“Dear cousin”—Mother stops and puts out an arm to keep me from going closer—“we had no idea you were so poorly. Had we known, His Majesty’s personal physician would have come immediately. As it is, he will be here without delay.” She snaps her fingers and points to the nearest of her attendants.
“I thank you.” Jeanne gives Mother a wry smile. “Meaning no disrespect to the skills of the King’s doctor, I do not believe he will be able to do more for me than my own, which is to say nothing at all.”
“Surely it is not so serious!”
“When you come to see me next, Madame, I believe it will be to pay your respects. May I ask two favors?”
“Of course.”
“I would be buried in the sepulcher of my ancestors in the Cathedral of Lescar, and I would have a moment alone with the Duchesse de Valois.”
I have no desire to be alone with Jeanne. But it is not in my power to refuse a woman who thinks herself dying.
Jeanne’s eyes remain on me while the rest of the room’s occupants exit. I am not particularly uncomfortable under her stare, but I would just as soon she looked elsewhere. When the others are gone, I take a step forward, but she stops me with a gesture. “For my son’s sake as well as yours, we cannot be too careful,” she says. “This fever might be catching.” She begins to cough again. I feel a twinge of pity watching her body wracked by the effort.
Recovering, she says, “I meant to keep an eye on you in the Navarre.”
With that single sentence my pity fades.
“You will not be sorry, I think, to escape my watchfulness. But I wish you would believe that I also meant to be a good mother to you. You need a good mother.”
“Her Majesty the Queen did not leave me alone with you so that you could insult her.”
“I do not have so many breaths left that I wish to waste any on nonsense, or on niceties. I say plainly I wish you had a different mother for your sake, though you would be no use as a bride for my son had that been the case.”
Happy thought.
“You have made clear to me that you have no lingering childhood affection for my son,” Jeanne continues. “You are a papist and rumored to be a wanton—”
“Madame! You cannot expect me—whether you be dying or not—to remain in the face of such insults.”
“I do not ask you to stay much longer, but perhaps you will do me the charity of allowing me to finish my sentence?”
I grit my teeth but remain where I stand.
“I was about to say that, for all that, I persist in believing you to be a good woman.”
This may be her most shocking statement yet.
“I appeal to the goodness in you. Be a kind and obedient wife to my son. I will not be here to see you receive the jewels I have purchased these last days for Henri to give you. Know this: their value is nothing compared to the worth of my son. He may not shine as they do, but as I see past appearances in your case, I ask you to attempt to do the same in his.”
Extraordinary speech. Some reply is warranted, but I do not know what to say. That Jeanne loves her son and thinks highly of him makes me think more of her. But does not every mother love her sons? It is possible, in fact probable, that a mother will think more of a son than he deserves. Look at Mother and Anjou. The Queen of Navarre’s opinion of my cousin cannot supplant mine. But on reflection she does not ask for that. She does not ask me to agree that the Prince of Navarre is wonderful, she only asks me to be kind to him. I can promise this, I think, without perjuring myself.
“Madame, I do not take duty lightly. If I did, I would not be marrying your son in the first instance. I do my duty as a daughter and a sister by undertaking this marriage. I say this not to boast but to reassure you. If I take my marriage vows as the Prince of Navarre’s wife, I will owe him the duty of a wife, and I will not shirk in it. I promise you that I will endeavor to show him respect and kindness.”
“If.”
She misses nothing.
“I should have said ‘when,’ Madame.”
She nods. “Thank you, daughter.”
It is only the second time she has styled me such. Unlike the first, there is nothing awkward in the appellation this time.
“I give my blessing to your union, as I fear I will not be present at the wedding to give it. I cannot offer such blessing with an untroubled heart—like you, I have reservations about the match which can only be erased by time, something I no longer have—but I do give it with a mind eased by your promise. Now you may go.”
I curtsy but Jeanne does not see. She has closed her eyes. In the anteroom I tell Mother the Queen of Navarre would rest. We are in the courtyard, mounting our horses, when the wailing begins. A window opens and our cousin’s chancellor looks down.
“Your Majesty,” he says, “the Queen of Navarre is dead.”
“I will carry this grievous news to His Majesty, and we will return to mourn her together.”