Courtesan

by Diane Haeger

  Jacques smiled and put a hand on Henri’s shoulder. “So, are you going to tell me what brought you out, or must I spend all night guessing the reason.”

  “I simply felt like it, that is all. Must there be a reason?”

  Jacques’ smile fell. “No, Your Highness, no reason at all.”

  François de Guise and Charles de Brissac joined them. “What a surprise, Your Highness,” Guise said a little too loudly. “It is good to see you here!”

  Brissac surveyed the crowd. “It is a lovely party.”

  “Another of the King’s pretentious displays,” Henri grumbled.

  His four friends exchanged a glance as the Prince headed for the large double doors that led outside.

  “I need some air,” Henri said. “I cannot breathe.”

  INSIDE THE BALLROOM the music and laughter had reached a crescendo as the King danced the Passepied with Montmorency’s wife. The Grand Master himself sat at the King’s long table watching them and fingering the ends of his silver mustache. Then, the sound of discordant chatter began to rise up near him from the darkened alcove that surrounded the entrance. The shrill sound of a woman’s voice grew steadily louder. Soon it surpassed the music. Montmorency finally turned around and saw the Comtesse de Sancerre, followed several paces behind by her husband, who was dragging their sobbing daughter, Marie, by the shoulder. All three were trying to get past the guards who stood sentry at the door inside the alcove.

  “You must let me see the King! You must! There has been some mistake. I demand to see the King!” shouted the Comtesse.

  Montmorency, part of whose function was the smooth maintenance of the King’s household, leapt from his seat to intercede. He instructed the guards to pull the three uninvited guests back behind the marble pillar.

  “What seems to be the trouble?” he asked, looking at the Comtesse and then at the guards.

  “Not you!” she shouted again. “I demand to see the King!”

  “Well, as you can see, Madame,” he said, pointing toward the dance floor with a jeweled finger, “His Majesty is engaged at present. Perhaps, if you made an appointment with his secretary—”

  “An appointment? Ha! His Majesty has banished us! It is not bad enough that he sullies our good name, and that he has had his way with me and with our daughter, but now that she is made pregnant by him, he sends us packing!”

  “Surely, Madame, there is a better time for this. At present the King is entertaining.”

  “Indeed! I know all about his entertaining, Monsieur! You have only to look upon our daughter for the effects of that!”

  People had begun to stare. Heads were turning in the direction of the dark alcove and a hush had fallen over much of the crowd as they tried to make out the rest of the bits and pieces of what was being said. Finally the King too was drawn to the tumult. He excused himself from the dance and moved toward the alcove.

  “How could Your Majesty?” the Comtesse shouted at the King and motioned to her young daughter, who sobbed into her hands.

  “Take them to the library at once,” the King commanded in a controlled voice and then nudged Montmorency along with him into the hall amid the hushed whispers of the crowd.

  “Well, it looks like the old boy hasn’t lost his touch,” Chabot whispered to Anne d’Heilly from their table.

  “Oh, do shut up, will you, Philippe? Do you ever know when you have said enough?”

  The Admiral tipped his head to the side and then stuffed his mouth with the breast meat from another pheasant, allowing a ribbon of grease to dribble down his chin. She turned away from him in disgust and looked back to the now empty corridor through which Montmorency, the King, the Comte de Sancerre and his family had passed. At that moment Anne d’Heilly could not decide if she was more angry or curious.

  FRANÇOIS CLOSED THE double doors and put his hands on his hips. Three sword-bearing guards stood behind the trio who were now seated in a row on one of the King’s settees. Marie de Sancerre, who had not given up her tears, sobbed continually into her small hands.

  “Very well, then. Out with it. How do you know the girl carries my child?”

  “How dare you?” the Comtesse began to rage again. “Marie is a good and honest girl. She gave herself to no one but her King!”

  François looked down at her. “Is this true, child?” he asked with a tender note of concern.

