Виктория Холт - Madame Serpent

When the ceremony was over, the baby, surrounded ladies of the court, was taken back to the palace. The feasting and rejoicing that must crown such an important event begun. There must be balls and masques, dancing, plays and jousts to celebrate this addition to the House of Valois, Francis was the toast of the hour.

But there was none more delighted with him than his mother. She watched him in wonderment― this shriveled creature who had given her security.

She held him fiercely to her breast. Her little Francis! Henry’s son!

But even as she did so, fear came to her. He seemed so small and fragile.

There must be more sons to make his mother feel safe.

IT WAS APRIL at Fontainebleau. In her beautiful bed with its rich hangings of brocade and wonderfully woven tapestry, lay the Dauphine. Her eyes were lustreless, her fair hair spread out on the pillows; her thick pale skin seemed almost yellow in the sunlight; otherwise she showed little sign of the ordeal through which she had recently passed. She was strong and young; childbearing was easy for her.

She was not discontented as she lay there, although she wished that her Elizabeth had been another boy. Still, there would be boys yet. There would be many children. She allowed her lips to curl cynically, for Madalenna, sitting at her window seat, was intent on her work, and could not note her mistress’s expression. Diane had decreed that the Dauphin should be the father of many children; therefore it would be so. As for Catherine, she had proved, by producing these two children, born within two years of each other, that she was no barren wife.

How lucky she was that her husband’s mistress had decided to allow his wife to bear his children! He visited her apartments regularly― on his mistress’s instructions― albeit he came like a schoolboy going unwillingly to school; but nevertheless he came.

It was senseless to nourish this bitterness. She should congratulate herself.

She had a son and a daughter and there could no longer be any suggestion of divorce.

Everywhere in France― unpopular as she was― she was regarded as the future Queen. She was― though still called the Italian woman― the Dauphin’s wife; and France was beginning to take its Dauphin to its heart.

Henry had proved himself an excellent soldier in the last few years, for the King could not leave his war with Charles V forever long and Henry took a big part in it. He was without much imagination, but he was as brave as a lion; he was kindly too, a just disciplinarian; he was the sort of leader men liked to follow; and eager as he was to prove a worthy general in his father’s eyes, he rarely erred on the side of recklessness. His men were fond of him and the sober backbone of the country liked him. France adored its licentious, charming, and artistic King; it was hoped that he would live long to enjoy his pleasures; it was gratifying to hear of the works of ort collected and to know that he employed the best artists in the world to beautify his palaces; it was amusing to hear of the erotic joys, of the beautiful women who delighted mirror-panelled chambers.

But the splendours of France were costly, and it was comforting to look forward to a more sober court under the King-to-be.

There would be, to some degree, a return to morality. The Dauphin, it was true, had a mistress; but the relations between them was like that of husband and wife. Nor did the people blame the young man for taking a mistress, for was he not married to the Italian, and that, in the eyes of good French men and women, was ample reason for choosing a French mistress. Yes, France was well pleased with its Dauphin.

Catherine was also pleased with her Dauphin― desperately, maddeningly pleased. Her passionate love had increased than diminished with this greater intimacy between them. Oh, how hateful it was to think that he came to her because Diane sent him!

But she had her babies now.

‘Madalenna!’ she said. ‘Bring me my baby.’

Madalenna rose and went to the cradle― a magnificent affair of cloth of silver, decorated with ribands and laces. Catherine’s face softened as the child was brought to her. She held out her arms and took the little Elizabeth into them.

‘Is she not a beautiful child, Madalenna?’

‘She is indeed,’ said Madalenna.

‘I fancy she has a look of her father about her.’

‘It is too early to say yet,’ said Madalenna.

‘Oh, come, Madalenna, look at her nose.’

‘You think it is the Valois nose?’

‘Do you? Perhaps. But I am sure those are the Medici eyes.’

‘’Madame la Dauphine, it will be well for her beauty if she has the Medici eyes.’

Catherine kissed the small face. ‘It is to be hoped also that she has the Medici nose,’ she said, ‘for I declare, Madalenna, the Valois nose is impressive and noble for a man, but somewhat overpowering, do you not think, for a little girl?’

