Текст книги "Royal Road to Fotheringhay "
Автор книги: Jean Plaidy
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Текущая страница: 16 (всего у книги 28 страниц)
She liked to discuss her troubles with David; in some inexplicable way he could so sympathetically suggest the solution she was seeking.
She gave him some of her French correspondence to deal with; she was not sure that she liked Raulet, her French secretary. David was delighted to carry out little tasks, and if she gave him a small present, a jewel or some velvet for new clothes, he would seem almost sorry, preferring, as he said, to do it for love of the Queen and not for payment.
So David had become one of those whom it was a pleasure to find waiting for her.
When she returned from that northern journey, David was sad and reticent, she noticed. She waited until they were alone together, for she had some small matter of correspondence with which she wished him to deal, when she said: “Are you ill, David?”
“Thank you, Madam. My health is excellent.”
“Then you are in some trouble… some little thing has gone wrong for you?”
“Not for me, Madam.”
“For someone you love?”
He turned those brilliant eyes upon her. David’s eyes she thought, were his one beauty.
“Madam,” he said, “I would speak if I dared.”
“If you dared! You cannot mean that you are afraid of me? Do you think me such a termagant then?”
“No, Madam, the sweetest and most bountiful lady in the world.”
“Then, David, will you give me a chance to be sweet and bountiful over this affair of yours?”
He had risen to his feet. His face was pale. Then he flung himself onto his knees and, taking the hem of her long robe, he raised it to his lips. “Madam, have I your permission to speak and, if what I say offends you, will you forgive it and wipe it out as though it had never been said?”
“I give you my word, David. Come. Sit down. Sit here beside me. My poor David, it grieves me to see you thus depressed.”
Even so it was some seconds before he spoke. Then he said: “Your Majesty is in danger. Oh, not in immediate danger. How can I—a humble valet de chambre—say this? But… I have been in the Courts of Europe, and I am constantly on the alert for Your Majesty’s welfare. Oh, it is nothing to fear at this moment. It is not a wild plot to kidnap you. It is not an assassin’s plan which I have discovered. But, Madam, it is equally dangerous. Your Grace is surrounded by foes. Those who seem to be your friends seek to make you powerless. They take to themselves great power, and with every step they weaken Your Majesty. They will remove from your side all those who would work for your good. They will force you to marry whom they wish. Madam, I beg of you take care.”
“Tell me what you have discovered.”
“Nothing that is not already known to many. It is the interpretation of these things which is significant. My lord Bothwell is in prison. He was loyal to your mother, and it may be that some fear he will be equally loyal to you. And now… that very clan is removed which would have set itself at the head of your supporters against the Protestant Knox, the ranting preacher who Your Majesty knows has never pretended to be your friend. I mean the Gordons. They are humbled. They are no longer a power. They are imprisoned or exiled … or dead.”
“But David, it was necessary to punish John Gordon.”
David smiled apologetically. “But not to remove power from the clan. You might have need of their help; they would have rallied to your aid, should you have found it necessary to stand against a rebellion which Knox might raise. Now… they are powerless to do so.”
“But the Earl of Moray… my own brother …” She was staring at David; his brilliant eyes met hers boldly.
“Yes, Madam.”
So David was warning her against Jamie.
He was on his knees now; he was fervently kissing her hands. David was excitable by nature.
“Madam, you promised to forgive and forget. It was merely my desire to serve you….”
She put her hand on his thick hair while the tears sprang to her eyes. “David,” she said, “I have no doubt of your devotion. There is nothing to forgive, and I shall never forget. I begin to see that Jamie is ambitious. He has made me his tool. I have suspected it. Oh, David… my own brother! What can I do?”
“Madam, have a care. Allow me to serve you. Allow me to keep my eyes ever on the alert. I will serve you with my life if need be. Say nothing. Give no indication that you suspect your brother’s motives.”
She nodded. “You are right, David. I thank you.”
“Madam,” he said, “I am now the happiest man in Scotland.”
IN THE LIGHT of many candles the apartments at Holyrood were gay. The music was sweet and merry. Mary was dressed in black silk breeches for the part she played in the masque which had just been performed; she made a slender and beautiful boy.
“You are enchanting,” whispered Pierre de Chastelard.
“Monsieur, you repeat yourself.”
“The words escaped me… involuntarily… sweet Mary.”