  When she did not reply, her father nudged her and she looked up with a face that was swollen and wet. “No, Your Majesty,” she whispered.

  The room fell to a hush.

  “What? Who the devil else? Who?” her mother raged, and hit her about the face and neck so that she was not able to reply.

  “Answer your parents!” the King commanded.

  They waited.

  “The Dauphin, Your Majesty.”

  The King paced the length of the book-lined room. The Comte and Comtesse were silent. They waited for his response. The guards stood at attention behind the carved-oak settee which held the trio. Montmorency stood near the door, knowing better than to speak out now.

  “Bring the Dauphin, at once,” François ordered.

  The minutes before the boy came into the library were filled with the strain of silence, the far-off sound of the music and the King’s angry scowl. François II finally entered the vaulted book-lined repository with the guard who had sought him. His arm was draped around a short dark-haired girl; they were laughing, and a flagon of wine was dangling from his hand.

  “Get rid of her,” the King commanded in a seething monotone.

  “What is it, Father?”

  The younger François looked at the sullen group before him. He looked at Marie de Sancerre who was still sobbing. He saw her father’s rage. The blood left his face. His heart stopped.

  “Father, I. . .it is not what you think. . .”

  “Now, now, my boy. . .” He stifled his son’s confession and thrust a goblet of wine in his hand. “Ah, there is nothing like two men bedding the same whore to turn back the hands of time! My son, my own dear son. . .I feel like a boy again myself. Monty, do you recall that time in Italy before the wars; that tall willowy maiden. . .what was her name?”

  “So then you are not angry with me?”

  The King’s angry face softened. He put his arm around his son as though they were the only two in the room. “One of us has made her pregnant, boy. The child will need to be provided for.”

  The Dauphin’s mouth fell open and he gazed over at the young girl he too had bedded.

  “I will make you a bargain, my son. If you will agree to tell my Anne that it is your doing, then I shall overlook the duplicity of the entire affair. We shall tally it up to an enormous adventure, as Monty and I did all those years ago.”

  “Gladly, Father!” The Dauphin smiled. The relief was evident on his long thin face.

  “Cruel bastard! You sound as though she were a piece of meat!” the Comtesse muttered. The guard hit the back of her head with his hand just enough to sting.

  “Be mindful of how you address your Sovereign Lord,” he warned in a firm baritone.

  “Oh, Your Majesty, please!” the girl pleaded and dropped to her knees. “I want to be with you! Do not make me go! I love you!”

  “Quiet, Marie,” her father urged.

  “Love, you say? Foolish girl,” he scoffed. “What do you know of love? You loved me so much that you bedded us both! Did your mother give you instruction in that as well?” Tears spilled down her cheeks. She could say nothing in defense of herself. “Love, hah! Such a foolish word, and how like a child to use it at a time like this! I am a King. You are a child. I had you and now I shall pay for the pleasure.”

  The Comtesse de Sancerre stood and straightened the bodice of her gown, preparing to confront the King. “Your Majesty, there is another solution that would bring harmony to all concerned.” The King would not look at her so she proceeded without invitation. “My daughter is well educated. She is the correct age, and of course, of th
e appropriate station to become the Dauphine. My husband and I propose that the boy marry her and give a name to the child.”

  The King began to chuckle before he turned around. After a moment the sound blossomed into a raucous fit of laughter. The Dauphin and the guards smiled as the King began to grip his sides and double over. Montmorency stood silently by the King, his face expressionless.

  “Are you mad, woman? He is to be King! I’ll not have him married to a whore who gives herself to the highest bidder! Ha! Who would sire the future Kings of France when she tired of my son? The stable boy? The cook? The Captain of the Guard here, perhaps?”

  The Comte and Comtesse de Sancerre exchanged a defeated glance. All three stood and prepared to leave the library. “I assume, Your Majesty, that you are prepared to make good on your responsibility to pay for the privilege of defiling our daughter?”

