Royal Road to Fotheringhay - Plaidy Jean. Страница 73

Darnley reeled and hiccupped. “Oh… so he satisfies you, does he… this low-born …”

Mary rose and strode toward him; she could not control her rage. She took him by the hair and shook him. He stared at her in bleary wonderment.

“’Strue …” he said. “He’s your lover. That stunted go-by-the-ground, that—”

“Be quiet!” cried Mary. “I will have you taken to the Tolbooth.”

Darnley’s mouth fell open. “Come, Mary,” he spluttered. “Come to bed—”

She pushed him from her and he fell to the floor.

“David,” she said calmly, “call two of his men. They shall carry him back to bed. Now I shall go to mine. Good night, David.”

She went out, leaving Darnley lying on the floor in his drunken stupor.

DARNLEY SWAGGERED about the Court. If the Queen denied him her bed, others did not. He was watched—though he did not know this—by many lords of the Court. There was Maitland of Lethington, now affianced to Mary Fleming. He was privy to the secrets of the bedchamber. It was not that Flem wished to betray her mistress’s secrets; she loved her mistress second only to Lord Maitland himself. But Maitland was the cleverest statesman in Scotland; he had beguiled the English Queen and the English ambassador with his diplomacy; so it was not difficult for him to discover all he needed from his beloved Flem. Maitland’s vanity had been deeply wounded. He had been the Queen’s chief adviser, had employed his skillful diplomacy in England, and on returning to Scotland had found another in his place: David Rizzio, the upstart musician.

Clearly Scotland would be a happier place for Lord Maitland of Lethington if Rizzio were no longer there.

There was Ruthven—slowly dying of a wasting disease and determined to enjoy great power before he departed from this life. He too resented the Queens trust in her musician.

There was James Douglas, Earl of Morton, the most treacherous of them all, the man without scruples, the cruel lecher whose bastards were numerous. He was in touch with Moray who was trying to obtain the Queen’s pardon, and return to Scotland. Morton, feigning loyalty to Mary, was also in league with the English. He was fully aware of the Spanish plot to strengthen Scotland before making an attack on the English Queen’s throne; Cecil and Elizabeth were also aware of this plot. The unlucky Queen of Scots did not know how many of these gentlemen who surrounded her were spies for the champion of Protestantism, Elizabeth of England.

Moray was waiting to leap back into Scotland. So Morton, Maitland, Ruthven, with Argyle and others, met to discuss the new state of affairs, how to rid themselves of the upstart Rizzio whose foreign policy had led them to this pass, how to restore Moray and the exiled lords to their estates, how, when destroying Rizzio, to destroy also—or at least make impotent—the Queen herself.

Money and support were not lacking from England, for Elizabeth was now genuinely alarmed. Philip of Spain was behind this plot, and he could always alarm the English Queen. Philip sent money to Scotland, but the English, being warned of this through Cecil’s clever spy system, waylaid the ships which carried the treasure, captured it and brought it to London.

Philip’s advice to Mary was that, since the operations must be delayed, owing to the capture of the treasure, she should feign friendship with Elizabeth and lull the suspicions of the English.

Mary did not know that those noblemen who surrounded her throne were in the main spies for England. These men were Protestants and had no intention of allowing their country to return to the Catholic Faith, but it did not occur to their Queen that they could be so blatantly treacherous.

As for Rizzio himself, clever as he was and faithful to the Queen’s interest, he had his weakness. He could not resist strutting a little, each day adding something to his finery. An arrogance had crept into his manner. Were the great lords of Scotland going to endure the arrogance of this upstart? Was a musician, a player of the harp and the guitar, a singer in the Queen’s choir, to be set over the chieftains of Scotland?

David Rizzio became even more unpopular than Darnley for while the lords despised Darnley they were forced to admire and envy Rizzio who had risen from obscurity to power.

Morton sat beside Ruthven’s sickbed in the latter’s Edinburgh house. Ruthven lay back in bed; it was clear that he had not long to live, yet his eyes were brilliantly alive in his yellow face; they burned with a lust for Rizzio’s blood. Morton was not surprised, gazing at the strange gaunt face, that many believed Ruthven to be a witch.

Ruthven’s hopes lay with Morton. The most ruthless of the lords, it was to Morton’s interest to have Moray back in Scotland, and Morton would have no compunction in committing murder to bring that about. He was no newcomer to the art of murder.

“It would be a simpler matter to waylay the fellow,” Morton was saying. “It would be over in a few minutes. He could be hustled into one of the city wynds and two stout men would make short work of him.”

“Nay,” said Ruthven, rising on his pillows and falling back with exhaustion, “that is not the way. She shall see the deed done. She is heavy with her child now. In less than four months it will be born … if she lives … if she survives…. No! Let him be taken when he is closeted with her. Let her see the deed done. She has insulted us by her preference for the low fellow. Besides …”

Morton nodded slowly. “It may kill her,” he said bluntly. “Her health is not good… and a pregnant woman, seeing her lover done to death before her eyes … I see your point.”

“There is the hope that it may prove too much for her. But we shall not turn our daggers on the Queen. No … no … let her death come through shock, through remorse… anything you like. There is one other whom we must implicate in this. Neither my lord Moray nor Cecil and his Queen wish it to be known that this is a political murder. So there must be another reason for the death of our little musician, and we have it to hand.”

“Oh yes, we have it at hand. The Queens pretty husband must be implicated. We are all agreed on that.”

“The murder of Rizzio,” said Ruthven, “is to be no political murder. It has nothing to do with bribes and instructions from England. It is a crime passionel you understand.”

“Then he must be with us when the deed is done.”

“He must indeed! You can arrange that. The silly young fool will believe all you tell him. He is like a peevish boy robbed of his toys. She will have nothing to do with him. He whimpers because he finds more pleasure in the bed of a queen than in that of a tavern wench. He’ll not be difficult to manage. Then we shall have the whole world shocked by the wanton ways of a queen. And if she does not die of shock, she will be most certainly ruined.”

“And the child will doubtless not survive this.”

Ruthven nodded. “Go to your work, friend Morton,” he said.

MORTON HAD asked to see the young King and to see him alone.

Darnley scowled when he saw his visitor. He was not fond of the Douglases. But Morton was full of flattery—the sort which could not fail to please.

“What a delightful doublet! Never have I seen such a happy blending of color. Ah, mayhap it is Your Majesty’s fair complexion and golden hair which makes the color seem so perfect. It is small wonder that the Queen is so madly in love with her husband.”

Darnley’s scowl deepened. He was recalling the scene which had taken place early that morning. He had waited for Mary in her apartment, had driven out her women and insisted on seeing her alone. She had come at three in the morning, smiling serenely; she had been playing cards with Rizzio. They had supped together, with one or two others as company; and then had settled to the cards. As the game had been so exciting they had gone on playing until early morning.