Queen's Own Fool

by Jane Yolen

  “The one who risks much is surely the greater fool,” I said. “And the braver.”

  “A good answer,” he said. “Now do as I command, fool, and partner me in the dance.”

  Happily I admitted defeat and danced several reels with him before he skipped off to find a fresh partner. Taking a sip of wine, I looked around the courtyard. The fair was winding down; people were climbing into their boats and heading back to their homes.

  I saw George making his way to the postern gate, and when he turned round to spy me out, he gave me a subtle signal to join him. We walked together outside the castle walls. The far shore seemed as distant as the New World.

  48

  OVER THE GREY WATER

  Since there were soldiers close by, George and I dared not speak what was really on our minds. Instead we chatted about how well the day ha gone, and George joked about the bruises he had received at the hands of his cousin.

  “I am black-and-blue all over,” he said. “And the little pig enjoyed every minute of it.”

  “As you did, sir,” I said.

  He nodded. “As I did, Nicola.” He gazed over at a boat that was pulling in to the shore and waved.

  The boatman answered George’s wave.

  “All is well,” George said with a sigh. He turned to me and handed me an earring. “Take this to the queen. Tell her you found it lying in the courtyard. She will know what it signifies.”

  Not daring to arouse the suspicions of his brother, George strolled down to the waiting boat alone. I curtsied to him as he got in, so nothing would seem amiss, then I watched until he was halfway over the grey waters.

  When I returned to the tower, Lord William was serving the queen her dinner, an unheard-of breach in the prison protocol. His two nieces fluttered about.

  The Magpies, I thought, though it is we who will have flown off by tonight.

  Mary sat near the door, her head bent over a breviary, praying fiercely.

  “My brother has departed?” Lord William asked.

  “Yes, my lord, I saw him cross the loch,” I said, certain Lord William already knew this, having watched us out the window. “I tendered him the queen’s farewell and the hope that he would not be going to France against his mother’s wishes.” It was a small lie, and I hoped that God would forgive me for it.

  Lord William seemed more relaxed than I had ever seen him, for he began talking about the day’s revels in full sentences instead of his usual clipped speech.

  “The feast went well, I thought,” he said. “Much merrymaking, though perhaps a few too many drunks in the loch. But no one badly hurt, though there will be sore heads tomorrow, I suppose.”

  “Including my own,” the queen said.

  Lord William smiled. Clearly he had expected that if there were to be any trouble, it would have happened while his brother was on the island. Now that George was gone, Lord William was off his guard.

  Just as we had hoped.

  “Madam,” I said brightly, “I found one of your earrings in the courtyard.” I passed it to her. “It must have fallen off while you were dancing.”

  “Yes, it must have,” the queen murmured. I saw her raise her eyebrows as she examined this message from George.

  “Uncle—look at that!” cried one of the Douglas girls, who had been standing at the window.

  Lord William strolled over to the window and, looking down, suddenly stiffened. “What is that rapscallion Willie doing down there by the boats?” he asked.

  I bit my lip. It was part of our plan to chain the laird’s boats together so that they could not be used to pursue us. What bad luck that the girl had chosen this particular moment to look out.

  “I expect it is just more May Day foolishness,” I said quickly. “Willie drank overmuch at the feast.” Even to my ears, that explanation limped along like a Glasgow beggar.

  Not satisfied, Lord William leaned further out the window, shouting and waving his fist. “Get away from there, stupid boy!”

  I glanced urgently at the queen and she saw in my face what danger our plans were suddenly in. She let out an awful moan and—when Lord William turned at the sound—she fell back against her chair, clutching her head. Then she slowly fell sideways. Mary and I dashed to her side, managing to catch her before she actually hit the floor.

  “Please, sir....” I cried. “We need help.”

  Hurrying over, Lord William gathered the queen up in his arms and set her back into her chair while his nieces fluttered around helplessly.

  “I am so unwell,” the queen murmured weakly, leaning against Sir William. “All that dancing. Please. Please. A glass ...”

  Lord William was so concerned, he ran down to the kitchen himself and brought back a pitcher of wine which he poured for the queen.

  She took a sip and sighed. “I am much better now, Lord William. How foolish of me. I must have danced too much at the revels. But you are so kind. Every one of you, but especially you, Lord William.”

  He preened a bit, throwing out his chest like an old cock. Then, as if suddenly aware he was dancing attendance upon his prisoner, Lord William drew himself up.

  “I will leave you now,” he said, all thoughts of Willie and the boats thankfully banished. “My wife and my mother are waiting dinner.”

  No sooner was he gone than the Magpies began to fill the air with their twittering concern.

  “Oh, Madam, ye look so flushed,” said one. “What will ye have us do?”

  “We could bring ye a cold compress ...” said the other.

  “A warm compress ...”

  “A bowl ...”

  “A towel ...”

  I was trying to think of a way to send them off, when the queen stood and said peremptorily, “I must go upstairs.”

  “Oh, let us come with ye, Madam,” one of the girls pleaded.

  “Lest ye faint again,” said the other.

  “We will be yer good right hands,” said the first.

  “I have,” the queen said, “all the hands I need. And they will be folded first in prayer and then in sleep.”

