| |
Baronne Michelle smiled at Duchess Claude’s awed expression. “It is true.”
“You could not have given me happier news.” Duchess Claude jumped from her stool and hugged Michelle. Then she danced around her dressing room. “Grâce à Dieu. I am sooo delighted. A baby.” She crossed herself. “When is it... he due?”
“I expect you to deliver about the middle of August. If God wills it so,” Michelle crossed herself, “and if we recorded the dates of your last flowers correctly, which I am sure we did. And no, I cannot say whether you will have a boy.”
The duchess’s face fell, but she rallied with a laugh.
Michelle was sure Duchess Claude had seen midwives holding pendula over the bellies of expectant mothers in noblewomen’s presence chambers. She wrinkled her nose. “Wise women and midwives will say that they can tell using a pendant or by the way you carry. I have not found it to be true, but expectant mothers often want certainty. Also, charlatans prey on women and say what they think you want to hear. Or what you fear. In truth, divination is magic, and some say it calls demons.”
Duchess Claude cradled her abdomen, biting her fingernail. “You are certain it is true? I can tell François without fear I will disappoint him later?”
Michelle understood her hesitation. She had watched her parents’ grief. All those infants who died so soon after birth. Hopes raised and tragic losses. She must fear she would share her mother’s fate and carry sons who did not survive their babyhood. “It is always possible you may lose your baby early. But tell your husband anyway. Should you face such sorrow, you should not suffer alone. More important, give yourselves every moment to share this joy the Virgin sends you.” He would rush off to tell his mother, Michelle did not doubt. It was a victory for the d’Angoulême family. She put aside the sour thought, determined to rejoice with the duchess.
Duchess Claude gazed about vacantly. The idea of a baby was still too new for her to absorb.
“Are your bubbies sore or enlarged? Does your gut feel tender? In the morning when you smell food, do you feel an urge to vomit?”
Her eyes brightened. “Ahhh,” she murmured. “So that is why.”
“Now do you believe me?”
She nodded and gave a small smile. “I should have guessed, for I have heard my ladies complain enough of those things. But it feels different when it happens to me.”
“Is that not so often true? It only becomes real when it happens to us. This time it is not just that your flowers are late. You feel changes inside too, do you not?” Michelle wanted her to notice as her body altered. Only if she told her infirmarians quickly when she felt a change would they have time to solve any problems, God willing. But she did not want to frighten the girl.
Duchess Claude beamed at Michelle then. What a difference the news had made in her. Her countenance glowed pink, and her blue eyes sparkled. Michelle sent a quick prayer to the Virgin that Anne watch over her daughter and her unborn child.
She deserved this good news and the praise she should receive from her husband. “Shall I send for him? You will attend the banquet hosted by the City of Paris together, will you not? Or would you like me to call your ladies?”
Duchess Claude settled back in her armchair. “Yes, do send for him. He will be enchanted. And I do not want any of my ladies except Mme Jeanne. She knows how to hold her tongue.”
“There is one more thing we must talk about first.”
Duchess Claude looked nervous.
“Nothing dreadful, Duchess Claude. It is about your intimate relations. You may continue until your sixth month. After that you must stop for the safety of the child. You may say so to the duke if he is nervous. But if you wish to stop before, tell him whatever you wish.”
Duchess Claude blushed, the color rising above her low-cut gown all the way to her hairline. “But I do not wish to stop at all.”
“That is excellent news for the future of the country,” Michelle assured her, “but you must for the latter months.” Michelle was relieved that they must interrupt their relations for five months, since she must wait until she was churched 40 days after the birth. When she examined Duchess Claude, the duchess showed no signs of the dreaded Italian disease1 — or of the other illnesses that men brought to women — but Duke François had not reduced his lecherous ways. Duchess Claude was safer without his embraces.