He drew back, wondering how she would receive such familiarity. Her answer was a tap on the cheek. His heart leaped with anticipation.
“How liked you that book of my making, the one written in meter… the one I wrote for you?”
“It was fair enough,” said Mary.
“Madame, will you dance with me?”
“Come,” cried Mary, “I long to dance.” She clapped her hands and declared they would dance the new dance which Chastelard had introduced from the French Court. It was considered very daring, for during it the partners kissed.
“It is not a dance which Master Knox would much like, I’ll swear,” cried Mary, laughing as she tilted her head to receive the kiss of Chastelard.
He was wildly excited that night. The Queen-Mother of France had been right in what she had hinted. If he could but see Mary alone! But she was rarely alone. Even in her most informal moments there would be one or more of her women with her.
The new French dance was a stimulant to the emotions. Again and again they danced it; and there was merry laughter in the apartments. The Queen could be gay on such occasions; it was as though she wished to snap her fingers at the criticisms of herself and her Court.
Why not? mused Chastelard. Why not tonight? Her mood is such that I believe her to be ready.
While Mary was saying her farewells for the night, he slipped away. Mary and her four faithful attendants retired to the sleeping apartments, where the girls began to undress their mistress, chattering of the evening as they did so.
“Would we could have brought Master Knox to the apartment,” cried Flem. “What fun to watch his fury when he saw Your Majesty dance in these silk breeches!”
“He would have said we were all utterly damned,” said Seton.
“We are already damned… according to him!” laughed the Queen. “As well be damned for a pair of silk breeches as a jewel or two. Seton, darling, get my furred robe from the cabinet; I am cold.”
Seton went to the cabinet and, when she opened it, gave a sharp cry. They all turned to stare in amazement at what she had disclosed. There, standing in the cabinet, was Pierre de Chastelard.
“What… what are you doing here?” stammered Mary.
“Madame, I…”
“Oh!” cried Flem. “You wicked man!”
Chastelard threw himself onto his knees before the Queen.
“Madame, I crave your forgiveness. I was distraught. A madness seized me. I became intoxicated by your beauty. I do not know what possessed me to do such a thing. I cannot imagine—”
“I can,” said the practical Beaton.
“Be quiet, Beaton,” said Mary. “Let him speak for himself. What was your purpose, Monsieur de Chastelard?”
“Madame, I wished to read a poem to you. I had written it… and it was for your ears alone.”
All the girls began to laugh.
“A dangerous procedure, Monsieur,” said Flem, “for the reading of a poem.”
“Where is the poem?” asked Mary. “Give it to me.”
“Madame … in my excitement, I left it in my own apartment.”
Flem could not contain her laughter. Livy had started to shake with hers.
“You are insolent!” said the Queen; but her voice was broken with laughter.
This was the sort of adventure which occurred again and again at the Court of France. It was like being home again.
Beaton said: “Shall we call my lord Moray and have this man put in chains, Your Majesty?”
Chastelard said: “Put me in chains … it matters not. I am bound by stronger chains… the chains of a hopeless passion.”
“Drive him away,” commanded Mary. The four girls began to push him from the room. “And Monsieur de Chastelard, I shall devise some punishment for you. You have been guilty of a grave indiscretion.”
“Madame, punish me as you will. Set me on the rack. Tear my limbs with red hot pincers… but do not deny me your presence.”
“If you were on the rack,” said Beaton grimly, “you would have little thought of poetry. Get you gone. You embarrass the Queen. Why, if you were seen …”
“Madame, your forgiveness. Without your smile I would as lief be dead.”
He was pushed outside and the door slammed; Beaton leaned against it, and the others were all overcome with helpless laughter.
“Still,” said Seton, “it was a grave offense. What if Your Majesty had been alone?”
“Do you think that I would not have given a good account of myself?”
“I doubt it not; but it would have made pleasing news for the ears of Master Knox.”
“How shall you punish him?” asked Livy.
“How can you punish people because in love they are bold? He has brought a little of France to our grim old Court. Let us set that beside his sins. Tomorrow I will speak sharply to him. That will suffice.”
A SCANDAL touched the Court about this time. It was unfortunate that the story became known beyond the Court. John Knox learned of it with the utmost pleasure and retold it from his pulpit, roaring at the people of Edinburgh to note the result of Jezebel’s rule.
