Already she had noticed the scrutiny of those who studied the baby. She saw the faint twitch of the lips, the appraising gaze. Now who does he resemble? Is it Darnley? Are his eyes particularly large? I wonder if he will be a skilled musician.

Her first task was not a pleasant one. She must feign friendship with her husband. She must not allow him to pour poison into people’s ears, for he would do that even though it was clear that by so doing he injured himself.

She called Darnley to her in the presence of all the people who crowded the chamber and said in a loud voice: “My lord, you have come to see our child. Look into his bonny face. God has blessed you and me with a son, and this son is begotten by none but you.”

Darnley bent over the child. She was implying that she knew what slander had been spread. He was afraid of her and all that she could do to punish him. He was afraid of those lords who were implicated in the Rizzio plot. They were now in exile, but once let them return, and he feared that his position would be as perilous as David’s had been. He was uncertain how to act. At times he felt he must cringe before his wife; at others he wished to show that he cared nothing for her; but when she confronted him with a serious matter such as this, he was always at a loss.

Mary looked from her husband, who had bent over the child, to those lords who stood by watching. She said in a loud ringing voice: “I swear before God, as I shall answer to Him on the day of judgment, that this is your son and that of no other man. I wish all gentlemen and ladies here to mark my words. I say—and God bear me witness—that this child is so much your son that I fear the worse for him.”

She turned to the nobleman nearest her bed.

“I hope,” she said, “that this child will unite two kingdoms, my own and that of England, for I hold that only in such union can peace be established between the two countries.”

“Let us hope,” said Moray, “that the child will inherit these two kingdoms after yourself. You could not wish him to succeed before his mother and father.”

“His father has broken with me,” said Mary sadly.

Darnley stuttered: “You cannot say that! You swore that all should be forgiven and forgotten, that it should be between us as it was in the beginning.”

“I may have forgiven,” said Mary, “but how can I forget? Your accomplices would have done me to death, remember… and not only me… but this child you now see before you.”

“But that is all over now.”

“It is all over and I am tired. I wish to be left alone with my son.”

She turned wearily from him, and silently the lords and ladies filed out of the bedchamber.

While Mary slept the whispering continued through the castle.

She had sworn that Darnley was the father. Would she have sworn that if it were not true? Would she have called God to witness if David had been the father?

Surely not, for her condition was not a healthy one; and the chances that she would die were great.

But whatever was said in the Castle of Edinburgh, and whatever was said in the streets of the capital, there would always be those to ask themselves—Who is the father of the Prince—Darnley or David?


SHE HAD two objects in life now—to care for her baby and to escape from her husband. He was constantly beside her—pleading, threatening. He was no longer indifferent. He fervently wished to be her husband in fact. She must not lock him from her bedchamber, he cried. She must not set guards at the door for fear he tried to creep on her unaware.

He would cry before her, thumping his fists on his knees like a spoiled child. “Why should I be denied your bed? Am I not your husband? What did you promise me when you persuaded me to fly with you? You said we should be together. And it was all lies… lies to make me the enemy of Morton and Ruthven. You took their friendship from me and you gave me nothing in return.”

“I give nothing for nothing,” she said contemptuously. “They never had any friendship for you.”

“You are cruel… cruel. Who is your lover now? A woman like you must have a lover. Do not imagine I shall not discover who he is.”

“You know nothing of me,” she told him. “But learn this one thing and learn it for all time. I despise you. You nauseate me. I would rather have a toad in my bed than you.”

“It was not always so. Nor would it be so. How have I changed? There was a time when you could scarcely wait for me. Do not think I do not remember how eager you were… more eager than I.”

“That is done with. I do not excuse my own folly. I merely tell you that I now see you as you really are, and I shudder to have you near me.”

