The Memoirs of Mary Queen of Scots by Carolly Erickson Read Free Book Online Page A

managed to follow Adrien as he made his way through the room.
    We seated ourselves at a table in a dim corner of the tavern and from somewhere Adrien produced a dry cloth with which I dabbed my dripping face and hair. We were served with wine. As I sipped from my goblet I glanced over at the earl’s table. He was completely absorbed in his game. Every roll of the dice was greeted with loud cries of dismay or rejoicing.
    Suddenly two men sitting near us began shouting at one another and then fighting. Adrien stood, shielding me from the mayhem, and the burly tavernkeeper came up to the table and roughly ordered the men to go outside. They stumbled out. As they reached the doorway they nearly collided with a remarkable figure coming in—a tall woman all in scarlet, from her feathered headdress to her gilt-edged cloak, muddy at the hem, to the embroidered gown she revealed as, throwing aside the cloak with a theatrical gesture, she strode into the room.
    “It is the Skottefrauen,” I heard someone say as the woman walked up to the Earl of Bothwell and, putting her hands on her hips, spoke to him in guttural tones.
    Her words were forceful, but I could not understand them. He ignored her, as did the others around his table, though I heard a few groans and snickers.
    She resumed her harangue but was drowned out as some of the men began singing, and soon most of the others in the room joined in. They were singing in French, a gutter French spiced with filthy words.
     
    Big woman with the ugly face, go home!
    Big woman with the ugly voice, be still!
    Sit on your ****
    Make us all laugh
    Big woman no one wants to ***** you!
     
    Adrien looked very uncomfortable and pretended to put his hands over his ears.
     
    Big woman where has your husband gone?
    Out to find a prettier one, with a sweeter voice
    To sit on her *****
    To take his pleasure
    Big woman no one wants to **** you!
     
    Her cheeks as red as her gown, the woman picked up the goblet from which the earl had been drinking and threw it against the wall. At this Lord Ricarton got up from the table, went to her (I held my breath; I was afraid he was going to strike her), picked her up and carried her back outside. She shrieked and beat on his chest with her fists, which made the men erupt into song and laughter once again.
    I looked over at Adrien.
    “Is she mad, do you think?” I asked him, though in truth her eyes were not the wild eyes of a madwoman. I had seen madwomen, chained to walls, screeching and tearing their clothes. Or else crouching or lying on the bare ground, looking out from lifeless, closed faces, seeing nothing.
    “I think she is very angry.”
    “Is her name Skottefrauen? Or is that some insult I have never heard before?”
    Adrien shrugged and shook his head.
    “Will she be back, do you think?”
    “She always comes back.”
    There was a shout of dismay from the earl’s table and the room fell silent.
    “That whore has brought me bad luck!” I heard him cry out. “Damn her to hell!”
    “Damn her to hell!” came the echoing cry from the men around him. “Damn the Skottefrauen!” All of a sudden there was more noise than ever, the men stomping their booted feet on the wooden floor and banging on the tables with their fists.
    The mood in the room had grown ominous, and for the first time since entering the tavern I felt cold and wretched in my wet clothes. I wanted to be gone from that place, wearing warm dry clothes and on my way back to the palace at a gallop. I opened my mouth to shout to Adrien over the stridor but before I could say a word the strange foreign woman was running back inside, a dagger in one upraised fist.
    She ran at the earl, whose companions quickly deserted him. Lord Ricarton was nowhere to be seen.
    With the swiftness of a fine swordsman the earl drew his own weapon—a long knife—parried the woman’s strong but clumsy dagger thrust and skillfully grabbed her wrist and twisted until the blade fell from her hand with