Queen's Own Fool

by Jane Yolen

  I sketched a brief curtsy. “I will tell her gladly,” I said carefully. “But I will miss your visits, sir. As will the queen. You are not a Douglas in heart.”

  “Do not say that, Nicola. I am twice the Douglas my brother is. And will prove it, to the queen and to God.”

  The days went by, then weeks, and we finally decided that we could not just wait for George, we would have to make a plan ourselves.

  One consolation was that we were finally rid of Lady Douglas. Heavily pregnant, she had taken to her bed in the hall, clucked over by female relatives and two midwives. An April baby was expected.

  “A cackle of nestlings, more like,” I said to Mary and the queen, which brought a bit of laughter into our lives.

  The other consolation was that the queen was no longer close-guarded. The soldiers had grown steadily lax during the winter.

  The queen, Mary, and I sat huddled by the fire one morning, waiting for the sun to break through the grey long enough to let us walk outside.

  “We have to have a boat,” I said.

  Mary clucked her tongue, as if to say, “Of course.”

  “And there are three ways to get one.” I held up my three fingers, pointing to each in turn. “Buy one, borrow one, or steal one.”

  They both nodded, their fingers busy at their embroideries.

  “Which do you suggest?” Mary asked.

  “Borrow. That way no one else gets in trouble for helping us.”

  The queen smiled down at her stitchery.

  “There will never be a better chance to break free,” I pointed out.

  At that moment, the fire in the hearth crackled loudly as if signalling its agreement.

  “Do you imagine I have not considered escape?” the queen asked softly, looking up. “I consider it every day. But what is the sense in raising our hopes only to have them dashed.”

  Mary nodded. “George hinted at plans afoot. Should we not wait for him?”

  I said hurriedly, “Whatever George meant by the queen’s hour, that time had not yet come. And time, as we all know, is not on our side.” What I didn’t say aloud—and didn’t need to—was that with a murder charge hanging over the queen’s head, the executioners might come any day.

  The queen stood and put her back to the fire. Such was our close companionship in this prison, neither Mary nor I felt compelled to rise with her.

  “My dears, ” the queen said, “I could not now make a drop from the tower without breaking a leg—or worse.”

  “We will not have to drop from the tower or vault the gate. We will simply go through it,” I promised. “I have been up all night thinking and have finally got it!”

  Mary stared at me as if I had lost my mind. “Got what?”

  “The plan!”

  Toying with the ring Regal Mary had sent her, the queen said, “Perhaps if this were a magic ring, Nicola, as in one of your stories, I could become invisible, and simply walk past the guards unseen. ”

  “You shall pass them by unseen,” I said. “And in broad daylight, too. It will not take magic to do it.”

  I rushed out of the room and returned with a bundle of rough garments of linsey-woolsey which I laid out before her.

  Surprised, she said, “What is this?”

  “A disguise, Majesty,” I said.

  Her eyes widened. She had often dressed up for masques. On one occasion she had even passed as a soldier.

  “As you know, I was ashore recently running some errands with the castle servants,” I explained. “While they were taking refreshment at a tavern, I obtained these clothes. I said they were for rags to soften your mattress.”

  “Why didn’t you say anything of this before?” Mary asked. Her hands were now folded atop her embroidery.

  “Because I needed to think more about it. As the queen said—not wanting to raise hopes only to dash them.”

  The queen picked up one of the two sacklike dresses and held it under her chin. She looked thoughtful. “Do you think I can pass for a village washerwoman?”

  “We will have to ruin your hair and wash off your makeup,” Mary told her.

  “It might work....” The queen hesitated. “As long as no one notices I am gone. But Lord William insists on knowing my whereabouts at all times. His servants check on me regularly.”

  “I have an idea,” Mary said. She went over to the queen’s dressing table and lifted up one of the hairpieces the queen used to fill out her natural hair. “These will do.”

  “What do you mean?” the queen asked.

  Mary held the peruke on top of her own head. “If I put on one of your dresses, Majesty, and fashion my hair into the same style as yours, I might be taken for you from a reasonable distance.”

  “Yes,” the queen agreed somberly. “If you sit at the window as I so often do, and with your face averted, Lord William’s men might well be deceived.”

  “And thinking you safe in the tower, like a princess in a fairy tale, they will not be looking for you elsewhere,” I concluded. I had already thought of that part of the plan, but did not want to spoil Mary’s obvious pleasure in proposing it.

  “I wish it were not such a serious business,” said the queen, “for it would make a splendid joke.” There were sudden tears in her eyes. “But dearest Mary, how can we leave you behind to take the blame?”

  “Once we are away,” I said quickly, “Mary can get back into her own clothes and lie down in her room, to be fast asleep when it is discovered we are gone. How can they then blame her? Surely she would have come with us, had she known of our plans.”

  “You have thought of everything, Nicola!” the queen said, and clapped her hands. “And you, too, dear Mary. Brava!” She spun around in place and her skirts belled out around her. Then she stopped suddenly. “We must go tomorrow. Before we have time for fear.”

  Brava, Majesty! I thought.

