AS MARY GREW closer to childbed, Cecil worried. A male child would be a challenge to Elizabeth; her Catholic subjects might be keen to depose her for him, her Protestant subjects too, simply to have a man on the throne. He devised a cunning plan of sending a spy, Christopher Rokesby, who would pose as a Catholic and tell Mary that the nobles in England wished her to be queen – if only she would give him a token or signature to assent to the plot. Mary was suspicious and sent the man away. Rokesby returned to England to collect signatures of support and then arrived back in Scotland. Mary had him arrested and his papers confiscated – and a note from Cecil in code was found in his effects. It was deciphered and turned out to be offering a reward if Rokesby had success. It was a ham-fisted plot and now Mary had certain evidence that Cecil meant to pull her and Scotland down and she had no doubt that Elizabeth had not known and would not approve. She sent him a subtle letter, carefully suggesting that he should devote himself to the ‘nourishing of peace and amity’.1 If he didn’t, she would tell Elizabeth – and Cecil would be in trouble.
Darnley, difficult as ever, demanded attention and caused arguments – and Mary tried to avoid him whenever she could. She was worried that conflict could explode during her confinement, as if the lords were a tinder box of rebellion that her absence would set on fire in a moment. Moray and Bothwell were in dispute again and Moray was trying to push his rival away from court. Mary moved to Edinburgh Castle for safety and took her new secretary, Joseph Rizzio, with her, an unwise move.
Mary called her lords to hear her will, in case she died in childbirth. A regency would be pursued through a committee and she left most of her goods to her child and the Scottish Crown. She decided on the distribution of her jewels, many to the Guises, but she also remembered Darnley’s parents, Moray, Robert Stewart, the four Marys, and various lords including Argyll, Huntly and Bishop Leslie. Darnley would receive one of her wedding rings. ‘It was with this that I married. I leave it to the King who gave it to me.’
In early June, the queen took to her confinement in Edinburgh Castle, her rooms hung with velvet and tapestries to block out the windows, all chosen because they bore calming images rather than visions of biblical vengeance, in order to soothe mother and child. One small window allowed light and air through – for it was thought that too much light could damage the woman’s eyes and a chill for the baby was feared, even in June. On 18 June, her labour began and she transferred to her cabinet, a small room off the main bedroom. It was long and very painful. Her ladies panicked and begged the doctor to help her, but there was nothing that could be done but tell the queen to be strong and bear the excruciating pain of the contractions. Like most women, she would have begged God for assistance, clutched holy relics or called on St Margaret for help – she had been eaten by a dragon but then spat out because she was holding a crucifix; the ideal was that a baby should be born as swiftly as St Margaret had been sent out of the dragon’s mouth. The Reformation had come into the delivery room: Protestant women could not hold crucifixes, relics, call out to the saints. And thus, perhaps it was some comfort for those, like Mary, who at this moment of great fear and pain were able to cling on to the physical objects of the old religion. The poor queen said she was ‘so sore handled that she wished she had never been married’.2
Twenty hours later, after the hour of ten in the morning on 19 June, Mary gave birth to a perfect baby boy. ‘I have borne him,’ she wrote later, ‘and God knoweth with what danger to him and me both.’3 As she lay, weary and suffering, the city around her erupted into joy for the birth of a boy. The castle guns were fired and five hundred bonfires were lit across the city. Mary Beaton had rushed to Sir James Melville with the news and he set off immediately for London with tidings that the Scottish crown now had a ‘fair sonne’. Elizabeth greeted him with some distress: the queen had a son and ‘I am but of barren stock’.4
Mary was exhausted and could not recover her health. Even five days later, she could barely summon the energy to speak to the English envoy, Henry Killigrew, when he visited, but he was more interested in the baby, whom he judged very healthy. The little boy would be James, the great name of kings borne by her father, grandfather, great-grandfather, great-great grandfather in a straight line of men called James back to her great-great-great grandfather, James I, who came to the throne in 1406, after the death of his father, King Robert III.
Darnley visited her too and Mary had to swallow her pride so he would accept the child as his own. As she said, ‘this is your son, and no other man’s son’. She wished everyone there to bear witness and said ‘he is so much your son that I fear it will be the worse for him hereafter’. She was still broken-hearted at Darnley’s betrayal. ‘I have forgiven all but will never forget’, she said, begging him to remember that Andrew Ker had held his pistol to her belly.5 Darnley was incensed and went out drinking in Edinburgh every night of Mary’s lying-in, staggering back so late that he had to demand the castle doors were opened for him. His son was both a bolster and a threat to him – for the child pushed him further down the line of succession. And, if the child lived, Mary had no more real use for a husband.
