The Captive Queen of Scots - Plaidy Jean (читать книги онлайн бесплатно без сокращение бесплатно txt) 📗
John Stuart was close by, and heard, as Hamilton had intended he should.
“And so will I,” he retorted. “Neither you nor any Hamilton in Scotland shall set foot before a Stuart this day.”
John Stuart ill-advisedly spurred his horse and leading his men tried to storm his way up the hill. The effect was disastrous. But not to be outdone Hamilton followed him with the same dire results.
The fighting was furious for a few moments and men used their dirks because they were too close to each other to draw their swords.
Argyle, who was in command of the Queen’s army was seen to fall forward on his mount; yet did not appear to be wounded but slid to the ground and lay there writhing as though in a fit.
His men watched him in dismay for in that section of the army there was no one else to give them orders. None was quite sure what had caused Argyle’s malady. Some thought it was a fit, which seemed a bad omen; others that he had merely fainted at the prospect of disaster; some that he feigned sickness in order to play into the hands of his old friend Moray.
Mary had ridden with Lord Livingstone on one side of her and George Douglas on the other; and immediately behind her was Willie Douglas, carrying a two-handed sword which required all his attention to maintain. Willie’s eyes were alight with enthusiasm; and Mary believed that none would fight more earnestly for her cause.
But she was disturbed, because she was aware of disaffection in her ranks, and could not help being reminded, with something like terror, of Carberry Hill.
Lord Livingstone was remonstrating with her. She should not go too near the battle zone, for if aught should happen to her, her soldiers would lose heart. It was better to wait some distance away and watch the progress of her soldiers from comparative safety.
George added his pleas to Lord Livingstone’s, and eventually she realized the wisdom of their words and agreed to wait beneath a hawthorn tree until the heat of the battle was over. With her were Lady Livingstone and Jane Kennedy; and Lord Livingstone and Lord Herries with George and Willie remained by her side. Livingstone ordered that fresh horses should be brought.
“For what reason?” the Queen demanded.
“In case we should need them . . . in a hurry, Your Majesty,” answered Livingstone.
Mary’s throat was suddenly parched. She knew that all was not going well.
A RIDER dashing up to the little party brought news of the battle. What he had to tell was disturbing: Argyle was incapacitated; Lord Seton was seriously wounded; fifty-seven of the Hamiltons had been slain.
He reported that Mary’s baby son was on the battlefield in his cradle; and when she heard this Mary gave a cry of horror. Her son . . . her baby . . . exposed to danger and in the hands of her enemies who pretended that they supported him against her!
She felt weak suddenly and the tears were rushing to her eyes. Slipping from the Spanish jennet which Livingstone had suggested she mount in case she should need it, she stooped to drink from the little burn which flowed from the brae.
When she had drunk she silently remounted; the excitement of the day was turning to anguish. Now she could see riderless horses, bleeding from pike wounds, running hither and thither in their bewildered agony. She was glad of the distance which separated her from that fearful scene; but her heart yearned for the child in the cradle.
Herries laid his hand on her arm and said quietly: “I think, Your Majesty, that it is unwise to stay here longer, and the time has come for us to move on.”
That was enough. She understood. The battle of Langside was almost over. Kirkcaldy and Moray were the victors; and the captive Queen had become the fugitive.
TO DUMBARTON—where she could count on loyal supporters! But before she reached it she must cross the Clyde.
Lord Herries, who was riding beside her, while the rest of the little band followed behind, said: “We must get down to the shore. There we shall find a boat. We must hope to find horses on the other side; but get to Dumbarton we must.”
To reach the river bank they must cross the estates of the Earl of Lennox—strong supporter of Moray; and when the men who were working in the fields saw their approach and guessed who the riders were, they brandished their scythes and uttered such curses that the Queen turned her horse and commanded that Herries did the same.
Then they abandoned hope of crossing the Clyde.
“We will make our way into Galloway and Wigtownshire,” said Herries. “It is my native ground and the people there are Catholics and loyal to Your Majesty. You will find the going rough, but there are few who know the ground as well as I, and I shall lead you to safety.”
So along the beautiful banks of the River Doon they rode; through mountain passes and across moors and small, swift streams. The white taffety gown was splashed with mud, the crepe coif askew; yet Mary was not thinking of her appearance as she rode, but of the child who was lost to her, together with her kingdom.
All through the night they rode and at length they reached Herries’ house at Terregles; and there they tarried for a rest, but only a brief one. All Mary’s faithful friends knew that, after the defeat of Langside, Moray would not rest until he had made her his prisoner once more.
AT TERREGLES a follower of Herries, who had hoped that he might find his master there, had come riding from the battlefield. He brought the news that Lord Moray was sending parties out in all directions to search for the Queen and all the efforts of the conquerors were now being concentrated on her capture.
So the stay at Terregles was very brief.
Herries believed that there was one way in which the Queen could hope to regain her throne, and that was by escaping from Scotland to France, where her relatives and friends would provide her with money and perhaps soldiers to fight for her crown. Meanwhile loyal supporters in Scotland would wait for her return.
There was no time to discuss such matters now, but he knew that Livingstone and Fleming agreed with him. Their objective was the coast. If they could have crossed the Clyde and arrived at Dumbarton the flight to France would have been comparatively easy, for there ships worthy to cross the seas would have been in readiness for them. As it was they would strike the coast farther south, and who could tell what vessels would be at their disposal?
But there was no time for regrets; they must move quickly because Terregles would be one of the first places in which Moray would expect to find the Queen sheltering, since it belonged to Herries.
So the journey began again with Herries leading the way through the lonely passes of the Glenkens until they at length came to the banks of the River Ken.
Mary was almost asleep in her saddle when Herries announced that they had arrived at the Castle of Earlston.
Earlston! As Mary stared at the castle she forgot her exhaustion, for memory had brought vividly to her mind the picture of a burly man, crude and brutal, who shouted: “I will take you to my castle of Earlston . . . and there in that lonely spot far from your courtiers you shall learn who is the master.”
Had he need to take her there, to show her what he had proved in her Court when she had been surrounded by her courtiers?
She began to shiver. “No, my lord Herries,” she said, “I will not stay at Earlston.”
“Your Majesty, there is no other refuge for miles, and you are exhausted.”
Mary shook her head. “No,” she repeated coldly.
She turned her horse and as she did so she seemed to throw off her exhaustion. “Come,” she said, “we can ride on a few more miles.”
And as they rode the memories of Bothwell came flooding back. In this wild country he would have hunted and made sport. It was as though his spirit rode beside her, as though he mocked, as though he said: So even now, when I am miles away across the sea, you are afraid to enter a place which was once a home of mine. Why, Mary?
