Текст книги "The Captive Queen of Scots "
Автор книги: Jean Plaidy
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Текущая страница: 8 (всего у книги 33 страниц)
III
Langside
THE QUEEN WAS GALLOPING through the night, George Douglas beside her, exultant with the knowledge that at last they had succeeded.
Not far behind them rode Willie, laughing to himself as he contemplated what was happening in the castle, where Sir William and the guards would now be endeavoring to break out and raise the alarm.
Mary was thinking that so many times she had undergone this urgent riding through the night, that it became almost like a pattern of her life; yet never on similar occasions had she felt this lifting of her spirits; she knew this was because she had come out of captivity and was riding to freedom.
Danger was still in the air. She was realist enough to know that she had taken but the first tottering steps toward victory; but at last she was no longer a prisoner; she was free to command, to plan, to wrest her kingdom from those who sought to keep it from her.
Now they were swerving from the route to the coast that they might avoid the territory of Kirkcaldy of Grange who it was well known was her enemy; she could smell the sea and she knew that they could not be far from the Firth of Forth.
Once they had crossed it they would be a little nearer to safety, but as they rode down to the sea and Mary saw the small open fishing-boat in which she must cross the Firth she felt a tremor of misgivings; yet she knew that this was no time to look for comfort. George was at her side, helping her into the boat, and with her company of faithful friends in similar craft, the crossing took place.
It seemed as though the ill fortune which had been her lot for so long had changed, for the crossing was made in safety and as they came ashore a party of horsemen was waiting for them, led by Lord Claud Hamilton, all ready to fight for the Queen.
Lord Seton, who helped the Queen into her saddle, said as he did so: “Your Majesty, I think that you should take a few hours’ sleep before morning. And I suggest we ride on to my castle of West Niddry that you may rest in comfort there before pursuing the journey.”
Mary bowed her head.
“I doubt whether I shall sleep,” she answered; “but I should certainly welcome the chance to rest my weary limbs.”
So, on through the night to West Niddry.
IN THE CHAMBER which the Setons had prepared for her in West Niddry Castle, Mary found it impossible to sleep. Jane Kennedy, rid at last of her wet clothes, lay at the foot of her mistress’s bed and fell at once into deep slumber.
Mary was not eager to sleep, for that might mean to dream she was a prisoner in Lochleven; freedom was too precious, too recently come by to be lost, even in her dreams. So she lay trying to plan for the future, but finding the immediate past intruding into her thoughts, so that she was again waiting in her chamber for the coming of Willie, walking out of the castle, while Willie locked the gates behind her . . . riding through the night, tossing on the Firth of Forth.
But that is all past, she told herself. Now it remains for me to regain my throne.
Could it be done peacefully? Was that hoping for too much? She thought how strange was her life, when her little son, who should have been with her, was the symbol for which her enemies would tell the world they were fighting.
As she lay between waking and sleeping the first streaks of dawn showed in the sky; and with them came the distant sound of pipes and bugles.
Mary lay listening, as nearer and nearer came the sounds, and unable to remain on her bed, she leaped up and, her chestnut hair falling about her shoulders, snatched a robe and went to stand at the window.
She saw them then . . . marching toward the castle and she felt tears of joy sting her eyelids as she recognized Lord Livingstone at the head of his men.
Now they were filing into the courtyard; and they were almost below her window when Livingstone, seeing her there, called a halt to his men and shouted: “Long live the Queen!”
Over the sweet May air their voices rang out and it was some time before Mary could speak to them and tell them how she welcomed them and how it warmed her heart to see such loyal subjects.
Even as she spoke, the pipes of other companies could be heard, and she saw the Bruces advancing and it seemed to her that from all directions the clans were converging on West Niddry Castle to offer themselves in the Queen’s service.
THE CASTLE of West Niddry was intended to be only a resting place and Mary with her followers—now swollen to a considerable size—left for Hamilton Castle where she had heard that more clans were coming in from all parts of the country to welcome her.
Here she was received by Archbishop Hamilton, and when she had made her speech of welcome to all those who were rallying to her cause, she delighted to hear that Sir Robert Melville had arrived at the castle.
She sent for him and when he came to her she greeted him warmly.
