Queen's Own Fool

by Jane Yolen

  But only for a moment.

  Hearing our footsteps, he opened his eyes lazily. A smile flitted across his face, giving him the satisfied look of a cat who has been feasting solely on cream. Then, sighing, he put his hands over his eyes as if the light suddenly hurt him.

  The queen hastened to his side. “I have brought La Jardinière to brighten your room till you can walk in the palace gardens again.”

  “You are all the garden I need, lady,” Darnley responded in a pathetic voice that was as badly formed as my embroideries.

  The queen did not seem to notice his counterfeit—the crow beneath the feathers, the wolf under the sheep’s skin. Wetting a linen cloth in a bowl of water, she began to stroke his brow.

  “Pray, begin, Nicola,” she said.

  So I sang a rude Scottish song that I had learned from one of the maids. Darnley laughed out loud, as I knew he would. I followed the song with a quick jig, another gift of the maid’s. Then I told them a story, which ended with a wild scream and a pounce. The queen giggled and put her hand to her breast.

  At the end of my performance, Lord Darnley clapped weakly and then squeezed the queen’s hand.

  “You are so attentive, so considerate of me, Madam,” he said. “If an angel came down from heaven to sit at my bedside, it would display less compassion than you, my dearest, dearest Majesty.”

  “Hush, dear laddie,” cooed the queen. “Do not tire yourself.”

  Until that moment I had convinced myself that the queen was merely amused by Darnley, happy to have a dancing partner taller than she. But this conversation went well beyond friendship. My head suddenly ached.

  You are simply jealous, I told myself.

  But I had not been jealous of King Francis.

  And then I recognized the emotion I was feeling: I was afraid.

  How can she love this monster?

  But she had loved the weak and sickly Francis. She loved Davie despite his warped back and misshapen face. She had loved me first because I had been beaten by Uncle. It was what made her such a noble queen: loving the neediest of her people.

  She must love Lord Darnley from pity.

  “Let me mix a tonic for you,” the queen offered, sliding her hand gently out of his grasp. “To put the color back in your cheeks.”

  Darnley nodded and blew a kiss to her as she left.

  However, as soon as she was gone into the next room, he beckoned me closer. Thinking he wanted to thank me for my performance, perhaps even reward me with a coin, I drew near.

  But as I got within reach, he suddenly seized my arm.

  “Come here, pretty fool,” he whispered huskily. “You are growing into such a lovely young woman. A kiss will mend me quicker than any physic.”

  He pulled me down so that my face touched his. From the smell on his breath I guessed that wine was the only physic he had taken that day. His lips touched mine, then parted, and his tongue thrust into my mouth.

  My cheeks ablaze, I wrenched away, overbalanced, and tumbled to the floor with a thud.

  At the sound, the queen hurried back into the room, afraid—I guess—that her patient had fallen out of bed.

  “Nicola, whatever are you doing on the floor?” she asked.

  “She was demonstrating a new dance step to me,” Darnley drawled. “One from Spain. She lacks skill ... in some things.”

  “A difficult step indeed,” the queen said, helping me to my feet. “And one best not attempted without practice.”

  I straightened my dress and stared at Lord Darnley. His face was the picture of innocence.

  Should I tell the queen what has just happened?

  But who was I—a commoner—to lay a complaint against a noble? And which of us was the queen more likely to believe?

  “Yes, Your Majesty,” I said. My voice was rough like a goblet ill mended. “I will practice before I attempt it again.”

  “Yes, you had better, if you would please me,” said Darnley. His mocking tone was quite lost on the queen.

  How could the queen not have guessed what had happened? My face must have been bright red; I could feel the heat of it. My voice was tremulous, my hands shaking.

  She had to know.

  But clearly she did not.

  Escorting me to the door, the queen said, “Fetch the four Maries to the drawing room. I will be along presently.”

  I was relieved to be out of the chamber, and hurried away to do her bidding.

