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“I shall marry the Queen,” said Bothwell.
“She will never consent,” said Melville.
“I will marry her whether she will or not. And it may be that by the time I release her from this castle she will be willing enough.”
Melville was aghast at the implication of those words.
Bothwell laughed and went to the Queen’s apartment.
Melville turned to Maitland. How could Maitland appear so calm? Had he not heard Bothwell express his intention to ravish the Queen?
Maitland’s smile was cynical. Should they be perturbed, it implied, because what was about to take place would be but a repetition of what had been happening for several months?
Maitland shrugged his shoulders. He was concerned with preserving his own life. He was secretly convinced that if he could keep alive for a few more weeks, he need never fear Bothwell again… nor the Queen.
BOTHWELL came to the Queen’s apartment and he stood on the threshold of the room, smiling at her as he had smiled in the Exchequer House.
She cried out in feigned alarm: “My lord… what means this?”
He smiled. As though she did not know! But he enjoyed the masquerade as much as she did. Of late she had perhaps been overeager, and a certain amount of resistance had always appealed to him.
So she protested but her heart was not in the protest, and she was glad when she could surrender freely to his passion.
For twelve days he kept her at Dunbar Castle—his passionate mistress and his most willing slave.
AT THE END of that time the Queen was escorted back to Edinburgh. She rode into the city with Bothwell beside her, he holding her horse’s bridle that the city might know that she was his captive.
Maitland was with them, plans forming in his clever mind. They would marry—those two foolish people—and they would ruin themselves. Morton was already in secret touch with Moray. The country was going to be roused against the King’s murderers; and the hasty marriage, the threadbare plot of abduction and seduction would be seen through; the Queen would have none but Bothwell to stand beside her. When she took Bothwell she would lose all else.
Bothwell and Mary could think of little beyond their marriage which would make him King of Scotland and her the wife of her lover. Neither of them could look very far beyond their greatly desired goals.
There was one obstacle yet to be overcome. Bothwell was not free to marry; but he had already set in motion negotiations which would bring him a divorce on the grounds of consanguinity. The Archbishop of St. Andrews signed the nullity agreement, but Jean was not satisfied with this. She had been truly married to Lord Bothwell, she declared; and that marriage had been entirely legal. She would not have it said otherwise. She would be happy to be free of Bothwell who had been no good husband to her, but she herself would seek a divorce on the grounds of adultery.
This caused a slight hitch. Bothwell had a reputation as a murderer, and all Scotland knew that he was an adulterer, but the whole world, including the fanatical Philip in his Escorial, sly Catherine de Médicis in the Louvre, subtle Elizabeth in Greenwich, would now see him brought low through his wife’s allegations. Jean was determined to have her revenge for the slights she had suffered. She named Bessie Crawford, the daughter of a blacksmith, as the partner in Bothwell’s adultery.
The scandals grew. The story of Bothwell and Bessie became common knowledge. A Haddington merchant explained how he had one afternoon, on the instructions of Lord Bothwell, taken Bessie to the cloisters of Haddington Abbey; there he had locked her in and given the key—on Lord Bothwell’s instructions—to his lordship. There Bessie and the Earl had remained together for a considerable time.
Is this the man who would be King of Scotland? people were asking each other. There were many ready to pry into the affairs of Bessie Crawford and Lord Bothwell and ensure that the whole world should know of them.
His enemies were already at work, but the bold Earl cared nothing for this. What mattered it how the divorce was brought about as long as his marriage with Jean was severed? He had the lords’ consent on a document; he was free; Mary was free; and they would wait no longer.
John Craig, the preacher who had taken Knox’s place in the Kirk when the latter, after the murder of Rizzio, had thought it wise to go to England and remain there, was loath to publish the ba
Bothwell threatened him, but the man stood his ground. He begged the Earl to consider the Church’s law against adultery and ravishment; he warned him of the likely suspicion of collusion between Bothwell and his wife, the too sudden divorce and above all, his and Mary’s complicity in Darnley’s murder.
“Read the ba
But John Craig turned away. His courage was high. “There is only one thing which would make me do it—a written order from the Queen.”
Bothwell laughed. A written order from the Queen! What could be easier?
But he was disturbed. The preacher had boldly stated what was being said in secret.
According to the law, rape was punishable by death, and it was alleged that as Bothwell had raped the Queen, she felt in honor bound to marry him even though it was such a short time since her husband had died.
There were no ends to the twists and turns which must be made to extricate themselves from the position in which they found themselves.
Now Mary must declare that rape was forgiven if the woman subsequently acquiesced; and this, she declared, was what had happened in the case of herself and Lord Bothwell. To show her feelings for him she gave him fresh honors. He was made Earl of Orkney and Lord of Shetland. But the whispers were becoming louder throughout the land, and all were discussing the loose behavior of the Queen and her paramour. The Queen was no better than Bessie Crawford, and nothing she could say or do would make the people believe that the man she proposed to make their King was anything but a seducer, an adulterer and a murderer.
The night before their marriage was due to take place, a placard was pi
“Mense malas Maio nubere vulgus ait.”
It was alarming to be reminded through these words of Ovid’s that wantons married in the month of May.
Nevertheless on that May morning, accompanied by Huntley, Glamis, Fleming, Livingstone and others—all of whom attended her with restrained feelings—Mary was, in the chapel at Holyrood, married to Both well.
BUT WHERE was that bliss for which she had looked? He had never pretended, but now he had no time to play the lover. Now he must consolidate his position, and already the lords all over the country were making their animosity felt. He was ready. He loved a fight. And now he was preparing to fight for the crown of Scotland.
Mary began to realize the enormity of what she had done. She had married her lover, notorious as the seducer of Bessie Crawford; she had debased her royalty—an unforgivable sin in the eyes of all those who were royal. Her relatives in France were numbed by the shock. Catherine de Médicis in public declared herself shocked and saddened beyond expression, but in private gave full vent to her delight and satisfaction; Philip of Spain had nothing to offer but contempt, and that he showed by silence. Elizabeth of England, while pleased at the prospects of the inevitable result, was genuinely shocked that the Queen should so betray herself and her crown. Elizabeth could not help but remember how near to disaster she had come in circumstances so similar; but she had been wise; she had known when to draw back.