Anne was delighted. There was a smile on almost every face. The little Medici been able to discomfit Diane as Anne failed to do.
Diane, to her annoyance, felt a faint colour rise to her cheeks. She hated any reference to her love affair with the Dauphin; she would have everyone believe that she was his spiritual adviser.
Anne tittered. ‘Well, we may take the word of the poor, deserted, little wife.’
She went to Catherine and put an arm round her. ‘Why, my little one, I weep for you. But never mind, for he will come back to you. You are so docile, so charming, so young!’
Diane said: ‘I am sorry, Madame la Dauphine, that you feel deserted. When the Dauphin returns perhaps I may persuade him to leave you less alone.’
Diane rose and walked away. There was a silence that lasted for a few seconds before everyone began speaking of the preparations for the reception of the Spaniards.
Catherine knew that she had been wrong. Diane was planning to remove her, for she had discovered that Catherine was not the submissive wife she had been believed to be. Catherine harboured grudges; she was inclined to be possessive.
Diane had tolerated the Italian girl because she had believed her to be of no importance. But no one insulted Diane with impunity.
Catherine was afraid. Life was too difficult. One was careful, watching every word, every look― and then came an unguarded moment and the work of years was forgotten.
Henry returned to Loches, and Catherine’s fear increased. She could find no pleasure in the rich displays which were arranged for the guests. The banquets, balls, the plays, and tournaments meant nothing to her. Henry was looking at her with hope in his eyes, and the hope was that he might rid himself of her forever.
She, for a moment of folly, was to blame. Her hatred had triumphed over her common sense, just as love so often had in her scenes with Henry.
The court left Loches and travelled by stages to Paris, a magnificent reception was afforded the Spaniard! Catherine watched it all listlessly. What were the schemes and plots of others when her own life was threatened? She watched the entry of Charles into Paris; she was with the King and Queen at one of the windows of the Hotel de Montmorency in the Rue de Saint-Antoine; yet it was not at the Spaniard she looked, but at the young man who rode beside him― her husband, who beginning to hate her and long to be rid of her; and indeed since she had shown unfriendliness to his mistress, Catherine believed he was turning over in his mind how he could do this.
She watched the uneasy Charles presented on behalf of the city with a huge silver figure of Hercules draped with a lion’s skin of gold; at Notre Dame she heard a Te Deum sung for him; she was unimpressed by these ceremonies, for all she could think of was: what will become of me now? Tue whole court was laughing because, during a hunting party, the young and mischievous Duc d’Orléans had leaped to the horse which was being ridden by Charles V and shouted ‘Your Imperial Majesty is my prisoner!’ And Charles, feeling that that moment which he had dreaded had come at last, cursing himself for a fool to have entered his enemy’s country galloped off through the forest with the young Duke clinging to him. How chagrined was Charles to learn that this was the boy’s idea of a joke! And how his French hosts laughed at his expense! In Catherine’s heart there was no room for laughter, since this new fear for her fate had possession of it.
In spite of the gaiety and festivities, the men and women of the court had time to whisper, and their whispers concerned the little Italian Dauphine.
Catherine, knowing they whispered, would lie awake at night and wonder.
Was it true that a divorce was being planned?
It was some time ago that she had heard of Alessandro’s death. He had been stabbed by an obscure relative of hers, who had immediately become the hero of Florence. The young assassin’s sister been used as a decoy, and Alessandro had died as violently as he had lived.
What perilous lives we lead, we Medici, she thought. Clement, Ippolito, Alessandro― they had all died suddenly, had certainly been murdered.
Was she any more secure than her relatives?
They would not kill her; yet she believed she would prefer death to what they were proposing to do.
She thought of the aunt of this Charles whom France was now honouring with feats and ceremonies. That aunt had been another Catherine― Catherine of Aragon, and wife of the King of England. She had been divorced because she could not bear a son. And again, ostensibly for the same reason, that King’s second wife, having no powerful relatives to protect her, had lost her head.
Catherine de’ Medici had now no powerful relative to protect her.
They would not kill her. She would not care if they did. They would divorce her, and banish her; and she would never see Henry again.
‘All these years married,’ they were saying, ‘and no child! What good is such a wife to the heir to the throne? He can get children; witness the Piedmontese. For such a one as this Medici, there is only one thing: divorce!’
She wept; when she was alone, she stormed. How could she get children when she scarcely ever saw her husband!
She had not thought it possible for her hatred of Diane de Poitiers to grow.
But during the visit of Charles of Spain, she learned that it could.
Francis, having shaken off sickness once again, and feeling stimulated by the passing through France of his enemy, spoke to Catherine of the relationship between herself and Henry she rode beside him when they were out with the Petite Band. Anne had stayed in the palace that afternoon; she was tired, she said. Francis missed her; he had asked his daughter-in-law to ride with him, since he felt it his duty to speak to her. It was an unpleasant duty, and he wished to done with it as soon as possible. Seven years married and no child! A grave matter for a Duke of Orléans; a disastrous one for a Dauphin of France!
‘Catherine,’ he said, ‘this is a sorry state of affairs. All these years married― and no sign of a child. Can you explain it?’
‘I can only say, Sire,’ she answered sadly, ‘that if the Dauphin were with me as much as he is with the Sénéchale―’
The King sighed. ‘That boy angers me,’ he interrupted. ‘How like him this is! He is heir to the throne, and he sets his responsibilities light beside his infatuation for a woman. It is incredible.’
‘Sire, I had hoped his infatuation would not last so long,’
‘With that boy anything is possible. Well, Catherine, something must be done, you know. Seven years is a long time. I should have thought it was impossible for him to get children but for the affair at Piedmont. You must not be outdone your young fellow country-woman, daughter.’
He whipped up and rode away. Catherine was in no mood to amuse him. He left her desolate. So he was turning against her, she felt. His voice had sounded less cordial than usual. You must not be outdone― Undoubtedly he had emphasized must. He meant that if she did not soon become enceinte, she could not remain married to his son.
And if I were not married to Henry, thought Catherine, I should no longer wish to live. The King was moody today; had he already decided on the divorce?
She need not have worried. Francis had not given her another thought. He was feeling too unwell to enjoy the chase; he was thinking wistfully of the days of his youth. He thinking also of Anne, and wondering why she had not accompanied him this afternoon. How did she, who was still young and so beautiful, feel towards this aged man that he was becoming? The love of a mistress could not be counted on as could the love of a mother and a sister.