  Pious Mary was still in the drawing room, picking out my unfortunate R. I found Jolly Mary and Pretty Mary Beaton in the library playing cards. But it took some time to find Regal Mary—until I glanced out a window and saw her strolling in the garden with Sir William Maitland. He was joking with her as if all the affairs of state were forgotten.

  For a moment I watched them, surprised at my growing sense of unease. Certainly I had seen the like before in the French court. I was fifteen, after all, the age at which most young women were already married and mothers.

  But the memory of Darnley’s tongue in my mouth made me shudder. I pushed the awful thought aside and ran down the stairs to the garden, interrupting the two at their play. I was even more surprised that they did not seem at all flustered. In fact they both seemed to preen themselves at my discovery.

  “The queen,” I said, my voice carefully distant, “wishes to see all the four Maries in the drawing room at once.”

  Regal Mary smiled and Maitland bent down to kiss her hand. She plucked it away before his lips could quite touch her fingers, and swept indoors laughing while I scurried after her.

  “Do you know why the queen wants to see us?” Regal Mary asked, a blush remaining on her cheek.

  I shook my head. Even had I known, it would not have been my place to say so. But my temple had begun throbbing again.

  “Perhaps it is to do with the young cockerel,” Jolly Mary suggested, using one of the many mocking terms they all called Darnley.

  “You don’t suppose—” Pretty Mary began.

  “Hush! Not a word!” cautioned Regal Mary, raising a finger to her lips. “Let us not even think on such a thing.”

  We had not long to wait before Queen Mary arrived, with a radiance of face that should have been a pleasure to behold. Yet that radiance troubled me.

  We stood, as if standing could help us all bear the news.

  “I have the most marvelous thing to tell you,” she said, “and I wish to share it first with you, the dear friends of my childhood.”

  “Does it concern Lord Darnley?” Regal Mary asked, looking as though she were firmly braced for the answer.

  “Yes it does,” the queen replied, her face glowing. “I should have known you would guess, dear friends. It must be obvious I am in love. And he declares his heart mine. Is that not wonderful?”

  She looked at each of us in turn, seeking our approval.

  There was a long silence, which Regal Mary finally plucked up the courage to fill. “He is very comely,” she said.

  “Very,” Pious Mary agreed.

  “And tall,” said Jolly Mary. “A goodly height for dancing.”

  There was a further pause, then Pretty Mary added quickly, “He carries himself nobly. Like a gentleman.”

  “Yes,” Jolly Mary agreed. “His carriage is beyond reproach.”

  “And he is of the royal blood,” concluded Regal Mary, as though that finally settled the matter. Her fingers twisted together till they grew white.

  “And you, Nicola?” the queen asked, turning to me. “What does my dear fool, who ever speaks the truth to me, have to say?”

  What could I say? That Lord Henry was a bully and a sot? That he was unfaithful to her? That he was not fit for her anteroom, much less her bedchamber? Did she really want to know the truth?

  “A godling, Your Majesty,” I answered, giving her a curtsy. She would think I meant Apollo, but I knew he was really Pan. But the half-lie hurt my head and I closed my eyes against the pain.

  The queen did not notice
. She clapped her hands together, blushing furiously. “Oh, I am so happy that you love him as I do, for I do love him so. And it will please you to know that Lord Darnley and I are to be married as soon as suitable arrangements can be made.”

  There was a fresh silence, even more profound than the first. This time it was Pious Mary who broke it.

  “Suitable arrangements should take time,” she pointed out. “That is ... if they are to be entirely suitable.”

  “It will take no time at all,” the queen declared airily, waving her right hand. “I will command it.” Into the silence that followed that declaration, she added, “I already have the most beautiful dress in mind. Of white silk, with an embroidery of golden flowers and insects on the bodice, sleeves, and skirts.”

  “Oh, it will be a grand day!” Pretty Mary exclaimed, as though she could already see the queen in her wedding gown. “Masques and...”

  “Music and dancing!” cried Jolly Mary.

  In their sudden excitement they seemed to have forgotten the identity of the groom.

