Courtesan (48 page)

But to please her, that was everything.

“P
ERFECT
. A
BSOLUTELY PERFECT,
” Henri said after reading another communiqué that Diane had written for him to sign. He leaned across the carpeted floor, breathing a sigh of relief for her assistance and drew her lips to his. They had worked through the next night and only now did either of them realize that it was morning, when they could see the sun through the long, uncovered windows near their unruffled bed.

The King’s bedchamber at Saint Germain-en-Laye was littered with a spray of documents and state papers. All around them on the red and brown Turkish carpet were books on diplomacy and finance. Many were open to some random page where he had tired of the intricacies and moved on to the next volume. The fragrance of candles burned to a quick filled the room in the early hours of morning.

On the wall above the fireplace was yet another portrait of Diane, one that he had commissioned the previous spring; Diana resplendent, and completely nude. It was a forest scene and the only creature with whom she had shared a canvas was a young deer. Beside his bed was the first sketch he had ever had done of her. It was by the famed artist, Clouet, done a month after the birth of their daughter. He had drawn her in chalk seductively clad in the sheerest lilac-colored silk, her breasts visible, and a curl of hair draped across her shoulder.

“You must let me draw her as I see her, Your Highness, or there is no purpose in it,” Clouet had said when Henri grew violent at the voluptuous representation of his love. “To me she is Diana,” he had whispered as he began again the rhythmic strokes across the page. “Goddess of the hunt. Divine goddess of the moon. Fascinating. . .tempting. . .and yet, to mere men such as myself, forever. . .unattainable.” Since that day, the sketch had gone everywhere with Henri.

When the festivities marking the coronation of the new King were finally at an end, Diane’s position was quickly defined. Even before he went to see Montmorency, Henri personally drafted an edict elevating her to Duchesse de Valentinois. In so doing, he restored the duchy that had once belonged to her family, but had been lost many years before for outstanding debts.

In addition to her duties as Head Governess to the royal children, she was also to be present at all meetings of the
conseil des affaires
and the larger
conseil privé.
He leaned on her absolutely, and there was not a soul in France who was allowed to forget it. Despite the return of the once powerful Constable Montmorency and the appointment of all of Henri’s childhood friends to major cabinet posts, Diane was considered the voice with the single greatest influence over the King.

Suddenly, the angry gossip against her ceased. Wise ladies of distinction tried to copy her sense of fashion. It was very popular to be blond, and the nobility even discussed the prospect of taking more frequent baths. Palaces, churches and even furniture began to be ornamented with the new royal emblem, the D interlaced with an H. Everywhere the shape of the crescent moon was emblazoned. Women wore them in their hair and had jewelry fashioned in their shape. Astute dignitaries quickly saw the extent of the King’s commitment to her. When the Pope in Rome sent a gold rose to the new Queen, he wisely sent Diane an exquisite rope of pearls.

But behind the privacy of their chamber doors, not everything was ideal. The volume of information, foreign correspondence and edicts that were brought to Henri in those first few days were overwhelming. Letters of congratulations had been sent from nearly every ruler in the Christian world and when he could no longer postpone their acknowledgment, he went to Diane, pleading for her assistance. There was so much to assimilate, but he had been given only a matter of weeks to understand that for which his father and elder brother both had been meticulously groomed. In her chamber, surrounded with books and documents, their conversations centered around foreign affairs. They also spoke of the religious situation and the domestic policies which the new Court would support.

At Diane’s suggestion, Henri had begun to study his father’s policy of taxation. An exorbitant policy that she opposed had left many French citizens threadbare so that they might pay for the King’s opulent lifestyle and his quest for Italian soil. Diane softly encouraged Henri in two new courses of action.

First, she suggested that taxation be cut and that what revenues they did acquire be saved. There was a great likelihood that France would once again be forced into war, and both believed that they should be prepared. Second, Diane proposed that the money which was acquired through moderate taxation be reserved for the strengthening of French borders. They also resolved to continue the fight that his father had begun for northern Italy. As a condition of his own marriage, France had been promised Milan, Parma and Pisa. If Henri did not live to see them under French rule, then the shameful alliance that he now endured by his marriage to Catherine, and the loss of Diane as his wife, would be for nothing.

Henri called to one of the pages who flanked the door, requesting quill and ink. Both were quickly produced on a silver tray. He signed the documents with a swirling representation of his name. Then he looked up and handed the pen to Diane.

“Your turn,” he said simply.

Like a reflex, Diane reached for the pen and then stopped, her face full of surprise. “But I cannot,
chéri.
”

“Why not? You wrote them. You shall sign them.”

