The Wild Queen Excerpt

7/28/2019 The Wild Queen Excerpt

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Copyright 2012 by Carolyn Meyer

Map art 2012 by Jeery Mathison

All rights reserved. For inormation about permission to reproduce selections rom this

book, write to Permissions, Houghton Miin Harcourt Publishing Company,

215 Park Avenue South, New York, New York 10003.

Harcourt is an imprint o Houghton Miin Harcourt Publishing Company.

www.hmhbooks.com

Text set in Requiem.

Library o Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Meyer, Carolyn, 1935

The wild queen / by Carolyn Meyer.

p. cm.

Summary: Convicted o plotting against her cousin Queen Elizabeth I o England and

awaiting execution in 1587, Mary Stuart, queen o Scotland, recounts her lie story,

including becoming a widow at age eighteen and her brutal campaign to regain her

sovereignty ater being stripped o her throne.

ISBN 978-0-15-206188-3

1. Mary, Queen o Scots, 1542-1587Juvenile fction. [1. Mary, Queen o Scots,

1542-1587Fiction. 2. Kings, queens, rulers, etc.Fiction. 3. ScotlandHistory

Mary Stuart, 1542-1567Fiction.] I. Title.

PZ7.M5685Whs 2012

[Fic]dc23

2011027318

Manuactured in the United States o America

DOC 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

45XXXXXXXX


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I

At the Center of Disastrous Events

The midnight hour being well past, the day is now

Wednesday, the eighth o February, 1587. The sound o

hammering in the great hall o Fotheringhay Castle has notceased. In a ew hours the most important day o my lie

will dawn. I have written letters to those I love. My red

petticoats and my black gown lie ready. My women, dressed

in black, sit with me, and I ask one o them to read aloud

the story o the good thie crucied beside our Lord.

When she has nished, the women are weeping. It istrue that the thie was a great sinner, I remind them, but

not so great as I have been.

I lie down and close my eyes, though I have no wish to

sleep. Outside the door o my dreary chambers, the guards

tramp back and orth, back and orth, stationed there lest I

try to escape. They need not worry. My body remains here,but my thoughts have already fown away, back to my earli-

est beginnings and all that has ollowed.


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Chapter 1

Farewell, Scotland

I was the cause of my fathers death.

My ather, King James V o Scotland, drew his last

downhearted breath and died when I was just six days old.He had not been ill, my mother explained to me years

later, but was deeply saddened by his deeat at the hands

o the terrible English.

Henry VIII, king o the terrible English, was deter-

mined to take over Scotland. In the bloody battles between

the two countries that shared a border, the outnumberedScots always got the worst o it. Ater my athers humiliat-

ing loss at his last battle, he took to his bed.

My ather had badly wanted a son who could be the next

king. When he married my mother, a French duchess, he

already had three illegitimate sons, but by law a bastard

could not inherit the Scottish throne. My mother bore himtwo more sons; both inants died. I was my athers last

hope, and when the news reached him o the birth o a


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lassa girlthat bitter disappointment was more than he

could endure. Had I been a boy, he would still be alive. I

have no doubt o that.From my earliest days I have too oten ound mysel at

the center o disastrous events. That was the rst. My birth

killed my ather, and I became queen o Scotland.

*

I was playing with my riends when the guard rushed inrom the watchtower and announced to the queen, My

lady, the ships fying the colors o France are moving up the

rth, and my mother burst into tears.

Mither? I jumped up rom my game and ran to her. I

touched her cheek. Maman? I asked, changing to French,

my mothers language.She dabbed at her eyes and tried to smile. Shall we go

see the ships, Marie? Her voice trembled. She took my

hand, calling to my riends, Come, dear little Maries! All

our o my riends were named Mary, as I was, but my

mother called us by the French version o the name even

Mary Fleming, who was pure Scots. To everyone, they werethe Four Maries. Trailed by governesses who always seemed

to move too slowly, we dashed eagerly out o the castle and

peered down over the stone parapet to see or ourselves

these oreign ships ar below us. A strong north wind, chilly

even in July, whipped our skirts and petticoats and blew our

long hair into our aces.Look, my mother said, the king o France has sent


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his own royal galley or you. This shows how much he

honors you.

