Queen's Own Fool (36 page)

Then one day Joseph arrived, all unexpectedly, at Lord Seton's castle, and I was called to the back garden, where the vegetables for the table were grown and espaliered plum and apple trees backed up against the walls.

Lord Seton dismissed the gardeners to work in the front so that Joseph and I might have some time together.

I cleaned my hands on my apron. “My dear Joseph,” I said, tears starting in my eyes. “How I have missed...” But I stopped, for his face was too grim for pleasantries.

He took me by the hands and led me to a garden seat. There he drew back from me and told me his news with the bluntness of a hammer.

“The worst of all has happened. The queen and Bothwell have married.”

“Married!”
My hands went to my mouth, my cheeks, my ears. It was as if I could not keep my hands still. “But ... how could she? Does she not know what this means? If people believe Bothwell is the king's murderer, what will they think of her?”

“They will think she planned the murder with him. That they were lovers long before the fateful fuses were lit.”

“But that did not happen.” I leaped to my feet. “I slept in her room after the child was born. Bothwell never came near her.”

Joseph stood as well. “What is truth but what others believe? Knox has accused her from the pulpit of adultery and murder. When power is at stake, truth is at best an inconvenience.”

I recalled my last sight of Bothwell, the knife in his hand as he came towards me. I shuddered. “Why did she marry him? She cannot love him.”

Joseph sat down and took my hands in his. “What has love to do with royal marriages, Nicola? Some say he abducted the queen and forced her. Some say he studied the magic arts in Paris and has bewitched her. He has a kind of power that draws people to him, Nicola.”

“Oh, my poor queen. Why am I here, away from her side?” I leaped to my feet. “I could have helped her. I could have...” I was frantic, as if blown about by a storm. Finally I turned to Joseph. “What do you think happened, Joseph?”

He looked down at his hands for a moment, as if the answer were written between his fingers. “I believe that she has been assailed from all sides by deceit. If there is magic, it is the world that has wrought its devilish art upon her. Is it any wonder she surrenders herself to whoever offers to silence her enemies, Nicola?”

“No! No,” I said, sitting down again. “I cannot believe that of her. She is the sweetest, kindest, gentlest lady. Bothwell must have threatened her. He must have threatened her child.”

“They have been married according to Protestant rites.”

I put my hands up. “Then she will consider it no marriage at all. She must have been forced to it. She would never marry outside the one true church. Never!”

“You see those you love with a fool's eyes, Nicola,” Joseph told me. “We are none of us as good as you paint us.”

“Or as bad, Joseph?” I stood again, walked a few steps away, then turned. “What of the Catholic lairds? What do they say of this match?”

Joseph's mouth twisted. “I only bring you the news, Nicola. I do not make it. Do not be angry with me.”

I melted at once, like a candle before a greater flame. “I am so stupid, Joseph. Trying to kill the messenger. Forgive me.”

“Many of the lairds—both Catholic and Protestant—were happy enough to see Darnley killed,” Joseph said. “But to have Bothwell set over them fills them all with bitterness. Already Morton, Argyll, and Atholl are raising an army to oppose the queen and her new king.”

“Aha! Then they know that he is the murderer!” I smiled.

“They guess it.”

“Then why did they support him when he came to trial?”

Before Joseph could answer, a little gust of wind blew across the garden, shaking the leaves. I felt shaken, too. Shaken into awareness.

“No,” I said, “do not tell me. I know why.” As I spoke, I pounded my right fist into my left hand. “They thought they were using Bothwell, only to find that he had been using them all along.” I turned back to Joseph. “Even a fool should have seen that.
Especially
a fool.”

“Nicola, you still do not know the worst of it,” he said and stood. “Bothwell counted on the fact of the nobles' complicity to keep them from opposing him. But in marrying the queen, he has seriously overstepped himself. This matter will be decided by battle. And soon.” He took my hands again.