At the banquet that evening, Michelle sat beside Princess Renée. Next to the young princess sat Duchess Claude. Duke François treated Claude as if she were made of the finest Venetian glass. He fed her from his own trencher, choosing the tenderest pieces of duck and pigeon, and the flakiest portions of whitefish and salmon. She blossomed under his care like a young rosebud in June, looking so pink and dewy that even King Louis, who each day looked more like a skeleton at the All Souls Day feast, gave his son-in-law a genial nod.
The trumpets sounded the fanfare for the second course, and the pages began their procession toward them at the head table. Its service took time, for the course consisted of twenty dishes including a salad and some fresh pears in sweet wine.
Princess Renée murmured to her sister, “Why is Duke François being so lovey-dovey to you tonight?”
Duchess Claude looked conscious. Michelle could almost hear her prepare a vague answer, but then Claude searched her sister’s worried face. Princess Renée was direct, frightened... and always persistent. “Will you promise to keep my secret from everyone — except Mme Michelle, who already knows?”
Princess Renée’s lip protruded. “You told her before me?” Her voice dripped with heartbreak.
The clatter of platters as the pages served the king drowned Duchess Claude’s chuckle. “No, do not try to make me feel guilty, Sister. She told me.” She barely contained a giggle. “Can you guess?”
Princess Renée’s eyes widened as she shook her head.
“Well, you must say nothing; nor even look surprised. Listen. I am going to have... a baby!”
“Ohhhhh,” whispered Princess Renée. To keep her promise, she lowered her head over her trencher, pointing to the first dish the page offered. Fortunately, it was stewed eels, which Michelle knew she liked. Under the table, she clapped her hands. “That is wonderful, Sister! If we were not at this table, I would kiss you. I would even kiss Duke François.” She perched her head to one side, “You may tell him that.”
Duchess Claude’s lips twitched. “He will appreciate it, I am sure.”
Having done her duty by the dauphin, Princess Renée took an interest in the food whose spicy aromas now pervaded the surrounding air. She pointed to the roasted swan — presented with a gilded crown and feather-tips — and then chose a piece of the roasted boar surrounded by roasted turnips and pickled apples with greens. Michelle tasted everything that Princess Renée put on her plate before she did. Mme Jeanne performed the same service for Duchess Claude.
The duchess and her sister finally ended their conversation when another fanfare of the heralds’ trumpets announced the ‘subtlety.’ It was a massive replica in colored marzipan and spun sugar of the fabulous tournament just ended, complete with stands, tiltyard, caparisoned and armored horses, jousters with their standards and devices, and even a marzipan King Louis and Queen Marie distributing prizes in the royal box. As the musicians in the gallery played a march, the master guildsmen paraded their masterpiece on their shoulders before the high table and then throughout the entire hall. Like everyone else in the hall, Michelle was dazzled.
While servants cleared the main hall for the grand ball to follow, the city magistrates took the highest-ranked nobles to an exquisite antechamber hung with hunting tapestries and warmed by fireplaces at either end. Here servers pushed their way among the milling guests with goblets of spicy hippocras, platters of comfits and sweetmeats, and trays of sweet wafers. Standing near the king, Michelle observed that he refused all the sweets, even a comfit Queen Marie offered him. He did accept a goblet of the sweet hippocras — pure poison for a stomach as delicate as his. Did Queen Marie want to shorten his life?
By the time they returned to the main hall, they found it transformed into an enchanted woodland filled with bowers of evergreens, aspen, myrtle, and holly bushes, among which wooden deer, fox, and rabbits peeked. Sprightly music played and she heard birds, cheeping and chattering. Michelle had to peer carefully among the leafy treetops to find the cages hidden high among the rafters.
When the Duke of Suffolk led out Queen Marie to open a stately pavane, Duchess Claude motioned for Princess Renée and Michelle to join her and Duke François beside King Louis. The music, shuffling feet, and waves of conversation, coupled with the distance granted them by their royal dignity, created privacy for the duration of the dance.
Gallantly, Duke François handed Duchess Claude onto the queen’s vacant throne. The king threw him a puzzled glance.