One of the Queen’s minor serving women had been seduced by the Queens French apothecary.
“Both servants of the Queen!” cried Knox triumphantly. “Does it not speak for itself? Oh, what wickedness goes on within the walls of Holyrood-house! What revelings to the call of Satan! Fornication is the order of the day in Holyroodhouse, my friends. Women dress as men… men as women… the better to stimulate their wretched appetites. Satan stands by, calling them to damnation. The servants follow their masters and their mistresses along the road to hell.”
The serving woman had borne a child and, with the help of her paramour, had kept the matter secret. The child had been born in an outhouse and done to death. Its body had been discovered, and the maid, when accused, had broken down and confessed the whole story. She and her lover had paid the penalty of murder; they were publicly hanged.
John Knox was there to see justice done and to lose no opportunity of calling the people’s attention to the life of the Court. He blamed the Queen for her maid’s seduction; he blamed the Queen for the murder of the newborn child. The apothecary was a Frenchman—a member of that hated race which had captured John Knox and made a galley slave of him; the Queen was half French by birth and all French in her manners. Let the people see what harlotry, what wickedness had been brought into the country by their queen. Let the people reflect how much happier they would be without her.
“Must I accept the ranting of this man!” demanded Mary; but not to Jamie as she would have done earlier. Now she turned to David. “Must I, David?”
David’s words were comforting. “For the moment, Madam, yes. But have no fear of that. Between us we will devise some means of clipping the power of that man. We will make the people of Scotland free and happy, and Your Majesty Queen not only in name but in all else.”
“How?” asked Mary.
“We will watch events, Madam. It may be we shall do it through your marriage to a powerful prince—a Catholic like yourself. But patience, Madam, and for the time being—caution!”
“You are right. David, I want you to have this ring.”
“But, Madam, it is too valuable.”
“How could it be, for all you have done for me? Take it. I promise you that one day, when I am able, you shall no longer be called my valet de chambre, no longer merely David le Chante. You shall be my chief adviser, in all things, David … in all things.”
He bowed; his great glowing eyes went from her face to the sapphire she was putting on his finger.
A FEW DAYS later Mary left Holyrood for St. Andrews. The Court, among whom was Pierre de Chastelard, stayed a night at Burntisland.
Chastelard had been in a fever of excitement since that night when he had been discovered in the cabinet. He cursed his bad luck. He was sure that if Mary had not required that particular furred robe, and he had succeeded in being alone with her, they would have been lovers by now. Of course she had feigned anger before her women; but it was not real anger; that had been obvious. They had all looked on the matter as a joke. Joke! He would show them that it was no joke.
Mary had scarcely reprimanded him at all, which surely meant that she expected him to make the attempt again in some way. This time he would do so with more skill; and before the morning he would be her lover.
He had a greater opportunity of concealing himself on this occasion. Mary was closeted with her brother and Secretary of State Maitland, when he went silently to that chamber in which she would spend the night. He examined the bed and gleefully discovered that there was plenty of room for him to hide himself beneath it. It was a pity he was wearing his sword and dagger, for they were rather difficult to manage, but he had not wished to appear before her in anything but his finest array.
He waited in discomfort for a long time, but eventually he heard Mary and two of her women enter the apartment.
“I am tired,” said Mary. “Come, Flem, hurry Let to bed. My feet are so cold. Did you bring my foot polkis?”
“Here they are.” Flem held up the linen foot-bags without which Mary could not sleep on cold nights for her feet would not get warm unless she wore them.
“Such a headache!” said Mary as Livy took off her headdress.
“Dearest,” said Livy, “I hope you are not going to start your headaches again.”
“It’s the cold weather. How I long for summer!”
It was Livy who noticed a faint movement of the bed valance. She stared at it in silence, but then looked closer. With a swoop she lifted it and disclosed a mans boot. The Queen and Flem hurried to her side. Groaning, Chastelard came from under the bed.
“This is too much!” cried Mary.
“The second time!” muttered Flem.
Chastelard, furious at his own folly in allowing himself to be discovered, furious with Livy for discovering him, overcome by pent-up emotions, did not attempt to apologize. Clumsily and without warning, he sprang at the Queen, seized her and, to her horror and that of the two women, began to kiss her passionately.
