1597 - Fotheringhay Castle, Northamptonshire

James Penny edges closer to the skirts of his father’s cloak and holds tightly to his hand. As his excitement mounts, he feels his heart beating like a tightly wound drum. His father pushes toward the front of the hundred-strong crowd so that his eight year old son can have a clearer view of the scaffold. All around them an excited whispering ripples through the assembly. Local noblemen, members of the Court and the castle guard all gathered together in a jostling, giddy  mass.

The February morning was dismal, with a dank cold rain soaking the outlying fields and ditches. An easterly wind whistled through the small high windows and between the turrets above the Great Hall. 

James looks around nervously and  catches the eye of a well dressed young woman next to him. Her neatly pressed tunic dress and white apron marked her as one of the domestic staff - perhaps even a waiting maid on the Queen herself. In one white hand she clutches a small bible to her bosom, its leather cover worn and dog eared. With her other hand she fingers a small string of cheap beads - a rosary. James picks up the trembling in her thin arms, thinking that maybe she was just feeling the cold. But then he noticed the red rims around her eyes and the puffy cheeks. She had obviously been crying. She looks away from his gaze and stares at the floor. All the while she continued to mouth silent prayers to herself.

In front of them stands a modest wooden platform, large enough for ten or twelve  people at most. At the sides are low rails, hung and covered with black material. The only items on the stage are a  low stool with a long cushion, and the block itself, also clothed in black. There were only two persons standing in readiness: Mr Beale, the Clerk of the Council, and a curious figure that James found it hard to take his eyes from. 

The executioner was a tall, well-built man of only twenty or so years. A black leather hood hid his face, save for his bushy blond eyebrows. His tight black leather tunic was adorned with ornate stitching denoting Elizabeth’s  royal coat of arms. James thought he looked nervous and fidgety. Perhaps this would be his first execution? Although imposing, the executioner was only a man - but a man sent by a queen to kill a queen. With both hands he leans upon the long handle of a single bladed axe. The axe itself seemed nothing special - the kind of tool a woodcutter might use to fell saplings or small trees. An axe is but an axe until wielded with purpose and deadly intent.

James had experienced nothing like this in his short life. And yet, from the unnatural solemnity of his father to the uneasy looks of the crowd, James knew that something was about to happen that would be talked about for years to come. His father had told him how lucky he was and how he would be telling his own children about this day long into the future. And yet he had no idea what to expect or how he would react. If anything he felt numb; numb with the cold but also strangely detached from the reality of what was going on around him.  

In their winter finery, the lords and ladies of the castle seem so orderly, so polite and well-mannered. And yet there was something in them that spoke of a deeper, baser emotion - a combination of self-righteous justice and a hatred of treachery, deception and papacy. In their heads they kindled thoughts of loyalty to the Queen and the Protestant cause of England. But in their hearts they sought retribution, for blood, and Catholic blood in particular.

The mechanism in the bell tower creaked and a sonorous chime rang out over the surrounding marshlands. 

Ten o’clock.

The door to the Great Hall opens to admit a curious procession.  With the Sheriff going before her, Mary proceeds calmly to the steps of the stage, supported on either side by two gentlemen in service to Sir Amias Paulett.  Next came the Earl of Shrewsbury and the Earl of Kent, commissioners for the execution, along with two governors of her household. Following in her train comes Melvin, her apothecary and her personal surgeon, together with two favourite maids of her chamber.

James is transfixed by the Queen. She was the first royal James had ever seen and to his young eyes she seemed everything a queen should be. She carried an intensity and a presence a like no-one he had encountered before. She was special, untouchable, above the realm of man. His young mind he struggled to understand her situation. What had brought such a woman to this bitter winter hall? In his eight years of life he had never experienced such confusion, fear and yet still a joyous excitement.

Though not a tall woman, Mary carries herself with a quiet dignity that was able to effortlessly command the hall. She has taken taken great pains to strike the right symbolism for the day. She is dressed in the traditional garb of a Catholic martyr: a black gown over a red petticoat. She turns and haughtily assesses the company. Her eyes move from face to face, friend to foe, from noble to servant. This was to be her finest hour.

Led by the Sheriff, she mounts the steps and walks towards the cloaked block on the platform. Her black cloak, echoed by the shielded railings, is in stark contrast to her hair - a tightly coiled auburn mass that frames her white face.

 —oOo—-

Elizabeth had been on the throne of England for over twenty years. Throughout this time she had been tormented by the presence of her cousin Mary across the border in Scotland. Though the reign of her short-lived brother and half-sister Mary had preceded her, Elizabeth felt the weight of history on her shoulders. To her alone fell the duty to complete the Protestant Reformation begun by their father half a century earlier. 

