Courtesan (15 page)

The King’s nostrils flared and his face flushed crimson at the tone she had dared to use with him.
God, what a mistake it had been to look twice at her,
he thought.

“If she were not carrying a child of royal blood, I would throw the whole lot of you into the conciergerie and let you rot there for plotting against me as you have! You played me for a fool, and I shall not have that in my house!”

“Father, please,” François urged and put his own arm on the King’s shoulder.

The King took a deep breath and, after a moment, his voice returned to its even pace. “The girl will be sent to the convent Murate to bear the child. After it is born, it shall be returned to Court to be raised with the others. I shall grant a small stipend for the girl to use as a dowry. There will be nothing more.”

“But Your Majesty must be reasonable,” the Comte de Sancerre cautiously objected. “Who will want her once word of this is out?”

It was only now, that the course of the indiscretion was defined, that Montmorency stepped forward. As he did, the King and Dauphin turned away.

“Perhaps you should have considered the risk more thoroughly before letting your daughter whore for you. The King has made you an equitable offer. I would advise you to accept the terms.”

The King looked back over his shoulder and then, with no further thought, as he and the Dauphin walked together toward the door, he added, “Handle the details, will you, Montmorency? My son and I have a banquet to attend.”

T
HE NIGHT AIR
had gotten cold.

As Henri leaned against the ivy-covered railing before him, he inhaled deeply. His nostrils burned with the brisk rush of air. He could see the figures of a man and a woman coming forward from the gazebo. They were laughing and she was clutching his arm. Henri gasped as the moonlight illuminated their faces and he could finally see that the woman was Diane. The man with whom she strolled was the promiscuous Scots Captain, Jacques de Montgommery.

The moonlight caught the folds of Diane’s black silk gown, which was set off with gold lace. Her blond hair was gathered away from her face into a net shimmering with the same gold. Henri felt his legs falter. Then, to his surprise, she noticed him.

“Well, there you are!” she cried out and waved to him as he leaned against the terrace balustrade. “I have been looking for Your Highness!”

She marched up the staircase to the terrace leaving Montgommery several paces behind. She was smiling and her cheeks and the tip of her nose were pink from the night air. “Thank you, Jacques, for your arm. Save me a dance later, perhaps?” she asked with a smile. Montgommery scowled at Henri, who appeared to have captured Diane’s attention. He stormed off without further word.

“I wanted to congratulate you on your victory yesterday,” she said when they were alone.

“You could have won. You play very well.”

“Now you are the one who is being kind.”

“Not when it comes to sports. In that, I mean what I say. You played an excellent game.”

“Very well, then. I thank you,” she replied. It took no more than a moment for both of them to realize that Henri was now quite unashamedly staring at her. She became uneasy under his adolescent gaze.

“You look truly magnificent,” he managed to mutter, as he took her hand and gently kissed it the way he had seen the other men at Court do. The smile left her face as he held her soft white hand to his lips. As soon as she could, Diane pulled away and began to rub her hands together as though they had gotten cold.

“It really is a splendid party, do you not think?”

“For one of the King’s gatherings, I suppose it is.”

“Well. Why, don’t we go back in? You know, Henri, I would very much like to dance if you should ask me.”

The moment that followed was so long and awkward that she was almost sorry she had proposed it. He peered in through the glass doors, as though he were looking for someone.

“I do not dance,” he finally said, still not looking at her.

“Oh, nonsense. Everyone dances.”

After a moment, he looked in her direction once again. His expression had grown distant; his posture formal. “To be more precise, Madame, I do not dance well,” he said. “It was by the King’s request some years ago that I not attempt it publicly for the embarrassment it caused him.”

Diane did not know what to say. The mood between them had so quickly shifted from familiarity to tension that now she too felt awkward. She looked over at him, but once again, found him looking away from her and back into the ballroom. She was certain that he must have caught the eye of some young girl, just as Montgommery repeatedly did when they were together. That duplicitous behavior among courtiers that at first had enraged her, now had almost begun to seem almost commonplace. Detaining the Prince out here like this, much less thinking that he might be interested in a dance with her, was nothing but foolish.

