10
By November 1565, the 'great controversy' between Norfolk and Leicester had reached epic proportions. Each faction had now adopted a livery, purple being worn by Leicester's followers, and yellow by the Norfolk-Sussex affinity. The young bloods in these factions were only too prone to resort to violence and brawling in order to settle their differences, and at one point the tension between the groups became so threatening that Sussex protested to the Queen that his life was in danger.
Elizabeth was well aware that the favour shown by her towards Leicester was at the root of these troubles, and that he did not help matters by boasting that he was 'a man that never did depend upon any but merely Her Majesty'. She tried to defuse the tension by publicly warning him, in the Presence Chamber, not to provoke jealousy by displaying too much familiarity towards her.
She acted as mediator between the factions on this occasion, insisting that all quarrels be put aside. From Ireland, Sidney wrote to Leicester, 'I hear of a great reconcilement lately made with you.' However, he could not see it lasting: 'There may be fairer semblances between you and others, but trust not before trial, for in such trust is oft treason.' These views were shared by many other people around the court, who could sense the animosity beneath the surface courtesies.
De Foix noted that month that Leicester was still the chief contender for the Queen's hand, and related how even his enemies felt it expedient to feign friendship towards him. Norfolk was the one exception.
The Duke had an audience with the Queen early in December, in which he seized his chance to promote the benefits of marriage and the desirability of settling the succession question. He told Elizabeth that most of her influential subjects wanted her to marry the Archduke Charles. If they had appeared to endorse a marriage to Leicester, they had only done so because they believed that that was where her heart lay, 'not because they really thought the match would be beneficial to the country or good for her own dignity'. Elizabeth listened politely to the Duke, but refused to commit herself to a definite answer. She agreed to his request to return to his estates and the interview came to an end.
Immediately afterwards, Norfolk sought out Leicester and warned him not to forget that he had promised the previous summer to abandon his pursuit of the Queen. Leicester forbore to take issue with him, and Norfolk went home, feeling he had done his sovereign and his country a service.
At Christmas, Leicester, confident of success this time, asked the Queen to marry him. As usual she hedged, teasing him that he would have to wait until Candlemas in February for an answer, although during the next few days she appeared to be seriously considering his proposal. The court was lively with speculation, while Leicester capitalised on his expected future role as consort, making more enemies in the process. De Foix swore privately to de Silva that Leicester 'had slept with the Queen on New Year's Night', but de Silva discounted this as nothing but an attempt to besmirch the Queen's reputation and thus wreck her chances of a Habsburg marriage.
However, there was another heated exchange between Leicester and Heneage on Twelfth Night, when the latter was chosen as 'King of the Bean' and allowed to preside over the court for the evening. In one game of wits, Heneage forced Leicester to ask the Queen which was the more difficult to erase from the mind - jealousy, or an evil opinion implanted by a wicked tale-teller.
'Lord Robert, being unable to refuse, obeyed. The Queen replied courteously that both were difficult to get rid of, but that, in her opinion, it was much more difficult to remove jealousy.' Leicester took this personally as implying that he had been deliberately unfaithful to her, and sent a message warning Heneage that he would 'castigate him with a stick' for his impertinence. Heneage retorted that 'this was not punishment for equals, and that if Lord Robert came to insult him, he would discover whether his sword could cut and thrust. The only answer Lord Robert gave was that this gentleman was not his equal and that he would postpone chastisement till he thought it time to do so.' The French ambassador reported that Heneage complained about this to the Queen, who was very vexed with Leicester, storming at him 'that if, by her favour, he had become insolent, he should soon reform, and that she would debase him just as she had raised him'. Leicester, 'in deep melancholy', spent the next four days shut up in his rooms, which had the desired effect, since the Queen's anger soon turned to forgiveness. It was shortly afterwards reported in Venice that she meant to make him a duke and marry him. Candlemas came and went, however, without any announcement being made, and it soon became clear that Elizabeth was employing her usual evasive strategy.
Norfolk was still determined to oust Leicester from favour. On the surface, the two men made an effort to be friendly, but their mutual animosity was obvious. Therefore, when the King of France, grateful for the Order of the Garter, decided in return to confer the Order of St Michael upon two of the Queen's subjects, the choice being hers, she nominated both Leicester and Norfolk, and the ceremony was fixed for 24 January.
