8 A bust by Germain Pilon, thought to show Mary as Queen of France.
9 Diane de Poitiers, mistress of Henry II of France by Primaticcio.
10 The deathbed of Henry II of France, a detail from a woodcut by Tortorel and Perrissin: Mary can be seen in profile beside the right-hand bed post.
11 The Deuil Blanc portrait of Mary, by Clouet, probably painted in 1559 at the time of her mourning for her father-in-law Henry II.
12 Henry Lord Darnley and his younger brother Charles, painted by Hans Eworth when Darnley was seventeen.
13 Above: Mary’s signet ring. Left: its seal, showing the lion of Scotland; below: the device engraved on the underside of the ring, combining the letter M with the Greek letter Phi () for Francis, Mary’s first husband.
14 James Steward, Earl of Moray, half-brother of Mary Queen of Scots, portrait by H. Munro after an unknown artist.
15 Three coins struck at the time of Mary’s marriage to Darnley, and their obverses: the right-hand version is the famous ‘ryal’, later withdrawn, in which the name of Darnley (Henricus) precedes that of his wife (Maria in the lettering round the rim – the only known instance of this order.
16 James Douglas, Earl of Morton, by Arnold Bronkhorst, showing an imaginary picture of the castle of Tantallon in the background.
17 A nineteenth-century sketch of the tiny supper room in Holyrood Palace from which Riccio was dragged to be slaughtered: through the open door lies the Queen’s bedroom.
18 Riccio’s guitar, now in the Royal College of Music, London.
19 An engraving of William Maitland, after an unknown artist.
20 The palace of Holyrood in 1647, by J. Gordon of Rothiemay.
21 A miniature, by an unknown artist, traditionally said to be of Bothwell: the only known picture of him.
22 James VI and I as a child, by Arnold Bronkhorst.
23 George Buchanan.
24 A contemporary sketch, sent to Cecil in London, of the scene after the murder of Darnley at Kirk o’Field in February 1567. Top left: the figure of the infant James VI, Darnley’s son, in his cradle, with the legend ‘Judge and Avenge my cause, O Lord’. Left centre: the quadrangle of houses attached to St Mary, Kirk o’Field, showing the house which had contained Darnley, as a heap of rubble after the explosion. Below left: the dead body of Darnley being carried away, watched by the crowd. Centre: the town wall, onto which Darnley’s house backed directly. Top right: the figures of Darnley and his servant in the gardens, with a chair, a cloak and a dagger beside them.
25 Hermitage Castle, Liddesdale, where Mary visited Bothwell in October 1566.
26 The castle of Lochleven, photographed by the author: the sixteenth-century island was considerably smaller.
27 A contemporary sketch of the field at Carberry Hill on 15 June 1567: in the centre of the picture Mary on horseback is being led across to the army of the rebel lords by Kirkcaldy of Grange; Bothwell, also on horseback, sits directly behind the row of guns; the Red Lion of Scotland flies above the Queen’s army, and above the rebel army flies the banner referring to the death of Darnley: ‘Judge and Avenge my cause, O Lord.’
28 The placard, showing Mary as a mermaid and Bothwell as a hare, which was posted up in Edinburgh after the murder of Darnley: a mermaid was a contemporary synonym for a prostitute and the hare was Bothwell’s family crest.
29 The Cenotaph of Lord Darnley: the future James VI kneels beside the tomb of his father; behind: his grandparents the Earl and Countess of Lennox, and their younger son Charles. Painted by Levinus Vogelarious, sometimes known as Venetians, and dated 1567.
30 Tutbury Castle, situated on a hill overlooking the river Dove, on the borders of Staffordshire and Derbyshire, the scene of Mary’s imprisonment for various periods from February 1569 onwards. From a seventeenth-century engraving.
31 A panel of embroidery now at Oxburgh Hall, Norfolk, believed to have been stitched jointly by Mary Queen of Scots and Bess of Hardwicke, showing the numerous devices and anagrams, often of her own name, which Mary liked to incorporate in her work.
32 Letter of Mary Queen of Scots to Queen Elizabeth, shortly after her escape to England in May 1568; Mary protests passionately against Elizabeth’s decision not to allow her into her presence, to justify her behaviour.
