Royal Road to Fotheringhay - Plaidy Jean (читать книги полностью без сокращений .txt) 📗

The consummation of the marriage was vital to the house of Guise; therefore that consummation should take place.

“And it shall!” mused the Cardinal, as he rode away from Villers-Cotterets. “I have injected some manhood into that ungainly mass of corrupting flesh which calls itself Dauphin of France. I am only sorry that my darling should have been given such an unworthy partner in her first excursion into the delights of the flesh.”

THE KING came down to Villers-Cotterets. He had heard that Mary had been ill and that the Dauphin was less happy than he had been on his arrival.

The King came without ceremony, riding there on a hunting expedition.

The young couple were delighted to see him. He scanned their faces eagerly. He was moved as he gazed at them; they were such children, and did he not know what it meant to be a young husband? He remembered even now with a shudder his first weeks of marriage.

“And how are you both, my dear children?” he asked as he embraced them.

“We are very happy, Papa,” they assured him.

Mary was pale; that would be explained by her malady, but the Dauphin seemed shamefaced. They did not tell the King that their happiness had lasted until they had been compelled to indulge in a nightly duty which was distasteful to them both. Henri did not ask. He remembered his own agonies when his witty father had made brilliant remarks to his young son.

They will grow out of it, he promised himself. They are so fond of each other. Francois turns to her for everything, and she is as ready to comfort him and humor him as she ever was.

Yet so concerned was the King that he decided he would separate the newly married pair for a few weeks and see what effect it had.

“Francois,” he said, “I wish you to join the camp at Amiens. Honeymoons cannot last forever, you know.”

“No, Papa.”

The King saw the fear leap into the boy’s eyes. He dreaded leaving Mary and Villers-Cotterets for the camp where there would be rough soldiers.

“You will be able to show your skill on horseback,” said his father. “And, my boy, remember you are the Dauphin. Your people will wish to see you. Do not be afraid of them. There is nothing to fear. Remember, one day you will be their King.”

So to the camp at Amiens went Francois. Mary stayed at Villers-Cotterets, which the King felt would be healthier for her than Paris. He sent her four Marys to her to compensate her for the loss of her husband. He fancied that, while she was sorry to say a brief farewell to Francois, she was, in a way, relieved. The King believed he understood.

THERE WAS a great deal of excitement in the Court because the Queen of England was dead. Her place had been taken—usurped, said the King, the Guises and almost every Frenchman—by the bastard daughter of the concubine Anne Boleyn; and if the throne of England had not been taken by the bastard Elizabeth, it would surely have fallen to Mary, Queen of Scotland, now Dauphine of France.

“Holy Mother of God!” cried the Duke, his eye watering above his scar. “We’ll take men-at-arms across the sea. By God, we’ll turn the redheaded bastard off the throne.”

But the King was against war. The memory of Saint Quentin rankled. It was no easy task to take men and arms across the Channel. He was all for making peace now with his Imperial enemies. He wished to see the return of Anne de Montmorency, the Constable whom he loved and revered. Even now he was seeking peace and would make no fresh wars.

“An undertaking doomed to failure,” said the King.

He had a better idea. Mary Stuart was rightful Queen of England; therefore on all documents she should be described as such. The armorial bearings of England should be displayed whenever the Dauphin and Dauphine appeared in public. Mary should be known as Dauphine of France, Queen of England, Scotland and the Isles.

The Cardinal and the Duke talked to Mary about her new dignity.

“What will my cousin say when she hears of my claim to her throne?” asked Mary.

“Her throne! Her throne!” cried the Duke testily. “It is your throne. And if I had ten thousand men I’d set you on it without delay.”

But Mary was happy in France. She wished to stay in France. Let her cousin have the throne of England.

The Duke was impatient. Not so the Cardinal. He put his arm about Mary and drew her to him.

“Listen to me, Mary,” he said, “we cannot forsake our duty and your duty is clear. All Christendom is shocked by this usurpation of the English throne. To accept it because it is an easy thing to do is a sin in the eyes of God…. You know full well that Margaret Tudor, daughter of Henry the Seventh of England, married James the Fourth of Scotland and that their son was James the Fifth, your father. Henry the Eighth had one legitimate son and daughter. That son was Edward the Sixth; that daughter was Mary who has now died. Neither left issue. Your grandmother, Margaret Tudor, therefore provides the next line of succession and consequently the Queen of Scotland is the true Queen of England.”

“Yes, Uncle.”

“So now, dearest, I know you will not shirk your duty. You will not be guilty of foolish weakness. How do you think God and the saints regard this usurpation of the throne by one who is known to be as immoral as her mother was?”

“Yet… she is my cousin.”

“The daughter of a concubine!”

“But the daughter of the King as well.”

The Cardinal laughed. “My dear Mary, her mother lost her head because she was found guilty of adultery. Now, my darling, purge your mind of foolish thoughts which would be displeasing to God. Your uncle commands you. Nay, how could he command the Queen of Scotland who is also the Queen of England! He begs you instead, my dearest. Will you disappoint him? Will you have him feel that he has wasted all these years when he has tried to show you the path of righteousness?”

“Oh, no, Uncle.”

“Then, my Queen, all is well. Proudly bear your titles, and one day we will drive the redheaded bastard out of England.”

Mary said obediently: “Yes, Uncle. Of course you are right.” But she was thinking of the gown she would wear at the coming pageant, and the last thing she wanted was to be Queen of England, for it might mean leaving the land she loved and of whose Court she was the petted darling.

SINCE HIS MARRIAGE the Dauphin had grown much taller, but although he himself was delighted with this, it was clear that the sudden shooting up had done little to improve his health. He now became possessed with a mad desire to shine in all sports and pastimes. He would ride for long hours and return exhausted. Mary remonstrated but he replied: “Others do it. Why should not I?”

Mary had ceased to be a child when she had married. She had discovered that there was more to life than wearing fine clothes, dancing, riding, writing verses and listening to compliments, and that masques and pageants were often cover for plots and murderous intentions. Life was only pleasant on the surface, and the surface was as thin as the sheets of ice which had been declared dangerous to skaters last winter at Rambouillet.

She was sixteen. It was not very old but she had to learn quickly. She had to be able to see behind the masks on peoples faces; she had to understand what was behind their words.

It was terrifying when Francois returned from the forest with his brother Charles. Francois was white and exhausted. She saw them ride into the courtyard; Francois slipped from his horse; she ran to him and said: “You’re tired, dearest.”

He had smiled wanly. “No,” he said, “I am not tired. It was a good days sport.” His voice was hoarse. The doctors said there was some affliction of the throat.

“Come and rest now,” said Mary.