The character of Fian is perfectly consistent. Under torture he signed a confession, which confession might have implicated Bothwell. That night Bothwell himself, or one of his emissaries, obtained access to the prisoner and arranged for his escape. The wretched Fian was faced with death either way; if he retracted his confession, he would die as a criminal by the hands of the law; if he held to it, he would die as a traitor by the hands of his comrades. There was no alternative. All that day he 'continued verie solitarie', calling upon God, but by night he had made his choice and fled. He apparently escaped without difficulty. The story of his stealing the keys of his own cell and of the prison door is absurd; the escape was obviously effected by connivance just as later on Bothwell's own escape was effected. Fian went back to his own home, where, according to James's surmise, he had an interview with the Devil (i.e. Bothwell), and there he tamely waited till the officers of the law came and recaptured him. This tameness is not in keeping with the rest of his character. A man with sufficient courage and resource to get out of a strongly guarded prison would have made good his escape; an easy enough matter in those turbulent times. Fian then must have been retaken because he wished to be retaken. For fear of torture and in hope of pardon he signed the first confession, implicating Bothwell,[152] yet later he endured agonies of torture with the certainty of death rather than acknowledge one word which might lead to the discovery that James was bent upon. James's surmise was perhaps more than a mere guess; it was prompted by his knowledge of the facts. Fian had had an interview with his Master, whom he believed to be God Incarnate, and like many a Christian martyr he atoned for the first betrayal by steadfast courage through cruel torment even to death.
Reading the accounts in the light of this supposition, it is seen that every one, including James, suspected Bothwell. Even if they did not acknowledge his divinity, they feared the magical powers which, as Chief of the Witches, he was supposed to wield. It is impossible to study the details of this period without realizing the extraordinary fear which James had of his cousin; it was fear with an underlying horror, totally different from his feeling towards his other turbulent subjects. When Bothwell, seeking pardon, was introduced into Holyrood Palace by Lady Athol in the early morning of July 24, 1593, he entered the King's chamber. James, always undignified, was caught in the middle of his morning toilet; he tried to run into the Queen's room, but the way was barred by Bothwell's friends and the door was locked. 'The king, seeing no other refuge, asked what they meant. Came they to seek his life? let them take it—they would not get his soul.'[153] This remark, made in the urgency and excitement of the moment, is highly significant. Had Bothwell been, like many of James's other enemies, merely an assassin, James would not have spoken of his soul. But Bothwell as the Devil of the witches had the right to demand the yielding of the soul, and James was aware of the fact.
The birth of James's children removed Bothwell's hopes of succession; the power of the witch organization, of which he was the Chief, was broken by the death of its leaders. He had made a strong bid for power, he failed, fled the country, and finally died in poverty at Naples. There George Sandys the traveller heard of him: 'Here a certaine Calabrian hearing that I was an English man, came to me, and would needs perswade me that I had insight in magicke: for that Earle Bothel was my countryman, who liues at Naples, and is in those parts famous for suspected negromancie.'[154]
The Devil being actually a human being, the letter of introduction to him, given by a man-witch to a would-be proselyte, becomes quite credible. It is worth quoting verbatim:
'Monseigneur, d'autant qu'il me faut retirer de la Religion des Chrestiens, afin que ie multiplie vostre party, duquel estant, il est raisonnable que ie vous glorifie et assemble tant de gens que ie pourray, ie vous enuoye ce porteur pour estre du nombre: c'est pourquoy ie vous prie de l'aider en ses amours.'
Satan's reply to the novice shows a distinctly human trace of temper:
'Vous autres Chrestiens vous estes perfides et obstinez: Quand vous auez quelque violent desir, vous vous departez de vostre maistre, et auez recours à moy: mais quand vostre desir est accompli, vous me tournez le dos comme à vn ennemi, et vous en retournez à vostre Dieu, lequel estant benin et clement, vous pardonne et reçoit volontiers. Mais fay moy vne promesse escrite et signee de ta main, par laquelle tu renonces volontairement ton Christ et ton Baptesme, et me promets que tu adhereras et seras auec moy iusqu'au iour du iugement; et apres iceluy tu te delecteras encore auec moy de souffrir les peines eternelles, et i'accompliray ton desir.'[155]
4. As an Animal
In many religions the disguising of the principal personage—whether god or priest—as an animal is well known. The custom is very ancient—such disguised human beings are found even among the palaeolithic drawings in France; and on a slate palette belonging to the late pre-dynastic period of Egypt there is a representation of a man disguised as a jackal and playing on a pipe.[156] The ritual disguise as an animal is condemned, with great particularity, as devilish, in the Liber Poenitentialis of Theodore of the seventh century (see supra, p. 21), showing that it continued in force after the conversion of England to an outward appearance of Christianity. From the analogy of other religions in which the custom occurs, it would appear that it is a ritual for the promotion of fertility; the animal represented being either the sacred animal of the tribe or the creature most used for food.