We sat together, not speaking, until dawn, when Duncan’s messenger returned. They spoke in the corridor. When Duncan came back into the room, his face was grim.
‘Four are dead. Lord James is not one of them.’
‘Praise God for that at least! What cause?’ I asked.
‘The flux,’ Duncan said deliberately. ‘A doctor has stated that they died of the flux.’
‘Poison,’ I declared.
Duncan looked over his shoulder. ‘Do not say such things.’
‘But it’s true.’
‘All the more reason not to say it. The official story is the flux.’
‘They were poisoned for certain. I know it.’ Then I realized that I’d said too much, and turned away.
Duncan grabbed my wrist. ‘What makes you think of poison?’
‘Oh, I don’t know.’ I tried to sound offhand, but my pulse had quickened.
His fingers tightened their grip. ‘Whom do you suspect? What do you know?’
‘Nothing.’
‘Under different circumstances I might have accepted that. But yesterday evening I caught you gorging yourself in the pantry and then spitting out pieces of food . . . as if you were testing them for poison.’
‘You are hurting me,’ I said, twisting my wrist out of his grasp. There was a red weal where his fingers had gripped me.
Duncan frowned and said, ‘I do not mean to hurt you, Jenny. Whatever happens, please believe that. There is no harm intended to you.’
‘The queen is awake and calling for you, Jenny.’ Marie Beaton had come into the room.
‘Ask if Duncan Alexander may be admitted,’ I asked her. ‘Say that he has some news that she would like to hear.’
Mary wept tears of happiness when she heard that Lord James was recovered. She sent everyone else away and then asked Duncan, ‘Which Scots lord died first?’
‘Crawford, Lord of Drumore.’
‘Ahh!’ Mary gasped.
‘Lord Drumore was quite old,’ said Duncan, ‘his body worn out, less able to withstand the flux.’
‘The flux?’ Mary looked at him searchingly. ‘You really think it was the flux?’
‘A doctor diagnosed it.’
‘Yes, but . . .’
We waited. There was something troubling her.
‘Lord Drumore was one of my mother’s closest confidants.’
‘I know,’ said Duncan. ‘Although of late, I think your mother found him less amiable to her strategies. He’d begun to favour an alliance with England rather than France.’
A tear escaped Mary’s eye and trickled down her cheek. ‘I had made him a confidant of mine too. I know that letters can be read by others, so I thought, as I had something important and secret to tell my mother, that I might entrust it to him to deliver by word of mouth.’
‘An important secret?’ Duncan repeated.
My heart wobbled. There could be only one important secret that Mary had told this lord – the private papers she’d agreed to sign in addition to the public terms of her marriage contract.
‘As you know,’ she said, gazing at Duncan, ‘my mother told me the names of the few – the very few – people at her court whom I might trust to personally convey secret messages between us. Lord Drumore was one.’
‘You think that perhaps he may have been killed because of this?’ Duncan asked.
Mary nodded, tears spilling down her face now. ‘If, as you say, he was no longer sympathetic to my mother’s cause in Scotland, then perhaps he was ready to break his silence and tell others what he knew.’
‘Or perhaps someone found out that he knew and—’ I broke off.
Mary gave me a stricken look. If the French found out that she had told me about their private agreement, then my life too might be forfeit.
Duncan saw us exchange glances. He let out a long breath. ‘I do not know what this secret might be’ – he held up his hand – ‘nor do I wish to know. But this I will say, either Lord Drumore died to keep your secret, or he died because he believed he must tell your secret for the good of Scotland, and was prevented from doing so. Or’ – Duncan knelt down by Mary’s bed and looked directly into her eyes – ‘Lord Drumore died because he caught the flux. No matter the cause, he died as a true Scot, and we should honour him for that.’
King Henri and Queen Catherine weren’t overly concerned with the fate of a few Scots lords. It was an inconvenience, in that it affected the mood of their son’s wife and might delay her conceiving a child. But Catherine de’ Medici considered there were far too many Scots nobles in France – and besides, soon after that another event was to have a fundamental effect on the future of both France and Scotland.
