Chapter 8

Stabbed and Dangled From a Castle Window 1546

On 28 May 1546, Cardinal David Beaton enjoyed an intimate night with his mistress, Marion Ogilvy, at his home – the impressive St Andrews Castle in Fife on the Eastern coast of Scotland. It was to be the lovers’ last night of passion. At five o’clock in the morning, Ogilvy left by the postern gate. Watching her leave were a group of around sixteen secret assassins and by the end of the morning the Cardinal would have suffered an horrific death at their hands.

Like many bloody killings in the sixteenth century, the story of Beaton’s murder had its roots in the religious ferment of the era, as the leaders of the Catholic Church tussled with those bent on reform. But it was also a product of the tempestuous swirl of Scottish politics as rival factions jostled for supremacy. After Henry VIII’s split with Rome in the 1530s the English monarch was keen to exert greater influence over Scotland. In the early 1540s the king of Scotland was James V, the son of Margaret Tudor, daughter of Henry VII and so the nephew of Henry VIII. However, James showed little interest in moving closer to the English instead pursuing a policy of closer ties with France. Indeed, Beaton had been instrumental in arranging James’ marriages to two French aristocrats, first Madeleine of Valois and then Mary of Guise. James died soon after Henry’s forces invaded and defeated the Scots at the Battle of Solway Moss in November 1542. His heir, Mary, who would one day rule as Mary Queen of Scots, was just a few days old and too young to take charge. For a time, a new pro-Protestant regent, James Hamilton, the 2nd Earl of Arran, took the reins of power and looked to form stronger links with England. Beaton’s ploy to seize power using a faked will from the late king was foiled and he was initially imprisoned, while Arran agreed a treaty with Henry that set out a future marriage between his son, Prince Edward (the future Edward VI) and Mary.

The murder of Cardinal Beaton. Illustration from The People’s History of England, 1890. (Copyright Look and Learn)

However, the wily Beaton soon wriggled free from captivity and established the upper hand in his struggle with Arran, convincing enough Scottish nobles and church men that their interests lay in supporting his Catholic, pro-French outlook. Eventually Arran fell in line, with the hope that his own son, James, might one day marry Mary. The prospect of a union with England began to recede.

Beaton’s personal life seemed to make a nonsense of his vows of celibacy as an ordained member of the clergy. For years he conducted a relationship with Ogilvy and fathered eight children by her. The couple lived openly together for some time. Beaton’s own laxity when it came to Church rules didn’t stop him pursuing the persecution of those who wanted to reform it. The action which caused the greatest disquiet was when he ordered the arrest of the mild mannered Protestant preacher George Wishart in December 1545. Wishart was promptly thrown into the infamous Bottle Dungeon, below the Sea Tower at St Andrews Castle, awaiting trial. Named after its shape, this dank dungeon was dug out of the bare rock and could only be accessed by a small hole using a rope or ladder. Found guilty of heresy, Wishart was burned to death outside the castle walls on 1 March, 1546.

Such extremism made Beaton unpopular, though it seems that the conspirators who now planned the Cardinal’s murder were driven as much by personal animosities than outrage over Wishart’s callous killing or reformist religious zeal. There were also promises of advancement from the English if Beaton, who remained an obstacle to Henry’s expansionist plans, was removed. Leading the plotters was the Master of Rothes, Norman Leslie, a nobleman who had recently fallen out with Beaton, probably over property. He was joined by a string of other members of the Scottish gentry including his uncle, John Leslie of Parkhill, James Melville of Carnbee, William Kirkcaldy of Grange and Peter Carmichael of Balmedie.

That sultry May, with English attacks an ever-present threat, Beaton had been spending large sums on refortifying St Andrews Castle. By the early hours of 29th there were scores of people already bringing in lime and stone to the fortress. Knowing that the work was going on and that the drawbridge would be lowered to let workers in, Beaton’s attackers had gathered in the nearby abbey church yard, disguised as stonemasons. At six o’clock they made to enter the castle via the drawbridge. Kirkcaldy began to engage the porter, Ambrose Stirling, in conversation asking whether the Cardinal was yet awake, while Norman Leslie and others managed to slip in unnoticed. But Stirling became suspicious when he saw John Leslie and some others entering ‘somewhat roughly’ and tried to close the drawbridge. He was immediately set upon by Leslie who hit the gatekeeper over the head, grabbed his keys and threw his dead body in the moat.