  So it was left to me to speak out, the only one foolish enough to try. The fool charged with always telling the truth.

  “One should be careful when taking such a step as this,” I said. “A mortal marrying a godling. For you are mortal, oh queen.”

  Queen Mary laughed. “Such caution, Jardinière. But I need no such warnings now.” She put her hand on her breast. “I shall simply follow my heart as you once advised me to do. Lord Darnley and I shall be wed as soon as possible, even if the world calls it folly.”

  “Your Majesty,” I tried again, my voice trembling as I spoke, “it is my duty to play the fool ... not yours.”

  “Am I a fool at last?” She laughed gaily, taking my hands and spinning us around. “If I am, then it is love that has made me so.”

  I pulled us to an abrupt stop. “Then I shall dance at your wedding,” I said, “one fool with another.”

  The queen left to spread the word of her wedding plans. Standing uncomfortably in the midst of the Maries, I wondered which of us would be the first to say what was on the minds of all.

  “If she must marry a toad, there should at least be some advantage to be gained by the union.” Regal Mary sighed.

  “There are many weeks yet before the ceremony,” Pious Mary reminded us. “There will be time for her to come to her senses.”

  “Dear Lord, I hope so,” I said, and broke the circle apart.

  26

  DISASTER

  Later that day I ran into Davie in a corridor with a sheaf of papers under his arm. I seized him by the sleeve.

  “Davie, have you heard? The queen and Lord Darnley are to be wed.”

  He nodded, glancing over his shoulder at the empty corridor, then answered in guarded tones. “Yes, I know. I was there when she broke the news to Maitland and Lord James.” There was mischief in his voice. “None of Lord James’s bluster or Maitland’s honeyed speech could dissuade her.”

  I shook my head. “It is a disaster, Davie. There is no other word for it. Did they tell her what they thought of him?”

  Davie’s homely mouth contorted into a grin. “Aye, and with little enough prompting. She called them jealous and uncaring.”

  I thought quickly. The queen could ill afford such a falling-out with her two chief ministers, particularly over such a creature as Darnley. Touching Davie’s sleeve again, I asked, “Was there no peace offering?”

  He shrugged his hunched shoulders. “After a bit, they left off their bombast and tried to reason with her. Maitland maintained that to marry a man who is kin to the English royal family would only provoke Elizabeth, who could then reasonably claim her cousin was trying to steal the English throne.”

  “Is that true?”

  “True enough,” he said quietly. “Like most politics.”

  “Well, everyone says English Elizabeth already envies our queen her beauty. I wager that when she hears, she will not be able to bear that Queen Mary will enjoy the pleasures of marriage while she does not.”

  Davie laughed at me. “Then you are as naive about these things as your mistress and you will lose your wager.”

  I glared at him, which only made him laugh longer, so I turned the subject. “What I cannot really understand is why Queen Mary loves Darnley. I can only believe it is out of pity.”

  “You yourself called him handsome.”

  I shuddered and Davie’s eyes narrowed, as if he guessed what had happened between me and Darnley in his sickroom. But I did not say anything about it aloud. Instead, I asked, “What did Lord James say?”

  “He declared that for the queen to marry a Catholic would offend the Protestants. They would fear she planned to persecute them, as the French have the Huguenots. He said they might well rise up in arms.”

  I sank down on a small couch, and put my head in my hands. “Oh, Davie, that sounds more a threat than an argument.”

  He plunked himself down next to me. “That is exactly how the queen took it.” His voice was low. “But neither reason nor threats sway her, Nicola, so firmly set is the course of her love.”

  “What a disaster, ” said.

  “Not such a disaster actually.”

  I turned to stare at him, astonished. “Surely you do not think him a fit husband, much less the best husband for our queen.”

  “Have you not understood yet, my innocent one?” He smiled sadly. “There is no best husband for her. There is not even a good one. Whoever she chooses will be the cause of disputes and intrigue. She may as well marry this girlie-faced braggart and be done with it.”