He was a little shamefaced, in view of the fact that he had been present when she had been forced to sign her Abdication, and he apologized for this.
Mary immediately forgave him; if she wondered whether he had changed sides rather hastily she dismissed the thought because she was so happy to be free and to have friends. Moreover, Sir Robert had sound advice to give her.
“Your Majesty’s first task should be to repudiate the Abdication,” he told her. “And you have two witnesses with you here at Hamilton who can verify the fact that you were forced, on pain of death, to sign those documents.”
Mary recognized the wisdom of this and summoned George Douglas, and when he came to her she held out both hands to him in her impulsive way. George took them and kissed the delicate fingers.
“George,” she cried, “you are so self-effacing that I feel I have to tell you every time I see you that I shall never forget what you have done for me.”
“It is enough reward for me to see Your Majesty free,” murmured George.
She told him that she was going to repudiate the Abdication and that he, with Melville, was to be a witness to the fact that she had signed under pressure.
George’s face brightened at the prospect of being of further assistance to her; she immediately called a council and made her formal declaration that the Abdication was null and void.
Immediately afterward, for all were aware of a great urgency knowing that Moray would act swiftly, there was a meeting at which the next step was discussed.
Seated around the council table with such tried friends as Lords Seton and Livingstone, were Lord Claud Hamilton and Lord Herries with Sir Robert Melville; and Mary had insisted that George Douglas should be present.
“We seem strong,” said Mary, “but we must remember that Moray is strong also, and that in his hands are the royal arsenals of Edinburgh and Stirling Castles, also Dunbar. He has the revenues at his disposal and all my most precious jewels are in his possession. I have little with which to pay those who fight for me, although in good time I hope to regain all that I have lost and so pay my debts. The first step I propose is to write to France and ask for help. I believe that the King of France would be eager to help me, although I am not sure of his mother. I suggest therefore that we send, without delay, a trusty messenger to France who will lay this matter before King Charles and ask his help in my name.”
This was agreed to be wise and John Beaton was chosen for the mission. He agreed to make his preparations and set out immediately.
“Your Majesty,” said Lord Seton, “we must prepare for battle without delay.”
A slight frown touched Mary’s brows. “I had hoped that we could settle our differences without resort to violence,” she said. “I propose to send a letter to the Regent Moray with a copy of my revocation of the Abdication, which was forced upon me during my imprisonment, and to assure him that if he will restore my rights to me peacefully, I will forgive him all that he has done against me; and because I have respect for his powers I shall wish him to work with me in the government of this realm.”
Melville shook his head; Seton was disturbed.
“Your Majesty,” said the latter, “we must remember that the Regent has shown himself to be your enemy. It was on his instructions that you were kept in rigorous confinement.”
“I know,” replied Mary; and she looked around the company with a smile that held some exasperation. How could she explain to them: I understand Jamie. He even has my sympathy. There is not a more ambitious man in Scotland—and we must remember how frustrating it must be to have been born a bastard when you long to wear the crown. Oh poor frustrated Jamie! He made me a prisoner; he wished to rule Scotland. He shall no longer do so, but I could make him happy with some post worthy of his exceptional abilities.
No, they would never understand her.
He is my brother! she wanted to cry. The Stuart blood runs through our veins. He was unjust to me, but I could never be so to him. The matter would lie on my conscience. I should remember it all my life.
Therefore she would not listen to their advice. At least she would give James a chance to confer peaceably. The idea of a civil war in Scotland was abhorrent; but that it should be war between brother and sister was doubly so.
No. She must give Jamie a chance to be her friend. She must forgive and try to forget.
So she wrote to Moray.
WHEN MORAY heard the news of the Queen’s escape he was dumbfounded. He let out an exclamation of rage—something he had rarely done in his life; but in that moment of dismay he was beyond self-control.
Escaped from Lochleven, and now at Hamilton Castle where supporters were rallying to her banner!
He sought out Morton at once.
“This is disastrous!” cried Morton.
“Nay,” answered James, almost his calm self again. “It is bad, but we must not be over-disconsolate. Deeply as I regret what has happened, there may still be a chance to settle this matter once and for all.”