Madalenna laughed gaily. How happy she was talking thus to her mistress.

It seemed to her now that the Dauphine was just a happy mother, not that cold, frightening mistress who sent her on secret hateful missions.

‘Go to the nursery, Madalenna, and bring young Francis to me. I would have both my children with me. Go and tell him his mother wishes to show him his little sister.’

Madalenna went, and in a few moments returned with the little Prince. He was just over two years old, small for his age, with a delicate air. He was rather a pampered little boy, for his great glittering grandfather, whose name he bore, had taken a fancy to him; and that meant that everyone else at court must do the same.

‘Come here, Francis dear,’ said his mother; and he came and stood by the bed, his great eyes fixed on her face. He seemed to regard her with awe; she would rather it had been with affection, but the awkwardness which she felt with the father seemed to come between her and the child.

‘Look my little one,’ she said, ‘here is your baby sister.’

But he could not keep his eyes on his sister: they kept coming back to his mother’s face.

‘Is she not a beautiful little baby, my Prince?’ demanded Madalenna; and Catherine noticed how naturally the boy could smile and nod at Madalenna.

Why was it that he was at ease with others and not so with herself? Perhaps she was spoken of with awe in the nursery. Was she not the Dauphine? But that was not the reason. Young Francis had no fear at all of his father; he would climb all over Henry and chuckle with glee as he pulled his beard. The child was equally at home with the King himself. Catherine had seen him try to pull the jewels off his grandfather’s coat, for which he had received a friendly tap on the cheek, and had been thrown to the ceiling with a ‘Ha! My young robber! So you would steal the Crown Jewels!’ No! There was something strange in the child’s feelings for his mother, something she could not understand.

‘Madalenna, lift him on to the bed.’

He sat there uncomfortably, she thought; as while she fascinated him, he was afraid to get too close.

‘Why, Francis,’ she said, ‘it is pleasant to have you here like this. You― and your sister― and your Maman. Is it not, my little one?’

He nodded. He was staring at the ruby on her finger, ‘Ah! Is it not beautiful, Francis? It was a gift from your papa.’ She took off the ring and gave it to him.

Now he smiled. ‘Pretty!’ he said; and tried to put it on his little finger.

‘You must wait, must you not, until you are a grown man. Then, my son, you will wear many beautiful jewels.’ She saw him, a grown man, loving his mother. She could not bear to see him as the King of France, for that would mean that Henry was no longer King. She could not imagine a world that did not contain the joy and agony of loving Henry.

She took off more rings and he played with them on the bed. She thought:

he is not really afraid of me. I could soon make him love me. He was laughing as the rings slipped from his fingers into the bed.

‘Too big,’ he said. ‘Too big for Francis.’

And she seized him and kissed him suddenly and passionately, until she noticed that he had stiffened. She released him at once, while she wondered bitterly why it was she found it so hard to make people love her― even her own children.

She must remember not to be too demonstrative with young Francis.

‘Try on this one,’ she said; and she pulled a sapphire from her finger.

He was chuckling over the jewels when Diane came in.

‘You will forgive this intrusion, Madame, I know,’ she said.

Catherine’s face was set into the fixed smile she had always to show Diane.

Fierce hatred was in her heart. How dare the woman come intruding into her private apartments! How dare she? That was easy to answer. Every bit of happiness that Catherine knew was doled out to her by this woman. ‘Your husband shall make love to you tonight.’ Make love! There was no love-making, only child-making. ‘ I will insist that he comes!’

I am nothing to him, thought Catherine; and she is all. What I would I not give to see her lying dead? ‘It is a pleasure to see you, Madame,’ said Catherine. ‘How well you look.’

Diane rustled regally to the bed and kissed Catherine’s hand. ‘And you, I am sad to see, do not look so well. You have overtired yourself.’

Diane glanced at Madalenna. ‘I had given instructions that Madame la Dauphine was to sleep this afternoon.’

‘You must not blame Madalenna,’ said Catherine. ‘She obeyed her mistress and brought my son to me.’