Mary Queen of Scotland & the Isles (44 page)

"I am deeply grateful that you sang today," said Mary, looking into his
dark, shining eyes, and all laughter ceased. "And I would be grateful
if you could sing in my masses from now on." She attempted to banish
the tremble of excitement from her voice. "I am weary of having my
priests and mass attacked. Perhaps if I have a chorister who is under
diplomatic protection ..."

Moretta tried not to look inconvenienced at losing Riccio's valuable
secretarial services. "Of course, Your Majesty. I present him to you
with pleasure."

Gone were the black hangings, and even Mary had laid aside her mourning
as she now permitted herself to do on ceremonial occasions in honour of
the Christmas festivities in her quarters. Fir branches decorated the
walls, and satin ribbons were entwined within them. Down the long
chamber ran the table, set for the high feast. In the back of the
chamber, the musicians were practising, and the singers rehearsing.
Riccio, attired in garnet-coloured satin, had taken his place among
them with ease. Mary could hear his distinctive voice even when it
blended with others.

This would be a curious, walled-in Christmas, confined only to the
royal quarters. The Reformed Kirk did not celebrate it or allow it to
be celebrated, and thus Christmas would stop at the doorsill of the
Queen's outermost chamber.

But, oh! Within all would be light to drive back the oppressive night
that seemed to last twenty hours and warmth to rout the creeping chill
that seeped in everywhere. And clear, soaring music to change the
ordinary into beauty. And most scandalous of all, there would be
dancing to that music, and there would be a puppet show from Italy
courtesy of Moretta and games and .. . everything that offended the
Reformers. Well, they were not invited.

Riccio had tried to tell her that perhaps that was not wise, but she
had brushed him off. After all, he was a foreigner and could not
understand the peculiar ways here.

"If you do not invite them, it will appear as if you were hiding
something naughty from them," he said.

"Since they consider everything that gives comfort, cheer, or beauty
'naughty," then I suppose that is what I am doing," she replied.

"Perhaps it would be better to invite them and have them refuse," said
Riccio. "That way they will not be slighted, but will feel they are
slighting you."

"I do not care for them to feel they are slighting me! What
astonishing advice!"

"Very well." H_ sighed. "Forgive me, Madam." He bowed low.

No, there would be no Lords here tonight, although the English
ambassador, Thomas Randolph, not being officially a member of the Kirk,
had been invited. Christmas was still celebrated in splendour in his
own country, and he longed to do homage to it here. That was what he
had said, but the truth (if Mary had any eyes) was that he had
developed an attraction for Mary Beaton and wished to have an
opportunity to flirt with her.

The banquet was properly riotous. Gallons of wine the finest from
Bordeaux flowed, and the number of geese alone was enough to warn Rome
of enemy approach.

Mary herself drank little, but allowed herself to take pride in the
fact that, four months after her arrival, she was so well settled. Her
furniture and belongings had finally arrived from France, and seeing
these old friends of her bedchambers and privy chambers had been
comforting. Several beds, bedecked with hangings of red silk, crimson
velvet, and white velvet, were now set up in Holyrood. Small couches,
stools, seats, and folding chairs provided places for guests to sit,
and her personal belongings made her feel that at last this alien place
was home. Her harp and lute, her pictures, her embroidery, her globes
of the heavens and earth, her maps and charts, her extensive library,
had come to keep her company.

Up and down the table were the people she loved: the Marys, dressed now
in holiday colours (by her royal permission), rather Mamerot (why
should he not sit openly in company?), Madame Rallay, Bourgoing the
physician, Bastian Pages, master of revels and head of her French
staff. Other honoured guests brought a smile to her face: Moretta,
with his high spirits; de Foix; Thomas Randolph, the serious English
ambassador who kept glancing at Beaton. There were other members of
her household, often related to the Marys, like Lord George Seton, and
John Beaton, an attendant in her privy chamber. Some of the younger
courtiers had managed to get themselves invited those who were not keen
on the deprivations of the Kirk. There were still young people in
Scotland who wished to sing and dance, like John Sempill, son of one of
the Reformers, who had been following Lusty about for several weeks.

After the banquet tables were cleared away, Moretta begged patience
while the stage was set up for his puppet show. Everyone sought a
place to sit down so as best to see this novelty little dolls that
could be made to dance and walk.

The play involved a great deal of hitting and yelling and lost objects.
The puppeteer skillfully hid himself and did an admirable job of
providing voices for all his characters. The play was carefully
nonpolitical.

Then a deep voice said, "I will do a play as well! Put out the
candles, leaving only three large ones some twelve feet from the
curtain."

Mary saw Riccio detaching himself from the musicians and making his way
over to a place before the tiny stage curtain. What was he about? Did
Moretta know?

