Courtesan (24 page)

Diane steadied herself against his troubled expression by turning to sit on a small oak and pourpoint couch near the fire. After a moment, she took a deep breath and then looked up, beckoning Henri with her hand.

“Are you all right?” he asked when he was sitting beside her, their faces lit by the copper-colored flames.

“No. I am not well at all. Henri, what happened between us that afternoon was very special to me. You must know that. . .”

He reached over and put his hand on top of hers as she spoke, but her body grew more rigid with his touch. It made him pull away.

“However,” she continued, steeling herself to him. “It cannot. . .it must never happen again.”

“But I do not understand. What has happened? Have I done something foolish to displease you without even knowing? Because if I have—”

“No, of course not. You could never displease me. Your friendship has brought such joy to my life, you shall never know.” She paused and turned away. “It is just that I am so afraid.”

“Of me?”

“Of this! Of what is happening between us. What happened in those beautiful mountains; what surely would have happened had we stayed, would be viewed by others at Court as scandalous; as something absurd, even grotesque! You must know that.”

“Damn them all! I do not care what any of them say!”

“But I do! I must. Henri, please be reasonable,” she said calmly. “You must understand, until now, my life has been so ordered; so predictable. Now, with you, all of it has become so tangled and confused.”

“How strange that sounds to me when, for the first time in my life, I have found a bit of harmony with you. You know, once upon a time not so very long ago, I thought this could never happen to me. I was sure of it. I ran from everything and everyone. But when I met you, from the first moment, everything changed.”

“Please do not be angry with me,” she whispered, brushing a hand across his cheek. “I just need some time. Surely that is not so difficult to understand.”

“I could deny you nothing. I think you know that. Just say that no matter what, you will always remain my friend. If I have that to hold on to. . .”

She put her finger to his lips to silence him, and said, “Then it is promised.”

C
HARLOTTE DID NOT SURVIVE
her illness. She was buried quietly in the town of Chateauroux on a hill washed with gray tombstones. Hélène and Diane stood motionless over her grave, watching with unflinching eyes as three nameless, faceless men lowered the unornamented box into the ground. Finally the gap-toothed grave digger carelessly heaped the last mound of rich soil onto the box, and the townspeople looked on through the wrought-iron bars, whispering and pointing fingers at the mysterious collection of mourners.

When it was done, they rode in solemn procession back into the deep emerald green forest, toward the chateau Villers-Cotterêts. Henri and Diane cantered high on their horses beside one another, still dressed in black, under the royal canopy with the blue and gold fleurs-de-lys. As they wound their way through the forest, with the chateau in sight, the sun had already descended. They had seen the lights from the chateau for miles through the sparsely populated village and the surrounding forest.

“Jacques, take Mademoiselle Gallet to Madame’s apartments,” Henri instructed as the group dismounted in the chateau courtyard.

The King’s grooms advanced to lead away the horses as Saint-André walked toward the chateau with Hélène. Amid the commotion of lowering trunks and congregating servants, Henri managed to grip Diane’s hand. He pulled her forcefully away from the courtyard and down a stone path lined with beech trees, to a place behind the stables. There in the moonlight, surrounded by the brisk night air, they held one another in silence. After a moment, Henri pulled his arms from around her and cupped her face in his firm hands.

“I feel as if we have lived a lifetime with each other,” he whispered. “And no matter what happens now that we have returned, we will face it together.”

His youthful idealism touched her, and she almost believed it. Diane smiled and turned her head to kiss one of the hands that rested on her cheek. “I think you are the best friend that I have ever had,” she whispered.

“I know that you are the best friend I shall ever have.”

They embraced again with the determination of companions who carried with each of them a deep impenetrable secret. Then Henri waited silently while she shielded her face with her cloak, stole back up toward the courtyard and into the doors of the chateau. He stayed alone in the dark for several minutes trying to collect himself. Facing his family would be difficult. So much had changed. But she had promised, and he trusted her.

D
IANE STROLLED ALONE
down by the river’s edge to meet Jacques de Montgommery as she had promised him she would do. She had come early to be alone and to collect her thoughts. It was some time amid the shadows from the trees before she realized that she was smiling. She could not recall ever having been this happy. Although she had tried to deny it to herself and to Henri, she cared deeply for him. He was young, but he was also mature and handsome. As though plucked from the pages of a medieval romance, Prince Henri was like her shining knight. Just when she had given up ever finding happiness, he had galloped into her life and saved her. She strolled in the warm summer breeze and found her mind ambling back to thoughts of their afternoon together in the hills around Cauterets. She remembered his youth. His strength. His passion. Again she smiled, feeling herself blush at her most private thoughts.