The reign of Elizabeth’s half-sister,  ‘Bloody Mary’, had brought the full fury of Catholic fanaticism to England. Mary sought to undo many of Henry’s radical reforms of the church, its bishops and its prayer book. She came to the throne in 1553 after the death of her half-brother, Edward VI - also a zealous Protestant who had carried on the reforms of his father. But Mary shared the devout Catholic faith of her mother, Catherine of Aragon, and saw herself on a divine mission to restore England to the embrace of Catholic Europe. Eager to secure a powerful alliance within the Catholic power structure, she had married King Philip II of Spain - a move that was deeply unpopular with the English. The reign of Mary was marked by widespread persecution of leading Protestant figures. Nearly 300 were burned alive at the stake. But Mary was not to see the completion of her life’s quest. She died childless in 1558 at the age of 42. 

The age of the Tudor dynasty was over and the Elizabethan Age had begun.

Elizabeth had always taken a quieter and more cautious approach than her sister Mary. Not one to act rashly and in anger, she preferred to take measured council. She had developed shrewd political skills and was expert in manipulating her advisors and ministers to believe that her suggestions had indeed been their own brilliant ideas. The Elizabethan period was one of peace, security and growth, including religious tolerance and relative harmony.

Although secure and much-loved in her own country, Elizabeth’s thoughts were increasingly plagued by the thorny issue of her cousin in the north - Mary Stuart.

Following her early education and upbringing in the French court, Mary Stuart had enjoyed a childless marriage to Francis, the French Dauphin. Mary married Francis in 1558, briefly becoming Queen Consort of France until her husband’s death in 1560. Widowed, Mary returned to Scotland in August 1561.

Back in Scotland, Mary entered a tumultuous marriage to Lord Darnley - a dashing and charismatic member of court who quickly proved to be a drunken neerdowell. Darnley was murdered after only a year of marriage to Mary - probably by Hepburn, the Earl of Bothwell. Seeking his protection against yet another popular uprising, Mary married Bothwell, who also turned out to be a cruel and capricious husband. Following a popular uprising against the couple, Mary was imprisoned in Lochleven Castle. On 24 July 1567, she was forced to abdicate in favour of her one-year-old son, James. After a final vain attempt to regain the throne, Mary was forced to flee the country of her birth to seek protection in England from her cousin Elizabeth.

As the granddaughter of King Henry VIII's sister, Mary had a legitimate claim to the English throne. Elizabeth would need to be very careful in her treatment of Mary. Always a popular figure with England’s still powerful Catholic families, Mary also had the support of a powerful alliance of Catholic monarchs, including Philip II of Spain and Charles iX of France.

Elizabeth played her typical canny game and initially welcomed her cousin, but remained deeply suspicious of her true intentions and ambitions for the throne. Rather than extending the hand of friendship to Mary, Elizabeth promptly had her arrested on suspicion of being involved, with Bothwell,  in the murder of Darnley. A royal enquiry into the murder was convened but Mary denied its legitimacy and refused to attend its sessions. With no clear verdict to convict her, Mary was then moved between various country houses across inland England, spending long years as Elizabeth’s unofficial prisoner.

It was the infamous Babington Plot that was the final undoing of Mary’s ambitions for the throne. Anthony Babington was a Catholic nobleman who supported Mary's claim to the English throne. He had assembled a group of determined conspirators to devise a plot for the assassination of Elizabeth. Babington’s was the latest in a line of assassination attempts over the years - each resulting in failure and the execution of the perpetrators.

Babington begin clandestine communication with the Mary, now imprisioned at Chartley, passing secret coded messages concealed in the bottom of beer barrels. Mary replied in secret, approving of the proposed plans. Unfortunately, her messages were intercepted and decoded by agents of Sir Francis Walsingham, Elizabeth I's principal spymaster. Finally provided with definitive proof of Mary’s treasonous intentions, Elizabeth authorized the arrest of the plotters, who were put on trial and executed.

At Chartley, Mary was arrested while out riding and taken to Tixall Hall in Staffordshire. Mary was moved to Fotheringhay Castle and put on trial before a court of 36 noblemen, charged with  treason under the Act for the Queen's Safety. Mary denied the charges and made a spirited defence. She was convicted on 25 October and sentenced to death. Nevertheless, Elizabeth hesitated to order her execution; fearful of the consequences, especially if Mary's son, James, formed an alliance with the Catholic powers and invaded England.

With a heavy conscience, Elizabeth finally signed Mary’s death warrant . Two days later, ten members of the Privy Council of England, having assembled without Elizabeth's knowledge, decided to carry out the sentence at once. Mary’s fate was sealed.