“They say supporters are rallying to her side.”
“She will not have the money to pay them.”
“Doubtless she will receive help from France.”
“I am afraid of that. But it will take a little time before aid can reach her. In the meantime we have the arms. We also have her jewels. I shall immediately offer her pearls to Elizabeth of England.”
“You think she will buy them?”
“I know she will. She has wanted them ever since she heard that Mary was a prisoner in Lochleven.”
Morton looked at Moray. A sly one, thought Morton; so he had already been in negotiation with Elizabeth over the pearls! You could trust Moray to be one step ahead of his enemies—and his friends. Morton believed—in spite of rumors that were in the air—that he was on the right side.
“She will offer twelve thousand crowns for them,” went on Moray.
“I had heard they are worth sixteen thousand.”
“It is so. But the Queen of England dearly loves a bargain and it is to our advantage to please her. Moreover she has an obsession about her cousin of Scotland and constantly longs to outshine her in all things. She is the vainest woman in the world, and there have been too many reports of my sister’s beauty and charm which have reached her. She hates her rival. In truth she was delighted to hear she was a prisoner in Lochleven, robbed of her comfort and luxury. She constantly inquires about the health of her dear cousin, and professes concern that imprisonment may have impaired her beauty, fervently hoping all the time that it has. She wants the pearls so that Mary cannot have them and she will pay for them without delay. We shall need the money.”
“You think we can rely on her help?”
Moray nodded slowly. “She will offer congratulations to Mary; she will rage against the indignity done to Royalty; and she will turn a blind eye and a deaf ear while her minister, Cecil, supports the Protestants of Scotland against the Catholics. Throckmorton assures me of this.”
“But meanwhile Mary may receive help from France.”
“It is wrong, I believe, to wait for help from England. By then Mary may have received help from France. There must be a battle if we are to preserve the throne for James VI; we must prepare for that battle and it must take place without delay. In the meantime I will write humbly to my sister so that she will think I am considering her proposals. But make no mistake about it. The time to strike is close at hand. If we delay we shall have the Highlanders marching South. I doubt not that when Huntley heard the news he began shouting the battle cry.”
“You are right,” agreed Morton. “To delay would be to give the Queen the advantage.”
MARY WAS DISCONSOLATE because Moray had now shown his true intentions. After seeming to be considering a reconciliation he had put in irons the messenger whom she had sent to him in Glasgow.
There must be a battle. Her advisers were optimistic because she had now a force of six thousand, while Moray had under four thousand. Victory seemed inevitable and she was glad that the battle would not be delayed because, having at Carberry Hill seen how rapidly an army could turn against its leaders, she was afraid of a similar occurrence when those who had rallied to fight for her knew that she had—until she gained the victory—no means of paying them for their services.
There was trouble within her ranks. She had given the command of the army to the Earl of Argyle who was the husband of a half-sister of hers—one of her father’s bastards. Mary, who had always longed to be one of a large family, had constantly shown indulgence toward her father’s bastards. However, Lord Claud Hamilton thought that the command should have been offered to him. This was an unfortunate state of affairs particularly as neither of the contestants was noted for his military genius, and against them Moray would have the best general in Scotland—Kirkcaldy of Grange, one of the Queen’s most bitter enemies.
The Queen’s ill luck seemed to have returned, for it started to rain heavily and, so violent were the storms, that the progress of the Highlanders, who under Huntley were hurrying to her banner, was halted.
Moray, aware that delay could cost him his future, determined on immediate battle. Mary, however, still hoping to avoid bloodshed, decided to march with her followers to Dumbarton, which was in the loyal hands of Lord Fleming. But the Hamiltons were eager for battle; they had old scores to settle with Moray and it was largely for this reason that they had rallied to the Queen; they did all possible therefore to impede the departure for Dumbarton.
Moray had set spies among the Queen’s men and was kept informed of her movements. Thus the news that she was making her way to Dumbarton, to join with Fleming and doubtless pick up other supporters on the road, was brought to him and, as he was discussing tactics with his General Kirkcaldy at the time, Kirkcaldy hit on the plan that he and his army would intercept the Queen and hers on the road to Dumbarton. In this way he would be able to choose his battlefield and position—always an important factor in victory; and as it was necessary to engage in an action as soon as possible, the time had come.
