My Queen put down her toothpick. It was silver, with gold on the handle.
Another man came forward. ‘Madam, I am Lord Brockhurst.’
‘Yes, Lord Brockhurst?’
‘Madam, Parliament has found you guilty of conspiring against the life of Queen Elizabeth. The sentence has been proclaimed by heralds throughout the country. You are condemned to die.’
Jane gave a cry.
Sir Amyas stepped forward again. ‘Now is the time to confess, and ask forgiveness,’ he announced.
‘Forgiveness? From whom? I am to die for one reason: I am a Catholic queen. I will die for my religion. God has answered my prayers, and I am humbly grateful.’
‘Your religion has nothing to do with this!’ Sir Amyas’s face was growing red again. ‘You are to be put to death for trying to kill Her Majesty!’
‘When am I to die?’
‘That is for the Queen to decide,’ said Lord Brockhurst. ‘You will die when she signs your death warrant.’
‘Then I must trust my cousin’s conscience. I can do no more.’
Sir Amyas clenched his hands at his sides. ‘Madam, the hangings on your bed and on your walls will be removed. They will be replaced with black ones, to show you are condemned.’
My Queen said nothing.
‘Your billiard table will be taken, and other fripperies.’
‘Sir Amyas, my billiard table does not concern me now. Please go.’
He left, and the other man too. I was glad to see them go. The women in the room began to cry, but not my Queen.
I wondered what was going on. At least they had not taken my Queen away again. She almost seemed glad this time, as well.
‘Woof?’ I said.
She kissed my nose. ‘We will all be free soon,’ she whispered. Then she said more loudly, ‘It seems that I have much to do. My will…There are letters I must write. Master Melville, if you will get your pen and paper…’
Christmas came and went, and New Year too. But our peace was undisturbed.
My Queen’s people exchanged New Year gifts. ‘Surely Elizabeth will never sign her death warrant,’ Mistress Curle whispered to Master Bourgoine one evening in the outer chamber, as I was coming back from a trip to the privy chamber. ‘A queen cannot kill another queen!’
Master Bourgoine shrugged. ‘Elizabeth has managed to put off getting married. She is a mistress at putting off. It is her chief weapon of statecraft. Perhaps she will never get around to killing her cousin either.’
‘Nothing will happen for years,’ said Mistress Curle firmly. ‘Elizabeth has tried to frighten Her Majesty. That is all. They would never dare to kill a queen.’
Grey mists hung about the castle. I could smell snow upon the ground and ice in the crevices of the cobbles. A horse slipped on the ice one morning. I heard it scream as its leg snapped, the running cries of the men. But no one told us in our tower what had happened.
My Queen dictated many letters. She sang as well, and had Jane play upon the spinet and her people dance for her. Sometimes I sang too, and was rewarded with her laugh and a kiss on my nose.
At night the candles ate away the darkness. But the shadows lingered in the corners. And now, despite her gaiety, I knew my Queen was scared.
CHAPTER 24
I Decide Not to Let My Queen Go Again
Fotheringhay Castle, 7 and 8 February 1587
My Queen’s arms were troubling her. Her back hurt, too. She lay on her bed after our dinner. I had eaten too much cockscombs in cream—I was getting ever more fat, I think—and my digestion was bothering me. Often these days I made smells after I had eaten, which I knew my Queen’s people didn’t like, as they wrinkled their noses and sometimes waved their hands in front of their faces.
But they said nothing. Not even Jane said anything these days.
I had just let out a good amount of wind, easing my stomach a lot, when Willie Douglas, one of my Queen’s people, announced a visitor. ‘The Earl of Shrewsbury, Madam.’
My Queen smiled, and gestured for Jane to bring her pillows to prop her up. ‘My old gaoler, but my friend too,’ she said. ‘I will see him gladly.’
Shrewsbury entered. He bowed low to my Queen and she offered him her hand. He took it and kissed it, bowing low again. ‘Madam, it grieves me to see you like this,’ he said. Now more men entered behind him, Sir Amyas and the man Jane had called Robert Beale, Queen Elizabeth’s Clerk, and others too.
