Poor Annith! Can the reverend mother be serious? Does she intend never to let Annith step outside the convent? Annith’s plight is so dire, it takes my mind off my own misery, but eventually, I have no choice but to dress for the special meeting of all the barons that the duchess has called.
As the church bells strike noon, Breton nobles, courtiers, barons, and the Privy Council file into the great hall. Duval takes special care to be certain that Gisors attends. “Let him read it as a gesture of goodwill, even if it is nothing of the kind,” he says.
I scan the faces of the gathered crowd. There is much gossip and speculation as to why this meeting has been called. Many glance at d’Albret, no doubt wondering if it has something to do with the betrothal he has been boasting about for the past two days.
The back door to the chamber opens and two men-at-arms stride in. The duchess comes next, followed by her Privy Council. The privy councilors are clearly disgruntled that such a meeting has been called without their approval. My gaze goes to Madame Dinan, whose face has an annoying air of smugness to it. Does she really think she has won? Can she know so little of the girl she helped to raise? Once again, Sister Beatriz’s words come back to me: People hear and see what they expect to hear and see.
Madam Dinan smiles at d’Albret and he smiles back. I am eager to see just how long those smiles hold.
The duchess takes her seat and motions for Duval to hand her the parchment. As she unrolls it, the room falls silent. I cannot help but admire her fortitude — it is not an easy thing to renounce a man in front of his peers.
“I, Anne of Brittany, do hereby declare that the betrothal agreement made between me and Count d’Albret is null and void, as I did sign it with no knowledge of the commitment I was making. while we appreciate the count’s valiant service during my father’s reign and continue to value him as an ally, I will not now nor ever enter into a marriage arrangement with Lord d’Albret.”
when she is finished, every head in the room turns to Lord d’Albret. His face is a deep, mottled red, his jaw clenched so tight I fear his teeth will snap. Next to him, Madame Dinan sways a little. Marshal Rieux surges to his feet and opens his mouth, but Chancellor Crunard puts a hand on his arm and holds him back with a small shake of his head.
Aware that everyone’s attention is on him, d’Albret makes a small, mocking bow to the duchess, then turns on his heel and strides away. The crowd parts before him like butter before a hot knife. Madame Dinan rises to her feet, lifts her skirts, and hurries after him, two bright spots of color burning in her normally pale cheeks. Moving as if in great pain, Anne rises to her feet and turns to leave the hall.
Chapter Thirty-seven
Two days after the duchess reads the edict against d’Albret, she, Duval, and I stand at her window and watch him ride away. He has so many retainers and attendants that it feels as if half the castle goes with him. I fear Sybella is among them. How else would she have been able to warn me of the trickery planned in the corridor?
The idea that the abbess would place Sybella in d’Albret’s household is so repellant that I thrust it aside and pray to Mortain that I am mistaken.
If d’Albret has taken a large part of courtiers with him, he has also taken a fair amount of the court’s gloom. The serving maids in particular have a renewed bounce in their step now that they no longer have to endure his pinches. even young Isabeau’s health seems to improve, as if it were d’Albret’s presence that had clouded her lungs.
*
One week before Christmas, the duchess calls for a full court dinner, complete with entertainment. The night before the feast, Isabeau is so excited she nearly makes herself sick. At the duchess’s request, I give her another tisane so she can sleep.
The castle steward has spared no luxury for tonight’s feast. The tables are covered with rich damask cloth embroidered with silver thread. Liveried servants stand near the walls, and gold and silver vessels adorn the table. In an especially fancy touch, notes from a horn summon us to the great hall. we are all, as ordered, dressed in our gayest finery. Long fur-trimmed capes mingle with embroidery-encrusted waistcoats and colorful slashed sleeves. Shoes of brightly dyed leather or rich velvet peek out from beneath thick satin skirts.
The duchess and Isabeau take their places at the high table on the raised dais, and the privy councilors join them. And while it seems as if I have done nothing but drink Duval in with my eyes for the past two weeks, tonight he looks different. He has grown thinner, and there are deep shadows under his eyes as well. The negotiations with the Holy Roman emperor have been fierce. Both the duchess and Duval know they bargain for the very life of their country. The Holy Roman emperor’s envoy knows it as well and tries to use it to his best advantage. I worry that the strain is getting to Duval. He grows edgy and has taken to checking the doors and windows, certain that someone is listening in.