Duke François winked. “Your Majesty, we bring you glad tidings. Your daughter, our beloved wife, is the precious vessel of a new life.”
King Louis appeared bewildered. After a moment, the duke said, “She carries your first grandchild.”
Michelle thought she glimpsed jealousy flash in King Louis’s eyes. But it transformed instantly into joy.
“A grandchild,” he breathed. “A grandson.” Crossing himself, he lifted Claude’s hands to his lips. “God bless you, my precious daughter. Your mother would be as delighted as I am.”
Releasing her hands, he gazed at his son-in-law, his eyes damp. “My dear son, this is the best possible news. This evening you have pleased me... treating Claude as a husband should... and now you tell me I shall be a grandfather.” He sniffed, pulled a handkerchief from his sleeve, and buried his face in the large piece of linen. His voice was thick when he spoke again. “When does this blessed event occur?”
François’s cheeks flushed. “Naturally, we are informing you at once. Mme Michelle says August, mid-August, an God wills.”
Michelle repressed a smile. Did François think he sounded overeager announcing the news so early? With royal events of such importance, it could never be too soon.
“She must be treated like a delicate flower. No riding. Bed rest.” Louis looked at Michelle. “I see you, Mme Michelle. You must oversee her care. Ensure she is careful.”
Michelle curtsied. “I shall do my best, Sire. I can only hope that she heeds my advice better than some of my patients.” He had the grace to look amused.
“I shall order her to obey you,” he said.
“She is her mother’s daughter, Sire. She may appear meek, but she has much Breton blood.”
King Louis chuckled. “Like you, I have known her all her life, so I learned that long ago.” He gave his son-in-law a light punch on the arm. “I do not know if you have been married to her long enough to discover it.”
Duchess Claude laughed, too, obviously delighted with the reconciliation between the two men she loved best.
Michelle wondered if she had been the only one to perceive the king’s envy. King Louis would rather that it was his wife who was with child. Might it yet be so?
* * *
MICHELLE HURRIED TO the duchess’s suite, fearing the worst. As she entered, she saw Duchess Claude hunched in her favorite armchair near the fireplace, weeping and wringing her hands. A book lay splayed open on the floor as if she had thrown it aside. She was alone except for a maidservant who hovered in the background. Very strange.
Dropping her basket of herbs on the floor, Michelle hurried to Claude’s side and peered at her skirts and the seat of her chair. No blood. Good. She turned to the maid. “Girl, bring me a clean cloth and cool water.”
Then she dropped onto the stool beside Claude’s chair. “Duchess Claude, what is the problem?” Michelle tugged the duchess’s hands apart and held them.
Opening her swollen eyes, Duchess Claude stifled sobs turned into a loud wail. “Baronne! Oh, I do not know what to dooo...”
The maidservant brought the water.
“Take a deep breath, now release it, one... two... three... four... Another deep breath...” As she instructed the duchess, Michelle ordered the maid to fetch a table. Then she crumbled lavender flowers into the water, dipped the cloth and bathed Duchess Claude’s face and hands, counting Claude’s breaths until she calmed.
“That’s better. Now, why are you so distressed?”
Duchess Claude looked as terrified as if Michelle had threatened her with hellfire. Her hands clenched, she squeezed her eyes closed, and pressed herself backwards into the chair as if trying to escape through it.
“It is not a hard question.” Michelle murmured. “Are you in pain? Any nausea? Are you hungry? Do you want to sleep?”
After each question, Claude shook her head.
“What is it then?”
Duchess Claude opened tear-drenched eyes. “I w-was hungry earlier, but w-when my maidservant brought me a small beer...” Her voice trailed off.
“What happened then? Did the smell make you vomit? Has it happened before?”
Duchess Claude cowered in her chair. “Yes, the smell... it made me want to vomit.... So I sent it away.... I have not eaten since... though I am hungry.” She paused so long between each sentence that Michelle was surprised when she continued and would not meet her eyes.