“It is getting chilly. Perhaps we should go inside,” she suggested.

“Yes, I think that would be wise.”

Henri turned without acknowledging her and began to walk toward the door. At the same moment when they reached the entrance, Anne d’Heilly stepped out of the same door on the arm of Admiral Chabot. They were close enough that their stiff skirts brushed together and forced the new rivals to pause.

“Why, good evening, Henri dear,” Anne said with a Cheshire-cat grin. “Why, and who have we here? Yes, of course. It is the widow in black. Have you taken to defending her everywhere now, or just in dark corridors and on moonlit balconies?” She waited for Chabot to hide a laugh behind his hand before she continued. “Most unwise, unless of course, you mean for people to talk.”

Her words were harsh. Henri turned to Diane who stood behind him. He was surprised and yet strengthened by a sense of desperation in her eyes before she lowered them.

“How dreadful, Mademoiselle d’Heilly, that you can find no one your own age with whom to occupy yourself. The children are playing up in the nursery. Perhaps you would be more comfortable with them. At least they are less likely to contest your cruel taunting.”

“Listen, little Prince, you cannot speak to me like that and get away with it,” she seethed, but Henri refused the bait.

“Go on now. Be a good girl. I can see Madame here is growing as weary of your games as I.”

As he spoke the last words, he clutched Diane’s hand firmly in his own. Then, brushing Anne aside as though she were a servant, he led Diane through the open door, back into the safe throngs of clamorous guests.

“Well, it would appear that you have made a habit of rescuing me from the wrath of Mademoiselle d’Heilly,” Diane whispered, as they moved back into the ballroom.

“Nothing should bring me greater pleasure, Madame. But I confess, I think you do quite well on your own.”

“Oh, not so well as you might think.” She smiled.

Henri squeezed her hand to guide her as they wound through a maze of dancers, now doing the Branle, a lively country dance full of strenuous swings and lifts. The dancers tried to bring them into the steps but Henri pushed past them. The odor in the ballroom was acrid. A blue-gray haze had made it suffocatingly heavy. The thick air was in sharp contrast to the crisp and quiet of the garden.

“From what I have seen of this Court since I have been back, there is bound to be gossip, now that you have twice so publicly gone against her on my behalf.”

“Madame, I have been talked about for a long time now. I venture very little of it, in the form of flattery.”

Diane looked over at him, her face glowing brilliant with sincerity. “That is difficult to believe, since there are really so many nice things that one could say about you.”

She watched a hard-edged expression return to his face. He looked away. “I must tell you, Madame, that I am not at all accustomed to flattery.”

Diane stopped when they reached the archway that led out into the new Grand Gallery. The music was not nearly so loud there and the odors not so thick. She turned in front of him so that he was made to face her. “Then perhaps I have overstepped my bounds.”

“It is only that I am not worthy of your trust, Madame,” he replied in a soft, vulnerable voice.

“Why would you say such a thing?”

“They say I am difficult. The King says so himself; quite publicly, in fact. He hastens to add that he often wishes, for both of our sakes, that I had not been born at all.”

“Well, I do not think you are difficult in the least. Besides, I do not care what
they
say, even if the
they
to which you refer includes the King of France. You have certainly been a friend to me, and for that I am eternally grateful,” she declared and then quickly leaned over to kiss his cheek.

She smiled. Henri could not. After a moment, when the awkward silence between them seemed destined to return, she looked across at the dancers. But Diane knew that he was watching her.

His mother, Queen Claude, had been Henri’s last contact with any sort of affection. Not since he was a very little boy had anyone treated him with the least modicum of tenderness. Since then he had closed himself off to it. No one understood his pain or the betrayal he felt. No one took the time.

There was Montmorency who had tried to be a father figure, believing that Henri had no real father in the King. But, though he cared deeply for the Grand Master, in Henri’s eyes, Monty had one fatal flaw—he loved power above all else. His heart ached for more than the ambitious Grand Master felt free to give.