Diane looked down at the black ink still wet on the page. Beside his signature he had placed a dash, indicating the place for her name. She gazed into the fire, of which only the red glow of embers remained.

“To begin with, it would be a major breach of protocol for your mistress to sign, with you, an official state document.”

“Oh? About that, I have been studying these things for days now,” he said, pointing with a half grin to the spray of books around him, “. . .and I can find nothing that forbids the cosigning of a document by whomever I so choose.”

Diane paused, selecting her words carefully. She knew Henri would not be easily put off in this. The Court had now accepted her as Henri’s
favourite,
but they would not look so favorably on a paramour who appeared to have ambitions beyond the King’s heart.

“It is just that I would prefer to be a more. . .indirect advisor in matters of state. I think it would create far less consternation on the part of the rest of the staff.”

“Well, I would not prefer it! You are the lady of my heart and the first lady of France. I cannot, I will not make a move without you! Everyone, whether they are agreeable or not, shall one day come to accept that fact if they intend to stay in good stead with their new King!” As soon as he had said it, his sarcasm softened. Again he proffered her the pen. He lowered his eyes. “Please,
m’amie.
I truly want this, for both of us. I may not be able to make you Queen, but I can see to it that you have all of the power and the glory.”

Diane took the quill reluctantly and looked up at him. His dark eyes sparkled full of love. He had never forgotten his promise to marry her and she knew that he would never stop trying to make up for having to break it.

This official document, one of many that would be signed
Henri-Diane,
was only one of a long line of gifts which, since becoming King, Henri had bestowed upon her. Not only had he made her Duchesse de Valentinois, but he had legitimized their daughter. After his coronation, and for the rest of her life, the child was to be known as Diane de France,
légitime.
He had also dispatched Charles de Guise to Rome, on the child’s behalf, to begin marriage negotiations with the grandson of the Pope.

Earlier that month, he had nullified Anne d’Heilly’s legal action against Anet, placing it solely back into Diane’s hands. But the act of love by the new King for his Diane thought most controversial involved a generous stipend called
La Paulette.

When she at first refused it, he said it was his way of paying back the money that she had once so generously loaned him in the early days. His advisors had assured him that it was not taken from citizens or taxation. The money came from the purchase of various ecclesiastical and military appointments. It was completely separate from any and all regular funds of the Crown. It was his to give, he said, and he had chosen to give it to her. When he explained that it could be used to finance work at Anet, Diane reluctantly accepted.

“It is one of many crowns that I expect to lay at your feet,” he had said. But Diane was not to realize, for nearly two years, the day of Catherine’s own coronation, just how seriously Henri had meant what he had said.

M
ONTMORENCY DID NOT LIKE
any of the three Guises who were now so well installed at the Court of France. It was poor enough fortune to be required to share his influence with a glorified courtesan but an ambitious trio of sons from Lorraine was simply unacceptable.

Since his return, he found that they had garnered great power. They had been good students of their uncle, the Cardinal de Lorraine. Montmorency now chided himself frequently for not having seen it coming in the years before his exile. Even then, they were planning their ascent. Each step for them had been strategic. Their sister’s marriage to the King of Scotland had produced a niece who, by her father’s death, was now the Queen. This not only gave them a powerful pawn over which they held control, but the blood tie to royalty elevated their own status. In the preceding months, they had also cleverly worked a marriage for their youngest brother Claude. He was to become the bridegroom of Diane de Poitiers’ youngest daughter, Louise, solidifying their standing with both the malleable King and his mistress.

Furthermore, shortly after Henri’s coronation, Charles, the Archbishop de Rheims, had been given the honor of going to Rome to negotiate the marriage of the King’s natural daughter, Diane, and the Pope’s grandson. While he was there, he had also become Cardinal de Guise. Finally, they were doing their best to suggest a marriage between the little Queen of Scots and the French Dauphin, who at the moment was only four years old. Working in a cooperative manner, there was never a time when one of them was not at the King’s side. The Cardinal de Lorraine had cultivated his exacting, ambitious nephews and in a slow and steady fashion, they were coming to dominate the entire Court of France.

Montmorency lay back in bed and stared around his bedchamber at Fontainebleau. Things were not as he had remembered them. He had less power and less control over his own wishes. He felt as if he had traded in his battleground with Philippe Chabot, and had received two new fronts in its place. He was not in the least certain if it was the Guises or Madame Diane whom he trusted less.

He gazed out the long windows across from his bed. The sky was miserably gray. The wind howled and hurled a blur of red autumn leaves past the glass. A fresh fire had been stoked in the hearth beside him and he longed to lay back down and burrow beneath the covers like a child. But not today. During the night, the Queen had delivered another daughter and he must go to offer his congratulations. He knew that the King would be disappointed by the appearance of another female child; for it meant a need for more children between them. She had, after all, in fifteen years, managed to produce only one son. The risk of plague or accidental death made another male heir essential.

