The Wild Queen (7 page)

***

The court moved to Blois in the Loire Valley, and everyone's spirits lifted. The Four Maries were particularly enchanted by the spiral staircase in this beautiful château, and La Flamin devised challenges of hopping up and down the stone steps until Madame de Poitiers ordered us to stop. In December I observed my seventh birthday Christmas came and went, and when gifts were exchanged on the sixth of January, the Feast of the Epiphany and the Day of the Three Kings, I presented elaborately embroidered handkerchiefs as gifts and received much praise for my skill. The next occasion for celebration was the sixth birthday of the dauphin. When spring came we moved again to Fontainebleau, where Élisabeth turned five and had to be prevented from eating herself sick at the banquet in her honor.

One day, after I had completed my morning lessons, Madame de Poitiers came to my quarters. This was unusual. She took both of my hands in hers—that, too, was unusual. “Madame Marie,” she said solemnly, “I bring you most unhappy news. Your grandfather died just three days ago.”

My dear
grand-père,
dead? I threw myself weeping into the duchess's arms.

“You are too young to attend the funeral, Marie,” she told me. “It is your grandmother's wish that you be represented by a friend of your uncle's.”

Who had decided I was too young? Surely not my mother. The news would not yet have reached Scotland. Realizing that she did not yet know of her father's death made me sob all the harder. I longed to share my grief with my grandmother, my uncles, my brother François. The royal family offered their condolences. Their kindness did little to console me. I put on a black mourning gown. But still I was not allowed to attend the funeral.

Maybe it had nothing to do with my age. I overheard talk among the servants that my grandfather had not died a natural death, that he had been murdered. But no matter whom I asked—“Is it true?”—I received only evasions. The exception was Sinclair, who reported what her sources at the servants' supper table had said.

“Poison, is what I've heard,” she said. “But no one knows for certain, or else no one is saying. Seems to me the old duke should not have had a single enemy. These French are not at one another's throats, like they are in Scotland. Still, the old gentleman always looked healthy enough to me.”

A month later I was taken to Joinville by my uncle Charles. It seemed unbearably bleak without my dear grandfather. My brother the duke of Longueville had come down from his château in Amiens, and we wept together. Grand-Mère remained steadfastly dry-eyed. She showed me the letter she had received from my mother.
I have lost the best father a daughter could hope to have,
Maman had written. How sad, I thought, to be so far away when a loved one dies.

Before I returned to Fontainebleau, I had a few moments alone with my brother. “Have you heard that Grand-Père was poisoned?” I asked quietly. “It is a rumor at court, but nobody tells me anything.”

He frowned. “I have heard that too, but I don't know the truth of it. Grand-Mère doesn't speak of it.”

“We could ask our uncles,” I suggested, and my brother agreed that we might.

But then I had an even better idea. When Anne d'Este arrived with our uncle François, duke of Aumale, and greeted me with a warm embrace, I whispered, “Madame, may I speak with you in private?”

“Oui,
Madame Marie,” she said, following me into a curtained alcove. “How can I help you?”

“Just answer a question,
s'il vous plaît,”
I said. “Is it true that my grandfather was poisoned? And if so, by whom?” Anne d'Este shook her head. “Often when a man in a powerful position dies unexpectedly, rumors spread that he was poisoned. Sometimes the rumors turn out to be true. But my husband does not believe this to be the case, and your grandfather's physician has confirmed it. The duke died a peaceful death, and for that we can be grateful.”

I was relieved, but I felt my lip begin to tremble, and I knew that tears would shortly follow. “I miss him,” I murmured.

Anne d'Este knelt down and put her arms around me. “I am sure you do. We all do. But be assured that your grandmother and your uncles are here to care for you and to look out for your best interests.”

I leaned against the lady's shoulder and wept until she produced a handkerchief and wiped away my tears so they would not stain her gown. My uncle her husband, the new duke of Guise, peered behind the velvet curtain and came to lay his hand on my arm. For the moment, at least, I felt comforted.