Mary cried out: “How dare you!”
Livy and Flem fell upon Chastelard and tried to free their mistress, but his mad desire and determination seemed to lend him the strength of two men. He succeeded in forcing the Queen onto the bed where all four of them wrestled together.
“Help!” cried Mary, really alarmed. “Quickly!”
Flem broke away and ran to the door calling: “Help! Save the Queen!”
There was a great bustle in the apartment as guards came rushing in.
“Take this man!” commanded the Queen.
Chastelard was seized, as Moray, the Queen’s brother, came into the apartment.
“What means this?” he demanded.
“He was under the bed!” gasped Flem. “Hiding!”
“Take this man’s sword and dagger,” said Moray to the guards. “Put him under close arrest.”
Chastelard appealed to the Queen. “Madame, you know my intentions …”
“They were clear,” said Mary.
“The love I bear you …”
“Take him away!” roared Moray.
Chastelard was dragged, struggling, from the apartment.
Moray turned sternly to his sister. “Madam,” he said, “he shall lose his life for this outrage.”
Mary had grown pale but Moray went on quickly: “I doubt not that he is the tool of your enemies.” He waved his hand to all those who had come into the apartment. “Your presence is no longer needed,” he added. “Fortunately the Queen’s life has been saved.”
Moray was not slow to note that among those who had come into the Queen’s apartment was Thomas Randolph, and his delight in what he was planning to write to his mistress was betrayed by his expression. A nice tidbit to send to his mistress in England—the heroine of many a similar story—and one which would naturally be told and retold against the Queen of Scots. There were several firm supporters of Knox who had witnessed this scene; they had good noses for smelling out the scandals. The fact that Chastelard had been found in the Queens bedchamber would be all over Edinburgh by the morning. They would have it in the Highlands and on the Border within a few hours; and as soon as Master Thomas Randolph could arrange it, Madam Elizabeth would be chuckling over it with her paramour Robert Dudley.
As soon as Moray was alone with the three women he said: “I must have the truth.”
“Livy found him under the bed,” declared Mary. “He came out and sprang at me.”
“I fear Your Majesty has given him some encouragement to behave thus.”
“By my appreciation of his poems?” said Mary angrily.
“There has been talk of dances,” growled her brother.
“In France we always danced the latest dances, and none thought the worse of us for that.”
“But Your Majesty is now in Scotland.”
“Jamie… what do you propose to do to Chastelard? You spoke of his losing his life. I could not consent to that… merely because of a momentary madness, a prank, you might say.”
“He was wearing his sword and dagger. That seems to me significant.”
“What do you mean, Jamie?”
“You must surely know that as Queen of Scotland you have many enemies.”
“Chastelard is no enemy!”
“It would be better for your honor if it could be proved that he is. Get your mistress to bed,” he ordered the Marys. “Madam,” he went on, turning to Mary, “we must speak of this matter in the morning.”
When he had gone, Mary said: “I am sorry we called James in.”
“Madam,” said Flem, “we had to call for help.”
“Yet…” She looked round the room at the shadows cast by the flickering candlelight. “Well… nothing can be done till morning. One of you stay with me. You, Flem… sleep in my bed this night.”
“Yes, dearest Majesty.”
“I do not know why I am afraid, my darlings, but I am. See! I am shivering.”
“He upset you, dear Madam,” said Livy. “Come, let us get you warm, and Flem shall stay the night.”
So Flem and Mary lay in the big bed while Livy drew the curtains and tiptoed away.
Flem noticed that the Queen continued to shiver, and it was dawn before they fell asleep.
MARY FACED her brother and wished that David were with her at Burntisland. She needed counsel now, because David had opened her eyes and she was beginning to distrust James.
“Does Your Majesty realize,” said James sternly, “that this day they will be talking in Edinburgh of how your lover was discovered hiding beneath your bed?”
“My lover! A young poet of the Court!”
“All know Your Majesty’s fondness for poets.”
“But surely we can simply say that he was not my lover. He is a poet and a good dancer.”
“With whom Your Majesty danced in black silk breeches!”
“I’ll not be spied on!” said Mary angrily.
“Shall you not, sister? Alas! It is not for you to say whether you will be or not. You are spied on, and the whole of Knox’s congregation knows that, in black silk breeches, you danced with this man.”
“It was for the purpose of the masque.”