Michelle concluded that something serious must have occurred to frighten her, for when Michelle left her earlier, everything had been fine. After examining the girl’s wrists and ankles, she said, “There is no sign of swelling. That is good.” Claude did not respond.
Well, if nausea was the only symptom she admitted to, Michelle would begin with that. She said, “The best thing to eat when you feel nauseated is dry bread or toast. The best thing to drink is well-watered wine.”
Duchess Claude looked at her blankly, as if Michelle had spoken in tongues and Claude could not understand anything she said. Her reaction was troubling. “Do you understand, Duchess?” Still she did not respond.
Michelle began to think that she might be in shock. Turning to the maid, she asked, “What happened just before the duchess fell into this state?”
The girl’s voice quaked. “Ma’am, I didn’t notice nothing particular. Mme the Countess d’Angoulême left with her lady. Then the duchess told her ladies t’leave so’as she could rest and after a bit, she took on like she was when you came.” It took work to understand the maid’s garbled words. “So I sent for Mme Jeanne... and she sent for you.”
“Where is Mme Jeanne?”
“I sent her away.” They both turned toward the unexpected voice. Duchess Claude’s voice wobbled, but her answer made sense. Michelle breathed a sigh of relief and motioned the maid to leave them.
“Tell me what happened with Mme Louise.” She waited.
Finally, Claude spoke. “I do not know who to b-b-believe. After you left, Maman Louise came to see me. She whispered that she had a confidence to tell me. She said that sh-she had wrestled long with her conscience because it would disturb me. Then she said... that Maman had t-trusted you when she should not. That... that you made all Maman’s sons d-die. All of them. When I said I could not b-believe it, she got that knowing smile of hers.”
As Michelle listened, her ears began to ring as if people were clanging plague bells all around her until she could not think for the clamor. Duchess Claude’s voice droned on. “She warned me against trusting you... ‘for the b-baby,’ she said, ‘if I did not c-care about my own health.’” Tears flooded down Claude’s cheeks by the time she ended her recital.
Her years of experience came to Michelle’s aid. By focusing on the need to calm the duchess’s agitation, she pushed aside her own distress. If Duchess Claude became hysterical, she might well miscarry the child or make herself ill, either of which could convince Claude that Louise spoke true. How diabolical of the countess. “Close your eyes. Now breathe,” Michelle said. “One... two... three... four. That’s good. Keep breathing while I count.”
After chafing Duchess Claude’s hands, Michelle massaged the girl’s head and face until her muscles relaxed and her breathing returned to normal. Then she said, “I want you to reflect a minute. You do not need to say anything. Would your Maman have kept me by her side for almost twenty years without noticing that I was harming her babies? Would no one in her lying-in chambers or during birthings have spoken out against me? You have lived your life at court, Duchess. Would there not have been gossip? Would a man as suspicious as your Papa have permitted me to stay with your Maman if there were a grain of truth to it?”
Duchess Claude rolled her head from side to side. “N-no. I should have thought of that.”
Michelle continued the massage. “Mme Louise frightened you. Did she tell you not to say a word to anyone?”
Duchess Claude’s head wobbled an affirmative.
“Well, of course she did. She wanted you to feel alone and fearful, so you had only her to trust. No wonder you are so distraught.” She sat down on the stool beside the duchess and took her hands. “May I give you some advice?”
Duchess Claude opened her eyes and nodded. She looked much more cheerful. “I do not know why I let Maman Louise cause me to doubt you. I am ashamed. Please forgive me.”
“Do not blame yourself, Duchess Claude. It is one of our Lord’s mysteries that when women are with child, they are subject to extreme and changeable humors. When you feel tearful or frightened, breathe the way I showed you until you are calm. Say a rosary. The Blessed Virgin sent us these methods to calm us. Now here are a few other things.” She advised moderation in the quantity and variety of her food and drink, and to take mild exercise. “You must never permit bloodletting, purging, emetics or any such treatment without talking to me first. Your body does not like harsh treatments when it is in a delicate condition. I know many doctors prescribe such methods when women complain of nausea, dizziness, and cravings. But do not allow it.”
