“Do you think that I would not have given a good account of myself?”

“I doubt it not; but it would have made pleasing news for the ears of Master Knox.”

“How shall you punish him?” asked Livy.

“How can you punish people because in love they are bold? He has brought a little of France to our grim old Court. Let us set that beside his sins. Tomorrow I will speak sharply to him. That will suffice.”

A SCANDAL touched the Court about this time. It was unfortunate that the story became known beyond the Court. John Knox learned of it with the utmost pleasure and retold it from his pulpit, roaring at the people of Edinburgh to note the result of Jezebel’s rule.

One of the Queen’s minor serving women had been seduced by the Queens French apothecary.

“Both servants of the Queen!” cried Knox triumphantly. “Does it not speak for itself? Oh, what wickedness goes on within the walls of Holyrood-house! What revelings to the call of Satan! Fornication is the order of the day in Holyroodhouse, my friends. Women dress as men… men as women… the better to stimulate their wretched appetites. Satan stands by, calling them to damnation. The servants follow their masters and their mistresses along the road to hell.”

The serving woman had borne a child and, with the help of her paramour, had kept the matter secret. The child had been born in an outhouse and done to death. Its body had been discovered, and the maid, when accused, had broken down and confessed the whole story. She and her lover had paid the penalty of murder; they were publicly hanged.

John Knox was there to see justice done and to lose no opportunity of calling the people’s attention to the life of the Court. He blamed the Queen for her maid’s seduction; he blamed the Queen for the murder of the newborn child. The apothecary was a Frenchman—a member of that hated race which had captured John Knox and made a galley slave of him; the Queen was half French by birth and all French in her manners. Let the people see what harlotry, what wickedness had been brought into the country by their queen. Let the people reflect how much happier they would be without her.

“Must I accept the ranting of this man!” demanded Mary; but not to Jamie as she would have done earlier. Now she turned to David. “Must I, David?”

David’s words were comforting. “For the moment, Madam, yes. But have no fear of that. Between us we will devise some means of clipping the power of that man. We will make the people of Scotland free and happy, and Your Majesty Queen not only in name but in all else.”

“How?” asked Mary.

“We will watch events, Madam. It may be we shall do it through your marriage to a powerful prince—a Catholic like yourself. But patience, Madam, and for the time being—caution!”

“You are right. David, I want you to have this ring.”

“But, Madam, it is too valuable.”

“How could it be, for all you have done for me? Take it. I promise you that one day, when I am able, you shall no longer be called my valet de chambre, no longer merely David le Chante. You shall be my chief adviser, in all things, David … in all things.”

He bowed; his great glowing eyes went from her face to the sapphire she was putting on his finger.

A FEW DAYS later Mary left Holyrood for St. Andrews. The Court, among whom was Pierre de Chastelard, stayed a night at Burntisland.

Chastelard had been in a fever of excitement since that night when he had been discovered in the cabinet. He cursed his bad luck. He was sure that if Mary had not required that particular furred robe, and he had succeeded in being alone with her, they would have been lovers by now. Of course she had feigned anger before her women; but it was not real anger; that had been obvious. They had all looked on the matter as a joke. Joke! He would show them that it was no joke.

Mary had scarcely reprimanded him at all, which surely meant that she expected him to make the attempt again in some way. This time he would do so with more skill; and before the morning he would be her lover.

He had a greater opportunity of concealing himself on this occasion. Mary was closeted with her brother and Secretary of State Maitland, when he went silently to that chamber in which she would spend the night. He examined the bed and gleefully discovered that there was plenty of room for him to hide himself beneath it. It was a pity he was wearing his sword and dagger, for they were rather difficult to manage, but he had not wished to appear before her in anything but his finest array.

He waited in discomfort for a long time, but eventually he heard Mary and two of her women enter the apartment.

“I am tired,” said Mary. “Come, Flem, hurry Let to bed. My feet are so cold. Did you bring my foot polkis?”

“Here they are.” Flem held up the linen foot-bags without which Mary could not sleep on cold nights for her feet would not get warm unless she wore them.

“Such a headache!” said Mary as Livy took off her headdress.

“Dearest,” said Livy, “I hope you are not going to start your headaches again.”

“It’s the cold weather. How I long for summer!”

It was Livy who noticed a faint movement of the bed valance. She stared at it in silence, but then looked closer. With a swoop she lifted it and disclosed a mans boot. The Queen and Flem hurried to her side. Groaning, Chastelard came from under the bed.

“This is too much!” cried Mary.

“The second time!” muttered Flem.

Chastelard, furious at his own folly in allowing himself to be discovered, furious with Livy for discovering him, overcome by pent-up emotions, did not attempt to apologize. Clumsily and without warning, he sprang at the Queen, seized her and, to her horror and that of the two women, began to kiss her passionately.

Mary cried out: “How dare you!”

Livy and Flem fell upon Chastelard and tried to free their mistress, but his mad desire and determination seemed to lend him the strength of two men. He succeeded in forcing the Queen onto the bed where all four of them wrestled together.

“Help!” cried Mary, really alarmed. “Quickly!”

Flem broke away and ran to the door calling: “Help! Save the Queen!”

There was a great bustle in the apartment as guards came rushing in.

“Take this man!” commanded the Queen.

Chastelard was seized, as Moray, the Queen’s brother, came into the apartment.

“What means this?” he demanded.

“He was under the bed!” gasped Flem. “Hiding!”

“Take this man’s sword and dagger,” said Moray to the guards. “Put him under close arrest.”

Chastelard appealed to the Queen. “Madame, you know my intentions …”

“They were clear,” said Mary.

“The love I bear you …”

“Take him away!” roared Moray.

Chastelard was dragged, struggling, from the apartment.

Moray turned sternly to his sister. “Madam,” he said, “he shall lose his life for this outrage.”

Mary had grown pale but Moray went on quickly: “I doubt not that he is the tool of your enemies.” He waved his hand to all those who had come into the apartment. “Your presence is no longer needed,” he added. “Fortunately the Queen’s life has been saved.”

Moray was not slow to note that among those who had come into the Queen’s apartment was Thomas Randolph, and his delight in what he was planning to write to his mistress was betrayed by his expression. A nice tidbit to send to his mistress in England—the heroine of many a similar story—and one which would naturally be told and retold against the Queen of Scots. There were several firm supporters of Knox who had witnessed this scene; they had good noses for smelling out the scandals. The fact that Chastelard had been found in the Queens bedchamber would be all over Edinburgh by the morning. They would have it in the Highlands and on the Border within a few hours; and as soon as Master Thomas Randolph could arrange it, Madam Elizabeth would be chuckling over it with her paramour Robert Dudley.