by Diane Haeger
“When shall we meet?”
“How about at three, just outside the kitchens?”
She smiled and turned around to head back to the camp before anyone noticed that she and the Prince were gone together.
TWO LITTLE BLACK PUPPIES tumbled beneath their own legs as they scampered toward Henri. He stopped on the path and stared down as the little animals panted and scratched at his stockings. He bent down to stroke the frisky head of one. At that same moment, he looked up at Diane who was standing before him.
“Clothilde told me what happened to the puppy,” she said.
Henri continued to stroke the little black animal’s furry head as the other scratched and yelped to be picked up. They were awkward, lumbering little pups with coal-black eyes, large paws and fur that stuck straight up from their heads and tails.
“Their mother was one of the King’s best hunting dogs,” she explained. “Unfortunately, as you can see, their father was somewhat less distinguished. The Gentleman-of-the-Hounds was about to put them down when I convinced him to surrender them both to me.”
As Henri continued to stroke the one and look into its big, sparkling eyes, the other pup leapt into his arms and began licking his face.
“Do you like her?” Diane asked.
“She is wonderful!”
“Oh, I am so glad. I so wanted her to please you.” She caught the way it sounded and lowered her eyes for a moment. “What I mean to say is, after all, I owe you so much. The other at your feet is a male.”
Diane clasped her hands together in front of her gown, thrilled that, if even for a moment, she appeared to have made him happy. Henri scooped up the other puppy and now held them both, one in each arm. They were active, happy little dogs; both wiggled under his grasp and licked his face. Henri laughed at the surprise of it. He could not remember anyone ever giving him anything just for the pleasure of it.
Still carrying the squirming puppies, he lunged forward toward Diane, meaning to kiss her cheek. But then, as his lips met with her warm skin, he was unable to tear himself away. He parted slowly from her, both of their smiles weakening. Their faces were close to one another, both still and motionless. They looked at one another. Almost at once, Diane’s face began to flush. Her lips parted.
“So, what will you name them?” she asked in a whisper, nearly choking on the words.
“I do not know. . .no, I do know!” he paused, as the puppies continued to yelp and lick his face. “Since she is such a naughty little thing, I think her name should mean the same. I will name her Friponne. And he, poor little devil, who is crushed by his sister’s persistence, will be Friper.”
“Diane. . .Diane, are you here?. . .Diane!”
It was Jacques de Montgommery. From the distance of his voice, she realized he must be in the King’s parterre. But each time he called out, the voice grew stronger. She had forgotten, in her excitement over giving Henri the dogs, that she had agreed to meet him there. Now she was late.
“I must go,” she said.
“Is the Captain courting you?” he pointedly asked as the puppies began to squirm in his arms.
“Diane!” Again, it was Montgommery’s voice.
“Such a thing would be inappropriate. I am still in mourning. I can be courted by no one yet.”
The tension in Henri’s face fell away. He smiled again. “Well then, I suppose you had better go. Thank you again for the dogs,” he said, beginning once again to smile.
IT WAS GRATITUDE. Simple appreciation.
Or so Diane told herself as she walked away from the kitchens in the direction of Jacques’ voice. He had only kissed her cheek, merely brushed it. He was a boy who had loved the gift and had become overwhelmed. Young men were wont to do such things. She forced her mind away from the thoughts and the direction in which they were proceeding. She forced her mind from the image of Henri.
“How was your game?” she asked with a wave, spying Jacques sitting on a sculptured stone bench beneath the shade of an elm. Behind it, a stone wall covered in ivy lent privacy to the spot.
“I played well, but lost. The Dauphin is a devil on the court. Besides, thoughts of you drive me to distraction when we are apart. I wish you had watched me play.”
“I told you I had an appointment,” she replied, ignoring his flattery.
They walked along in silence for some time through the mazes of emerald hedgerows. He tried to hold her hand and when she would not let him, he finally grabbed it and forced her to stop.
