And here she was beside him, just as though she were his wife and Queen in name. And there again it showed the depth of his love for her, since in all other matters he would have the strictest etiquette observed. She, with him, acknowledged the cheers of the crowd, smiling graciously, beautiful in her black-and-white which made her look so pure and lovely that the coloured garments of those surrounding her seemed suddenly garish.
And then― the Queen. The crowd was silent. No cheers for the Italian woman. Perhaps they applauded the King and his mistress so heartily because of their dislike for the Italian woman.
‘Dauphin Francis!’ was hissed among the unforgetful crowd.
Catherine heard this. But one day, she thought, they will shout for me. One day they will know me for the true Queen of France in every respect. It was the old hope of ‘One Day’.
She could feel the child within her. Here I sit, she thought, pale-faced and quiet, with never a thought, some may imagine, but of the child soon to be born. Little do they know that I wait not because I was born patient, but because I have learned patience. Little do they know that they would not be gathered here to witness this mortal combat but for the fact that in the first place, I set the matter in motion. She smiled graciously and laid her hands on her pearl-studded stomacher.
Madalenna leaned towards her. ‘Your Majesty is well?’
‘Quite well, I thank you. A little faintness. It is to be expected.’
In the crowd they would have noticed the gesture, for there was little they missed; they would have seen Madalenna’s anxious query.
‘You see,’ Catherine wished to say to her subjects. ‘He has his mistress, but I shall bear his children. I alone can bear him kings and queens.’
The herald of Guinne, his silken tabard shimmering in the hot sun, stepped forward and blew a few notes on his trumpet. There was an immediate stillness in the air while the crowd waited for the announcement.
‘This day, the tenth of July, our Sovereign Lord the King granted free and fair field for mortal combat to Francis de Vivonne assailant and Guy de Chabot assailed to resolve by arms the question of honour which is at issue between them. Wherefore I make known to all, in the King’s name, that none may turn aside the course of the present combat, aid nor hinder either of the combatants on pain of death.’
As soon as the herald ceased to speak, a great cheer went up. The excitement was intense, for the combat was about to begin.
De Vivonne came from the tent accompanied by his second― one of Diane’s protégés― and friends numbering at least five hundred strong. They wore his colours― red and white― while before the hero of the day was carried his sword, shield, and banner on which was the image of St Francis. With this company, before which drummers and trumpeters de Vivonne walked all round the field to the cheers of the people. When he had done this, he went into his tent while de Chabot with his second, but with far fewer supporters in black-and-white, did the same.
Next came the ceremony of testing the weapons to be used which, as assailed, Guy de Chabot was to choose. This gave rise to a good deal of controversy, and arguments ensued while the afternoon wore on. The heat was intense, but Catherine scarcely felt the discomfort. This, she had determined should be a day of triumph for her. Today, Henry was going to feel a little less pleased with his Diane than he had ever been before. Catherine did not expect to win her husband from his mistress on such an issue, but it would be such affairs as this, piled one on top of the other, that would eventually, she was sure, turn him from his mistress to his waiting wife.
Diane was leaning forward in her seat, frowning at the delay. What was the trouble? Diane wished the affair done with; her enemy lying dead, a lesson to all those who dared flout the King’s mistress.
Madame, thought Catherine, there is, I hope, a great surprise awaiting you. This trouble over the weapons was the beginning. What joy it had been to wrap herself in a shabby and all-concealing cloak and keep the appointment she had made with Monsieur de Chabot at the home of the astrologers Ruggieri. It was not de Chabot who had chosen the weapons that would used today; it was Catherine. De Chabot had spent hours taking lessons at that house from an Italian fencing-master.
Ha! laughed Catherine to herself. There is much we Italians can do which these French cannot. We know better than they how to remove people who stand in our way! How pleasant now to sit back languidly in her seat and to know why there was this dispute about the weapons, while Diane leaned forward, not comprehending, wondering, as did the restive crowd, why the spectacle did not proceed.
De Chabot declared that he wished to fight on foot, with armour, shields, and two-edged swords, and with short daggers of the old-style― the heavy and hampering kind. De Vivonne was nonplussed by this choice, and for the first time was uneasy.
Diane’s frown had deepened. It was for Montmorency, who for the day was Master of the Ceremonies, to give judgment. And there he sat, the grim-faced old fool, determined to be just.
Catherine wanted to laugh outright. She saw further plans to be made. The King’s mistress and the King’s favourite advisor and best-loved counsellor could, in time, become enemies, jealous of the favour of the King. There would be an opportunity for exploiting her cunning.
In the meantime, to Diane’s disgust, Montmorency had decided that, spite of his strange choice, de Chabot must have his way.
From each of the four corners of the field a herald came, shouting: ‘Nobles, Knights, Gentlemen, and all manner of people! On behalf of the King I expressly command all that, as soon as the combatants shall meet in combat, all present are to preserve silence and not to speak, cough, spit, or make any sign with foot, or eye which may aid, injure, or prejudice either of the said combatants. And, further, I expressly command all on behalf of the King, that during the combat they are not to enter the lists or assist either of the combatants in any circumstances whatsoever on peril of death.’