“The Lords of the Congregation have their own ideas as to the purpose.”
“Am I responsible for their evil minds?”
“No, but you must consider them.”
“Chastelard was discovered; he was sent out; there the matter ends. It is no concern of anyone but myself.”
“There again I must most humbly contradict you. It is the concern of Scotland, England, France, Spain, Rome…. You are a Queen and your actions are watched. Your chances of making an advantageous marriage will not be enhanced by a scandal such as this might well become.”
“Oh, one day I may take it into my head to marry where I please, and it may not be one of these hesitant gentlemen who, with their governments, are calculating whether I shall bring them a big enough dowry.”
“If Your Majesty will pardon my brotherly comment, I must say that you are not speaking with your usual good sense. This man Chastelard has upset you, and understandably so. He must be made an example. We must show the people what happens to those who dare insult the Queen. There is only one thing to be done. He must go to the block.”
“The block! For hiding in a room!”
“In the Queens bedchamber… under the Queen’s bed … his sword and dagger handy.”
“I would never agree to that. Poor Chastelard! Why … I was fond of him.”
“Too fond for his safety, Madam.”
“I shall never consent.” She thought: I shall talk to David. Together we shall find a way to save poor Chastelard.
Moray looked at her quickly. She had changed. He could almost believe there was some influence working against him. He must get her married to some powerful prince; then he would be free to take up the Regency. If she did not marry abroad she would be here forever; he would be pushed into the background; she must never be allowed to take another adviser. The matter of immediate moment was that there should be no scandal to disturb wedding plans. Nothing must stand in the way of a match with one of the European princes.
“There is something I must tell Your Majesty,” he said. “You have been deceived in this man. When he played the lover he acted a part. He is a servant of the Montmorency’s, and the Montmorencys with the Bourbons are, as you know, the leading Huguenot faction in France. This, my dearest sister, was a plot on your life which your faithful Marys have foiled. There is only one way to deal with such an offense. I beg you to listen to reason.”
“It can’t be true!” gasped Mary.
“It is hard for your pride to accept this. It was easy for him to play the role of lover, because so many love you. But I know that he came here to murder you. This I shall tell his judges… and I have no doubt of the verdict.”
Mary covered her face with her hands. She remembered the uncontrollable passion of Chastelard when he came from under the bed.
“But… its horrible,” she said. “Horrible!”
“Mary, have one of your women sleep with you in your bed until we return to Holyrood. The others will be close by, but keep one … in your bed. My dear sister, only thus can I feel happy concerning your safety.”
“Flem slept with me last night.”
“Then let her sleep with you until we are in Holyrood once more. Will you do this?”
“Yes, James.”
“I am relieved. Now think no more of this unfortunate business.”
James kissed her hand, and she sat thinking of Chastelard who she had thought had wished only to make love to her, and had come—or may have come—to murder her.
A WEEK LATER in the marketplace of St. Andrews, Pierre de Chastelard laid his head on the block. He looked very handsome, and many who watched his last moments shed tears. There were few in that crowd of spectators who really believed that he had conspired against the Queen.
“It is clear,” they said to each other, “why he was in her bedchamber. She had not meant her women to discover him. He was to wait there until they had gone.”
Before he died, Pierre de Chastelard quoted Ronsard’s famous Hymn to Death. He stood on the scaffold, his curling hair ruffled by the February wind; the people listened to his beautiful voice and wept afresh, although few understood what he said.
“Te te salue, heureuse et profitable Mort
Des extrêmes douleurs medicin et confort.
Then smiling he laid his head upon the block and, as the axe descended, he was heard to say: “O cruelle dame …”
But that was not the end of the scandal concerning Pierre de Chastelard. John Knox had decided that it should not be the end. The drama made too useful a scourge with which to attack the Queen.
“’O cruelle dame!’” screamed Knox from his pulpit. “You know what that means, my friends. Cruel mistress—that is what is meant by those words. What that complaint importeth, lovers may divine. Ah, my good friends, now is seen the harvest of sin. A woman of the Court murdered her ill-gotten child, and by God’s mercy she and her paramour paid the penalty; now in divine justice another of Satan’s imps goes to eternal torment.”
And in her candlelit apartment, although she tried to dance and sing as gaily as before, Mary was haunted by the memory of Chastelard.
