Queen's Own Fool (32 page)

“Play on, Joseph,” the queen instructed, and Joseph played. His touch was never as lilting as his brother's, but it had a raw power of its own.

Lord Bothwell arrived soon after we did, a dark figure keeping company with his wineglass more than with the other revelers. As the evening drew in, he strode over to the king's bed, where the queen was sitting.

“Madam,” he reminded her, “you promised Bastian to be at the castle for the masquerade. You are not one to forfeit your promises.”

The king snorted at that, and the taffeta mask rippled.

As if Darnley's response was some sort of signal, the queen stood. “We will go,” she said.

When she stood, so did everyone else in the room except the king, and soon the whole company began to file out.

The queen stopped to give Darnley a ring to comfort him for her absence, and passed a few more words with him. I waited for her in the doorway, reluctant to leave without her.

Once again I was in position to overhear things I shouldn't. But as dear Maman had once said,
Once in the ear, twice in the heart.
I do not think she meant it for eavesdropping.

“Is it true Morton has returned to Scotland?” Darnley asked.

For a moment the queen was unable to meet his gaze. Morton had been one of those known to have colluded in Davie's murder, fleeing to England with Ruthven. It was said that he bore a grudge against Darnley for betraying the conspiracy.

“He had a hand in
yon foul fact,
you know,” the king added. He never spoke of the “murder” directly. It astonished me that he talked as if he'd had no part in it himself.

Such astonishment may have been in the queen's mind, too, for she took a long time to respond. At last she said, “Morton's pardon was necessary. Lord James insisted the old wounds be healed.”

“Insisted?
But you are the queen, Madam,” Darnley said. “And I am the king. And they are ...”

“It is done.”

He put a hand out to her.

“I must go,” she said.

“Why, Mary? Why must you leave?” His voice rose to an unbecoming whine. “For a mere servant's wedding. When your wedded lord lies here so sick—and lonely. Once you cared for me like an angel.”

“I go because I promised a loyal servant I would,” she said.

And I thought:
Take that in your cheating mouth, you knave, and swallow it!
And then I smiled.

Darnley propped himself up on one elbow, which caused the taffeta mask to slip. The discolorations on his face looked less like pox and more like the poxie, or love disease. “You must beware, Mary. Our noble friends intend to make mischief between us.”

You hardly need any help with that,
I reflected silently.

“Do not upset yourself so,” said the queen, pushing him gently back against the pillow. “In the morning, you will move to Holyrood and all will be well.” She blew him a kiss and went out the door, passing me in a cascade of silk.

I followed behind her, saying, “Any man may step in a bear trap once, Madam, but only a madman does so twice.”

She did not look back at me. “Whatever he has done,” she said, “I married him willingly, so I am as much to blame. Besides, the church allows for no divorce.”

“You have asked me to remind you, Majesty, that you are no god to make a bad man good. You are but a ...”

“I need no reminding,” she said, cutting me off.

What good is it, I thought,
to be told you have the queen's ear when she does not listen?

We walked down the stairs and on through the rest of the house in the kind of silence that happens between enemies, not friends.

But once we emerged into the square, she suddenly threw off that mood and began to chatter about the masquerade.

I chattered back happily, glad to be away from that house that was so thoroughly infected with
Darnley.

 

It was quite dark now, but pages were standing by with torches. Bothwell's manservant, Paris, helped the queen into the saddle. As he stepped back, I saw by the torchlight that his clothes were begrimed with dirt and black powder. It was odd that he should be so dirty and still be allowed to touch the queen.

“Your master has not made a miner of you, has he?” I joked.

Paris flinched but the queen laughed at my jest.

“He is a mucky cur,” Bothwell commented laconically. “I shall toss him in the river later to see if that will make him clean.”

 

At the palace the partying went on until late. I sang and danced—most of the time with Joseph. His arms about my waist, his hand on mine in public, brought a flush to my face. I came in for much teasing from the Maries and from the queen, too.

But by the time the newlyweds retired to their chamber—amidst much ribald joking—the queen looked exhausted.

“May I help you to your room, Madam,” I said.

Noting my flushed and happy face, she shook her head. “The Maries will help me. Take to your own room, child. I will not need you tonight.”

 

Joseph and I walked for about an hour more, through the palace corridors, mostly talking about our childhoods. But at last my eyelids were fluttering closed even as we spoke.

“I will see you on the morrow,” he said, taking me to my room.

He opened the door and I turned to say good night. But before I could open my mouth, he leaned over and put a kiss on my forehead, so light that it might have been the touch of a moth's wing.

I looked up at him for a moment, then without speaking, I ran into the room and flung myself on my bed. I heard the quiet snick of the door as he closed it, the sharp
tip-tap
of his footsteps as he moved away down the hall.

In spite of being tired, I was suddenly in no mood to sleep. The very air seemed charged. I could still feel Joseph's kiss on my forehead, burning like a brand.

Air, I thought.
I need air.
I went over to my window and opened the shutters, but it was not enough.

So I left my room and went down the stairs and outside, feeling giddy and wild. Standing by the doorway, I could hear isolated voices laughing and singing snatches of earthy songs. The party had not ended entirely. I put my hand to my forehead and once again could feel Joseph's kiss there.

But suddenly I shivered. It had turned cold, as Scottish nights often do, and I was not dressed for the weather.

I thought that if
I
could not sleep, perhaps the queen could not sleep, either, though for different reasons. After all, the confrontation with her husband had not been pleasant. And if she was still awake, I could apologize for all my sour back talk.

So I went back inside, up the stairs, and down the long corridors towards her rooms.

 

When I got there, however, I heard voices from inside, the loudest of which I could not fail to recognize.