Claude sounded worried. “But I am not good at refusing. Especially if Maman Louise orders me.”
“Why do you not speak to your Papa? He knows that Dr. Nichel is the only doctor your mother trusted. Your Maman refused to see doctors when she was increasing. Ask him to order that Dr. Nichel or I should treat you.”
“But what if Maman Louise persuades him she should take charge? You know how easily she persuades him to her way of thinking.”
“Can you not tell Duke François that you trust only Dr. Nichel? And me? That you become terrified and hysterical without us? He can control his mother, even if your Papa cannot.”
Claude chewed her lower lip as she pondered this. Then she nodded slowly. “I can do that. He is so worried that something might happen to this child he frets whenever the least thing troubles my health these days.”
Soon Claude was full of eager questions. “What exactly should I eat? How much is moderate?”
But Michelle did not indulge her long. After her excess of emotion, Duchess Claude needed rest. “I am leaving you some soothing teas. They will help. And one last thing. Never listen to women’s tales of their bearing or birthing. I assure you, every woman who has birthed will have a terrifying tale to tell. And if you do listen, you must not believe them. Difficult as this counsel may be, it is my sagest advice. Now rest. See no one for the rest of the day.”
Calming the duchess had calmed Michelle. Still, she needed a period of reflection. In the chapel, she prayed for guidance. This falsehood of Countess Louise’s might well have created a breach between Claude and herself. What would she try next? And how could Michelle protect Claude — and herself — against the countess’s schemes?
* * *
LOUISE AND HER SON peeked through the curtained windows of her suite in Hôtel des Tournelles. As they watched, the English delegation emerged from the passageway, passed through the main gates, and then turned onto the narrow, malodorous Parisian street.
“Finally! They’re off!” Duke François danced a little jig. “Never is too soon to see the Duke of Suffolk again. The king acts as if the sun shines from his arse. If he has not shaken the sheets with Mme Marie, I will eat my new feathered hat.” He tossed the extravagant object high into the air, caught it with one hand, twirled it on a finger, slapped it back on his head, and gave Louise a jaunty grin.
Louise did not smile back. “Start eating now. Though it does not look tasty to me... and when I think what it cost you not one month ago, I wish you would reconsider.”
François took her by the shoulders and turned her to face him. “Are you telling me you are certain Suffolk has not played the two-backed animal with her?”
“Yes.”
“How do you know? Why are you so certain?”
Louise tapped him on the chest. “You know she came to the king a virgin. She has told me that our king has not been able to perform his duty. Although he has tried. Repeatedly.”
François raised his eyebrows. “You did well to winkle that secret from her. It is a matter of state. If she offers France a son, we will know he is a bastard.”
“Not if the king recognizes him. And if she offers the king a son, what would you wager that Louis would reject him?” She moved away from the window and poured them each a goblet of wine.
“True. Well, I am not convinced you are correct.” François ruffled her hair. Thank goodness she had not yet had it dressed for the day. “Queen Marie is a charming filly. Now that the Duke has gone, I have a mind to make a play for her again.” Downing the wine, he changed the subject in his insouciant style. “Have you completed the arrangements and contract for Souvereine’s wedding?”
Refusing to be side-tracked, Louise raised her voice. “Do NOT, François, do NOT seduce the queen. Surely you understand that if you were to get a boy on her, Louis would acknowledge him? Do you want to lose the throne to your own son?” Grabbing his shoulders, she shook him.
He was much taller and stronger than she. Catching her forearms, he swung her round. “Do not worry, Maman. I know how to prevent children. I have much experience.”
She glared until he put her down. “You give no evidence of it. You have fathered several boys already! I know for I have paid for them.”
François merely gave her a hug and kiss and left her apartments, whistling.
Louise rubbed at the frown etched into her forehead. She would not allow him to throw away his future on a tumble and a whim. She would not.
