As they rounded the corner, Henri removed his gloves and handed them to Saint-André. He then pulled off his plumed leather toque and ran his fingers through his matted hair. Even this late at night it was still hot, and he could feel the sweat and dust on his face and on his scalp. If Diane had been there, it would have been a wonderful night for a swim in the moat. But he never had much inclination to surrender himself to the water without her beside him. He did, however, long to pull off his shoes and stockings and soak his feet in a basin of cool water. That idea had struck him for the past several hours as he rode toward the castle.
He opened the door to his son’s room first. The hinges let out a long, high-pitched squeal. The unexpected sound woke the guard whose duty it was to sleep beside the Dauphin. The young man, still in uniform, sprang from his cot and drew his dagger. In an instant he was poised over the King.
“Easy, my boy! Easy!” Montmorency whispered. He stepped in to illuminate Henri’s face.
When the guard recognized him as the King, he lowered his dagger and fell into a deep and reverent bow.
“Well done, Captain. Much thanks,” said Henri as he slipped past the bewildered guard. He strode quietly across the room to the small canopied bed in which his son slept. Carefully, he pulled back the gold-fringed bedcurtain and peered inside. The boy resembled an angel, curled on his side; his sandy blond hair tousled, and one small hand curled near his mouth. The King bent down and kissed him. Then he moved away and drew the curtains together again.
He visited each of his children’s bedchambers in the same manner; next the baby, Claude, then Elizabeth, and finally Diane. When he opened the last door, it surprised him that there was no guard springing to his feet, but across the room he could see the shadowy figure of a woman. She sat with her back to the door near the fireplace hearth. Henri could not make out her face because it was turned, but he could see that her gown and headdress were black. Of course it was her, he thought. It must be! She had come early to surprise him, and here he was early as well. His heart sprang up at the prospect of an unexpected night together.
“That will be all, gentlemen. Good night,” he said, leaning back out into the hall.
When he looked back into his daughter’s chamber, the figure still had not moved. She must not have heard him come in. He closed the door and then rushed across the room.
“When did you arrive? Good God, do you know how I have missed you? Why did you not send word that you would be early. . .I. . .”
As he muttered the words he went down onto his knees before her. It was only then, in the silver light of the moon, that he could see that the woman before him was not Diane.
“HOW IN THE DEVIL did you get in here?” he raged. “Guard!” Henri sprang to his feet and reached for his dagger.
“Your Majesty, sir, if I might explain. . .”
The woman stood before him. He could see clearly now, in the light from the moon, that she did not look at all like Diane. She was not a woman but a girl. Her hair, where it peeked out from beneath her headdress, was not blond but red. It was a curious color, somewhere between the color of wine and the color of rust. Her eyes were small and dark and her lips were full.
“Who are you?”
“Janet Stuart, Your Majesty,” she replied and then curtsied properly. “Now if you would be good enough to let me explain. . .”
“Papa! Papa, is that you?”
Henri’s daughter, Diane, tore back the bedcurtains and bolted from the bed in the long white, billowing nightgown. She leapt eagerly into her father’s arms. Henri held her and kissed her, forgetting the presence of the strange young woman who stood before them.
“I see that you have already met Lady Flemming,” Diane said. “I am so glad, Papa. She is simply the nicest lady. She came from Scotland, you know. . .with the little Queen. All week long she has been telling us tales about Scotland, and teaching us new games. Tonight she told me a story and when I asked her, she even stayed with me until I fell asleep. I have trouble falling asleep sometimes, Papa, and she really was so kind.” After the long string of words had tumbled from her mouth, his daughter yawned and then began to rub her eyes. Henri looked back at the woman.
“So it is Lady Flemming, is it?”
“At Your Majesty’s service,” she replied, and lowered her head again.
