All day Sunday, frail and hungover, Darnley does what he is told by the Great Men.
He proclaims Parliament officially dissolved. Anyone who came to Edinburgh to attend Parliament – the prelates, the earls, the lords and barons, commissioners and anyone with them – must leave the city within the next three hours or risk being arrested and forfeiture of their life, lands and goods.
There is a sudden exodus of visiting dignitaries; they gather their servants and vassals and grooms and maids and wives and mistresses and children, their horses and carriages and cartloads of furnishings, pack up their city lives and leave.
The city is deathly quiet.
No one is charged with contravention of this order and Edinburgh is a small place. It would be impossible to hide. Everyone knows something sinister is happening. A man was found covered in blood standing by a priest’s bed last night, laughing. He has been arrested and thrown into gaol. He won’t stop screaming. Henry Yair’s maniacal cries rattle through the silent closes and the shuttered mansions of the visiting rich.
Darnley makes a second declaration: the Exiled Lords are no longer being charged with treason and their estates will not be confiscated. He declares that they can safely return to Scotland without fear of arrest or prosecution.
They’re actually already in Edinburgh, most of them, hiding in different houses around the city, waiting for this pronouncement.
From the houses of allies and family and friends, the Exiled Lords come out of the shadows.
They meet each other.
They greet each other.
They’re seen walking in the streets. For the conspirators, everything is working out.
