The Ballad of the Five Marys Read online

  I am reconciled with the exiles. Argyll was first to come in – he is loyal to the crown in everything after religion – then Glencairn and Rothes, and of course Moray. Balfour was my emissary in this business; Maitland is in the north afraid to face me. Was he instrumental in the murder? Balfour is his match though in deceit.

  I must endure these men as the price for driving Morton and the assassins out. Eighty conspirators led by the Douglas faction are forfeit and outlawed beyond the kingdom. Let them confer with their ally Cecil in England. Melville bleats on about reconciliation and harmony, but there can be no peace with murderous rebels.

  His Majesty King Henry has made a proclamation, affirming his innocence of any part in the foul deed. No sooner issued than Ruthven sends me the conspirators’ sworn bond, signed by Darnley. He is a bare faced liar in addition to all else, never to be trusted or believed again. But it does not cancel the guilt of the rest. Ruthven died a few days later in England. They say he saw angels descending around his deathbed; they were coming to take him to hell.

  Moray, Argyll, and Glencairn return to Council with Bothwell, Huntly and Athol. How the wheel turns. Only Morton and Ruthven are absent. Maitland will be reappointed. What was the last year for?

  In future I will think more of castles and less of councils. Dunbar is granted as a royal fief to Bothwell so that I can count on safe refuge. I have furnished the apartments at Edinburgh Castle since Holyrood cannot be defended. I shall stay there until the child is born. If the baby lives he will go to Stirling. If I live. I have made Erskine Earl of Mar and guardian of my heir.

  This swollen burden is my whole life. It has swallowed all else in is weight and pressure. My legs are sore and heavy, and I am breathless on the stair. Beaton has come back as Lady Ogilvie to stay beside me, but Livingston has given birth to her own little baby boy. I find comfort in Seton’s prayers.

  Fleming looks after everything but is reserved, a little distant. She wants to marry Maitland, a strange match for such beauty. Yet who am I to advise on choosing husbands? Darnley is out of sight, out of mind for me, though carefully watched by Balfour.

  I think that I will die in childbed. What is there left to live for? I will bequeath Scotland an infant as my father left me. There will be a Council of Regency once more; the papers are all drafted, excluding Darnley. If it survives this child will finally unite two kingdoms. Elizabeth will ensure my heir’s safety and upbringing. She will inherit the fruits of my labour.

  What would have been my part had I gone to England as a bairn instead of France? Could we live different lives, or are we destined to one path? Would England have made me someone else, not myself? When Henry Tudor’s frail Edward died, I would have been at England’s mercy, pawn for a kingdom. One child may not be sufficient.

  But I am the child of France. I can be no other. Without her I would have lacked life, joy, love. Every day I picture and long for that country’s gardens, rivers, woods. All my family is in France, and my heart aches for each and every one. I have remembered them all in my will. What playmates we were together as children. What young courtiers we became. Anne, little Charles, and poor lost Louis, and of course dear Francis. How pure and true our child love was. How innocent. He is gone but there are other children now, nieces, nephews and cousins. Each of them will have a gift from Mary; to recall her by when they have grown up into this harsh world.

  I can still make a kingdom within my mind. I have my unicorn tapestries around me even in this gloomy fortress. Their flowers and fabled creatures recover for me a lost paradise when all was golden bright with promise. Tears come easily, but these are tears of joy not pity. In these rooms my body is confined but not my dreaming spirit.

  I cheat long afternoons with the Marys still around me. We read aloud and play at cards, and sometimes Beaton sings. No dancing for me now. We eat early and I take some wine to lull me into fitful sleep. Then I do not think of mother’s swollen body laid out in Margaret’s Chapel, or of Rizzio clutching at my legs, or of riding frantic through the night. Always riding somewhere in the darkness, whipping on my horse, pursued by faceless fears.

  ***

  Weightless. A cloud In the sky. White floating, unbound. Free from pain, at last, free. Are these gossamer veils the air breathes through? Will an angel part them, or just faithful Seton. It is wonderful without pain.