“She is with child,” he whispered. “But she has gone to Toul to have it dealt with.”
Diane felt the blood drain from her face. He could not have meant it. “Dealt with?” she said with an expression of such horror that even he was moved. He took both of her hands in his own and held them up.
“She means nothing to me,” he said. “I knew her before I met you. It really is none of your concern, but since I mean to court you formally when your mourning is complete, I wanted there to be no deceptions between us.”
“What do you mean, dealt with?” she repeated, her mouth gone dry.
“There is an old woman in Toul who helps young girls out of. . .awkward situations,” he explained, still holding her hands. Diane tore them from his grasp and buried her face in her palms.
“Oh, it is too awful to hear!”
“She means nothing to me, I tell you! None of them do! You must believe me!”
“Saint-André tried to warn me about you weeks ago, but I would not listen. Jacques, please,” she began to plead. “You must do what is right and honorable. Marry her and give your child a name. At least then I can still face you with some sense of honor.”
“Madame, I know it is a shock, but listen to reason. She does not desire to marry me nor do I desire to marry her. She has been betrothed since her birth to a man from her village. What happened between us was nothing more than a trifle that went too far afield. Now it is all being handled.”
“Handled? Dealt with? The words sicken me! How can the act of love mean so little to you?”
“Love? Oh, Madame, open your eyes! You said yourself that night at Blois that love had no bearing on any of it between Mademoiselle d’Estillac and myself. Well, you were right. Diane, mon amour. . .” He clutched her shoulders in his long thin fingers, and began to shake her. “This is the Court of France! It is not some fairy tale place from the recesses of your mind! Your husband had you hidden away for so long that you know scarcely more than a girl about the ways of the world!”
“Be that as it may, I will not be a party to it, Jacques. It is too dreadful even to consider. God gave that child life. You have no right to take it away simply because it does not fit into your master plan!”
“Fine!” he yelled. He had finally lost his temper. “You need know nothing further! I wanted to be honest so that the courtship that is to commence between us is pure. I have seen to that.”
“You speak as if I have agreed to it already.”
“It is only a matter of time between us. You know that as well as I. You shall not receive so generous an offer from any of the others here, that I can promise you! Now that you are a widow there is little left for you. There will be many who will want you for their mistress, to be sure, because you still have your beauty and the King’s ear, but what can you offer for which someone would marry? Your youth and your child-bearing years are gone. What real use are you, but to me? Marrying me is the only way.”
He was cold and calculating. He smiled when he spoke as though they were deciding social engagements instead of lives. He appeared to feel nothing for the other two lives he was about to destroy, caring only for the promotion of his own. Diane pulled herself from his grasp in complete devastation and ran from him as if she were running from Evil itself.
DIANE RAN THE ENTIRE length of the gardens. She thought that if she could run fast enough, then perhaps she could outrun the heinous truth forced on her by Montgommery. The ugliness of Court was trying to swallow her. The ugliness of this
world now far outweighed its brilliance. Still her legs could not carry her nearly fast enough to escape it.
As she ran into the chateau and down the long, empty corridor, her thoughts returned to Henri. Dear, sweet Henri. So noble. So innocent. Was I ever so pure? As she neared the gallery which housed the chapel, she was overwhelmed by the desire to see him again. He would help her outrun the evil. She must make sense of this somehow. With someone. Unable to think of anything but that, she ran all the way to the royal wing of the Chateau Saint Germain-en-Laye.
The guards doubled in numbers as she entered the east wing. Lined along the stairs to the hallway, they were armed and clad in blue and crimson doublets, emblazoned with the King’s crest. She passed them and raced up a small flight of stairs. She could hear laughter echoing amid the silence, and was drawn to it. It was Henri’s voice.
“Your move,” she could hear Jacques de Saint-André say, as she neared Henri’s apartment. Then there was a moment of silence.
“Ah you bastard, you’ve won again!” he said with a laugh. Henri looked up through the open door to see Diane barred from entry by the crossed rapiers of two guards. He sprang to his feet from behind the chess board and charged toward the door.