Moray was confident that he had the finest general in Scotland and he agreed at once. So Kirkcaldy selected his battlefield at the little village of Langside close by Govan Moor.
ON HER WAY to Dumbarton Mary stayed the night at Castlemilk as the guest of her kinsman Sir John Stuart.
She slept well for she was confident of eventual victory; and when it was hers she would send for Moray and reproach him for all that he had done against her. She would remind him of the blood ties between them and she would of course forgive him; and she hoped that then there would be an end of strife between them. “Jamie,” she would say, “I understand and you have my sympathy. I am our father’s legitimate daughter; you are his illegitimate son. It is sad for you who are so ambitious, but you must learn to accept that.”
And he would agree because, whatever else James was, he was a man of sound common sense.
How wonderful to be at peace again—a Queen on her throne! And the years of violence and tragedy would not have been in vain, because she had learned so much through them, and she would profit from those lessons. She would be a good Queen to her Protestant subjects no less than to her Catholic ones. There should be freedom of religion in Scotland, freedom of opinion, prosperity and peace.
She dozed, for she was worn out with emotion and physical exhaustion. She dreamed that she was in Lochleven and her joy was great when she opened her eyes in the large room with the three embayed windows which gave her wide views over the countryside.
Not Lochleven but Castlemilk on the road to Dumbarton!
But in the morning when she arose and went out to the battlements to gaze down on the magnificent view of her beautiful country she saw troops encamped in the distance; and she felt sick with apprehension because she knew that they were not her own soldiers but those of the enemy.
She believed then that the battle could not long be delayed.
She had just completed her toilet, and was wearing a crepe coif and simple dress, which fitted her figure closely and which was made of white taffety, when she heard that Lord Livingstone was asking for an audience with her.
He looked disturbed, and when she asked the reason, he kissed her hand and told her that all augured well for this day and that he believed that before nightfall their enemies would be defeated. There was a small trouble however. Two captains of her musketeers were quarreling as to who should have supremacy over the other.
Mary sighed. “There is no time for private quarrels on such a day. Who are these men?”
“Arthur Hamilton of Mirrinton and John Stuart of Castleton. They are bitter enemies, and are ready to draw swords against each other. I warned them that if they did not desist I should be forced to lay the matter before Your Majesty. They persist in their quarrel, so I have come to ask you to give a decision.”
“Is one a better captain than the other?”
“They are both good fighters, Your Majesty; but arrogant, stubborn and proud.”
“Then I suppose I must perforce give the command to the Stuart . . . for the sake of the name.”
Livingstone bowed. “It is one way of solving the problem, Your Majesty.”
Mary said: “The enemy is massing against us. I can see them in the distance.”
Livingstone nodded. “The battle will surely take place this day. Will Your Majesty come now to the chamber in which your generals and councillors are gathered?”
Mary went with him; and there it was decided that, on account of their superiority in numbers, they should surround the rebel army and annihilate it in a short time.
“We will call for surrender,” insisted Mary. “If they surrender there will be no need for slaughter. I do not wish the blood of Scotsmen to be shed unnecessarily on this day. I am sure that many who now stand against me may well become my good friends when they learn that I intend to rule well, to forgive them and bear no malice that they once ranged themselves against me.”
One of the guards at the door of the council chamber slipped away from his post. No one noticed his departure because there was so much coming and going; moreover many of those who had rallied to the Queen’s cause were friends of his.
He had no difficulty in procuring a horse and soon was speeding across country to the headquarters of Mary’s enemies.
There he went straight to Kirkcaldy who was conferring with Moray, and received their congratulations when he was able to tell them the form in which the enemy’s attack would be made.
KIRKCALDY WAS EXULTANT. He was certain of victory. The inferiority in numbers concerned him little for throughout the Queen’s army were his own men. He had taken the precaution of sending them to declare their loyalty to the Queen, with strict instructions as to how they were to act. He did wonder uneasily whether a similar strategy had occurred to the other side. Hardly likely. The Queen would have notions of fighting fairly. As if any battle was ever won through fairness! Argyle? Not a brilliant rival. Moreover he was Moray’s brother-in-law and they had been allies at one time. He did not think Argyle would prove a very good general for the Queen. She should have remembered that while he was related to her he was also related to Moray; and Moray was a shrewd and competent statesman, whereas Mary was an emotional woman.
