“The court is convened,” said the commissioners, “and if you refuse to appear, you will be at once declared guilty without a trial. Queen Elizabeth has said many times that nothing would please her so much as to have proof of your innocence. Is it wise to refuse to give proof?”
Finally Mary yielded. Her trial would not be legal to-day, for she was allowed no counsel, she was not even permitted to see her own papers or to hear and question those persons who testified against her, but it was according to the laws of the time, and she was tried with no greater severity than was shown to all prisoners accused of treason.
“Your letters prove that you have allowed your correspondents to address you as queen of England,” declared the crown lawyers, “that you have tried to induce King Philip to invade our country, and that you have been knowing to the late plot to assassinate the lawful queen of the realm.”
“With the plot against the life of my cousin Elizabeth I had nothing to do,” declared Mary. “That I have sought to gain my freedom by the aid of my friends I do not deny. My lords, I am unjustly and cruelly deprived of my liberty. Do you blame me for trying by every means in my power to recover it? Could anyone do otherwise?”
So the charges and the denials went on, and when the trial was over, the judges left Fotheringay Castle. Again they met, and everyone voted that Mary was guilty of high treason in plotting against the life of the English queen. She was sentenced to death. This was the report made to Parliament, and that body solemnly agreed to the verdict. It was proclaimed in London, and the whole city gave itself up to rejoicing. Bells were rung, bonfires blazed in every square, shouts of joy and psalms of thanksgiving resounded throughout the town.
“Think you that the queen will ever carry out the sentence?” asked one Londoner of another.
“It is many years,” was the reply, “that the hand of Elizabeth alone has saved the life of the Scotch queen. Parliament decreed her death fifteen years ago and they say that Elizabeth was the angriest woman in England. ‘Would you have me put to death the bird that, to escape the hawk, has fled to me for protection? I’ll never sign such a bill,’ and she never did.”
“The constant dropping of water will wear away stone,” said the first, “and yet I hear that she has sent a message to Parliament commanding them to find some other way.”
“Until the axe falls, nothing will persuade me that the child of Henry VIII. will consent to see the blood of one of her own proud race flow at the hand of the executioner,” declared the second, “and what is more, she will not do a deed that will arouse the scorn and hatred of Europe. Mary’s head is safe.”
“Not so fast, my friend. Who are the supporters of Mary? Who is the ‘Europe’ whose scorn will check the pen of Elizabeth when she is about to sign the death warrant?”