“There you are!” Jacques declared with a smile as he advanced quickly toward her, late for their meeting. He took her hands in his own, and kissed each of them.

“Welcome back! Oh, I have so missed that pretty face of yours. How dull it has been here without you.”

Diane smiled back at him, retrieved her hands and clasped them behind her. They began to stroll together on the dirt path bordered by stones, beneath the ordered chestnut trees.

“I was so pleased that you agreed to meet privately with me like this,” he said.

“Well, are we not friends?”

“Yes, of course. It is just that you were so angry with me before you left. I was not certain you would ever want to see me again.”

“Well, that seems such a long time ago, and now I feel inclined to forgive you. A great deal has happened.”

“As it has at Court. In fact, as we speak the King is meeting with his
conseil des affaires
and Prince Henri in private session.”

Diane stiffened at the mention of Henri’s name. “Do you know what they are meeting about?”

“Why, yes, of course. I have just come from my post in the King’s chamber. But I am not certain that I should be sharing His Majesty’s private affairs, even with you.”

Diane turned to him. Her smooth lips turned up in a sensual smile. “If I let you kiss me, will you tell me then?”

“I will tell you anything if I may kiss you!”

“Here, on the cheek,” she pointed as demurely as a young girl.

Jacques leaned toward her and took her chin in one of his long slim hands. He drew near her a little at a time, attempting to savor the moment he had been given. When he was close enough to whisper to her, he said, “This news is certainly worth more than your cheek. Please do give me a taste of your sweet lips. You will know the news before anyone, even Mademoiselle d’Heilly.”

“The cheek, Jacques,” she insisted. He kissed the spot on her cheek near her ear, and then grazed her skin with his warm tongue. Diane was startled by his advance, and jumped back.

“You see just how good it might be with us?”

“All right, Jacques, enough teasing. Now it is your turn. What do you know of the business between the King and Prince Henri?”

“I should have known. It is always back to that dreadful boy,” he declared with irritation, his eyes cast upward. Then he looked back at her with a pointed stare.

“What is it between the two of you?”

“Answer me, Jacques. What do you know?”

“All right, all right,” he said. He found a large stone between the trees, sat down, and then looked up at her. “Well, it seems that, for some time now, there have been secret negotiations taking place between the King and the Pope in Rome. His Holiness has a niece whom he means to marry off; and he has been bartering her with every power in the Christian world. It would seem that due to her relations, the little girl holds the key to Italy, and apparently the old goat has been holding out for the best match he can make.”

“And what has that to do with the Prince and the
conseil des affaires
?”

“It would seem, my lovely, that our good King has won. Prince Henri is to marry her.”

“. . .There is some mistake,” she whispered.

“I was standing right there when the Chancellor read the King’s reply. There is no mistake.”

Diane clutched herself at the waist and exhaled as though she had been pelted in the stomach. Without turning around, she leaned against the tree behind her for support. She was sick. The bile rose from her belly into her throat with a swift force. She fought it.

“I must go,” she said in a faint tone and turned. He grasped her arm and stopped her. “Let me go, Jacques!”

“What in the devil is going on between you and that boy?” he charged. She threw her head up toward him. His eyes met with hers. She was near tears. Seeing the ashen pallor that had overtaken her, he had his answer.

“You stupid fool! I should have seen it coming. Why, by the look on your face I will bet he has even bedded you already, hasn’t he? Oh, what a fool you made of me with your feigned virtue and chaste kisses, when all the while you have been sharing your favors with that pathetic child!”

“Leave it alone, Jacques. You do not understand,” she whispered and twisted her arm until she was free of his grasp.

“You are right about one thing. I do not understand how you could choose a boy when you have a man bowing at your feet! I am the one you should be sharing your favors with, not him!”

Diane did not hear his last few words as she ran down the footpath as fast as her legs could carry her. She must get away. She must. From Jacques. From Court. From everything. She ran through the gardens, past the other courtiers, without a care to what they might think. She needed to find the safety of her own apartments inside the chateau. She was going to be ill.