T
HE COURT CONTINUED
in its usual routine, moving from one château to another. Each was my favorite for as long as we stayed there—the beautiful gardens at Fontainebleau, the elegant staircase at Blois, the four hundred ornate rooms at Chambord. Queen Catherine loved bright colors and had had the rooms of each château decorated in vibrant reds and blues and greens with lavish gold trim on the ceilings. The furniture, which always moved with us, was richly carved and painted and gilded, and the carpets had been woven in Venice. Everyone, from the highest noble to the lowliest page, dressed in vivid colors—everyone except Madame de Poitiers.

Our animals traveled with us too. Two horses were my favorites: a pretty little black pony named Bravane and a frisky sorrel, Madame la Réale, that occasionally tossed me into the mud. I had become a fearless rider, thanks to my friend Marie Livingston. The other Maries called her Lusty, because of her outspoken opinions. She convinced me to wear breeches under my skirts and to ride astride.

“As we would if we were in Scotland,” she argued. “And with breeches you need not be concerned about your modesty when you fly off.”

I had my own falcon for hunting—I called her Caramel—and she quickly learned that mine was the gloved fist to which she must return. The dauphin persuaded the chief falconer to give him a bird as well. For weeks we discussed its name, with François changing his mind several times.

“Why not name him Chocolat?” I suggested. “We both love sweets, so that would be a good idea. Do you not agree?”

“Oui,
Marie, you are r-r-right!” cried the dauphin, who nearly always accepted my suggestions. But François seemed fearful of his hawk's sharp talons and usually stepped back and let the falconer's apprentice take Chocolat on his glove.

The four big curly-haired dogs that accompanied the king on royal hunts rode to each château in kennels built on wooden carts, and every lady in the court carried one or two lapdogs with her in her cushioned litter. Lady Fleming's little spaniel was a particular favorite, with his long silky fur and big ears. She named him Papillon, the French word for “butterfly” My own Biscuit, a white ball of fluff with two black button eyes and a black button nose, followed me everywhere. Princesse Élisabeth had one also, and now little Princesse Claude, who was nearly three, insisted that she must have one just like ours.

We were playing with our dogs, attempting to teach them to sit up and beg, when a messenger delivered a letter from my mother. I was always delighted to receive a letter from Maman, and I broke the seal assuming this would bring an Easter greeting. But the news was much more exciting: my mother was coming to France for a long visit!

I tossed a treat to Biscuit and rushed off to write GrandMère with the wonderful news, knowing that she would be as happy as I was, or at least as happy as she could be in her widowed state. I had become skillful with quill and ink, and my pen scratched quickly across the page with no mistakes or unseemly blots:

I have been very glad to be able to send these present lines for the purpose of telling you the joyful news I have received from the Queen my Mother, who has promised me that she will be here very soon to see you and me, which is to me the greatest happiness which I could wish for in this world. All I am thinking about now is to do my whole duty in all things and to study and to be very good.

I showed the letter to my tutor Monsieur Amyot, whose eyebrows looked as prickly as hedgehogs. He praised it and brought me the wax and my gold seal to finish it, and then he summoned a messenger to carry it off at once to Joinville. My mother had not said exactly when she expected to come, but from that day on I waited with growing impatience for her arrival.

***

At the end of May the court moved again to Saint- Germain. A month later Queen Catherine gave birth for the fifth time. The king was with her when their third son, named Charles-Maximilien, came into the world. For once, Madame de Poitiers was not there to attend the birth. “Queen Catherine must be pleased about that,” Sinclair remarked.

We had all heard why Madame de Poitiers was not present: Away on a visit to the Loire Valley, she had fallen from her horse and broken her leg. The king had sent a royal litter to take her to her château at Anet, where she now rested while her leg mended.

“How pleasant it is not to have Madame de Poitiers here,” said Marie Fleming bluntly “I do not like her much.”

I disagreed with La Flamin's and Sinclair's opinion of Madame de Poitiers. The duchess always treated me with great kindness. Sometimes she invited the king's children, including me, to visit her at Château d'Anet, the ancient castle she was having restored. I always enjoyed my time with her there.