Elizabeth was torn. Little Prince James was a threat to her: the king that England so desired. Catholic Europe might be emboldened to invade, on the basis of putting him on the throne. As politic as ever, she put on a good show of being pleased for Mary and made sympathetic noises about noting Mary as her successor in the next parliament. She agreed to be godmother but said she could not attend personally and would send lords and ladies as stand-ins. The baby’s other godparents were Charles IX of France and the Duke of Savoy. Mary was making her son a European king, untouchable by her nobles.
Mary was both strengthened and weakened by the arrival of a son. She had performed her duty and continued the line, the great role of a monarch and a queen. But a boy, even one who couldn’t yet lift his head, was worth more than a woman, and if the lords deposed her for her son, there would be significant support in the country for a regency from those lords who thought they would gain power and favour from Moray. And even though Darnley was generally disliked, if he was to throw himself behind a regency, the lords might take him up once more. But Darnley, at his moment of greatest power, behaved most irrationally – and said he was leaving Mary to live abroad. He was behaving so oddly that the Privy Council wrote to Catherine de’ Medici to note that he was insane and to ask for her support in preventing him from setting up a royal court in exile. In the end, he remained in Scotland, hanging around, going out late, causing trouble.
The baby prince was sent off to Stirling, as was often the case for royal children, accompanied by four hundred soldiers, arriving at a nursery sumptuously furnished with tapestries and gold and silver accoutrements. Plans were made for a great christening and both commoners and nobles seemed united in their enthusiasm for the child.
Mary was still very ill after her difficult birth. In July, she travelled for some sea air and then on to Traquair, home of the captain of her guard. There, she began to suspect that she was pregnant again. Although it was very soon, Mary had the symptoms of early pregnancy for she was sick and dizzy. Darnley told her she had to accompany him hunting and she whispered in his ear that she thought she was once more with child. He shouted roughly, ‘Never mind, if we lose this one, we can make another.’6 The company was stunned. It was obvious to everyone that Darnley had not a shred of esteem left for his wife. In fact Mary was not pregnant but simply unwell. Darnley, though, clearly didn’t care whether she was ill or pregnant. The French ambassador, Philibert du Croc, tried to talk to Darnley to moderate his behaviour but came away feeling it was a hopeless case. He could see no likelihood of ‘good understanding between them’ because ‘the King will never humble himself as he ought’ and the ‘Queen can’t perceive any one nobleman speaking with the King, but presently she suspects some contrivance between them’.7
In only five years, Mary had been constantly challenged – by Arran and Bothwell, by Moray and the rebels, and by Morton and the Douglases – as well as facing plenty of minor rebellions along the way. She was naturally concerned about plots to harm those about her, whether it was Joseph Rizzio, other confidants or even her son. In England, Elizabeth’s ministers were likewise terrified that their own queen could be threatened and killed, hence their paranoid panic with spies and attempt to create sedition in neighbouring countries. Mary felt the same, but she bore all the fear herself for she could trust no one. As Darnley’s friend Ker had waved a gun at her and another had offered to stab her, she naturally fretted that his associates still wanted to kill her. Now he had a son, his position was secure. If Mary died, he could be regent for the child – and he and his family would have all the power. It was obvious that life would be better for Darnley if his wife had died in childbirth. Mary saw plots all about her and this was because some of them were real.
Mary had come to lay particular trust in Bothwell. He was Lieutenant of the Borders and she relied on him to keep this most troublesome region under control. Bothwell had a superficial gloss of sophistication: he was well read, had travelled widely and could speak French. But he was a man who settled every dispute with his fists, an old-style feudal lord always looking for a fight. He had constant affairs with young servants and anyone he could persuade to be his mistress (and we have already heard of one of his abduction fantasies about the queen). Some way from Darnley’s male-model looks, he was smaller than Mary at five-feet-six, called ugly by most of the courtiers, because he had unappealing features and a large nose that had been broken a few times in scuffles. He was strong and fast, a skilled horseman and quite a good military commander. And his plain appearance actually worked to his advantage; in Mary’s history, handsome men like Darnley and Moray had betrayed her, whereas the plain men like Rizzio were devoted. Most importantly of all, he had known Mary for years and she lay great store by friendship over time. Although she had made the gestures of forgiving those who had plotted against her, in her heart she was still afraid of them. Bothwell, who had been innocent of the Rizzio conspiracy and helped her escape, was now firmly lodged in her mind as a loyal man she could trust, come what may.