He, Kirkcaldy, was never so much alive as when he was planning a battle or winning it. He would now post his hagbutters behind the hedges and in the gardens and orchards of Langside, and they should have orders to hide themselves in trees, behind bushes . . . anywhere, making sure that they were not seen by the approaching army. They were to shoot as the Queen’s men marched by. That should account for a few of them. And the Queen planned to surround him! Well, he would take possession of the hill which was above the village and here place his men, so that as Mary’s army tried to advance they would have to climb the hill and thus could more easily be mown down.
There was another hill close by, known as Hagbush-hill, and here, protected by a body of horsemen was a cradle in which the little James VI was sleeping unaware of the excitement which was going on about him.
It had been deemed necessary to remove him from Stirling, in case some of Mary’s supporters stormed the castle; if the child fell into his mother’s hands, this could prove disastrous for those who declared they were fighting to keep him on the throne.
It had been a good idea to bring the baby to the battlefield, mused Kirkcaldy. The sight of that cradle would, in a way, be an inspiration to his men; and if there should be any danger of defeat—which Kirkcaldy did not anticipate for a moment—those whose duty it was to guard the cradle would swiftly carry the child away.
Kirkcaldy was waiting, well satisfied. Soon the Queen’s army would begin to move.
KIRKCALDY WAS RIGHT. Almost before he had succeeded in placing his men the Queen’s army was seen marching in the distance, their pennons flying in the breeze; their glistening pikes reflecting the sunlight.
Kirkcaldy watched them. Moray was stationed by the bridge with his men and Morton was in charge of the vanguard. Kirkcaldy felt the utmost confidence in his generals. They had so much to lose with this battle.
On the Queen’s men came. They were passing the gardens and orchards, and the hagbutters were doing their work. Men were falling as they marched, their comrades looking about startled since there was no sign of the enemy.
Now they were approaching the hill on which Kirkcaldy was stationed, and Arthur Hamilton, leading his troop and smarting under the humiliation of John Stuart’s being given precedence over him because he bore the same name as the Queen, suddenly shouted: “Where are now these Stuarts that did contest for the first place? Let them come forward and take it now.”
John Stuart was close by, and heard, as Hamilton had intended he should.
“And so will I,” he retorted. “Neither you nor any Hamilton in Scotland shall set foot before a Stuart this day.”
John Stuart ill-advisedly spurred his horse and leading his men tried to storm his way up the hill. The effect was disastrous. But not to be outdone Hamilton followed him with the same dire results.
The fighting was furious for a few moments and men used their dirks because they were too close to each other to draw their swords.
Argyle, who was in command of the Queen’s army was seen to fall forward on his mount; yet did not appear to be wounded but slid to the ground and lay there writhing as though in a fit.
His men watched him in dismay for in that section of the army there was no one else to give them orders. None was quite sure what had caused Argyle’s malady. Some thought it was a fit, which seemed a bad omen; others that he had merely fainted at the prospect of disaster; some that he feigned sickness in order to play into the hands of his old friend Moray.
Mary had ridden with Lord Livingstone on one side of her and George Douglas on the other; and immediately behind her was Willie Douglas, carrying a two-handed sword which required all his attention to maintain. Willie’s eyes were alight with enthusiasm; and Mary believed that none would fight more earnestly for her cause.
But she was disturbed, because she was aware of disaffection in her ranks, and could not help being reminded, with something like terror, of Carberry Hill.
Lord Livingstone was remonstrating with her. She should not go too near the battle zone, for if aught should happen to her, her soldiers would lose heart. It was better to wait some distance away and watch the progress of her soldiers from comparative safety.
George added his pleas to Lord Livingstone’s, and eventually she realized the wisdom of their words and agreed to wait beneath a hawthorn tree until the heat of the battle was over. With her were Lady Livingstone and Jane Kennedy; and Lord Livingstone and Lord Herries with George and Willie remained by her side. Livingstone ordered that fresh horses should be brought.