Chapter 11
WE WERE WITH the king under the trees in the Long Walk behind the palace when the Spanish ambassador came scurrying towards us.
Queen Catherine gave him a peevish look. Occasions when she and King Henri could spend time surrounded by their family were rare and she resented any interruption. ‘Sire, do please send that man away,’ she pleaded, ‘and let us enjoy our walk.’
King Henri patted her hand, which was nestling in the crook of his arm. ‘Alas, I cannot. I fear he brings the news that all Europe awaits.’
We strolled on as the king withdrew to speak to the ambassador.
‘Do you think Queen Mary of England has died?’ Mary asked.
It wasn’t so out of order that a Spaniard would bring us a message from England. The ailing Queen Mary Tudor was the daughter of a Spanish princess, Catherine of Aragon, and was married to King Philip of Spain.
‘I confess I do not know’ – Dauphin Francis yawned – ‘nor do I much care.’
‘You should care,’ Catherine reprimanded him. ‘Whoever takes the throne of England after her will have a great impact on France. And, my son,’ she added, ignoring Mary altogether, ‘your father believes it should be you.’
Mary bit her lip at this slight to her own position. As granddaughter of the sister of Henry the Eighth, she could claim to be Queen Mary Tudor’s nearest relative, but she did not contradict her mother-in-law. I looked from one to the other. Mary had told me that she didn’t want the encumbrance of another volatile country; nor did she bear any ill will towards the princess Elizabeth, who, whether one believed her to be illegitimate or not, was a cousin of her blood. Queen Catherine’s views were harder to discern. Long years of suffering the public presence of Diane de Poitiers had resulted in her becoming adept at hiding her true feelings. But recently I’d made time to dally with the ladies who attended her and gossiped about their mistress more freely than the Maries would about Mary, and so I knew that Catherine’s overriding concern was the state of the treasury. She reckoned the new territory not worth the price it would cost in armaments and soldiers. Maintaining a court like ours was expensive, and Queen Catherine liked to spend money on extravagant spectacles and unusual artefacts and animals with which to impress visitors.
But Francis was bored and wandered off in the direction of the animal enclosures where exotic species were kept. Mary followed, trying in vain to coax him to return. When she came back without him, she was rewarded for her efforts by a look of disapproval from her mother-in-law.
‘If Queen Catherine cannot make Francis take an interest in state affairs, how does she expect that I might?’ Mary whispered to me.
‘Queen Mary Tudor is dead,’ the king announced as he rejoined us. ‘May God greet her as one of His own for the work she has wrought for Him here on earth.’
‘Amen,’ said Queen Catherine in a noncommittal way, for on this she differed in opinion from her husband. She preferred appeasement and discourse rather than brute force when dealing with members of the Reformed faith.
‘Amen,’ we all repeated and blessed ourselves.
‘And the succession?’ Catherine prompted the king.
‘As always, the English nobles are wrangling amongst themselves, but it will fall to the Boleyn brat, Elizabeth – who is, I am told, read
y to declare herself, and her country, Protestant.’
‘It is no surprise,’ said the queen. ‘That is the stamp of the coterie who wooed her favours these many years.’
The king lowered his voice. ‘It means that Philip of Spain is in want of a wife. He has a son by his first marriage but the boy’s health is not good. Therefore Philip is bound to seek a young bride to secure his dynasty.’ He looked to where his eldest daughter, Elisabeth, was playing on the grass.
Catherine de’ Medici nodded slowly. ‘Uniting France with Spain makes a strong alliance for us against the English.’
Listening to this conversation, I was suddenly and frighteningly conscious of the great shift the world had taken. My reading of the Reformers’ pamphlets and my rising awareness of politics meant that I could foresee the potential changes a new ruler of England might make upon the rest of the world.
Mary too grasped its import for her. ‘England becoming Protestant puts Scotland and my mother in danger,’ she said.
