Queen's Own Fool

by Jane Yolen

  “No,” I said, “do not tell me. I know why.” As I spoke, I pounded my right fist into my left hand. “They thought they were using Bothwell, only to find that he had been using them all along.” I turned back to Joseph. “Even a fool should have seen that. Especially a fool.”

  “Nicola, you still do not know the worst of it,” he said and stood. “Bothwell counted on the fact of the nobles’ complicity to keep them from opposing him. But in marrying the queen, he has seriously overstepped himself. This matter will be decided by battle. And soon.” He took my hands again.

  “A battle? What of the queen, Joseph? Which side will she be on? ”

  “I am no seer, Nicola. I only hope she chooses well.”

  But she did not choose well. My brave queen chose Bothwell, as a sailor clings to a bit of wreckage when a ship goes down.

  Lord Seton was one of the first to summon his troops and march to the queen’s defense. He had no regard for Bothwell, in fact he despised the man. But yet he was willing to die for his queen.

  He took his leave of his daughter and me in the castle courtyard. From atop his splendid bay gelding, he said, “Bothwell is a bully and...”

  “And a boar, sir?” I said.

  Seton had looked startled for a moment.

  “It is the little piggy eyes,” I added. “Sir.”

  Lord Seton, that good, gentle man, threw his head back and roared. “I shall not be able to look him in the face from now on, Nicola, without seeing a boar’s head and wondering where his tusks are kept,” he told me. “Poor dear queen.”

  And away he rode at the head of his troops.

  I could do nothing, of course, but wait anxiously in Seton Castle for news of any battles that were to come. It was mid-June, and the gardens were all aflower. Roses in the arbor had already opened their velvet faces to the summer sun.

  But not I.

  I had full autumn in my heart.

  For if the queen’s forces won decisively, Bothwell would remain at her side. I could never see her again. Not safely.

  Yet if her forces should lose...

  I could not believe that God would let her lose.

  But He had let her lose so much already.

  We had no word for days, though the castle was abuzz with rumors.

  The queen is in Edinburgh, we heard.

  She’s riding with the troops to Borthwick, that stark twin-towered fortress near the Esk.

  She’s north and south, we were told. East and west.

  No one knew a thing but everyone knew the rumors.

  I longed to be with her, but I was stuck at Seton with no way to get to her except by waiting.

  So I waited.

  At last Lord Seton returned, looking years older than when he had left. He was grim and filthy. Dismounting, he was greeted by his daughter, who had come the evening before, sped on by news that her father might be riding home.

  I watched through one of the mullioned windows as she put her arm around his shoulders for comfort. It was not my place to greet him. Besides, I was too afraid to hear what he had to say.

  A servant found me in the front hall, pacing back and forth. “The master would have you take a drink with him and Lady Mary in his apartments. ”

  I went at once, already guessing the news. Who could not, having seen Lord Seton’s face?

  Mary saw me before I could knock. “Ah, Nicola, ” she said, gesturing me in.

  Lord Seton’s breastplate and helmet lay on the floor, where he had dropped them. “Forgive me for not rising,” he said, before taking a deep draft from his glass.

  Mary handed me a drink as well, but though I raised it to my lips, I did not take so much as a sip.

  Without preamble, Lord Seton began. “Face-to-face at Carberry Hill we were, about eight miles east of Edinburgh. Morton and his allies had moved more quickly than we. What’s more they outnumbered us as well. We had but six hundred horses and they thousands. Even Maitland has joined their cause.”

  “That is no surprise,” his daughter interjected. “He has no love for Bothwell.”

  Lord Seton waved his hand, as if to dismiss her interruption. “We held the high ground, so that they couldna easily attack us, and we stood fast under the queen’s banner, the red lion of Scotland. Och, ye should have seen it whip about bravely in the wind. But Norton’s men blocked off any possible retreat, and so there we waited to see who would first spill the blood of his ain country-men.”

  He took another sip of his wine. “It was hot. By God it was hot on that hill in full armor. Though the queen, bless her, never looked less than magnificent.”

