“Brother,” I reply, pausing to lift his hand to my lips in turn, “I hope that though I am now the King of Navarre’s wife, you know that I remain your sister first. I pray you will continue to hold me as close to your heart as you are to mine.”
“Of course! The King of Navarre may clasp you to his breast but it does not follow I shall root you out of mine.” Charles eagerly leans forward to catch my groom’s eye. “Cousin, I have given you the most precious gift that was mine to dispose of—not in her dowry but in herself. You must promise to treasure her as I and my brothers have, or I will not be content.”
“Your Majesty, you have my word, I shall accord the lady all the respect and caring she has become accustomed to.”
I look closely at his face to see if he mocks me on purpose, but my cousin’s eyes are mild.
The first course comes. I say nothing to my cousin and he nothing to me. Charles pauses in his effusive praise of everything and everybody only when chewing. As the plates are cleared the King says, “Now we shall have a marvelous surprise.” He signals a pair of officers. A dozen heralds-at-arms enter carrying trays heaped with some sort of gold medallions which they begin to toss to the assembly. Charles motions and one of the young men approaches, lifting his tray.
“Take one,” Charles commands.
I pick up a medal. A lamb lies curled at its center, resting against a cross. Circling the image are the words, “I announce peace to you.”
“Turn it over,” my brother urges.
On the back I find my initials entwined with my cousin’s, explicit proof that I am the lamb sacrificed in hope of maintaining a two-year-old peace.
Charles smiles, looking for my reaction.
“It is beautiful,” I say, nearly choking on the words.
“Cousin, we must share your joy and my bounty. Come, we will toss these to those in the street.”
I watch as the two, with Charles carrying the tray he has taken from the herald, make their way to a window and cast out handfuls of gold. Others, I notice, watch as well—not only my beloved Duc but a goodly portion of the Catholic nobles. As my brother and husband turn from the casement smiling and Charles slips an arm around our cousin’s shoulders, some number of these guests glower openly. I understand how they feel, then remind myself that the sight of the King and my cousin amicably talking ought to please me. My marriage may make me miserable but it still can elevate me. If it gives me no power or prestige, it gives me nothing.
The two return to the table arm in arm. My cousin smiles at me, then drains his glass of wine in a single gulp. A few weeks ago I would have concluded he is oblivious to the disdain and dislike of some of our guests. But having received proofs that he is shrewder than others suspect, I am inclined to believe he senses the ill will of many attending but chooses to bluster through it.
“Ah, Cousin,” Charles says, as the King of Navarre calls for his glass to be refilled, “you have a healthy appetite.”
“For life, Your Majesty.”
“That is good. I do not trust a man who skulks about.” Charles gazes at Anjou. “I think you will turn out to be one of my favorite brothers.”
Mother compresses her lips, and both Anjou and Alen?on look daggers.
As we rise at the end of the meal, Charlotte and Henriette come to me. “Your Majesty, stop a moment and we will remove your mantle,” Her Grace says.
I pause, eager for a moment with my friends.
The King of Navarre halts as well, as if he would wait, but Henriette waves him on. “Have no fear, Sir, we will bring your bride to you forthwith and much improved, for there will hardly be room for the two of you in one litter while the Queen of Navarre is dressed as she is.”
My cousin smiles at the Duchesse, winks at Charlotte, and then says, “And there will hardly be opportunity for gossip if I stand about stupidly.” With a bow he goes.
“He knows women,” Henriette says, looking after him.
“He knows horses better,” I scoff.
“If only you liked him a little more, and the King liked him a little less,” Henriette sighs. “As it is, the two of you seem intent on riling the better part of the Court. And how precisely does that help you?”
“I will behave.”
“No, you will not. Or have you changed your plans for the evening?”
I make no reply.
“I thought not. Not even to spare Charlotte.”
Turning to my other friend, I say, “I am sorry that you must cater to the demands I will rebuff.”
“That is all right. I am sure he will not be the worst I have had. At least he is in his prime. A man who wrestles, hunts, and plays tennis as well as the King of Navarre is surely not lacking in physical prowess.”
My cousin waits beside our conveyance to hand me in. As he climbs in beside me he asks, “Dust or heat?”
“Sir?”
“If we leave the sides open, we will be choking in dust. If we close them, we will have no breeze.”
“Whichever you prefer.” See, Henriette, I can be accommodating.
“Closed,” he says to a lackey. “I think we have been gawked at enough.”