Page 50 of The Changeling

Rizzio only laughed. ‘Tell the bastard to beware me.’

Indeed, it seemed as if Lord James and the other rebel lords had lost everything in their gamble against the queen. Parliament was to endorse Mary’s motion that their lands and titles be wrested from them, and Lord James was far away, in exile in England, unable to defend himself.

I had much to do to get ready for the queen’s supper party, and so I told myself there was nothing to fear. It was Lent, so my choices were limited. I chose fresh scallops, to be cooked with leeks, saffron and white wine, followed by salmon from the firth, which I would serve with sorrel hollandaise sauce. Because the queen was pregnant and so exempt from Lenten fasting, I roasted a partridge breast with pears and thyme for her. A train of pageboys carried the food upstairs on silver plates under silver domes. I carried the plate of scallops myself, ready to cook on a hot griddle on the fireplace in her supper room, a tiny alcove off her bedroom.

The queen was wearing a flowing velvet robe, which hinted at the curve of her belly, and her hair was loosely dressed. The small table was crowded with some of her favourite courtiers, including Rizzio. It was sleeting outside, but the small room was cosy, candlelight dancing on the silver and crystal. I cooked the scallops, then made the hollandaise sauce, drizzled it over the baked salmon, and served the queen her dish of roast partridge. I then put all my dirty pans and utensils into a basket and carried it out to the queen’s bedroom, ready to be taken down to the scullery.

A hidden panel in the bedroom wall creaked open, and the king stepped through, a lit candle in his hand. I stared at him in astonishment. The panel hid a spiral staircase that wound down to Henry’s bedchamber on the floor below. He usually only used it at night, when he wished to lie with the queen, but I knew that Mary had kept the door fastened against him for some time now.

Henry started at the sight of me, then snapped in an over-loud voice, ‘What do you do here?’

‘I am preparing the queen’s supper, your Grace,’ I answered.

He grunted. ‘Well, do not let me stop you!’

I bowed my head and waited for him to precede me into the supper room. He hesitated, looked back over his shoulder into the darkness of the secret stair, then put his candle on top of a chest and pushed past me into the crowded antechamber.

Mary exclaimed in surprise. ‘I did not expect to see you tonight, Henry!’

‘May I not come to see my wife, if I wish?’ He sat beside her, putting his arm about her.

I did not want to go back inside the supper room. It was too hot, and there were too many people packed within. But I needed to cook the pudding, so I went in and knelt by the fire, burying my cast-iron pot in the glowing coals. My face burned, and dark spots swam in my vision. A kind of panic rushed over me. I wanted to get out, I could not breathe. I rose to my feet and pressed back into the window embrasure, putting one hand on the cold glass. Carlin whined and shivered against me.

I felt it then, the spectre of death approaching.

Lord Ruthven, one of the queen’s privy councillors, came into the room. He was dressed in armour and carried a pistol.

How did he get in? I wondered dazedly. Why does he have a gun?

‘If it would please your Grace,’ Ruthven said in a grim voice, ‘we demand that Signor Rizzio comes forth from your presence. He has been here too long!’

‘Why? What is his offence?’ Mary tried to rise, but Darnley held her still.

‘Great offence!’ Ruthven cried. ‘Madam, he has offended your honour, which I dare not be so bold to speak of, and your husband’s honour, keeping you from bestowing on him the Crown Matrimonial, which your Grace promised him!’

Mary turned to Darnley. ‘What do you know of this?’

‘Naught,’ he replied sulkily, unable to meet her eyes.

‘You listen to that foreigner, instead of your own lords, and now you plan to seize their land and titles, all to feed his greed,’ Ruthven said. ‘He is immoral and corrupt, and takes bribes …’

‘That is enough!’ Mary cried. ‘If these charges be true, we shall investigate them and he shall be indicted. Leave now or I shall have you charged with treason.’

‘It is he who is the traitor,’ Ruthven said and drew his dagger.

Mary gasped and shrank back, and Rizzio jumped up from his chair. The other guests tried to seize the dagger from Ruthven. In the scuffle the table was overturned and all the plates crashed to the ground. Mary’s half-sister snatched up the candelabra before it could set fire to the tapestry. Rizzio shrieked and scrambled behind the queen, as more men came crowding in, pistols and daggers in their hands. Where had they come from? The door to the queen’s bedchamber was guarded. My mind flew to the secret door, with the staircase down to Henry’s bedchamber. Had they come up that way? Had the king let them in?

The men manhandled Mary out of the way, trying to get to Rizzio. One pressed his pistol against the queen’s swollen belly, another stabbed at the cowering Italian over her shoulder. Blood sprayed across my face. Rizzio fell to the ground. Mary screamed, one hand at her throat. Her page, Anthony, leapt forward and caught the wrist of the man with his pistol to Mary’s stomach, struggling to turn the weapon aside.

‘Madam!’ Signor Rizzio cried, grasping at the queen’s skirts. ‘Help me! Save me!’

But they dragged him out of the supper room and across Mary’s bedchamber into the presence chamber beyond. All we could hear was screams of pain and terror, the scuffle of boots, grunts and pants and curses. The thud of a body falling.

Carlin growled, hackles raised, and I clung to her collar, terrified she would leap on one of the men and be shot.

‘Out!’ Ruthven ordered. ‘All of you, out! Except you, madam. You must stay.’

‘Nay,’ I cried. ‘I willna leave her Grace.’