“You are certain?”
“Quite certain. Be assured, Your Majesty, the Duc is more distressed in spirit by his unhorsing than damaged in body. His personal guard, devoted to him as all who know him must be, fought ferociously to protect him until he could be mounted again and withdraw from the field. His Grace charged me particularly with telling you not to distress yourself on his account, for he holds Your Majesty’s peace of mind too dear to bear the thought of worrying you needlessly.”
I see a muscle in my mother’s cheek move slightly, and her hands on the arms of her chair are rigid. “Seigneur, we appreciate the speed with which you brought this news and the solicitude of your delivery. I pray you will tell the Duc we showed as much bravery in receiving word of his peril as he showed during it.”
“Of course. But Your Majesty will have an opportunity both to show fortitude and examine the Duc for signs of his fall. Even as he pursued Coligny, the Duc bid me beseech Your Majesty, and His Majesty the King, to follow him south and meet him proche de Saint-Jean-d’Angély. He means to siege that city and would have the wise counsel and approbation of you both.”
My heart, a minute ago pounding in fear, soars. We will go to Anjou. I will see with my own eyes that my brother is safe. I will soothe and cheer him with a report of all that I have said and done on his behalf while he fought so valiantly.
“Sir, I will take your report to the King. Pray, if you can bear to be apart from your friends in arms so long, rest with us a day. Then I must have you back in your saddle with a message for my son: Tell the Duc that though I must move many and cannot travel with the same speed as you, the Court will soon be in sight of his tents.”
Guast, having bowed to Mother, passes me as he withdraws. As he does, he darts me a look I do not quite understand.
The flurry of packing begins while Mother is still closeted with Charles. A journey of more than forty-five leagues lies ahead, and it will take us three days. I can hardly bear to wait so long to embrace and congratulate the hero of Moncontour, as Anjou is being called.
As I move briskly about, giving instructions, I pray the fine autumn weather will hold. Wet roads could double the time it takes to make our journey. I try not to think of other events that might slow our progress; with the country at war no road is guaranteed to be safe.
Gillone sidles up to me carrying an armload of folded chemises. “Your Highness”—her voice is low—“the Seigneur du Guast is at the door.”
My surprise is complete. I cannot imagine why the Seigneur calls upon me rather than resting after his long ride.
“Make sure to pack my new gown, the one the color of golden autumn leaves,” I instruct as I head for the door. I do not immediately see du Guast, then I realize he is standing to one side of the opening, close to the wall.
“Seigneur.” I incline my head.
“Your Highness.” He does not move.
“Will you come in, Sir?”
“No, I thank you.” Looking in either direction he lowers his voice. “I have a message, un message privé, for you from the Duc d’Anjou.”
My heart flutters. I wonder what my brother would tell me alone? Perhaps some details of his injuries? Or perhaps he tasks me with some action? I reach out a hand expectantly.
“It is not here”—he taps the pouch at his waist—“but here.” He lays two fingers alongside his temple. “Can you meet me?”
“Meet you?”
“Alone.”
*
I look behind me once more to make certain I was not followed. Confident no one’s eyes are upon me, I press through a slender opening in the row of hedges at the back of the garden. The space between the hedges and the stone wall was left so that gardeners might trim the massive border. It is like a small allée. I discovered it in the month since our arrival. How I wish I had known of it when Guise and I might have walked it together.
The Seigneur du Guast is waiting. At the sight of me, he moves forward and executes a bow. I notice, with some confusion, that he is dressed like a gallant—as if he were attending a court festivity, not meeting furtively to deliver a message.
He offers his arm and, not knowing what else to do, I take it. We walk in silence, passing from light into the shadow of the tall wall before us.
“I have heard,” Guast says, “that after the siege of Poitiers the Duc de Guise came here.”
“He did.” I am utterly confused. Why is the Seigneur speaking of the Duc? “As one of that city’s chief defenders, he wished to make a report and receive the royal approbation that was his due.”
“I hear also that the King was not alone in praising him; that all the women of the Court offered him their admiration.”
“His bravery did him no harm with anyone at Court, including those of the fairer sex.” The thought of how jealous I have been over the other ladies’ praise of the Duc causes my ears to burn.