Rizzio: A Novella

On the morning of the christening of their son, James VI, Mary, Queen of Scots and Lord Darnley, the King Consort, have this exchange.

‘You need to come to the christening, Henry. You need to own him publicly. People need to know he’s your son.’

‘No, no. I shan’t come.’ Henry is even more drunk than usual. He often is these days. His eyes are sliding around as he tries to focus and keep his knees from buckling. She wishes he’d sit down. She’s worried he’ll fall on the baby.

‘Henry’ – she doesn’t even sound angry any more, just exhausted – ‘he will not be safe if you don’t admit him as your son.’

‘Oh, really?’ He is slurring badly.

They both know this about their son.

‘Well, maybe I don’t want to be a father.’

‘It’s a bit late for that,’ she says.

‘You may have fooled me,’ he says, pouring a cup of wine and missing the glass, spilling it over the stone floor. ‘Oh.’ He steps a toe in the wine and it soaks into his slipper. ‘I didn’t even want it. What would I be…? Want a son? It might not even be mine.’

He swings around and looks at her as if he has said something so witty that he has even surprised himself.

Mary isn’t listening. She is looking at the red claret soaking into the tip of his silver velvet slipper. She’s thinking about David Rizzio, remembering her friend: Tell me this, he said. What is the sweetest portion of music you ever heard? Everyone must answer.

Darnley sees the expression on her face, the profound sadness in her eyes and follows her gaze to his toe. It takes a moment for him to remember the bloody yellow hose, but when he does, he turns to her accusingly.

‘Well, how am I supposed to know the boy isn’t the Italian’s?’

Mary looks at Baby James. ‘You think he might be Davie’s child?’

‘Don’t know,’ mutters Darnley.

She holds up the little baby suckling on her fingertip. He has a frizz of ginger hair and skin as pale as a bright new moon. ‘You think this is Davie’s baby?’

Darnley shrugs and slurs, ‘Who knows? I know this much: I can’t be his father. I can’t.’

He’s right. He won’t be the baby’s father. He’ll be murdered in two years. He won’t live long enough to be a father to anyone.