Mary Queen of Scotland & the Isles (202 page)

The war in the Netherlands had been a ghastly mistake. The Treasury
was beginning to run dry, in spite of her vigilant thrift. Little by
little she was being drawn into the wider, all-out war of religion that
she had so striven to avoid; relations with Spain were becoming more
and more strained; soon open hostilities would break out. She was
being forced into the role of universal champion of Protestantism by
circumstances.

And then there was the Queen of Scots business.

No one seemed to understand Elizabeth's dilemma, her quandary. No one
was sympathetic to her reluctance to execute her royal cousin. She was
completely alone.

In spite of Parliament, in spite of devoted servants like Cecil and
Walsingham in spite of thousands of loyal subjects who proclaim
themselves ready to die for me, only I have the power to act, she
thought. It is I who must sign the death warrant, and it is I who must
bear the entire blame. In the eyes of the world I stand alone.

That is the true burden of kingship: ultimately, I must decide alone
and bear the consequences, she thought. Until now I have been able to
share that burden with my councillors and people; we have acted
together in all things. But although they urge me to this, it is my
decision and mine alone.

Is Mary guilty? Indeed, yes. It is not justice that brings her to the
block this time; if justice had been served, she would have gone years
ago. It is long overdue.

She unwrapped a miniature of the Queen of Scots that she had kept for
years. It showed her young, as the fair, lucky ruler just mounting her
throne in Scotland. Then, in the same paper, she drew out the diamond
ring that Mary had sent her upon her arrival in England as a fugitive,
claiming that it entitled her to Elizabeth's help. The little ring
sparkled in the candlelight. Elizabeth turned it this way and that, as
if she would see something in it this time that she had missed
before.

This is just a toy, she thought. It is impossible to believe that this
little thing has brought about such momentous results that a queen may
die because of this ring.

May die? Many have died already. It is neither dream nor toy, but a
true memento mori.

The next morning, Elizabeth dressed in her most flattering colours
russet and gold and fastened the black pearls of the Queen of Scots
around her neck, to make her aware all day of Mary's presence. The
Lords had sold them to her long ago, when Mary had first been swept
from her throne. Beautiful things they were not truly black, but a
deep, opalescent purplish grey, their surfaces gleaming like grapes
still on the vine under a late autumn sun. So much had Mary lost .. .
Elizabeth's makeup was skilfully applied, to simulate the flush of
youth, and her best wig, the one with the thickest, shiniest curls, was
put on. Now the creature in the mirror was a heightened version of the
pale, slight figure of the night before; now Gloriana shone forth in
the sunlight in the dazzle of majesty.

Robert Dudley was coming, and she wanted to be as she always had been
for him. Time must never intrude on them nor wives, nor other
courtiers. Lettice Knollys and Christopher Hatton and Walter Raleigh
were only appendages to the two, forever one: Robert and Elizabeth.

She waited in her privy chamber. Outside there was attenuated
sunshine, thin and cold. Now she heard the footfalls, and knew he was
almost here.

"Robert!" She rose as he came into the room.

He was stout now, and red-faced, and losing his hair. But that was of
no moment; it was not even seen; it was not really him, but just a
jesting overlay. The real Robert was unchanging, as was the real
Elizabeth, and they were always young and beautiful.

"My Queen!" He fell to his knees and kissed her hand. "Oh, now I am
truly home!"

"Stand, my dear," she said, drawing him up. "Now I am safe again!"

They stood looking at each other for several long moments. Then
Elizabeth waved him to a seat, offering him a drink of heated wine.

"My most beloved majesty," he said, "I fear you will not be safe until
.. . you be moved to do what your people petition you to do."

"Have they sent you?" she asked sharply. "Cecil, and Walsingham? To
try to persuade me?"

"No, they have not," he answered quietly. His brown eyes were full
only of concern for her. "Walsingham lies sick in his home; he has
spent himself in your service and now is grieved and fearful. But his
part is over. However, Parliament has met and decided that you must
proceed to carry out the sentence against the Queen of Scots."

"Must? Must?" she cried. "Who is Parliament to tell me what I 'must'
do? Who rules here? The crown or Parliament?"

"The crown," he answered promptly. "Parliament has no power to carry
out the sentence. If you do not publish the sentence, and put your
signature to the death warrant, it cannot be carried out. She will
live until you decide she must die. It is that simple."

"I know that!" she snapped. "Why do you think I am so tortured?"

"But," said Robert, "your genius as a ruler has rested in your being
always in perfect accord and harmony with your people. You reflect
them as still water does the clouds; together you have formed a
seamless whole. You speak of being married to your people, and I above
all, know how true that is. You are one flesh with them. And they are
now certain, and resolved, that this danger to themselves and to you
must be removed. If you disregard their wishes, you show that you take
your safety and theirs lightly. They will not forgive that, nor forget
it."