“Speak plain, woman!” It was Lord Bothwell. “Will you be done with him or no?”

What is he doing in her rooms so late?
I wondered.

“Why do you press me so?” the queen pleaded, like a child to a scolding schoolmaster. “What can I do but make the best of this burdensome situation and pray to God to deliver me, for you know I can never divorce him.”

Bothwell made a disgusted noise, as though spitting out a piece of bad meat. “God is deaf to those who will not shift for themselves.”

Suddenly his footsteps approached the door and I darted down the stairs, squeezing into an alcove to hide. When his steps died away, I came out from hiding and went back up.

As I prepared to knock, I heard weeping from within. Would I upset the queen further by intruding? Clearly she needed me now. But just as clearly I did not dare go in.

So I sank down by the door, struggling to stay alert. The cold stone floor sent a chill through me that at first kept me lively. But it had been a long day and, in spite of my best efforts, I was soon a-drowse, remembering Joseph's kiss as if in a dream.

The sudden opening of the door at my back jolted me awake. When I looked up, the queen was standing over me, as startled to see me there as I was to see her.

Jumping to my feet, I tried to present a seemly face to her.

“Nicola,” she said, “what are you doing here?”

I had no answer. The truth was I had no idea why I was there.

“I thought ... I thought you might need me, Madam,” I answered lamely. “But I did not want to disturb you if you slept.”

The queen regarded me curiously. “How could you know?” she said, as much to herself as to me.

“Know what, Madam?” I asked.

The smile she gave me was wan, as if she were trying to put a brave face on a troubled heart. “Come in, Nicola. I have a task for you. Surely this is the reason God preserved you from the river when your mother and father died. This is the moment—more than the comfort at Amboise, more than scaling down from my window, more than the flight in the night from Holyrood—for which you were sent to me. You are here tonight to save the life of one appointed by God, a life which no man has the right to take.”

36

DEATH IN THE NIGHT

I
followed her into the bedchamber, nervous and eager in equal measure. She opened a drawer in her bedside table, handing me a small diamond-studded crucifix that she had carried from France.

“I know the hour is late, but please take this to Kirk o'Field and give it to the king,” she said. “Let it protect him through the night until he comes safe to Holyrood in the morning.”

Protect him?
I thought.
I would rather slay him for all he had done to my sweet queen.
I did not say this, of course, but instead asked, “Should I carry so valuable a thing through the city late at night, Madam? What of robbers? What of footpads? I will be a girl alone.”

“My grandmother gave me this when I was very sick,” the queen explained. “I have always been certain it summoned angels from heaven to protect me. It will protect you as well, Nicola.”

On the way there, perhaps,
I thought.
But once given, how will it protect me in Darnley's presence? Or on the way home?

“The crucifix is very beautiful indeed, Madam,” I said. “But surely the king is in no danger now.”

It was as if she had not heard me. “I did not know who else to entrust this mission to. And then God sent me you.”

“Are you sure you want
me
to be the messenger?”

“Who in all the court should the king trust better, Nicola? Without you, we would both have been dead a year past.”

“I will do all I can for your safety, Madam. You know that.” I placed the cross around my neck and started to leave.

“It has grown cold outside, Nicola.” She fetched one of her fur-lined cloaks from the wardrobe and wrapped it round my shoulders.

It was much too long of course, but I felt quite the royal lady until I caught sight of myself in the mirror.
This will surely bring out the footpads,
I thought. Still, I could not fail the queen, who asked so little of me, so I bowed low to her. She patted my head and then kissed me on the brow, in the very same place where Joseph's kiss lay.

 

Hurrying through the night city, I held the cloak tightly about me. Once I lost my way in the dark. Closes and lanes and wynds seemed to rise up and plunge away again, twisting around each other like overgrown vines. But a partial moon finally enabled me to mark out a few familiar places—like Cowgate—and so I went safely on.

At last I saw the Kirk o'Field square, and headed straight for it. Before I could set foot in the open, I caught sight of two men huddled in the shadows by the king's dwelling. The moment they spied me, they vanished into the shadows like accomplished thieves.

How queer,
I thought.
Why did they not come forward to rob me, a mere girl without the protection of an armed man?

I paused to see if they would reappear, but when they did not, I drew in a deep breath and started quickly across the square.

Just then the door of the king's house opened and Lord Bothwell stepped out into the street, a pistol stuffed into his belt and a long dagger at his side.

I made a sound then, between a scream and a sigh of relief.

He turned, saw me, and his boar's eyes narrowed. He did not look pleased.

I thought to run off into the shadows then, but my arms were suddenly gripped from behind and I was dragged off, kicking at my abductors, into a dark alley.

This time I did scream, or at least I tried to, but a hand clapped down over my mouth. Twisting my head around, I saw that it was Bothwell's servant, Paris, who held me so tight. Another man stood by, his face hidden by a hood.

Suddenly Bothwell himself loomed over me. “Girl, what stupid fancy has brought you out here this night of all nights?”

Paris lifted his hand from my mouth so that I could answer. My voice squeaked with fear. “I am on an errand for the queen.”

“As am I,” he responded. “And I will tolerate no interference.”

“I plan no interference, my lord,” I managed to say. “Just give me leave to deliver my message and I will be gone.”

“Is it done?” asked the man in the hood.

Bothwell nodded. “The fuses are lit. In a few minutes it will be over.” He turned back to Paris. “You know what needs doing. So do it—and quickly.”

“No,” interrupted the hooded man, “She is just a girl. And on the queen's errand.”

“Is she any less dangerous for that?”

They glared at each other, with Paris caught uncertainly in the middle. For a moment, his grip slackened. I took the chance and tore myself from his grasp, leaving the fur-lined cape in his hands.