“A battle? What of the queen, Joseph? Which side will she be on? ”

“I am no seer, Nicola. I only hope she chooses well.”

 

But she did not choose well. My brave queen chose Bothwell, as a sailor clings to a bit of wreckage when a ship goes down.

Lord Seton was one of the first to summon his troops and march to the queen's defense. He had no regard for Bothwell, in fact he despised the man. But yet he was willing to die for his queen.

He took his leave of his daughter and me in the castle courtyard. From atop his splendid bay gelding, he said, “Bothwell is a bully and...”

“And a boar, sir?” I said.

Seton had looked startled for a moment.

“It is the little piggy eyes,” I added. “Sir.”

Lord Seton, that good, gentle man, threw his head back and roared. “I shall not be able to look him in the face from now on, Nicola, without seeing a boar's head and wondering where his tusks are kept,” he told me. “Poor dear queen.”

And away he rode at the head of his troops.

 

I could do nothing, of course, but wait anxiously in Seton Castle for news of any battles that were to come. It was mid-June, and the gardens were all aflower. Roses in the arbor had already opened their velvet faces to the summer sun.

But not I.

I had full autumn in my heart.

For if the queen's forces won decisively, Bothwell would remain at her side. I could never see her again. Not safely.

Yet if her forces should lose...

I could not believe that God would let her lose.

But He had let her lose so much already.

 

We had no word for days, though the castle was abuzz with rumors.

She's north and south,
we were told.
East and west.

No one knew a thing but everyone knew the rumors.

I longed to be with her, but I was stuck at Seton with no way to get to her except by waiting.

So I waited.

At last Lord Seton returned, looking years older than when he had left. He was grim and filthy. Dismounting, he was greeted by his daughter, who had come the evening before, sped on by news that her father might be riding home.

I watched through one of the mullioned windows as she put her arm around his shoulders for comfort. It was not my place to greet him. Besides, I was too afraid to hear what he had to say.

A servant found me in the front hall, pacing back and forth. “The master would have you take a drink with him and Lady Mary in his apartments. ”

I went at once, already guessing the news. Who could not, having seen Lord Seton's face?

Mary saw me before I could knock. “Ah, Nicola, ” she said, gesturing me in.

Lord Seton's breastplate and helmet lay on the floor, where he had dropped them. “Forgive me for not rising,” he said, before taking a deep draft from his glass.

Mary handed me a drink as well, but though I raised it to my lips, I did not take so much as a sip.

Without preamble, Lord Seton began. “Face-to-face at Carberry Hill we were, about eight miles east of Edinburgh. Morton and his allies had moved more quickly than we. What's more they outnumbered us as well. We had but six hundred horses and they thousands. Even Maitland has joined their cause.”

“That is no surprise,” his daughter interjected. “He has no love for Bothwell.”

Lord Seton waved his hand, as if to dismiss her interruption. “We held the high ground, so that they couldna easily attack us, and we stood fast under the queen's banner, the red lion of Scotland. Och, ye should have seen it whip about bravely in the wind. But Norton's men blocked off any possible retreat, and so there we waited to see who would first spill the blood of his ain country-men.”

He took another sip of his wine. “It was hot. By God it was hot on that hill in full armor. Though the queen, bless her, never looked less than magnificent.”

“Father, should you not rest now?” Mary asked.

He shook his head. “I must say it once and be done wi' it, lass. Besides, how can any of us rest, with the tale not told?”

I leaned forward. “Please, sir.” My voice was small and broke in the middle. “I must know the worst.”

Lord Seton smiled gently at me. “Do ye see? Nicola wants to know.”

Mary sighed. “As do I, Father,” she said. “Tell on.” She filled his glass.

He did not pick the wine up again, but started anew. “The false lords sent a deputy, a Frenchman named du Croc. He carried their demands—that the queen should abandon Bothwell, and in turn they would restore her to her former position.”