Norfolk, resentful that Leicester was being so honoured, refused to attend, and only after great persuasion on the Queen's part did he agree to do so. On the day, he and Leicester, wearing robes of white and russet velvet garnished with lace, gold and silver, formally embraced in the 'great closet' at Whitehall and then proceeded to the chapel for the ceremony of investiture. Beneath the veneer of courtesy, hatred simmered. Nor did the Queen remain impressed with the honour conferred. After the French had bestowed the same insignia on Lord Darnley, she found out that the Order of St Michael had been indiscriminately awarded to so many men that it was completely devalued.
Shortly after the ceremony, having learned from Cecil that the favourite had ignored his promise not to press his suit, Norfolk sought out Leicester and insisted he abandon all thoughts of marrying the Queen. Instead, it was vital that he support the Habsburg project. Leicester agreed to do whatever he could providing it would not appear to Elizabeth that he was doing so out of distaste for her, since she might, 'womanlike, undo him'. True to his word, he went straight to her and urged her to marry soon for her own sake, for that of her country, and to stop others from accusing him of preventing it.
Shortly afterwards, whilst walking with de Silva in the Privy Garden at Whitehall, Elizabeth commended Leicester to the ambassador for his selflessness in urging her to marry for England's sake. In fact, it was not her affection for Leicester that was holding up the marriage negotiations, but the Emperor's refusal to agree with her conditions. When, in January, Maximilian had urged her to relax them, she dug her heels in, declaring it would cause 'a thousand inconveniences' if she married a man of a different religion.
Leicester's true feelings were shortly afterwards revealed when Elizabeth indulged in further flirtation with Ormonde, which this time angered Leicester. He quarrelled with the Queen, achieved nothing, and left court. Norfolk left too, remaining in the country until September.
Leicester had had enough. He was weary of strife and intrigue, and depressed at being blamed for Elizabeth's failure to marry. People thought he had great influence over her, but that was not the case. He was held responsible for the failures of government, but never for its successes, which were always attributed to the Queen. During his absence both Cecil and Throckmorton kept him up to date on state and court affairs, and he confided to Cecil that he despaired of the Queen ever making a good marriage; Throckmorton advised him to stay away from court in order to avoid being blamed for this. Indeed, he had no inclination to return, nor any appetite for the Queen's temper or the exhausting courtship dance she required him to take part in.
By February 1566, Lord Darnley, having heard that Rizzio now enjoyed confidential sessions with Mary in her private chamber and might be the father of her unborn child (a rumour still current in the early seventeenth century), could no longer live with the conviction that his wife was betraying him; nor could he suffer existing as a king with no power. He made it clear to those around him that he would be a crowned king regnant and nothing less, and that if he was helped to achieve this, he was prepared to support the Protestant Church in Scotland. He was fair game therefore for the unscrupulous Scots lords, who unanimously resented Rizzio's influence and wanted both him and Darnley out of the way. It appeared that the ailing Patrick, Lord Ruthven and the Earl of Morton were the leading conspirators, although the evidence strongly suggests that they were just a front to cover up the activities of the exiled Moray and his rebels, who were seeking a means to restore themselves to power.
The plotters were resolved to kill Rizzio in the Queen's presence: knowing that Mary was six months pregnant, they anticipated that the shock might harm her and her unborn child, in which case she would be incapacitated. With the lords' apparent support, Darnley envisaged himself invested with the crown matrimonial, or, if Mary died in childbirth set up as regent, or even king in her place. Whatever happened to her, he believed he would still rule Scotland, for even if she survived the coup with her sanity and her pregnancy unscathed, the conspirators had agreed that she would be shut up in Stirling Castle at his pleasure.
Darnley's fellow conspirators had other plans. They meant to represent to Mary when the time came that he alone had been the prime mover behind Rizzio's murder, and that he had also intended harm to herself, so provoking her into charging him with treason - for which the penalty was death. Thus, at a stroke, they would rid themselves of two unwelcome nuisances.