In early October, the queen had to travel to Jedbergh, near the border with England, to hold a court, accompanied by Moray and the rest of her circle. Bothwell was resting nearby at a castle, after fighting near the border had left him severely wounded. They all set off to pay him a brief visit in the day. When Mary returned, she fell severely ill. She was suffering convulsions and vomiting, in one spate sixty times, and, on one terrifying day, lay almost dead for half an hour. Within a week, she was lying stiff and cold, her limbs contorted. Her doctor bandaged her tightly and then poured wine into her mouth and forced her to swallow and Mary began to show signs of recovery – one of the few times when the practices of sixteenth-century doctors had a beneficial effect. The Privy Council blamed Darnley for her state and decided that his obsession with power and being crowned and his illtreatment of the queen had caused all the problems. First Rizzio, now Darnley was the scapegoat. And Mary was losing her spirit. She told Moray that with Darnley, she could never have a happy day in her life.8 ‘I do believe the principal part of her disease to consist of a deep grief and sorrow,’ reported the French ambassador. She often cried, ‘I could wish to be dead.’9
She may have had a stomach ulcer or perhaps symptoms of porphyria, but her illness was definitely influenced by her low spirits. For Maitland, ‘the root of it is the king’ – she had raised him, but ‘he has recompensed her with such ingratitude and misuses himself so far towards her that it is heartbreak for her to think he should be her husband’.10 Bothwell came to her often to visit. He was a faithless lothario who saw the queen as a means to power, like they all did, and aimed to exploit her trust in him by playing the swain, attempting to make her fall in love with him. Darnley could still be executed – or the marriage annulled. And then she would need another husband. Bothwell thought himself the perfect candidate. He quite fancied himself as king.
Mary thought she might die and was directing her thoughts to her child. Anyone was better than Darnley as the baby’s protector and so she turned to her cousin queen, vowing that after her death ‘the special care of the protection of our own son’ was to be given to Elizabeth, who should see James as her child. Elizabeth, she knew, respected monarchy and would protect his life. Elizabeth assented to the proposal and Mary wrote to thank her ‘dearest sister’ for doing so.11 The offer of James entirely won Elizabeth’s heart and a ready-made son in the wings was helpful for her efforts at fighting off potential husbands. The Queen of England was frustrated with her own advisors and their obsession with marriage – and Mary’s letter was perfectly timed. Elizabeth suggested she might abandon the Treaty of Edinburgh and begin with another one, that was focused on ‘amity’12 and would declare Mary heir apparent, as long as Mary accepted she would lose any claim if Elizabeth had children. She would also have to promise not to attempt the English throne and each party would recognise the other as a lawful queen. What Mary had wanted for so long had finally been achieved.
By the close of the year, Mary’s advisors had had enough of Darnley. He was highhanded and rude, threatened whatever action he pleased and his debauched behaviour gave a bad impression of Scotland to the overseas ambassadors – quite apart from being a blackmail risk. They shared the queen’s suspicions that he was plotting with other men against her. The idea of Darnley as regent for James after Mary’s death was hateful to them. The Lennoxes would have all the power. Moray and Arran would be much reduced – as would Morton, Maitland, Argyll and Huntly – as well as Bothwell, whom Darnley hated.
At Craigmillar Castle, on her way to her son’s christening, Mary discussed divorce with her loyal lords. According to Huntly’s later account, it was Moray and Maitland who first spoke of divorce to Argyll, and then to Huntly and Bothwell. The five of them went to Mary with the idea.13 They wanted Mary and Darnley separated and him sent abroad. They would have to destroy the papal dispensation (issued because Darnley and Mary were related) to do so and the Pope would have to be consulted, and he might very well refuse the request. Mary was reluctant to start proceedings for she was afraid of her husband but, as they pointed out, he was only going to start plotting again, if he wasn’t already, for ‘remaining with her majesty, he would not cease until he did her some other evil turn’. She could not sit about waiting to be poisoned.