After this, first de Vivonne, then de Chabot, with their companies of supporters behind them, made one more progress round the field whereupon each must kneel on a velvet cushion and swear that he had come to avenge his honour and that there was in his possession no charms nor incantations, and that his sole confidence was in God and the strength of his arms.
They were conducted to the middle of the field, their swords and their daggers placed in their belts, while the Norman herald shouted at the top of his voice: ‘Laissez aller les bons combatants!’ The great moment had come. The two men slowly advanced towards one another.
Catherine, her hands lying in her lap, felt the mad racing of her heart. There was no colour in her face; otherwise she gave no sign of the intense excitement she was experiencing.
She knew that de Vivonne was not happy. The weapons were too cumbersome for a man accustomed to the swift rapier. He had been outwitted. If only de Chabot was as good now as he had been when facing the Italian fencing-master in the house of the Ruggieri, all would go as she wished.
She would have brought some charm with her that would have ensured de Chabot’s victory, if she had dared; but that oath the men had taken before the priest, and she had known must be taken before the combat began, had made her dismiss the idea. Some supernatural force, other than the one she would call upon with her charm, might be turned against her if she dabbled in such matters.
De Vivonne was springing on his opponent; the crowd caught its breath as he aimed a blow at de Chabot’s head. But de Chabot remembered.
Ah, my beloved Italy, thought Catherine . You can show France how to fight. De Chabot, while feigning to parry the blow with his sword took it on his shield, and stooping to do so, thrust his sword into de Vivonne’s knee.
Bravo! Bravo! thought Catherine, glancing toward Henry and Diane, and emulating their looks of consternation, It was not serious, but to the braggart de Vivonno, the finest dueller in France, it came as a complete surprise, and as he staggered back, de Chabot was able to give him another blow on the same spot, and this time, a mo
re violent one.
It is done, exulted Catherine.
And she was right.
His tendons had been severed, and de Vivonne staggering back with an awful cry, let his sword fall from his hand as his blood spurted over the green grass.
The crowd roared. The combat was over. It was victory for de Chabot― and Catherine de’ Medici.
But my victory, thought Catherine, is the greater because none but myself and de Chabot know it is mine. The breathless crowd waited. What now? Would de Chabot dispatch his victim and hand him over to the executioner for the gibbet or would he spare his life on receiving a confession that de Vivonne had lied and that de Chabot’s cause was the just one?
De Chabot answered the question by shouting: ‘De Vivonne, restore my honour; and ask mercy of God and the King for the wrong you have committed.’
The wretched de Vivonne, in direst pain, still was sufficiently aware of his surrounds to remember ambition. He tried to get up, but failing wretchedly, sank back on the grass.
The moment for which Catherine had waited. De Chabot had left his victim and was kneeling before the King.
‘Sire,’ he said, ‘I entreat you to esteem me a man of honour. I give de Vivonne to you. Let no imputation, Sire, rest either on his family or upon him on account of his offence; for I surrender him to you.’
Henry had never felt so embarrassed. Here he was, defeated before his court and the citizens of his capital; for de Vivonne’s cause had been his‚ and it was Henry’s honour that de Vivonne was defending.
Catherine’s elation was complete.
Now, my darling, she was thinking, who is to blame for bringing you to this unhappy pass? Whose action, in the first place, set the scandal abroad? Look into the face of her who sits beside you. She is the guilty one. Hate Diane for this; not de Chabot. Oh, my love, why waste time on one who bungles so, when here is your clever Queen who, with your power to help her, could outwit all the men and women of France? How she loved him― even. as he sat there, looking foolish and ashamed.
You’ve lost Henry. admit defeat. Oh, my dear foolish one, you must not hesitate. Have you forgotten that all Paris watching you? Do you not know that mob hysteria can turn to adoration for a hero, and that hero, de Chabot, stands before you now? Do not betray yourself. Blame Diane. Hate Diane. But in the presence of your people do not forget your honour, your nobility.
But the King was silent.
There was a hissing whisper in the crowd. What meant this? The victor was there. It was a surprise, it was true, but who does not like to be surprised? Why did the King not speak. De Chabot, his head held high, had gone back to his foe who to rise and throw himself in an access of hatred on the man who had ruined his future.
‘Do not move, de Vivonne, or I shall kill you,’ said Chabot.
‘Kill me and have done with it!’ cried the wretched man.
And once again de Chabot presented himself to and asked that his honour be restored to him. But still Henry, bewildered and ashamed, did not speak.
Montmorency rose and knelt before the King. Diane’s trembling hand was plucking at the King’s sleeve. Henry must see reason. He could not so demean himself before those thousands of watching eyes. In a few moments, the popularity of years could be lost.
Montmorency entreated. The victor must have his dues, Diane whispered.
‘You have done your duty, de Chabot,’ said Henry coldly, ‘and your honour ought to be restored to you.’
Henry then rose abruptly. The trumpets rang out; and he with Diane and the Queen and his immediate followers walked out of the pavilion.
Catherine was delighted, for surely a King could rarely felt so discomfited.