33 The silver casket believed to have contained originally the vanished Casket Letters, now in the Museum of Lennoxlove, East Lothian.
34 Mary’s first letter in English, written to her jailer Sir Francis Knollys in 1568: it ends with the words ‘excuse my evil writing. It is the first time’, and Mary’s signature showing the characteristic initial letter M, the same size as the following letters.
35 Queen Elizabeth I by Nicholas Hilliard.
36 The miniature of Mary Queen of Scots by Nicholas Hilliard, painted, probably from life, during her English captivity, about 1578.
37 The first page of the contemporary copy of the Fifth Casket Letter, discovered at Hatfield House in 1870: this is the only letter copied in the Italian hand (which Mary used) as opposed to the clerkly hand used by most English and Scots at the same period, and if compared with Mary’s own handwriting it will be seen that it may represent an effort to imitate it (see illustration no. 32).
38 A medal of Mary by Jacopo Primavera, struck during her English captivity.
39 A double portrait of Mary Queen of Scots and her son James VI; artist unknown; painted in 1583 from the imagination, since Mary never in fact saw James after his infancy.
40 A contemporary plan, with modern key, of the layout at the trial of Mary Queen of Scots at Fotheringhay Castle in October 1586.
41 The white gauze veil traditionally said to have been worn by Mary at her trial, which came into the possession of her Stuart descendant, the Cardinal of York; its history is recorded in the legend embroidered round its edge in Latin.
42 The golden rosary and prayer-book carried by Mary at her execution: the rosary was bequeathed to Anne, wife of Philip Earl of Arundel and is still in the possession of their descendant, the present Duke of Norfolk.
43 A contemporary sketch of the scene at the execution of Mary Queen of Scots in the Great Hall of Fotheringhay on 8 February 1578: the Queen is seen entering (left) and being disrobed by her ladies (centre).
44 The tomb of Elizabeth and Barbara Curle in St Andrew’s, Antwerp, surmounted by a portrait of their former mistress, and supported by the figures of St Elizabeth and St Barbara. The Latin inscription records the fact that it was Elizabeth Curle who received the last kiss of Mary Queen of Scots.
45 The memorial portrait commissioned by Mary’s lady-in-waiting Elizabeth Curle, now in Blairs College, Aberdeen: to the left of the figure of the queen can be seen the execution scene, and to the right, the figures of Elizabeth Curle and Jane Kennedy.
46 The monument by Cornelius and William Cure, above the tomb of Mary Queen of Scots in Westminster Abbey, erected in 1612 by her son James VI and I.
PART THREE
The Captivity
CHAPTER NINETEEN
In Foreign Bands
And I’m the sovereign of Scotland
And mony a traitor there
Yet here I lay in foreign bands
And never-ending care
Robert Burns, Queen Mary’s Lament
On Lochleven Mary had been compared by Maitland to a captive lion; the feelings of the Regent Moray on hearing that his sister had escaped from her prison may be compared to those of Prince John, regent of England, when he learnt that his brother King Richard was on his way home, and ‘the lion was unloosed’. The Regent Moray was sore amazed, said the Diurnal of Occurrents,1 more especially because he happened to be at Glasgow when he learnt the evil news, and by now Mary herself had reached nearby Hamilton from Niddry. The regent’s first instinct was to desert the unhealthy area of western Scotland – where such loyal Marian lords as Herries and Maxwell held sway in the south, and Argyll, now also a Marian, in the north, to say nothing of the menacing prospect of the key
fortress of Dumbarton, still firmly held for the queen, to the west beyond Glasgow. But prudence prevailed: the regent decided to stand firm, rather than let the whole west unite for the queen; as it turned out, he was amply repaid for the steadfast nature of his decision.
