“My Queen enjoys good health and I thank God for it; but it is to Your Majesty’s interest to consider this important matter of the succession.”

“Indeed, yes. It is a matter near my heart. I must consider my marriage since it involves so much. But there are other suitors mentioned here by your Queen. I should be loath to rob her of one in whom, I have heard, she takes great pleasure. Moreover, I am a queen, the daughter of kings, and I should have to consider whether I demean myself by marriage with a commoner; and, for all the excellencies which your Queen knows Lord Robert to possess, he is, alas, of no royal blood. Your Queen, I see, mentions also Ambrose Dudley, the Earl of Warwick, Lord Robert’s elder brother.”

“Yes, Madam. She says what an excellent thing it would be if you might have Warwick, and she Lord Robert; although she admits Warwick lacks the beauty and perfection of his brother. She says there could be only one Lord Robert, and if she were not determined to remain a virgin she would marry him herself; but as she is fixed in her determination, she offers him to you.”

“And my lord Robert—what says he?”

“My lord Robert, realizing the honor this match would bring him, is eager for it.”

“You must give me time to ponder it, Master Randolph. I should have to give the matter much thought.”

Randolph acknowledged his dismissal and, begging her to let him have her answer as soon as she found it conveniently possible, retired.

When he had gone, Mary let loose her anger.

“How dare she! The insolent woman! Her horse master! Her paramour! Her confederate in murder! They murdered his wife… why did she not then take him as her husband? But she did do so … of course… without the ceremony! And now… tired of him… she dares to pass him on. It’s an insult. David, I should have told Randolph. I have demeaned myself by even pretending to consider this match.”

“Madam, I beg of you to be calm. This is but a trick of the English Queen’s. She will not part with him. It is a scheme to cover up some other plot. She has someone else for you, I vow. She wants to make you furious over Dudley, so that you will the more readily turn to the one she wishes you to have.”

“How can you know this?”

“Because, Madam, that woman never follows a straight course. She is full of lies and deceits; she makes a pretense of running in one direction, when all the time she intends to go in another. Be calm, I beg of you. Pretend to consider this match as she herself has pretended to consider so many. We will wait and shall soon see whom the Queen of England really wishes you to marry.”

“I believe she wishes to mock me. He was her lover, is now no longer, and she wishes to rid herself of him, so she offers him to me … to me.!”

“Nay, Your Majesty. She dotes on him as she ever did. Shortly you will be hearing from England that she has greatly honored him. He is now Earl of Leicester and, during the ceremony of bestowing the Earldom upon him, she could not resist putting her fingers between his ruff and his neck and tickling him there before them all. Does that indicate that she has tired of him?”

“Surely she would not be so indiscreet.”

“She is the most indiscreet woman in the world, and the most wily. That is why she succeeds. She hesitates at times; she is reckless at others; therefore she is unaccountable. She covers great schemes with frivolous chatter. Beware of her, Madam. Do not again offend her vanity; you have already done that by assuming the arms of England. That must be lived down. Therefore, thank her for her consideration, pretend to consider Dudley, play her game of coquetry and indecision. It will work as well for Your Majesty as for her.”

“David, you are my wise man. I know it. How did you know that Lord Robert is now Earl of Leicester? How did you know that she tickled his neck?”

David smiled. “Madam, I took the precaution of sending a servant of mine to the English Court. He went in the role of servant to Melville, and none knew that he worked for… us.”

“I cannot imagine what I should do without you.”

“I pray to the saints, Madam, that you will never have to, for if I were dismissed from your service there would be no reason for me to live.”

“One does not dismiss those one trusts,” said Mary emotionally. “One does not dismiss those one loves.”

A few days later she dismissed her French secretary, Raulet, from her service. David had discovered that he was writing to her uncle, the Cardinal, of matters outside French concerns. The man was a Guisian spy, working against the match with Spain on instructions from the Cardinal of Lorraine.

Mary decided that now she would trust only one man—David.

So Rizzio became closer to the Queen; and there were some at the Court who declared that he was fast becoming the Queens most influential adviser.

IT WAS ONE of those rare quiet moments when the Queen was sitting alone with Flem while they stitched at their embroidery.

Flem took the opportunity to speak of a matter which had occupied her mind for some time. It concerned the Earl of Bothwell.

Flem had been slightly fascinated by the man. It was something in his courage and manliness which had appealed to her. She knew that he was a rogue, a man of whom to beware, yet she could not help admiring him.

Flem liked to believe that her mistress tempered justice with mercy. Bothwell, she insisted diffidently, had had something less.

Mary raised her eyes from her needle and said: “How so?”

“Well, first, poor man, he spent four months in Edinburgh Castle, put there on the charge of a man who, we all know, was suspected then of being mad and is now proved to be.”

“Do you not think that there was a real plot to kidnap me?”

“It existed only in mad Arran’s brain. And Bothwell, being accused by him, has been made to suffer as though guilty.”

“Has he suffered so? He has escaped from his prison.”

“And why should he not, dear Madam, being wrongfully imprisoned?” Flem laughed. “Imagine his breaking the bars with his bare hands and swinging down the Castle rock on a rope!”

“It was a bold thing to do, I grant you. I wonder if he has changed. It is a long time since we saw him. Perhaps we shall never see him again.”

“He would give much to return to Court, Madam.”

“We would give much to keep him away.”

“Yet he was not guilty.”

“Flem! Why do you plead for him? Are you in love with the man and unfaithful to Maitland? You speak so favorably of this Border rogue.”

“I do not like it to be said that injustice has been done in your name.”

“You concern yourself too much with those who are unworthy, Flem. Think of his good fortune. How did he manage to make his way to France, do you think? With the help of women! Janet Beaton is one, that Danish woman another; and there are countless others to whom he is a passionate lover for a night, before he passes on. He escaped in a boat, and was shipwrecked on the English coast before he reached France. And how, I wonder, did he fare at the hands of the Queen of England? We know he was her prisoner in the Tower of London. Did he seduce his jailor’s daughter? Flem! You put your reputation in jeopardy by pleading leniency for such a man!”

“Well, Madam, he is now far away in France, and he asks a favor of you.”

“Ah! I thought there was a plea in this. How does it come to you?”

“Through his great-uncle, the Bishop of Moray.”

“That old libertine of Spynie?”

“He is a libertine, it is true, Madam; but he is at least fond of his great-nephew. I think we should remember that Bothwell spent a great part of his life in the Bishop’s palace, and it was there mayhap he learned to indulge his passions freely. Madam, we have had the advantage of a happy childhood. Should we judge those who have been less fortunate?”