“For what reason?” the Queen demanded.
“In case we should need them . . . in a hurry, Your Majesty,” answered Livingstone.
Mary’s throat was suddenly parched. She knew that all was not going well.
A RIDER dashing up to the little party brought news of the battle. What he had to tell was disturbing: Argyle was incapacitated; Lord Seton was seriously wounded; fifty-seven of the Hamiltons had been slain.
He reported that Mary’s baby son was on the battlefield in his cradle; and when she heard this Mary gave a cry of horror. Her son . . . her baby . . . exposed to danger and in the hands of her enemies who pretended that they supported him against her!
She felt weak suddenly and the tears were rushing to her eyes. Slipping from the Spanish jennet which Livingstone had suggested she mount in case she should need it, she stooped to drink from the little burn which flowed from the brae.
When she had drunk she silently remounted; the excitement of the day was turning to anguish. Now she could see riderless horses, bleeding from pike wounds, running hither and thither in their bewildered agony. She was glad of the distance which separated her from that fearful scene; but her heart yearned for the child in the cradle.
Herries laid his hand on her arm and said quietly: “I think, Your Majesty, that it is unwise to stay here longer, and the time has come for us to move on.”
That was enough. She understood. The battle of Langside was almost over. Kirkcaldy and Moray were the victors; and the captive Queen had become the fugitive.
TO DUMBARTON—where she could count on loyal supporters! But before she reached it she must cross the Clyde.
Lord Herries, who was riding beside her, while the rest of the little band followed behind, said: “We must get down to the shore. There we shall find a boat. We must hope to find horses on the other side; but get to Dumbarton we must.”
To reach the river bank they must cross the estates of the Earl of Lennox—strong supporter of Moray; and when the men who were working in the fields saw their approach and guessed who the riders were, they brandished their scythes and uttered such curses that the Queen turned her horse and commanded that Herries did the same.
Then they abandoned hope of crossing the Clyde.
“We will make our way into Galloway and Wigtownshire,” said Herries. “It is my native ground and the people there are Catholics and loyal to Your Majesty. You will find the going rough, but there are few who know the ground as well as I, and I shall lead you to safety.”
So along the beautiful banks of the River Doon they rode; through mountain passes and across moors and small, swift streams. The white taffety gown was splashed with mud, the crepe coif askew; yet Mary was not thinking of her appearance as she rode, but of the child who was lost to her, together with her kingdom.
All through the night they rode and at length they reached Herries’ house at Terregles; and there they tarried for a rest, but only a brief one. All Mary’s faithful friends knew that, after the defeat of Langside, Moray would not rest until he had made her his prisoner once more.
AT TERREGLES a follower of Herries, who had hoped that he might find his master there, had come riding from the battlefield. He brought the news that Lord Moray was sending parties out in all directions to search for the Queen and all the efforts of the conquerors were now being concentrated on her capture.
So the stay at Terregles was very brief.
Herries believed that there was one way in which the Queen could hope to regain her throne, and that was by escaping from Scotland to France, where her relatives and friends would provide her with money and perhaps soldiers to fight for her crown. Meanwhile loyal supporters in Scotland would wait for her return.
There was no time to discuss such matters now, but he knew that Livingstone and Fleming agreed with him. Their objective was the coast. If they could have crossed the Clyde and arrived at Dumbarton the flight to France would have been comparatively easy, for there ships worthy to cross the seas would have been in readiness for them. As it was they would strike the coast farther south, and who could tell what vessels would be at their disposal?
But there was no time for regrets; they must move quickly because Terregles would be one of the first places in which Moray would expect to find the Queen sheltering, since it belonged to Herries.
So the journey began again with Herries leading the way through the lonely passes of the Glenkens until they at length came to the banks of the River Ken.
Mary was almost asleep in her saddle when Herries announced that they had arrived at the Castle of Earlston.
Earlston! As Mary stared at the castle she forgot her exhaustion, for memory had brought vividly to her mind the picture of a burly man, crude and brutal, who shouted: “I will take you to my castle of Earlston . . . and there in that lonely spot far from your courtiers you shall learn who is the master.”
