The Historical Nights' Entertainment by Rafael Sabatini (most important books to read .txt) đź“–
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the candle-branch, and stood now holding it aloft to light that
extraordinary scene. Rizzio, to whom the sight of Morton had been
as the removal of his last illusion, flung himself upon his knees
before the Queen. Frail and feeble of body, and never a man of his
hands, he was hopelessly unequal to the occasion.
“Justice, madame!” he cried. “Faites justice! Sauvez ma vie!”
Fearlessly, she stepped between him and the advancing horde of
murderers, making of her body a buckler for his protection. White
of face, with heaving bosom and eyes like two glowing sapphires, she
confronted them.
“Back, on your lives!” she bade them.
But they were lost to all sense of reverence, even to all sense of
decency, in their blind rage against this foreign upstart who had
trampled their Scottish vanity in the dust. George Douglas, without
regard for her condition either as queen or woman - and a woman
almost upon the threshold of motherhood - clapped a pistol to her
breast and roughly bade her stand aside.
Undaunted, she looked at him with eyes that froze his trigger-finger,
whilst behind her Rizzio grovelled in his terror, clutching her
petticoat. Thus, until suddenly she was seized about the waist and
half dragged, half-lifted aside by Darnley, who at the same time
spurned Rizzio forward with his foot.
The murderers swooped down upon their prey. Kerr of Faudonside
flung a noose about his body, and drew it tight with a jerk that
pulled the secretary from his knees. Then he and Morton took the
rope between them, and so dragged their victim across the room
towards the door. He struggled blindly as he went, vainly
clutching first at an overset chair, then at a leg of the table,
and screeching piteously the while to the Queen to save him. And
Mary, trembling with passion, herself struggling in the arms of
Darnley, flung an angry warning after them.
“If Davie’s blood be spilt, it shall be dear blood to some of you!
Remember that, sirs!”
But they were beyond control by now, hounds unleashed upon the
quarry of their hate. Out of her presence Morton and Douglas
dragged him, the rest of the baying pack going after them. They
dragged him, screeching still, across the antechamber to the head
of the great stairs, and there they fell on him all together, and
so wildly that they wounded one another in their fury to rend him
into pieces. The tattered body, gushing blood from six-and-fifty
wounds, was hurled from top to bottom of the stairs, with a
gold-hilted dagger - Darnley’s, in token of his participation in
the deed - still sticking in his breast.
Ruthven stood forward from the group, his reeking poniard clutched
in his right hand, a grin distorting his ghastly, vulturine face.
Then he stalked back alone into the royal presence, dragging his
feet a little, like a man who is weary.
He found the room much as he had left it, save that the Queen had
sunk back to her seat on the settle, and Darnley was now standing
over her, whilst her people were still hemmed about by his own men.
Without a “by your leave,” he flung himself into a chair and called
hoarsely for a cup of wine.
Mary’s white face frowned at him across the room.
“You shall yet drink the wine that I shall pour you for this night’s
work, my lord, and for this insolence! Who gave you leave to sit
before me?”
He waved a hand as if to dismiss the matter. It may have seemed to
him frivolous to dwell upon such a trifle amid so much.
“It’s no’ frae lack o’ respect, Your Grace,” he growled, “but frae
lack o’ strength. I am ill, and I should ha’ been abed but for what
was here to do.”
“Ah!” She looked at him with cold repugnance. “What have you done
with Davie?”
He shrugged, yet his eyes quailed before her own.
“He’ll be out yonder,” he answered, grimly evasive; and he took the
wine one of his followers proffered him.
“Go see,” she bade the Countess.
And the Countess, setting the candle-branch upon the buffet, went
out, none attempting to hinder her.
Then, with narrowed eyes, the Queen watched Ruthven while he drank.
“It will be for the sake of Murray and his friends that you do this,”
she said slowly. “Tell me, my lord, what great kindness is there
between Murray and you that, to save him from forfeiture, you run
the risk of being forfeited with him?”
“What I have done,” he said, “I have done for others, and under a
bond that shall hold me scatheless.”
“Under a bond?” said she, and now she looked up at Darnley, standing
ever at her side. “And was the bond yours, my lord?”
“Mme?” He started back. “I know naught of it.”
But as he moved she saw something else. She leaned forward, pointing
to the empty sheath at his girdle.
“Where is your dagger, my lord?” she asked him sharply.
“My dagger? Ha! How should I know?”
“But I shall know!” she threatened, as if she were not virtually a
prisoner in the hands of these violent men who had invaded her
palace and dragged Rizzio from her side. “I shall not rest until
I know!”
The Countess came in, white to the lips, bearing in her eyes
something of the horror she had beheld.
“What is it?” Mary asked her, her voice suddenly hushed and
faltering.
“Madame-he is dead! Murdered!” she announced.
