by Jean Plaidy
“What are you saying, Monsieur de Montmorency?”
“That I would run away with you … far away… where all are merely men and women and there is no policy to be served, no great house that is of more moment than our happiness. Dearest Mary, if only we could run away together, far away from the kingdom of France where they will make you a queen, far away from that land where you are already a queen. Mary, did you know that in your country many of the nobles have signed the Solemn League and Covenant to forsake and renounce what they call the Congregation of Satan? That means they follow the new religion; they have cut themselves off from Rome. Yours will soon be a land of heretics. Oh, Mary, I see trouble there for you. You … a good Catholic… and Queen of a heretic land!”
“I know nothing of this,” she said.
“Then I should not have spoken of it.”
“I made my mother Regent of Scotland. I signed the documents some years ago.”
“Oh, Mary, they tell you what to sign and what not to sign. They tell you to marry and you marry. Oh, dearest and most beautiful, let us dream just for a moment of the impossible. Do you love me … a little?”
She was excited by his charm and the wild words he spoke. She was happy in this scented garden. But she knew she should not listen to him and that she could never be happy if she were disloyal to François. She turned away frowning.
“I see,” he said bitterly, “that they have molded you as they wished. You will be their docile Queen. You will sign the documents they put before you; you will sign away your life’s happiness when they ask it.”
“When I am the wife of François,” she said angrily, “I shall be assured of a lifetimes happiness, Monsieur.”
She turned to leave him and as she did so she saw that two people had entered the garden. The rich red robes of the Cardinal of Lorraine were brilliant beside the more somber garments of Queen Catherine.
Mary heard the sudden burst of laughter which she had grown to hate over the years. Catherine’s amusement was, she believed, invariably provoked at someone else’s discomfiture.
“Ah, Cardinal, our birds are trapped,” the Queen was saying. “And what pleasant-looking birds, eh? We might say ‘birds of paradise.’ They look startled, do they not? As though they were about to be seized by the hawk.”
“Or by the serpent, Madame,” said the Cardinal.
“Poor creatures! What hope of escape would they have between the two!”
“Very little, Madame. Very little.”
Mary and Montmorency had hurried forward to pay their respects, first to the Queen, then to the Cardinal.
The Queen said: “So you two charming people are taking the air. I marvel, Monsieur de Montmorency, that you do not do so in the company of another young lady… not the Queen of Scotland. And I should have expected to see my son with her Scottish Majesty.”
“We met by chance, Madame,” said Mary quickly, but the color rose to her cheeks.
The Cardinal was looking at her quizzically. Because he had made her aware of those occasions when she caused him displeasure, she knew now that he was far from pleased at discovering her thus.
As for the Queen, she was delighted. Mary sometimes thought that the Queen did not wish her to marry the Dauphin, and that she would be very pleased if Mary had been seriously attracted by Montmorency.
The Cardinal said: “Her Majesty and I, as you no doubt did, found the afternoon too pleasant to be spent with walls about us.”
Before Mary could answer, Catherine said: “The Queen of Scots appears to be in a fever.” Her long slender fingers touched Mary’s cheek. “You are overheated, my dear.”
“I have a headache. I was about to return to the cool of the palace.”
“Ah yes, the cool of the palace. That is the place for you. The bed, eh… with the curtains drawn, and no one to disturb you—that is the best remedy for the sort of fever which possesses your Scottish Majesty.”
Hating the insinuation contained in the Queens words, conscious of the discomfort of Henri de Montmorency and the displeasure of the Cardinal, Mary said impulsively: “Your Majesty has vast knowledge of such things. It is due to your keen observation of the conditions of others, rather than your experience of such maladies. But I dare submit you are mistaken on this occasion. It is a slight headache from the heat of the sun.”
The white hand, laden with rings, came down heavily on Mary’s shoulder. Mary winced under her grip.
“I am rarely mistaken,” said Catherine. “You are right when you speak of the keenness of my observation. Little can be hid from me. Now, Monsieur de Montmorency will escort you to the palace.” Catherine released Mary’s shoulder. “And do not forget my remedy. Your bed… the curtains drawn… the door locked to keep out your women. That is what you need. Go along… now. The Cardinal and I will continue our walk in the sunshine.”
Mary curtsied, Montmorency bowed, and the two walked back to the palace. As soon as possible Mary took leave of him and went to her apartments.
Flem and Beaton hurried to her anxiously, but she waved them aside. She had a headache; she would rest and she did not wish to be disturbed.
THE CURTAINS about Mary’s bed were silently withdrawn. Mary opened her eyes and saw, standing by the bed, the scarlet-clad figure of the Cardinal. She smelled the perfume of musk which accompanied him, and saw the glittering emeralds and rubies on his folded hands.
“Monsieur?” she cried, starting up.
“Nay, do not rise, my child,” he said; he sat on the bed and laid a hand on her hot forehead.
She lay back on her pillows.
“How lovely you are!” he murmured. “You are very beautiful, my dearest. But you are distressed now.”
