Queen's Own Fool (37 page)

I added what we already knew. “And ours as well.”

41

PLANS

T
hings were darker than even we had guessed, for the queen was soon spirited away from Edinburgh and locked in a fouler prison, on an island.

We were still at Castle Seton when Pious Mary told us of it. Anger and fear warred on her homely face as she spoke.

“Mary Livingstone and I had hardly an hour with the queen under the eyes of a guard. A guard!” She struck the table with the flat of her hand as her voice rose.

“How did she look?” I asked. “Was she well, my queen?”

“She was thin, worn. She had not eaten in three days.”

“But why ... ?” I leaned towards her. “Is she ill again?”

Mary shook her head. “She feared poison and dared not eat till we were there with her. Mary Livingstone and I fixed her a meal with our own hands, and only then would she try a bite.”

“Poor, poor lady,” Lord Seton whispered.

“Father, there is worse to come,” Mary said. “We had just gotten her to accept a few spoonfuls of Lorraine soup, with Morton—that pustule—standing behind her chair and watching every bite. Suddenly the door burst open and a group of men stomped in to take her off again.”

I put a hand over my mouth, shocked. I had never heard Pious Mary swear before. In fact I had never even heard her raise her voice. But war makes heroes of the least of us, and devils of the rest.

“Morton just stood there, arms crossed, calm as a post, though we women set up an awful wail,” Mary said, her eyes hard, like cobbles. “The soldiers ordered her out, carrying not even a nightdress and only two chambermaids with her.”

“Where did they take her?” Lord Seton asked.

“Lochleven.”

Lochleven! I shivered remembering the stories I had heard of the place, that cold grey tower and keep belonging to the Douglases. It sat on a small island in the middle of a misty loch. Sentinels kept perfect watch from an elevated walkway round the inside of the parapet. No one could sail to the island or away from it without their knowing.

We discussed what we knew of the place, Mary in a fury, Lord Seton sad, and me—I hovered somewhere between the two.

“The keep there is old and the wind comes through the chinks, ” said Mary. “It is no place for a queen to stay. Not one who has already suffered so much and been so ill.” She hesitated, her natural sense of fairness warring with her anger. “There is a bedroom that is comfortable enough, with good tapestries on the walls and a bed of green velvet. And a goodly presence chamber to meet with people.” She looked a bit sheepish. “I was hawking there once with the queen.”

Lord Seton's long face got longer. “The Douglases will probably take those rooms for themselves. She may be lodged instead in the Glassin Tower.”

“True ...” Mary said.

“Or in the dungeon,” he added, and sighed heavily. Since the queen's removal to prison, he had fallen prey to a miasma of the heart.

“Where the queen lies, so lies majesty,” I said, refusing to be drawn into his mood. “She will make even the bleakest dungeon a home.” I patted his hand, but it lay beneath my touch like a dead thing. “Besides, is not Lord James a Douglas? Surely being kin to the queen they will treat her well.”

“Oh fool, fool, fool.” Lord Seton wept, his head in his hands.

“What have I said?” I whispered to Mary.

“The dowager Lady Margaret Douglas believes Lord James should have had the throne himself,” she told me. “Lady Margaret has never forgiven the queen for coming back to take it. Her welcome will be a cold one indeed.”

“Fool I am,” I said to Lord Seton. “But fool I will not remain. I will find a way to get the queen out of that foul place, by myself if I have to.”

“Not by yourself, dear Nicola,” said Mary.

“No indeed,” agreed Lord Seton. “For to get in there and get out again, you will need our help.”

 

However we did it, it needed to be done quickly. Word came to Lord Seton that the queen was once again in ill health. Heart-sick and full of despair, she had been forced to sign away the throne in favor of her year-old son. Jamie was crowned king a few days later and Lord James declared regent, which made him as good as a king.