"Oooh." She crossed her arms over her stomach and bent over as if she
had a pain. The pearls rubbed against her arms. "I know you are
right," she finally said.

"You have asked Parliament to find another way. They have searched and
declared that there is no other way. You called them to help you bear
the burden "

"No! I called them because because it would satisfy the world better,
because I wish even my enemies to know that I was just, and so they
could never accuse me of tyranny or hasty actions!"

Robert laughed. "Hasty actions! No, you are certainly not guilty of
that, never, in any way! Why, if you had to select a symbol of your
reign, you could choose the tortoise: wise, cautious, slow-moving,
peace-loving."

Elizabeth smiled now as well. She stroked the pearls, as if she would
call forth some spirit to do her bidding. "And long-lived, I hope."
The skull flitted through her mind.

"Not if Mary and her partisans have their way," said Robert. "And no
man knows what tomorrow can bring."

No one device, no art, no coil, could make us give death the foil.

"If she should outlive you," continued Robert cautiously, "and sickly
people sometimes live to a great age, then she might inherit your
throne. Catholicism would be restored, and all your wisdom and
compromise would be undone. You and your people are one, but she and
those same people would be at odds, just as she and her people were in
Scotland. And you know what happened there. Spare your people this
possibility."

"Do you remember, Robert, what I said long ago?" she suddenly asked.
"I said I was their anointed Queen, and I would never be constrained to
do anything by force. Yet that is what has happened that is why I hate
it so!"

"I know not what you mean." His face was puzzled.

"First I was forced to allow Babington and the conspirators to be
tried. Once they had been tried and found guilty, I was forced to have
them executed. I hoped that that would satisfy the people, and spare
Mary, as did the execution of Norfolk. But no! They made it clear
that it was Mary's head they wanted, not the conspirators'. They would
not be satisfied! They blamed her for ensnaring these poor young men.
So then I was forced to allow Mary to be tried. Once she was tried, I
was forced to call Parliament to try to mollify the foreign powers. And
once Parliament was involved, it pressed most diligently for her
execution. I have been led step by step; I have been constrained by
force!"

"There are some things that even you must obey," said Robert. "Not
Parliament itself, but the sentiment in back of it. The time for legal
niceties and hesitation is past. The Queen of Scots must die."

She clenched her fists and beat them helplessly against her sides.

"If you fail to carry through," Robert went on, "then what becomes of
the law of the land? It will be seen that no law has any force. We
are a country of laws; we pride ourselves on our legal system. To
evade it is to step back into barbarism."

"But to execute a crowned queen!" she cried. "Such a thing has never
been done. What will happen?"

"What will happen if you do not?" he asked. "Pray, do not put more
stock in the opinion of foreign powers than in that of your own
people."

"What will France do? What will Scotland do?"

"The French will do nothing. They have long since ceased to care what
happens to her. As for Scotland .. . James must, of necessity, make
public noise about his mother. But in private, he will choose his own
best interests, which are to remain on good terms with England. He
enjoys his pension, and will not jeopardize the treaty he has just
signed with you, with its implied understanding of his inheritance, for
all the mothers in Christendom. And especially not that mother. You
remember what he said when he was told she had been taken in the
Babington Plot? "Now she must drink the ale she has brewed." No,
he'll sit quietly."

"I have been informed that certain Scots nobles, including the ever
chivalrous George Douglas, have been urging him to invade England and
free her."

"The Scots, who had to be prevented from executing her themselves and
by yourself at that are hardly likely to hazard life and limb for her
now. No, you are quite safe from that quarter."

"Oh, I would that it were over and done with!" she cried.

"Then end it," said Robert. "End it, most gracious Majesty."

Elizabeth suspended Parliament, and called for it to reassemble on
February fifteenth. Two days afterward, on December fourth, she
allowed the publication of the sentence to the sound of trumpets: Mary
was found guilty of "being not only accessory and privy to the
conspiracy but also an imaginer and com passer of Her Majesty's
destruction." Church bells rang in London for twenty-four hours,
bonfires blazed, and people drank and danced in the streets with wild
celebration.

Elizabeth asked Cecil to draw up the death warrant, and dispatched a
deputation of councillors to announce the verdict and sentence to Mary
at Fotheringhay. Then she shut herself in her chambers for two days.

TWENTY-NINE

Mary had just finished her midday meal, served quietly in the largest
chamber of the octagonal tower, when Paulet appeared in the doorway.

"You have visitors," he said cryptically.

Before she had time to rise from the table or even wipe her lips with
her napkin, a crowd of men stepped into the chamber. She did not
recognize any of them; some of the faces looked familiar from the
trial, but she did not know the names.