Queen Catherine looked askance at Mary for interrupting her own discussion with the king. But Henri, who made more recognition than his wife did of Mary’s status as the crowned Queen of Scotland, acknowledged her by saying:
‘When the English ambassador, Throckmorton, comes to me with the official news, I’ll receive him in private and express my concerns. He will, of course, reassure me that all will be well. I will insist on certain points. He will undertake to communicate these to his new queen. I will . . .’ The king flapped his hand in the air. ‘And so on, and so on . . .’ A crafty expression came over his face. ‘Only after the coronation has taken place will I declare my outrage.’
‘I understand,’ said Queen Catherine. ‘If you protested loudly now, then we’d attract any number of requests for you to provide money and arms to support a coup.’
King Henri nodded. ‘Best to wait and see how things fall out. The Catholic cause in England still has much support. Elizabeth may not last long, or, if she does, some ambitious lord will wed her and beget a child upon her. Thereafter it would be him, not her, we’d deal with.’ He mused for a moment and then said, ‘Perhaps we might engineer who that lucky lord could be.’
‘Husband,’ Catherine said in the tone she used when she wished to broach a subject on which her husband might disagree, ‘is it any worth to us to incorporate these islands within our realm?’
‘Whoever controls the stretch of water between Europe and England can blockade the trade or troops of any other country wishing to pass through that channel. And there is wealth. Not so much in Scotland’ – he glanced at Mary – ‘but England has fertile pasture and cargoes coming from the New World. Yes, we will advance our claim through our son, and’ – he pinched Mary’s cheek – ‘our much-loved adopted daughter.’
Mary looked bewildered. No amount of study of texts on statehood could teach this level of guile. ‘Sire . . .’ She faltered. ‘Papa . . .’
Queen Catherine looked with pride at her husband. ‘Sire, you are a ruler most astute. In time France will govern all Europe.’
‘But I—’ Mary began again.
Catherine de’ Medici waved her imperiously to silence.
The king was more benign. ‘This is politics, my dear daughter,’ he said kindly to Mary, ‘which you may leave to your men-folk and elders to manage for you, hopefully for many years to come.’ He turned to his wife. ‘With regret I must go now. I should speedily compose a letter to King Philip lest anyone else moves before us. I will let you know if you need to prepare Elisabeth.’ He kissed her hand – and I saw then that he did value his wife, not just for bearing him children to continue his line, but also for her efforts to understand and support his policies.
We strolled on in the direction Francis had taken, past the bear pit to the menagerie where the queen’s pet monkeys were kept. Instantly recognizing her, her favourite swung across the spars of his cage towards us, jabbering in excitement.
‘My pet!’ Catherine’s face dimpled in delight. She motioned for the cage door to be opened, whereupon the monkey leaped out into her arms. He put his tiny paws around her face and tried to kiss her, as she’d trained him to do.
‘Clever thing,’ she laughed. ‘But I know you.’ She wagged her finger in his face. ‘You do this to please me, that I might give you a titbit.’
The animal keeper handed her some nuts, and seeing this, the monkey clawed at the queen’s fingers, scratching her enough to draw blood.
‘Aiee!’ She jerked away.
‘Let me return him to his cage.’ The flustered keeper made to grab the animal.
‘No, no,’ the queen said indulgently, wiping her bloody finger on a handkerchief given to her by an attendant. ‘He is an animal and knows no better.’ She waved away her ladies. ‘I will take him with me on a solitary walk.’
With the monkey perched on her shoulder, the queen set off in a direction which, by discreet enquiry, I’d found out led to the Count of Cluny’s house. Mary and the rest of the children were already on their way to meet Francis. What should I do? Catherine might be going to consult with her assassin. This was an opportunity . . . Yet I hesitated. If I was discovered spying, what excuse could I give? When the count spotted my red dress at the window in Blois, I told him that I’d not entered the study until after the queen had left. Unsure whether he was completely convinced, I later realized that it wasn’t in the count’s interests to let the queen know that their conversation might have been overheard. It would compromise his position and he’d lose valuable income. Also I believed that he thought he’d terrorized me into silence – even if I had heard anything. I recalled his dagger at my throat and I shivered. And yet, and yet . . . With political events changing so fast, I wanted to keep Mary, and indeed all of us, safe.