Thomas Randolph had his informants around the Scottish court, and on 13 February he reported to Leicester I know now for certain that this Queen repenteth her marriage, that she hateth the King and all his kin. I know that, if that take effect which is intended, David, with the consent of the King, shall have his throat cut within these ten days. Many things grievouser and worse are brought to my ears - yea, of things intended against Her Majesty's own person, Leicester, was not to repeat this. Nevertheless, Cecil and the Privy Council were aware that murder was being planned, and could have deduced that harm might come to the Scots Queen. Elizabeth was not informed until after the deed had been done: on 6 March Randolph asked Cecil to warn her of what was planned, but his letter did not reach London in time.
The conspirators had originally planned to carry out the murder on 12 March, but, guessing that Randolph had betrayed them, decided to act three days earlier just in case Elizabeth should intervene. On 9 March 1566, Lord Ruthven led a group of armed men into the Palace of Holyrood, just as Queen Mary, now six months pregnant, was dining in private with Lady Argyll and Rizzio, who had not removed his cap, as was expected of one in the presence of his sovereign. Suddenly, Darnley and other intruders, including a fully-armoured Ruthven, burst into the room, jostled the Queen aside, and laid hands on the Italian, who screamed, 'Justice! Justice! Save me, my lady!' as he clung to Mary's skirts. Armed men pulled him away and he was dragged into an adjoining chamber, where he was savagely murdered, his body pierced with fifty- six dagger wounds. Mary was forcibly restrained from trying to help him, and later claimed that one of the conspirators had aimed a loaded pistol at her distended stomach. When she remonstrated with Darnley, asking why he had done this 'wicked deed', he flung back at her that 'David had had more company of her body than he for the space of two months.'
In a state of shock, the Queen was confined to her rooms, but during the next two days she managed to convince her not very intelligent husband that the conspirators were planning to murder him next. Darnley, frightened out of his wits, betrayed the names of all who had taken part in the murder, and Mary immediately concluded that the plot had been aimed at her. At midnight on 11 March, the royal couple stole down some back stairs, escaped from the palace through the servants' quarters, and, taking horses, rode like the wind through the night for twenty-five miles until they reached Dunbar.
From there the Queen, determined to avenge Rizzio's murder, raised an army of 8000 men and marched back to Edinburgh, reoccupying the capital on 18 March. The conspirators, however, had already fled the city, seething with vengeful hatred at Darnley's perfidy. It was not long before Mary discovered the extent of Darnley's involvement in the plot against Rizzio, which brought to an abrupt end the brief reconciliation between husband and wife. From now on, they would be estranged, with Mary excluding Darnley from all state affairs. He remained at court, however, a sullen, dangerous nuisance, who was permanently under scrutiny in case he involve himself in any new conspiracy.
Elizabeth, when informed by Mary, in an emotional and graphic letter sent from Dunbar, of the murder of Rizzio and Darnley's involvement, expressed genuine horror at how Mary had been treated. Wearing a miniature of Mary suspended from a waist chain, she received de Silva and, during the course of an hour's discussion on the evils of what had happened, told him, 'Had I been in Queen Mary's place, I would have taken my husband's dagger and stabbed him with it.' Then, remembering to whom she was speaking, she quickly added that she would never do such a thing to the Archduke Charles.
When she returned to Edinburgh, Mary found Moray waiting to offer her his support. He had been impressed by her courage in handling a dangerous situation, and now he managed to convince her he was on her side. She reinstated him on her Council, and as her pregnancy advanced, he gradually established himself as the effective ruler of Scotland, which suited Elizabeth very well. The Scots lords wanted no further truck with Darnley, and treated him with ill-concealed contempt.
The dark events in Scotland inspired in Elizabeth a genuine concern for Mary, who had asked her to put their differences behind them, and for a time relations between the two Queens were much improved. There was a new exchange of letters between the cousins, Elizabeth playing the part of the older, wiser woman dispensing advice, and praying that God would sent Mary only short pains during childbirth and a happy outcome. 'I too', she declared, 'am big with desire for the good news.' A grateful Mary paid Elizabeth the honour of asking her to be godmother to the infant.
Tensions over the succession question seemed to have eased too, with Mary expressing her gratitude to her 'dearest sister' for her efforts to promote Mary's claim. In Mary's opinion, the Archduke Charles would be the perfect consort for her cousin, and she warmly endorsed the match.
