Queen of This Realm (39 page)

Her husband was in Ireland, he told me.

But I frowned and said her children would be missing her.

It was good enough. He knew that it was my wish that Lettice should retire from Court.

So she went and that, I thought, will be the end of Robert's little flutter with that woman which had caused me such unnecessary trouble.

EVENTS IN SCOTLAND NOW BEGAN TO ASTOUND US. IT
seemed that Mary could not be anywhere without raising a storm; she must always be at the center of great events. I had been amused to discover that she had quickly realized the nature of the man she had so romantically married. Lord Darnley was dissolute, unfaithful and a heavy drinker, and as soon as she had fondly but foolishly proclaimed him King of Scotland he made no attempt to hide his true nature. His behavior was despicable. He became involved in street brawls, picked quarrels with all those who dared contradict him and took every advantage of Mary's devotion to him. That devotion very naturally soon began to fade and she must have seen him in a very different light—seen what to me had been obvious from the start—the weakness of those sensuous lips, the blankness behind the pretty eyes. What a fool Mary was! She made me realize more than ever that I had been wise “to suffer no commander,” as her Ambassador had put it.

In one thing she had succeeded. She had quickly become pregnant. Cecil brought me the news with something like reproach in his eyes, but I reminded him that Mary had been foolish to marry Darnley when she might have had the Earl of Leicester. To which Cecil replied: “Your Majesty knows that Leicester would never have been allowed to leave your Court. You cannot let him stay in Kenilworth long without recalling him.”

“Robert would never have gone,” I said with a smile, “so we waste time, Master Cecil, in discussing what can never be now. So… she is with child. That will please the people of Scotland, doubtless. But it is another little claimant to our throne.”

“The Queen of Scots appears to be distressed by her husband's drunken frolics and his numerous infidelities. Doubtless the child will console her.”

There were rumors about her Italian secretary, David Rizzio, an excellent musician of whom she was said to be inordinately fond. I could imagine that this Italian was a charming relief from the dissolute Darnley; and Mary was noted for gathering about her poets and musicians. I supposed she was trying to bring something of the French Court into that of Scotland. The contrast must be very depressing for her.

There had already been some scandal about a young French poet, Pierre de Chastelard, who had escorted her when she had first arrived in Scotland and returned to France to be sent back by Catherine de' Medici, probably
to spy for her, as that wily woman would not have sent a charming young man merely for the purpose of diverting her daughter-in-law.

We had heard that Chastelard and David le Chante, as she called Rizzio, were constantly in her company. Chastelard was said to be the Queen's lover and had even been discovered hiding in her bedchamber, though I have to say that it was Mary and her ladies who found him there and raised the alarm; but as I said he could not have been hopefully hiding there unless he had had some encouragement.

The sequel of that little escapade was that Chastelard was obliged to place his head on the block in the marketplace of St Andrew's where he died bravely, poor young man, quoting Ronsard's
Hymn to Death
as he did so.

“Je te salue, heureuse et profitable Mort…”

It was brave to die with such words on one's lips. Poor young songster, his death had not enhanced his mistress's reputation.

But there were even more dramatic events to follow. I often wondered whether Rizzio was in truth Mary's lover. That she had a weakness where men were concerned seemed clear, for she had smothered Darnley with affection before they married. I think she must have been a deeply sensuous woman and as Darnley clearly no longer pleased her, it might have been that she turned to the Italian for more than music.

So he was doomed. I heard many versions of that terrible night's happenings and in my mind I can see it clearly. Saturday night in Holyrood House. Outside the March winds buffeting the castle walls and the Queen in her sixth month of pregnancy. She was not feeling well enough to meet a great many people so she was taking supper quietly in a small room with a few of her intimates, her bastard brother and sister, Robert Stuart and Lady Jane, Countess of Argyle, among them. Her father, James V, although he had only one legitimate daughter had been very energetic outside his marriage bed. The doctor had advised Mary not to overtax her strength but to live quietly and eat red meat which explains why it was being served in Lent. The Laird of Creech, her Master of the Household, was there with her equerry and doctor. I asked for these details as I wanted to set the scene in my mind. And there was of course that other who was rarely absent from the Queen's side—David Rizzio. He was in a rich damask gown trimmed with fur, satin doublet and russet velvet hose, with a fine ruby at his neck. This was mentioned because they were all gifts from the Queen; and those who wished to vilify her noted these matters.

David was playing, singing and entertaining the company with his especial gifts as he had done so many times before. Suddenly this peaceful scene was disturbed by the appearance of Darnley who came in by way of the door to the private staircase. He had clearly been drinking too much, and went
straight to the Queen and slumped down beside her. I could imagine the quick change in the atmosphere. Darnley was often noisily quarrelsome, so the company would have waited uneasily for his voice to be raised in a quarrel with the Queen.

But it did not happen like that this time, for almost immediately through the door of the private staircase came a man in armor. He looked like a ghost they said, or some harbinger of evil, which indeed he was. It was Lord Ruthven who, although he was on his sick-bed and near to death, stood there looking as though he had just risen from the grave.

What a vividly macabre scene that must have been. When it was related to me I shivered at the horror of it. In those few seconds the company must have thought they were looking at Ruthven's ghost. Then from behind him came others—men whose names had often passed between Cecil and myself when we discussed what our policy would be with the troublesome Scots— Morton, Kerr, Lindsay.

Ruthven, speaking in a deep voice, told David to come outside, for there were those who wished to speak to him.