  “Father, should you not rest now?” Mary asked.

  He shook his head. “I must say it once and be done wi’ it, lass. Besides, how can any of us rest, with the tale not told?”

  I leaned forward. “Please, sir.” My voice was small and broke in the middle. “I must know the worst.”

  Lord Seton smiled gently at me. “Do ye see? Nicola wants to know.”

  Mary sighed. “As do I, Father,” she said. “Tell on.” She filled his glass.

  He did not pick the wine up again, but started anew. “The false lords sent a deputy, a Frenchman named du Croc. He carried their demands—that the queen should abandon Bothwell, and in turn they would restore her to her former position.”

  “Then why did she not give them his head?” I cried, even though I thought I knew the answer. She loved him now out of pity.

  “Would that she had,” Mary put in. “She has had not an hour of happiness from this marriage. He is cruel to her and she lacks the strength to fight him. You would not know her, Nicola, she is so altered.”

  Lord Seton now took another long swallow of his wine. “Poor lady, there she was wrapped in the royal colors of Scotland, a red and yellow skirt, and a jaunty black riding hat. But she was furious at the suggestion. She said it was those very lords who had sent a paper to her first urging the marriage. ‘It is by ye that Bothwell has been promoted.’ Those were her very words.”

  A steward came in with a bowl of fruit from Lord Seton’s own gardens, but he was waved away. “Not now, man. Later. After I have cleaned myself up.” Then Lord Seton looked at me. “Ah, Nicola, the queen tried her best to negotiate an agreement to save them both, while Bothwell swaggered around the field, offering single combat to any who would dare to face him.”

  “Single combat?” I said, putting down my untouched drink. “I would have fought him.”

  That brought a smile to Lord Seton’s tired face. “I am certain ye would, my brave lass. And so would others. At which point he rapidly retracted his offer. A boar without any tusks at all,” he said.

  “Father—are you havering? Really, you must rest.” Mary put her hand out towards him.

  “Just a jest, my dear, between two fools, one young and one old. Do not worry, I havna lost my mind.” He smiled sadly. “Though it is the only thing I havna lost this day.”

  “Then what was the outcome? Did the armies fight? Is Bothwell still alive? Is the queen safe?” The questions tumbled out of me.

  Lord Seton raised a hand to calm me, but his hand shook so, Mary put her own over his to steady him. At last he said, “The lairds agreed that if the queen returned with them to Edinburgh, Bothwell could leave unharmed. They promised she would be permitted to address Parliament, putting her case to the people.”

  “Was that safe?” I asked. “I mean to return to Edinburgh with them.”

  Lord Seton shook his head. “Safe? The very worry I had, lass. And so I counseled her not to be overtrustful. But evening was drawing in. Many of our troops had already drifted away because of Bothwell’s loathsome bragging and his cowardice when put to the point. ”

  “I should never have left her side,” I cried.

  Lord Seton leaned forward. “Do not fash yerself, lassie,” he said, using the old Scots phrase. “What good would ye have done her dead and one more murder on her poor conscience?”

  I reached for my own w
ineglass then and took a sip. The sweet taste burned down my throat and was a small comfort.

  “So they parted?” Mary asked.

  “Aye,” said Lord Seton. “Husband and wife sundered, he to the north, she to the camp of her rebellious nobles.”

  “And how was she treated there?” I asked, my voice hoarse with fear and the aftermath of the wine.

  “She had to ride through two lines of soldiers who greeted her with jeers and insults which their leaders did nothing to suppress.” His answer twisted his mouth. “They called her witch, and whore. ‘Burn the murderess!’ they shouted. ‘Kill her! Drown her!’ I do not believe she understood until then how many of her beloved Scots had turned against her.”

  Mary began to weep quietly but I had no tears left, having shed them all long ago. Anger consumed me, not sorrow. I was ice cold with it.

  “Where is she now?” I asked.