Pacing her room, she considered the possibilities. Louis was taking his time to die. It was most irritating. She had been pleased with Queen Marie at first, for her lively spirits had worn the king down and his rapid decline had been apparent to everyone. Recently though, he had taken to resting more. Marie, ever the dutiful wife, stayed at his bedside playing cards and chess. Too annoying. How risky would it be to prepare a tonic for Marie to give to him while she was away from court at her château at Romorantin for the Christmas season?
Did she dare hurry the king to his end? How could she accomplish it? A tonic was not realistic. She sank into a chair and steepled her fingers. Aha. Dried apricot pastilles with ground apricot pits. Four daily. The ideal solution. Upon further reflection, she decided perhaps it might not work. The king disliked taking medicine, so if she bribed a servant into adding new lozenges to his remedies, Louis would be sure to spot them. Then he would make a fuss to his infirmarian and all her work would be wasted. Sweets, then. Twice daily; after the second meal and in the evening. She could persuade Queen Marie to administer them without her even knowing. It would be much easier. Slower, unfortunately, but less likely to raise questions. Yes, it was the best plan. Anyone could eat one or two with no ill effect. And when he experienced nausea or fever, or an aching head and pains in his joints no one, including he, would think anything of it.
Now she could look forward to her departure even more eagerly. No one would comment on how Jean and she spent their time together. Here at court discretion was essential, and she missed his company. Besides, she must complete the arrangements for Souvereine’s wedding. Although François, Marguerite, and their spouses could not attend, Souvereine’s full sisters, their husbands and families would attend the late December ceremony.
The day before her departure, Louise brought the apricot sweets to Queen Marie, presenting them as an early New Year’s étrenne for the king. “They are a favorite of his,” Louise confided to the queen, “But he will enjoy them more coming from you. Offer him one after the second meal and another in the evening with his wine. Let us keep it a secret from King Louis until I return in January. I would like to surprise him myself.” Queen Marie, who loved secrets and pleasing Louis, agreed.
Louise’s carriage swayed and bumped along the frozen tracks towards Romorantin. Wrapped in fur blankets, with hot bricks on the floor warming the small space, she was cozy. She opened the curtains. Even in the winter, the scenery was enchanting. New manor houses and prosperous farms puffing smoke into the chilly air dotted the rich, peaceful countryside. King Louis’s parsimony had benefited the country’s farmers and merchants.
The dusting of pristine snow shining as white as beaten egg whites reminded Louise of her childhood home in mountainous Savoie. It sparkled in the sunlight, as bright as François’s future. His wait could not be long now. He was itching to conquer Milan and assert his rights over the duchy included in Claude’s dowry, but not yet under French control. It would be a splendid acquisition, but it would not be easy. At a minimum, he must make sure he left no enemies at his back. He would need allies. And a strategy. She leaned back smiling. She was good at that. And they would need diplomats. She considered which courtiers would make suitable appointments when he became king. Her son would appreciate her political talents. And he would repay her by giving her what she wanted.
Her hands curled into fists. One of her first projects would be to dislodge Baronne Michelle de Soubise, who was only a pawn in the game of power now. Except that she had her talons firmly sunk into Princess Renée’s life. And now Duchess Claude had fallen further under her spell. They were as thick as cream these days. Claude was avoiding her, ever since she had insinuated that the baronne had harmed her mother’s infants. Claude had not believed her. It had drawn her closer to Mme Michelle. Much as Louise did not like to admit it, she had not handled that affair well. Well, she could do nothing about it now.
Reaching for the basket she had ordered the kitchens to pack for her trip, Louise put Mme de Soubise out of her mind. For now, she allowed her thoughts to drift to Jean and their time together in Romorantin. It had been too long since she had last felt his touch.
––––––––
1 Italian disease — Syphilis, introduced into Europe in the late 15th century. Its source is unknown, but it became rampant in 1494/95 after the start of the French-Italian wars. Known by various names, in Italy it was called the French disease and in France it was called the Italian disease. There was no known cure, though it was treated with mercury, it raced through the infected individual causing great pain. It was usually fatal.