Meanwhile, a scandal was in the making. There had been rumors for some time that Lady Fleming had a lover. My governess's rooms adjoined mine, and when the rumors reached my uncles, they asked me pointed questions.

“Has your governess been receiving visits from a gentleman?” Uncle François asked.

“Baron de Montmorency, the king's constable, for example?” suggested Uncle Charles.

“
Non,
I have not seen the baron,” I replied, adding innocently, “but King Henri visits Lady Fleming quite often, to discuss my education.”

The uncles looked at each other, smiled, and thanked me. I later learned that they had immediately carried my thoughtless remark straight to Diane de Poitiers. Even with her broken leg, the duchess rushed from Anet to Saint-Germain. That same night, after I finished my prayers and was preparing for bed, Sinclair discovered Madame de Poitiers sitting outside Lady Fleming's door.

“Who is she waiting for?” Sinclair wondered aloud, extinguishing all the candles but one. Soon Sinclair was snoring loudly, and I fell asleep quickly after her.

We awoke sometime later at the sound of a door being slammed. We heard voices, first the startled exclamation of King Henri followed by Madame de Poitiers's shrill cry. “Good sir, what were you doing in there?” the duchess demanded loud enough for everyone to hear. Sinclair tiptoed to our door and knelt at the keyhole so as not to miss a word.

“You and that woman, Lady Fleming! Sir, you have betrayed the entire Guise family; your wife, the queen; and your son the dauphin! And the dauphin's future wife, Queen Marie, who is so unfortunate as to have that disgraceful woman as her governess! I have nothing more to say to you on the subject, good sir, for I love you as sincerely today as I always have.”

There followed a stunned silence, and then the king's mumbled reply.

“The king insists there was nothing evil going on,” Sinclair reported to me in a whisper.

Diane de Poitiers's voice rang out clearly “You have dishonored the innocent child sleeping behind that door!” she cried. I supposed that I was the innocent child to whom she referred. “The niece of the Guise family is being brought up by a woman who is nothing better than a whore!”

Sinclair gasped. “Now that is going a bit too far,” she said, shaking her head.

The duchess's shouting and the king's mumbling went on for a while longer, and then all became quiet again. “I wonder what Queen Catherine will have to say about this episode,” said my nurse, settling onto her pallet near my bed. “Seems that King Henri has
two
mistresses. I'll wager the queen will get a bit of pleasure from learning that her rival has a rival of her own.”

Sinclair was soon snoring peacefully again, but I lay awake thinking of my friend Marie Fleming. No doubt La Flamin would quickly be hearing about her mother's transgressions. But then I, too, fell asleep. It would be some time before I learned the rest of the story.

T
HE MONTHS CREPT BY
with unbearable slowness as I waited for my mother. In my impatience I exasperated the duchess and my governess and everyone else within hearing with my constant questions. When will the queen my mother leave Scotland? How long will the journey take? When do you think she will arrive? Will she come here immediately after she leaves the ship?

Near the end of August Madame de Poitiers announced brightly, “You have not much longer to wait, Madame Marie. The king has dispatched six French galleys to Scotland to fetch the queen mother.”

Have the king's galleys arrived in Scotland? How long will they stay? When will they return?

My brother François, duke of Longueville, would be sent to meet her, but I would not. I received this news with tears of bitter disappointment. “Why may I not go too?” I asked Madame de Poitiers, who replied in a soothing manner, “The king believes it is better this way. Your mother will likely be very tired after her sea voyage. When she has rested and recovered, she will be all the more ready to greet you.”

I had no more success persuading Queen Catherine, though she did seem sympathetic. “Dear child, if it were up to me, you would be the very first to throw your arms around your beloved mother and receive her grateful kisses. But the king believes it is the son's duty and privilege to greet his mother first. Then it is the daughter's turn.”

“But I am a queen, and my brother is only a duke!” I protested. “I should take precedence.”

Queen Catherine gave me a long, searching look. “Sometimes,” she said, “precedence is everything, and sometimes it means nothing at all. Be patient, Marie. You will soon see your mother, and you will forget this little delay.”