Montmorency stood while his valet dressed him in a stylish soft brown leather doublet slashed with a white shirt beneath. His arms were slipped through a full pleated coat of purple velvet. Then he glanced at himself in the mirror as further layers were applied. A gold chain inlaid with rubies running from shoulder to shoulder. Puffed and slashed trunk hose of the same purple fabric as the cape. His toque of brown leather had a narrow stiffened brim and a soft padded crown. An ostrich feather swooped down beside his left ear. Large stoned rings ornamented four of his fingers.

When his costume was finally complete, a small silver chest was brought. Montmorency opened it and took out a gold and ruby rosary. A perfect gift for the Queen, he thought. After he had examined it, he placed it back in the chest and smiled. Yes, perfect. Never mind, he thought, that he had few friends here. He didn’t need them. Oh, he knew the gossip. Since his return to power he was called quarrelsome, despotic and self-centered. All of it quite probably was true. But as long as he had one or two highly placed allies, he need not concern himself with his enemies. Feeling prepared, he tucked the silver box under his arm confidently, and left the room to continue his own quest for power.

“H
AVE YOU SEEN HER?
They tell me she is beautiful,” asked Catherine.

“Yes. I have just come from the nursery,” Henri replied. He tried to stave off the restless feeling that was already overwhelming him after no more than a few moments in her company.

He sat in a large embroidered chair that had been placed for him beside Catherine’s bed. She was surrounded by fresh white linen sheets, her head propped by blue and green velvet pillows. At the foot of her bed, her aide, Piero Strozzi, mingled with Catherine’s two ladies, never being far from the Queen’s reach. One eye was always upon her.

“I am sorry, Henri, that it was not a son this time. But the next one shall be a boy, I am certain of it,” Catherine said in a lowered tone of voice.

Henri paled at the thought that there would be need of a next time to bed her. As quickly as he had the thought, he was brought back to the moment by Catherine’s hand that she had poised in the air between them. It was several more minutes before he realized that she meant for him to take it. Her fingers were fat and moist around his own. From this confinement she was even fatter still, and there was an odor now that he had never noticed before; a kind of grease smell, like lard rubbed in sweat.

Looking at her swollen and coarse face and the heavy black brows, he wondered how he had ever managed to give her the seed of this child at all, much less of two others. But even as the question arose in his mind, he knew the answer. Diane alone had been responsible for the conception of them all. Each of the times he had meant to make love to her, she had accepted him. But then, when he had surrendered hopelessly to passion’s spell, she would pull away.
Go to her,
Diane had whispered.
It is your duty.
And knowing no other release for his ardor, Henri had gone.

“She does not look at all like me, I do not think. She has your coloring, Henri. Actually, she looks rather like your mother, from the portrait your father had commissioned at Blois. I think it would be so perfect if we named her Claude, after your mother.”

Henri’s eyes were bright, but he did not see her. “Whatever you like,” he replied.

“Then I like Claude. I had a boy’s name decided upon, which I was going to suggest to you. I quite favor Louis, after the King who reigned before your father. But now that we know it is a girl. . .well I think it shall be wonderful to honor the Queen’s memory this way, don’t you?”

“What? Oh, Yes.”

“Then you approve?”

“Approve of what?”

“Claude; the name Claude for our daughter.”

“I told you, whatever you like.”

Her tone became more insistent. “What I would like is for you to agree that it is a proper name, and to know that you approve.”

“Then I approve.”

“Good.”

Catherine settled back against the pillows and fingered the white linen sheets that were folded at the point where her belly, only yesterday, had held a child. Henri freed his hand from hers and looked across the room. He could not quite make out the time on the clock on the small table near the foot of the bed, but he was certain that an eternity had passed. When he looked back at the Queen, he could see something was building in her dark smoky eyes.

“You come to me like this only grudgingly and already you want to leave to go to her?”

“Catherine, please, do not begin it all again.” He sighed.

“But I have given Your Majesty what you desired; what the kingdom desired. Together we have a son who is heir to the throne, and two daughters more. She is not Queen, I am. Why can you not leave her now?”

Henri sprang from the chair. He loomed over her, his brows fused with anger. “I have three daughters, Madame. You forget Diane de France. And you know that what you ask is impossible.”

His words were so simple, so direct, that there was no possibility that she could refute them. But as he reached the foot of the bed, intending to punctuate what he had said with a swift exit, he suddenly remembered the gift which he had brought for her. He turned around and thrust the black silk bundle at her.