  The King’s nostrils flared and his face flushed crimson at the tone she had dared to use with him. God, what a mistake it had been to look twice at her, he thought.

  “If she were not carrying a child of royal blood, I would throw the whole lot of you into the conciergerie and let you rot there for plotting against me as you have! You played me for a fool, and I shall not have that in my house!”

  “Father, please,” François urged and put his own arm on the King’s shoulder.

  The King took a deep breath and, after a moment, his voice returned to its even pace. “The girl will be sent to the convent Murate to bear the child. After it is born, it shall be returned to Court to be raised with the others. I shall grant a small stipend for the girl to use as a dowry. There will be nothing more.”

  “But Your Majesty must be reasonable,” the Comte de Sancerre cautiously objected. “Who will want her once word of this is out?”

  It was only now, that the course of the indiscretion was defined, that Montmorency stepped forward. As he did, the King and Dauphin turned away.

  “Perhaps you should have considered the risk more thoroughly before letting your daughter whore for you. The King has made you an equitable offer. I would advise you to accept the terms.”

  The King looked back over his shoulder and then, with no further thought, as he and the Dauphin walked together toward the door, he added, “Handle the details, will you, Montmorency? My son and I have a banquet to attend.”

  THE NIGHT AIR had gotten cold.

  As Henri leaned against the ivy-covered railing before him, he inhaled deeply. His nostrils burned with the brisk rush of air. He could see the figures of a man and a woman coming forward from the gazebo. They were laughing and she was clutching his arm. Henri gasped as the moonlight illuminated their faces and he could finally see that the woman was Diane. The man with whom she strolled was the promiscuous Scots Captain, Jacques de Montgommery.

  The moonlight caught the folds of Diane’s black silk gown, which was set off with gold lace. Her blond hair was gathered away from her face into a net shimmering with the same gold. Henri felt his legs falter. Then, to his surprise, she noticed him.

  “Well, there you are!” she cried out and waved to him as he leaned against the terrace balustrade. “I have been looking for Your Highness!”

  She marched up the staircase to the terrace leaving Montgommery several paces behind. She was smiling and her cheeks and the tip of her nose were pink from the night air. “Thank you, Jacques, for your arm. Save me a dance later, perhaps?” she asked with a smile. Montgommery scowled at Henri, who appeared to have captured Diane’s attention. He stormed off without further word.

  “I wanted to congratulate you on your victory yesterday,” she said when they were alone.

  “You could have won. You play very well.”

  “Now you are the one who is being kind.”

  “Not when it comes to sports. In that, I mean what I say. You played an excellent game.”

  “Very well, then. I thank you,” she replied. It took no more than a moment for both of them to realize that Henri was now quite unashamedly staring at her. She became uneasy under his adolescent gaze.

  “You look truly magnificent,” he managed to mutter, as he took her hand and gently kissed it the way he had seen the other men at Court do. The smile left her face as he held her soft white hand to his lips. As soon as she could, Diane pulled away and began to rub her hands together as though they had gotten cold.

  “It really is a splendid party, do you not think?”

  “For one of the King’s gatherings, I suppose it is.”

  “Well. Why, don’t we go back in? You know, Henri, I would very much like to dance if you should ask me.”

  The moment that followed was so long and awkward that she was almost sorry she had proposed it. He peered in through the glass doors, as though he were looking for someone.

  “I do not dance,” he finally said, still not looking at her.

  “Oh, nonsense. Everyone dances.”

  After a moment, he looked in her direction once again. His expression had grown distant; his posture formal. “To be more precise, Madame, I do not dance well,” he said. “It was by the King’s request some years ago that I not attempt it publicly for the embarrassment it caused him.”

  Diane did not know what to say. The mood between them had so quickly shifted from familiarity to tension that now she too felt awkward. She looked over at him, but once again, found him looking away from her and back into the ballroom. She was certain that he must have caught the eye of some young girl, just as Montgommery repeatedly did when they were together. That duplicitous behavior among courtiers that at first had enraged her, now had almost begun to seem almost commonplace. Detaining the Prince out here like this, much less thinking that he might be interested in a dance with her, was nothing but foolish.

