The streets are full of people talking and gesticulating in the direction of Holyrood. The road out of Edinburgh is already crowded with riders heading away from the capital. Those who have somewhere else to go—relatives living nearby or country estates—are fleeing, to wait until they know how the Queen’s fortunes will turn out.

  Darnley has betrayed the Queen and sided with Lord James. And Lord James is on his way to Edinburgh, protected by the might of Lord Hume. I ride as though the army of Hume pursues me, beating the horse when it falters till its hide is lathered with sweat and its breath comes in deep grunts from its chest. Every safety I have known has been torn down and my heart gallops in tandem with the horse’s hooves. When I see the silhouette of the fortress of Dunbar against the sea, I almost sob in relief.

  Already Dunbar is a soldier’s camp. I gallop up to the gates to see a confusion of men coming and going, the clatter of hooves in the courtyard, shouts, weapons being prepared. A lookout calls news of my arrival and in a few moments Bothwell himself comes running out to meet me. Men drag the heavy gate open and slam it behind me, as Bothwell almost pulls me off the horse.

  “Is she alive?” he demands.

  “She lives.” I pull out the note. “She sent this.”

  “How did you get it?” He almost tears it open in his hurry.

  “Lady Huntly was the only one allowed to stay with her last night. But can she be trusted? It could be a trap.”

  He reads it for a second. “She is my mother-in-law now. Huntly and I left her word to take to the Queen. She can be trusted. Come.”

  “What happened to you?” I ask as we hurry inside the castle.

  “Ruthven confronted me and Huntly after Rizzio was killed. We were armed, having heard the commotion, or he would have slayed us too. When he left us alone a moment, we escaped out the window. We rode here at all speed.”

  We enter the great hall of Dunbar. A group is sitting around the table and Bothwell leads me to them.

  “Word from the Queen!” he cries. “From your mother.”

  I look at those seated more closely. Bothwell turns to me. “Lord Huntly,” he says, gesturing. “His sister, my new wife, Lady Jean Gordon. The Earl of Athol. This is Robert Blackadder, the Queen’s close companion.”

  I take the measure of Bothwell’s wife. Her face bears a look of unhappiness and she is not pretty, but her features are intelligent.

  “Our mother is with the Queen?” Huntly asks. “Good.”

  “The Queen wants us to be ready at Seton with horses tomorrow night,” says Bothwell. “She must have an escape planned. But how? Surely we must do more than wait with horses! We must take the palace back by force.”

  The other men are nodding at his words, but Lady Jean stands. “Read carefully. If the Queen has instructed you to wait, do you not think she has a plan for escape? Your arrival with an army will put the traitors on their guard. She has never shown herself short of courage or wit. Does anybody know how she might be able to leave the palace in secret?”

  “Yes,” I say and they all turn to look at me. “There is a secret way that I have taken her and the King before, and I left by that route today. Through the kitchens and the wine cellar, into a passage that emerges in the cemetery. It is not far from the King’s quarters, but if he is involved in keeping her prisoner, it might be difficult for her to pass by his chambers.”

  She considers for a moment. “Perhaps she has won the King back over to her side.”

  “That is a womanish idea,” Bothwell says.

  “You must consider a womanish idea, my husband, for it is our Queen who is imprisoned and my mother who is our only contact with her, am I correct? They have the Queen as hostage, so force will be of no avail. If they threaten to kill her, you will have to back down. It is like to be the cunning of a woman’s mind that will save the Queen this time.”

  “They will not threaten the Queen’s life,” says the Earl of Athol. “It is treason.”

  “This whole plot is treasonous,” she says. “The Queen’s servant is murdered and the Queen is held against her will. There is only one person in the realm who is above a charge of treason.” She looks around in the silence. “What is the King’s involvement?”

  “When we came to see what the noise was, Ruthven forced your brother and me back into our rooms and told us that vengeance had been taken on Rizzio at the King’s own command,” says Bothwell.

  Lady Jean sits back. “Therein lies the proof. The King is deep in the plot. Ruthven and Moray would never put themselves at risk of treason without the promise of some great advantage, and the only person who could imprison the Queen and not be guilty of treason is Darnley.”

  “I am sure Lord James has a hand in it too,” I say. “He is riding for Edinburgh under the protection of Lord Hume’s army. They are due today.”

  They all stare at me. “Lord James must have known of this,” Bothwell says. “But I am surprised that Hume would stand against the Queen. It is treason to support a traitor.”

  “The King signed a safe conduct for Lord James. He returns to Scotland with royal permission, so Hume does nothing wrong under law. But the Queen knew nothing of such permission and would never have granted it.”

  I check the room to ensure no one can overhear. “David Hume was aware of this plot. I heard him and George Douglas talking to Darnley at Peebles, though I did not know then what they planned.”

  Bothwell sits back. “Let that go no farther than us for now. You would be foolhardy to accuse a Hume of such treason.”

  Thirty-five

  It is a cold night, with a lonely wind keening around the towers of Seton. The only other sounds are the creaking of harnesses and the horses mouthing their bits. I warm my hands on the neck of my horse and count my breaths to try and keep track of how much time has passed. I cannot stop myself thinking of Hume and wondering if he has truly thrown in his lot with the traitors.