The war of attrition between Elizabeth and Leicester lasted a mere two weeks: as usual, she could not do without him, and at the end of March, much 'misliking' his absence, she sent Mrs Dorothy, one of her ladies, to tell him of her 'affection to your hasty repair and Her Majesty's unkindness taken with your long absence'. On April he appeared again at court, and there was a reconciliation of sorts, with Elizabeth declaring that never again would she permit him to leave her side.
Cecil, who had prayed that her affection for the favourite had run its course, tried again to reconcile himself to the idea that the Queen might marry Leicester, but naturally he was not happy about it, not only on his own account, but also because he believed that the marriage would bring few benefits to England. In April, he drew up a chart comparing Leicester and the Archduke, and in nearly every respect Leicester proved the less desirable: he was of common birth, and he would bring to the marriage 'nothing either in riches, estimation, power'; his marriage had been childless and he might prove sterile. This would be 'a carnal marriage', and such marriages began in pleasure and ended in sorrow. While the Archduke was 'honoured of all men', Leicester was 'hated of many, infamed by the death of his wife'. If he married Elizabeth, 'it will be thought that the slanderous speeches of the Queen with the Earl have been true'.
Cecil believed, as he often averred to his correspondents, that the rumours were not true; he also believed that, given time, Elizabeth would come to favour the Habsburg marriage, and he prayed that God would guide her to this, for otherwise her reign would prove troublesome and unquiet.
Leicester did not remain long at court. There was still a coolness between him and the Queen, and rumour had it that she meant to deprive him of the office of Master of the Horse. At the end of April she allowed him to visit his estates in Norfolk, but she did not take his absence kindly and wrote a stinging rebuke which has not survived. A shocked Leicester informed Throckmorton,
I have received your [letter] and another from one whom it has always been my great comfort to hear from, but in such sort that I know not what to impute the difference to. If there is any cause found in me to deserve it, I am worthy of much worse, but as there is none living that can so uprightly keep themselves from error, in this far can I, in conscience, acquit myself: that I never wilfully offended. Foul faults have been found in some; my hope was that one only might have been forgiven - yea, forgotten - me. If many days' service and not a few years' proof have made trial of unremovable fidelity enough, what shall I think of all that past favour, which my first oversight [brings about] an utter casring off of all that was before?
He was so cast down that 'a cave in a corner of oblivion or a sepulchre for perpetual rest were the best homes I could wish to return to'.
Again, the Queen summoned him back, and wearily he went, but her purpose was reconciliation and it was not long before he was restored to high favour.
In May, Elizabeth agreed to send Cecil's brother-in-law, Thomas Dannett, to the Emperor in Augsburg, to say that, if he permitted the Archduke to come to England, nothing would be allowed to hinder his marriage to the Queen. But Maximilian was still sticking on the religious issue, and Elizabeth, who had planned to honour him with the Order of the Garter, decided to delay sending it until he proved more amenable.
Dannett also saw the Archduke himself in Vienna, and reported that he was courteous, affable, liberal, wise, popular and fond of outdoor sports; he had survived an attack of smallpox, but it had not marred his good looks. 'For a man', he was 'beautiful and well-faced, well-shaped, small in the waist and broad-breasted; he seemeth in his clothes wellthighed and well-legged.' Although 'a little round-shouldered', he sat erect in the saddle. The drawback was that he was so devout that he would probably never agree to change his religion. Dannett urged the Queen to 'wink at' Charles attending mass in private, but she obstinately refused. Dannett remained in Austria until August, hoping in vain that she would change her mind, but all he got was a request for a portrait.
The birth of a healthy son, James, after a long and painful labour, to Mary, Queen of Scots on 19 June in the fortified sanctuary of Edinburgh Castle immeasurably strengthened her claim to the English succession. Now her ambitions were not only for herself, but also for her son.
An apocryphal story, related decades later by Sir James Melville in his memoirs, relates how Elizabeth reacted to the birth. She was, he said, 'in great mirth, dancing after supper' on 23 June, when Cecil whispered the news to her, 'Whereupon she sank down disconsolately, bursting out to some of her ladies that the Queen of Scots was mother of a fair son, while she was but a barren stock.' Melville was not a witness of this episode, and claimed he had been told of it by friends at court, but he did not report it at the time, and there is no other contemporary account of it. All Melville told Mary of Elizabeth's reaction was that the birth of the Prince was 'grateful to Her Majesty'. In fact,Cecil had told her the news before Melville arrived, and de Silva reported that 'the Queen seemed glad of the birth of the infant'.
