She raised herself on her elbow. ‘Henry,’ she said, ‘if he had lived and had married the niece or the daughter of the Emperor, he would have been a dangerous enemy to you.’
‘That is so.’
‘Therefore, you should not be sad. King Francis is dead, but he did not die young, and he had his full measure from life! France never had a better king than you will make, Henry. I pray young Francis will be exactly like his father when on that day, which I trust is far, far in the future, he will take his place on the throne.’
‘You are a good and loyal wife, Catherine,’ said the King.
That made her happy. I shall win him, she assured herself. I have but to remember to go cautiously. But how it was to be careful when she was with Henry. With everyone else she was clever and cunning, but in her state of tremulous excitement which her husband aroused, caution deserted her.
She could not resist speaking of Madame d’Etampes, who had hastily left the court, but whose fate was still undecided.
Desperately, Catherine wanted Anne to be left in peace. Not that she cared for Anne; she cared for none but― Henry. But if she could plead successfully for Anne, Diane was not allowed to wreak her vengeance on her enemy, what triumph!
You are a good and loyal wife! Those words were as intoxicating as the most potent French wine.
‘I was thinking of your father, Henry, and that poor misguided woman whom he loved. He begged of you to spare her. You will respect your father’s wishes?’
Immediately she knew she had been wrong to speak.
‘You are ill advised to plead for such a one,’ he said. ‘I have learned this concerning her: she was as great an enemy to me as ever my brother Charles was. He, with her help, was arranging with young Philip of Spain to attack me when reached the throne. My brother promised to make her Governess of the Netherlands if he married the Infanta. In return for this, she was helping him with money.’
‘I― see.’
‘You see that, being ignorant of what is passing, you should not plead for my enemies.’
‘Henry, had I known that she was guilty of this infamy― had I known that she had conspired against you―’ In her agitation, she rose from the bed and would have come to stand before him; but as she did so, and stretched for her robe, the dizziness overcame her, and valiantly as she tried to hide it, it had not passed undetected by the sharp eyes of King; for after all, he was continually looking for the very symptoms she was trying to hide.
‘Catherine, I fear you are not well.’
‘I am very well, Henry.’
‘Allow me to help you to bed. I will call your women.’
‘Henry― I beg of you― do not disturb yourself. A faintness― nothing more.’
He was smiling down at her solicitously almost. ‘Catherine― can it be?’
His smile was tender now, and how handsome he looked! He was pleased with her; and she longed now, pathetically, to keep his pleasure.
No finesse. No subterfuge now. She wished only to please him.
‘Henry, I think it may be. You are pleased?’
‘Pleased! I am delighted. This, my dear, is just what I was hoping for.’
She was so happy that his irritation with her had turned to pleasure, even if this did mean her fertility released him from of visiting her instead of his mistress.
The uncrowned Queen of France! Surely this was one of the most enviable positions in the land for a practical and ambitious woman to hold. What a happy day for Diane when Francis the King had commanded her to befriend his son!
She received Henry in her apartments, which were more splendid, more stately than those of the Queen.
‘How beautiful you are!’ he said as he knelt and kissed her hands.
She smiled, fingering the jewels at her throat. A short while ago, they belonged to Anne d’Etampes, presents from Francis. Diane wished Anne could see her wearing the gems.
Regally, Diane dismissed her attendants that she might be alone with the King. They sat together in one of the window seats, he with his arm about her.
‘Excellent news, my loved one,’ he said. ‘Catherine is enceinte.’
‘That is wonderful. I had thought there was a look about her of late.’
‘She all but fainted, and I guessed.’
Diane nodded. Sly Catherine had tried to withhold the news. Diane laughed.
Poor, humble little Queen. How much happier it was to be the sort of Queen she herself was! How pleasant to be able to be sorry for the real Queen of France!
Henry had no secrets from Diane. He said: ‘She tried to plead for Anne d’Etampes.’
Diane was immediately alert.
‘My dear, how foolish of her!’
Diane was smiling, but she was disturbed. She pictured the placid face of the Queen― the dark eyes were mild, but was the mouth inscrutable? Surely Catherine would never dare to intrigue with Diane’s old enemy. Diane turned her face to the King and kissed him, but whilst he embraced her, her thoughts ran on. To rule a King needed more caution, more shrewdness than to rule a Dauphin. Henry was sentimental and he had promised his father on the latter’s death-bed to protect Anne d’Etampes. Diane recalled now with what fury she had heard the news that Henry had sent a kind message to Anne on her retirement to Limours when Francis died; in it he had hinted that she might return to court. He had promised his father; he insisted. He was a good man, though unsubtle; but he was also a grateful lover, a man to remember his friends. Anne de Montmorency was already back in favour, and there was a man Diane must watch lest he receive too much favour; but for the time, Montmorency, who had his own score to settle with Anne d’Etampes, was Diane’s ally.
Dear, simple Henry! It was but necessary to show him how Francis’s mistress had plotted against Henry with his Charles for him to see that he was justified in releasing himself from any death-bed promise he had made to a man ignorant of the woman’s duplicity. Anne’s property was confiscated, her servants sent to prison; and her husband, been eager enough to profit from her relationship with Francis, now accused her of fraud, and she was herself sent to prison.
Diane felt that Anne d’Etampes was paying in full for those insults she had directed against the Grande Sénéchale of Normandy. And now― this meek little Catherine must take into her silly head to plead for the woman.
She would, of course, have to learn her lesson. She must realize that she could only be allowed to retain her position as long as she submitted to the uncrowned Queen.
‘I trust,’ said Diane later, ‘that you informed the Queen of the perfidy of Madame d’Etampes in conspiring with your enemies against you?’
‘I told her of this. I fancy she was distressed. She declared herself surprised.’
Well, she might, thought Diane. She would have to be made to realize that it was solely through the clemency of the King’s mistress that his wife was allowed to bear his children.
Diane couldn’t help feeling that it was again necessary to teach Catherine a lesson. She was beginning to think that the Queen’s new standing had gone to her head. After all, reasoned Diane, the woman was but a Medici, descended from Italian tradesmen; Diane herself was a great lady of France, with royal blood in her veins. Yes, Catherine must understand that she owed her position to Diane; and, moreover, that her success in retaining it depended on Diane.