Supporters were flocking to the queen, as a result of the series of proclamations in which she once more sought her subjects’ allegiance. On 8th May nine earls, nine bishops, eighteen lairds and over 100 lesser supporters declared for her in a joint proclamation. Despite this impressive show of loyalty and strength, Mary was not without her problems. The Hamiltons seized this ripe opportunity of emphasizing their own claims to the succession if both Mary and James disappeared – and their right to act as governors if only Mary did. Another particularly virulent Marian proclamation, thought to be the work of Archbishop Hamilton, referred to Moray as ‘an bastard gotten in shameful adultery’ and Châtelherault as the ‘Queen’s dearest father adoptive … head of the good house of Hamilton’. Although it is unlikely that this proclamation was ever published,2 its tone certainly makes it clear why Mary feared to remain overlong at Hamilton. Having escaped her Lochleven bonds, she did not wish to become the puppet of another Scottish house. She therefore determined to march towards Dumbarton and here on neutral ground try to draw her subjects back to her. Mary was certainly not particularly anxious to fight Moray before she reached Dumbarton, seeing no advantage in confronting him at the head of a Hamilton force when she might in the future be able to face him backed up by a more truly national army. In her desire to be restored to her throne at all costs, Mary was even prepared to treat with Moray; but the regent refused to enter into negotiations.
The Marian party had by now reached impressive proportions – twice as many as that of the regent, said the queen.3 Estimates vary from 6000 royalists to Moray’s 4000 to 5000 and 3000 respectively; but all agreed that Mary’s party had considerable numerical superiority. This preponderance had the fatal effect of encouraging the queen’s army to skirt Glasgow narrowly on their route to Dumbarton, in the hopes of drawing the regent into a fight and thus annihilating him. The Hamiltons had, after all, suffered much at Moray’s hands; his occupation of the regency was a flagrant insult to their ancient position in Scotland: they now saw an excellent opportunity of obliterating their enemy under what seemed to be ideally weighted conditions. As the Marians reached the small village of Langside, the vanguard under Lord Claud Hamilton stormed forward. Moray was established beyond Langside on the Burgh Muir. He appeared to accept their challenge, despite the Marian numerical superiority. But Moray was fortunate in having two experienced and skilful soldiers beside him – Kirkcaldy of Grange and Morton. Morton remained at Moray’s side, in charge of the main battle, while Kirkcaldy rode forward with his hagbutters to harry the royal troops as they entered the narrow main street of Langside.
Under the regent’s attack, the border horsemen under Lord Herries did valiantly, and Hamilton’s men fought their way gallantly forward. But by an evil chance, the main command of the royal army had been given to Argyll, now made ‘Lieutenant of the Kingdom’4 on the grounds that he had supplied by far the largest amount of men. And now the main body of the royal troops under Argyll’s personal command entirely failed to follow up their van. It was said afterwards, to explain his defection, that Argyll had actually fainted, or else had had an exceptionally ill-timed epileptic fit; his enemies pointed out that as he was Moray’s brother-in-law and erstwhile comrade, his failure of generalship might have the less medical and more sinister explanation of pre-arranged treachery. Whatever its origin, the temporary suspension of Argyll’s faculties proved fatal to the cause of Mary Queen of Scots at Langside. As Kirkcaldy’s pikemen fell upon the Hamiltons, they found themselves totally unsupported by Argyll’s men who, leaderless and unable or unwilling to withstand a full charge, broke away from it, and fled back towards their native Highlands. The crossfire of the hagbutters, the depredations of the pikemen, and the failure of Argyll combined to bring about a colossal defeat for the queen in which few members of Moray’s side were killed even by Herries’s gallant charge (although Lords Home and Ochiltree were injured). Over 100 of the queen’s party were slain, mainly Hamiltons, and over 300 were taken prisoner, including the faithful Lord Seton, Sir James Hamilton and many other members of his clan.
The queen watched this gloomy contest from a nearby hill. For once might had been allied with right; but sadly, the combination had worked out to the advantage of neither. Mary’s servant John Beaton told Catherine de Médicis later that Mary had mounted on her own horse, and like another Zenobia ridden into the battle, to encourage her troops to advance; she would have led them to the charge in person, but she found them all quarrelling among themselves, insensible to her eloquence and more inclined to exchange blows with each other than to attack the rebel host.5 Once the battle was clearly decided in favour of Moray, the queen had more pressing problems to deal with than the feuds of her own supporters. She had now to ride, not like Zenobia into battle, but like any fugitive away from the scene of her defeat, and away from the searing sweep of Moray’s men. Dumbarton was the obvious target for her – Dumbarton, from which French help could be introduced into the country, or from which France itself could be reached, if the situation became so desperate that the queen had to flee. But Dumbarton was cut off by hostile Lennox country and Moray’s forces; guided by Lord Herries, the queen decided to flee south instead, into the south-western territories of Scotland which were still extremely Catholic in feeling as well as loyal to Mary, under the feudal sway of two Catholic magnates, Herries and Maxwell.
