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Maitland of the queen's party. He undertook his overwhelming responsibilities with health hopelessly broken. Already, on 1 March 1570, Randolph wrote that he had now 'only his heart whole and stomach good,' his legs being 'clean gone, his body weak' (Cal. State Papers, For. Ser. 1569-71, entry 723). On 1 April 1571 he joined Kirkcaldy in Edinburgh Castle, being conveyed to it from Leith 'by six workmen with sting and ling, and Mr. Robert Maitland holding up his head' (, Memorials, p. 110). On 14 May he was forfeited by the regent's parliament on the ground of his 'foreknowledge and consent of the murder of the late king. It soon became evident that he was engaged in an unequal struggle; the hope of securing even the neutrality of England: disappeared; France remained lukewarm; and the supporters of Mary outside the castle walls gradually fell away and made terms with the enemy. But Maitland continued to hope against hope; and faith in his ability to weather the storm in some way or other nerved the garrison to maintain to the last their heroic defence. Knox on his deathbed sent a message warning him and Kirkcaldy of the fate that would befall them if they would not 'leave that evil cause and give over the castle;' but Knox's assumption of special familiarity with the purposes of the Most High only moved Maitland's mirth, and he bade the messenger 'to go tell Mr. Knox he is but a drytting prophet.' Learning of Morton's illness in November 1572, and deeming it mortal like his own, he sent his cousin, the Laird of Carmichael, to remind him of their old friendship and of the many benefits he had secured for him 'out of kindness only and not for his gear' (ib. p. 339). This message probably led Morton to begin negotiations with Maitland and Kirkcaldy through Sir James Melville, but the negotiations were broken off on their refusal to agree to the sacrifice of the Hamiltons and Gordons (, Memoirs, p. 260). The refusal sealed their fate; Morton for his own safety deemed it necessary to sacrifice one or other section of the Marian party.

When the guns of the castle began to fire on the besiegers, Maitland had to be carried down to the vaults below St. David's Chapel, his frame being so feeble that 'he could not abide the shot.' The assault with English cannon commenced on 21 May 1573, and after the storming of the spur on the 26th the defenders endeavoured to make terms for a surrender, but while willing to grant their lives to the garrison, Morton declared that the leaders, including Maitland and Kirkcaldy, must surrender unconditionally. These terms they refused, but on the 29th they gave themselves up to Drury, the English commander, hoping that the intervention of Elizabeth might avail to save their lives. Had they stood out longer, the garrison, it is said, would have 'hanged Lethington over the castle walls' (Remembrances, Cal. S. P. For. Ser. 1572-4, entry 1047). The expedient of delivering themselves to the English availed them nothing, Maitland only escaping the ignominy of execution by dying in prison at Leith on 9 June 1573. The current belief, according to Sir James Melville, was that 'he took a drink and died, as the old Romans were wont to do' (Memoirs, p. 266), and Killigrew states that 'he died not without suspicion of poison;' but there is no evidence to support these suspicions, for he had been dying by inches long before the surrender of the castle. On 18 June Drury wrote that he had pressed the regent in vain that Maitland's body might be buried (Cal. S. P. For. Ser. 1572-4, entry 1044), and Calderwood states that so long did it remain without burial that the vermin from it came 'creeping out under the door of the house' (History, iii. 285). When or where he was buried is not mentioned.

Buchanan's caustic portrait of Maitland in 'The Chamsaleon,' though a mere caricature, was superficially so clever and true that it was generally accepted, by catholics and protestants alike, as a complete and accurate likeness. The reason was that Maitland cared comparatively little either for protestantism or Catholicism, and was actuated in his political conduct by considerations which neither party could appreciate. Thus each regarded him as a traitor. Probably he himself considered the betrayal of protestantism or Catholicism of comparatively small moment, provided that he saved the interests of his country; and as a matter of fact his patriotism was only the more staunch and pure that it was unhampered by ecclesiastical restraints. The wisdom of his statesmanship is another matter, and at least it may be said that he excelled more as diplomatist than statesman. His aims were apt to be chimerical, and his marvellous adroitness in diplomacy tempted him to believe in the accomplishment of impossibilities.

Notwithstanding his unerring insight into the motives of those with whom he came in contact—indicated especially in the skilful method with which in his correspondence he played on their special weaknesses—he failed properly to understand the drift of the current tendencies of his time. His failure