What Elizabeth certainly did tell Melville was that she was 'resolved to satisfy the Queen in that matter [of the succession], which she esteemed to belong most justly to her good sister, and that she wished from her heart that it should be that way decided'. The Prince's birth, she added, would prove a 'spur to the lawyers' to resolve the matter, wrhich would be decided in the next session of Parliament. Of course, Mary was jubilant to hear this, and confidently expected to be formally acknowledged as Elizabeth's heir. According to Melville, Leicester, Pembroke, Norfolk and others all upheld Mary's claim to succeed Elizabeth.
Cecil knew that Mary was using every means in her power to bring Elizabeth to heel. One of his spies reported that summer that Mary had told her advisers that she hoped to win over the Catholic nobles in England in order to establish a power base in the shires, particularly in the north, where the old religion was deeply rooted. 'She meant to cause wars to be stirred in Ireland, whereby England might be kept occupied; then she would have an army in readiness, and herself with her army to enter England; and the day that she should enter, her title to be read and she proclaimed queen.' Cecil, who was sceptical about such reports being true, already knew that Mary had contacted English Catholics, and that she had been told by her agents that these people would rise in her favour. However, he believed that her ambitions were centred upon the succession only, not the throne. Informed of this, Elizabeth sent Sir Henry Killigrew to warn Mary not to solicit the support of English subjects for her claims to the succession.
For the present Mary had more pressing matters to attend to, not least of which was the establishment of stable government in Scotland. There was also the problem of her husband. Relations between Mary and Darnley were now frigid. They rarely ate together and never shared a bed, avoiding each other's company whenever possible. In August, the Earl of Bedford reported to the Council, 'It cannot for modesty, nor with the honour of a queen, be reported what she said of him.'
Darnley was threatening to live abroad, an embarrassing reproach to Mary, who was horrified at the idea. By October, Maitland was aware that she felt desperate at the prospect of being tied to him for life.
In August, Thomas Dannett returned in despair from Vienna. The Habsburg negotiations seemed to have reached a stalemate, and Elizabeth took pains to make it clear to the Emperor that this was nothing to do with Leicester, 'as none of us is more inclining and addicted towards this match than he is, neither doth any person more solicit us towards the same'.
In the autumn, Elizabeth decided to send Sussex to Vienna, ostensibly to invest the Emperor with the Garter, but really to persuade him to agree to her terms. She was now complaining about the paucity of 'the Archduke's dowry', and arguments about this and other matters delayed Sussex's departure for several months. Maximilian was obliged to remind Elizabeth, 'It is the future wife who provides the husband with a dowry and gives him a wedding gift.' Her behaviour confirmed his suspicion that she saw it 'as profitable to create delays somewhere or somehow in order to gain an advantage'.
Elizabeth left Greenwich for her annual progress in August, travelling through Northamptonshire to the former Grey Friary in Stamford, having avoided staying with Cecil at his house nearby because his daughter had smallpox. She then moved to Oxfordshire, staying at the old palace of Woodstock, where she had been held under house arrest in Queen Mary's reign. From here, she rode out in her litter to meet the dons who had come to escort her into the City of Oxford, where she received a warm welcome from the mayor, aldermen and scholars, the latter shouting 'Vivat ReginaV
She thanked them in Latin, then responded to a loyal address in Greek in that language before attending a service at Christ Church, in which a To Deum was sung. There then followed a hectic schedule of tours of the colleges, public orations and disputations, sermons, lectures, debates and plays. Elizabeth particularly enjoyed the now lost Palamon and Arcite by Richard Edwards, despite the stage collapsing, killing three people and injuring five more. The Queen sent her own barber-surgeons to help the latter, and ordered that the rest of the performance be postponed until the next day, when she personally thanked Edwards for entertaining her so merrily.
At St John's College, Master Edmund Campion, the future Catholic martyr, told her, 'There is a God who serves Your Majesty, in what you do, in what you advise.' Laughing, Elizabeth turned to Leicester and said this referred to him. Leicester was Chancellor of the University, and this visit was in his honour, as her visit to Cambridge had honoured its Chancellor, Cecil.