  Did I die? The doctors say I was all but dead, for some minutes at least. What did I experience? Nothing. Then they bound my limbs and bled and purged. And I am unconscious, finally emptied of the fever and the stabbing furies. Peace at the end. Can I begin afresh now, come home to my body? Or shall I just be dead.

  It is so different from birth, alive through all the struggling sweating hours, surrounded by anxious faces, the washings, wipings, bathing of my lips and brow. I felt the burden and the pain, till finally the red fires tearing, the unbearable pressure, the voice screaming from my roots. The agony, the joy. I was delivered of a healthy boy. But the pain went on in my wounds, my side, my aching breasts.

  I have not been well since then, not my own self. Those weeks and months are like a blur. Was I in my right mind? Shouting and swearing at Darnley, fearing his every conversation. And when he stood by the cradle, I blush at my frankness.

  ‘God has given us a son, begotten by none but you. Let everyone here bear witness. So much is he your son that I fear for him hereafter.’

  And why did I let him back to my bed? And when he raged and threatened, say I was with child again?

  ‘We can always get another,’ was his curt dismissal.

  Get another – he was too soused with whisky to know where he was or what he did. Never again will I let that foul drunkard corrupt my flesh. I am inviolate now. My body is my own again.

  I know him so well, his low deceit and baseness. He is bereft of manliness or virtue, a child turned vicious when he cannot have his will in everything.

  Yet his pretensions are dangerous. I was right to send my infant to Stirling, where he is well guarded. Darnley wants to treat with Catholic princes and masquerade as the champion of faith. That cannot be for us now, not for Scotland. I need the lords around me, Moray with Bothwell, and Argyll with young Huntly, all Protestants. And Maitland to steer the government. They will not have James to set up against me; he is safe, especially from his own father.

  That is what I must live for, to see my child succeed. He is my god-given purpose. Elizabeth sees that. ‘The Queen of Scots is lighter of a bonny boy, while I am but a barren stock.’

  Yet I nearly died within these floating curtains.

  I shall write to Elizabeth and ask her to be my son’s guardian in the event of my death. That will seal our bond of kinship and affection. She too will have her share of the bairn. We will deal with each other as mothers and as queens.

  He will secure the succession for us both. It is no longer me, but James, that is the fruit and issue. I will withdraw my claim as long as Elizabeth lives and take my place after any child she bears, for she will bear none. So I am no longer a threat and I have provided an heir for England as well as Scotland. Elizabeth understands her duty as a queen. The child changes everything, and can bring us together. Not even Cecil can prevent it. I shall write to her as soon as I am able, and correspond directly without the intermediary of secretaries. Melville will assist me and keep everything discreet in London.

  It is a relief to see things clearing. I can begin to leave these obscure months behind. Today in my weakness I feel some stirring. I am not forsaken. Our Lord has restored some part of me to a better prospect.

  One cursory visit, through my long days of illness, and then back to Glasgow Darnley goes. Next he appears again unannounced. For a whole day I reason with him in the presence of my counsellors. If he could tell me how I had offended him. But again he recites the same old tale – the nobility show him no respect and I refuse to make him King. Yet all the remedies are in his own hands, and have been from the start. Can his foolish father not put him o
n the right path?

  Finally he departs, saying he will go abroad, I will see his face no more, he will live in exile, and so forth. He could be anywhere, intent on any mischief, but Balfour has cunningly kept in his confidence and informs us of his whereabouts. And of his mad schemes to fortify Scarborough Castle, or invade the Scilly Isles in aid of a Catholic claim to the crown of England. God help him, but is my husband mad? A brain diseased, poisoned by malice and suspicion.

  Will anyone attend to such ravings? He has written to the Holy Father complaining of my lack of zeal for true religion. Lennox remains in Glasgow surrounded by a large following. The garrisons at Stirling and at Dumbarton are increased as a precaution. More expense from my own purse, when all my revenues are already stretched by the main business. We have spent three days in Council planning the Prince’s baptism at Stirling, between times discussing what to do. In twos and threes, privately. Nothing must be allowed to reflect on James. The talk goes round in circles. Moray, Athol, Bothwell, Huntly, consult by turn.