Her diction was harsh and the accent wholly Scottish. When she raised her head again, she was smiling. It was a crooked smile and with her lips parted, he could see that she had a space between her front teeth. It was the strangest sensation because the moment that she smiled, it changed her entire appearance. She went from possessing the elegance of an aristocrat to the earthy sensuality of a barmaid. Her gown was holly green, not black as he had first thought and it was cut straight across her chest at such a low point that her large breasts swelled beneath a ribbon of white lace. She was not beautiful, but there was a broadly voluptuous quality about her that he had never seen before in a woman.
All of this passed in no more than a few brief moments after he had called for his guards. The room was now filled with them, their swords all poised. Montmorency too was standing with his dagger readied. In one of the smaller doorways, two bewildered nurses stood in white cotton sleeping gowns and caps with their candles in their hands. Diane looked up at him, then at the guards.
“What is the matter, Papa? Has something happened?”
Henri looked at his guards, then back at Lady Flemming as though he was trying to make up his mind.
“It is all right. Everyone may return to bed. There has just been a small misunderstanding.”
The nurses muttered something between themselves and one advanced to the little girl to lead her back to bed. But Diane ran the other way, toward Janet Stuart.
“May I kiss you good night, Lady Flemming?”
“I would be honored if you would, Mademoiselle,” she replied in French so poorly constructed that Henri put a finger to his lips and lowered his head to keep from chuckling. After she kissed Lady Flemming, and then her father, Diane surrendered to the waiting governess. Then the guards retired. Henri did not see the sneer on Montmorency’s lips as he lingered for a moment at the door, turned and then departed.
“I am very sorry, Your Majesty, to have caused such a disturbance.”
“It appears that my daughter would have me play the fool in this matter, Lady Flemming, not you,” he said, as he warmed his hands by the fire. “I believe that it is I who owe you an apology.”
“That is not necessary, Your Majesty.”
“Your presence in this room surprised me. I. . .thought that you were someone else.”
“May I add, Sire, at the risk of seeming forward, that I wish I had been that someone else you so hoped to see.”
Janet Stuart cast a seductive glance at him as she said it, and then just as he might have taken offense, she began to laugh. The base sensuality and the gap-tooth smile reappeared. Though he tried to avert his gaze, he could not help but watch her full apricot breasts heave beneath the constraints of the holly green gown.
MONTMORENCY HAD BEEN the first to reach the little girl’s chamber after the King called for his guard. He had been nearby, on the way to his own apartments. He returned to the nursery at the precise moment the woman stood beside the hearth, the shimmering silver moon lighting her face. He had also seen the King’s eyes.
He considered what he had witnessed to be the single greatest stroke of fortune since the day the Dauphin had died, naming Henri heir. He believed what he had told Catherine. The Crown was in danger, for it was not a King who ruled France, but rather a triumvirate of power. The Guises were one source, Diane de Poitiers another and himself a third. What he had not told her was that he would not rest until he alone influenced the King. After seeing Henri tonight so captivated, Anne de Montmorency knew that, at last, he had been given just the means to see his dream become reality.
“I shall destroy them all,” he muttered, “brick by brick. . .by bric
k. But not the Guises after all. Now it is Diane de Poitiers who shall be first.”
THE NEXT DAY, after Diane arrived at Saint Germain-en-Laye, she and Henri went together to meet the Queen of Scots. Henri was awestruck by what a beautiful child she was. She had her uncle François’ long thin frame and his russet hair, which cascaded onto her tiny shoulders in large ringlets. It was held back at the top by a coronet of diamonds and emeralds. She was, however, the image of her mother, Marie, with the same green eyes and little rosebud mouth. Henri understood the moment he received her what a sacrifice it had been for the Dowager Queen Marie de Guise to surrender her little daughter. It was then that he vowed to himself that not only would she be accorded every privilege, she would be treated as his own child.
She came to the grand hall in the company of her own Scottish train. Around the dais where Henri sat beside Diane, François de Guise and his brother Charles stood with Antoine de Bourbon and the King’s sister Marguerite. Another group of courtiers stood at the back of the room, including the Venetian and Scottish Ambassadors. Mary walked the length of the grand hall with four young ladies-in-waiting and her Governess, Janet Stuart. . .Lady Flemming.