  The very next day the washerwomen came from the village to deliver what clean linens they had and round up the used. Normally they saved the queen’s linens and her small clothes for the last.

  I watched them from the window while the queen changed into her disguise. I was already in mine. At the same time, Mary stood before the mirror adjusting her false hair and tugging at her gown.

  There were enough servants coming and going that the guards would pay no attention to yet another pair of common slatterns. That was important to my plan.

  The queen and I got down the stairs and out of the tower without a mishap, bundles of dirty laundry in our arms.

  I led the queen across the courtyard. She wore a rough plaid pulled up over her face, for her features were too striking and familiar not to be concealed. As to her walk—I had spent the morning training her and she managed to cast aside her elegant glide in favor of a longer stride and a clumsier gait.

  “Never—never—look up into anyone’s face,” I warned her. “Your eyes, Majesty, will give you away.”

  We passed almost too easily up to the gate carrying the fardel of laundry without drawing so much as a glance. The soldiers were busily chatting with one another, and paid us no mind.

  But the gate—that would be the big test.

  For the first time in days the sun was shining brilliantly, so we had nowhere to hide.

  I signalled the queen to adjust her plaid once more, and—as she did so—the great ring on her hand with the mouse and lion carving winked at me.

  “Hssst,” I said to get her attention, showing her my hand.

  She understood and slipped the ring off, hiding it in her clothing.

  We got to the castle gate, walking close, all but clinging together. The guards glanced briefly at us, then away. It was then I realized that I was holding my breath and let it out in a single whoosh.

  One of the guards called out, “A problem, lassies?”

  “Just a stink,” I called back in my broadest Scots accent, “the wind off these rags.”

  They laughed and turned back to their own gossip.

&nb
sp; As we made our way down to the shore, the queen winked at me. I was so astonished, I nearly dropped the laundry.

  “Head down, Madam,” I whispered, and she did just that, adjusting the plaid to further hide her face.

  My heart was pounding, not so much with excitement but fear. It was all I could do to put one foot before another. Even when I had run from Bothwell’s men in the night, I had not been so overmastered by fright. But then I had had only myself to worry about.

  At last we reached one of the boats, where a man dozed in the sun.

  “We are done with work, fellow,” I said. “Take us back to town.”

  He awoke at my words, helped us into the boat, then cast off smoothly from the island, pulling leisurely on the oars. I did not dare arouse his suspicions by trying to hurry him.

  The water slapped lightly, pit-pat, on the side of the boat as we glided along over the waves. The sun cast brilliant jewels of light on the water. Across the loch, the far shore was like a glimpse of paradise.

  I glanced over to reassure the queen, who was sitting with her head downcast, as if studying her shoes, the plaid covering her head like a cowl.

  Her shoes! I suddenly realized she was wearing her elegant black velvet boots. A rush of bile rose in my throat, flooding my mouth. I prayed that the boatman—who was facing us—would not notice the queen’s feet.

  “I have seen ye on this crossing before,” he said to me.

  “Yes, I am often sent on errands by Lady Douglas,” I said, hoping my voice would not shake.

  “And yer friend?” he asked, leaning forward. “I dinna recognize her at all.”

  The queen looked away and I leaned forward to take his eye on me instead.

  “She is but newly come from Killin,” I said. “She is still a wee bit shy.” I could hear her shift behind me. “And a wee bit unwell. She is trying not to catch a chill.”

  “Chill?” the boatman laughed. “The sun is out full, lassie! Enjoy it while ye can. We will pay for it tomorrow.” He laid down his oars. There was a curious glint in his eye. “Be it just a pretty face she hides for the sake of a jealous husband?”

  Before I realized his intention, he lunged forward to snatch the queen’s plaid aside. Instinctively, she reached up and grabbed his hand to stop him. He stared wide-eyed at her long delicate fingers.

  “Those nae be a washerwoman’s hands,” he said.

  She pulled herself free, and as she did so, the plaid fell away exposing her pale, beautiful face.

  The boatman leaned back, his face torn between accusation and apology. “The queen ...” He darted quick, nervous glances at the island to see if anyone was watching us.

  Sitting up straight and casting aside her washerwoman bearing as though it were an old garment, the queen leaned forward. “Yes, I am your queen, boatman. But I do not command you now. Instead I beg your help to escape this unjust imprisonment.”

  The boatman’s knuckles went white, so hard did he grip the oars. “I canna be a party to this escape, Your Majesty.”

  I could stand it no longer. “Canna? Or willna? It is only a short way. We are hardly more than a minute from freedom.”

  “A minute from my arrest, ye mean. They willna wait for a trial to hang me. Ye be royal, Ma‘am,” he said to the queen, “and they dare not harm ye. I have to think on mysel’—and my wee bairns.”

  The queen said nothing, but gazed at the mainland, now so tantalizingly close.

  “If you betray us, you might still be taken as an accomplice,” I said quickly. “Who will believe you could have rowed this far without recognizing the queen unless you were part of the plot? Would anyone think you such a fool?”

  He shook his head but still made no move to shift the boat one way or another. It floated midway between the island and the shore, rocking slowly in the waves.