These quarrels were the talk of the Court. Darnley himself made no secret of them. When he was drunk he would grow maudlin over his memories. He would confide in his companions details of the Queen’s passion which had now turned to loathing. Sometimes he wanted to kill somebody… anybody. He wanted to kill Bothwell who was now high in the Queen’s favor, and had been since the death of David. Some said that Bothwell would take David’s place; and it did seem that the Earl was more arrogant than ever. Some said Moray would be the one to take David’s place. The Queen did not trust him, but his standing in the country was firm.

Darnley was afraid of Bothwell. The Earl had a habit of inviting his enemies to single combat, so Darnley shifted his gaze from Bothwell to Moray. Moray was a statesman rather than a fighter. Darnley felt that in single combat he would be better matched with Moray than with Bothwell.

He began to brood on the influence Moray had with the Queen; he remembered that Moray had been against the marriage in the first place.

He burst in on Mary one evening in August and cried out that he was tired of being left out of affairs, and he would no longer stand by and allow insults to be heaped upon him.

Mary took little notice of such outbursts. She was playing chess with Beaton, and went on with the game.

Darnley kicked a stool across the apartment.

“Your move, Beaton,” said Mary.

“Listen to me!” roared Darnley.

Mary said: “I’ve got you, I think, Beaton, my dear. Two moves back you had a chance.”

“Stop it!” cried Darnley. “Stop ignoring me. Come here. Come here at once. I tell you, I’m tired of being treated thus. You will come with me now… and we will resume our normal relations.”

“Will you leave this apartment,” said the Queen, rising from the chess table, “or shall I have you forcibly removed?”

“Listen to me. If it were not for my enemies I should have my rights. I should be King of this realm. I should be master in our apartments. I would not allow you to turn me out.”

“Oh dear,” sighed Mary, “this is very tiresome. We have heard all this before, and we are weary of the repetition.”

There was one thing which infuriated him beyond endurance, and that was not to be treated seriously. He drew his sword and cried: “Erelong you will see that I am not ineffectual. When I bring you your brother’s bleeding head, you will know what I mean. He is against me. He always has been. I am going to kill Moray. I shall waste no more time.” With that he rushed from the room.

Mary sat down and buried her face in her hands. “I can’t help it,” she sobbed. “He fills me with such shame. I wish to God I had never seen him. I would to God someone would rid me of him. Beaton … I doubt that he will attempt anything, but go at once to my brother and tell him in my name what he has said. He had better be warned for if aught should happen to James it would doubtless be said that I had had a hand in it.”

Mary Beaton hurried to do her bidding while Mary sat back and stared helplessly at the chessboard. She might pretend indifference to him, but how could she be indifferent? All that he did humiliated her beyond expression.

Oh God, she thought, how I hate him!


MORAY KNEW well how to deal with Darnley and his folly.

Calmly he summoned Darnley to appear before him and a company of the most important of the lords at the Court. Darnley, afraid to refuse to appear, went reluctantly and was put through an examination by Moray himself who forced him to confess that he had uttered threats against him. Darnley blustered and denied this, until witnesses were brought who had overheard his words to the Queen.

Always at a loss in a crisis, Darnley lied and blustered and was easily proved to be both lying and blustering. He looked at the cold faces of his accusers and knew that they were his enemies. He broke down and sobbed out that everyone was against him.

Had he spoken threats against Moray? they insisted.

Yes … yes … he had, and they all hated him; they were all jealous of him because the Queen had chosen to marry him; and although she appeared to hate him now, once it had been a very different story.

“I must ask you,” said Moray, “to withdraw those threats and to swear before these gentlemen that you will not attempt to murder either me or any of those whom you believe to be your enemies. If you will not do this, it will be necessary to place you under arrest immediately.”

He was beaten and he knew it. They were too clever for him. He had to submit. He had to ask Moray’s pardon; he had to swear not to be foolish again.

They despised him; they had made that clear. They did not think it worthwhile to arrest him; they did not want to punish him; they merely wished to make him look a fool.


MARY WAS ABLE to forget her unhappiness for a time. Something rather pleasant had happened. Her dear Beaton, after being miserable on the banishment of Randolph, had fallen in love.