“Then why did she not give them his head?” I cried, even though I thought I knew the answer.
She loved him now out of pity.

“Would that she had,” Mary put in. “She has had not an hour of happiness from this marriage. He is cruel to her and she lacks the strength to fight him. You would not know her, Nicola, she is so altered.”

Lord Seton now took another long swallow of his wine. “Poor lady, there she was wrapped in the royal colors of Scotland, a red and yellow skirt, and a jaunty black riding hat. But she was furious at the suggestion. She said it was those very lords who had sent a paper to her first urging the marriage. ‘It is by ye that Bothwell has been promoted.' Those were her very words.”

A steward came in with a bowl of fruit from Lord Seton's own gardens, but he was waved away. “Not now, man. Later. After I have cleaned myself up.” Then Lord Seton looked at me. “Ah, Nicola, the queen tried her best to negotiate an agreement to save them both, while Bothwell swaggered around the field, offering single combat to any who would dare to face him.”

“Single combat?” I said, putting down my untouched drink.
“I
would have fought him.”

That brought a smile to Lord Seton's tired face. “I am certain ye would, my brave lass. And so would others. At which point he rapidly retracted his offer. A boar without any tusks at all,” he said.

“Father—are you havering? Really, you must rest.” Mary put her hand out towards him.

“Just a jest, my dear, between two fools, one young and one old. Do not worry, I havna lost my mind.” He smiled sadly. “Though it is the only thing I havna lost this day.”

“Then what was the outcome? Did the armies fight? Is Bothwell still alive? Is the queen safe?” The questions tumbled out of me.

Lord Seton raised a hand to calm me, but his hand shook so, Mary put her own over his to steady him. At last he said, “The lairds agreed that if the queen returned with them to Edinburgh, Bothwell could leave unharmed. They promised she would be permitted to address Parliament, putting her case to the people.”

“Was that safe?” I asked. “I mean to return to Edinburgh with them.”

Lord Seton shook his head. “Safe? The very worry I had, lass. And so I counseled her not to be overtrustful. But evening was drawing in. Many of our troops had already drifted away because of Bothwell's loathsome bragging and his cowardice when put to the point. ”

“I should never have left her side,” I cried.

Lord Seton leaned forward. “Do not fash yerself, lassie,” he said, using the old Scots phrase. “What good would ye have done her dead and one more murder on her poor conscience?”

I reached for my own wineglass then and took a sip. The sweet taste burned down my throat and was a small comfort.

“So they parted?” Mary asked.

“Aye,” said Lord Seton. “Husband and wife sundered, he to the north, she to the camp of her rebellious nobles.”

“And how was she treated there?” I asked, my voice hoarse with fear and the aftermath of the wine.

“She had to ride through two lines of soldiers who greeted her with jeers and insults which their leaders did nothing to suppress.” His answer twisted his mouth. “They called her witch, and whore. ‘Burn the murderess!' they shouted. ‘Kill her! Drown her!' I do not believe she understood until then how many of her beloved Scots had turned against her.”

Mary began to weep quietly but I had no tears left, having shed them all long ago. Anger consumed me, not sorrow. I was ice cold with it.

“Where is she now?” I asked.

“They have locked her up in Preston's grim mansion, without attendants or comforts or privacy. It is a small, bare house in Edinburgh.” His fingers, so weak and trembling before, now clenched the goblet with such passion I feared the stem would break. “She is being treated as a common criminal while they debate whether they dare put her on trial.”

“On
trial.”
The words burst from my mouth. “They would not dare. She is the queen!”

Then I looked at Lord Seton's familiar face, now sunken and grey, and I understood for the first time how desperate things really were. The Scots lairds would dare anything.

“Father, what are we to do?” Mary asked.

“Do?” Lord Seton slumped back against his chair. “What can we do? There is no army left to support her, and every day Bothwell raises her a fresh crop of enemies. This is her darkest hour.”