Henri bristled when he saw her again. He had hoped she would not come. Something unwelcome had stirred in him last night when they met. As he looked at her across the long crimson carpet, that same thing about her now both stirred and repelled him. He did his best to avoid her gaze.
“Your Majesty, it is a great honor.” Mary curtsied. She spoke in Scottish and Lady Flemming repeated her words in French.
Henri rose from his throne and took the three steps down the carpeted dais toward her. He then took the little girl into his arms and held her as though she were one of his own children.
“Welcome, my daughter. Welcome indeed. You are the very image of your mother. Do you know that?”
Again Lady Flemming interceded, translating the King’s words.
“My Uncle, His Eminence, the Cardinal de Guise, told me so just yesterday, although I confess I do not see the likeness, Your Majesty.”
The reply came first in Scottish, then in French. Henri saw the flicker of sadness in her young eyes at the reference to her mother, even before there could be a translation. He quickly sought to change the subject.
“So tell me. Are you finding your accommodations thus far here in France to your liking? I have had you installed with the Princess Elizabeth, as this is a big old place and I thought that at first you might enjoy the benefit of her company.”
Mary looked over at Elizabeth, and the two young children smiled at one another. “I thank you, Sir. Your daughter has been most kind.”
When there was a break in the conversation, François de Guise stepped forward. “Your Majesty, the Queen of Scots would also have me present the ladies of her train to yourself and Madame, if you would find it agreeable.”
The four young ladies-in-waiting and Lady Flemming advanced. The latter, whose gaze was openly seductive, never took her eyes from the King. As he tried desperately not to look at her, Henri only heard enough to know that each of the little servants to the Queen was named Mary. François de Guise attempted a bit of humor at the coincidence, but the King did not smile. Suddenly he wanted to be anywhere but there. Women, especially this many, made him ill at ease. He never had anything to say to them, nor anything in common with them. The exception to that had always been Diane de Poitiers.
“And this, Your Majesty, is Janet Stuart, Lady Flemming. She is the Queen’s Governess. And as you can see,” said Guise, “she is also the Queen’s interpreter.”
Janet advanced toward the King and curtsied. The gown she now wore was equally low, and equally seductive as the one she had been wearing the night before. This one was ash-gray. The square bodice was lined with delicate pearls.
“Your Majesty,” she said in a deep, smoky voice, and then rose from her curtsy.
“Well, Lady Flemming, please impart to Her Majesty for me that anything she needs or should desire are hers, and that I will look forward to many future meetings, hopefully of a more informal nature.”
“As will we both, Your Majesty.”
When Mary and her train had left the grand hall, Henri sank back down in his throne. His face was flushed and his heart was racing. He could not recall ever having felt so awkward as he did at this moment. As if Diane could hear what he was thinking, he put a hand over his eyes and waited for several minutes to collect himself before he spoke.
“Guise, do you know the convent at Poissy?”
“Yes, of course, Your Majesty.”
“I want the Queen’s four attendants sent there for schooling.”
“But, Your Majesty, they are the child’s only link with her homeland.”
“Precisely. They are also her only link with that barbarous and ill-sounding language she now speaks. She is a Queen, Guise, and with the four of them constantly by her side, she has no hope of ever mastering French.”
At this proclamation, there was a buzz of gossip set off among the crowd who had gathered at the back of the room.
“And her Governess, the Lady Flemming, Your Majesty? Is she to be relieved of her duty as well?”
The color rushed crimson into his cheeks. He tried to look casually at Diane. It would be for the best, he thought; better to cut the child’s ties completely with Scotland. Better for him.
Diane leaned over and whispered to him behind a gold ring. “Perhaps you should reconsider such a move, chéri. She is such a small child, who, if you proceed, will be completely alone. And after all, you could demand that the Lady Flemming speak nothing but French in Her Majesty’s presence.”
