Mary Queen of Scotland & the Isles (80 page)

The smile faded from James's face. "An unqualified and complete
pardon. For all the rebels, of whatever cause." He gestured toward
the three men. "We have all gone astray, like the sinners we are. And
what does Scripture say? "There is none that doeth good, no, not one."
But the quality of a ruler, as of God, is to have mercy. "I have no
pleasure in the death of the wicked, but that the wicked turn from his
way and live." "

"And what would I receive in exchange for this pardon?" she asked.
"Besides the spiritual blessings, of course."

"A united Scotland," said James quickly. "There have been troubles,
misgivings ... as in the early stage of a marriage, we have been
learning to live together, learning one another's habits "

"Like treason?"

"That word "

"Is an ugly word. It describes an ugly thing," she insisted.

All four of the men fell to the floor. Their knees hitting the smooth
wood made thumping noises, only slightly muffled by their thick hose.

"Forgive us," they cried. "Look not on our sins, but on thy great
mercy. Let us start anew let us make this our true wedding day!"

Ruthven's knee was right over the clotted blood from Riccio's murder.
When he shifted his weight, Mary heard a slight crunch as he ground the
crust of it under him.

May he stain his fancy breeches with an everlasting stain! she
thought.

"You are right," she said softly. "We must put the past behind us. It
does Scotland scant good for her rulers and councillors to be at odds.
I will draw up a pardon for you all, and present it to Parliament."

"We have a draft of one ourselves," said Ruthven, moving. His knee was
indeed stained, and the place where he had ground the crust by kneeling
had a depression in it. Mary felt truly sick.

She took the paper and pretended to study it. "This looks complete,"
she said. "We will have it copied, and subscribe my and my husband the
King's royal signatures to it." She paused. Now was the moment.

"I feel faint," she whispered, leaning up against Darnley. Alarmed, he
took her in his arms. She sagged, and clutched her belly.

"Pains ..." she murmured.

"Midwife!" cried Darnley.

"No ... no midwife," said Mary. "The pains will pass, if I may but lie
down. Please!" She gestured toward her bedroom.

The four men rose. Darnley and the Queen were making their way toward
the bedchamber. They entered, and the door shut behind them. In a few
moments, Darnley reemerged.

"She is resting," he said. "The strain pray the child does not come
betimes."

"The paper " said Lord James.

"It is on her desk. She will sign it in a few hours, when she is
recovered. Never fear. It will be ready by morning, even if I have to
sign it by forging her signature." He winked at them. "And now, my
lords, you may retire."

"And leave her unguarded?" growled Ruthven. "Nay, never. This may
all be a trick. Never forget that she was trained in the court of
France, where lies and dissembling are a way of life."

"Just as violence and murder are here?" Darnley said. Seeing Ruthven
glaring at him, he smiled. "No court has special training in
duplicity. The Queen my wife is ill. But she has given her word to
sign the pardon, and as she is a true prince, she will stand surety to
it. I pray you, dismiss the guards and go to your homes. You must
needs be tired, and it is now the second night since the .. .
incident." He gestured toward Mary's closed bedroom door. "She needs
no guards now. She lies on a sickbed, a weak woman. All her
attendants are gone, her few supporters like Bothwell and Huntly far
away .. . and besides, I will guard her. I will stand surety for
her!"

"Then on your head, and on that of your posterity, may the vengeance
fall if aught goes amiss!" Mary heard the rough voice of Ruthven even
through the door of her room.

Then she heard more talking, and finally footsteps and quiet. The bed
room door creaked open and Darnley stuck his head in. He looked whiter
than Mary, even without the aid of makeup.

"He cursed me!" he said, shaken.

"Did you expect blessings?" said Mary, sitting up quickly. "He is an
evil man, and he has nothing but evil to give. Are they gone?"

Darnley sighed. "Yes. I promised them they would have the pardon by
morning. But what if they return? We'd best flee now!"

Mary got up out of bed. She felt both very strong and very weak. The
baby stirred and turned as if to reassure her he was safe.

"No," she said. "Doubtless they have left guards to test us for that
very thing. It is still early; it is not even fully dark. We must
undress and pretend to go to bed. Then, at about two o'clock, we will
escape. I will come to your chamber and then we will make our way
through the postern gate and through the graveyard to where our
rescuers will be waiting with horses."

"You have arranged ?" His face was incredulous.

"Everything," she said.

Now would this fool leave so she could remove the white clay from her
face? It stung and burned.

She lay in bed, in her sleeping attire, so fully did she play her part.
She knew exactly where her riding garments were and how to get to them
in an instant. In the meantime there were all those hours to get
through, when she would have to lie still but fully alert.

