THE COURT CONTINUED in its usual routine, moving from one château to another. Each was my favorite for as long as we stayed there—the beautiful gardens at Fontainebleau, the elegant staircase at Blois, the four hundred ornate rooms at Chambord. Queen Catherine loved bright colors and had had the rooms of each château decorated in vibrant reds and blues and greens with lavish gold trim on the ceilings. The furniture, which always moved with us, was richly carved and painted and gilded, and the carpets had been woven in Venice. Everyone, from the highest noble to the lowliest page, dressed in vivid colors—everyone except Madame de Poitiers.
Our animals traveled with us too. Two horses were my favorites: a pretty little black pony named Bravane and a frisky sorrel, Madame la Réale, that occasionally tossed me into the mud. I had become a fearless rider, thanks to my friend Marie Livingston. The other Maries called her Lusty, because of her outspoken opinions. She convinced me to wear breeches under my skirts and to ride astride.
“As we would if we were in Scotland,” she argued. “And with breeches you need not be concerned about your modesty when you fly off.”
I had my own falcon for hunting—I called her Caramel—and she quickly learned that mine was the gloved fist to which she must return. The dauphin persuaded the chief falconer to give him a bird as well. For weeks we discussed its name, with François changing his mind several times.
“Why not name him Chocolat?” I suggested. “We both love sweets, so that would be a good idea. Do you not agree?”
“Oui, Marie, you are r-r-right!” cried the dauphin, who nearly always accepted my suggestions. But François seemed fearful of his hawk’s sharp talons and usually stepped back and let the falconer’s apprentice take Chocolat on his glove.
The four big curly-haired dogs that accompanied the king on royal hunts rode to each château in kennels built on wooden carts, and every lady in the court carried one or two lapdogs with her in her cushioned litter. Lady Fleming’s little spaniel was a particular favorite, with his long silky fur and big ears. She named him Papillon, the French word for “butterfly” My own Biscuit, a white ball of fluff with two black button eyes and a black button nose, followed me everywhere. Princesse Élisabeth had one also, and now little Princesse Claude, who was nearly three, insisted that she must have one just like ours.
We were playing with our dogs, attempting to teach them to sit up and beg, when a messenger delivered a letter from my mother. I was always delighted to receive a letter from Maman, and I broke the seal assuming this would bring an Easter greeting. But the news was much more exciting: my mother was coming to France for a long visit!
I tossed a treat to Biscuit and rushed off to write GrandMère with the wonderful news, knowing that she would be as happy as I was, or at least as happy as she could be in her widowed state. I had become skillful with quill and ink, and my pen scratched quickly across the page with no mistakes or unseemly blots:
I have been very glad to be able to send these present lines for the purpose of telling you the joyful news I have received from the Queen my Mother, who has promised me that she will be here very soon to see you and me, which is to me the greatest happiness which I could wish for in this world. All I am thinking about now is to do my whole duty in all things and to study and to be very good.
I showed the letter to my tutor Monsieur Amyot, whose eyebrows looked as prickly as hedgehogs. He praised it and brought me the wax and my gold seal to finish it, and then he summoned a messenger to carry it off at once to Joinville. My mother had not said exactly when she expected to come, but from that day on I waited with growing impatience for her arrival.
***
At the end of May the court moved again to Saint- Germain. A month later Queen Catherine gave birth for the fifth time. The king was with her when their third son, named Charles-Maximilien, came into the world. For once, Madame de Poitiers was not there to attend the birth. “Queen Catherine must be pleased about that,” Sinclair remarked.
We had all heard why Madame de Poitiers was not present: Away on a visit to the Loire Valley, she had fallen from her horse and broken her leg. The king had sent a royal litter to take her to her château at Anet, where she now rested while her leg mended.
“How pleasant it is not to have Madame de Poitiers here,” said Marie Fleming bluntly “I do not like her much.”
I disagreed with La Flamin’s and Sinclair’s opinion of Madame de Poitiers. The duchess always treated me with great kindness. Sometimes she invited the king’s children, including me, to visit her at Château d’Anet, the ancient castle she was having restored. I always enjoyed my time with her there.
Meanwhile, a scandal was in the making. There had been rumors for some time that Lady Fleming had a lover. My governess’s rooms adjoined mine, and when the rumors reached my uncles, they asked me pointed questions.
“Has your governess been receiving visits from a gentleman?” Uncle François asked.
“Baron de Montmorency, the king’s constable, for example?” suggested Uncle Charles.
“Non, I have not seen the baron,” I replied, adding innocently, “but King Henri visits Lady Fleming quite often, to discuss my education.”
The uncles looked at each other, smiled, and thanked me. I later learned that they had immediately carried my thoughtless remark straight to Diane de Poitiers. Even with her broken leg, the duchess rushed from Anet to Saint-Germain. That same night, after I finished my prayers and was preparing for bed, Sinclair discovered Madame de Poitiers sitting outside Lady Fleming’s door.
“Who is she waiting for?” Sinclair wondered aloud, extinguishing all the candles but one. Soon Sinclair was snoring loudly, and I fell asleep quickly after her.
We awoke sometime later at the sound of a door being slammed. We heard voices, first the startled exclamation of King Henri followed by Madame de Poitiers’s shrill cry. “Good sir, what were you doing in there?” the duchess demanded loud enough for everyone to hear. Sinclair tiptoed to our door and knelt at the keyhole so as not to miss a word.
“You and that woman, Lady Fleming! Sir, you have betrayed the entire Guise family; your wife, the queen; and your son the dauphin! And the dauphin’s future wife, Queen Marie, who is so unfortunate as to have that disgraceful woman as her governess! I have nothing more to say to you on the subject, good sir, for I love you as sincerely today as I always have.”
There followed a stunned silence, and then the king’s mumbled reply.
“The king insists there was nothing evil going on,” Sinclair reported to me in a whisper.
Diane de Poitiers’s voice rang out clearly “You have dishonored the innocent child sleeping behind that door!” she cried. I supposed that I was the innocent child to whom she referred. “The niece of the Guise family is being brought up by a woman who is nothing better than a whore!”
Sinclair gasped. “Now that is going a bit too far,” she said, shaking her head.
The duchess’s shouting and the king’s mumbling went on for a while longer, and then all became quiet again. “I wonder what Queen Catherine will have to say about this episode,” said my nurse, settling onto her pallet near my bed. “Seems that King Henri has two mistresses. I’ll wager the queen will get a bit of pleasure from learning that her rival has a rival of her own.”
Sinclair was soon snoring peacefully again, but I lay awake thinking of my friend Marie Fleming. No doubt La Flamin would quickly be hearing about her mother’s transgressions. But then I, too, fell asleep. It would be some time before I learned the rest of the story.