Mary feared divorce because she did not want to undermine the position of her son, ‘otherwise her Highness would rather endure all torments and abide the perils that might chance her’. Her advisors talked of arresting Darnley and then their talk took a dark turn, saying Moray would ‘look through his fingers’ at what they might do – implying that a criminal act against Darnley would occur, which Moray would be aware of and condone, if not actively be engaged in. Mary refused to hear of it. ‘Let us guide the matter amongst us,’ said Maitland. He added that they would do ‘nothing that was not good and approved by Parliament’.14
But while Mary returned to her rooms, they made a further promise to each other: signing a bond that Darnley should be got rid of. The bond does not survive, so we can see it only through the various and conflicting testimonies, but those declared as signatories included Argyll, Huntly, Bothwell and Maitland. Moray was present, although he may not have signed. Maitland was keen on legal measures, such as divorce or even arrest for treason. But for both, Darnley would have to be forced to cooperate. As one document signed by various lords lays out, if there was not a divorce on the basis of consanguity or adultery they might then ‘get him convicted of treason because he consented to her Grace’s imprisonment’ (they meant after Rizzio’s death; the original wording was ‘hir Grace’s retentioun in ward’). This was a good idea, but unfortunately too many other nobles were involved in that episode and a treason trial for Darnley might drag them all into it. And so they ended ‘or what other ways to dispatch him, which altogether her Grace refuses as is widely known’.15
Mary was unhappy with Darnley and did fear he might be plotting to kill her, but she was staunchly against anything violent or his ‘dispatch’. Why did they keep telling her of their plots to kill him when they knew she would not entertain it? As even the Spanish ambassador in London, Diego Guzman de Silva (who had replaced Quadra) had said, ‘the displeasure of the Queen of Scotland with her husband is carried so far, that she was approached by some who wanted to induce her to allow a plot to be formed against him, which she refused’.16 Not only were they telling Mary their plans, but they were also allowing the information to get back to London and the Spanish ambassador – and if Silva knew, then Cecil did too. We have to ask, what possible benefit was it to them that Cecil should know this? The plotters wanted support from England. And they also wanted Cecil and everybody across Europe to know that Mary knew of the plots. She was being framed.
Moray hated Darnley and he rightly saw Darnley’s declaration that he had too much land as a threat to his property. With Darnley out of the way, Moray could assume power, for Mary would hopefully be dissuaded from remarrying for a while, now that she had a legitimate heir. But Moray’s problem was that even if his friends dispatched Darnley, he would still have Mary, resistant, not Protestant and increasingly illdisposed to listen to him. After the Chaseabout raid and his failure to rescue her from the post-Rizzio imprisonment, she did not trust him.
The ideal situation for Moray would be both Mary and Darnley dead – for then he could assume the role as regent. But there was no way he was going to kill the queen or persuade anyone else to do it. That would be going too far. But implicate her in the murder of Darnley – so that she was confused, hated, withdrew, put everything in his hands and let him be regent for baby James? Win–win. The question of who benefits leads directly to Moray. He hated Darnley, he had come up with the divorce idea, he was pushing forward the plans and his ‘looking through his fingers’ had been mentioned to Mary as a way of encouraging her to agree to something on the other side of the law. But there was no way that such a shocking event as the death of the king was not going to be investigated, with culprits hanged and all the foreign ambassadors demanding vengeance (they might have despaired of Darnley’s behaviour but killing a king was an affront to all authority and monarchy). What Moray needed to do was to make sure the suspicion was thrown onto anyone but him. And if he threw it onto his sister, he would gain all he desired.
Moray had already rebelled against his sister and tried to seize the throne from her, criticising the foreigners at court, Darnley, Catholicism and questions about selling church lands and the distributions of benefices. These grievances were still with him, as everyone knew. In the plot to kill Darnley, Bothwell and the Douglases, along with Morton, would do the dirty work. But even though he would absent himself from the situation, as with the Rizzio murder, people would think he had been involved. So he had to divert their attention – and Mary was the perfect scapegoat.