“I
WILL NOT MARRY HER!”

“Do not be insolent with me, you little bastard!” the King raged.

“I will not marry her, I tell you! I want to choose my own wife!”

The King and his son stood squarely opposing one another; both with hands on their hips. They were so close that Henri could feel his father’s warm breath and see his chest heave with anger through the heavily jeweled doublet.

“You are the son of a King, boy. Your will is not your own!” The son, who had grown the height of the father, said nothing in return and the King grew weak beneath the intensity of the confrontation. “Oh, why can you not be more like your brother and obey your Sovereign King?”

“Because, sir, my
brother
would not be pawned off to a merchant’s daughter for the sake of a little land and gold!”

“Pay heed how you address the King,” Montmorency cautioned from behind the young Prince, but his words were as good as whispered in the wind.

Across the room, the King was snorting wildly and stalking up and down with his hands still firmly on his hips. Then, in his rekindled rage, he turned over a table, and the silver goblets and decanter on top were sent clanging onto the bare tiled floor. The Dauphin, Chabot and Montmorency remained silent. Sensing complications, the Duke of Albany, who had negotiated the marriage for the Pope, interceded with Henri.

“Your Highness must listen to reason. A marriage is really such a small thing. Do with your heart what you will but you must consider the consequences on all of France if you refuse. Truly, sharing your title with the Pope’s niece is in all of our best interests.”

“All of
our
best interests?” Henri repeated with a mocking laugh. “Ha! You mean to say all of
your
best interests, do you not? I am not Dauphin! I shall not be King! It is in
my
interest to marry a woman that I love!”

“Well, that is simply not how it is for any of us!”

The King spit the words with fury as he raced back to face his son. “I have done my duty to this country willingly, and married who was chosen, as have all the others who came before us. Marrying for love is for servants and peasants, not for a Valois Prince! Get a mistress for that, boy!” And then he paused. A wry sneer broke across his angry face. “Or perhaps, little man, you already have.”

The truth in his father’s words disarmed the younger opponent, and he searched the room frantically for some show of support. There was none. Not even from Montmorency. The King, quickly assessing the change in Henri, sneered more broadly.

“Perhaps Madame de Poitiers has consented to rid you of more than your smugness!” he proposed with an evil laugh. This tactic of the King’s changed everything and Henri steadied himself against his own oncoming rage. If news of their liaison were out, he could no longer protect her. Chabot advanced to the side of the Ambassador, looking dangerously like reinforcement.

“Respectfully, Your Highness, I am afraid that the issue is no longer open for debate. The agreement has already been signed.”

“Signed? Signed by whom?”

“Why, by the King and His Holiness Pope Clement, of course.”

The room was still. Ice cold. After a moment to catch his breath, Henri laughed again.

“And I suppose you have chosen the day, time and place for the deed without consulting me, as well!”

Looking around at the lowered heads, his angry smile turned to disbelief at the firmness and exactitude with which his life was being irrevocably molded. He was trapped. The matrimonial prison to which he was being sentenced was far worse than any Spanish incarceration he had known as a boy. It was an impossible circle. If he married the Pope’s niece, he lost all hope of a future with the woman he loved. If he asked permission to marry Diane instead, it would mean her certain banishment from Court—or even a worse fate, if His Majesty willed it.

“And if I refuse?” he finally asked.

“Then you shall be bound, gagged and carried to the altar!” raged the King. “But, by God Almighty, you shall marry the Italian!”

D
IANE KNELT IN THE
shadowy oratory before a statue of the Virgin Mary. She was so deep in prayer that she was startled by the touch of a hand on her shoulder. Seeing that it was Saint-André, she made the sign of the cross, stood and walked together with him back out into the corridor.

“Madame, I am sorry to disturb you here, and I would not have come if it were not necessary. . .”

“What is it, Jacques?”

“It is the Prince, Madame. He returned to his apartments a short time ago. To be plain with you, Madame, he returned very drunk. He will take no food and will speak to no one. He only insists on being left alone in the center of the floor of the bedchamber with a jug of wine and some odd-looking crescent-shaped pendant that he refuses to surrender. I am worried about him, considering the events of the day. I know that it is asking a great deal, but it seems you are the only one he will speak with anymore. If you would go to him while the banquet is on,” he proposed, “I can see that you pass undetected into the royal wing.”