  At last I hear the distant drum of hooves from the direction of Edinburgh. Our horses stir and stamp and prick their ears, and mine whinnies softly until I check him.

  There is a moon out and I can see the small group approaching from some distance away. Four horses, some carrying pillion riders. But as they draw nearer, yells break out and the horses scatter.

  It is the King’s voice that rings out, high with panic. “Hurry! I don’t care about the damned baby.”

  I feel such a surge of hatred for him that I reach for my dagger and kick the horse into life. Bothwell canters past me and calls, “Your Grace? Bothwell and your other loyal servants await you.”

  The first horse flashes by in the dark at a gallop, two figures mounted upon it.

  The Queen’s voice comes from the second horse. “Lord Bothwell, it is good indeed to hear you.” She is under control but I can hear the strain.

  “Madam, are you safe?” He pulls to a halt alongside her. She is mounted behind another rider. “Are you chased?”

  “We have not heard a pursuit.”

  “We must ride at once for Dunbar. Can you manage it?”

  “With a horse to myself, I will manage.”

  The horse that galloped past us returns at a trot.


  “Lord Bothwell? I thought you were Ruthven and Morton.” The King’s voice is petulant in the dark. “They are probably after us now, ready to slit our throats.”

  There is silence for a moment. “Your Grace, let me help you to a fresh horse so we may make haste,” Bothwell says, as though Darnley has not spoken.

  “Thank God, it is most uncomfortable riding pillion,” Darnley says. “Can someone assist us down?”

  Bothwell helps the Queen down from her pillion ride, but no one approaches the King. Standen, who rode in front of Darnley, at last dismounts and gives him a hand. Men stand aside as though some foul creature has slunk past. The hair rises on the back of my neck and I tighten my fingers around my dagger.

  Bothwell helps the big-bellied Queen into the saddle of a fresh horse. She has ridden pillion nine miles from Edinburgh, clinging to the waist of Arthur Erskine, but she does not complain.

  “Let us ride, then,” she says, taking up the reins.

  “To Dunbar,” says Bothwell and in a clatter of hooves we are off.

  ≈ ≈ ≈

  Dunbar Castle, standing on a crag above the North Sea, is one of the country’s most powerful fortresses. Its royal apartments rival those of Edinburgh Castle, and Scotland’s store of weapons and gunpowder is under our feet.

  “Darnley’s door is guarded,” Bothwell says, coming into the royal apartment where the Queen has been led. “Now, speak freely.”

  The Queen sits straight in her chair, her hands resting on her belly. Her face is white, her lips tinged with blue.

  “I could not escape without him. If I had left him, the conspirators would have drawn him back into the plot. With both of us gone, they are revealed as common traitors.”

  “We heard that Rizzio died on the King’s orders,” says Huntly.

  “He says the lords tricked him and he never intended that Rizzio would come to harm,” she says.

  There is a silence, and at last she bursts out: “I am wed to him. He is the father of Scotland’s heir. When the child is born, the King must be at my side to acknowledge it. I won him back from the traitors and that must be enough for now.”

  “How in heaven’s name did you escape?” Bothwell asks. “We planned to come with an army to free you.”

  She looks up at him. “I persuaded the King that the traitors would kill him too once they had my babe. I won him over and he helped me feign that the babe was coming early. I promised to pardon the traitors if they reduced the guard. They thought themselves safe with the King on their side, and left me with only a midwife. The King and I crept out of his apartments and escaped through the cellars. My loyal men had horses waiting for us outside.”

  Bothwell shakes his head. “You are extraordinary. It would be hard enough for a man to escape thus, let alone a woman breeding.”

  She smiles at him. “I am indebted to you for this night, but I must rest if the babe is to be safe. Leave me now.”

  When they are gone, she lies back on the chaise with a moan.

  “I have great need of you, my Robbie,” she says softly. “I am surrounded by enemies on all sides. I cannot trust my own husband with my safety. Thank God the child has hung on in my womb through these dreadful days, but I will not do anything else to risk him.”

  She holds out a hand to me and I go to her side. “I need you to be my lady-in-waiting again. Rizzio spoke to me about you and begged me to take you out of the King’s service. Now I can see why and I am sorry I left you with him so long. I needed someone I could trust to keep an eye on him. But now I need you with me. I am not safe in my own chamber! Will you do that for me? Bid your male disguise goodbye and become Alison again?”

  She reaches out and takes my other hand. She is the Queen, she is used to speaking calmly when inside she is afraid, but her fingers are tight and cold and I feel her terror. “I am begging you,” she says, her lip trembling.

  Whatever resolve I have made in the past to keep my heart hard against her melts in a second. I go down on my knees beside the chaise. “I will serve you in any way I can, Your Grace.”

  “Speak to me as a woman and a friend,” she says. “Call me by my name. Will you be constant, Alison? Will you stay by me?”

  I cannot refuse her. In her vulnerability, I love her as much as I ever have.