  “It is getting chilly. Perhaps we should go inside,” she suggested.

  “Yes, I think that would be wise.”

  Henri turned without acknowledging her and began to walk toward the door. At the same moment when they reached the entrance, Anne d’Heilly stepped out of the same door on the arm of Admiral Chabot. They were close enough that their stiff skirts brushed together and forced the new rivals to pause.

  “Why, good evening, Henri dear,” Anne said with a Cheshire-cat grin. “Why, and who have we here? Yes, of course. It is the widow in black. Have you taken to defending her everywhere now, or just in dark corridors and on moonlit balconies?” She waited for Chabot to hide a laugh behind his hand before she continued. “Most unwise, unless of course, you mean for people to talk.”

  Her words were harsh. Henri turned to Diane who stood behind him. He was surprised and yet strengthened by a sense of desperation in her eyes before she lowered them.

  “How dreadful, Mademoiselle d’Heilly, that you can find no one your own age with whom to occupy yourself. The children are playing up in the nursery. Perhaps you would be more comfortable with them. At least they are less likely to contest your cruel taunting.”

  “Listen, little Prince, you cannot speak to me like that and get away with it,” she seethed, but Henri refused the bait.

  “Go on now. Be a good girl. I can see Madame here is growing as weary of your games as I.”

  As he spoke the last words, he clutched Diane’s hand firmly in his own. Then, brushing Anne aside as though she were a servant, he led Diane through the open door, back into the safe throngs of clamorous guests.

  “Well, it would appear that you have made a habit of rescuing me from the wrath of Mademoiselle d’Heilly,” Diane whispered, as they moved back into the ballroom.

  “Nothing should bring me greater pleasure, Madame. But I confess, I think you do quite well on your own.”

  “Oh, not so well as you might think.” She smiled.

  Henri squeezed her hand to guide her as they wound through a maze of dancers, now doing the Branle, a lively country dance full of strenuous swings and lifts. The dancers tried to bring them into the steps but Henri pushed past them. The odor in the ballroom was acrid. A blue
-gray haze had made it suffocatingly heavy. The thick air was in sharp contrast to the crisp and quiet of the garden.

  “From what I have seen of this Court since I have been back, there is bound to be gossip, now that you have twice so publicly gone against her on my behalf.”

  “Madame, I have been talked about for a long time now. I venture very little of it, in the form of flattery.”

  Diane looked over at him, her face glowing brilliant with sincerity. “That is difficult to believe, since there are really so many nice things that one could say about you.”

  She watched a hard-edged expression return to his face. He looked away. “I must tell you, Madame, that I am not at all accustomed to flattery.”

  Diane stopped when they reached the archway that led out into the new Grand Gallery. The music was not nearly so loud there and the odors not so thick. She turned in front of him so that he was made to face her. “Then perhaps I have overstepped my bounds.”

  “It is only that I am not worthy of your trust, Madame,” he replied in a soft, vulnerable voice.

  “Why would you say such a thing?”

  “They say I am difficult. The King says so himself; quite publicly, in fact. He hastens to add that he often wishes, for both of our sakes, that I had not been born at all.”

  “Well, I do not think you are difficult in the least. Besides, I do not care what they say, even if the they to which you refer includes the King of France. You have certainly been a friend to me, and for that I am eternally grateful,” she declared and then quickly leaned over to kiss his cheek.

  She smiled. Henri could not. After a moment, when the awkward silence between them seemed destined to return, she looked across at the dancers. But Diane knew that he was watching her.

  His mother, Queen Claude, had been Henri’s last contact with any sort of affection. Not since he was a very little boy had anyone treated him with the least modicum of tenderness. Since then he had closed himself off to it. No one understood his pain or the betrayal he felt. No one took the time.