Later

The four Marys and I followed King Henry on our little Scotch ponies. The townspeople were delighted when they saw us. They have never seen horses like these, so small but pretty and strong. The Grand Seneschal, the highest court judge of France, and various dignitaries of the city along with the members of guilds representing the silk merchants and printers were marching with their banners to greet the King. There were trumpets blasting and pennants snapping in the breeze. The crowds that lined the way roared and cheered as we passed. But the best was yet to come. As we came to the city, amidst the rooftops and the chimneys, right in the town square, a forest seemed to grow. It was an artificial one that had been planted, and standing in the groves of trees were lovely girls all dressed as Greek goddesses and in hunting costumes of black and white with crescent moons in their hair. It was, of course, a tribute to Diane de Poitiers. The city of Lyon is very near to her duchy and childhood home.

The crowd went wild when the King leaned over and took Diane’s hand and raised it on high. The people of Lyon adore Diane, and one could see that the King revelled in their adoration. Mary Seton leaned over from her pony and whispered, “’Tis lucky Queen Catherine is not seeing this.”

“But she will soon enough,” I replied, for indeed custom dictates that on these royal progresses the Queen enter a town separately after the King with her own ranks of soldiers. Finally it was time for Queen Catherine’s litter to enter. It was covered in gold brocade. I had not seen the Queen since that fateful night when she stood in her cabinet room, her hands stained purple. She sat atop the litter now, gleaming in the finest Lyonnaise silk and jewels. She smiled brightly even as she went beneath the arches topped with the symbols and emblems of Diane, the crescent moon and the bow of the hunting goddess. How could she maintain that brittle smile when it was so obvious that the one celebrated here was not the Queen of France but Diana the Huntress? For a moment, despite all, I felt a twinge in my heart. To be so ugly and unloved. No wonder she resorts to scheming and bitter intrigues. And look at Diane. Tall, slender, forever beautiful and regal. There was a part of me that I think wanted to feel sorry for Catherine, wanted to forgive her, but then something locked in my heart.