It was odd, he thought, that Diane should intervene now. She so rarely did until she was called upon. Henri shifted in his seat, feeling temptation’s heavy hand upon his shoulder, and the overwhelming guilt for the sensation.
But there were other thoughts; himself as a child, alone in a Spanish prison, not much older than little Queen Mary. He could see a little boy, as though from a distance, alone in the cold stone cell and cruel guards parading outside his door, parroting his cries for help. Deprived of even his brother’s company throughout the ordeal, he had even forgotten how to speak French. Perhaps Diane was right. To deprive the child of her last remaining security, when she was only five years old, was not only selfish, it was cruel. The very same action forced on him had created a wound, and then a scar from which he never would heal. He had been thinking of himself; of last night; of the dark, unsettling feeling that Janet Stuart had unleashed in him.
“Of course you are right, m’amie,” he said. “No, Guise. Lady Flemming shall not be relieved of her duty. But she is to be instructed that when she is the presence of Her Majesty, she is to speak only French. Oh, and Guise, see to it that they are both fitted with some new French designs. We simply cannot have them dressing like that in a civilized Court.”
TWO DAYS AFTER the King had left her at Fontainebleau, Catherine’s sitting room was darkened with long sheets of black silk. They had been applied to the windows of her apartments for her consultation. Luc Gauier, the Queen’s astrologer, had been there for less than an hour and already the room was filled with thick blue smoke. The aroma of candles, incense and Catherine’s pungent musk hung in the still summer air like a poisonous cloud, trapped by the long black drapes.
Gauier sat slumped-shouldered, with his eyes closed at one end of the long table. He wore a long, bright blue coat with flared sleeves and black felt cap. As his head rolled gently from side to side, he made a continuous low humming sound from the back of his throat. On the table before him, on pieces of stained parchment, were various sizes of circles and triangles. On the floor beside his chair, in a small pile of sand, he had fashioned the shape of a pentacle.
Catherine sat pensively across from the astrologer, as beads of sweat dripped from above her full lips. She had been instructed to say nothing. Gauier would speak only when he felt that the stars and the planets were pro
perly aligned.
“There is a danger to the King. . .” he finally said. The words were low and garbled, almost inaudible. Catherine’s breath quickened as she leaned toward him, not daring to speak until she was told to do so.
“It will come in a form of combat. . .” Again he paused. Catherine watched his fists, which were placed on top of the table, clench and relax. She wiped the perspiration from her upper lip with a blue embroidered handkerchief. Finally, Gauier opened his eyes and looked down at the shapes fashioned on the parchment. He moved a candle closer and then looked over at the sand on the floor. “It will be a single combat. . .and he may die from this encounter.”
She felt a chill as beads of perspiration ran between her breasts beneath the heavy layers of silk and velvet. Then she began to go numb. She felt it first in her hands; then her arms, as it moved upward toward her throat. She was paralyzed with fear. Gauier looked at her directly, the signal that she was now permitted to speak. She licked her dry lips and swallowed, hoping to moisten her throat enough to bring the words from her mind.
“Can it be prevented?”
Once again, Gauier consulted the pentacle in the sand, then looked at the shapes on the table. “He must engage in no combat in the forty-first year. Then, if he passes through that year, I see that he will live to the age of sixty-nine.” Again he looked at the Queen with a glass-eyed stare as though he was completely unmoved by what he had said. Catherine was silent.
“Does Your Majesty wish to know anything further?” he finally asked. His tone was slow and even. He could just as easily have been conversing about Plato as predicting the death of her husband.
“Monsieur Gauier, you must repeat this to the King. You must warn him!”
“His Majesty does not believe. Such a move would be futile.”
“But he may believe if you were to tell him about your other prediction long ago concerning him; that you predicted he would become King long before his brother died. If you do that, then perhaps we have a chance to save him!”