  I followed the queen to the door and when I looked back, it was clear that the Douglas girls had half a mind to come after us. I caught Mary’s eye.

  Mary put her breviary down onto the table with a whap, then produced a deck of cards from her pocket, waving it in the air. “There will be time enough for piety later, girls. I have a delightful new game to show you. George taught it to me.”

  “Oh, George!” cried one of the girls.

  “George knows the best games!” cried the other.

  And intrigued, the girls were able to drag their eyes away from the retreating queen.

  “It is a fortune-telling game to tell you the name of your true love,” Mary said, dropping her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. She went over to the table and laid out the cards.

  Both the girls giggled and sat down with her.

  “Now let me see,” Mary pondered, “I believe it was diamonds for fortune and hearts for fidelity.”

  I slipped away and hurried up the stairs to the queen’s bedchamber. Mary would keep the game going for as long as possible, holding the attention of the Douglas girls by playing upon their romantic fantasies.

  The queen and I had other plans.

  When I reached the queen’s chamber, she was already changing into her red countrywoman’s gown. I changed as well, the linsey-woolsey slipping over my trembling body.

  “Now it is all or nothing,” said the queen. “May the good Lord be with us.” She drew a plaid over her head, then handed me a similar shawl.

  I crossed myself reflexively, somehow more frightened this time than the last. Then we went out of the chamber, tiptoeing past the room where we could hear Mary producing a ripple of embarrassed laughter from the Douglas girls.

  “One for love,” she was saying, “and one for marriage.” And the gales of laughter came again.

  “And one for freedom,” I whispered, pulling the plaid across my mo
uth and chin.

  When we reached the ground floor we stepped out into the courtyard, abandoning all attempts at stealth. There were servants still going to an fro. Our best chance lay in walking boldly.

  We started across the courtyard, our shoes sounding unnaturally loud on the stones. I glanced over at the queen, but she seemed not to hear the noise.

  Just nerves then, I told myself. And kept walking.

  The guards would be mostly fuddled with drink or busy with the village girls from across the loch. Or at least we hoped so. If all went well, they would simply count us as two more villagers going home.

  But as we walked, I realized our nervous silence was unnatural and suspicious. Clearing my throat, I said in my best Scots, “Do you see yon capering clown, Lizzie? He’s a bra pair o’ legs on him.” My voice shook as I spoke, further disguising it.

  The queen could barely keep from laughing nervously at my accent, but she answered me in kind. “You always had an eye for a well-turned leg, Margaret,” she chided like an older sister.

  We kept up our aimless chatter in low voices until we reached the postern gate, well away from the keep, where Willie was waiting. The wind off the loch feathered his hair, whirling it up in a cockscomb.

  “I sent the gatekeeper for a wee dram and told him the laird had ordered me to lock up.” He held up a set of keys and jangled them. “I took this from beside Uncle’s plate while I was serving dinner. He does not know it is gone yet.”

  I hope.

  All of a sudden our plan seemed terribly flawed to me. Too many things might yet go wrong. And this time young Willie and George would be condemned for it.

  But Willie seemed totally undisturbed by such worries. Beckoning us through the gate, he quickly locked it behind us. Then he tossed the keys into a nearby cannon’s gaping mouth.

  “Stay in the shadow of the wall a moment longer, ” he warned, as he searched for any sign of danger.

  The seconds seemed to drag on. My heart pounded and my bowels felt watery. It was still light, for we were hurtling towards midsummer when the sun scarcely sets at all. We could easily be seen. The queen reached out and grabbed hold of my hand. Her palm was as icy and as wet as mine.

  “Come,” Willie said at last.

  He led us down to the shore where a boat was secured. The boat’s owner looked up expectantly at our approach and stared about him anxiously. With a nod to Willie he walked away, leaving us to take the little vessel for ourselves.

  There were several washerwomen gossiping nearby, and they seemed to be paying us no mind. But one suddenly glanced our way and cried out, “Willie, wee Willie, will ye nae stay for a dance wi’ me?”

  Willie tried to look carefree. “It will have to wait till the morrow,” he called back airily.

  Then the woman spotted the queen, and I could tell at once that she recognized her despite the disguise.

  “Willie, be that ...” she began.

  Immediately alert to the danger, Willie called back, “Mind your tongue, Jennie, or there will be nae dance for you at all!”

  She gave him a coy smile, then turned away, resuming her conversation with her friends, who had not noticed a thing.

  “Oh, Madam,” I whispered to the queen, “see—there are many who still love you and wish you well.”

  “My dear Scots,” she whispered back. Then she lay down in the bottom of the boat, hiding beneath the seat, for we felt there was a danger that her distinctive figure might yet be recognized from the castle even as we went across the loch in the May evening’s light.

  Willie set to work with the oars, rowing so fast, beads of sweat popped out on his brow though there was a cooling wind now over the loch. Yet the far shore, with its small line of cottages, approached with agonizing slowness. I fought the impulse to look back at the castle to see if anyone was watching.

  Inch by slow inch we crossed the grey loch. The oars occasionally slipped, slapping the water with a sound like a gunshot.