The christening was to be a great celebration, with the Privy Council offering the queen £12,000 for the ceremony – nearly £4 million today. On 17 December, the prince was finally christened in the chapel royal of Stirling Castle, in a Catholic ceremony that caused much upset among the lords. He was borne from the royal apartments to the chapel by the Count of Brienne, on behalf of the King of France, and the Countess of Argyll stood in for Elizabeth I. The Queen of England had sent a marvellous gold font, weighing exactly ‘three hundred and thirty-three ounces’ – and had got it to Scotland despite a gang of professional thieves who had tried to steal it in Doncaster.17 The proud mother gave the nobility gold and silver outfits at her own expense. Mary presided over the balls and banquets that declared James’s magnificence to the world, with fireworks and masques written by George Buchanan (who later turned his pen on Mary in crueller ways). One particular guest was pointedly missing. Darnley remained in his rooms at Stirling, sulking. Philibert du Croc, the kind-hearted French ambassador who had been told by Catherine de’ Medici not to deal with the queen’s husband because she thought him treacherous, believed that Darnley did not want all the envoys to see how low was his status and reputation at court, while the Parisian lawyer Claude Nau (who worked for the Guise family and would later be Mary’s confidential secretary) thought that Darnley suspected Elizabeth’s envoy would not recognise him as King of Scotland and was resentful that she was a godparent. Perhaps Darnley was trying to threaten, to suggest what might happen if he withdrew his assent to the child’s legitimacy, test his power. Whatever the truth, he humiliated Mary publicly and he also undermined Elizabeth by not recognising her proxy. As du Croc fretted, ‘His bad behaviour is incurable’.18
Mary finally decided to pardon Morton and the others who had plotted against Rizzio – with the exception of Andrew Ker and George Douglas – and did so on Christmas Eve. Morton and most of his associates blamed Darnley for ruining their plot and betraying them. By inviting them back, she was exposing her husband to risk – and Darnley knew it. He was petrified and swept off to Glasgow, where the Lennox family were strong, hoping for better treatment. Left behind, Mary was listening to legal experts continue to talk of the possibility of divorce or annulling the marriage on the grounds of consanguity, pre-existing relation (tricky, as everyone of royal blood was related), or adultery. The latter was difficult to use in such cases and the former would be up to the Pope – who could very well say no. As step-cousins, Mary and Darnley were hardly closely related. On 6 January, Maitland had married Mary Fleming, one of the four Marys, and this brought him closer into the queen’s trusted circle. Her secretary of state, her half-brother, her close friends – they were all telling her they would deal with Darnley, but in legal ways.
While in Glasgow, a Lennox stronghold, Darnley fell ill and ‘livid pustules broke out’ painfully over his whole body. He also lost his hair. It was said he had smallpox, but more likely it was syphilis – and he had had breakouts before. (When his skull was analysed much later at the Royal College of Surgeons, it revealed ‘traces of a violent syphilitic disease’.19) This was yet more humiliation for Mary, evidence that he had been louche and might even have given her and her beloved son the dreadful disease.
Mary heard her husband was planning to steal Prince James and set up as a great monarch without her – and on 14 January she promptly had James taken from Stirling to live with her at Holyrood. Darnley begged Mary to visit him but she refrained, saying she had fallen and injured herself, although she did send her personal doctor to him. He was seriously ill – but not dying, although the possibility of that gave heart to many around him.
Bothwell – unscrupulous, misogynist and violent – had convinced Mary that he had her best interests at heart and was attempting to secure her affections as well. Emboldened by the queen’s trust and convinced of his brilliant effect on women, he felt that his only block to complete power over Mary was Darnley. And thus he agreed to take on the actual business of the plot initially driven by Moray.
Mary’s friends told her Darnley was planning her death. The dreaded Andrew Ker had returned from England and was crowing about the revenge he was going to take. He had been issued a pardon, probably by Darnley, without Mary’s say-so and he was a clear Darnley supporter. The queen was afraid of her husband.
On 27 January, Mary’s envoy in Paris sent her a letter with the news that he had also heard there was a plot against her.20 Her life was in danger, again, but he had no clue as to the details.
The lords feared Darnley was gathering support in Glasgow and so they needed to strike. Again, Mary said ‘she would have no speech on the matter’.21 She didn’t understand – no one had told her – that they were talking of murder. She wanted Darnley brought under control and it seems to be the case that she thought they were going to threaten him and commit a small amount of violence. Darnley had punched and threatened before: it was a language he understood. Some of the lords did think this was what was in the offing. But others wanted him killed. At Holyrood, in dark corners, in private rooms in taverns, late at night in houses, men plotted and laid out how they might dispatch the husband. And yet, the Spanish ambassador already knew – many people did. Silva was not particularly keyed in to the networks of the court and his spies were poor. Someone had told him, fed him the information.