Shrewsbury stepped back, just as Sir Amyas bustled forward. My Queen’s people had put up her gold cloth of state again. Sir Amyas reached out his hands and grabbed one edge of it. He tugged.
The cloth ripped, and the bulk of it slid into his arms. The dust from the cloth floated in the sunlight from the window. Sir Amyas stood there cradling the cloth, as pleased as if he held a baby. None of the other men moved, not even the Earl of Shrewsbury.
My Queen watched as the cloth was ripped about her. She didn’t cry out, as she might have done before. She only watched. And I watched at her side.
Master Beale stepped forward. He opened his pouch and produced a piece of paper with a great golden seal.
‘The warrant for my execution,’ said my Queen softly.
‘Madam,’ began Shrewsbury. His voice was full of grief.
But my Queen waved him to be silent. ‘Read it, Master Beale,’ she ordered.
Master Beale read for a while. I could make nothing of it, but the whole room was silent as he spoke. Finally my Queen said, ‘When will this be done?’
Shrewsbury bowed again. ‘At eight tomorrow morning, Madam.’
‘So soon…No, do not grieve for me. I thank you for such welcome news. I am quite ready and very happy to die, and to shed my blood for almighty God and for the Catholic Church, to maintain its rights in this country.’
She spoke some more and they did too. I tried to follow what was happening, but it was beyond me. So I lay there next to her and breathed the smell of her, and was glad that even though the men had come, this time they were not taking her away.
Finally they left. My Queen rose from the bed. She smiled at her people and said, ‘No more weeping. Master Melville, I will pray a while, but then attend me, please.’
She sat in her chair while Melville wrote for her. Supper was brought in; the big table for her and me, the smaller in the next room for her people. There were as many dishes as always, but my Queen ate only some winter grapes, withered and sweet, and fed me some too, as well as a piece of pigeon. Then she went to her seat again.
‘Mistress Curle,’ she said, ‘I would have the lists of my possessions.’
Mistress Curle brought them, and my Queen began to read.
‘Master Bourgoine,’ she said, ‘I give you these silver rings, these boxes. My two lutes as well, in memory of how we have played them together, and my music book, my red valances and my curtains…’
The list of gifts went on and on. The women were still weeping, but my Queen was not. So although the whole thing disturbed me I tried to sleep on her lap, till finally they were done.
I thought we might go to bed then.
But instead she said that she wanted to be alone. She smiled at Jane and said, ‘Well, Jane Kennedy? Didn’t I tell you this would happen? I knew they would never allow me to live. I am too much an obstacle to their religion.’
She sat at the desk in her bedroom and began to write. Her knees were under the desk, so I couldn’t sit on her lap.
I went to the privy room instead and used my straw. Her women were bustling here and there, pressing a dress and a red petticoat, and combing her wig and setting out the paints they used on her face.
Jane saw me, knelt down and kissed my nose. I tolerated it.
‘Oh, poor wee dog,’ she said. ‘He doesn’t know.’ She began to cry again. I had never seen Jane cry like that before. ‘Will no one speak for her? The Guises and the King of France? Her own son?…Surely they should demand her safety?’
Mistress Curle knelt to comfort
her. But I think that she was crying too.
I went back to my Queen. She was still writing. But finally she stopped. She called her women and they undressed her, took off her wig, put on her nightdress and cap, helped her to her bed and pulled the bedclothes around her. She lay down and I cuddled close, while the women put more wood on the fire then blew out the candles.
I couldn’t sleep. I could hear the women in the next room, still weeping. I could hear the rustle of mice behind the wall hangings and the far-off call of an owl. Then I heard a sob beside me, too.
‘So many tears,’ she said. ‘There is no time now to weep them all. Tears for my son, who will not see me, will not help me. Tears for what I had, what I have lost. Tears for what might have been. That is the hardest loss of all, what might have been. A husband who loved me truly. To have watched my little son grow up. To have been the Queen I should have been, ruler of Scotland and England and all the isles. Oh, Folly, how can I bear it?’