The journey itself was rough and wild; the conditions of travel were primitive in the extreme. Afterwards the queen seemed to remember so little about this nightmare flight in her account of it to Nau, that his narrative, so free and detailed during the period of her captivity at Lochleven, degenerates into a mere list of headings. Once she was in captivity, perhaps Mary preferred to throw a veil in her own mind over these last Scottish sufferings, which had been a prelude to the long years of English imprisonment. Immediately after the flight, in June 1568, she gave a description of it to her uncle in France: ‘I have endured injuries, calumnies, imprisonment,’ she wrote, ‘famine, cold, heat, flight not knowing whither, 92 miles across the country without stopping or alighting, and then I have had to sleep upon the ground and drink sour milk, and eat oatmeal without bread, and have been three nights like the owls. …’6 Queen Mary fled first to Dumfries, a journey of about sixty miles; by tradition Lord Herries led her down through the unfrequented passes of the Glenkens and along the west bank of the River Ken. They paused to rest at the head of the valley of the Tarff, at a point now named Queen’s hill. The Dee was crossed just beyond the village of Tongland, where her escort destroyed the ancient wooden bridge to avoid pursuit; close by, at Culdoach, Mary received the reviving bowl of sour milk which she mentioned to her uncle.* Having rested at Herries’s own castle of Corrah on the way, the queen finally reached the Maxwell castle of Terregles.
It was here at Terregles that the critical decision was taken to flee further on into England. The decision was made by the queen alone. She herself described dolefully to Archbishop Beaton in Paris how her supporters had cautioned her piteously not to trust Queen Elizabeth, since the English in the past had savagely imprisoned a Scottish sovereign, in the shape of James I , and even her own father had not trusted himself to meet Henry VIII at York. The general view was that she should either stay in Scotland – where Herries guaranteed that she could hold out for at least another forty days – or go to France and hope to rally some support there. In retrospect, either course would seem to have been more sensible than seeking an English refuge. We cannot tell what considerations weighed with Mary Stuart to choose it nevertheless, what dreams of friendship and alliance with Elizabeth still possessed her; yet the siren song of Elizabeth’s friendship, the mirage of the English succession, were still strong enough in this moment of decision to bl
ot out the stable image of the proven friendship of France, where Mary had actually lived for thirteen years, and which could still be so easily sought from a western port of Scotland, the sea-route past Wales and Cornwall which Mary had taken years before as a child. In France Mary had the inalienable estates and incomes of a queen dowager of the country; as a Catholic queen fleeing from a Protestant country, she had every reason to expect the support of her brother-in-law, Charles IX, and Queen Catherine, to say nothing of her Guise relations, of whom the latest scion Henry, duke of Guise, was just rising into a manhood which promised to be as glorious as that of his father Duke Francis. Even if Elizabeth had shown stronger support for Mary against her rebels in the short interval since Carberry Hill than the French king, the patent fact that Mary was a Catholic whereas her insurgents were mainly Protestants meant that the French would always have a vested interest to help the Scottish queen as their co-religionist.
In place of friendly France, Mary Stuart chose to fling herself upon the mercy of unknown England, a land where she had no party, no money, no estates, no relatives except her former mother-in-law, Lady Lennox, who hated her, and Queen Elizabeth herself, whom she had never met personally, and whose permission she had not even obtained to enter the country. As decisions go, it was a brave one, a romantic one even, but under the circumstances it was certainly not a wise one. No human character is static. Different circumstances develop different aspects of the same personality. Perhaps ten months in prison had served to bring out in Mary’s nature that streak either of the romantic or of the gambler, which leads the subject fatally on ever to prefer hope and high adventure to the known quantity, and which Mary Stuart passed on so dramatically to many of her later Stuart descendants. From now on, like all captives, Mary Stuart was to live of necessity far more in the world of dreams than in that of reality. Her confinement in Lochleven seemed to have already begun the process of attrition in her powers of judgement. The queen herself summed up the subject of her fatal decision in a sentence at the end of a letter to Beaton towards the end of her life as sad as any she ever wrote: ‘But I commanded my best friends to permit me to have my own way.…’7