“It is all right,” he admonished. “Return to your posts.”
Henri was alarmed by the distress in her eyes. He saw the heaving of her chest. He could tell she had been running.
“Please leave us, Jacques,” he asked, never looking away from Diane.
When Jacques had gone out of the room and closed the door behind him, Diane fell into Henri’s arms. He encircled her awkwardly. Never having held a woman, and feeling uncertain about what to do with his arms, he moved them aimlessly up and down her back. At the very same moment, when some deep instinct would have him clutch her closer to him, he was barely able to touch her. Despite his discomfort, she seemed to melt naturally into the contours of his body.
As they stood alone together in the silence, his own heart quickened with the thought of her breasts pressed against his chest. The warmth of her body. The softness of her arms on his neck. After a moment, she pulled away and shook her head as though someone had just awakened her.
“Forgive me. I do not know what came over me. Please, forgive me. . .I just saw you standing there and I—”
“Please do not apologize, Madame. What is it? What on earth could have troubled you so? Was it Mademoiselle d’Heilly again?”
“No. Nothing like that. I do not know, exactly. I just. . .oh, it is too awkward to speak of.”
Diane turned from the sight of his puzzled expression and walked toward the oriel window. Frippone padded over to Henri’s feet and began to yelp. He scooped her up into his arms in an attempt to quiet her.
“Please, Madame, what is it? We are alone. You may speak freely.”
“I had some distressing news just now,” she said, gazing out onto the courtyard, trying vainly to steady herself. “Something ugly and dark. . .and I. . .well, I think of you as my friend here. I have no others. Not really. Something led me here to you. I do not know, for comfort, I suppose.” After a few moments when Henri made no reply, she was forced to turn back and face him. “Now I have embarrassed you. Oh, I am so sorry.”
Henri put the squirming dog down onto the floor, and she scampered back to her place by the fire beside her brother. “On the contrary, Madame,” he whispered. “You have given me a great gift by coming here. It is a rare thing to be needed by someone else. I have never been fortunate enough to know such a sensation before now.”
The energy between them was charged. She moved back across the room toward him, as though not under her own power. She stood facing him again; facing the endless eyes. The dark, heavy brows. The black spirals of hair near his face. That face. . .the key, and yet. . .inaccessible. Impenetrable. So full of pain and suffering. Full of a latent. . .a dark power. She could hear nothing but his breathing, the warmth of it so close to her face. Like her own, it quickened. It was difficult for either of them to look away; or want to.
“Please, sit down. I shall have Jacques bring us some tea with mint and camomile. My mother drank it when she was upset.”
“No, Henri, I cannot stay.”
All at once she was exceedingly awkward; herself, adolescent. The reality of what she had done fell upon her. She should not have come. It had been improper.
“I do thank you for the offer, but your kindness has been medicine enough,” Diane finally said, wishing not to confuse him more than she knew she already had. She moved toward him and touched his chin lightly with her fingertips. “Most of all, thank you for not thinking me completely mad for coming here.”
“I could never think that of you,” he whispered as she turned to leave.
“Please apologize to Jacques for me, for having interrupted your game.”
“I won anyway,” he said and then he added, “Will you still want to play jeu de paume tomorrow?”
“Yes, of course. I will give you a chance to win back the medallion.”
“That is for you to keep, Madame. . .no matter who wins.”
Jacques came through the open door and passed Diane. They nodded to one another. Diane said nothing. Then she was gone. Jacques looked back at Henri. He was still standing in the middle of the room watching the empty doorway; his lips slightly parted, eyes dark and intense.
“Great God! You are falling in love with her!”
Henri turned away, knowing his face had betrayed him. Jacques advanced and put his hand on Henri’s shoulder.
“Do not be a fool, man! She is old enough to be your mother. You are just a boy to her.”
“Silence! Do you hear me, silence!”