On her last public appearance before her departure, the Queen made a speech she had composed herself in Latin, declaring that it was her wish that learning should prosper, which received loud applause. When she left Oxford, the students and university officials ran alongside her litter for two miles beyond the city. One, Anthony Wood, recalled, 'Her sweet, affable and noble carriage left such impressions in the minds of scholars that nothing but emulation was in their studies.'
There were plans during this progress for Elizabeth to visit Leicester's seat at Kenilworth Castle, but the gossip among the courtiers proclaimed that this betokened an imminent announcement of their betrothal, and this so alarmed Elizabeth that she decided not to go ahead with the visit. Leicester, however, persuaded her to change her mind, and so to Kenilworth she went, being impressed with all the improvements he had made to the castle.
Desperately short of money, Elizabeth had no choice but to summon Parliament that autumn, but much to her vexation this only led to the resurrection of the succession question, which was by now a highly sensitive issue between her and the general public. Recently there had been a spate of pamphlets published, favouring mainly the claims of Katherine and Mary Grey, and one MP, Mr Molyneux, dared to suggest that the earlier petitions to the Queen be revived. Those Privy Councillors who were present tried to silence him, but the Commons were determined that the matter be settled once and for all, and resolved that another petition be submitted to the Queen, subscribed to by both Commons and Lords.
Elizabeth, being apprised of this, ordered Cecil to assure Parliament that, 'by the word of a prince, she would marry', but for the present, 'touching the limitation of the succession, the perils be so great to her person that the time will not yet suffer to treat of it'. Both Commons and Lords were determined to go ahead, the former defiantly refusing to approve any subsidy until the Queen resolved the succession question.
Their royal mistress reacted furiously, and told de Silva she would never allow Parliament to meddle in such a matter. She needed the subsidy for the good of her people, and Parliament should vote it freely and graciously. The ambassador pointed out that, if she were to marry, she could spare herself all this aggravation. She replied that she was well aware of it, and intended to write to the Emperor within the week, 'signifying that her intention was to accept the marriage'. De Silva knew that this was a bluff, since Maximilian had not moderated his demands in any way and negotiations had remained in deadlock for months, but he said nothing.
On 21 October, a deputation from the Lords waited upon the Queen in the Privy Chamber to remind her of the need to provide for the future and beg her to decide upon a successor. Elizabeth, who had not wanted to receive them but had been prevailed upon by Leicester to do so, was angry with the Lords for supporting the Commons's subversive behaviour, and reminded them that the Commons would never have dared be so rebellious in her father's day. They, the Lords, could do as they pleased, and so would she.
Three days later the Lords took her at her word and united with the Commons. The Queen was so furious that she used strong words to Norfolk, snarling that he was little better than a traitor. When Pembroke tried to defend the Duke, she told him he talked like a swaggering soldier. Leicester was next. If all the world abandoned her, she cried, yet she had thought he would not have done so.
'I would die at your feet,' he swore.
'What has that to do with the matter?' she retorted.
Then it was Northampton's turn.
'Before you come mincing words with me about marriage,' she warned, 'you had better talk of the arguments which got you your scandalous divorce and a new wife!' And so saying, she flounced out of the council chamber to seek comfort from de Silva, whom she was now treating as her chief confidante. He reported that she was angriest with Leicester, and had asked him his opinion of such ingratitude from one to whom she had shown so much favour that even her honour had suffered. She was now determined to dismiss him and leave the way clear for the Archduke to come to England. Leicester and Pembroke were soon afterwards dismayed to find themselves banned from the Presence Chamber. The nobility, complained the Queen, were 'all against her'.
She might have said the same about the stiff-necked Commons, who were virtually refusing to attend to any government business until the Queen acceded to their demands. Elizabeth told de Silva, 'I do not know what these devils want!'
'It would be an affront to Your Majesty's dignity to adopt any compromise,' he advised.
But matters could not rest as they were, and Elizabeth knew it. She therefore summoned a delegation of thirty members from each House to Whitehall, but refused to allow the Speaker to accompany them, since she alone meant to do all the talking on this occasion. Barely containing her anger, she opened by accusing 'unbridled persons in the Commons' of plotting a 'traitorous trick', and then rehearsed all the old arguments against naming her successor, administering a stinging rebuke to the Lords for so rashly supporting the Commons in this nonsense.
