Madame Serpent (14 page)

The Italians, thought the French, were skilled in all the arts of poisoning.

Therefore, reasoned Catherine, at such a time she would not wish to be seen making a hurried visit to the house of the Italian sorcerers.

She had impressed on Madalenna, her young Italian attendant, that she

wished none to know of their journey this evening to the house of the brothers.

She smiled faintly at the small figure beside her. Madalenna was to be

trusted.

They reached the shop, descended the three stone steps, pushed open the

door and went into a room in which were shelves where stood great jars and bottles. From the ceiling hung herbs of many kinds; and on the bench lay the skeleton of a small animal among the charms and charts.

The two brothers came into the shop, which was lighted only by a candle

that guttered and showed some sign of flickering out altogether. When they saw who their visitor was they bowed obsequiously, thrusting their hands into the wide sleeves of their magician’s robes, and waiting, with bent heads to hear the commands of their Duchess.

‘You have my new perfume for me, Cosmo?’ she asked, turning to one of

the brothers.

‘It is ready,
Duchessina
. I will have it sent to you tomorrow.’

‘That is good.’

Lorenzo waited with his brother for her commands; they knew she had not

come thus― when she might have sent for them― merely to ask about a new

perfume.

Madalenna hovered uncertainly in the background. Catherine, turning to her, said loudly: ‘Madalenna, there is no need to stand hack. Lorenzo, Cosmo, bring forth the new perfume. I would hear Madalenna’s opinion of it.’

The brother looked at each other. They knew their Duchess; they

remembered a meek little girl who had asked for an image of Alessandro that she might, through it, bring about the death of that monster. She had something on her mind now.

They brought the perfume. Lorenzo took Madalenna’s hand while Cosmo

thrust into a bottle a thin glass rod. He wiped the now perfume-smeared rod on Madalenna’s hand, bid her wait for a few moments, and both brothers stood back as though spellbound, waiting for the moment when the perfume would be ready for Madalenna to smell it.

And all the time their eyes were furtive. What had brought the Duchess here at such an hour?

‘It is wonderful!’ declared Madalenna.

‘See that it is sent to me tomorrow,’ said Catherine. And then: ‘You know I did not come here merely to smell a perfume. Lorenzo, Cosmo, what have you discovered for me? Is there any news of a child? You may speak before

Madalenna, this dear child knows my secrets.’

‘Duchess, there is yet no news of a child.’

She clenched and unclenched her hands. ‘But when? When?― It must be

some time.’

They did not answer.

Catherine shrugged her shoulders. ‘I will look into the crystal myself.

Madalenna, sit down and wait. I shall not be long.’

She drew aside the heavy curtains which divided the shop from a room at

the back. In this room was a large cabinet which the brothers always kept locked and which Catherine knew to contain many secret hiding places. She sat down while the brothers drew the curtains, shutting off the shop and Madalenna.

Catherine stared into the crystal; she could see nothing. The brothers waited respectfully.

Suddenly she turned to them and spoke, and they now knew the real reason

for her visit. ‘There is a young Count,’ she said, ‘who wishes to serve his country. Should he come to you and wish to talk of his native land― our native land― in our native tongue, be kind to him. If he should ask for a love potion to enhance his charms in his mistress’ eyes― or if he should ask for a draught of any sort, give it him. You may trust him.’

The brothers looked at each other apprehensively. Catherine’s eyes revealed nothing; her face held the innocence of a child’s.

―――――――

The court was on the move once more, and this time there was a reason,

other than the King’s restlessness, behind the move.

Catherine rode with the
Petite Bande,
keeping close to the King and Madame
d’Etampes
. A place of honour― yet how she longed to be of her husband’s suite; but there was no place since it was ruled by her hated enemy, whom Henry continued to adore. Catherine was hiding her passion and her

jealousy with success; she could laugh as loudly as any surrounding the King.

As they halted at various towns and châteaux on their way from Paris to

Lyons, there were lavish entertainments for the amusement of the King.