  “They have locked her up in Preston’s grim mansion, without attendants or comforts or privacy. It is a small, bare house in Edinburgh.” His fingers, so weak and trembling before, now clenched the goblet with such passion I feared the stem would break. “She is being treated as a common criminal while they debate whether they dare put her on trial.”

  “On trial.” The words burst from my mouth. “They would not dare. She is the queen!”

  Then I looked at Lord Seton’s familiar face, now sunken and grey, and I understood for the first time how desperate things really were. The Scots lairds would dare anything.

  “Father, what are we to do?” Mary asked.

  “Do?” Lord Seton slumped back against his chair. “What can we do? There is no army left to support her, and every day Bothwell raises her a fresh crop of enemies. This is her darkest hour.”

  I added what we already knew. “And ours as well.”

  41

  PLANS

  Things were darker than even we had guessed, for the queen was soon spirited away from Edinburgh and locked in a fouler prison, on an island.

  We were still at Castle Seton when Pious Mary told us of it. Anger and fear warred on her homely face as she spoke.

  “Mary Livingstone and I had hardly an hour with the queen under the eyes of a guard. A guard!” She struck the table with the flat of her hand as her voice rose.

  “How did she look?” I asked. “Was she well, my queen?”

  “She was thin, worn. She had not eaten in three days.”

  “But why ... ?” I leaned towards her. “Is she ill again?”

  Mary shook her head. “She feared poison and dared not eat till we were there with her. Mary Livingstone and I fixed her a meal with our own hands, and only then would she try a bite.”

  “Poor, poor lady,” Lord Seton whispered.

  “Father, there is worse to come,” Mary said. “We had just gotten her to accept a few spoonfuls of Lorraine soup, with Morton—that pustule—standing behind her chair and watching every bite. Suddenly the door burst open and a group of men stomped in to take her off again.”

  I put a hand over my mouth, shocked. I had never heard Pious Mary swear before. In fact I had never even heard her raise her voice. But war makes heroes of the least of us, and devils of the rest.

  “Morton just stood there, arms crossed, calm as a post, though we women set up an awful wail,” Mary said, her eyes hard, like cobbles. “The soldiers ordered her out, carrying not even a nightdress and only two chambermaids with her.”

  “Where did they take her?” Lord Seton asked.

  “Lochleven.”

  Lochleven! I shivered remembering the stories I had heard of the place, that cold grey tower and keep belonging to the Douglases. It sat on a small island in the middle of a misty loch. Sentinels kept perfect watch from an elevated walkway round the inside of the parapet. No one could sail to the island or away from it without their knowing.

  We discussed what we knew of the place, Mary in a fury, Lord Seton sad, and me—I hovered somewhere between the two.

  “The keep there is old and the wind comes through the chinks, ” said Mary. “It is no place for a queen to stay. Not one who has already suffered so much and been so ill.” She hesitated, her natural sense of fairness warring with her anger. “There is a bedroom that is comfortable enough, with good tapestries on the walls and a bed of green velvet. And a goodly presence chamber to meet with people.” She looked a bit sheepish. “I was hawking there once with the queen.”

  Lord Seton’s long face got longer. “The Douglases will probably take those rooms for themselves. She may be lodged instead in the Glassin Tower.”

  “True ...” Mary said.

  “Or in the dungeon,” he added, and sighed heavily. Since the queen’s removal to prison, he had fallen prey to a miasma of the heart.

  “Where the queen lies, so lies majesty,” I said, refusing to be drawn into his mood. “She will make even the bleakest dungeon a home.” I patted his hand, but it lay beneath my touch like a dead thing. “Besides, is not Lord James a Douglas? Surely being kin to the queen they will treat her well.”

  “Oh fool, fool, fool.” Lord Seton wept, his head in his hands.

  “What have I said?” I whispered to Mary.

  “The dowager Lady Margaret Douglas believes Lord James should have had the throne himself,” she told me. “Lady Margaret has never forgiven the queen for coming back to take it. Her welcome will be a cold one indeed.”