Was I not born in this realm? Were not my parents? Is not my kingdom here? Whom have I oppressed? Whom have I enriched to other's harm? How have I governed since my reign? I will be tried by envy itself. I need not to use many words, for my deeds do try me. I have sent word that I will marry, and I will never break the word of a prince said in a public place, for my honour's sake. And therefore I say again, I will marry as soon as I can conveniently, and I hope to have children, otherwise I would never marry.
Touching on the succession, she went on:
None of you have been a second person in the realm as I have, or tasted of the practices against my sister - whom I would to God were alive again! There are some now in the Commons who, in my sister's reign, had tried to involve me in their conspiracies. Were it not for my honour, their knavery should be known. I would never place my successor in that position.
The succession question was a difficult one, 'full of peril to the realm and myself Kings were wont to honour philosophers, but I would honour as angels any with such piety that, when they were second in the realm, would not seek to be first.'
Firmly, she chided them for their impertinence: it was for her, the sovereign, 'your prince and head', to decide the succession, and it was 'monstrous that the feet should direct the head'. All she would say was that she would resolve the succession problem when she could do so without imperilling herself.
As for her mutinous subjects, she hoped the instigators of this trouble would repent and openly confess their fault.
As for my own part, I care not for death, for all men are mortal, and though I be a woman, yet I have as good a courage answerable to my place as ever my father had. I am your anointed Queen. I will never be by violence constrained to do anything. I thank God I am endowed with such qualities that if I were turned out of the realm in my petticoat, I were able to live in any place in Christendom.
The Lords might have been subdued by this tirade, but the Commons were less impressed. When Cecil read out his edited draft of the Queen's speech to the House, it was received in silence, and three days later there were more calls for a petition. By now, Elizabeth had had enough of this insubordination, and on 9 November, on her orders, Sir Francis Knollys 'declared the Queen's Majesty's express command to the House that they should proceed no further in their suit, but satisfy themselves with Her Majesty's promise to marry'.
This prompted an uproar: MPs made clear their resentment at Elizabeth's high-handed attitude, perceiving it as an attack on their 'accustomed lawful liberties', while she was furious at their attempts to infringe her prerogative. On 11 November, she summoned the Speaker and insisted he impress upon the Commons the fact 'that he had received special command from Her Highness that there should be no further talk of the matter'.
The Commons, however, would not be silenced. By the end of the month it had become obvious to Elizabeth that they had her in a corner, for they had still not voted her the money she badly needed, and it was unlikely they would do so whilst she remained uncooperative. She could either forgo her much-needed funds and dissolve Parliament, or she could give in. The original dispute over the succession was turning into a battle over the privileges of monarch and parliament, and she had no wish for a showdown over that sensitive issue. Wisely, she capitulated, conceding that members might have a free discussion on the succession question, and remitting one third of the subsidy she had asked for. The Commons were so overjoyed and gratified at this that they agreed to proceed at once to the money bill without debating the succession. But when Parliament tried to incorporate the Queen's promise to marry into the preamble to the bill, she took one outraged look at the draft presented for her approval, and scrawled in the margin, 'I know no reason why my private answers to the realm should serve for prologue to a subsidy book; neither do I understand why such audacity should be used to make, without my licence, an Act of my words!'
The preamble was discreetly removed, leaving in the draft just a brief reference to Parliament's pious wish that the succession question would be resolved in the future. This of course dashed the hopes of Mary Stuart, who had expected her claim to be ratified by Parliament.
On 2 January 1567, Elizabeth dissolved a chastened Parliament, sourly advising its members, 'Beware however you prove your prince's patience, as you have now done mine! Let this my discipline stand you in stead of sorer strokes, and let my comfort pluck up your dismayed spirits. A more loving prince towards you ye shall never have.'
She behaved as though she had won a contest, but Cecil pointed out that she had been rather the loser, passing her a memorandum in which he enumerated what had not been achieved: 'The succession not answered, the marriage not followed, dangers ensuing, general disorientations.'
