Mary Queen of Scotland & the Isles (116 page)

They fell asleep like two children in one another's arms.

Later they signed a private marriage contract, to bind themselves. She
gave Bothwell some rich old church vestments, three embroidered
priest's robes, and ordered him to have them made up into new clothes
to be worn at his trial. She also presented him with Darnley's
favourite horse, and insisted he ride it to his trial.

"You are innocent, and we must shout your innocence to the world!" she
said. "No shrinking, no apologies."

"Spoken like a true Borderer," said Bothwell, in stunned admiration.

But too many Borderers had ended up swinging from ropes for their
audacity, that he knew well.

FIFTY-ONE

Bothwell stretched himself in bed. There was no sleep that night, nor
did he want there to be. He savoured the hours alone to think, and
make his plans. The darkness provided a luxurious blanket for him that
shut out the swirl of other people. He was to be surrounded by others
all day. It was April twelfth the day of his trial.

He welcomed it. Get it over with. Nothing could be proved against
him, for the simple reason that no one except Lennox wanted too close
an inquiry into it. He held in his possession in a locked silver box
the bond the lords had signed, agreeing to rid Scotland of Darnley as
their King. Conveniently vague language, but then bonds never said the
word murder. Riccio's bond had not contained the word, either.

Morton had given the paper to him Morton, who had held back from active
involvement, acting only by deputy. But on the bond were the
incriminating names: Maitland, Argyll, Huntly, Morton, Douglas, Lord
James. The very judges of the trial, the leaders of the Privy Council.
No, they hardly wanted to stir up Darnley's wretched ghost. Let it
lie.

By all rights, Darnley himself should be on trial. He had meant to
murder his wife, the Queen.

The Queen .. . the Queen must remarry. They would start a campaign to
find a new husband for her, with the dreary round of French ambassadors
and envoys from Spain and perhaps even Robert Dudley again, on
Elizabeth's part. But it could not be. She loved him, Bothwell. There
could be no turning back, for their liaison would come to light
eventually in any case. He and the Queen would have to wed. There was
no alternative, even had he not loved her.

"God save the Queen!" he murmured, tossing in bed. Now it will be up
to me to find a way to make it possible, he thought. Some way that
will make it appear we are doing it for Scotland's good, rather than
for our own desires.

I am weary. Tired of fighting. But just this last battle, and it is
over.

Red was sending faint streaks up the windowpane like a skeletal hand.
Dawn had arrived.

Outside, by the palace gates, a great crowd had already gathered by six
o'clock. Making his way through to the very front was the provost
marshal of Berwick, carrying Queen Elizabeth's letter. He could not
gain entrance, and could barely attract the attention of a guard.

"I pray you, I bring an official and urgent letter from Her Majesty
Queen Elizabeth to Queen Mary," he said.

The guard scowled at him. "I cannot take the letter. Her Majesty is
still asleep."

By nine o'clock, the crowd had swelled so that the entire street, from
the gates of the palace to the Tolbooth, where the trial would take
place, was jammed with people. The April day was soft and warm, with a
clear sky and wispy, racing clouds. Windows were open in the tall
stone houses, and as many people as were on the street were above and
looking out, leaning elbows on the windowsills and breathing deeply of
the rich, sweet air.

The provost saw Maitland making his way over to him. "The Earl of
Bothwell has been told that you have a letter from the Queen of England
to deliver. But he thinks it impossible that our Queen can read it
until tonight. She is still sleeping." Maitland did not offer to take
the letter or invite him into the palace grounds.

Amazed, the provost saw a great company of men assembling in the
forecourt, mounted on horseback, followed by hundreds of soldiers with
harquebuses Bothwell's men. Then Bothwell himself rode out, wearing
golden clothes and mounted on a huge charger. Darnley's horse!

Around him the people were muttering, "There's his horse, the dead
boy's horse, and Bothwell in the saddle."

"Where else does he ride where the boy used to?" Loud shouts of
laughter.

"Anywhere he pleases, and as often as he pleases!"

"And as long as he pleases the Queen, the ride continues."

Now there were howls of laughter.

"Look! There she is! The whore!"

The provost looked up to see Mary waving languidly from her tower
window to Bothwell. He turned in the saddle and gave her a smart
salute. Then he threw his head back and laughed, a great roaring
laugh.

So this is how she sleeps, thought the provost. And refuses to receive
the Queen of England's letter, while she fawns on her lover.

Bothwell was now riding just past him, glorious and powerful in the
saddle. Around him his harquebusiers formed a living hedge, bristling
with weaponry.

None of the warmth of the Ap-il day had seeped into the cold stone
Tolbooth, where Bothwell now took his place to defend himself. Seated
on benches were fifteen of the judges in this trial, with the Earl of
Argyll presiding and the Justice-Clerk Bellenden recording and ordering
procedure. The entire Scottish court was present, with three notable
exceptions: the Queen herself, Lord James Stewart, and the Earl of
Lennox.