Me?I gazed up at my mother, puzzled. It was the sum-mer o 1548, a ew months beore my sixth birthday, and

there was much I did not yet understand.

Maman sighed deeply and pulled me close. The time

has come to explain it to you, ma chre Marie.

*

At the age o nine months I was carried in a great proces-

sion to the royal chapel at Stirling Castle and crowned Mary

Stuart, queen o Scotland, in a solemn ceremony. I remem-

bered none o it, o course, but the event was described to

me so otenhow I reached out and tried to grasp the

scepter; how I did not stop wailing throughout the cere-monythat in a ew years I came to believe I actuallycould

remember it all.

I was barely a year old when the Scottish Parliament

signed an agreement with England declaring that when I

reached the age o ten I would marry Prince Edward, the

son o King Henry VIII. I was pledged to marry the auldenemy! That promise was not enough to satisy King

Henry. He demanded that I come to live in England until

my marriageor my saekeeping, he said. My mother re-

used to allow it. Fearing that King Henry would have me

kidnapped, my mother moved me rom Linlithgow Castle,

where I was born, to Stirling Castle, ar north o the borderand better ortied against an English attack. But still my


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mother did not eel easy. We moved again, to an even more

remote castle.

While we were there, news came rom Eng land thatHenry VIII had died. Nine-year-old Edward was the new

king. I was our.

I am certain it is sae now, said my mother. We can go

home to Stirling.

But she was wrong. The English continued their attacks

along the border. They mowed down ten thousand Scots inthe Battle o Pinkie Cleugh and began the march to Stirling.

In the dead o night my mother and I were bundled onto

a litter and carried to an Augustinian priory on a quiet lake

ar rom the smoke and noise o battle. Within a ew days

the Four Maries and their mothers joined us on the island

o Inch mahome. I would have happily stayed on that prettyisland, unaware o the bloody ghting that still raged, chas-

ing butterfies, gathering eggs rom the hens nests, and de-

vouring the rich buns the monks baked or us every morning.

My mother now made a decision that would determine

the course o my lie: Instead o marrying Edward, the new

king o England, I would marry the uture king o France.But the uture had its beginning in the present. Until you

are old enough or marriage, you will live at the French

court and learn their language and their ways, said my

mother. Someday the kings son, the little dauphin, will

become king, and you will be queen o France.

What is the laddie called? I askedmy rst question.His name is Franois de Valois. He is our years old, a

little younger than you.


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You are coming too, are you not, Maman? I asked.

Non, Marie, she said. I must stay here. But your nurse

and your governess will go with you, and Lord Erskine andLord Livingston as your guardians, and the Four Maries,

and your three Stuart hal brothers, and many others who

know and love you. When you arrive in France you will have

your grandparents and your uncles to look ater you, and

the king o France and his children will welcome you into

their amily. You will not be lonely, MarieI promise.Then you will come later, I insisted stubbornly.

Oui, my darling child, she said, smiling. Later.

Her smile was a lie. I sensed the tears behind it, ready to

pour again at any moment. I knew without asking that once

I let Scotland, my lie would change. I could not possibly

imagine how much.

*

To prepare or my departure or France, we moved again,

this time to Dumbarton Castle, in the ar west o Scotland.

The ancient ortress was built high on a rocky mound where

winds howled and rains lashed, and no English soldierwould dare scale the steep rock ace that jutted straight up

rom the water and overlooked the Firth o Clyde, where

the river joined the sea. To avoid the English ships, the

French feet had taken a long and dangerous route to reach

me, sailing around the northern end o Scotland beore

heading southward to Dumbarton.I hated to see my mother weep, but on the day those

French ships appeared in the rth, I was too lled with


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excitement to be overly concerned. The king o France had

sent his ships to etch me! I was going to marry the kings

son, and one day I would be the queen o France! I lovedthe sound o that: queen of France. Even my mother did not

have such a splendid title. While my ather was alive, she

had been titled the queen consort o Scots. Now she was

known as the queen mother, meaning that her husband, the

king, was dead and she was in charge o things in the king-

dom until I, her child, was old enough to rule as queeno Scots.

My own little court was made up o the Four Maries,

my athers three bastard sons, and a number o others. My

nurse, Janeen Sinclair, would accompany me, as would my

governess, Lady Janet Fleming, Mary Flemings mother.