—oOo—-

The Beale called for silence in the Hall. He cleared his throat and began his address:

“God save the Queen." 

His words were repeated by the assembled company, including Mary, whose countenance seemed to James almost as bright and cheerful as one attending a routine daytime mass. It seemed almost as if the words were a pardon from the Queen herself rather than the beginning of her valedictory sentence.

A tall and frail man,  Doctor Fletcher, Dean of Peterborough, moved centre stage, turned and addressed Mary directly. Bending his long body with great reverence, he began his exhortation:

"Madam, the Queen's most excellent Majesty," - repeating these words three or four times.

Mary looked at him sharply and retorted:

 "Mr. Dean, I am settled in the ancient Catholic Roman religion, and mind to spend my blood in defence of it." 

Taken aback, the Dean replied: "Madam, change your opinion, and repent you of your former wickedness, and settle your faith only in Jesus Christ, by Him to be saved." 

But Mary was resolved to her fate:

 "Mr. Dean, trouble not yourself any more, for I am settled and resolved in this my religion, and am purposed therein to die." 

Then the Earl of Shrewsbury and the Earl of Kent, noticing her obstinacy, offered to pray for her soul. Mary’s only answer was one of distant contempt:

 "If you will pray for me, my Lords, I will thank you; but to join in prayer with you I will not, for that you and I are not of one religion."

The Dean then begin his final prayers for Mary. Mary paid scant attention to the words, sitting on the stool and gripping a crucifix and a Latin book on her hands. With sudden tears streaming down her smooth cheeks, she began her own prayers in Latin. At the end of which she slid to her knees and proclaimed loudly:

"For Christ His afflicted Church, and for an end of their troubles; for her son; and for the Queen's Majesty, that she might prosper and serve God aright." 

It seemed that in the end she had hoped to be saved "by and in the blood of Christ, at the foot of whose Crucifix she would shed her blood." 

But it was not to be so. The Earl of Kent delivered a final plea for her repentance:

"Madam, settle Christ Jesus in your heart, and leave those trumperies." 

To Mary this advice was all in vain, for she cried aloud:

“Even as Thy arms, O Jesus, were spread here upon the Cross, so receive me into Thy arms of mercy, and forgive me all my sins.”

These words had a remarkable effect upon the room. Each person present seemed exhorted to examine their own motives and conscience in the matter of Elizabeth and Mary. Even the stoic executioner was moved to kneel suddenly before her and ask for her humble forgiveness for the deed that he was sworn to perform. Mary’s only response was to be her final words of absolution on this Earth:

 "I forgive you with all my heart, for now, I hope, you shall make an end of all my troubles." 

Then, helped by her two maids, Mary began to disrobe. As her final moments neared, and clad only in her petticoat, her mood seemed almost to cheer as she looked about her. Seeing her so wretchedly bared, her maids dissolved into weeping. But Mary bade then not to cry for her as finally at last they should see an end to their mistresses troubles. Crossing them with her hand, she bade them farewell and wished them to pray for her even until the last hour. The last act of her maids was to attach a three-cornered Corpus Christi cloth to her head, kissing it, and draping  it over her face.

The time had come. Mary knelt before the block and carefully laid her head into its shallow groove. A hush fell across the room. She stretched out her arms and uttered her final plea to God:

"Into thy hands, O Lord, I commend my spirit - in manus tuas, Domine“

The executioner stepped forward, steadied himself for an instant, raised the axe above his head and brought it down with crushing force. But, perhaps unsettled by Mary’s words of humility, his aim that day was not true. The blade struck the back of Mary’s head, splitting the skull but not severing the head. A second clumsy blow followed that did all but detach the head save for a stand of gristle. 

To James the force of the first blow was visceral; something he felt deep in his stomach. His eyes widened to take in the full horror of the grisly spectacle. He could not bear to watch as the embarrassed executioner sawed through the remaining tissue and the head rolled finally onto the platform.

A low moan of horror and revulsion spread through the crowd. James felt his father stiffen at the botched proceedings. He turned sharply and dragged James after him with a grip of iron. All around him the people were turning away, speechless and unable to bear any more of the grotesque spectacle  on the platform.

But the horror was not yet complete.  Stooping, the axeman grasped the detached head by its auburn curls and display it aloft in triumph. However, no-one had been privy to Mary’s final secret - that her abundant red hair was but a wig. As the executioner held the head aloft by the hair, the skull beneath fell to the floor and rolled underneath the stool. Beneath the colourful curls, Mary’s real hair was but a close cropped grey stubble.