The Queen looked at her, her face of marble. Then her voice came
hushed and tense:
“Are - you sure?”
“Myself I saw his body, madame.”
There was a long pause. A low moan escaped the Queen, and her
lovely eyes were filled with tears; slowly these coursed down her
cheeks. Something compelling in her grief hushed every voice, and
the craven husband at her side shivered as her glance fell upon him
once more.
“And is it so?” she said at length, considering him. She dried her
eyes. “Then farewell tears; I must study revenge.” She rose as if
with labour, and standing, clung a moment to the table’s edge. A
moment she looked at Ruthven, who sat glooming there, dagger in one
hand and empty wine-cup in the other; then her glance passed on,
and came to rest balefully on Darnley’s face. “You have had your
will, my lord,” she said, “but consider well what I now say.
Consider and remember. I shall never rest until I give you as sore
a heart as I have presently.”
That said she staggered forward. The Countess hastened to her, and
leaning upon her arm, Mary passed through the little door of the
closet into her chamber.
That night the common bell was rung, and Edinburgh roused in alarm.
Bothwell, Huntly, Atholl, and others who were at Holyrood when
Rizzio was murdered, finding it impossible to go to the Queen’s
assistance, and fearing to share the secretary’s fate - for the
palace was a-swarm with the murderers’ men-at-arms - had escaped
by one of the windows. The alarm they spread in Edinburgh brought
the provost and townsmen in arms to the palace by torchlight,
demanding to see the Queen, and refusing to depart until Darnley
had shown himself and assured them that all was well with the Queen
and with himself. And what time Darnley gave them this reassurance
from a window of her room, Mary herself stood pale and taut amid
the brutal horde that on this alarm had violated the privacy of her
chamber, while the ruffianly Red Douglas flashed his dagger before
her eyes, swearing that if she made a sound they would cut her into
collops.
When at last they withdrew and left her to herself, they left her
no illusions as to her true condition. She was a prisoner in her
own palace. The ante-rooms and courts were thronged with the
soldiers of Morton and Ruthven, the palace itself was hemmed about,
and none might come or go save at the good pleasure of the murderers.
At last Darnley grasped the authority he had coveted. He dictated
forthwith a proclamation which was read next morning at Edinburgh
Market Cross - commanding that the nobles who had assembled in
Edinburgh to compose the Parliament that was to pass the Bill of
Attainder should quit the city within three hours, under pain of
treason and forfeiture.
And meanwhile, with poor Rizzio’s last cry of “justice!” still
ringing in her ears, Mary sat alone in her chamber, studying revenge
as she had promised. So that life be spared her, justice, she vowed,
should be done - punishment not only for that barbarous deed, but
for the very manner of the doing of it, for all the insult to which
she had been subjected, for the monstrous violence done her feelings
and her very person, for the present detention and peril of which
she was full conscious.
Her anger was the more intense because she never permitted it to
diffuse itself over the several offenders. Ruthven, who had
insulted her so grossly; Douglas, who had offered her personal
violence; the Laird of Faudonside, Morton, and all the others who
held her now a helpless prisoner, she hew for no more than the
instruments of Darnley. It was against Darnley that all her rage
was concentrated. She recalled in those bitter hours all that she
had suffered at his vile hands, and swore that at whatever cost to
herself he should yield a full atonement.
He sought her in the morning emboldened by the sovereign power he
was usurping confident that now that he showed himself master of
the situation she would not repine over what was done beyond recall,
but would submit to the inevitable, be reconciled with him, and
grant him, perforce - supported as he now was by the rebellious
lords - the crown matrimonial and the full kingly power he coveted.
But her reception of him broke that confidence into shards.
“You have done me such a Wrong,” she told him in a voice of cold
hatred, that neither the recollection of our early friendship, nor
all the hope you can give me of the future, could ever make me
forget it. Jamais! Jamais je n’oublierai!” she added, and upon
that she dismissed him so imperiously that he went at once.
She sought a way to deal with him, groped blindly for it, being as
yet but half informed of what was taking place; and whilst she
groped, the thing she sought was suddenly thrust into her land.
Mary Beaton, one of the few attendants left her, brought her word
later that day that the Earl of Murray, with Rothes and some other
of the exiled lords, was in the palace. The news brought revelation.
It flooded with light the tragic happening of the night before,
showed her how Darnley was building himself a party in the state.
It did more than that. She recalled the erstwhile mutual hatred
and mistrust of Murray and Darnley, and saw how it might serve her
in this emergency.
Instantly she summoned Murray to her presence with the message that
she welcomed his return. Yet, despite that message, he hardly
expected - considering what lay between them - the reception that
awaited him at her hands.
She rose to receive him, her lovely eyes suffused ,with tears. She
embraced him, kissed him, and then, nestling to him, as if for
comfort, her cheek against his bearded face, she allowed her tears
to flow unchecked.
“I
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