Royal Road to Fotheringhay - Plaidy Jean (читать книги полностью без сокращений .txt) 📗

There were other women in the room, and he believed these to be almost as sinful as the Queen. They watched him as he approached the dais on which the Queen sat.

Lord James rose as he approached.

“Her Majesty the Queen would have speech with you.”

Mary looked up into the fierce face, the burning eyes, the belligerent beard.

“Madam—” he began.

But Mary silenced him with a wave of her hand.

“I have commanded you to come here, Master Knox, to answer my questions. I wish to know why you attempt to raise my subjects against me as you did against my mother. You have attacked, in a book which you have written, not only the authority of the Queen of England, but of mine, your own Queen and ruler.” He was about to speak, but yet again she would not allow him to do so. “Some say, Master Knox, that your preservation—when others of your friends have perished—and your success with your followers are brought about through witchcraft.”

A sudden fear touched the reformer’s heart. He was not a brave man. He believed himself safe in Scotland at this time, but witchcraft was a serious charge. He had thought he had been brought here to reason with a frivolous young woman, not to answer a charge. If such a charge was to be brought against him, it would have been better for him to have taken a trip abroad before the new Queen came home.

“Madam,” he said hastily, “let it please Your Majesty to listen to my simple words. I am guilty of one thing. If that be a fault you must punish me for it. If to teach God’s Holy word in all sincerity, to rebuke idolatry and to will the people to worship God according to his Holy Word is to raise subjects against their princes, then I am guilty. For God has called me to this work, and he has given me the task of showing the people of Scotland the folly of papistry, and the pride, tyranny and deceit of the Roman Anti-Christ.”

Mary was astounded. She had expected the man either to defend himself or to be so overcome by her charm that he would wish to please rather than defy her.

He went on to talk of his book. If any learned person found aught wrong with it, he was ready to defend his opinions, and should he be at fault he was ready to admit it.

“Learned men of all ages have spoken their judgments freely,” he said; “and it has been found that they were often in disagreement with the judgment of the world. If Scotland finds no inconvenience under the regiment of a woman, then I shall be content to live under your rule as was St. Paul under Nero.”

His comparisons were decidedly discomfiting. Not for a moment would he allow any doubt to be cast on his role of saint and God’s right-hand man, and hers as tyrant and sinner.

“It is my hope, Madam, that if you do not defile your hands with the blood of saints, neither I nor what I have written may do harm to you.”

“The blood of saints!” she cried. “You mean Protestants, Master Knox. Your followers stained their hands with the blood of my priest only last Sunday. He did not die, but blood was shed.”

“I thank God he did not die in the act of sin. There may yet be time to snatch his soul for God.”

Thereupon the preacher, seeming to forget that he was in the Queens Council Chamber, began to deliver a sermon as though he were in a pulpit at the Kirk. The fiercely spoken words rolled easily from his tongue. He pointed out how often in history princes had been ignorant of the true religion. What if the seed of Abraham had followed the religion of the Pharaohs—and was not Pharaoh a great king? What if the Apostles had followed the religion of the Roman emperors? And were not the Roman emperors great kings? Think of Nebuchadnezzar and Darius….”

“None of these men raised forces against his prince,” said Mary.

“God, Madam, had not given them the power to do so.”

“So,” cried Mary aghast, “you believe that if subjects have the power, it is right and proper for them to resist the crown?”

“If princes exceed their bounds and do that which God demands should be resisted, then I do, Madam.”

She was furious with him for daring to speak to her as he had; she felt the tears of anger rising to her eyes; she covered her face with her hands to hide those tears.

Knox went on to talk of the communion with God which he enjoyed, of his certainty that he was right and all who differed from him were wrong.

James was at the Queen’s side. “Has aught offended you, Madam?” he asked.

She tried to blink away her tears, and with a wry smile said: “I see that my subjects must obey this man and not me. It seems that I am a subject to them, not they to me.”

The reformer turned pale; he read into that speech an accusation which could carry him to the Tolbooth. He was off again, explaining that God asked kings and queens to be as foster parents to the Church. He himself did not ask that men should obey him… but God.

“You forget,” said Mary, “that I do not accept your Church. I find the Church of Rome to be the true Church of God.”

“Your thoughts, Madam, do not make the harlot of Rome the immaculate spouse of Jesus Christ.”

“Do yours set the Reformed Church in that position?”

“The Church of Rome, Madam, is polluted.”

“I do not find it so. My conscience tells me it is the true Church.”

“Conscience must be supported by knowledge, Madam. You are without the right knowledge.”

“You forget that, though I am as yet young in years, I have read much and studied.”

“So had the Jews who crucified Christ.”

“Is it not a matter of interpretation? Who shall be judge who is right or wrong?”

Knox’s answer was: “God!” And by God he meant himself.

Mary’s eyes appealed to her brother: Oh, take this man away. He wearies me.

John Knox would not be silenced. There he stood in the center of the chamber, his voice ringing to the rafters; and everything he said was a condemnation, not only of the Church of Rome, but of Mary herself.

For he had seen her weakness. She was tolerant. Had she been as vehement as he was, he would have spoken more mildly, and he would have seized an early opportunity to leave Scotland. But she was a lass, a frivolous lass, who liked better to laugh and play than to force her opinions on others.

Knox would have nothing to fear from the Queen. He would rant against her; he would set spies to watch her; he would put his own interpretation on her every action, and he would do his utmost to drive her from the throne unless she adopted the Protestant Faith.

Mary had risen abruptly. She had glanced toward Flem and Livy, who had been sitting in the window seat listening earnestly and anxiously to all that had been said. The two girls recognized the signal. They came to the Queen.

“Come,” said Mary, “it is time that we left.”

She inclined her head slightly toward Knox and, with Flem and Livy, passed out of the room.

BY THE LIGHT of flickering candles the Queen’s apartment might well have been set in Chenonceaux or Fontainebleau. She was surrounded by her ladies and gentlemen, and all were dressed in the French manner. Only French was spoken. From Paris had come her Gobelins tapestry, and it now adorned the walls. On the floor were rich carpets, on the walls gilt-framed mirrors. D’Amville and Montmorency were beside her; they had been singing madrigals, and Flem and Beaton were in an excited group who were discussing a new masque they intended to produce.

About the Court the Scottish noblemen quarreled and jostled for honors. The Catholic lords sparred continually with the Protestant lords. On the Border the towns were being ravished both by the English and rival Scottish clans.

In the palace were the spies of John Knox, of Catherine de Medicis and of Elizabeth of England. These three powerful people had one object: to bring disaster to the Queen of Scots.