Slowly, out of Henri’s desperate need, grew a powerful resentment of everyone and everything around him; his way of reconciling the pain. The loss. Through this turmoil, Diane de Poitiers had emerged. To him, she was all grace and kindness; what the world should be. But more than that, she had displayed a vulnerability which, until now, had been completely foreign to him. It drew him to her in an inexplicable way, in spite of his fear. No one in his life had ever needed him. Here, now, he had come upon this lady who was virtually helpless against the mysterious hostility of his father’s powerful mistress. He could be Perseus to her Andromeda. He might finally have a purpose. Very few people would risk Anne d’Heilly’s disfavor by defending a newcomer. Very few, except of course, the King’s malcontent son.

T
HE NEXT WEEKS
that passed brought a change in Henri, the cause of which to everyone but himself was thought to be quite mysterious. Each day he swayed more naturally toward the humor and easiness of Diane’s companionship. Slowly, he began to blossom under her kindness.

After their initial reunion at Fontainebleau, the awkwardness that he had felt in her presence vanished. In its place, a sensitive and caring young man had begun to emerge. She too had welcomed their friendship, anxious to find some little enjoyment in her stay at the French Court.

Two days after the King’s party, the Court had moved again. This time the Court was installed at the royal palace of Saint Germain-en-Laye near Paris. There, Henri and Diane took long walks in the King’s gardens and rode for endless hours in the deep evergreen forests surrounding the chateau.

Henri, who resented all things intellectual as a symbol of his father’s arrogance, now began to discuss Petrarch with her. He read Machiavelli, which he had always avoided simply because his father favored it. He even read
Le Roman de la rose
again because she had mentioned that she especially liked it. Each day after vespers, since their arrival at Saint Germain-en-Laye, they challenged one another to a heated game of
jeu de paume
on the back courts of the chateau.

“Oh, the deuce! I missed it!” Henri cried, pealing with laughter, as the heavy leather ball sailed past his racket and into the thick of grass behind him. The midday sun was cooled by a sweet spring breeze that blew gently across the outdoor court. On the sidelines, Hélène sat busying herself with a white needlepoint rose while Charlotte dozed and intermittently batted at a particularly persistent fly.

“Oh, come now, Your Highness can do better than that!” laughed Jacques de Saint-André as he paced the length of the court as referee.

“Whose side are you on? I have to beat him at least once!” shouted Diane as she batted another ball over the net. Then, as Henri returned the volley, Diane moved a little too close to the left and was struck in the forehead by the heavy sailing ball. Under the impact, she lost her footing and went tumbling to the ground.

“Diane!” Henri cried, dashing over the net toward her. Jacques and Hélène followed. Henri knelt by her side and supported her in his arms. “Oh, Diane! Diane. . .say something, please! Are you all right?”

“Jacques, please, get some water!” Hélène urged.

Jacques sprang to his feet to find one of the royal guards who were positioned discretely around the courts.

“Madame, it is Hélène. Can you hear me?”

Diane tried to clear her head by blinking. When she opened her eyes, she found herself looking into Henri’s gentle but frightened face. “Yes, I am fine,” she said a little weakly, as she tried to sit up.

Jacques came running back followed by two of the King’s guards; one of whom was carrying a small pail of water.

“Stop all this fuss now. I am fine. It was really very clumsy of me.” She smiled at Henri whose face was still filled with fear. “Truly,” she added for his benefit. “Now, if you would just help me up, please. We were not finished with the game.”

“Oh, but we are!” Henri insisted. “Jacques, help me lead her over to that bench.” The two young men took her beneath each arm and helped her from the court.

As Henri hailed his guards to assist them, he happened to meet Charlotte’s reproving gaze as she sat in her chair on the sidelines. Although she sat erect with concern, she had not moved during the incident, and now it was apparent that neither had she taken her judgmental eyes from Henri. He knew, as they looked at one another, that the years had made her wise. He also knew that she had seen far more from him toward Diane than just tender concern.

D
IANE AWOKE IN
steamy darkness.