Mary Livingston, the daughter o Lord Livingston, one omy guardians, was in my party as well. Mary Seton and Mary

Beaton were the other two Maries, and Setons younger

brother Robbie was coming too.

The Marie dearest to me was Mary Fleming. Because o

her reddish curls and mischievous smile, we called her La

Flamin. A little older than I and irrepressible, in mymothers opinion, La Flamin made it her duty to keep me

inormed o what was really going on. It did not occur to

me that she might have been inventing some o her stories,

or at least embellishing them a little. Her ather had been

killed at the Battle o Pinkie Cleugh.

You and I had the same grandather, you know, shetold me proudly. King James the Fourth.

I do know that, I said, not wanting her to think I was


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ignorant, but in act I was not sure I did know. He was

killed in battle too, I said, eager to show o my knowl-

edge o Scots history. Fighting against the English at Flod-den Field.

He was married to Queen Margaret, so he couldnt

marry my grandmother, added Mary Fleming with a deep

sigh. And so my mother is a bastard.

Pity, I said, nodding sympathetically. Queen Margaret

was my grandmother. It was indeed unortunate that aperson born out o wedlock could not inherit titles and

propertylike my three older Stuart hal brothers. But

you and I are still cousins, are we not?

Aye, o course! But I am pure Scots on both sides o my

amily, she boasted, tossing those red curls. The other

Maries have Scottish athers and French mothers, like you.When Marie o Guise came to Scotland to marry your

ather, the others came with her as her ladies in waiting.

I know that too, I said.

And did you know that your ather had another wie,

beore your mother?

Sometimes I had to pretend I knew more than I did;this time I did not. Her name was Madeleine, I said, and

she was the daughter o the previous king o France. She

was sixteen when she came here to marry my ather, and

within orty days she was dead o a ever, poor thing. They

blamed it on the Scottish air.

The air in France is said to be much more pleasant,said La Flamin helpully.

My mothers rst husband, the duke o Longueville,


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died as well, when she was expecting her second child. Poor

Mither! That baby died when he was only our months old.

But her older boy still lives in France. I suppose I will meethim when I go there.

That must have been so sad! Mary Fleming said, her

brow urrowed sorrowully. And then your mother, the

duchess, received a proposal o marriage. She leaned toward

me eagerly and took my hand in both o hers. My mother

told me about it. Do you know who her suitor was?My ather? The king o Scotland? I hoped I was right.

I did not like La Flamin knowing more than I did about my

own amily, even i she was my dearest riend.

No! she cried. You are wrong! He was a king, it is true,

but not o Scotland! Mary Fleming was bursting with her

triumph in our storytelling. It was Henry the Eighth oEngland!

That horrible man wanted to marry Mither? I was so

shocked by that bit o inormation that I fung Marys hand

away. Why had my mother never told me this?

Aye, but she reused him! My mother knew all about it!

La Flamin struck a pose that she considered queenly. Thisis what Marie o Guise said: I may be a big woman, but I

have a very little neck. King Henry had had his second wie,

Anne Boleyn, beheaded, you see, and beore the swords-

man cut o her head, Queen Anne said, I will be easy to

kill, or my neck is little. Your mother had heard that story,

and she was not about to have herhead cut o.Then I thank a gracious God that she reused him and


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I did not have Henry the Eighth or a ather! I exclaimed.

How horrible to have ones head cut o!

My riend agreed that it was horrible. But still you hadhim or a great-uncle, you know. King Henry married three

more times beore he died. Six wives all told! she went on,

sure o my interest. He divorced two o his wives and had

two beheaded. One diedthat was Edwards motherand

one outlived him. I would never have married that dread-

ul manwould you?I shuddered at the thought. Or his son either, I added.

A wicked lot, the English.

My cousin clearly enjoyed shocking me with her grisly

tale. I shivered at my mothers good ortune in escaping the

clutches o the evil King Henry. I did not stop to wonder

then how she must have elt when she let France or Scot-land, a country she had never seen, to marry a man she had

never met, leaving behind her little son without knowing

when she would be with him again.


