Виктория Холт: Madame Serpent

More like the son of my enemy than mine own.’

“Tis true he is a sullen boy,’ said Anne. ‘What will the Italian child think of her bridegroom, I wonder.’

‘She will take him most thankfully,’ said Marguerite. ‘Is he not the son of the King of France?’

‘I wonder,’ said Anne mischievously, ‘if she will think the sullen boy worth those three glittering jewels― Genoa, Milan and Naples.’

‘She will,’ said Marguerite. ‘For we do not bargain too hotly when we buy with other people’s money.’

‘Particularly when the bills may never be paid!’

‘Enough!’ said Francis with a hint of asperity. ‘Clement is a slippery rogue, but I can hold him to his promises.’

‘How will the child arrive?’ asked Anne.

‘Not without much pomp and many rich gifts as well as the Holy Pope himself. Not only will he bring her, but he will stay for the marriage.’

‘What!’ cried Anne. ‘Does he not trust us to make an honest woman of her?’

‘Doubtless,’ put in Marguerite, ‘he thinks our Henry will rob her of her virginity and send her back.’

‘After filching her jewels and her dowry!’

Francis laughed. ‘He does not know our Henry. He can rob a banquet of its gaiety, but never a maiden of her virginity. Holy Mother! I wish the boy had a bit more fire in him. I could wish he resembled his god-sire across the water, for all that fellow’s pomp and perfidy.’

‘I hear,’ said Anne, ‘that his Grace of England was a fine figure of a man.

And still is, though mounting fast to middle age.’

‘We are of an age,’ growled Francis.

‘But,’ mocked Anne, ‘you are a god, my love. Gods do not grow old.’

‘I am thinking of the boy,’ said Marguerite. ‘Now that he is to become a bridegroom something should be done. He should have a friend, a good friend, who will show him how to lose his fear of us all and, most of all, his father; someone explain that he is awkward largely because he lacks confidence in himself, someone to explain that the only way to overcome the effects of those unhappy years in Spain is to banish them from his thoughts instead of brooding on them.’

‘As usual you are right, my darling,’ said Francis. ‘A friend― a dashing young man of charm and beauty, a gay young man with many fair friends.’

‘Dearest, it was not exactly what I had in mind. There is no man at court who would have that subtle touch necessary. Spain is branded on the boy’s brain― how deeply, none of us know; but I fear very deeply. It needs a gently hand to erase such evil memories. He must recover his dignity through a subtle, gentle influence.’

‘A woman, in very fact!’ said Anne.

‘A clever woman,’ said Marguerite. ‘Not a young and flighty creature of his own age. A woman― wise, beautiful, and above all, sympathetic.’

‘Yourself!’ said Francis.

Marguerite shook her head. ‘Gladly would I perform this miracle―’

‘Miracle it would have to be!’ put in Francis grimly. ‘Transform that oaf, ingrained with Spanish solemnity, into a gay courtier of France! Yes― a miracle!’

‘I could not do it,’ said Marguerite. ‘He would not allow it for I have witnessed his humiliations. I have been present, Francis, when you have upbraided him. I have seen the sullen red blood in his face and the angry glitter in his eyes; I have seen that tight little mouth of his trying to say words which would equal your own in brilliance. He does not realize, poor boy, that wit comes from the brain before the lips. No! He would never respond to my treatment. I can but make the plan; some other must carry it out.’

‘Then Anne here―’

‘My well-loved lord, your demands upon me are so great that I could serve none other; and my zeal in serving you is so intense that I should have nothing but languid indifference for the affairs of others.’

They laughed, and Marguerite said quickly: ‘Leave it to me. I will find the woman.’

Francis put an arm about each of them. ‘My darlings,’ he said, and kissed first Marguerite, then Anne, ‘what should I do without you? That son of mine is like a hair in my shirt― a continual irritation― passing and recurring. The Virgin bless you both. Now let us dance. Let us be gay. Musicians! Give us some of your best.’

The King led Anne in the dance, and was delighted that his mistress and his sister had at length succeeded in lightening his mood; the courtiers and ladies fell in behind him and Anne. But in a corner, trying to hide among the tapestry hangings, the young Prince Henry slouched, wondering how soon he might be able to slip away to the peace of his apartments― loathing it all, the laughter, the gaiety, the courtiers and the women; but hating his father most of all.

The King dismissed his attendants, for he wished to be quite alone with Diane, the handsome widow of the Sénéschal of Normandy. As they went out, they would be smiling among themselves. Ha! So it is la Grande Sénéschale now, is it? What a King! What a man! But what will the charming Anne d’Heilly have to say to this? What a game it is, this love! And how delightfully, how inexhaustibly our sovereign lord can play it!

The King bade the widow rise. His narrowed eyes took in each detail of her appearance with the appreciation of a connoisseur. He was proud of women like Diane de Poitiers. By the Virgin, we know how to breed women in France, he thought.

She was afraid of him, but she did not show it. She was flushed and her eyes were brilliant. Understandable! She would be excited by a summons from the King. He told himself that she had scarcely changed since that other encounter of theirs. When was it? It must be nearly ten years ago! Her skin was still as beautiful as a young girl’s. It was difficult to believe that she was quite thirty-three. Her features were regular, her black hair abundant, her dark eyes lustrous, her figure perfect! She delighted him, and not less so because of that coldness, that lack of response to his admiration and immense charm.

She was clever too. It amused him to keep her guessing the reason for this summons, or, rather, to let her draw conclusions which must be making her heart flutter uncomfortably under that perfect but so prim bosom.

The King of France looked like a satyr as he regarded the woman standing before him.

He had seen her with the Queen and had thought : Ah, there is the woman. She could make a man of my Henry. She will teach him all the arts and graces which she has at her own pretty fingertips. She will teach him all that it is good for him to know, and nothing that is bad for him. She will teach him to love her own virtues, and to hate his father’s vices; and then I will put my head close to that charming one, and together we will find a mistress for him, a young, delightful girl, unless of course― and this may well be, for I could suspect my Henry of any mediocrity― he wishes to remain faithful to his Italian bride. ‘There is a favour I would ask of you,’ he said, his warm eyes caressing her.

She had risen. She held her head high, and protest was written in every protest was written in every line of her beautiful head and shoulders.

He would not have been himself if he could have resisted teasing her.

‘I beg of you be seated. We would not have you stand on ceremony. Come here― beside me.’

‘Sire, you are very gracious to me.’

‘And willing to be more so, dear lady, could I but get your kind consent. I often think on that long ago encounter of ours. Can it be ten years ago, Diane?

Why, you are the same young girl. They say it is a magic you have. They say you have discovered eternal youth, and by the faith of a nobleman, I would say, as I look at you, that they are right.’