The servants obeyed, and one by one the candles were put out. The only
source of light was the candles before the curtain. Faces turned
toward Riccio looked as though they were all wearing half-masks.

He flourished his fingers, weaving them in and out of each other. "Now,
I wish you to look straight ahead. Do not look at me."

On the curtain ahead were shadows that looked amazingly like Lord James
and Maitland. Mary heard Flamina gasp.

"My dear Lord James," said a voice exactly like Maitland's, "have you
been invited to John Knox's feast?" The profile bobbed up and down.

"I did not know he ever feasted." The imitation of Lord James was
perfect the nasal "I did not know" had been captured.

"He made a most delicious Scripture pudding. He took leaves from
Deuteronomy, and layered them with Geneva cheese, and baked the whole
until it was as dried out as an aged nun's privy parts."

"Sounds wonderful!" said Lord James.

The room exploded with laughter.

Next the Pope came on stage they could recognize his Papal hat. The
Pope fulminated against Elizabeth of England, who also came on stage
and let loose a volley of obscene oaths.

Riccio's mastery of the shadows and his uncanny vocal imitations were
what impressed Mary, not the clumsy political jokes.

At the dance that followed, Mary's change into satin breeches, with her
Marys doing likewise as they had in France, excited little comment.
Riccio had stolen the evening.

The next day he presented her with a gift. He looked somewhat
embarrassed, and indeed, Mary did not know what to say to him. He had
not done anything wrong, but his performance had been so unexpected.

She opened the box, and inside was a ruby brooch of a tortoise.

"Please take it with my humble apologies for last evening. I perhaps
overstepped my bounds. I am, after all, newly in your service by your
most gracious kindness "

He did not mean a word of the rote apology. "I forgive you. But I
would prefer that you think before you speak so freely in public.
Although your skill has much to commend it." She lifted the tortoise
out of the box to show that she accepted his offering.

"The tortoise is the symbol of long life, which I wish you. But since
it carries its house about on its back, it also symbolizes safety. What
better gift for a Queen?"

Mary was sitting near the fire, laboriously pulling her needle in and
out. Her fingers were cold and she could scarcely feel to hold the
cloth. Madame

Rallay was kneeling before her, adjusting the flannel over the silver
chau-frettes, foot warmers from France, that she was putting under
Mary's feet.

The snows had come to Edinburgh, falling gently and coating everything
with a cold blanket. January was a long tunnel of blue bleakness,
although the snow made it prettier. Around her the Marys were also
sewing: they were all making bed covers, and they had been teasing each
other about who would lie under the bed covers with them.

Flamina's bedcover was crimson, and she was embroidering a pattern of
knights and unicorns on it.

"Oh, will it be Mr. Maitland who lies under it?" giggled Lusty. "Or
snores under it. He's so old, he probably wheezes at night and shivers
and snorts."

"He is not old, he is only thirty-three."

"More than a decade older than you," said Seton. Her own bedcover was
of violet and grey silk, with leaves and flowers of cloth-of-silver.
"Now, John Sempill is the right age, he's young, stupid enough to fall
in love devotedly "

Madame Rallay adjusted Mary's skirts daintily over the chaufrettes, so
that the heat wafted up from them all around her legs. Mary continued
sewing, hoping the warmth in her legs would somehow benefit her
fingers. Her own bedcover was tawny satin, and she was embroidering
her initials on it.

A decade older .. . will I have to wed someone a decade older, or
younger? wondered Mary. I care not to think about it. But the Lords
are beginning to talk about it, to suggest candidates. Why are they so
anxious for it?

Beaton was carefully measuring out gold and violet silk threads to use
on her own white velvet covers.

"Randolph is even older!" said Flamina suddenly. "If you were to wed
him, people would think he was his children's grandfather!"

"No, he isn't!" said Beaton, as heatedly as her languid nature would
allow. "I am sure he is not forty."

"Ah, my girls, look for love in whatever shape it comes, and do not
disdain it if it is lowly," said Madame Rallay.

Just then a message was brought to Mary. Melville was seeking
audience.

"What about him?" Beaton giggled. "Does anyone here have a fancy for
him?"

They all shook their heads and burst out laughing just as the
unfortunate Melville made his entrance.

"Your Majesty .. He looked distressed. "You had told me I should call
on you whenever ..."

"Oh, you may speak freely here. These are my sisters, and Madame
Rallay here is my mother." Mary gladly put down her needlework she was
tired of it and waited for her scolding.

"The Christmas revels " he began.

"Yes, I realize what you will say," she said contritely. "I thank you
for calling it to my attention."

"We understand that you would wish to celebrate the holiday, but it was
the other .. . the dancing in breeches, the kissing and flirting, and
the insulting shadow-show put on by that impudent Papist agent "