The poor little Italian musician knew it was his blood they were after, and like a frightened child he turned shuddering to the Queen, who had grown pale and looked as though she would faint; he clung to her skirts crying: “No! No!”

What could that avail him? How had she felt, I wondered when she saw them drag him from her and plunge their daggers into that poor quivering body?

It would have seemed in that moment that they were not only going to kill Rizzio but herself also. Poor woman, heavily pregnant amongst those barbarous men!

They said she cried out: “Davie, Davie… They are killing you. They are killing us both. Is this the way to treat your Queen?”

But that crude man Kerr took her by the arms and forced her to be quiet or he would as he said inelegantly: “Cut her into collops.”

Apparently she fainted then which I should think was the best thing she could have done in the circumstances.

I loathed the Scots more than ever. Mary was foolish and I had no doubt they resented having a woman as their Queen—the crude ungallant loathsome creatures! How dared they behave so to royalty!

When she came to consciousness she was alone with Darnley and, realizing what had happened, upbraided him, calling him murderer…murderer of Rizzio and possibly of her unborn child. He accused her of familiarity with Rizzio and preferring the musician's company to his own. The last, I should have thought from what I knew, was to be expected.

They took her to her apartments where she was more or less a prisoner and sent for a midwife because it seemed she would give birth prematurely. Darnley was with her during the night and because of this her chamber was left unguarded. What fools they were! They trusted Darnley. He was a very weak man and Mary must have had some sway, for she persuaded him to creep out of the palace and fly with her, and together they rode through the night to Dunbar Castle where one of the nobles, Lord Bothwell, and some of his followers were waiting for her.

That terrible night was over and she was free from Rizzio's murderers. But in what an unhappy state she was! Poor Mary, much as I liked to see her discomfited after her arrogant claims to my throne, still I was sorry for her. And I was all eagerness to hear further news from Scotland.

WE WERE AT
Greenwich that June. It was one of my favorite palaces—I suppose because I had been born in it. The fields always seemed greener there than anywhere else, the trees more luxuriant. The Romans had called it Grenovicum and the Saxons Grenawic—so it was the Green Town to them too. There had been a palace there in the reign of my ancestor Edward III but it was not until later in the reign of Henry VI that the castle was embellished and added to. Now it was a most delightful spot.

The Court was in a merry mood and festivities were planned for the evenings—often al fresco as it was June and the weather was fine.

The evening was wearing on. We had partaken of supper; the musicians were playing and the dancing had begun. Robert and I were dancing together when I perceived Sir James Melville making his way toward me.

I knew that he had news of Scotland and I immediately stopped dancing. He came to me and whispered in my ear: “The Queen of Scotland has given birth to a boy.”

My emotions were so strong that I could not restrain them. So … after all those fearful scenes, after witnessing the murder of her favorite, after riding through the night to Dunbar, she had successfully produced a son. I had been certain that she would fail in that.

All I could think of now was that she had succeeded and her success seemed an indication of my failure.

Two of my ladies, Magdalene Dacres and Jane Dormer, hastened to my side. Robert was looking at me in dismay.

“What ails Your Majesty?” asked Robert.

I said: “The Queen of Scots is lighter of a fair son and I am but a barren stock.”

Robert took my hand and pressed it firmly, warning me not to show my chagrin. And of course he was right.

I assumed an air of great pleasure and I declared to the company that we must rejoice in my sister of Scotland's wonderful recovery from the ills which had beset her.

And I was thinking: A son! It would strengthen her claim. That miserable matter of the succession would be raised again and I should be harried either to marry and get a child or name my successor.

Later I saw Cecil who advised me to assume an air of pleasure and to hide any disquiet I might be feeling at the birth of an heir to the Scottish throne which he understood and shared.

I received Melville formally and after expressing great pleasure at the news, I asked, with some concern, after the health of the Queen.

“I have been feeling unwell these last fifteen days,” I told him, “but this news has made me feel well again.”

Perhaps that was too fulsome, and Melville was too shrewd not to understand that my joy was feigned; but in these matters it is what one says which is repeated; one's thoughts remain one's own, and there can only be conjecture as to what they are.

He replied in the same vein of diplomatic falsehood: “My Queen knows that of all her friends you will be the most glad of her news. She told me to tell you that her son was dearly bought with peril of her life and that she has been so sorely handled in the meantime that she wished she had never married.”

I nodded solemnly. “The Queen has suffered cruelly and come through bravely, but so great must be her joy in this fair son that I am sure in her heart she can regret nothing that has brought him to her.”

“The Queen of Scots dearly wishes that she could see you at the christening of this boy.”

“What a joy that would be, and how I wish that my affairs might permit it! I shall send honorable ladies and gentlemen to represent me.”

It was a very amicable meeting and nothing I had said could possibly offend Mary.

Accordingly I sent the Earl of Bedford to represent me at the christening, taking with him a splendid gift from me. It was a font made all of gold and worth one thousand pounds.

“It may well be that by this time the young Prince has overgrown it,” I said jocularly. “If so, the Queen can keep it for the next.”

I appointed the Countess of Argyle, Mary's half-sister, to be my proxy, and ordered my Ambassador up there to make sure that it was known that I did not accept Lord Darnley as King of Scotland.

This so incensed Darnley that in a fit of petulance he declined to attend the baptism of his own son. I doubt anyone mourned that.

The little boy was christened Charles James but for some reason the Charles was dropped and he was always known as James—I suppose this must have been because there was a line of King Jameses in Scotland.