I licked her face, her hands. She held me and finally her breathing grew quiet—but she did not sleep.
Grey crept around the window. A cuckoo called. My Queen sat up. The women ran in even before she called. They must have been listening outside. They too had not slept that night.
Jane lit the candles. My Queen sat upon her dressing stool while her women took off her nightshift. Even sitting down she was still as tall as they were.
First they slipped on soft white cotton stockings, then blue stockings embroidered with silver thread, with green garters at the top to stop them falling down.
What was happening? Why were they taking so much trouble with her dress?
Then they lowered a red silk petticoat, or underdress, with a low scooped neck. It smelt new, as though she had never worn it before.
‘Red, the colour of martyrdom,’ whispered Barbara.
The red silk petticoat was covered with oversleeves of purple velvet and an overskirt of rich black satin trimmed with gold embroidery and sable fur, with jet buttons and pearls and a bodice of red velvet. They put her best wig and a white cap and veil on her head. There was a black satin train on her skirt and shoes of Spanish suede on her feet.
I had never seen her look so grand. But I still couldn’t work out what was going on.
I could hear a banging below.
‘The scaffold,’ said my Queen. Jane bit back a sob. She fixed a string of rosary beads and a golden cross on a girdle at my Queen’s waist and laid a gold pendant over her neck.
Master Melville opened the door to the outer room. My Queen went through, walking without help today. Her people were all gathered there. Even Monsewer had come up from the kitchens. He was weeping.
‘Madam,’ he said. ‘Some bread and wine.’
‘No—’ began my Queen, but Master Bourgoine interrupted, ‘For your strength’s sake, Madam.’
She smiled at him. ‘You are right. I must not falter now.’
She sat at the table and ate the bread and drank the wine, then went to her inner room and knelt down to pray. One by one her people knelt behind her and bent their heads as well.
I hesitated. My place was with my Queen. But there was no one to guard our rooms, now everyone was on their knees. So I sat by the doorway instead.
There had been shufflings outside the door all night, and the sound of swords and spears knocking on the walls as the men there moved back and forth in the narrow passage. Now someone rapped on the door, then opened it before any of the servants could move.
‘Woof!’ I called. ‘Woof!’ Then I quietened when I saw my Queen was not alarmed.
There were three men. One was the Earl of Shrewsbury. He still smelt of his hounds and of the mutton he’d eaten the night before.
The first man spoke. ‘Madam, it is time.’
My Queen looked up. ‘I am ready.’
Jane and Mistress Curle helped her to her feet. She picked up a book and a white cross then walked into the outer room, where all her people were now gathered. I followed, keeping close by her skirts.
The people stared, drinking in the sight of her. No one spoke or moved, though tears ran down every face.
My Queen smiled at them.
‘Do not grieve. Rejoice, and pray for me.’
She went to them one by one. She bent down to embrace each of her women. She gave each of the men her hand to kiss. She kissed me between my ears. She said, ‘My dear and loyal little friend. Goodbye.’
Suddenly I understood. She was leaving me again! How long would she be gone this time?
No! She was my Queen! It was my duty to be with her, to comfort her, to care for her. I couldn’t let her go again. Not now! Not ever again!
Her rich black skirts brushed the floor. I slid my nose under them and then the rest of me, so I was hidden between her black skirt and her red one. A black dog, against black cloth…
My Queen turned and began to walk out the door.
But I was with her now!
Down the stairs. It was hard not to lose my footing in the darkness beneath her skirts. But I managed.
Along the cobblestones we swept. Suddenly she stumbled. Someone must have caught her arm, for she righted herself again. But my head had brushed her leg.
She hesitated. She knew that I was there.
Would she send me away?
She began to walk again.
There was a cry nearby. I heard knees thumping to the ground as we passed and then Master Melville’s voice called, ‘Madam, it will be the sorrowfullest message I ever carried, when I report that my Queen and dear Mistress is dead.’