There was no fear in her; only anger filled her veins, and the deep,
aching desire for revenge. She wanted to raise an axe and split
Ruthven's skull open, see him fall twitching to the ground.

There would be occasion for that, once she escaped .. . escaped.. ..

Mary crept down the little spiral staircase connecting her bedroom with
Darnley's, feeling her way carefully. There were twenty-five steps,
winding to the left, and she leaned that way. Once in Darnley's
bedchamber, she sought his bed by memory, as there was no light
burning. It had been a long time since she had sought that bed, but it
was easy to find in the small room.

Darnley was sleeping. Like a child he was breathing lightly, and like
a child he was hard to awaken.

"Come," she whispered. "Now."

Obediently he put his hand in hers and let himself be led out through
his presence chamber and thence through a gallery to a staircase, where
they descended into the cellars, cold, moist, and empty. The palace
was silent, and no guards were posted before Damley's door as they had
been at hers.

They did trust him, she thought. Or they are simply careless.

"Not much farther," she whispered. The long passageway, lined with
sacks of last year's apples, old cabbages, barrels of salt fish, and
casks of wine, smelled like the memory of a winter meal.

"There is a door ... at the end of the wine casks .. . yes." She
reached out and touched the rough wood. Pray God it was not locked!

It had a wooden latch, easily lifted. The door creaked open, and fresh
cold air with the smell of spring earth flooded in.

"Come!" There were three steps up to ground level, and then they stood
outside, free.

After the utter darkness of the food cellar it seemed as light as day
to them, and they could see the headstones and mounds of graves all
around them. The wind rustled the bare branches of an ash tree
overhead.

"They wait for us on the other side of the Abbey burial grounds, where
Holyrood properly ends," said Mary. "Now come but bend over, weave
between the headstones so no one can see us moving. There must be
guards outside the palace."

She let go his hand and lowered her head, moving in a crouching
position from tombstone to tombstone. The Blessed Mother be thanked,
there was no bright moon tonight. They would be darkness moving within
darkness.

Suddenly Mary's foot sank in soft dirt and she pitched forward, her
hands buried in soil.

A fresh grave.

She almost shrieked, as she felt something hard not very far beneath
the surface. She crawled away and sat panting, her heart racing.

"Riccio," she whispered.

"Oh, Davie," mumbled Darnley, running his hands over the makeshift
mound. "Every day of my life I shall regret this ... I have been
miserably cheated!"

The poltroon was about to cry!

"A bigger one than he shall sleep nearby ere a twelvemonth has passed,"
Mary said in the softest voice she possessed.

"What?" asked Darnley. His voice quivered.

"I said we must go on. We are halfway there." Mary got to her knees
and pulled Darnley's hand. He stepped on Riccio's grave as he made for
the next headstone.

Headstone, mound, headstone, little mound, monument ... it was like a
huge chessboard, and they the moving pieces.

A horse snorted some thirty yards away. A guard? A rescuer? Mary
waited for the sound to come again. There was a slight movement at the
end of the graveyard, where the rescuers were supposed to be waiting.

It must be they! It has to be! Mary thought. And the only way to
know is to get so close to them I am lost if it is not.

Slowly she picked her way closer, creeping forward foot by foot. Now
she could hear voices, whispering, that mingled with the call of the
owls and the scurrying small rodents in the dark.

" past three " She caught just those two words.

"gallop " And in the saying of that word she recognized Bothwell's
voice.

She stood up and ran the last twenty yards. The horses started and the
men drew their swords.

"Bothwell!" she whispered, but a loud whisper. "All is well!"

And then she was being lifted over the fence by arms that felt like
elm, and BothwelPs voice was saying, "Thank God and all the demons!"

There were Arthur Erskine and Lord Stewart of Traquair, Mary's equerry
and the captain of the guard, and Bastian Pages, Mary's servant. Not
enough horses.

"You will ride pillion with me," said Erskine, and Mary was lifted
again by Bothwell up and settled there behind Erskine's saddle.

"To Seton House," said Bothwell. "Two hundred men await us there. When
the guards change at daybreak at Holyrood, we'll be miles away!" He
sounded both disgusted and amused at the same time. "Can you ride so
far, Your Majesty?" he suddenly said to Mary.

"Why, I must," she replied. "And that's an end to it."

He nodded curtly, but she saw a flash of his teeth in a quick grin.

"Come, away!"

Erskine's horse leapt forward, and Mary had to cling to stay on. Her
large belly made it difficult for her to reach her arms around Erskine,
and she felt herself in danger of slipping. Sensing her unbalance,
Erskine slowed his horse.

"Come, faster!" cried Darnley, pulling alongside them. The wind
touched them with long cold fingers as it streamed past. "We are being
followed, I am sure of it!" He leaned over and whipped her horse.