Courtesan (49 page)

H
ENRI HAD LEFT
the Queen’s apartments half an hour earlier than he had planned. The meeting had angered him; not only because she had insisted on bringing up the issue of Diane, but because when he looked at his wife now, he saw his greatest weakness there, weakness of the flesh. At the age of twenty-nine, Henri’s body was hard, and his drive was intense. During the day he spent countless hours riding, fencing and playing
jeu de paume;
but none of these activities ever totally quelled the desire. At night, it would possess him completely until he found release with Diane. As each year passed, the need for her body grew stronger; and she was still a perfect lover. There was no fantasy, no act that she denied him, unless it was time for him to attend to his duties with the Queen. Then she would lock herself away, rewarding him again only after he had fulfilled his obligations to his Crown. She knew him, and she understood his duty better than anyone.

“I wish you to see to the drafting of a proclamation,” he said to Antoine de Bourbon, who had waited for him outside the Queen’s apartments.

“I wish to bestow a home as a gift for faithful service to the Crown. . .something of that nature. Saint-André can help you with the wording and all of the legalities. But you are to understand that it must be a formal declaration deeding the property. There must be no way it can be seen as a gift. It is payment for service rendered to the Crown. There must be no way that it can be removed. Is that clear?”

“Indeed, Your Majesty.”

“I leave tomorrow to begin toward Italy. Tell Saint-André that the proclamation is to be delivered as a gift after I have gone so that no word is leaked of it beforehand.” They began to walk again, proceeding through a large doorway and down a spiral staircase.

“What is the property, Your Majesty?”

“Chenonceaux.”

Bourbon looked up at the King, unable to mask his surprise. “And the recipient, Sire?”

“Why, Madame Diane, of course,” Henri replied with a smile.

D
IANE WAS EVEN EARLIER
to the council chambers than was the King. She was sitting at the long table in a carved armchair, her back to the door. She was dressed in a heavy black-velvet gown with white collar and cuffs, poring over a volume on foreign affairs. When she heard Henri enter in the company of two of his secretaries, she stood and curtsied to him.

“Your Majesty,” she said with the same respect she always showed him in public. Henri took her hand. Then, to her surprise, he kissed her with such abandon that her cheeks burned. She lowered her head to hide their blush.

“Where were you?” he whispered. “When I woke, you were gone.”

“I was with the Queen,” Diane cautiously replied.

“I have just come from there. Catherine did not mention you.”

“You did not really expect that she would, did you?”

“Perhaps not. But damn her! She could at least make an attempt to live amiably with us. When was it that you saw her?” Henri waited for her to sit, then sat beside her. Diane lowered her head again and took a breath.

“It was in the night,
chéri;
while she was in the final stages of her labor. It was a difficult birth, far more difficult than the last two. Her ladies came to me and I am glad they did not wake you. Apparently they still believe me possessed of some kind of imaginary power, because they pleaded with me for a potion to help the Queen. Both Mademoiselles Bonajusti and Cavalcanti were most humble. I know they feared for Her Majesty’s life. Fortunately, not long after I arrived, your daughter was born.”

He ran his finger along the curve of her cheek and said in a tone just above a whisper, “I shall spend the rest of my life repaying your kindness, you know. Even then, I fear, it shall never be enough.”

The chamber doors were opened again and a flurry of activity engulfed the firelit room. Saint-André, Guise, Bourbon, Marck and the Cardinal de Lorraine were issued in and took their seats around the King and Diane. The new Cardinal, Charles de Guise, just returned from Rome, followed them in his new crimson cassock and biretta. Montmorency was the last to make an entrance in a costume of purple velvet, edged in gold. When everyone was settled, Robert de La Marck stood.

“The issue at hand is the Scottish situation,” said Diane’s son-in-law.

“Your Majesty,” said François de Guise, “the problems there have escalated dramatically. The Scottish troops have suffered heavy losses against the English, who are at this very moment attempting to claim our little niece, Queen Mary.”

“It is not safe for her there,” his brother agreed. “The English know we oppose a marriage between her and the young King of England. That puts her life in immediate danger. Just two months ago, English troops sought to take the child from the Scots with the support of eighteen thousand men.”

“Your Majesty, the people in Scotland are pleading with us to intercede,” noted the Cardinal de Lorraine to further his nephew’s ambitious cause. “They will do as the French will them, to avoid an alliance with England.”

“Would your sister agree to allow the child to be raised in France?” asked the King, rubbing his thumb and forefinger along the line of his beard.

“Our sister’s foremost concern is for the child,” François replied.

As Diane leaned back in her chair, she watched in silent fascination as the two brothers weaved their intricate plan upon the King. Perhaps it was because she had not wanted to see it, but she had never seen their ambition so apparent as it was today. In her early years at Court, her opinion of them had been colored by gratitude. They had both been kind to her. She could not afford then to see beyond their courtesy. There had been far too many other dragons to slay.