“That old carlin, that witch Margaret Douglas, is surely crowing at this very moment,” Pious Mary said as we rode to Castle Niddry, one of the ancestral homes of the Setons, to meet with the other Maries, for they were part of our plan.

The day was overcast, but the winds were hardly riding the trees at all. The road to Niddry was well traveled and we passed a small group of wagoners as we rode along.

When we arrived at the castle—a small grey stone haven within a pretty dale—Joseph was standing outside with one of the grooms. I gasped aloud and Mary was grinning ear to ear. I guessed then that she had arranged this reunion and was delighted to have kept it a surprise.

While the groom helped Mary dismount, Joseph came to my aid, lifting me down from the horse as though I weighed nothing.

“You are thinner,” he said, quickly adding, “It becomes you.”

“It is from worry,” I told him. “For the queen's safety. And for yours. ”

The wind puzzled his black curls, giving him the look of an addled angel. His hands lingered on my waist and Mary called out, “I will see to our chambers.” And then she left for the house, the groom—trailing the two horses—for the stables.

Joseph and I were alone under the darkening sky.

“I am surprised to see you,” I said, stepping away from him, suddenly shy. “I thought you were at Holyrood.”

His face was unsmiling. “I have become the latest in a long line of fugitives.”

I was shocked. “You?”

“Francisco Busso and Bastian de Pages have already been arrested for aiding in Darnley's murder. I was named, too, but I escaped through the window before Morton's men could arrest me.”

“But this is ridiculous!” I exclaimed. “What do the postulant lords of Scotland hope to achieve?” My voice rose alarmingly and he stepped close to me and put a hand over my mouth.

“Hush, Nicola. Even here in Seton's own house we must use caution. Morton's ears are everywhere. If you were reported and I could not save you...” His eyes teared up.

I nodded and he removed his hand. “I will be careful, Joseph. I promise. But tell me why they are persecuting the innocent with so many wicked around?”

“They do not care about innocence, darling fool, only scapegoats,” he told me. “That way no one will stop to question the guilt of those who have seized power. These ‘pustulent lords' as you call them will arrest a thousand men and execute them all if it will distract attention from themselves.”

I said fiercely, “One need not be a physician to know how to deal with pustules. One quick pop between the fingers and...”

“Nicola!” he whispered as if shocked, but there was laughter in his eyes.

The sky began to spit down at us and we walked quickly towards the house.

“At least you need not stay hiding longer,” he said. “Bothwell can no longer do you any harm.”

“Where is he now?”

Joseph opened the door for me, saying, “He races from one end of the country to the other trying to raise an army, but it is clear that it is not the queen's cause he serves but his own. He has been publicly named as Darnley's murderer and declared outlaw. His only options now are to flee into exile or remain in Scotland until he is captured and executed.”

“Good!” I said, and meant it. “Even if he is harried like a wild boar in a hunt, I will not weep for him.”

Behind us the rain began in earnest. I turned to Joseph and whispered, “But what danger are you in if you remain here?”

He put his hands on my shoulders, speaking urgently. “There is a ship for France in two days time, Nicola. What belongings I have are here with me. I came for you, Nicola. Marry me and sail away from this madness.”

I looked down, confused by my swirling emotions. “To be with you in France ...” I could scarcely speak. “Married ... It is my greatest desire.” I looked up. “But, Joseph, I have to help free the queen. What is mere desire next to that?”

He shook his head and his hands tightened on my shoulders. “Nicola, even those lairds loyal to her do not know what to do. How can you and I act, who have no armies to hand?”

Tears sprang into my eyes. “What matters is to find some way to free her. Only that. I have nothing to lose but the queen. Perhaps that makes me freer to fight for her.” I pulled away from him and sat down on a small wooden bench.

But Joseph was not finished. “Nicola, think—think! How many of the Scots nobles will actually want to help even should she become free? An infant king upon the throne suits them very well. There will be a series of regents and a council of lords ruling the country. By the time King Jamie comes of age, the lairds will have lined their pockets with gold many times over.”

