Mary Queen of Scotland & the Isles (207 page)

"I will carry this gold rosary to the execution," Mary said. "But on
the scaffold I will give it to you, Jane. I wish it to be delivered
after my death to Anne Dacres, the faithful Catholic daughter-in-law of
the Duke of Norfolk." She touched the diamond she still wore about her
neck. "It is time this were taken off," she said. "I promised him to
wear it until death. And now it has come." She handed it to Jane.
"Likewise I will carry the Agnus Dci to the block, but afterwards I
wish you to have it, Elizabeth. Do not let the the executioner take
it."

Elizabeth burst out crying again.

It was now past nine o'clock. There was still the will to be done. She
hunched over the writing table and tried, from memory, to account for
all contingencies. She appointed the Duc de Guise, Archbishop Beaton,
Bishop Leslie, and du Ruisseau, the chancellor of her dowry in France,
to be her executors. There were arrangements to be made for requiem
masses for her soul, charitable bequests for poor children and priests
at Reims, a contribution to the seminarians. Her women were to be
allowed to take her coach and horses to London and sell them for
passage back to their home countries.

She finished it and rolled it up. Her hand was aching. But there were
yet other letters to be done. Since she could not make a confession in
person to de Preau, she must do it on paper. Wearily she took up the
pen in her stiff hand and tried to think, imagining herself speaking.
In the deep shadows in the corners of the room, she could picture death
himself standing by and watching her, leaning, skeletal arms crossed,
empty skull staring.

Dear Father in Christ,

I beg you to keep vigil and prayer with me this night, my last on
earth. I freely confess my sins, knowing that they are many.. ..

The hour approached midnight. She waited, hushed, to hear any sound of
a chime formally dividing the days of February seventh and eighth, but
there was nothing.

She took out another sheet of paper and began her last letter, to Henri
III, King of France.

8 Feb. 1587.

Royal brother, having by God's will, for my sins I think, thrown myself
into the power of the Queen my cousin, at whose hands I have suffered
much for almost twenty years, I have finally been condemned to death by
her Estates.. ..

I have not had time to give you a full account of everything that has
happened, but if you will listen to my doctor and my other unfortunate
servants, you will learn the truth and how, thanks be to God, I scorn
death.. ..

She looked up uneasily, peering with all her power of sight into the
dark corners. Did she really mean that? Best not to scorn him afore
hand ..

She went on writing, pouring out her concerns to him about her servants
and her burial. Would he help her in these things? She had to trust
him. Finally she fumbled with a little velvet pouch and took out two
unset jewels: one was an amethyst and the other a bloodstone.

I have taken the liberty of sending you two precious stones, talismans
against illness, trusting that you will enjoy good health and a long
and happy life. Accept them from your loving sister-in-law, who, as
she dies, bears witness of her warm feelings for you.

Wednesday, at two in the morning. Your most loving and most true
sister,

Marie R. To the Most Christian King, my brother and old ally.

Two o'clock in the morning! The night was slipping away.

But what of it? she asked herself. It is hardly to be expected that I
would spend it sleeping. I will be sleeping soon enough.

Was it too late to have her customary reading with her ladies? Yes, of
course it was. Stiffly she stood, and made her way over to her bed. It
was too late now even to undress. She would not wake anyone up to do
it, and her own fingers were too swollen to do it herself. She lay
down on her bed fully dressed, and closed her eyes. O God, give me
courage! Let me not fail at the moment of death! she prayed. I
failed You at the last test, but in Your mercy You have granted me
another. Help me now!

She heard a rustling beside her, and looked up to see both Jane and
Elizabeth standing by the bedside. They were both already dressed in
mourning black.

"You are ready early," said Mary. But the sight of them attired for
the event shook her deeply. "I am laggard. But even though it is
late, I would like to end the day in the customary fashion. Jane, can
you read aloud from my book of hours?"

"Indeed," she said, fetching it.

"Choose the life of a great sinner," said Mary.

Jane read over the table of contents. "Mary Magdalene?"

Mary shook her head.

"Saint Augustine?"

"No."

"The penitent thief on the cross?"

Mary sighed. "Yes. He was a great sinner, but not so great a sinner
as I am. May my blessed Saviour, in memory of His passion, have mercy
on me in the hour of death, as He had on him."

Mary lay back on the pillow and closed her eyes, waiting for the
soothing voice of Jane to begin the story.

" "The two thieves, condemned to be crucified beside Christ, mocked
him. But at length one of them, moved by some divine grace, rebuked
his companion. "Do you not fear God, seeing we are likewise condemned?
We have deserved the death. But this man is innocent," he said. Then,
turning to Christ, he said, "Lord, remember me when you come into your
kingdom."

