Gradually Jeanne became aware of the Queen – the quiet Queen, so dignified, so calm, never showing by a look or a word that she felt herself slighted, charming always to her husband’s mistress, grateful that Diane now and then spared her her husband that she might provide the heirs of France. And this woman, Jeanne realised, watched her closely. Often Jeanne would discover that the expressionless eyes were upon her, and she found it difficult to believe, as did the rest of the court, that the Queen was that mild and rather despicable creature who could smile when she was most slighted and accept with apparent unconcern the position of the most neglected and humiliated queen the French had ever known.

One day Catherine asked Jeanne to visit her, and when Jeanne went to her apartments she found the Queen was alone, having dismissed all her attendants.

Catherine dispensed with ceremony and bade her sit down. Jeanne obeyed, finding that she was unable to take her eyes from that cold, snake-like stare of the Queen.

‘If you do not have a care,’ said Catherine, ‘they will marry you to Francis of Guise. I remember your marriage to Guillaume de la Marck, the Duke of Clèves. I remember the document you drew up. In those days you had courage, Cousin.’

‘It did little to help me, Madame. I was married all the same, and it was the fortune of war which saved me from that marriage, not my own ingenuity.’

‘Do you believe in miracles?’ The mouth smiled slyly. ‘Oh, I do not mean the miracles performed by our Lord Jesus, our Lady and the saints. I mean the miracles made by people like yourself.’

‘I have never heard of such miracles, Madame.’

‘They can be brought about. A miracle could save you from a marriage that you did not want. And if you were saved from this marriage you might have the man of your choice.’

‘I do not understand.’

‘Why does Francis of Guise want to marry you? Because he is ambitious. He wants to link himself with the King’s cousin. He wants to creep nearer to the throne.’

‘You are right, I know, but …’

‘You could point this out to the King. You could say that in uniting Navarre with Lorraine he is making more powerful a man who, he would know but for the wiles of Madame de Poitiers, could be his greatest enemy. Remind him of his father’s last words to him: “Beware of the House of Guise. The House of Guise and Lorraine is the enemy of the House of Valois.” You could ask him if he has forgotten that.’

‘You are right, Madame. But the King must already know this.’

‘You would do yourself good to remind him of something which he may have been willed to forget. I have your welfare at heart. I should like to see you married to the man of your choice. Why do you smile, Cousin?’

Jeanne said frankly: ‘I was thinking, Madame, how your desire coincides with my own. I do not want Francis of Guise for my husband. You do not wish it because Madame de Poitiers desires it.’

Catherine said coldly: ‘I was not thinking of Madame de Poitiers. I was thinking of you.’

‘I am grateful to you, Madame. I would like to say that, were I in your place, I should do the same as you do. I would do anything – anything to humiliate her.’

Catherine seemed to remember suddenly that she was the Queen of France and that Jeanne was her subject. She extended her hand.

‘You may go now,’ she said.

Jeanne realised too late that she had deeply offended the Queen. She had been tactless and extremely foolish; but how difficult it was to keep up such pretence in face of the obvious. She had only meant to convey that she understood and applauded Catherine’s desire to score over Diane.


* * *

Jeanne made good use of Catherine’s advice.

When next she was summoned to the King’s presence she was determined to point out to him what, according to Catherine, he had been willed to forget.

‘What a princely man is the Duke of Guise!’ said Henry. ‘There is no other like him in the whole of France. Ah! You should be proud to wed such a man.’

Jeanne lifted her head haughtily.

‘What, Monseigneur?’ she said. ‘Would you indeed permit that the Duchess d’Aumale, who now feels herself honoured in performing the office of my train-bearer, should become my sister-in-law?’

She saw the angry colour rising in the King’s face, for Madame d’Aumale was none other than the daughter of his beloved Diane.

But Jeanne, in her righteous indignation, swept on: ‘Would you consider it meet, Monseigneur, that this Duchess, the daughter of Madame de Valentinois, should, through this marriage which you advocate, acquire the right to walk by my side instead of bearing my train?’

Henry was completely taken off his guard, and when this happened he was always at a loss for words. He did not often have to face a direct attack upon his mistress.

Jeanne seized her opportunity. ‘Oh, Sire, Francis of Guise wants me for a wife – not my person so much as my royalty, my crown. Why, when his niece Mary of Scotland marries the Dauphin, and when he, through me, is King of Navarre, it would seem that there will be more than one King in France.’

Henry stared at his cousin incredulously. In his imagination he saw the dashing soldier; he heard the cries of the Parisians: ‘A Guise. A Guise.’ Francis of Guise was already the hero of Paris. Henry had some respect for the intelligence of his cousin. He himself was not intellectual, but that did not mean he could not admire those who were. He remembered that Jeanne’s mother had been one of the most brilliant women of her day.

Jeanne went on: ‘Have you forgotten the words of your father, those words he spoke on his deathbed? “Beware of the House of Guise …” Oh, Sire, your most gracious father understood the ambitions of this family.’

Henry was thinking that there was a good deal of truth in what she said, and although Diane wished for this marriage he would have to remind her of his father’s warning and the danger of putting too much power in the way of the Guises.

He dismissed Jeanne without anger; and very shortly afterwards he announced that he favoured the marriage of his cousin Jeanne d’Albret of Navarre with Antoine de Bourbon, the Duke of Vendôme.