“You make things sound beyond our control,” I whispered.

“Things
are
beyond our control, Nicola.” He gazed at me beseechingly. “It is folly to think otherwise. The queen is locked away in an impenetrable fortress on an unreachable island. What do you think we can do?”

“I do not know,” I confessed with a weary shake of my head. “Call it folly, if you will, but we must still try.”

Joseph raised his eyes to the ceiling, spread out his hands, and gave vent to a loud string of Italian curses.

“Do not be angry with me,” I begged him tearfully. “You know I cannot abandon the queen.”

“I am not angry with you,” he said. “I am angry at myself for being such a fool that I cannot leave you.” And so saying, he took two great steps over to the bench and gathered me up in his arms.

Before we could speak further, a hidden door in the panelled wall opened and the four Maries walked into the room.

42

MOUSE AND LION

J
oseph and I sprang apart, like deer startled in a copse. But we continued to hold hands.

It had been a long while since I had seen the Maries together.

Regal Mary led the way. She still had that high tilt of head, but was less animated than usual. In fact, all the Maries were curiously subdued. The flickering candlelight cast deep shadows over their faces, which seemed to make the mood even more somber.

I turned from Joseph to greet them and they each kissed me, one cheek, then the other, and nodded at Joseph. Then we went into the great dining hall and sat uncomfortably around a great oak banqueting table as though for a meal, but without a thing to eat before us. Pious Mary had drawn the heavy velvet curtains so that no one might spy on us.

Just so,
I thought,
ministers sit to plan a war.

Pious Mary was the first to speak. “Thanks to the intervention of Mistress Maitland's husband,” she said, “I have been given permission to join the queen at Lochleven.”

I cast a glance at Regal Mary, so recently married to that chameleon, Maitland. Had she been uneasy being the intermediary between her new husband and Pious Mary? After all, Maitland had never seemed the queen's most loyal councilor. Regal Mary's cheeks had spots of red, a glow not of health but—I thought—of embarrassment.

Regal Mary said in a casual voice, “William is doing all that he can to ensure the queen's safety and comfort. He must be careful, however, for if he falls out of favor with the other lords, she will have no friends at court at all.” All the while she spoke, her hands wrangled with one another.

“What about Lord James?” I asked. “How can he allow his queen and kinswoman to be treated like this?” And then I remembered how he had been put to the horn by the queen and his lands almost forfeit. Was he paying her back now?

“Lord James has made common cause with that vulture Knox,” Jolly Mary reported. I had never before heard her merry voice so soured. “While Lord James bolsters the Protestant cause, Knox lauds him from the pulpit. One dirty hand washing the other.”

“Can you not raise enough men to free the queen?” I asked.

Joseph put a hand on mine. “Remember Lochleven is on an island. Such a movement of men across the loch would be seen.”

“And,” added Regal Mary, “my husband says that would only guarantee the queen's immediate execution.”

A gasp ran around the table. I was not the only one to make a noise.

“Execute a queen?” I said, rising. “They would not dare.”

“You forget,” Joseph said quietly, pulling me down, “she is queen no longer.”

“She was forced to sign the abdication,” I retorted.

“Nevertheless,” Regal Mary said, “by law she is no longer queen. It is much simpler to execute someone who was once queen than...”

The rest of her sentence was shortened by the loud sounds of Pretty Mary bursting into tears.

I handed her a square of linen and she covered her mouth with it, stifling the sobs.

“If the queen is to escape,” said Pious Mary, with an unaccustomed air of authority, “the plan must be executed from inside Lochleven. But she has not had any of her own retainers with her before. Now, however ...”

“Hurrah!” cried Jolly Mary.

I turned and looked at Regal Mary—Mistress Maitland. She smiled tentatively as if unsure of herself.

“God will bless you,” I whispered to her.

She looked down at her hands and the tears started at the edges of her eyes.