The three big problems of the Darnley murder, which have not been fully accounted for, are cui bono, Bothwell’s influence, and the question of reprisals. Scotland is too often viewed as a lawless country at this time. Yes, there was violence and nobles punching each other on their sickbeds. But the country was strong on the rule of law and prided itself on justice. Perhaps a few peasants or servants could be quietly murdered. But one could not kill a king, the father of the future heir, a relation of Elizabeth I, and not expect some retaliation or prosecution. Someone would have to be put on trial – the ordinary people would not stand for anything less. So the men could hardly have imagined that they would not be punished.
Some have theorised that Bothwell was the master of the plot. But he was unpopular – partly because of his gruff character and partly because he had gone the other way to everyone else over the Rizzio plot. He was not liked or supported by the other lords and could hardly have staged the killing by himself. He would have needed help. It is also significant that Moray hated Bothwell and wanted him dislodged. Arran and the Hamiltons detested him as well. But Moray saw that he could be useful. Bothwell could be persuaded to actually carry out the murder along with various accomplices – and cover his hands with blood while the rest looked through their fingers.
Mary was constantly looking for advisors who truly cared for her, rather than what they could gain. Elizabeth had the ever-loyal Cecil and also Dudley, but Mary had arrived in Scotland against the backdrop of long battles between the lords and interfamilial strife that went back decades, even hundreds of years. The only other possible strategy would have been to favour no one, to play the lords off against each other, but that would have been risky too. There was no chance to advance a keen independent lawyer, as Henry VIII had done with Thomas Cromwell. And now, with the plot against Darnley, Moray and the rest could make the ultimate power grab.
Darnley was returning to Edinburgh to complete his convalescence. Mary went to escort him. But he was still too ill and marked to attend court – he wore a piece of taffeta over his face to hide the pocks of syphilis – so he had to go to a place where he could be private. Mary thought he might wish to stay at Craigmillar Castle, not far from Edinburgh, but he took a house just inside the town wall, the old provost’s lodgings of the church of Kirk o’Field. The choice was between one owned by his enemies, the Hamiltons, and one owned by the Balfours. He chose the latter. Possibly he suspected a plot and wanted to choose a different house to that offered to him. It was a rather comfortable and well-appointed house at the south side of the quadrangle, although hardly suitable for the queen’s husband. It was quickly furnished with items from the royal apartments at Holyrood – his room was decorated with six pieces of tapestry, a Turkish carpet, red velvet cushions and a velvet-covered chair and table and he had his ornate bed, draped in purple velvet, sent up from Holyrood. The room below Darnley’s was appointed and decorated for the queen, when she chose to visit along with her nobles and courtiers. Darnley kept his servants with him but there was no royal guard. This was significant.
Darnley arrived on Saturday 1 February and seemed content. Mary stayed overnight in her room on Wednesday and visited in the daytimes, and by Friday Darnley was so touched by her attentions that he passed on information he had about various plots against her, and she once more stayed for the night. On Friday, he took a medicinal bath and Mary nursed him. On Saturday night, he told Mary that Lord Robert, her half-brother, had told him his life was in danger, but then when questioned Robert denied he had ever said anything. Still, as Darnley was recovering quickly, it was thought that he should move soon and on the next day, Sunday, it was announced that he would return to Holyrood on the following day, Monday 10 February. The day was one of great celebrations across Edinburgh for it was the last Sunday before Lent. And Holyrood was busy with the wedding of Mary’s favourite valet, Bastian Pagez. The queen attended his wedding breakfast at midday, and then at four there was a formal dinner for the ambassador of Savoy, attended by all the major nobles. Only Moray was missing – on Sunday morning, he begged permission to leave for St Andrews to attend his sick wife, and so, conveniently, he disappeared.
On Sunday evening, Mary and a large party of nobles and courtiers arrived at Kirk o’Field and crammed into Darnley’s rooms. Bothwell was there, resplendent in black velvet and silver-trimmed satin. There was music and conversation – and then Mary was reminded that she had promised to attend the masque to celebrate Bastian’s wedding. Darnley was cross and unhappy but the queen gave him a ring and bid him goodbye. The whole party then set off for Holyrood, leaving an angry Darnley to his bath and bed. On the way out, Mary met the servant who had once been Bothwell’s, Nicholas Hubert, nicknamed French Paris. ‘How begrimed you are!’ she said in surprise.22
At some point that day, probably while Mary was entertaining the ambassador, dark-clothed men had crept into the house and crammed it full of gunpowder.