  Coming to Craigmillar usually raises my spirits. It is so lovely here with the wooded slopes, the sweeping view over Edinburgh and out onto the river. Gardens and orchards climb the southern slopes, where some of my own servants have settled. It reminds them of France. October sun has made the colours red and gold. But today these surroundings bring no comfort. This lovely castle seems more prison than pleasure ground.

  In every chamber of the great tower they come to and fro with darkening brows. They look at me as if I were an invalid in need of urgent remedy. I wish I were dead, for then I would be quit of them all. Some argue for divorce, but if the marriage is questioned then James’ rights are put at jeopardy. Did this island’s troubles not flow from Henry’s first divorce, and his denial of legitimate succession?

  Others say Darnley should be imprisoned or tried for treason. Maitland insinuates it can be done without harm to my honour, or my son’s position, and that Moray will look through his fingers at it. What can Maitland contrive? I cannot be compromised when my accord with Elizabeth is so close. Nothing unbecoming to a queen shall besmirch my name. They must understand that, even if their own reputations shrug off such qualms.

  What is to be done? Nothing until the baptism is performed and James acknowledged by all the ambassadors. Then we shall see. The baptism will be the most magnificent event in Scotland since my mother’s royal entry. I am sparing no expense and it will be by Catholic rite, whatever may follow. This ceremony and its attendant celebrations will resound through Europe, and be remembered as long as the Kingdom of the Scots endures.

  I must not give way to melancholy, but play the part for which I was born. ‘Be a queen, ma petite, and do your duty, then nothing can befall that God does not intend. Courage, Marie, ma perle, toujours courage’. And we parted never to meet again in this world. But the mothers do not forget, on earth or in heaven. My hands were inside Grannie’s lined palms clasped in her prayers. And today I have a petit garçon who will put his hands in mine and pray for me always whatever befalls.

  Elizabeth sends a golden font, as godmother. The ambassador brings letters confirming her agreement to my proposals. All that is left is to review her father’s will and restore our place in England’s royal line, James’ and mine. Elizabeth will insist, whatever objection Parliament makes. It is not a matter of religion but of lineage.

  Even Cecil, it seems, has agreed, though on condition that Morton and the murderers are recalled from exile. What does that matter now? It can be done after the baptism. All should be united since the crown is firmly established, succession secured, and peace made with our neighbours.

  How grown James already is. A lusty child, with the auburn colour of the Stewarts. I have his nursery fitted out with every convenience, a rocking cradle at the centre. I wish my illness had allowed more time to sit and fondly gape and hold him in my arms. He will be shown off to the ambassadors, called one by one into the nursery to hear him bawl and wrastle, proving he will live to reign.

  Our little Prince will be carried from the Palace to the Chapel by the Comte de Brienne, on behalf of King Charles of France. He is followed in procession by the Catholic earls bearing the basin, the salt, the laver and holy cross. My courtiers line the way resplendent in full dress beneath the blazing flambeaux, some cloth of gold, some in silver according to degree. I have selected the materials for each costume, and each and every one will shine, by royal command.

  Archbishop Hamilton will receive us at the door surrounded by the lesser clergy. So even the old Duke is represented on this auspicious day. The Countess of Argyll, my dear Jean, stands in for Elizabeth. She will take the baby in her arms and hold him at the font. In the name of Father, Son and Holy Ghost, a goodly Prince for both our kingdoms. James by the grace of God, King to be of Scotland, and in time of England.

  As we process out of the Chapel Royal, the Protestant lords accompany me to the great Hall where the feasting and masquing will begin. Musicians and players are ordered from the three kingdoms, and Maister Buchanan has all in hand for royal tableaux. The final act is a masterstroke – fireworks positioned round the castle and the surrounding hills illuminate the night skies in a myriad of colours, putting Nature herself to shame. I remember such displays in my childhood, but nothing like this has been seen in Scotland. Bastian, my designer, has excelled himself in the art of theatre. This triumph shows a new age of monarchy has dawned, hailed by signs in the heavens. Birth is to women what men gain through war.