“I… I came here to rest.”
“On the advice of Her Majesty!”
“I did not expect anyone would come in.”
“You would not have your guardian uncle kept out?”
“No… no… but…”
“Rest easily, my dear child. There is no need to be afraid. The Queen was right to suggest you should return to the palace. It is not good for one of your purity and budding beauty to be seen in intimate conversation with a young man of Montmorency’s reputation.”
“His… reputation!”
“Ah! You are startled. I see that you have more regard for this young man than I believed.”
“I did not know he had an evil reputation.”
“All young men have evil reputations.”
“That, Uncle, is surely not true.”
“Or they would,” went on the Cardinal, smiling, “if all their deeds and all their thoughts were known. They sport their jewels to show their worldly riches. What if they should wear their experiences to show their worldly wisdom, eh? Then our simple maidens might not so easily become their victims… their light-o’-loves to be discussed and dissected for their companions’ pleasure. Ah, you should hear the bawdy talk of some of these gallants when they are with others of their kind. You would be horrified. It is quite different from the sweet words which they employ as the prelude to seduction.”
“I will not be included among those simple maidens!”
“Indeed you shall not.” He slipped his arm under her and leaning forward, gazed into her face. He let his lips linger on her throat, and she felt her heart leap and pound. She could not move and it was as though she were bound by invisible cords. In his eyes there was a flame, in his arms a subtle pressure. Now he had unleashed this strange emotion which he had created; now it was about to envelop her. She was terrified, yet fascinated.
He was speaking softly. “Nay, you are no simple maiden, my dearest, my other self. My Mary, I love you as I have never loved anyone. Together we will explore the world of the spirit. You and I shall be as one, Mary, and together we will rule France.”
“I do not understand you….”
“You cannot expect to yet, but one day you will understand all that you are to me, and how I have preserved you and kept yo
u sweet and pure.”
His mood had changed. The emotions were subdued. He sat up. He was smiling and his eyes were extraordinarily brilliant in his pale face.
“Mary,” he said, “in your bleak and savage country, I have heard, the men of the Border ravish towns and hamlets. They take the cattle; they take the women. And what do you think they do with these women? They rape them, Mary… in the village streets … on the village greens. They mock them. They insult and humiliate them in a hundred ways you cannot even imagine. That is your wild country; that is Scotland. Here we are supposed to be a civilized people. But are we? Some of these bejeweled gallants with their pretty looks and their flowery speeches, their odes to your beauty—they are very like your Borderers beneath their exquisite garments and their courtly manners. The Borderer rapes; our gallant seduces. The Borderer takes a woman as he would an apple; he discusses the flavor while he tastes. Our gallants pluck their apples in scented orchards; all is apparently decorous. But afterward, they discuss the flavor one with another. That is the difference between the Borderers of Scotland and our gallants. One, you might say, is at least candidly licentious; the other, under the cloak of gallantry, is full of deceit.”
“Why… why do you tell me this?”
“Because, ma mignonne, you are on the verge of womanhood. It is time you were honorably married. Holy Mother of God, your uncle François would run the young Montmorency through with his sword if he knew how he had insulted you in the gardens this day.”
“He did not insult me, Uncle. He was most chivalrous.”
“The first steps toward seduction, my dearest… the first indication that the scented couch is prepared. Even now we do not know that he will not boast of his success to his friends.”
“He dare not! He has nothing of which to boast.”
“The braggart will do very well on very little. I shall have him warned.
As for you, my dearest, you will not be seen in his company alone again. Do not let your manner change. Be friendly with him as you are with others. Only remember that he is another such as your Border raiders; remember that he is doing his utmost to lead you to seduction. Remember that he will note every weakness… any attention you may pay to his words. He will boast to his friends of an easy conquest, and we shall have them all trying to emulate him.”
Mary covered her burning cheeks with her hands.
“Please… Uncle… stop. I cannot bear such thoughts. It was nothing… nothing.”
The Cardinal kissed her forehead.
“My darling, I know it was nothing. Of course, it was nothing. My pure, sweet Mary, who shall remain pure and sweet for the heir of France.” He put his arm about her and held her against him. “If there should be one, other than the heir of France, it shall not be the son of the Constable!”
She caught her breath, for his lips were on hers. It was one of those moments when she sensed danger close. But almost immediately he had stood up and was smiling down on her.
“Rest, my beloved,” he said. “Rest and think on what I have told you.”
She lay still after he had gone, trying to shut out the thoughts which the Cardinal had aroused in her. She could not. She could no longer picture Henri de Montmorency as he had seemed to her that day in the gardens; he was a different person, laughing and leering, calling to others to come and see how he had humiliated the Queen of Scots.
She buried her face in her pillows trying in vain to shut out those pictures.
THE CARDINAL, deeply disturbed, sought out his brother.
“We must hurry on the marriage,” he said. “I am sure it is imperative that we should do so.”
