The Captive Queen of Scots - Plaidy Jean - Страница 29

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Moray was confident that he had the finest general in Scotland and he agreed at once. So Kirkcaldy selected his battlefield at the little village of Langside close by Govan Moor.

ON HER WAY to Dumbarton Mary stayed the night at Castlemilk as the guest of her kinsman Sir John Stuart.

She slept well for she was confident of eventual victory; and when it was hers she would send for Moray and reproach him for all that he had done against her. She would remind him of the blood ties between them and she would of course forgive him; and she hoped that then there would be an end of strife between them. “Jamie,” she would say, “I understand and you have my sympathy. I am our father’s legitimate daughter; you are his illegitimate son. It is sad for you who are so ambitious, but you must learn to accept that.”

And he would agree because, whatever else James was, he was a man of sound common sense.

How wonderful to be at peace again—a Queen on her throne! And the years of violence and tragedy would not have been in vain, because she had learned so much through them, and she would profit from those lessons. She would be a good Queen to her Protestant subjects no less than to her Catholic ones. There should be freedom of religion in Scotland, freedom of opinion, prosperity and peace.

She dozed, for she was worn out with emotion and physical exhaustion. She dreamed that she was in Lochleven and her joy was great when she opened her eyes in the large room with the three embayed windows which gave her wide views over the countryside.

Not Lochleven but Castlemilk on the road to Dumbarton!

But in the morning when she arose and went out to the battlements to gaze down on the magnificent view of her beautiful country she saw troops encamped in the distance; and she felt sick with apprehension because she knew that they were not her own soldiers but those of the enemy.

She believed then that the battle could not long be delayed.

She had just completed her toilet, and was wearing a crepe coif and simple dress, which fitted her figure closely and which was made of white taffety, when she heard that Lord Livingstone was asking for an audience with her.

He looked disturbed, and when she asked the reason, he kissed her hand and told her that all augured well for this day and that he believed that before nightfall their enemies would be defeated. There was a small trouble however. Two captains of her musketeers were quarreling as to who should have supremacy over the other.

Mary sighed. “There is no time for private quarrels on such a day. Who are these men?”

“Arthur Hamilton of Mirrinton and John Stuart of Castleton. They are bitter enemies, and are ready to draw swords against each other. I warned them that if they did not desist I should be forced to lay the matter before Your Majesty. They persist in their quarrel, so I have come to ask you to give a decision.”

“Is one a better captain than the other?”

“They are both good fighters, Your Majesty; but arrogant, stubborn and proud.”

“Then I suppose I must perforce give the command to the Stuart . . . for the sake of the name.”

Livingstone bowed. “It is one way of solving the problem, Your Majesty.”

Mary said: “The enemy is massing against us. I can see them in the distance.”

Livingstone nodded. “The battle will surely take place this day. Will Your Majesty come now to the chamber in which your generals and councillors are gathered?”

Mary went with him; and there it was decided that, on account of their superiority in numbers, they should surround the rebel army and annihilate it in a short time.

“We will call for surrender,” insisted Mary. “If they surrender there will be no need for slaughter. I do not wish the blood of Scotsmen to be shed unnecessarily on this day. I am sure that many who now stand against me may well become my good friends when they learn that I intend to rule well, to forgive them and bear no malice that they once ranged themselves against me.”

One of the guards at the door of the council chamber slipped away from his post. No one noticed his departure because there was so much coming and going; moreover many of those who had rallied to the Queen’s cause were friends of his.

He had no difficulty in procuring a horse and soon was speeding across country to the headquarters of Mary’s enemies.

There he went straight to Kirkcaldy who was conferring with Moray, and received their congratulations when he was able to tell them the form in which the enemy’s attack would be made.

KIRKCALDY WAS EXULTANT. He was certain of victory. The inferiority in numbers concerned him little for throughout the Queen’s army were his own men. He had taken the precaution of sending them to declare their loyalty to the Queen, with strict instructions as to how they were to act. He did wonder uneasily whether a similar strategy had occurred to the other side. Hardly likely. The Queen would have notions of fighting fairly. As if any battle was ever won through fairness! Argyle? Not a brilliant rival. Moreover he was Moray’s brother-in-law and they had been allies at one time. He did not think Argyle would prove a very good general for the Queen. She should have remembered that while he was related to her he was also related to Moray; and Moray was a shrewd and competent statesman, whereas Mary was an emotional woman.

He, Kirkcaldy, was never so much alive as when he was planning a battle or winning it. He would now post his hagbutters behind the hedges and in the gardens and orchards of Langside, and they should have orders to hide themselves in trees, behind bushes . . . anywhere, making sure that they were not seen by the approaching army. They were to shoot as the Queen’s men marched by. That should account for a few of them. And the Queen planned to surround him! Well, he would take possession of the hill which was above the village and here place his men, so that as Mary’s army tried to advance they would have to climb the hill and thus could more easily be mown down.

There was another hill close by, known as Hagbush-hill, and here, protected by a body of horsemen was a cradle in which the little James VI was sleeping unaware of the excitement which was going on about him.

It had been deemed necessary to remove him from Stirling, in case some of Mary’s supporters stormed the castle; if the child fell into his mother’s hands, this could prove disastrous for those who declared they were fighting to keep him on the throne.

It had been a good idea to bring the baby to the battlefield, mused Kirkcaldy. The sight of that cradle would, in a way, be an inspiration to his men; and if there should be any danger of defeat—which Kirkcaldy did not anticipate for a moment—those whose duty it was to guard the cradle would swiftly carry the child away.

Kirkcaldy was waiting, well satisfied. Soon the Queen’s army would begin to move.

KIRKCALDY WAS RIGHT. Almost before he had succeeded in placing his men the Queen’s army was seen marching in the distance, their pennons flying in the breeze; their glistening pikes reflecting the sunlight.

Kirkcaldy watched them. Moray was stationed by the bridge with his men and Morton was in charge of the vanguard. Kirkcaldy felt the utmost confidence in his generals. They had so much to lose with this battle.

On the Queen’s men came. They were passing the gardens and orchards, and the hagbutters were doing their work. Men were falling as they marched, their comrades looking about startled since there was no sign of the enemy.

Now they were approaching the hill on which Kirkcaldy was stationed, and Arthur Hamilton, leading his troop and smarting under the humiliation of John Stuart’s being given precedence over him because he bore the same name as the Queen, suddenly shouted: “Where are now these Stuarts that did contest for the first place? Let them come forward and take it now.”

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