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happened oten during those last ew days, tears began to

slide down her sot cheeks. Oh, my sweet Marie, you will

have so much to learn! she cried, brushing away thetears. She took me on her lap and kissed me, murmuring

endearments in French, which I understood well enough,

though I always replied in Scots. You must learn to speak

French, ma chr e, she said sotly, pushing strands o hair

away rom my ace. No one in France understands the

Scots language.Then I shall speak Scots with the Four Maries, I

declared.

What a stubborn child you are, she said ondly. Be-

sides that, you are accustomed to being the sole object o all

our attention. Now you will join a amilythe dauphin and

his two sisters and you must remember that you are nolonger the most important person in the room.

But I am the queen o Scotland! I exclaimed, surprised

and a little put o by what I had just been told.

Yes, dear child, you are the queen o Scotland, but you

are going to live in the French court. The dauphin outranks

you. Fortunately, you are young, and I have no doubt youwill learn quickly.

*

While the French ships were being provisioned or the

journey, my mother arranged arewell banquets in my honor

and invited the Scottish lords and ladies and the land-owning lairds. Royal banquets were usually merry aairs,

but young as I was, I sensed the sadness rippling like an


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underground stream beneath the music and dancing and

easting. Though everyone rejoiced that I was going o to

marry the uture king o France, I would be living ar, araway, and I had no idea when I would see Scotlandor my

dear motheragain. I tried not to think about that.

The day came to say goodbye: the twenty-ninth o July

in the year 1548. My mother and I clung to one another and

elt our hearts breaking, though I had been taught that as a

queen, I must not give way to displays o emotion. Yoursubjects do not wish to see your nose dripping and your

eyes red with weeping, my mother had told me over and

over. It is your duty as queen to appear calm and steadast,

no matter what you may eel.

On the occasion o my leave-taking, I tried to ollow her

instructions but ailed entirely. The French ambassador,sent by the king to escort me on my journey, attempted

without successto lure me away rom my mother. Go,

dearest child, my mother said at last, her voice thick

with tears. I shall remain on the parapet and watch you

rom here.

Finally my guardian Lord Erskine swept me up in hisarms and began the long descent down the steep steps cut

into the rock to the waiting ships below. I insisted that he

put me down at once. I am the queen, I lectured him,

and I do not wish to be carried like an inant. I shall walk

to the ship mysel.

From somewhere below me on the rough path, LadyFleming complained that her shoes were being ruined, that


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they were not made or climbing mountains, and I called

down to her, Lady Fleming, we are not climbinga mountain,

we aregoing down! That only made her more irritable.Musicians played lighthearted tunes, but once my com-

panions and I were taken aboard the ships, they turned to

something slow and serious. A priest gave a nal blessing to

the passengers, the crew, and the royal ship itsel, and every

one o us prayed or a sae journey. Dozens o galley pris-

oners chained below deck bent to the oars and rowed theroyal ship away rom the shore, and the crowd that had

gathered high above us on the parapet cheered, their shouts

carried on the wind. My mother waved her handkerchie.

As the ship moved through the Firth o Clyde, my compan-

ions and I stood on the deck and watched until Dumbarton

Castle, looming remote and orbidding on its great rock,was ar behind us. We could no longer make out the tiny

gures on the parapet, though I was sure I could still see my

mothers handkerchie futtering bravely. Then that, too,

disappeared.

When my riends were done snifing and wiping their

noses over the sadness o leaving their amilies behind, weset out to explore the ship. I ound my quarters and thought

them too small, and I protested that I should be given a

much bigger cabin. Then my hal brother James, who was

seventeen and on his way to France to continue his reli-

gious studies and who had traveled there once beore, ex-

plained, We are truly going to sea, dear Mary, and this ishow seaarers live. Even queens must travel this way. So I


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decided that my tiny cabin was, indeed, quite large enough

ater all.

As a child, I was always ull o energy and high spirits,and besides, my dearest riends were with me, and I was

sure we would have nothing but happy times during our

voyage. Neither I nor any o the Four Maries had been to

sea, and so we had no idea o what lay ahead o us. At that

hour we were very pleased with this grand new adventure,

but our enjoyment was not to last.We passed the Isle o Arran, its rugged mountains

shrouded in mist, and were about to enter the open sea. But

Captain Villegagnon observed the sky rapidly lling with

black clouds and ordered the ships to heave to just as

a great ocean storm roared down on us. The royal galley

pitched and rolled in the angry waves, and a gale blew sohard across the deck that I could scarcely stand upright.