The Earl had sent two representatives, Crawford and Cunningham.
Cunningham read a paper from Lennox, stating that "His Lordship was
unable to attend on account of the shortness of the notice, and because
he was in fear of his life, being denied liberty to bring such a
following as he considered needful for his defence. Therefore he
required the trial to be put off for forty days, or for such time as he
might require to bring sufficient proofs of his charge against the
murderers, whom he required to have committed to prison till such time
as he should be prepared to convict them."

Bothwell gave a disdainful laugh. "First he requests the trial,
insists it must be before Parliament meets. Now he pleads an excuse
for not being present, and asks that the 'murderers' unnamed plural be
locked up until he pleases to confront them with 'evidence." Has any
more preposterous demand ever been received in a court of law?" His
mocking voice made everyone laugh.

"Perhaps everyone accused of any crime should be locked up on the whim
of one man, just in case he might feel moved to bring evidence against
them sometime? Fie, gentlemen! Tis the Earl of Lennox who should be
locked up for feeblemindedness!"

He turned round slowly, looking at all the rows of men staring back at
him. Their different-coloured cloaks made splotches against the opaque
brown of the wooden banks of seats.

"But nonetheless, although the Earl is not here and there is no one to
charge me formally with anything, I shall be pleased to answer any
questions you wish to address to me. For above all, I wish to be
cleared of this crime."

From ten o'clock until seven in the evening, the assembled company
discussed the "terrible crime," but it seemed that no one could provide
any answers. No one knew who had done it, why it had been done, how
many people were involved, or even whom the plot had aimed at. Bothwell
was unable to enlighten them. At length, tired and hungry, the Earl of
Argyll called a halt to the proceedings.

"You are acquitted," he pronounced. "There has been no accusation, and
no evidence produced against you. You are free to go."

"Thank you, my lords and friends, for your patience," said Bothwell. "I
know you must be hungry. I therefore insist you join me, as my guests,
for supper at Ainslie's Tavern, as soon as you can gather up your
things. God be praised!" He gave an expansive gesture of thanks and
flung his mantle over his shoulder.

The tavern was a large one, with several connected rooms. In the one
farthest back, a long table was set up, using a board over trestles, to
seat the company that Lord Bothwell had brought with him. Ainslie, the
owner, was anxious to accommodate the great Earl who seemed to rule the
city. He strode in as if he were just on his way to a delightful,
inconsequential meeting somewhere else.

"I wish to quench everyone's thirst," said Bothwell, "with the finest
wines you have, as much as they can drink. For those who prefer ale, I
am pleased to allow them their heart's content of that as well. And
after dinner, bring whisky." He saw the look on Ainslie's face. "Cost
is of no consequence," he assured him. "And the food I wish lamb and
beef, the most delicate, of course. White bread." He nodded at the
guests filing in. "Take your places, my friends."

Warily they sat down, while Ainslie and his helpers lit candles in the
middle of the table. The glow grew until most of the faces were quite
visible from Bothwell's end of the table. Morton, with his hard shiny
eyes, was seated nearest, and Argyll on the other side. The rest of
them Huntly with his blond good looks, serious Seton, Cassillis,
Sutherland, Rothes, Glencairn, Caithness, Boyd, Sinclair, Sempill,
Oliphant, Ogilvy, Ross, Henries, Hume gazed expectantly at him. Others,
at the farthest end of the table, waited.

"My friends, do not look so glum," said Bothwell, standing up. "This
night is my night of freedom from the ugly spectre of suspicion and
lies. I thank you for making it possible for my name, the name of
James Hepburn, which has never been disloyal or judged traitorous, to
clear itself so that I and my descendants may live in pride." He
raised his glass. "Drink, I pray you. Drink to justice. Drink to
honour. Drink to courage."

He sat back down. He was exhausted. The night of no sleep, of the war
of nerves about the coming trial, began to catch up with him. He felt
as if he were falling, collapsing, folding inward upon himself. He
willed himself to swell up again with strength. There was much left to
do.

He ate ravenously when the beef and bread were put before him. It was
all he could do not to tear it with his teeth. He noticed that the
others, reluctant at first, were now joining in, and he could hear the
clink of the knives on the pewter platters. Individual knives each man
ate with his own dagger. Then he saw Ainslie bringing out more flagons
of wine and ale and removing the empties. Good. They must drink deep
tonight.

Flagon after flagon made its way to the table, and the noise at the
table grew loud. The men were even laughing. They relaxed; they let
their knives rest on the platters, and with full bellies they leaned
back and let their heads begin to swim.

" "Twas good tonight," ventured Huntly, who rarely pronounced an
opinion. "Now let us hope the ghosts can rest."

"Aye," said Morton, spilling some wine on his beard, where it vanished
into the brush, "Scotland is full of ghosts, and let them keep one
another company. Riccio and the King can play tennis again together
now. Haw, haw!"