“Your Majesty”—I reach out and touch his sleeve, the first time I have ever touched him of my own volition without the pressures of etiquette—“I do not know your gentlemen or how things are in your court. If you are representative, however, I must conclude that your courtiers are unaffected and plainspoken.”
“I will take that as a compliment.”
“Take it as you like. But understand: we Valois are a changeable lot. To trust in appearance here is to be made a fool, or worse.”
“I do not mind being thought an idiot so long as I know I am not one.”
I look straight into my cousin’s calm, deep-gray eyes. He is no idiot. I nod. “There is safety in being underestimated.”
“And your family underestimates many, yourself included.” The moment the words are spoken, he seems uncomfortable, as if he has betrayed something he did not intend to.
I am uncomfortable as well, nettled by his perceptiveness, by the truth of his statement, and perhaps most of all by the familiarity of our discussion. Ours are words such as might pass between those with a shared interest. We have none. Or such as might pass between husband and wife and, therefore, decidedly out of place at a moment when I rejoice in a report that His Holiness may render such a union impossible.
Quickly I turn the subject and my mind back to finding Charles. “Was His Majesty among those watching the sport?”
“He left just as I did. Madame Catherine came looking for him.”
“I am off to find him, and you are off—”
“To wash.”
I am relieved my cousin does not offer to escort me. I stand and watch his retreating back until he is out of sight.
Mother and Charles might be closeted in any number of places, but it is always Her Majesty’s preference to be in her own rooms. I will try the secret place.
I wonder, as I ease open the concealed door, if Anjou remembers showing me the vantage point. He ought not to have done that. Once behind the door the short passage must be navigated in silence. I inch forward. I can hear before I can see.
“—delay seems like weakness. I will not have that. I will command the Cardinal de Bourbon to proceed.” I put my eyes to the first of the deliberately widened seams. Charles sits, arms crossed over his chest and sullen-faced. Mother paces before him.
“We cannot be certain he will comply,” she says. “He answers to the Holy Father. If he knows we lack the dispensation, he will not risk Gregory’s ire even to satisfy his king.”
“Then I will make him a guest at Vincennes and find someone else to officiate.”
“Imprisoning the groom’s uncle is unlikely to bring us closer to a wedding. And who would you find to officiate? The Cardinal de Lorraine? I think not.”
So the rumor is true!
“What do we do, then? Gregory is no better than Pius. He proclaims himself ready to oblige me but follows this pretense with a list of conditions he knows cannot be met. Can you imagine my cousin kneeling before me and professing the Catholic faith? He is not so keen to marry Margot as that. I doubt even the admiral could achieve it. Must I let the Pope rule France?”
“No. You will show His Holiness that you alone govern here—not by locking up his cardinals, or by asserting your rights in another letter, but by dispensing with the dispensation.”
“But you just said the Cardinal de Bourbon will not proceed without it.”
“Ah, but if he thought it was coming…”
“Your spies say it is not.”
“I have better spies than His Eminence. All the Court knows this. So, if you tell the Cardinal the document is on the road between Rome and Paris, none will gainsay you. The Cardinal will be placated and this ugly rumor squelched.”
Charles raises a hand to his chin, clearly thinking. What monstrosities he considers: lying to officials of the Holy Church; marrying me off in a ceremony that—without the necessary dispensation—creates an alliance prohibited by canon law …
“Yes!” Charles jumps to his feet. “I will do it. Did I not promise Jeanne d’Albret as much? Did I not tell her that if Monsieur le Pape conducted himself too absurdly I would take Margot by the hand and marry her to our cousin Henri myself?”
“You did.” Mother nods, her face flushed with pleasure. “And I promise you I will not allow you to be embarrassed by His Holiness. I will instruct the governor of Lyons to detain all couriers from Rome until your sister’s marriage is sanctified.”
Charles laughs. “Do! It would be scandalous if a formal refusal arrived while my sister stood at the altar, or while she and my cousin were consummating the marriage.”
“Let us each make haste to do what we must to spread the word the dispensation is on its way, before Guise, Philip of Spain, or, God forbid, your sister hears and believes otherwise.”