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“The English are with him,” said David. “Elizabeth has promised him arms and men.”
“I care not if the whole world comes against me!” said Mary. “I will be Queen of Scotland at last.”
“The Highlanders might well stand by Your Majesty,” said David. “Bring George Gordon out of prison. Create him Earl of Huntley. Then you will have a new Cock o’ the North to stand at your side. And there is one other whom you could trust. Recall Bothwell. He is only waiting for the summons and he will relish the opportunity to take vengeance on your brother. He will willingly serve you—if only for the opportunity of being back in Scotland.”
“That man! Do you not remember what he has said of me?”
“Forget old grudges, Madam. The need is desperate. He is a foul-mouthed ruffian but a good fighter—the most courageous in Scotland.”
So Mary sent for Bothwell and created George Gordon Earl of Huntley. The new Earl came down from the Highlands with thousands of followers—all brave men and bold, longing for a chance to settle scores with Moray and rally to the standard of the Queen.
They camped about Edinburgh, and the sound of their pipes could be heard in the palace. Along the streets the kilts and steel bo
John Knox watched the growth in numbers of the encroaching Highlanders with apprehension. In vain did he threaten them with eternal damnation; they played jaunty airs on the pipes in answer to him. Most of them were Protestants, but they believed in a wee bit of fun and laughter, and John Knox’s talk of his God’s delight in vengeance was losing its appeal.
Mary was in some doubt as to the loyalty of these men. There was the lecherous Morton who, she knew, had weighed her chances of success against those of her brother, and it was, therefore, a good augury that he had chosen to support her. There was Lord Ruthven, who was supporting her because his children by his first wife were Darnley’s cousins.
It might be that these lords had their own private reasons for being with her in Edinburgh instead of with Moray’s armies; but for the present it was enough that they were with her and she could rely on the new Earl of Huntley and—when he came—on Bothwell.
There was one thing she intended to do before all else and that was legalize her union with her lover. Scandal was rife concerning her; it was more malignant than it had ever been, for Moray, who had previously endeavoured to quash it, now sought to foster it. He had set going a rumor that the Queen was a lewd woman and that David Rizzio and Darnley were both her lovers. He revived the Chastelard scandal. Knox was his ardent supporter in all this.
ON HER WEDDING DAY Mary walked from her apartments to the chapel at Holyrood dressed in the mourning gown of black with a large mourning hood, the costume of a sorrowing widow. She made a somber bride. It was necessary however for her to observe the strict royal etiquette which demanded that until she was another man’s wife she must, on all state occasions, appear as the widow of her first husband.
The Earls of Le
What a contrast he made in his glittering costume! Marys heart leaped with pride as she contemplated him. This was to be the happiest marriage that had ever been.
The Dean of Restalrig performed the ceremony with his priests to help him. Mary’s hand lay in that of Henry Stuart, Lord Darnley, and they were indeed husband and wife.
The bridegroom left the chapel in advance, in order that he might retire to her chamber, where she would join him when her women led her there.
“Come!” he cried when he saw her. “I like not this black deuil. You must be a dazzling bride. Cast aside these sorrowful garments and dispose yourself to a pleasanter life.”
Mary feigned reluctance to do this, remembering what would be expected of her, but it was difficult to hide her elation and her desire to be done with reminders of her widowhood.
At last she was persuaded to wear the brilliant wedding garments which had been prepared for her, and her women lost no time in dressing her.
“The most beautiful bride in the world!” whispered Flem; and Mary had a sudden memory of hearing those words before. Then François had been her husband. She fleetingly remembered his adoration. How different was little François from the handsome Darnley!
There followed feasting and revelry. The bridegroom drank more freely than previously, and was inclined to be peevish, but he smiled with pleasure when he heard the proclamation which made it known to the people that he, Henry Stuart, Lord Darnley, was also Lord Ardmarnock, Earl of Ross, Duke of Albany, and should be called, by the express wish of Her Majesty the Queen of Scotland and the Isles, King of this kingdom.
At last they were alone. This was bliss for which Mary had long yearned. Now she was free to indulge her passion with a good conscience. There need be no hurried partings before the dawn, no furtive whisperings.
But to her surprise and chagrin it was not the same Henry Darnley who now made love to her. It was true that he was a little drunk; it was understandable that the great honors which had come to him this day had turned his head a little. He was fiercely demanding; he was arrogant; it was as though he said: “I am the master now.”
She submitted to this new lover, willingly and happily. But in the morning she began to see that the character he had worn as a mask when he first came to Court had been cast aside. With apprehension Mary began to understand anew the man whom to marry she had risked civil war.
THE TURN OF EVENTS forced Mary to concern herself with matters other than this partial disappointment in her husband. There came a chance to subdue Knox, and Mary took it boldly.
Darnley, at her request and on the advice of Rizzio, went to the Kirk of St. Giles to hear Knox preach. Mary knew that many of the warriors, who had rallied to her and were now encamped about the capital, were firm upholders of the Protestant Faith. She wished to show them that—Catholic though she was—she still intended to follow the policy of toleration which she had promised when she first came to Scotland.
Darnley had gone rather sullenly, and the sight of him, sprawling in the pew, sumptuously dressed and glittering with jewels, put Knox into a frenzy of rage against the Queen and her husband. He could not resist preaching at the young man.
“‘O Lord, our God,’” he cried, quoting from the book of Isaiah, “‘other lords besides Thee have had dominion over us; but by Thee only will we make mention of Thy name.’”
He went on to declare that for the sins of the people tyrants were sent to scourge them. Boys and women were sent to rule over them.
There was nothing that a
God justly punished Ahab, he declared, because he would not take order with the harlot Jezebel. In these evil days Ahab joined Jezebel in idolatry.
Darnley, deeply conscious of his new status, could not suffer insults lightly. He stood up and, calling to his attendants that he was going hawking, strode out of the kirk.
Mary was sympathetic when she heard what had happened, and laid no blame on her husband who, so far, could in her eyes do no wrong. Instead—in her new mood of bravado and deeply conscious of the brawny kilted men in their steel bo
“Master Knox,” she cried as he stood before her, “this day you have insulted the King. I therefore forbid you to preach in Edinburgh whilst there are sovereigns in the capital.”