“Forgive me, Your Highness, but you know it is your best interest I have at heart. I could not bear to see you hurt like that.”
The energy had not left the room with Diane. Both of them felt it.
“I know, Jacques,” he conceded, after a moment. “But you do not know her as I do. She is so vulnerable and alone. She is not like anyone else here in this miserable place. She needs me.”
“And when she has had you and tossed you aside for Jacques de Montgommery, where will you be?”
“What are you talking about?”
“How could you not know? He certainly has made no secret of his interest in her. I heard that when her mourning is over they will announce their courtship. The gossip is that he has already proposed marriage.”
“Impossible. She would have told me.”
“Be careful of that illusion, mon ami. Women never tell you everything. It is part of their great allure.”
Henri sat back down at the game table, his mind racing from images of Diane to his own deep fear. He began lining up the chess pieces on the board with a veneer of indifference.
“Well, are we playing chess or not?” he said piquantly when Jacques continued to stare at him.
“Of course. As Your Highness wishes.”
DIANE HASTENED DOWN the hall and out of the royal wing. She prayed that no one had seen her.
“How could I have been so careless?” she muttered to herself with her head discreetly bowed. “Think of the scandal, you fool! Coming out of the Prince’s private apartments in the broad light of day! What on earth were you thinking? Oh, I am such a fool for even wanting to believe that they were wrong about Jacques. But I am an even bigger fool for allowing such a vulnerable and tormented young man to console me. I will not. . .I cannot afford to make that mistake again, or it may well be my last!”
And then, as she began again to run in her elegant velvet slippers across the tiled floor, she did not know how or why, but a line came to her from some strange, dark place inside her. It was a line which at first she did not recognize as from the pages of Le Roman de la rose.
He did not know if she were a lie, or the truth. He drew back, not knowing what to do; he dared not draw near her for fear. Fear of being enchanted.
YOUR MAJESTY, we have another response from R
ome,” declared Chancellor Duprat. “The Pope has received your rejection of terms for the marriage. He has continued to sweeten the deal now by adding Parma as well. With these strongholds, you shall have Italy once again in the palm of your hand!”
“And I would sooner surrender it forever than see the Dauphin married to a merchant’s daughter, no matter what riches they offer! All of you know my position.”
“But Your Majesty, I beg you to reconsider,” Admiral Chabot interceded in the dim council chamber. “In addition to the property, she comes dowered with a great sum of money, and if we play the game well, there is now a hint that the Pope may actually add the Duchy of Milan to sanction the match! There is rumor already that he is trying to obtain it as a wedding gift!”
“So, you would recommend for Us, for all of France, a commoner, and a foreign one at that, as future Queen?”
“Sire,” said the Cardinal de Lorraine. “Think of the thorn in the side of the Emperor that this marriage would become. As we speak, he recommends one of his own to marry the girl so that he may further his own ambitions. We would take that away from him.”
François whipped around to face the Cardinal. “Not the Dauphin. She is beneath him.”
“Your Majesty, it is far more serious than that to which the Cardinal alludes,” said Duprat. “I have it on good authority from my men in Rome that the Pope is, at this very moment, also negotiating the marriage of his niece with the Duke of Milan, Francesco Sforza, should His Holiness find his negotiations with you unsatisfactory. You know as well as I that Sforza is the Emperor’s puppet. If that union is agreed to, where will that leave Milan when you mean to claim it?”
“What of my proposal of another son, if not the Dauphin?” Admiral Chabot cautiously forged.
“Oh, not that again!” Montmorency sighed and put his hand to his head.
“A second son of France is better than no son at all,” Duprat agreed.
There were rumbles of agreement with the declaration.
“Gentlemen, please!” Montmorency bolted from his seat, leaned forward and balanced his knuckles on the table before him. “You must all listen to reason! You cannot subject that boy to such a thing. He is not prepared for an institution the magnitude of marriage. He lived four years of his life behind iron bars. We all see every day what scars he bears from that. I know him, and I tell you he is not ready!”