The Duke looked grave. “With Mary so young and the Dauphin even younger…”
“There are two reasons which make it necessary for us to press the King until this marriage is accomplished. I have it from the Dauphin’s doctor that his health is failing fast. What if he were to die before Mary has married him?”
“Disaster!” cried the Duke. “Unless we could secure young Charles for her.”
“He’s nearly ten years younger, and it will be long before he is marriageable. No! Mary must be Dauphine of France before the year is out. I have another reason, brother. I saw her walking in the gardens with the son of our enemy.”
“That remark,” said François cynically, “might indicate the son of almost any man at Court. As our powers grow, so do our enemies. To which one do you refer?”
“Montmorency. The Queen was with me and I have an idea that she was delighted to see those two together. I fancy she tried to make more of the affair than was justified. She was quite coarse, and talked of a bed as the best place to cool Mary’s fever.”
“You alarm me, brother.”
“I mean to. There is reason for alarm. You are the hero of Paris, of all France. You have given back Calais to the King; you bear the mark of heroism on your cheek. The people look at the scar you bear there and cry: “Vive le Balafré!” At this moment you could demand the marriage, and the King would find it hard to refuse you. Take my advice, brother. This is our moment. We should not let it pass.”
The Duke nodded thoughtfully. “I am sure you are right,” he said.
THE KING AND QUEEN received the Duke.
François de Guise, the man of action, did not waste time. He came straight to the point.
“Your Majesties, I have a request to make, and I trust you will give me your gracious attention.”
“It is yours, cousin,” the King assured him.
“It is many years since my niece came to France,” said the Duke, “and it is touching to see the love she and the Dauphin bear toward each other. I know that both these children long for marriage, and my opinion is that it should take place as soon as possible. I am hoping that Your Majesties are of the same opinion.”
The King said: “I think of them as children. It seems only yesterday that I went to the nurseries and found the little Stuart there with François. What a beautiful child! I said then that I had never seen one more perfect, and it holds today.”
“It is a matter of deep gratification to our House,” said the Duke, “that one of our daughters should so please Your Majesty. I venture to say that Mary Stuart will make a charming and popular dauphine.”
Catherine glanced at her husband and murmured: “All you say is true, Monsieur de Guise. The little Stuart is charming. It seems that she only has to smile in order to turn all Frenchmen’s heads. She will indeed be a beautiful dauphine… when the time comes.”
“That time is now,” said the Duke, with that arrogance which was second nature to him.
The King resented his tone, and the Queen lowered her eyes that neither of the men should see that she was pleased by the King’s resentment.
She said quickly: “In my opinion—which I beg Your Majesty and you, Monsieur de Guise, to correct, if it seems wrong to you—these are but two children… two delightful children whom everyone loves and wishes the greatest happiness in the world. I know that to plunge two young children into marriage can be alarming for them. It might even injure that pretty comradeship which delights us all.” She was looking at the King appealingly; she knew she had turned his thoughts back to their own marriage all those years ago when he was a boy, of much the same age as François was now, with a girl beside him, a quiet, plain Italian girl—Catherine herself—whom he had never been able to love.
The King’s lips came tightly together; then he said: “I agree with the Queen. As yet they are too young. Let them wait a year or so.”
In exasperation the Duke began: “Sire, I am of the opinion that these two are ripe for marriage—”
The King interrupted coldly: “Monsieur de Guise, your opinion can be of little moment if, in this matter of our children’s marriage, it differs from that of the Queen and myself.”
The Duke was dismissed. He was furious. He had no alternative but to bow and retire, leaving this matter of the marriage as unsettled now as it had been before he had spok
en.
BUT THE Cardinal and the Duke were not the men to let important matters slide. The Cardinal was quite sure that at all costs the delay must be ended.
He walked with the King in the gardens. He was more subtle than his brother. He talked first of the Protestant party in Scotland, of those lords who were in league with John Knox and were turning his little niece’s realm from the Catholic faith. The King, as an ardent Catholic, could well see the danger that lay in that.
“Your Majesty knows that my niece’s bastard brother, Lord James Stuart, is one of these men, and with him are the most powerful men in Scotland—Glencairn, Morton, Lorn, Erskine, Argyle. It is open war against the true faith in Scotland. A sad state of affairs, Your Majesty.”
The King agreed that it was so.
“We shall have them repudiating Mary Stuart next and setting the bastard over them. That, no doubt, is his plan.”
“They’ll never allow a bastard to rule them.”
“Who knows what that fanatic Knox will lead them to! They might well say, better a baseborn Protestant than a true Catholic queen.”
Henri said: “It shall never happen. We’ll send armies to subdue them.”
“Sire, since Saint Quentin we are not as strong as we were. If you will forgive the boldness, may I suggest that these barbarians could be made to respect my niece more if her status were raised. If she were not merely the Queen of Scotland but also the Dauphine of France they would think twice about flouting her in favor of the bastard.”
“The Queen and I, as I told your brother, consider that as yet Mary and François are too young.”