I heard the tears choke my Queen’s voice. ‘No! Rejoice that the end of Mary Stuart’s troubles is now come. Carry this message, and tell my friends that I die a true woman to my religion and like a true Scottish woman and a true Frenchwoman. Commend me to my dearest and most sweet son. I give him my blessing on earth.’ There was a pause. And then she said, ‘I am ill-attended. I wish my own people to attend me.’
‘Madam, it cannot be,’ said one of the men who guarded her. ‘They might make speeches, or dip their handkerchiefs in your blood…’
‘I give you my word they shall do no such thing.’
The men began to argue. But soon I heard Jane’s voice, and Mistress Curle’s and Master Bourgoine’s. They must have followed us down the stairs.
My Queen began to walk again.
The cobbles changed to flagstones. We must have gone indoors again. Voices muttered all around us. People—lots of people. But I couldn’t see them. I couldn’t smell them either, only the sweet smell of my Queen. It comforted me. I should have thought of this long before now.
My Queen walked up two stairs and then sat down, her skirts billowing around her, around us both. The mutter of voices stopped.
‘Silence!’ someone called. Someone began to talk, in the low voice that humans use when they have a book or paper by their faces.
I had sat down when my Queen did. But now I moved closer to her leg. I felt her foot move slightly, up and down against me. Yes, she knew that I was there. Whatever happened now, my Queen was not alone.
Someone else, a stranger, began to speak. But my Queen raised her voice. ‘Master Dean, I will not hear you. Leave off your prayers. I am settled in the ancient Roman Catholic religion and mean to spend my blood in defence of it.’
‘Madam, repent you of your former wickedness and settle your faith—’
My Queen began to pray. I heard the voices of some of her people join in. But they were far away. Only I was with her now. The stranger started to yell his own prayers too, even louder than my Queen’s, and then the crowd began to yell as well. It was like a war of prayers, with each side battling against the other.
Louder, louder, louder…Both sides were shouting now.
My Queen slipped down onto her knees, taking care I was well to one side.
Finally the crowd grew silent. My Queen kept praying. If it had been a war of prayers, then she had won.
At last she stood.
She said, ‘I forgive you with all my heart, for now, I hope, you shall make an end to all my troubles.’
I heard the whisper of silk. Someone was pulling off her outer dress! I hurriedly slipped under the red inner dress, next to her legs. I heard my Queen say, ‘I have never had such grooms to make me unready, and I have never before put off my clothes in such a company!’
I could hear the smile in her voice. I thought, It is all right. She is happy. Everything will be all right. I felt her leg rub against my body again, as though to check that I was still there, and I thought, She is glad that I am with her.
There was more talking. Suddenly Jane and Mistress Curle cried out, their sobbing louder than the other voices.
My Queen knelt down.
What was she doing? Was she going to pray again? Surely she wasn’t going to go to sleep with all these people around?
I shifted my body close against her. I felt her warmth, and she felt mine. Her smell comforted me, the sweet familiar fragrance that I loved. She bent forward, as though to put her head upon a pillow. She cried out, ‘Into your hands, O Lord, I commend my spirit.’
I heard footsteps. A man now stood next to us. I heard something heavy swish through the air and then a thud.
My Queen screamed. The sound was torn from the depths of her. Her whole body shuddered.
The swishing sounded again. There was another thud, and then another and another. My Queen’s body slumped, almost falling on me in my dark prison under her skirts.
Something fell onto the ground.
My Queen was quiet now. She didn’t move.
Suddenly a man yelled, ‘God save the Queen!’
‘So perish all the Queen’s enemies!’ The voice was gleeful, like someone who has taken the best plum from the bowl.
My Queen still didn’t move. I licked her leg. It didn’t even twitch. I waited for her to rise, for her hands to stroke me. But her body was so still. I had never known it to be as still as this before, even when she slept.
I raised my paw and scratched gently against her leg. Her body was warm, and here under the petticoats was warm as well, but I felt as cold as snow.
The Animal Stars Collection Page 56