And yet one more twist remained.  By custom, it was the executioner’s right to retain the garter of his victim as tribute. As he uncovered the bloodied legs of the queen, a small white dog emerged from its hiding place beneath her skirts. It startled in the sudden light and without warning began an unearthly wailing that so tormented all that heard it. The animal scurried back beneath the folds of Mary’s petticoat and refused to be dislodged. Its wailing never ceased.

Mary was buried at Peterborough Cathedral. However in 1612, after the death of the virgin queen and on the orders of her son James I, she was moved finally to Westminster Abbey to lie forever alongside the body of her cousin Elizabeth. 

True to his father’s word, James Penny never failed an opportunity to recount the execution of Mary Queen of Scots. Though he lived an uneventful life into his seventies, James would never forget that February morning when the fate of England was sealed for posterity.

1597 - Royal Monastery of San Lorenzo de El Escorial, Spain

The Ambassador was a proud and bustling man, robed in damask and embroidered silks and sporting a fashionable wide brimmed hat. Juan Mercado had been Spain’s Ambassador to England for over twenty years, and had enjoyed a fine career within one of the most intriguing courts of Europe. He revelled in the political tensions between the Catholic Empire and the troublesome outland of that its Protestant natives referred to as Albion. The Ambassador had long harboured a grudging admiration for England’s queen, despite her unwavering stance on religion inherited from her excommunicated father, Henry VIII. But, perhaps like most of her court, he was partly in love with Elizabeth. Not the woman perhaps, for who but a few of her closest aids really knew her true moods and passions, but in love with the icon that Elizabeth had invented for herself. And who could blame him. The Queen was a shrewd master of public relations, and had marketed herself as a unique and compelling brand since the first days of her reign.

It was with breathless impatience then that he strode to the King’s chamber, deep inside the sprawling complex of the Royal Monastery of San Lorenzo de El Escorial. Imperiously, he brushed aside the guardians at the door and strode into the Kings private rooms. Inside the high vaulted room, Mediterranean sunlight bounced off the whitewashed walls with their hung tapestries and ornately carved mouldings. The man at the window had his back to the Ambassador. He turned only slowly to inspect the new arrival in the room. 

At forty years old, Philip II of Spain was still very much an imposing figure. Although advanced in years now and leaning on a cane he still carried himself with a command that bade no question as to his authority. A head of curly brown hair framed a pale face with grey eyes that delivered an intense  rapier-like gaze that held his audience. When Philip spoke, people listened.

“Your Majesty”, the Ambassador announced, bowing and removing his hat. “I have grave news from England…”

“For the sake of the Holy Jesus Senior Mercado, do you not think my spies convey the news to me far in advance of your diplomatic channels? I have known about the murder of Mary Stuart for days now.  Truly this heretic queen has excelled herself in her treachery and treason against the Holy Church. That a true and rightful Catholic heir to the throne of England should be executed in this cowardly fashion is an act that deserves the full might of divine punishment to be brought to bear. That she performed this treason not in the full glare of legal scrutiny but in some damp country castle betrays her own shame in the proceedings. She is guilty or heresy. She is guilty of treason. She is guilty of regicide. She must be punished by the wrath of the Lord.”

“My apologies your Majesty for the delay in bringing this grave news to your court.” replied Mercado, “My communications across France have been slow of late and storms in Biscay have also caused problems. I will look to ensuring a swifter service to you in future days.”

“If I had relied upon the paltry intelligence provided by my Ambassadors Senior Mercado then I would already be a servant of the King of France! I suggest you liaise with my senior commanders in the Imperial Navy. They have proven and  superior techniques of communications that your sleeping diplomatic network should master with God’s speed. Even the humble pigeon may outpace the fastest clipper at sea.”

“Truly this woman is no queen ordained by God. She blasphemes against everything we hold sacred to our faith. She promotes the poison that Luther has spread throughout Europe and denies to England and its people the salvation and sanctity of the Catholic faith.”

Philip stepped towards Mercado, raised his cane and, with a furious sweep, sent the contents of the table between them crashing to the ground. Fixing the Ambassador in his steely gaze, he quietly gave his order:

“Convene the War Cabinet. It is time for us to make good this monstrous sin against God. We will entertain this Elizabeth at our pleasure here in San Lorenzo. I relish having final conversation with her.”

Philip turned and swept out through the open doorway. Over his shoulder he barked a final command: “Send me the Admiral of the Fleet”

A year after Mary’s execution, the 141 ships of the Spanish Armada sailed out of Lisbon towards a stormy Bay Of Biscay. The plan for the invasion of Protestant England had begun.