Hours stretched into days, and still the storm punished us.

My three hal brothers organized games o handy-dandy

and hide-ox-and-all-ater to amuse the children. But even-

tually they as well as the rest o the passengers, young and

old, grew sick and listless; they could not bear the sight oood and spent their time clutching the rails o the galley.

Day ater day passed in misery while the captain waited or

the storm to wear itsel out and the benevolent west winds

to rise and carry us on.

When will the winds be right? I asked the captain, and

he explained wearily that it was all in Gods hands.Lady Fleming was not willing to wait or God and made

a great uss to the captain, demanding to be put ashore. It


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is utter nonsense to have us all imprisoned on this wretched

ship and going nowhere! she complained. I shall die i I

cannot go ashore and recover mysel.But Captain Villegagnon reused to yield to her. You are

not going to shore but to France, he said curtly. I that does

not please you, madame, you have my permission to drown.

Lady Fleming let out a sharp little cry and closed hersel

in her cabin and did not come out again or at least hal a

day; her usually rosy complexion seemed quite green whenshe eventually reappeared.

On the tenth day the clouds broke. The captain ordered

the sails raised and the prisoners on the oars to row. The

royal galley began to plow through the still towering waves,

heading westward into the Irish Sea, passing by the Isle o

Man and then going south along the coast o Wales. Myriends never ceased to be plagued with seasickness and

whimpered piteously. I was not aficted and could not

understand why they were so distressed.

Within a day the storm had caught up with us. Once more

the royal galley bobbed like a cork on the white-tipped

waves, and the rudder was smashed. While the men strug-gled to repair it, the ship began to roll rom side to side so

violently that objects slid back and orth across the deck. I

had a avorite doll I called Wee MaryI could not think o

any other name or herand she was swept overboard as I

watched helplessly. For the rst time since wed sailed rom

Dumbarton I was truly upset, and I sobbed until LadyFleming promised to nd me another, though I knew no

new doll would be nearly as pretty as Wee Mary.


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My oldest brother, James, was bent over the captains

chart table, studying our course and reporting on the pro-

gress o our voyage to anyone who cared to listen. TheFrench feet rounded Cornwall and entered the English

Channel, still with no relie rom the battering sea. Then,

just as everyone had begun to think that we might never

arrive, that we were doomed to endure calamity ater ca-

lamity, land was sighted.

France! France! rejoiced the passengers, though it wassaid weakly by those suering rom a delicate stomach. We

had been on the open sea or eighteen days, twice as long as

expected.

*

Nearly every citizen o the little shing village where welanded turned out to welcome the kings galley. The deck

had heaved beneath us or so long that our legs wobbled as

we let the ship and came ashore. Vive la petite reine cossaise!

someone shouted. Long live the little Scottish queen!

Others joined in. The cheering crowd accompanied us in

a joyul procession to a nearby town, where the local lordreceived me at the gates with great ceremony. I understood

hardly a word o what he saidit was all in Frenchbut I

believe it included welcome and sae arrival. I said,

Mercithank youand smiled.

But then: trouble. As our mounted guards crossed the

drawbridge, it collapsed, carrying men and horses into themoat below, where some surely drowned and others were

crushed beneath their mounts. Cries o Treachery! went


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up rom the Scots, causing the French lord to shout insults

back at them.

Lady Fleming rushed to assure hersel that I was unhurt.It was just an unortunate accident, she said soothingly,

or I was badly rightened and had begun to weep. No one

meant us any harm.

Lord Livingston was not convinced. Perdious French!

my guardian muttered darkly. I have never trusted them,

and I do not trust them now!Once calm had been restored and our saety guaranteed,

we entered the town by a dierent gate and ound our way

to the church. A Te Deum was sung in thanksgiving or my

sae arrival. All seemed peaceul again, but I still elt shaken.

I had thought everything would go perectly, and it had not.

For the rst time since I let Scotland, I wished desperatelythat my mother were there to comort me and reassure me

that all would indeed be well.

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The Wild Queen Excerpt