LED BY A DOZEN SCOTTISH LORDS, we crossed the iron drawbridge and rode into the forecourt of Holyrood Palace. I leaned forward eagerly in my saddle and absorbed my first sight of it. The sun, still thinly veiled, lent the stone edifice a soft golden glow. For the first time, I would be in my own palace. This was not a château belonging to the French crown. This was mine!
The palace dated back centuries but had been remodeled in its present form by my father for his first wife, Madeleine. I could see at a glance its resemblance to the beautiful châteaux in France. It must have pleased Queen Madeleine, though she had lived here for only forty days before she died. Surrounded by a lush wilderness, Holyrood stood protected from the harsh winds and rains blowing in from the sea by a low mountain covered with greenery. “Called Arthur’s Seat,” James explained.
He had forgotten that I had never before been to Edinburgh. My mother, fearful of an English attack and kidnapping, had not brought me here. and would certainly have followed me into the quadrangle had Lord James not called upon his men to form a protective cordon. I turned my horse and faced the crowd. “Good people of Scotland,” I cried, speaking in Scots, “I rejoice to be at home among you!”
They roared back their approval. Lord James helped me to dismount and escorted me to the central entrance. As we stepped inside the quadrangle around which the rooms of the palace were arranged, I was disturbed to see that it was entirely empty. The royal dining room had neither table nor benches. The throne room was bare. No portraits hung in the great gallery. My own furniture—beds, chests, tables, tapestries—were still on ships somewhere at sea. I looked to my brother for an explanation.
“If Queen Elizabeth has not ordered them seized, they should arrive here within a few days,” Lord James assured me. “The horses and mules may take longer.”
“But my mother’s furniture—where is that?” I asked.
“Stored away,” my brother offered with a careless shrug.
“Could it not have been removed from storage when you knew that I was coming?” I tried to keep the impatience out of my voice. Where was I to sleep tonight? And what arrangements were being made for the Four Maries, as well as for my servants and staff?
“Dear sister, you have taken us all by surprise! As soon as I had word that your galley had entered the harbor at Leith, I ordered work to begin in earnest, as you will soon see.”
But why did you wait so long? I wondered. Is it that you do not truly want me here?
In my opinion, each room should have been adequately furnished, and I could then have replaced whatever I wished with my own things, now bobbing about somewhere in the North Sea. But I said nothing. First, no official welcome. Now, nowhere to sit or dine or sleep.
We climbed from the ground floor to the first floor of the tower. Here were the king’s apartments, unoccupied since my father’s death, nearly nineteen years earlier. Directly above them were the queen’s apartments. At one time this had been my mother’s, but after my father died she had seldom stayed here, preferring her other palaces. Here was where I intended to live my life. And here I now found a beehive of activity—workmen setting up a great bed and arranging benches and chests; women carrying in linens and coverlets.
I was suddenly overcome with deep feelings: grief for the loss of my mother and satisfaction that, as my father’s daughter, I truly belonged here. Mingled with these strong emotions was strong apprehension. How would I fare in this land of which I truly knew so little?
“James, if it is not too much to ask, I would very much like to examine my quarters on my own,” I told my brother.
He bowed and left me, taking with him the lords who had accompanied us. A handful of servants remained, unsure what was expected of them, and I dismissed them as well.
I stood silently in the center of the queen’s outer chamber. The walls were richly paneled in wood, and the coffered ceiling was beautifully carved and painted. Near the top of the circular stair, a window with a kneeling bench looked out over the old Abbey of the Holyrood. I could imagine my mother coming here to say her prayers; I would do the same. I knelt where I believed my mother once had, gave thanks to God for my safe arrival, and asked His blessing on this, the beginning of my new life.
Next to the outer chamber was the queen’s bedchamber, nearly as large and just as sumptuously decorated. Adjoining were two turrets, each containing a small room. One of them, I thought, would make an intimate supper room where I could entertain my closest friends. The other would be my dressing room, where, if I wished, I could be completely alone. Through the small panes of the windows I gazed upon the gardens my mother had laid out years ago to resemble those she had known and loved in France.
I descended the stair to the great gallery. It was badly damaged; windowpanes were missing so that rain had ruined the floors, and the plaster was cracked and broken.
“The work of the English,” James explained. “When King Henry the Eighth sent his troops here demanding your hand for his son Edward, my dear Mary, the palace was sacked. The great gallery suffered the most damage.”
“If it was sacked on my account, then I shall have it repaired on my account,” I promised.
***
The kitchens were not yet in order, and the cooks I had brought with me spoke only French and could not make themselves understood. But the townspeople rallied, bringing chairs and setting up boards and trestles in the great gallery and somehow contriving to put together a fine supper for my entire retinue: roast meats, vegetables grown in nearby gardens, fruits picked from the orchards. Musicians brought out their instruments, and while we passed the evening pleasantly, furniture was being hauled out from storage and set in place in my apartments. At last, wearied by the journey and the long day and the strangeness of it all, the people present went off in search of places to lay their heads.
I climbed gratefully onto a bed piled with wool-stuffed mattresses, and I would have fallen asleep immediately had it not been for a terrible racket that broke out on the palace grounds below. I stood up to see what it was. At least a hundred, or perhaps several times a hundred, musicians armed with fiddles and rebecs had gathered beneath the palace windows and now sawed away discordantly on their instruments and sang. I supposed it was intended as a sort of serenade. The Four Maries, whose shipboard beds had been set up temporarily in the king’s apartments, below, rushed up the stair to find me.
“I believe they are singing,” said Seton.
“It sounds like the howling of cats,” La Flamin said. “Shall I go down to investigate?”
“Oui, s’il vousplaît," I said. We were still more comfortable speaking French among ourselves.
Borrowing her serving maid’s hooded cloak, La Flamin went out to learn what she could. The dreadful noise continued unabated, an insult to the ears of anyone who truly loved music. Presently she returned, flinging off her disguise.
“There are two explanations for what is going on, depending on the source,” she reported. “Some say it is a rustic welcome. Bonfires and various celebrations are going on throughout the city, and those celebrators who own musical instruments of any kind decided to offer their queen a serenade. That is the better explanation.”
“And the other?”
“Some say these are Protestants sent by the preacher John Knox to sing psalms as a way of notifying the Catholic queen of their presence. They say he has ordered them to continue for as many nights as is required until the queen gives up her idolatrous practices.”
I sank onto my bed and sat there with my head in my hands. “Go now, and get what rest you can. Tomorrow I will greet them as their monarch.”
The clamor continued through the night, giving me little rest. The next morning, I struggled out of bed and dressed in the best of the gowns I had available, put on a number of jewels, and had Seton arrange my hair and settle a golden coronet on my head. Then I summoned several of my own musicians to accompany me to the forecourt with trumpets and sackbuts.
I mounted one of the crude carts that had hauled goods from the ship and instructed my musicians to play a loud flourish. The local musicians stopped to stare. When they realized their queen was standing before them, they fell silent. I spoke to them, thanking them for their welcome.
“You have given me a delightful experience,” I told them, “adding immeasurably to my pleasure at being here among you, my good people of Scotland. Now I bid you all return to your homes for a well-deserved rest.”
They cheered, and as a chilly dawn crept over the city, the crowd drifted away. I returned to my apartments, set aside my crown and jewels, and at last fell into a deep sleep, ending my first full day and night as queen in my own kingdom.