  I tried to judge the distance. Heavily clad as we were, we could not possibly swim the rest of the way, even if the boatman did not cry out.

  “Please,” I begged, “we are so close.”

  The boatman shook his head. “I will take ye back to the castle, lassie, but I willna raise the alarm. Get yerselves ashore and hide all trace of yer disguise. I dare no more.”

  I was about to appeal again but the queen motioned me to silence.

  “It is the best we can hope for under the circumstances,” she said quietly, as the boatman took up the oars again. “If we remain floating here much longer, suspicions will surely be aroused.”

  So wordlessly we were returned to our island prison, where we made our way back to the gloomy tower, just two more unhappy slatterns from the mainland come to work.

  Mary met us at the door, having watched the whole thing from the window.

  “Your brief reign as queen is over, my dear,” the queen said.

  Those few words sent us all into doubled-over paroxysms of laughter that very soon tumbled into tears.

  46

  ANOTHER PLAN

  Over the next few days more members of the Douglas clan arrived at the island, as though Lord William were calling in reinforcements while his wife was confined to her chamber.

  A young orphaned redhead named Willie Douglas was among the first. Friendly and good-natured, he reminded me of his cousin George. For a while, I dared hope that he might act as our protector in the event Lord James’s men came to take the queen. But after he had paid his respects, bringing the queen a gift of sweet comfits set in a basket as if they were eggs in a nest, we saw nothing more of him.

  Two young Douglas nieces arrived soon after and attached themselves to us like limpets on a rock. Scarcely fifteen years old, they had come to the island to help with the new little laird. But they were also there to bask in the presence of the beautiful queen about whom they had heard so many tales.

  The girls soon became companions as constant and unwanted as their aunt, begging Mary and me to teach them card games and show them what clothes the queen had at last been sent in her confinement. They oohed and aahed over her red satin petticoat furred with marten and the black silk tights. They cooed at the little red velvet box with the crossed F’s made of silver. They overpraised her embroideries. They made our quiet confinement a noisy prison.

  And as we had no guarantee they would not betray our confidences, we were careful to give them none.

  One day, while we were in the middle of a card game, the dowager Lady Margaret paid the tower a surprise visit. She had been spending most of her time in the hall with her new grandson, so we were not expecting to see her.

  Even more surprising was the deferential manner in which she approached the queen.

  “Your Majesty,” she said, giving a bow whose stiffness owed more to her great age than coldness of manner.

  Mary and I looked down at the cards in our hands, but the queen smiled graciously.

  “Come, Lady Margaret, and sit by me. I do not know about you, but my legs get stiff with standing on these cold floors.”

  Lady Margaret sank gratefully into the chair.

  For a moment the queen turned her attention back to her cards, but she was never unaware that the Old Lady—as everyone called the dowager—was there for a reason.

  At last the Old Lady got to the purpose of her visit. “My son George has written for permission to return to the island,” she said, her fingers tightly knotted around a lace kerchief. “He plans to leave for France to seek his fortune and wishes to make his farewells to his brother, despite the harsh words that passed between them....”

  “And a cannonball,” I whispered to Mary, for a guard had told us that Lord William had fired at George across the water. But despite my sharpness, I was pleased that George was returning. Perhaps he had a plan that was better than mine had been.

  The Old Lady ignored me. “His brother has relented of his ban for this purpose only—and George is not to stay the night.”

  So much for a plan, I thought.

  “There will be many opportunities in France for a young man of George’s
abilities,” said the queen. “I will give him any letters he might require. In France, at least, my name can still open doors.”

  The Old Lady’s face grew as frosted as a January windowpane. “That would not be to the purpose,” she stated icily. “He must remain in Scotland. He is a Douglas! A post can be arranged for him at the regent’s court. After all, the regent, Lord James, is also my son.”

  The queen became just as frosty. “Has it escaped your notice, Lady Margaret, that I no longer wield influence at court? Else I would not still be here.”

  Both Mary and I went still as statues.

  The Old Lady blinked uncomfortably, but continued on doggedly. “It is not your influence with the regent, Majesty, but your influence with young Geordie I am asking you to employ. If anyone can dissuade him from this foreign adventure, it would be you.

  I dared a look from the corner of my eye at Mary. She had pursed her lips but otherwise not moved.

  “Would you have me command him as a sovereign?”

  The barb was not lost on the Old Lady. She bowed her head, and without raising her eyes, answered, “I would have you speak to him as a favor to a mother whose heart would break should he leave these shores. Surely you of all women can understand that.”

  For a moment the queen was quiet. Then in a softer tone she said, “I do indeed know what it is like to be separated from a beloved son, Lady Margaret. I will speak to George. But only in private.”

  “You have my word,” the Old Lady agreed.

  George returned to Lochleven the next morning. Even the sun seemed to shine on him with a particular brightness. The water around his boat was dotted with motes as round as gold pieces. I watched from the window as he was greeted by Lord William.

  “They are acting as if the quarrel is well behind them,” I said. “The laird’s arm is over his shoulder.”

  “The Old Lady has a long reach,” Mary commented dryly. She and the queen continued their embroideries as if George’s arrival was of no consequence, but I could feel the excitement in the room.