‘When you hear the good news I have brought you, you will cease to fret for the air of Navarre. I have ridden over from Amboise with the sole purpose of imparting this news to you. What would you say if I told you I had a husband for you?’

Jeanne caught her breath in horror. ‘A husband … for me, Sire?’

‘I see that you are enchanted. That is well. You are growing up, my darling, and it is time we thought about a match for you. How does it appeal to you – the married state?’

‘Not greatly, Sire. Unless, of course, it were with some great King.’

He frowned, and Aymée trembled. It would seem that Jeanne was daring to refer to the match her father wished for her – an alliance with the man who would one day be King of Spain.

‘You prize yourself highly,’ said Francis coldly.

‘Unless there were great honour in a marriage I should not care for it,’ said Jeanne. ‘Many husbands give honour to women not their wives, so it is necessary for a wife to make a marriage which brings her honour, since she may not receive it from her husband afterwards.’

The King was always pleased with those who amused him; and the precocity of the child reminded him of his sister. His momentary displeasure disappeared, and he laughed aloud.

‘My dearest niece, I have no fear that you will be unable to keep Monsieur le Duc de Clèves under control.’

‘The Duc de Clèves!’ she cried. ‘What … do you mean, Sire?’

‘That he is to be your husband.’

Jeanne forgot the homage she owed to the King, and her mouth hardened. ‘You would give me in marriage to a duke of some small kingdom?’

‘Oh come, child, the Duke of Clèves is not so insignificant as you appear to think. I can see that here in Plessis you do not learn things concerning the outside world. Now, on your knees and thank me for having your welfare so near my heart that I have arranged a match for you.’

‘I fear, Sire,’ she said haughtily, ‘that I cannot thank you for arranging such an alliance for me.’

Madame de Silly stepped forward; the noblemen who had accompanied the King waited in dismay for him to express his anger. But it did not come; instead, he turned to them smiling.

‘Leave me alone with my niece,’ he said. ‘I think it necessary for us two to have a talk together.’

They, with Aymée and Jeanne’s attendants, bowed and retired.

Jeanne – terrified, though nothing would have made her admit that this was the case, and humiliated by her uncle’s suggestion – tossed her head to convey that whatever the consequences of her boldness, she did not care.

When they were alone, the King said: ‘Sit at my feet. That is right. Lean your head against me.’

He caressed her hair and, as she smelt the faint perfume of musk and Russia leather which clung to his clothes, she thought she would hate those scents as long as she lived.

‘It grieves me, Jeanne,’ he said, ‘that I should be the cause of unhappiness to you. As you know, your mother is dearer to me than any living person; and because you are her daughter, I love you also. But, my child, it is not for us of royal blood to question the alliances which are made for us. As you are a sensible girl, you must know that. You are right to have your decided views and to show no fear in expressing them. I would not have it otherwise. But you know also that it is your duty to obey your King. You have nothing to fear. The Duke will be enchanted with you, and he is not without good looks.’

‘Sire, am I not too young for marriage?’

‘Nay. You are twelve years of age … old enough for a princess to marry.’

‘But could I not have some choice in the matter?’

‘Dear child, that is a privilege which is denied us, and you must console yourself that one husband is very like another. If you start with passion, you lose it quickly. And, dear Jeanne, marriage need not be an obstacle to the pursuit of passion. Moreover, happiness is sometimes found outside marriage, if it is not granted within. You are wise beyond your years, and I can see that I may talk to you as I do to your mother.’

‘But … the Duke of Clèves! You promised me your son Henry.’

‘Ah yes; but Henry has a little Italian for his wife … and you would not have liked Henry.’

‘I liked him well enough.’

‘As a cousin. Not as a husband. He is gauche and scarcely speaks. He is unfaithful to his wife. Poor Catherine! She is pleasant enough, but he spends all his time with Diane de Poitiers. You would not like Henry as a husband, my dear.’

‘It might be that if he had had a French princess for a wife instead of that Italian woman, he would have spent more time with her.’

‘You have been listening to gossip. So it reaches Plessis, then? Nay! Henry pledged himself to Madame Diane years ago; and he is faithful – dull and faithful. Do not regret Henry. And now, because I respect your courage, I am going to tell you why this marriage must be. There is trouble all about us, my little Jeanne. My Constable has been pursuing a policy which is not to my taste. I am sad to think that he works for Henry the Dauphin more than for Francis the King. You see, like you, I have my sorrows. The Emperor Charles has given the Milanese to his son Philip, and I am angry because the Milanese should be mine. You are too young for these politics, but you must try to understand. It is necessary for me to show my displeasure to Spain, and I want you to help me to do this through your marriage with this man of Clèves, who, in his rebellion against the Emperor, has become my friend. You see, we must keep a balance of power about us, and it is with the marriages of the young members of our family that we can do this. So you will be reasonable; you will agree to this marriage, and you will know that, in doing so, you are serving your King.’