In November 1566, Mary had discussed with her advisers ways of freeing herself from Darnley, but to little effect. The marriage could not be annulled because that would call into question the legitimacy of her son. Some lords wanted her to arrest Darnley on a charge of treason, but she was reluctant to do so because foreign ambassadors were already assembling at her court for the christening of Prince James. This sumptuous Catholic ceremony, the last of its kind in Scotland, took place on 17 December at Stirling Castle. Queen Elizabeth stood godmother, and was represented by the Earl of Bedford, who presented her gift of a golden font, intricately carved and vividly enamelled. It had, however, been made for a much smaller baby, and Elizabeth felt bound to apologise, explaining she had not realised how much young James would have grown. Darnley, simmering with resentment, refused to attend his son's baptism.
After the christening, Bedford conveyed another message from his mistress, which brought welcome news, for Elizabeth had promised to block any legislation prejudicial to Mary's succession in return for an undertaking that her cousin would refrain from pressing her claim while Elizabeth lived.
Mary had by now turned for support to James Hepburn, Earl of Bothwell, to whose castle at Dunbar she had fled after Rizzio's murder. He had rallied his followers and her other supporters there, and returned with her to Edinburgh in triumph. Bothwell was described by one of his contemporaries as 'a glorious, rash and hazardous young man', but his cultivated manner, acquired during a sojourn in France, masked a ruthless and unscrupulous character. He was a Protestant, and had recently married the virtuous Lady Jean Gordon. Lady Jean, however, could not offer him a crown, and it was his desire for this that now fuelled his pursuit of the Queen.
Already Bothwell was hated and resented by his peers for his favour with her, and Bedford reported 'His influence is such as David [Rizzio] was never more abhorred than he is now.'
On 24 December, the day on which Darnley took himself off to stay with his father, the Earl of Lennox, at Glasgow, Mary formally pardoned Rizzio's murderers. It was now obvious that she was looking for a way to rid herself of her husband, and she confided as much to Maitland at a conference of nobles held that month at Craigmillar Castle near Edinburgh.
'Madam, let us guide the matter among us, and Your Grace shall see nothing but good, and approved by Parliament,' he soothed.
'Nothing must be done to stain my honour and conscience,' insisted the Queen. Nevertheless it was during that same conference that Bothwell and other lords first conceived a plot to murder Darnley, though there is no evidence that Mary either knew of it or gave her consent to it.
During the winter, Darnley fell ill. It was given out that he was suffering from smallpox, but it seems more likely that he had syphilis. Whatever his illness was, it had a debilitating effect and he took to his bed.
At least now Mary was enjoying good relations with Elizabeth. 'Always have we commended the equity of our cause to you and have looked to you for friendship therein,' the Queen of Scots wrote that January to her cousin. But this fragile amity was soon to be irrevocably shattered.
On 20 January, fearful that he might stir up trouble in the wesL of the country, Mary visited her husband in Glasgow and persuaded him to return with her to Edinburgh. Her manner was solicitous and she promised that, when he was well again, she would live with him as his wife. In the capital Bothwell was waiting to greet them and conduct them to an old house in Kirk o' Field, where Darnley had chosen to lodge rather than going to Craigmillar Castle at Mary's suggestion. Reputedly situated in healthy air, the house stood on a small hill near the city wall overlooking the Cowgate, and was surrounded by pretty gardens. Today the University of Edinburgh Hall of the Senate stands on the site of the Prebendaries' Chamber, where Darnley was accommodated. Beneath this room was a bedroom for the Queen, who visited him often and sometimes stayed at the house during his illness.
Bothwell had met with Morton that January and Darnley's assassination had again been discussed, but neither lord would later admit to initiating the subject. Bothwell had also talked with his kinsman, James Hepburn, of murdering Darnley. Although there is no evidence that Mary knew what they were planning, her contemporaries would come to believe after her husband's death that she had lured Darnley to Edinburgh at Bothwell's suggestion.
On Darnley's first night in Edinburgh, Mary sat up with him, talking, playing cards and giving every appearance of being a loving wife. Darnley's father, the Earl of Lennox, would later say that when he visited his son he found him sadly altered, desperately in need of company and comfort, and obtaining solace from the Psalms.
On 8 February, Mary announced that she was at last willing to ratify the Treaty of Edinburgh, and the next day her envoy left for England. Mary had intended to spend that night at Kirk o' Field with Darnley, but then remembered that she had promised to attend a wedding masque at Holyrood Palace. She took a fond farewell of her husband, pressing into his hand a ring as a token of her love, and then left in a torchlit procession for the palace.