“It is a strand of pearls,” he said coldly. “I was informed that you admired those that Madame Diane received from His Holiness.”

Her eyes were filled with tears as she held up the costly necklace. “Please, Henri. I ask only for a chance. Would you at least consider what I have had to say?”

“There is nothing to consider, Catherine. Nor will there ever be. I am sorry.” His duty to his wife thus disposed of, he turned and strode toward the open bedchamber door.

“Then I shall pray for your immortal soul,” she called after him.

“You need not pray for my soul, Madame,” he replied without turning around. “For it is worth nothing if it means a lifetime without the woman I love.”

It was not until he was gone from her sight that she hurled the gift at the open door. The string broke and the floor was washed with small white beads.

“Y
OUR
M
AJESTY!
What is it?” Montmorency asked, narrowly missing the white spray of pearls across the room. He had rounded the corner to her bedchamber just as the Queen had screeched a profanity at the disappearing King, and tossed the pearls. The moment she saw the Constable, Catherine’s thick face softened.

“Oh, my dear friend!” she said in a gentle voice and extended her hand across the bedcovers. “Please forgive me. I have just had a visit from the King. It did not go as I had hoped.”

“So I gathered,” he replied as he moved toward the heavy poster bed. When he reached her side, he bowed and added, “Your Majesty,” acknowledging her in a more reverent tone. The formal part of his salutation past, he stood again and leaned over to kiss her hand. “You look splendid, Madame. Childbirth does agree with you.”

“That it does; but it appears to be the only thing that I can do for him that she no longer can.”

Montmorency eased into the chair that had been occupied by the King only moments before. Then he handed her the small silver chest, hoping it would create a distraction for her anger.

“A gift for me?”

“Just a small token of my great esteem.”

She opened it with the excitement of a child and gazed down at the rosary. “Oh Anne, it is lovely. Thank you.”

The curves of his lips straightened, forming one thin bloodless line, as he bristled at the sound of his given name. He allowed no one to address him that way, no one but the Queen. Long ago she had said she liked it, made a habit of it, and that was that.

“Oh, Anne,” she cried. “I simply do not know how I am to endure this! I want that woman out of his life, but it seems that I am powerless to do anything about it! I thought for so many years if I simply waited, if I were patient, one day he would grow tired of her. Everyone told me so. But it seems that the older she gets, the greater her hold on him becomes!”

“There are many here who seek to dominate our King, Your Majesty, not the least of whom is his mistress,” he managed to whisper before catching the eye of Piero Strozzi who was listening with great interest. “Perhaps, Your Majesty, we could speak more freely in private,” he suggested, and then leaned back in his chair, indicating with his posture that he meant to say nothing more in front of an audience.

Catherine waited until the loose pearls were gathered up by two of her ladies before she dismissed them. Strozzi was the last to leave the bedchamber, turning to give the Queen one last opportunity to change her mind; but she did not see him.

“I see this domination of His Majesty in a structural way,” he began again once they were alone. “Something not unlike the composition of a house. To carry it further then, each usurper of your rightful power would be a foundation stone. And to topple that house most expediently, one would be well advised to begin with the foundation.”

“Go on.”

“I shall be blunt, if Your Majesty shall permit it.” Catherine nodded her approval and then blew her nose into a lace handkerchief. “The Guises are in favor with the King’s mistress. That much is common knowledge, and I need not point to the magnitude of power the Duchesse de Valentinois wields at this Court. Already they have managed to marry their brother, Claude, to her daughter. Your husband saw to it that Charles de Guise was named Cardinal at the tender age of twenty-three. Now they are encouraging His Majesty to bring their niece, Mary, the little Scots Queen, here as a wife to your son. I tell you, the Duchesse and the Guises are a strong power base; very like the foundation of a house. I believe now that if we do not act, they may very well one day control us all!”

“But what can we do?” the Queen asked, now sitting upright in her bed.

“We must begin in stages. As one builds a house, so shall we demolish it. The first stone shall be the Guises.”

Catherine had not given up her fantasy of poisoning Diane, but she must admit, this was cleaner. Simpler. Montmorency was an expert in things of which she knew nothing. He did not like Diane or the Guises any more than she did, but the King would never suspect him of any wrongdoing. She knew that it was not wise to be involved in a plan to ruin those whom the King loved, but Catherine was desperate. She had the grave misfortune, along the way, of having fallen in love with her husband. It was far more disheartening since she knew that he did not now, nor would he ever, love her in return. But what her heart and her mind told her were two distinctly different things. The love she bore him was fueled by fantasy; the fantasy that if somehow she could remove the threat, then, just perhaps, she could make him love her.