Keeping amongst the bushes and trees that lined the path, I followed the queen. Beyond the shrubbery she diverted onto a trail through a dense thicket to a long shed with a glass-panelled roof. She went inside. Like a persistent drum beat, part of my brain kept reminding of the danger I was in. But a greater impulse drove me on. Yes, I wished to protect Mary, but now, faced with the option to go further, I forced myself to acknowledge the most pressing reason I was here: I needed to know to what extent Duncan was involved with the Queen of France.
Cautiously I approached.
The murmur of voices. One demanding, the other obsequious.
The door was ajar. Carefully, carefully, I stepped over the lintel.
The Count of Cluny was speaking. ‘I am working to perfect a quick-acting substance in the form of a pellet that dissolves instantly in liquid. It will be tasteless and cannot be detected in the body, yet is almost immediately fatal.’
‘That is of interest . . .’
‘And less violently painful,’ he added.
Queen Catherine chuckled. ‘That is of less concern, in most cases.’
‘Ah, yes, majesty,’ the count replied. ‘These cases that you speak of . . .?’
There was a silence.
Awkwardly he continued, ‘It is hard for me to know quite what action to take. Is it, as you’ve said before, to administer enough to keep the perso— the subject,’ he quickly corrected himself, ‘continuously unwell but alive, or should it be . . . a final act?’
The monkey began gibbering and the queen responded, making nonsense noises to him in return. Under cover of this I shifted my position, going right into the shed. I was now standing behind shelves with boxes stacked on top of each other, but I could see between them. The queen and the count were beside a table laden with scientific equipment and jars of potions and powders. The monkey had clambered up to perch on her shoulder.
Eventually the queen gave the count his answer: ‘I will tell you when I seek a permanent solution.’
Again a silence, and then he spoke. ‘And I should carry out this instruction even if the person is extremely close to you in kinship?’
‘You see this monkey?’ The queen gathered the animal to her breast, stro
king his head and tickling his ear. ‘You know how much I care for him.’
‘Indeed, yes, he is frequently in your company.’
‘You have witnessed the affection I bear him?’
‘I have seen him sit at table with you and feed from your own plate.’ The count looked mystified as to where this conversation was leading.
‘But earlier today he scratched me.’ The animal looked at the queen with bright eyes, head cocked to one side as if he sensed a change in her mood. ‘Let me demonstrate to you how I deal with those who attack me.’
And Catherine de’ Medici put her thumb on the windpipe of the monkey and, with a quick twist of her strong stubby fingers, she snapped the little creature’s neck.
‘Aaah!’ I cried in horror and disgust.
It was fortunate that the queen’s action also shocked the Count of Cluny. He let out an exclamation and his arm shot out, knocking over a pot, which shattered on the tiled floor.
In the confusion and noise, I fled.
Chapter 12
‘THE PRINCESS ELIZABETH cannot become Queen of England.’
It was February of the next year, 1559, and King Henri, having granted a public audience to Throckmorton, the English ambassador, made this statement in front of the whole court.
Throckmorton replied formally, ‘With respect, majesty, she already has. Our new queen, Elizabeth, was crowned on the fifteenth of January.’
The king gave a dismissive gesture. ‘It is not lawful. She is an illegitimate product of a union between England’s previous king and a woman who was not his properly wedded wife.’
‘In the eyes of England, Queen Elizabeth’s mother, Anne Boleyn, was married to the king before their child was born.’
‘That is impossible, for his first wife was still alive at the time.’ King Henri shook his head. ‘Think what might happen if kings did not respect their wives and allowed the children they sired elsewhere to inherit. There would be a thousand bastards fighting for the thrones of Europe.’
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