  “But he will not be faithful to her.” I wiped the back of my hand across my mouth with remembered distaste.

  After a pause Davie said slowly, “As long as Darnley pleases the queen, what does that matter? The marriage question will be settled at last, and perhaps there will even be an heir.”

  “Darnley does not matter?”

  “He is too idle to interfere in the business of governing,” Davie explained. “He desires a crown, but not the tedious burden of ruling, which will be left to those who know what they are about.”

  “Like Lord James?” I asked. “Like Maitland?”

  He smiled broadly and waved the sheaf of papers in front of my face. “No, Nicola—like... me.”

  The pounding of boots on the floor made us both turn. Down the corridor came the queen’s spurned ministers marching towards us. Lord James was a raging bull, with Maitland a fidgeting goat by his side.

  “Well, Signor Riccio, are ye satisfied with yer handiwork?” roared Lord James before even coming to a halt. “Ye hae done all ye can to set that English whelp on the throne of Scotland.”

  Davie stood to face them. “I am satisfied that I have committed no offense against the queen, my lords. Can you say likewise?”

  Maitland was more conciliatory, his hands spread out before him. “Our sole concern is for the queen’s welfare.”

  “And that of the realm of Scotland,” Lord James added.

  Maitland nodded. “Who benefits if the court is divided into two hostile camps?”

  “If it benefits those the queen favors,” Davie retorted, “and ruins those she despises, then it is a division I can tolerate gladly.”

  “Ye are as much to blame for this farce as Darnley,” Lord James said. “Ye have been his supporter from the beginning, taking his side when all others opposed him.”

  “I know what it is like to be opposed by all,” Davie said.

  Lord James sneered. “This ill-advised marriage will bring chaos upon our nation and well ye know it!”

  “Perhaps you would rather the queen married one of your Protestant friends,” Davie said. “If you had spoken up in time, she might have married Mr. Knox while he was yet a widower.”

  I must have gasped out loud at his remark, for all three suddenly turned towards me.

  “You are the fool, David Riccio,” I said. “Not I.”

  “He is worse than a fool.” Lor
d James turned to Davie. “Ye are a mischievous goblin! I should box your ears for yer insolence.”

  “If it is insolent to speak the truth, sir,” Davie said, “then I am the King of Insolence and my kingdom knows no bounds.”

  “I will set bounds to it!” Lord James said, lifting a brawny hand and swatting Davie across the face.

  Reeling back, the papers scattering everywhere, Davie pressed against the wall, arms over his head to protect against further blows.

  Lord James drew his sword, a sound that sliced the air.

  Though I thought Davie a fool—or worse—I could not see him killed. Stepping in front of Lord James, I raised my hands.

  “It does you no honor, sir, to strike down an unarmed man.” I was so frightened, I could feel my heart all but leap from my breast.

  “His vile tongue is weapon enough, little tart!” cried Lord James, trying to push me aside. “He has used it overmuch already.”

  “Have a care!” Maitland called out. “You will not knock sense into the queen by beheading her secretary and her fool.”

  Lord James’s face was flushed, but slowly he saw the sense of Maitland’s argument and sheathed his sword. Then he turned, saying over his shoulder, “I will not stay a moment longer. Let the queen take that pretty doll to her bed. I will have none of it!”

  Then he stormed off with Maitland following close behind.

  When their footsteps had faded, Davie looked up, his face pale. Smiling nervously, he straightened his tunic.

  I collected his scattered papers and handed them to him, but my hands were trembling and the papers clattered together.

  “Oh, Davie,” I whispered, “I would be your dearest friend, but I think you are your own chiefest enemy.”

  There was no apology, no thanks. All he said, in a voice thick with venom, was, “I will see Lord James driven clean out of Scotland, Nicola. You mark my words.”

  27

  WEDDING MEATS

  There was to be no reconsidering. Lovesick and adamant, the queen married Darnley in the chapel royal at Holyrood just after dawn on the last Sunday in July, having first named him “King of this our Kingdom.” She was twenty-three years old and he scarce twenty.