  Everything goes perfectly. Even the faults turn to advantage. When the stage machine breaks, and French satyrs wag their tails, the English take offence. But they ascribe these insults to England being so favoured. What could mar my triumph? The fireworks provide a matchless finale. I am able to dance once more, feeling strength and pleasure return to my body. Health is reborn with some fragments of my beauty, as everyone remarks. I wear black no longer.

  My husband did not attend our son’s baptism but sulked in his chamber, because he said the English would not recognise his place. Perhaps they perceived it all too plainly. Still believing in his power to hurt, he creeps off again to his father’s house in Glasgow, where he feels safe and cherished. In truth he is ignored by all. I could weep for such a husband, but shall not give way to pensive thoughts or fears. Darnley will be dealt with in my own way soon. For now let him gang his ain gait, and be satisfied with the leavings. He will have nothing more of me.

  Bothwell and Moray come together and press for Morton’s pardon. It is unusual to see those two united on any matter. At another time it might arouse suspicion, but, after Elizabeth’s assurances, I have my own reasons for consenting. This is the first day of Christmas. Let the holy season bring amity and goodwill to our land. Over seventy conspirators will be forgiven though bound by strict condition to maintain the peace.

  As I read the papers prepared by Maitland, I see the name Kerr of Fawdonside and for a moment sense cold steel against my stomach.

  A shadow passes over and then I sign.

  The whole Court is moved again to Holyrood. There we have the first wedding after Christmas. Fleming finally has her Maitland. Morton will be back in Scotland within days and my accord with Elizabeth sealed. So this marriage binds the Court together in one party, and Fleming will remain in my service with her husband. What abundant beauty to rest in the arms of such a learned man. Even beside his father, gallant old Sir Richard, Maitland looks like a schoolmaster. Yet Fleming has always been earnest like the eldest daughter with a gaggle of wayward sisters.

  Word comes from Glasgow: Darnley is gravely ill with a fever of the pox. A few days later I set out to visit my ailing husband. The town is packed with Lennoxmen, so Bothwell and Huntly bring me as far as Falkirk where I am given a bodyguard of Hamiltons. The numbers here are proof, were any needed, that despite his illness Darnley intended new harm to James and to my throne. Now any attack on Stirling will be in vain: the chick has flown his coop.

  Darnley is lying in
the castle, secluded in an upper chamber. I do not fear the pox since I had it as a girl, but this is worse – a putrid fever. The smell is overpowering and I have to force myself to the bedside. His breath stinks but he does not want me close enough to see the sores; his face is covered with taffeta to mask his vanity.

  ‘How are you, Henry?’

  ‘The doctors say it’s past the worst. You could have come sooner. I might have died.’

  ‘I came as soon as I could. Have the eruptions ceased?’

  ‘Yes, but they’re all over me – foul black things. Will I be left scarred, Mary?’

  ‘Not necessarily; my skin recovered without blemish when I was a girl. How have you been treated?’

  ‘With mercury. Can you not tell? I’ve lost my sense of smell.’

  ‘It kills the poison.’

  ‘What poison? Who wants me dead?’

  ‘The disease, I mean, the infection,’ I reassured.

  ‘They do want me dead though, don’t they, plotting at Craigmillar.’

  ‘I will not allow anyone to harm you.’ For someone so withdrawn from Court he was still well informed.

  ‘Yes, I heard you put a stop to it. You can’t divorce me.’

  ‘I don’t want to divorce, for the sake of our son.’

  ‘But you do still love me.’

  How strange that sounded from behind his mask; only the eyes seemed alive, glinting with suspicion.

  ‘That is why I am here,’ I countered. ‘You will see that I still care for you.’

  ‘How long are you staying?’

  ‘For the rest of the week, and as soon as you can be moved I want you to come to Edinburgh, where I can look after you till you are fully recovered.’

  ‘And my powers restored in every way.’

  ‘As you please.’

  ‘I am your husband.’

  ‘That is undeniable, Henry, though it has not always appeared so.’

  ‘I will have my rights.’

  ‘Don’t upset yourself. I have come to make sure you will get better. For now you must rest.’