Madame
d’Etampes
and the Queen of Navarre put their heads together to devise plays and masques. Countless beautiful girls had been brought with them, and there were some to be found on the way. They danced before the King; they tried to secure his interest by boldness and modesty in turn; but Francis was half-hearted, for war was spreading over France, and it was the invasion by the Emperor’s troops, of the fair land of Provence, that was sending the court hurrying from Paris down to Lyons.

It was in Lyons that Catherine betrayed herself.

She was with her women in her apartments when Henry came in. Her heart

beat in the mad fashion it was accustomed to when he was with her. She hastily dismissed her women, trying to suppress the emotion which possessed her.

He said: ‘I am afraid I disturb you. I am sorry.’

‘There are occasions when it is good to be disturbed.’ They were alone now, and she could not prevent her eyes shining with an eager passion. She added breathlessly: ‘I pray to the saints that there may be many such disturbances.’

He looked at her in a puzzled way, not comprehending. She felt slightly

impatient with him; but oddly enough she loved him the more for that slowness of wit which exasperated his father.

‘Pray, be seated, Henry,’ she said, tapping the window seat and sitting there, making room for him as she drew in her pearl-embroidered skirts.

It was unbearable to have him so close and to feel that was so far away. Was he thinking now of Diane? She doubted it, for he looked unhappy, and he was never unhappy thinking of Diane.

He said: ‘This is a sorry state of affairs.’

She touched his arm, and although she knew he hated to touched by her, she could not withdraw her hand. But now he did not seem to notice.

He went on: ‘Have you not heard the news? Montmorency is retreating

before the Imperial troops. Tomorrow my father leaves for Valence.’

‘Oh, another move? I was thinking I have scarce seen you since we left

Paris.’

She could not keep the reproach out of her voice; her eyes were hot; she was seeing herself, tossing and turning in her bed, awaiting a husband who did not come, picturing him with Diane, asking herself,
Why? Why should it be Diane
and not Catherine?
How could she listen to his talk of war? When he was near her she could think of nothing but love.

Her voice sounded high-pitched. ‘Has the King spoken to you again?’ she

asked. ‘We see so little of each other, it is small wonder that we have no children―’

He did not move, and she realized he had not even heard what she said. He could not follow two lines of thought at the same time; if something was on his mind he could hear and see nothing else.

‘Montmorency is burning and destroying everything as he retreats, and there will be no stores of food left for the advancing enemy. Men, women, children―

French, all of them are left starving after the armies have passed through―’

She interrupted him. ‘But that is terrible. I have heard that Montmorency is cruel and that his men obey him through fear!’

‘It is the only way,’ said Henry. ‘Montmorency is a great man. His policy is the only safe policy. But for Montmorency the Spanish devils would be in

Lyons now. I would I could go and fight with him.’

She was pleased. If he went to fight, he must leave Diane.

She slipped her arm farther through his. ‘There are soldiers enough, Henry‚’

she said softly.

‘My father has said that if he needs the Dauphin he will send for him. I wish he would send for me! But he hates me. He knows I long to fight; therefore he says:
You shall not fight!
And the enemy is at our gates. But for my father’s folly there would be no war. Long ago Milan would have been ours!’

Catherine’s eyes went to the door. She longed for Henry’s confidences but she dared not let it be known that she had said, or even listened to, a word against the King. Francis’ favor was easily won by some; it was equally easily lost; and she must not forget that it was only through a lucky chance that Henry was speaking to her thus. He had come to the apartment not thinking of her; and he had found her there, and being unusually excited by the closeness of the war, had wished to talk to someone― even Catherine.

She said: ‘Lower your voice, Henry. There are spies everywhere, and what

you say might quickly be carried to your father.’

He shrugged his shoulders. ‘This desire of his for Italy― it is like all of his desires. No matter what stands in his way, he will do anything― cruel, foolish, it matters not― anything to get his desires. As it is for women, so it is for Italy.