If he would but remember who had led him to this!
She went to her apartments, and as she sat there, she heard her women chattering.
What were they saying? What was the crowd saying― all those people who had lain about in the fields all night had come to see a man killed and they had seen a King forget his honour.
But later she laughed to have thought it mattered what the people said; it was what they did that was of more moment. They broke into de Vivonne’s tent, and had a good time with the victuals he had prepared to celebrate his conquest.
They feasted and drank and made merry. They stole the rich plate which he had borrowed.
If there was no death for the crowd, there was plenty of fun instead. Perhaps Henry’s feeble conduct was not so important as Catherine had thought it.
Perhaps, for all her scheming, she had come no nearer to winning her husband from Diane.
I cannot endure it, she sobbed to herself during her lonely nights. If I cannot do it this way, I will find some other. A few days later, de Vivonne died. He might have lived if he had wished, but he had torn the bandages from his wounds and would not let the doctors attend him. Hardly anyone seemed to notice his passing The de Chabot and de Vivonne affair was finished. But the Queen developed a new interest in the study of poisons; and in her private bureau there were many locked drawers containing books and recipes as well as potions and powders.
* * *
In November another girl was born. They called her Claude, after Henry’s mother.
Henry was paying his nocturnal visits to Catherine again. They must get themselves more sons. Little Francis, at four-years-old was a sickly child.
Catherine watched over him anxiously whenever Diane allowed her to.
Henry had been crowned at Rheims that summer. Catherine had not been crowned Queen so far; but there was no fresh insult in this, since it was the custom of France that the Queen was not crowned at the King’s impressive coronation. Her day was to follow.
During the fêtes which had accompanied the coronation of the King, Catherine had thought of how she could rid herself of Diane. There must be some slow and subtle poison, she told Cosmo and Lorenzo Ruggieri. She could not endure very much more of this humiliation which Diane imposed upon her.
She must rid herself of her enemy. Did they not know that at Saint-Germain she had watched the woman and her own husband together?
The brothers shook their heads. Most respectfully and fervently, they advised her to have the hole in the floor sealed, and to cease to think of the relationship between the King and Diane. They could not help her; they dared not help her. Why, even if Diane died from natural causes, the Queen would be suspected of poisoning her! Moreover, all those been known to advise the Queen would be imprisoned and tortured for confessions.
Catherine understood. Why, if Diane died, these two brothers would set about escaping from France with all speed.
She must not continue to think of removing Diane that way. She listened to them and agreed she had no alternative to take their advice because they were right; but all the same she continued to consider the murder of Diane.
Diane did not spare the Queen. Often she entertained the royal party at Chenonceaux; then she would delight in showing Catherine how she was beautifying the place. It needed great strength of mind not to slip some quick poison into the goblet.
Diane went from triumph to triumph. Chenonceaux was by no means the only gift the King bestowed on her. She was rich in jewels and estates; and her triumphs were mounting.
She now began to arrange the marriage of the heir to the throne.
The family of de Guise was linked to her by marriage, for her eldest daughter had married one of the de Guise― so Diane sought to assist in the elevation of this dashing and ambitious family.
It was characteristic of Diane that, when she had made up her mind that something should be done, she would beg an audience of the King and Queen and discuss such matter with them, gaining that approval which the King would never deny her, and which Catherine had no power to give.
She did this when they were visiting Chenonceaux, as she wished to lay before them her plans for the little Dauphin’s marriage.
She was received by the King and Queen, although, Catherine noted sardonically, it was a
s though she received them.
‘Your Majesties are gracious to listen to me,’ she said. ‘It is future of our beloved Dauphin. Who could be a better match for him than little Mary Stuart, the Queen of Scotland?’
Catherine said: ‘The Queen of Scotland! Her mother was a Frenchwoman!’
‘Your Gracious Majesty can have no objection to that?’ asked Diane, her lips curling.
‘A Frenchwoman, continued Catherine quietly, ‘a sister to the de Guise brothers. It may be that his Grace the King feels this family are a little too ambitious. A child of their house to come to France as its future Queen might make them feel of greater importance than they do already.’
‘Queens come from strange places,’ said Diane angrily.
Henry spoke: ‘Let us consider this matter. It will be necessary to find a bride for the boy― sooner or later.’
‘Francis is a baby yet,’ said Catherine.
‘The alliances of kings and queens are made while they are in their cradles,’
said Diane.
Catherine bit her lip to keep back the flow of words. So this was a way of getting more power. Diane and the de Guises wished to rule France. Now they were beginning to do so through the King’s mistress; later those ambitious de Guises would do so through their niece.
‘The reports of the little girl,’ said Diane, ignoring Catherine and speaking to the King, ‘are that she is both clever and charming. Think, Sire, what a fine thing that marriage would be for France. Think what she would bring to us!’
‘Scotland!’ said Catherine. ‘A poor country, by all accounts!’
‘Your Majesty speaks truth there,’ laughed Diane sweetly. ‘It is a poor country. All the same it would not be an unpleasant thing to see it attached to the realm of France. But there is another matter which is of the greatest interest.
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