  “Fool I am,” I said to Lord Seton. “But fool I will not remain. I will find a way to get the queen out of that foul place, by myself if I have to.”

  “Not by yourself, dear Nicola,” said Mary.

  “No indeed,” agreed Lord Seton. “For to get in there and get out again, you will need our help.”

  However we did it, it needed to be done quickly. Word came to Lord Seton that the queen was once again in ill health. Heart-sick and full of despair, she had been forced to sign away the throne in favor of her year-old son. Jamie was crowned king a few days later and Lord James declared regent, which made him as good as a king.

  “That old carlin, that witch Margaret Douglas, is surely crowing at this very moment,” Pious Mary said as we rode to Castle Niddry, one of the ancestral homes of the Setons, to meet with the other Maries, for they were part of our plan.

  The day was overcast, but the winds were hardly riding the trees at all. The road to Niddry was well traveled and we passed a small group of wagoners as we rode along.

  When we arrived at the castle—a small grey stone haven within a pretty dale—Joseph was standing outside with one of the grooms. I gasped aloud and Mary was grinning ear to ear. I guessed then that she had arranged this reunion and was delighted to have kept it a surprise.

  While the groom helped Mary dismount, Joseph came to my aid, lifting me down from the horse as though I weighed nothing.

  “You are thinner,” he said, quickly adding, “It becomes you.”

  “It is from worry,” I told him. “For the queen’s safety. And for yours. ”

  The wind puzzled his black curls, giving him the look of an addled angel. His hands lingered on my waist and Mary called out, “I will see to our chambers.” And then she left for the house, the groom—trailing the two horses—for the stables.

  Joseph and I were alone under the darkening sky.

  “I am surprised to see you,” I said, stepping away from him, suddenly shy. “I thought you were at Holyrood.”

  His face was unsmiling. “I have become the latest in a long line of fugitives.”

  I was shocked. “You?”

  “Francisco Busso and Bastian de Pages have already been arrested for aiding in Darnley’s murder. I was named, too, but I escaped through the window before Morton’s men could arrest me.”

  “But this is ridiculous!” I exclaimed. “What do the postulant lords of Scotland hope to achieve?” My voice rose alarmingly and he stepped close to me and put a hand over my mouth.

  “Hush, Nicola. Even here in Seton’s own house we must use caution. Morton’
s ears are everywhere. If you were reported and I could not save you...” His eyes teared up.

  I nodded and he removed his hand. “I will be careful, Joseph. I promise. But tell me why they are persecuting the innocent with so many wicked around?”

  “They do not care about innocence, darling fool, only scapegoats,” he told me. “That way no one will stop to question the guilt of those who have seized power. These ‘pustulent lords’ as you call them will arrest a thousand men and execute them all if it will distract attention from themselves.”

  I said fiercely, “One need not be a physician to know how to deal with pustules. One quick pop between the fingers and...”

  “Nicola!” he whispered as if shocked, but there was laughter in his eyes.

  The sky began to spit down at us and we walked quickly towards the house.

  “At least you need not stay hiding longer,” he said. “Bothwell can no longer do you any harm.”

  “Where is he now?”

  Joseph opened the door for me, saying, “He races from one end of the country to the other trying to raise an army, but it is clear that it is not the queen’s cause he serves but his own. He has been publicly named as Darnley’s murderer and declared outlaw. His only options now are to flee into exile or remain in Scotland until he is captured and executed.”

  “Good!” I said, and meant it. “Even if he is harried like a wild boar in a hunt, I will not weep for him.”

  Behind us the rain began in earnest. I turned to Joseph and whispered, “But what danger are you in if you remain here?”

  He put his hands on my shoulders, speaking urgently. “There is a ship for France in two days time, Nicola. What belongings I have are here with me. I came for you, Nicola. Marry me and sail away from this madness.”

  I looked down, confused by my swirling emotions. “To be with you in France ...” I could scarcely speak. “Married ... It is my greatest desire.” I looked up. “But, Joseph, I have to help free the queen. What is mere desire next to that?”