‘Sire, I beg of you, do not use me in this way. You are mighty. You are all-powerful. You can subdue your enemies without my help’

‘Not all-powerful, alas! And my enemies are legion. The greatest of these is the Emperor, with whom I must be continually on the alert. Then there is the sly old hypocrite of England. I am unsafe, child. That is why you, my loyal subject, must do all in your power to help me. Come, little Jeanne, a marriage is not all that important. Why, I have had two of them, and have managed to find much in life to please me. Both of my marriages were marriages of state – as yours must be. Did I complain? Not I. I respected my duty, and my destiny. First I married poor little Claude, who enabled me to do my duty to my country by bearing me many children. Then she died and, for reasons of state, I took a second wife. She is a very good woman and she troubles me not. Believe me, it is possible to live pleasantly and be married at the same time.’

‘But I would not care for that sort of life, Sire. I wish my marriage, if I have one, to be a good marriage. I wish to love and serve my husband and I wish him to be faithful to me.’

The King lifted her in his arms and laid his cheek against hers. ‘And you are right to have such thoughts. Rest assured that I will do all in my power to help you. Now you must prepare to leave Plessis at once. I want you to travel to Alençon, where you will be with your mother. That will delight you, will it not?’

‘Yes, Sire, but … I do not wish for this marriage.’

He smiled with charming regret.


* * *

There would be a halt at Paris on the way to Alençon. Usually Jeanne looked forward with zest to her visits to Paris. She would enjoy the long journey which some found so tedious, riding with the procession of attendants with the baggage stacked on the backs of the mules. The magnificence of her uncle’s court never ceased to amaze her; she enjoyed seeing her cousins; she was enchanted by the balls and masques; and the ceremonies of court were such a contrast with the dull life of Plessis-les-Tours.

But this journey was different, since behind it was a sinister motive.

Even the excitement of arriving at Fontainebleau could not make her forget her fears. Fontainebleau, she had always thought, was one of the most beautiful places on Earth. Its gardens, with that delightful mixture of the wild and cultivated, were such as she had never seen elsewhere; here were great rooms and galleries filled with the treasures of Europe which her uncle had taken such delight in collecting. Not that Jeanne was greatly attracted by art; it was the extravagance of the court which she admired. Then it was pleasant to renew old acquaintances.

She was disturbed, though, by her cousin Charles, who played unpleasant tricks. She had to be careful each night when she got into her bed to see that some hideous creature like a dead bat or toad had not been put there to keep her company. She was scornful of Charles, which was foolish of her, for Charles would not tolerate a lack of appreciation of his practical jokes, and those he played on her grew more boisterous and more unkind. But she refused to laugh when she did not wish to laugh; she would rather take the consequences than pretend to be amused when she was not.

Her cousin Henry was kinder, though he had very little to say to her; he had very little to say to anyone but his mistress. He had become of greater importance since Jeanne had last seen him, for then he had been simply the Duke of Orléans and now he was the Dauphin of France. She wished it had been possible to discuss marriage with him, for he had been married when he was very little older than she was; but of course, that was impossible.

There was Catherine, of course – Catherine the Dauphiness. Jeanne could never discuss marriage with Catherine, for there was something about the Italian which repelled her, although she did not understand what it was. Yet Catherine was a wife, and a neglected wife. There was a good deal of whispering about her because she had already been married six years and had no children. It was said that the fault was Catherine’s because the Dauphin had, during the campaign of Piedmont, given a daughter to a girl whom he had temporarily loved during his enforced absence from his mistress. Poor Catherine! Jeanne would have liked to be friends. It was true that she was only twelve years old and that Catherine was twenty; yet they must both be, at this time, rather bewildered and unhappy people. But, it was not possible to be friendly with Catherine. Jeanne watched her receive Diane, smile and chat with her; there was no sign on those cold, pale features that she suffered the slightest humiliation. I shall never be like that! thought Jeanne fiercely. I shall never be meek. If this Guillaume dares to treat me as Henry treats Catherine, I shall leave him, no matter if all Spain and all France and all England go to war on account of it.