There is no right or wrong for my father where his desires are concerned. When Monsieur Chateaubriand objected to my father’s immorality with Madame de

Chateaubriand, he took the man by the throat and threatened to cut off his head unless he gave up the woman. He must lose either his head or his wife.’

Catherine laughed, loving this intimacy. ‘So he kept his head. Sensible

man!’

‘I hate the life my father leads!’ said Henry. His mouth was prim and

Catherine wondered about his love-making with Diane. ‘He chooses the most degraded people to surround him. Madame
d’Etampes
should be banished from court.’

Catherine’s smile was noncommittal. The King’s mistress was supposed to

be her friend.

Then Henry spoke again of his father who was forever reaching out his

hands to Catherine’s native land of grapes, olives and the finest artists in the world. He was reckless when he should be cautious― so said his son― bold

when there the greatest need for hesitation.

Catherine understood that glittering personality far better than did his son.

She knew that over the brightness which surrounded him lay the shadow of

Pavia. There was hardly an hour in the King’s life when he did not remember that defeat, and he would feel that nothing but the conquest of Italy would wipe out the humiliation. It was Pavia that made him reckless, eager as he was for that military success which would put him right with the world; it was Pavia that made him hesitate, reminding him that disastrous defeat must never be repeated.

Pavia had made of the century’s greatest lover its most incompetent general.

‘The Emperor,’ Henry was saying, ‘has made a triumphant return from the

East. He has twice defeated Barbarossa; he has taken Tunis, and the whole of the Christian world rejoice because he has brought with him many who were made slaves to toil for the barbarians. And what has my father done? He looks about him for an enemy of the Emperor― and makes a treaty with the Turks!

With infidels! This Most Christian King! He’d make a treaty with the Devil to get a woman or a country.’

‘I beg of you, Henry, my dear Henry, speak quietly. If it should get to the King’s ears―’

‘Then should he hear the truth for once. I do not think that would harm him.’

‘He is angry,’ said Catherine gently, ‘because Milan was promised to us

through our marriage. But then, my kinsman died.’

She looked at Henry anxiously. Did he hate his marriage because of

Clement’s untimely death, as did the rest of France? How she longed for him to tell her that he was pleased with their marriage, that he was happy to be united to her, even though she had not brought him the promised riches.

He did no such thing. He could only think of his father’s disastrous military campaign.

‘Milan was scarcely defended at all!’ he said. ‘We could have taken it. But my father hesitated, and now― it is too late. Would I were there. I would have taken Milan― and held it.’

‘You would!’ she cried. ‘Oh, Henry, you would do brave things, I know. I

should be so proud of you― so honoured that my husband was known

throughout the world for his courage.’ He did not move away from her. She said eagerly, thinking of the love potion she had in her drawer, awaiting a moment when she could give it to him: ‘You will take some refreshment, Henry?’

He shook his head. ‘Thank you, no. I cannot stay now.’

She should have let him go then, but she was intoxicated by having him with her. ‘Henry, please,
please
. Share a cup of wine with me. I scarcely ever see you.’

‘I― I have not the time,’ he said firmly.

Her control snapped. She cried: ‘You would have, did you spend less time

with Madame
la Grande Sénéchale
.’

He coloured hotly and he looked at her with distaste. ‘She is an old friend,’

he said with hauteur.

‘Indeed she is. Old enough to be your mother. Madame
d’Etampes
says she was born on the day the
Sénéchal
was married.’

Henry’s eyes flashed dangerously. ‘I do not care to hear what that harlot says and I should advise you, in view of your position, to choose your friends more wisely.’

She faced him; she was so miserable that she could not hide her anger.

‘I have not forgotten, Monsieur, that the lady is the most influential at court.’

‘I have not forgotten that she is the most immoral.’

‘Why should it be more immoral for the King to have a mistress than for the King’s son to leave his lawful wife― night after night― for the sake of― an old friend!’

He was white with anger. He did not know how to deal with this situation.

He had done his duty and it had not been easy; but if she were going to make such scenes as this it was going still harder.