He had found a way out. Francis of Guise should have a bride who would please him as much as Jeanne would have done. He himself would publicly sign the marriage contract between Francis and Anna d’Este, the daughter of the Duke of Ferrara and granddaughter of Louis XII. That was a good marriage, a royal marriage; but not nearly such a dangerous marriage as a union with Navarre.

So Francis of Guise agreed with as good a grace as he could; and Diane, on this occasion, bowed to the will of her lover; consequently, Jeanne of Navarre was betrothed to the man of her choice.


* * *

The happiest woman in France was being married. There had never been any, said her women, whom they had heard laugh so much. Jeanne explained: ‘You see, I am a Princess and I am to marry for love!’

It was five years since the christening of little Francis, when Jeanne had fallen in love with Antoine, but what were five years of waiting now?

When her women awakened her on those mornings preceding her wedding, they marvelled at her happiness; she would sing and chatter and talk continually of her lover. When, she demanded again and again, had a royal Princess had the good fortune to be allowed to marry for love? She was fortunate above all princesses. She liked now to think of that other marriage of hers – which was no marriage at all; she liked to recapture those awful moments when she had lain in the nuptial bed with Guillaume of Clèves. Oh, what horror! And what a miraculous escape! No wonder she thought of herself as the most fortunate Princess in the world.

Her mother laughed to see her so happy, but she was nevertheless displeased by the marriage. She had had higher hopes for her daughter. She might have been more actively against it had she not been so listless, feeling herself shut away from the world. Jeanne’s father was also against the marriage, but the King of France had bribed the King of Navarre with an addition to his pension and the promise of an expedition to regain Upper Navarre, which the Spaniards had taken years before.

Jeanne marvelled that the consent of her father, that stern Catholic, who had beaten her for praying with her mother, could have been won over for his daughter’s marriage to a Protestant Bourbon; but she had always known that his most cherished dream was the capture of Upper Navarre, that he might win it back to his sovereignty.

What great good luck was hers, then, and what did she care for the storms which might blow up through such a marriage! Let her mother be displeased with the match. Let her father be bribed. It mattered not. Antoine was to be her husband, and Antoine had declared that he loved her as he had never loved before.


* * *

Antoine, apart from one or two misgivings, was happy about his marriage. The Bourbon family had been out of favour for a long time; when King Francis had shown a fondness for the Count d’Enghien, who had died so tragically during a snow fight at La Roche-Guyon, it had seemed that the Bourbon family were about to see a rise in their fortunes; but with the death of the Count, favour had not been extended to the family, and the Guises were in high favour through Diane.

And now, Prince Antoine, head of the House of Bourbon, was to marry the cousin of King Henry. Antoine was pleased for that reason; moreover, being ardent and a deeply sensuous man, he could not help but be enchanted by his young bride. Not that she was so very young now, being past her twentieth year, but she was by no means old. There was another pleasant aspect of this marriage: it seemed almost certain that Henry of Navarre would leave no male heir, and that meant that Jeanne would, on his death, become the Queen of that province. Jeanne was not beautiful as the court of Paris understood beauty. She was indeed a little severe of countenance, but that spontaneous sincerity of hers was unusual, and Antoine loved novelty; and when her face was animated in conversation she was quite attractive. She was clever, and she was no weakling. Antoine, being weak himself, was attracted by strength.

He was therefore by no means displeased with the marriage that brought the Houses of Valois and Bourbon closer together. There was just a possibility that he and Jeanne might breed Kings of France. Young Francis – now the Dauphin – was a sickly little fellow. Catherine had another son, Louis, but it did not seem as if he were going to be long for this world. It would appear that King Henry and Queen Catherine were not going to have healthy children. Perhaps they suffered from the sins of the grandfathers, for both the paternal grandfather, Francis the First, and the maternal one, Lorenzo the usurping Duke of Urbino, had died of that disease which was called in France La Maladie Anglaise and in England The French Disease. Henry and Catherine appeared to be healthy enough; but it certainly seemed as though their children would not inherit that health; and if they did not … well, when the House of Valois could not succeed it would be for the legitimate Bourbons to take over the crown. The Guises might make a bid for it; but the people of France would surely never allow that. The Bourbons – next to the Valois – were the rightful heirs to the throne of France, and the cousin-german of the reigning Valois would be in direct line to the throne. Yes, it was indeed a good marriage.

His little Jeanne adored him; and he adored her. It was a fact that he had ceased to be interested in other women for many weeks.

But when he remembered that other marriage of Jeanne’s to the Duke of Clèves, Antoine was disturbed. The marriage had not been fully consummated, it was true, but the pair had been bedded; and that, King Francis had said at the time, was sufficient to make the marriage valid.

King Henry had been against the marriage of Antoine and Jeanne at first and then, suddenly, he had changed his mind. Why? Madame Diane was bound to the Guises by the marriage of her daughter and their common faith. What if this were a diabolical plot to marry him to Jeanne of Navarre and, when their sons were born, to declare them illegitimate?

Antoine paced up and down his apartments. He loved his little Jeanne; he adored his little Jeanne; but not enough to jeopardise the future of his house.

So, on the day before that fixed for the wedding, Antoine begged an audience of the King, and when it was granted he expressed his fears that, as Jeanne had once been married to the Duke of Clèves, her marriage to himself could not take place.