Christ looked at him and said, "Verily, verily, this day shalt thou be
with me in paradise." "

Today .. . paradise .. . Will I be there in only a few hours? Mary
wondered. Can it be true?

A muffled banging reached her ears. The scaffold was being erected in
the Great Hall, across the courtyard.

" "Now this experience of the thieves condenses and foreshortens the
whole of human existence," " Jane continued, bending closer so that
Mary could hear her without her raising her voice. " "It shows us the
bare essentials of life and death, when there is no more time left. But
these men had one unique quality, one experience no one else has had or
can have. They were dying beside Jesus, who was also dying." "

But I die alone, thought Mary. I will have no fellows on the
scaffold.

" "This is both a unique opportunity and a unique challenge to see God
dying and yet believe. And what was their response? The first thief
gave a doubting, hedged "prove it and then I will believe." This is
the normal human response; it is what the world trains us to do. It is
a contemptible doctrine." "

Yes, we all want proof, thought Mary. Does that make me so great a
sinner if I doubt, even for a moment?

" The second thief said, "Lord," not "if thou art Lord." He had no
time, and perhaps no ability, to understand intricacies of theology. He
may not even have grasped what "paradise" meant. But the main thing
was that he saw and believed.

" "Now what does this mean to us? Foreshortened and condensed though
it be, the thieves and their few hours of life left on the cross are in
essentials the same as you and I. We face the same death slower,
perhaps, but no less sure. We face the same eternal question. We face
the same opportunity. We must ask ourselves, "Which thief am I?" "

Jane closed the book softly. Mary's mouth held a smile. The sound of
the hammering continued relentlessly.

"Even in the hour of death, there can be salvation," said Mary. "It is
never too late."

Outside the room there was suddenly the tramp of boots. The guards had
been increased, lest the Queen make a last-minute escape.

The quiet time of the night was over; already it was filled with the
sounds of the business at hand.

At six o'clock Mary gave up all pretence of rest. She rose from her
bed, and instantly the women rose with her. No one had slept.

"I have two hours left of life," she said in wonderment. "It is a
curious thing, to have no mortal illness, no unclouded mind, and yet to
know my end is nigh. I have no gift of second sight or prophecy, and
yet I behold my accident to come." She felt along her arm, so solid,
so warm. Its immediate mortality was entirely artificial.

"Come, my women. Dress me as for a festival; ask Balthazzar for my
special dress. For this is a celebratory ceremony to which I go."

While they readied her apparel, Mary stood quietly, paying attention to
her breathing. The very air seemed heavy and to be savoured; the act
of breathing became conscious. The breath of life. To breathe is to
live. And the Lord God breathed into his nostrils the breath of life,
and man became a living soul.

O Lord God, I must believe that I will continue to be a living soul
even when the breath departs in two hours, she thought. I must

"Here, my lady," said Elizabeth, holding the crimson gown. It was all
of satin, with a plain skirt and bodice cut low in the back to
accommodate the stroke of the axe. Lace trimmed the scooped neck in
front. There were detachable sleeves as well.

"Thank you." Mary started to put it on, then had a wild thought. What
if it did not fit? She had never tried it on.

But it did. It fit perfectly.

And then Jane brought her overdress of mourning black, satin with
velvet trimmings and jet buttons. With tears in her eyes, she fastened
the dress over the crimson one. Elizabeth brought Mary her finest wig
and arranged it before putting on the headdress: a white cap with a
peaked front, from which flowed a long, transparent white veil, edged
in lace. It reached the ground, as had her bridal veil at her first
marriage.

The women stepped back and looked at her. She already seemed remote,
costumed for a far journey to a different land. The clothes had
transformed her.

She picked up her two rosaries and fastened them about her waist, along
with a cross; an Agnus Dci hung from her neck by a jewelled chain. Her
movements were careful and dainty.

"I thank you," she said. "I wish to ask you one .. . other thing. On
the scaffold, after the execution" her words rushed together "I will be
incapable of attending to this body as modesty decrees. Please cover
me; do not let me lie exposed."

The women nodded, silently.

"And now, let the rest of the household join us. I would speak to all
of you one last time."

When they were all together, Mary embraced the women and gave the men
her hand to kiss. She had meant to tell them about the will, about
what they were to do afterwards, but she found that words were
unnecessary and awkward. Instead she put the will, along with her
farewell letters, into an open box and merely indicated it.

She could see sunshine coming through her windows. The air smelt a bit
like spring; probably, down by the banks of the River Nene, snowdrops
were already blooming.

The eighth of February, she thought. This day, this very day, at its
close will be twenty years since last I saw Darnley, and on the next he
died. In my end is my beginning. For truly my deepest woe began on
that day, and today it comes to fruition.