Norman Leslie, at least, knew the layout of the castle but the relative ease of the gang’s entry suggests that some of the members of the hundred-strong garrison were in on the plot. In any case, the remaining workers and members of the garrison were quickly ejected and no-one else was hurt as the attackers took control. The castle gates were locked and some of the party went in search of Beaton, now alone with his valet somewhere inside. By this time, Beaton had got wind of what was going on. He attempted to flee via the postern gate but saw it was guarded by Kirkcaldy. He decided to shut himself in his personal chamber and, together with his servant, ‘put chests and other barriers’ against the door as a barricade.

The main account of what happened next comes down to us via John Knox, the famous Protestant reformer who later entered the castle in support of the assassins. Knox got his information from the murderers themselves and tells us that when three of the attackers, John Leslie, Peter Carmichael and James Melville, arrived at Beaton’s door they found it locked and tried to break it down. From inside, the Cardinal began trying to bargain with them asking to see Norman, who he described as ‘his friend’. The attackers ignored him and and started a fire at the foot of the door. Knowing he was trapped Beaton now ordered it to be opened, evidently hoping to talk his way out of the situation. He slumped into a chair and begged the trio to remember that he was a member of the clergy, crying, ‘I ame a priest, I ame a priest, ye wil not slay me.’

His desperate pleas did him no good. John Leslie immediately stepped forward and stabbed him, then Carmichael drew his blade and did the same. It fell to the usually ‘gentle’ and ‘modest’ James Melville, a close friend of the dead Wishart, to deliver the fatal blows. He said, ‘This work and judgment of God ought to be done with greater gravity’ and launched into a speech directed against Beaton telling the prone prelate to ‘repent of thy former wickit lyif’ before plunging his sword into his body two or three times. The Cardinal died, crying, ‘Fie, fie all is gone.’

The news of the attack on the castle spread like wildfire throughout the town and soon a crowd had gathered, demanding to see the Cardinal. To prove that he was already dead and the matter settled, the killers tied some sheets together, attached them to Beaton’s lifeless body by the leg and arm and unceremoniously slung the corpse out of a window down the side of the castle wall. The chronicler Robert Lindsay of Pitscottie recounted how, at this moment, a man called Guthrie, possibly the Cardinal’s own page, stepped forward, undid his clothes and ‘pischit’ in the Cardinal’s mouth that, ‘all the pepill might sie,’ crowning Beaton’s humiliation.

Beaton’s corpse was salted and put in a lead coffin. Then, in a sort of poetic justice for what had happened to Wishart, he was thrown in the Bottle Dungeon where the body was kept for more than nine months before finally being buried, without great ceremony, at the convent of the Blackfriars at St. Andrews.

The murderers, dubbed the Castilians, took control of the castle and a stalemate ensued, partly because they had taken the Earl of Arran’s son as a hostage. As the stand-off continued, the possibility of a Papal pardon was even raised. Meanwhile the defenders gained more supporters, such as Knox, and drew supplies from the surrounding countryside, indulging in a spot of ‘leichorie with fair wemen,’ as they did so. By the new year, Henry VIII had died and with the new English lord protector, the Duke of Somerset, sending only limited support to the defenders, they faced a prolonged siege, finally realising that the game was up when a French fleet arrived and large guns were trained on the castle. The force capitulated on 30 July and those responsible for Beaton’s death were taken prisoner aboard the French ships. John Knox was put to work as a galley slave.

None of those responsible for Beaton’s murder would, however, be executed for their crime. James Melville died a natural death in captivity at the Castle of Brest in Brittany. But by 1550, all of the Castilians still surviving had been freed. Norman Leslie ended up serving as a soldier for the French King Henry II and died in battle, at Renti, in 1554. Kirkcaldy would go on to work as a spy for the English. His sentence for murder was lifted in 1556 during a period of rapprochement and he eventually returned to Scotland, though he was later hanged, in 1573, after backing the imprisoned Queen Mary. John Leslie was restored to his lands in 1575, forgiven by the Cardinal’s ‘friends’ and survived until 1585. Meanwhile, Knox became royal chaplain to Edward VI and subsequently helped continue the Protestant revolution in Scotland which, partly due to the death of Beaton, gained ascendancy. This must have left Beaton turning in his grave. Indeed his troubled spirit has been felt at Ethie Castle near Arbroath, a home he once shared with Marion Ogilvy. The strange thumping sounds to be heard at night are put down to the Cardinal dragging his gout ridden leg behind him as his spectre stalks the corridors.