  “I will, Mary.” I do not think I have ever called her that before. She puts out her arms and I hesitate, and then, daring, come forward and take her into my embrace.

  In my arms she feels so slight. Her shoulders are tiny, her belly huge, and she is shaking. The minutes that I hold her stretch out long, in this night of betrayal and danger. She clings to me and I stroke her hair and murmur words of reassurance. I am holding the future of the realm in my arms and it is such a small and vulnerable thing.

  “Your loyalty means everything to me,” she says. “After the child is born I will attend on the matter of your castle at once. I promise this solemnly.”

  “Do not think of it,” I say. “Your safety is more important.” But my pulse quickens at her words.

  “I must rest and in the morning I must find the courage to face my husband again.”

  She draws back and stares into the fire. “I must not let him know I fear him.” A grim smile crosses her features. “I think, Alison, that I shall cook breakfast for the men who have helped me this night.”

  “Your Grace?” I am dumbfounded.

  “You will help me. When the King rises in the morning, he shall find that all is very merry here at Dunbar. I shall make a soldier’s breakfast of eggs for Bothwell and Huntly and their men and then we shall hold a council of war.”

  ≈ ≈ ≈

  Bothwell’s soldiers call for support in the surrounding districts and, before the end of the first day, men begin pouring into Dunbar from the Borders and surrounding districts. Within days we have eight thousand armed men at Dunbar, and Bothwell gives the order to march upon Edinburgh.

  The Queen rides out proudly at the head of her loyal army. She dresses to show her belly to full advantage, reminding Scotland that she carries its heir and that he is yet safe. She is flanked by her now most loyal lords, Bothwell, Huntly, Athol, Seton. The King rides behind the Queen, his head low. Not one lord will bow to him. He has betrayed some of Scotland’s most powerful men during an attempted coup and no one on either side will forget it easily.

  In the midst of such danger I hope he does not notice another lady-in-waiting with the Queen. Nor wonder where Robert has gone.

  A messenger meets us on the road outside the city with news that when the loyal Earl of Mar held Edinburgh Castle fast and the people of Edinburgh came out with weapons, the traitors panicked. Without Darnley to give their actions legitimacy they had nowhere to turn. When they heard of us advancing they fled, following the same tracks as the Queen’s previous rebels, around winding back roads to the border and into England.

  The cheering breaks out down the long ranks of men following the Queen and our ride to war becomes a victory march into the city. Edinburgh’s people turn out to greet the Queen and their cheering makes my ears ring. Women and men weep openly and try to press forward to touch her stirrups or hand her flowers. The guards hold them back but she smiles and waves to them. It is unimaginable that her subjects would not lay down their lives for her. They would take her enemies with their bare hands and tear them apart rather than see her harmed.

  She does not return to Holyrood Palace, but takes lodging in a manor house within the city’s walls, guarded day and night, while once more the lines of property and power are redrawn to punish and reward.

  It is rebellion over again, but with a different set of villains having stepped up from the ranks of the nobles. On the run across the border this time: the Lords Morton, Ruthven, Lindsay, with George Douglas the bastard and Fawdonside, who held a loaded pistol to the Queen’s belly. Waiting away from Edinburgh until they see which way the wind blows: John Knox and Maitland.

  Lord James, the wily politician, who indeed rode
into Edinburgh the morning after the murder, manages to convince the Queen that he had no involvement in the plot to kill Rizzio and she pardons his earlier misdemeanors. She also sends out pardons to those lords she now needs, including the rebels from the last rebellion, the very men who were about to be attainted in Parliament. Postings are canceled and redistributed at dizzying speed. She grants Bothwell the wardship of the castle of Dunbar in reward for his role in her rescue.

  I recount to her the meeting at Peebles between David Hume, George Douglas, and Darnley and she considers it carefully. “This is a weapon I shall keep for the right time,” she says. “For now I will put Lord Hume on notice.”

  She summons Hume to her presence chamber. I beg her leave to absent myself but she shakes her head. “I want you to hear what I say. Sit with my ladies across the room. He will not notice you. Not while I am speaking to him.”

  Hume is all solemn humility, bowing low and staying on his knee, his head lowered, until she bids him rise.

  “You accompanied the Earl of Moray to Edinburgh, even though he was outlawed and banished.”

  “I would never have done so if I thought it displeased you,” he says. “When I saw the King’s signature on the safe conduct, I naturally thought it was with your blessing. As it turned out, it was a blessing that your brother arrived when he did to assist you.”

  “Indeed,” she says. “Though strange that his return coincided with the murder of my beloved servant. I am still looking into this evil plot, Lord Hume. My Privy Council is calling sixty-eight conspirators to answer for Rizzio’s murder and some of them are known associates of your family.”

  “With respect, Your Grace, some of them are leading nobles and known associates of the men of the Privy Council themselves. It is a disgrace they should plot against you in such an evil manner, but association with them is no evidence of complicity. I joined your armies to ride against them as soon as I understood what had occurred.”

  “It is more than a disgrace to plot against me, Lord Hume. It is treason,” she says, her voice chilly. He bows his head and waits.