LITMIR.BIZ

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and servant of Gustavus III of Sweden into his most bitter enemy. That speculation is quite indefensible, although affording a possible explanation of that mystery. In the case of “The Night of Kirk o’ Field,” on the other hand, I do not think any apology is necessary for my reconstruction of the precise manner in which Darnley met his death. The event has long been looked upon as one of the mysteries of history—the mystery lying in the fact that whilst the house at Kirk o’ Field was destroyed by an explosion, Darnley’s body was found at some distance away, together with that of his page, bearing every evidence of death by strangulation. The explanation I adopt seems to me to owe little to speculation.

      In the story of Antonio Perez—“The Night of Betrayal”—I have permitted myself fewer liberties with actual facts than might appear. I have closely followed his own “Relacion,” which, whilst admittedly a piece of special pleading, must remain the most authoritative document of the events with which it deals. All that I have done has been to reverse the values as Perez presents them, throwing the personal elements into higher relief than the political ones, and laying particular stress upon the matter of his relations with the Princess of Eboli. “The Night of Betrayal” is presented in the form of a story within a story. Of the containing story let me say that whilst to some extent it is fictitious, it is by no means entirely so. There is enough to justify most of it in the “Relaciori” itself.

      The exceptions mentioned being made, I hope it may be found that I have adhered rigorously to my purpose of owing nothing to invention in my attempt to flesh and clothe these few bones of history.

      I should add, perhaps, that where authorities differ as to motives, where there is a conflict of evidence as to the facts themselves, or where the facts admit of more than one interpretation, I have permitted myself to be selective, and confined myself to a point of view adopted at the outset.

      —R. S.

      LONDON, August, 1917

      I. THE NIGHT OF HOLYROOD

      The Murder of David Rizzio

      The tragedy of my Lord Darnley’s life lay in the fact that he was a man born out of his proper station—a clown destined to kingship by the accident of birth and fortune. By the blood royal flowing in his veins, he could, failing others, have claimed succession to both the English and the Scottish thrones, whilst by his marriage with Mary Stuart he made a definite attempt to possess himself of that of Scotland.

      The Queen of Scots, enamoured for a season of the clean-limbed grace and almost feminine beauty (“ladyfaced,” Melville had called him once) of this “long lad of nineteen” who came a-wooing her, had soon discovered, in matrimony, his vain, debauched, shiftless, and cowardly nature. She had married him in July of 1565, and by Michaelmas she had come to know him for just a lovely husk of a man, empty of heart or brain; and the knowledge transmuted affection into contempt.

      Her natural brother, the Earl of Murray, had opposed the marriage, chiefly upon the grounds that Darnley was a Catholic, and with Argyll, Chatellerault, Glencairn, and a host of other Protestant lords, had risen in arms against his sovereign and her consort. But Mary had chased her rebel brother and his fellows over the border into England, and by this very action, taken for the sake of her worthless husband, she sowed the first seeds of discord between herself and him. It happened that stout service had been rendered her in this affair by the arrogant border ruffian, the Earl of Bothwell. Partly to reward him, partly because of the confidence with which he inspired her, she bestowed upon him the office of Lieutenant-General of the East, Middle, and West Marches—an office which Darnley had sought for his father, Lennox. That was the first and last concerted action of the royal couple. Estrangement grew thereafter between them, and, in a measure, as it grew so did Darnley’s kingship, hardly established as yet—for the Queen had still to redeem her pre-nuptial promise to confer upon him the crown matrimonial—begin to dwindle.

      At first it had been “the King and Queen,” or “His Majesty and Hers”; but by Christmas—five months after the wedding—Darnley was known simply as “the Queen’s husband,” and in all documents the Queen’s name now took precedence of his, whilst coins bearing their two heads, and the legend “Hen. et Maria,” were called in and substituted by a new coinage relegating him to the second place.

      Deeply affronted, and seeking anywhere but in himself and his own shortcomings the cause of the Queen’s now manifest hostility, he presently conceived that he had found it in the influence exerted upon her by the Seigneur Davie—that Piedmontese, David Rizzio, who had come to the Scottish Court some four years ago as a starveling minstrel in the train of Monsieur de Morette, the ambassador of Savoy.

      It was Rizzio’s skill upon the rebec that had first attracted Mary’s attention. Later he had become her secretary for French affairs and the young Queen, reared amid the elegancies of the Court of France, grew attached to him as to a fellow-exile in the uncouth and turbulent land over which a harsh destiny ordained that she should rule. Using his opportunities and his subtle Italian intelligence, he had advanced so rapidly that soon there was no man in Scotland who stood higher with the Queen. When Maitland of Lethington was dismissed under suspicion of favouring the exiled Protestant lords, the Seigneur Davie succeeded him as her secretary; and now that Morton was under the same suspicion, it was openly said that the Seigneur Davie would be made chancellor in his stead.

      Thus the Seigneur Davie was become the most powerful man in Scotland, and it is not to be dreamt that a dour, stiff-necked nobility would suffer it without demur. They intrigued against him, putting it abroad, amongst other things, that this foreign upstart was an emissary, of the Pope’s, scheming to overthrow the Protestant religion in Scotland. But in the duel that followed their blunt Scotch wits were no match for his Italian subtlety. Intrigue as they might his power remained unshaken. And then, at last it began to be whispered that he owed his high favour with the beautiful young Queen to other than his secretarial abilities, so that Bedford wrote to Cecil:

      “What countenance the Queen shows David I will not write, for the honour due to the person of a queen.”

      This bruit found credit—indeed, there have been ever since those who have believed it—and, as it spread, it reached the ears of Darnley. Because it afforded him an explanation of the Queen’s hostility, since he was without the introspection that would have discovered the true explanation in his own shortcomings, he flung it as so much fuel upon the seething fires of his rancour, and became the most implacable of those who sought the ruin of Rizzio.

      He sent for Ruthven, the friend of Murray and the exiled lords—exiled, remember, on Darnley’s own account—and offered to procure the reinstatement of those outlaws if they would avenge his honour and make him King of Scots in something more than name.

      Ruthven, sick of a mortal illness, having risen from a bed of pain to come in answer to that summons, listened dourly to the frothing speeches of that silly, lovely boy.

      “No doubt you’ll be right about yon fellow Davie,” he agreed sombrely, and purposely he added things that must have outraged Darnley’s every feeling as king and as husband. Then he stated the terms on which Darnley might count upon his aid.

      “Early next month Parliament is to meet over the business of a Bill of Attainder against Murray and his friends, declaring them by their rebellion to have forfeited life, land, and goods. Ye can see the power with her o’ this foreign fiddler, that it drives her so to attaint her own brother. Murray has ever hated Davie, knowing too much of what lies ’twixt the Queen and him to her dishonour, and Master Davie thinks so to make an end of Murray and his hatred.”

      Darnley clenched teeth and hands, tortured by the craftily administered poison.

      “What then? What is to do?” he cried,

      Ruthven told him bluntly.

      “That Bill must never pass. Parliament must never meet to pass it. You are Her Grace’s husband and King of Scots.”

      “In name!” sneered Darnley bitterly.

      “The name will serve,” said Ruthven. “In that name ye’ll sign me a bond of formal remission to Murray and his friends for all their actions and quarrels,

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