  I jumped each time.

  “It is nothing, Nicola,” Willie said.

  But it did not feel like nothing. It felt like capture, like the end of all our plans. I did not relax until the boat bumped against sand.

  “We are here, Madam,” I whispered to the queen. “On the mainland shore. Too far now even should you be seen from the island.”

  She looked up at me and smiled, but there were tears in her eyes.

  Willie got out first, then turned to help me. Once I was on shore, he reached down and took the queen’s hand.

  She sat up, the plaid falling to her shoulders, and drew in several deep breaths. “How sweet the air is here.”

  “That is the scent of freedom, Madam,” I said.

  Just then I heard a rustling in the gorse bushes behind me, and turned to see a tall, rough-looking man emerge.

  “Get behind me ... Mother,” I cried. Without thinking of the danger, I rushed him, kicking out and connecting with his shin. He grabbed me by the shoulders and held me away.

  Laughing, George Douglas stepped out from behind a tree. “Is that any way to treat one of my faithful servants?”

  “Mother?” the queen said.

  “It was better than Madam or Majesty, which would have given away the game,” I said.

  “Mother!” she said again, and this time followed it with a peal of delicious laughter.

  “Come, we had best get out of sight,” George cautioned. “And sound,” he added.

  The queen took his meaning, and stopped laughing, but the smile remained on her face for a long while.

  We wove our way through the thicket to where a tired groom held the reins of a pair of black horses.

  The queen patted the head of one of them. “These are handsomer than any I rode that first day into Edinburgh.”

  “These are the finest horses in Scotland,” George answered, grinning. “I stole them myself from my brother’s stables.” He helped the queen into her saddle, then me into mine.

  “Only two horses, Geordie?” the queen asked. “What about you and Willie?”

  “Willie and I will remain here to delay any pursuit, Majesty. It is only a matter of time before someone notices yer gone.”

  “Aye, we are not in enough trouble yet,” Willie said brightly, “so we will hang about and stir up some more.”

  “My dear friends,” the queen began, but George cut her off.

  “Ye must go now, Madam,” he insisted. “This is no masque. The danger is all too real. Lord Seton is waiting for you two miles down the road. Go. And God willing, I will join you later.”

  “God willing,” the queen repeated under her breath and spurred her horse forward.

  We rode so fast I half feared the horses would not be able to maintain the pace, but they were as good as George had claimed.

  One mile passed swiftly, then the second.

  Suddenly a group of horsemen pulled out into the road ahead of us, their horses snorting and rearing.

  The queen showed no sign of slowing, but rather urged her mount on.

  “Madam,” I shouted as she charged ahead. But I saw then what she had already guessed, that they were friends: Lord Seton with a party of armed men. In the midst was my own dear Joseph on a high-headed bay.

  He rode over to me and drew me away from the others.

  “Oh, sweet Nicola, my heart rejoices to see you safe,” he said. “I have hardly slept these past few nights worrying about the escape.”

  “You knew about it?”

  “I could not be kept out. Lord Seton insisted.”

  “Which are you gladder to see, Joseph? The queen or me. The lion or the mouse?”

  “Right now you could be either,” he answered. “No lion ever had a nobler or braver spirit. No queen was ever more beautiful. ”

  49

  PARTINGS

  As we crossed the sea at Queensferry, the waters were so calm for once, I believed God must have willed it.

  Then we rode until midnight under a moonless sky. Suc
h was our mood, we could have ridden straight on until morning.

  We stopped at Lord Seton’s palace at Niddry for the night, and the next morning the queen heard a commotion outside.

  “Look out, Nicola, and tell me what you see,” she said.

  I threw open the shudders nervously and gazed down. “There is a mass of folk calling out for you, Majesty,” I said. “It seems there is no keeping secret the good news of your escape.”

  She climbed out of bed and flung a dressing gown around her, then leaned out, her auburn hair all disordered about her shoulders.

  A louder cry greeted her appearance. “Mary! Mary! Mary!”

  “Your Majesty, you are not dressed....” I said.

  Ignoring me, she leaned even further out of the windows, putting her arms wide as if to embrace them all. “My own dear Scots,” she cried.

  The cheers went on and on and on.

  Brava, Majesty, I said under my breath.

  While we breakfasted at Niddry, we heard the news from Lochleven. How some countryman, recognizing her as she passed, had rowed over to report the escape. How the Douglas nieces had already found her mantle and discovered her missing. How Lord William in a passion of distress had tried to stab himself with his own dagger.

  How we laughed at that.

  “Though I worry what will become of my faithful Mary,” the queen said, laying aside her spoon.

  “God will be on her side, Madam,” I replied.

  By the time we had gotten to nearby Hamilton, a better place for defense than Niddry, with its high, thick walls, many of the western lords were already gathering to the queen’s banner.

  By the eighth of May, a week’s time, Herries and Maxwell and Argyll from the far north had declared for the queen. Soon after nine earls, nine bishops, and eighteen lairds had signed a joint proclamation supporting her.

  But Lord James and his allies acted just as swiftly. He summoned an army to crush those who rose up in support of the queen. “The lion unloosed,” was what Lord James called the queen.