But many things had changed. Their intentions were clear. Since Charles had become Cardinal de Guise, undoubtedly they would seek a Dukedom for François. They already had the marriage of her own daughter Louise to their younger brother Claude. Now they meant for little Mary to marry the Dauphin. If they were to achieve that, there would be no limit to their power. Bringing the little Queen to France was the pièce de résistance in their master plan and yet, like the growth of a cancer, even Madame Diane, with all of her influence, was powerless against the slow, insidious growth of the house of Guise.

Y
OU GAVE HER CHENONCEAUX?
How could you, when you promised it to me?”

Catherine had stormed onto the
jeu de paume
court where the King had just positioned himself to receive a serve from Jacques de Saint-André. Henri was dressed all in white, with a wide-brimmed straw hat to shield the sun from his eyes. On the sidelines, a collection of courtiers were brought to a hush at sight of the Queen. She came to a sudden stop at the edge of the court, her hands placed firmly on her wide hips. Henri lowered his racket and faced her.

“Who, Madame, is your informant?”

“My informant?” she repeated, and gave a wounded little laugh. “You dare to ask me such a thing when you promised Chenonceaux to me?”

Henri strutted across the court until they were facing one another, then put his hand on her shoulder.

“I think it would be more appropriate if we discussed this matter privately. Perhaps this evening.”

“And why is that? So that you can justify it somehow? So that I will not be able to contest it? So no one will know that you preferred to give a chateau to your courtesan, rather than to your Queen! I wanted that house, Henri, and you knew it!”

He had never seen her like this. The onlookers hung on her every word, convinced that by fortune, they were being made privy to the makings of a great scandal. But just as they were beginning to enjoy the rare ravings of the usually submissive Queen, Montmorency and a collection of guards moved in from the sidelines and began to escort them back toward the chateau. When they had gone, Henri dropped his racket to the ground. He wondered who it was that might have told her. No one had known but Saint-André and Bourbon, and he trusted them both.

“Jacques, do you know about this?”

Saint-André moved from the opposite side of the rope toward the King and Queen. “No, Your Majesty. I am afraid I do not.”

“Oh, do not look to blame him!” the Queen raged. “It is fully your doing. Did you not think that I would find out one day in some manner or other? So tell me, perhaps I shall learn from it. What did she do to get you to give it to her instead of to me?”

Now she was wailing. Her swollen face was flushed red, and her words were disjointed. Italian. French. Then back to Italian. He looked over her shoulder at Saint-André. He simply shrugged. Henri tried to calm her anger by telling her that on the same day that he had arranged the deed for Chenonceaux, he had conferred upon her the gift of the Barony of Tour en Auvergne. That domain had once belonged to her grandmother, and he had thought it would please her to have it returned.

“And so you thought you could simply give me anything else to quiet me? Perhaps you have forgotten that Chenonceaux is property of the Crown. It is not yours to give and no deeds or gifts, no matter how you disguise them, will ever alter that fact!” Only then did she take a breath before she added, “I warn you, Henri, tread lightly with me. I am no longer your puppet.” In her anger she had gone too far. She saw the rage building in his eyes.

“Do you dare to threaten me, Madame?”

Their eyes were locked. Neither moved. But then, as she stood facing him, Henri began to see the pain behind the anger; the pain that he alone had caused her. His compassion for her startled him.

“Catherine, please, you can have any other place you like. There is a large chateau on a bluff overlooking the valley. It is called Chau-mont and it is an exquisite chateau, far grander than Chenonceaux. Please, let me give it to you. I would really like to do that for you.”

“I want only Chenonceaux.” Her tone once again was cold and resolute. She said the words in Italian because she knew that it would anger him.

“Well, you cannot have it!” he replied in French. “It belongs to Madame now, and no matter what you thought I said, it was always meant for her.”

Henri left the
jeu de paume
court before she could protest further. He knew if he stayed to reason with her, she would only begin to weep, or worse, to threaten Diane and neither prospect was he prepared to face without the use of violence against her.

H
ENRI DID NOT ARRIVE
at Saint Germain-en-Laye until after midnight, and although he was tired from the long ride, he was glad to know that he had left Catherine and her tears behind him. He had not planned to leave until morning, but he could not bear to look upon her sad, puffy face another moment. It made him angry. Everything about her made him angry, and the fact that, seven months after the birth of Princess Claude, she again carried his child was like salt in a raw wound.

Surrounded by his entourage, he mounted the steps toward the royal nursery, and began the long walk down the torch-lit corridor. The six-year-old Queen of Scots was now installed here and with Diane, who was returning from Anet the following morning, he had planned formally to greet her.

“Please, Your Majesty, allow me to wake the servants and ready the children if you mean to see them tonight,” Montmorency argued.

“That will not be necessary. I only want to look in on them. No sense in rousing the staff for that.”

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.

“H
OW 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.

M
ONTMORENCY 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.