Виктория Холт - Royal Road to Fotheringhay

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.

Darnley had complained: “It is a shameful thing that you keep your husband waiting while you play at cards with a low musician.”

“My shame,” she had retorted, “is that I have such a husband to keep waiting.”

She cared nothing for him, and now she was unkind to him. She kept all secrets from him. He was never allowed to see any state papers.

He had seized her arm and said: “Madam, I demand my rights.”

“Your rights?”

“To share your life, your bed, your crown.”

She had laughed and pushed him from her. “You have forfeited those rights, Henry. Now leave me and send my women to me, for I am tired and wish to go to bed.”

“I will not go!” he had declared. “I shall stay here. You cannot turn me away.”

“I can and I will.”

“I shall shout to the whole palace that you are turning me out of your apartment.”

“Shout all you wish. You will only be telling what is already known.”

“Mary… dearest… I love you.”

“No,” she had said. “It is a good thing that neither of us love each other. Now go or I shall have to have you turned out.”

He had ignobly left the apartment, and the memory rankled.

Now he continued to scowl at Morton as he said: “The Queen is not in love with her husband.”

“The Court knows it,” said Morton, “and resents it.”

“Resents it?” said Darnley, alert.

“Do you think, Your Majesty, that we like to look on at the vulgar intrigue between the Queen and this foreign upstart?”

“So there is an intrigue!”

“Does Your Majesty doubt it?”

“I… yes … no … I am not sure.”

“They would be very careful in your presence, I doubt not.”

“Very careful! You… you mean …?”

“Your Majesty, he is with her night and morning. What are they doing, think you—discussing state secrets all the time?”

Darnley’s eyes narrowed. “It is true. It is shameful. I … a king … to be treated so! I… who have been faithful to the Queen!” He faltered and looked at Morton but Morton was not smiling at the obvious lie. He merely looked sympathetic.

“There are many of us,” said Morton slowly, “who wonder why you do not do the fellow to death. None could blame you if you did.”

“No!” repeated Darnley. “None could blame me.”

“I have received news from the Queen’s brother in England.”

“Moray! He is no friend to me.”

“But would be. It is a shameful thing, he says, that you should be denied your rights. Not only are you denied the Queen’s bed, but the Crown Matrimonial. Lord Moray says that if you will restore to him and the exiled lords their estates which have been confiscated, the first thing he will do on his return to Scotland will be to give you that crown.”

“How could I bring about his return? How could I restore his confiscated estates?”

“Alas, how could you? A short while ago when the Queen doted on you, it might have been possible for you. But now… another holds her favor. David Rizzio is the man who enjoys all her favors… every one… adviser, secretary of state… lover …”

“I would I could kill that man!”

Morton smiled. “Your Majesty,” he said, “let us leave the palace. Let us be sure that we cannot be overheard. There is something we have to say to each other.”

BOTHWELL AND his household had moved from Crichton to another of his houses, Haddington Abbey. He was finding enough to entertain him in his own household for a few weeks. Jeans attitude toward him had not changed in the least, and he was still intrigued by it. Bessie Crawford supplied the erotic entertainment which he had always found necessary—and life passed pleasantly.

There were matters to be attended to on the estate. Jean was doing for Haddington what she had done for Crichton; she was never idle; even when she sat resting she would have her embroidery in her hands.