Mary Queen of Scotland & the Isles (22 page)

Francois stood by his father's bed, pale and shaky. He himself was not
well; the earache had subsided, but his fever persisted.

"Father!" he cried. "Do not leave me!"

His father sighed and opened his eyes halfway, as if it were too much
effort to open them all the way. "My son," he said, in an almost
normal voice, "you are about to lose your father, but not his blessing.
May God grant you more happiness than ever He has granted me."

Francois threw himself sobbing on the bed. His father's chest felt
solid and warm, and he believed if he just held him tightly enough, he
could keep him forever.

Mary embraced Frangois, putting her arms around him from behind. His
thin shoulders were shaking.

The King's eyes closed. He looked asleep. But then Ambroise Pare",
the physician, took his pulse. In a moment he shook his head.

"Your Majesty, the King is dead," he said. He was speaking to
Frangois.

"No!" Francois clung to his father.

"Your Majesty," said the Cardinal. He motioned to Mary, who drew her
husband up for the recognition.

"We pledge you our lives and our loyalty," said the Cardinal. "We will
serve you as long as life remains."

Francois rubbed his eyes. His mother was weeping. "Manum!" He held
out his arms to her, ignoring the Cardinal. "Manum.""

Together they stumbled out to the door of the hotel, where an anxious
crowd was waiting. Let the Cardinal make the announcement; they would
leave for the Louvre. A royal coach was drawn up outside, under a
linden tree. They made to enter it. Mary stood aside to be the last
to enter, out of respect for her mother-in-law. But suddenly,
Catherine de Me'dicis drew back, and looked at her as calmly as if it
had been an ordinary day.

"You must enter before me," she said, in her low voice. "The Queen of
France takes precedence over a queen dowager."

SIXTEEN

Mary found herself unable to eat from noon on, she was so nervous about
her upcoming evening the first where she and Francois would preside as
King and Queen of France. It was to be a simple affair, and planned by
Mary herself, which made her all the more nervous, as every aspect of
its success or failure could thus be traced to her.

For several years she had had a private garden of her own on the
grounds of one of the smaller chateaux. Diane de Poitiers had noticed
her love of flowers, and had helped her to plan this entirely white
garden just below the terrace, leading up to the tranquil waters of an
ornamental pool.

"For you seem to have a special affinity for white," she had told the
girl. "And a white garden can be magnificent by moonlight. And did
you know there are some flowers that open only in the dark, and give
off the most lush perfumes? They come from Persia."

Diane. Banished now from court, sent away by Catherine de Me'dicis as
soon as Henri II was decently buried. But her garden flourished, and
over the years Mary had lovingly tended it and added more flowers to
it, until now it extended over a large area, embracing the pool
tenderly in a scented frame.

The party would take place here. The guests would stroll along the
leafy paths, illuminated by lanterns until the full moon rose and made
the white flowers glow. Both French and Scottish musicians would be at
hand, walking about, mingling with the guests, playing their violas,
lutes, pipes and qui-hiss els Mary hoped the very informality of it
would put everyone at ease herself and Francois most of all.

"Madam," said a familiar voice behind her, "is it still to be a Party
of Youth?"

Mary turned to see Flamina standing nearby. Her Marys were now her
ladies-in-waiting, her most trusted inner circle. She had not expected
that becoming Queen of France would change anything between them, but
the truth was that they now treated her differently calling her "Madam"
reverently, for example. Or perhaps it was the fact that she was now
married.

"No," she said with a laugh. "We were prevailed upon to allow some of
the older courtiers to come. But it will still be mainly young
people."

Originally Francois had requested that no one over twenty-five be
allowed to attend. But when she had reminded him that meant none of
the Pleiad the group of seven classically inspired poets that gave the
court its literary lustre could attend, he had relented about the age
rule. "But only those poets," he had insisted. "Not your uncles!"

"Not even little Rene?" she had begged. "Besides, he's
twenty-four."

"I am tired of your uncles," he had complained. "And they will just
bring gloomy news, and ruin the party. All their news is gloomy."

"Good," said Flamina. She tossed her head. Her old childhood
exuberance and vitality had lost nothing in its transition to
womanhood.

"Is there anyone in particular you hope to see? I hope I have invited
him!"

"No."

Men were constantly drawn to Flamina, but they seemed never to forget
her mother's proclivities and assume the daughter shared them, so she
had developed a strong right arm in fending the lovers off.

"Madam!" Now Beaton joined them honey-sweet, melting, daydreaming.
"Will all be right tonight? Is the moon to be full?" Her large brown
eyes were eagerly questioning.

"Indeed, unless it goes backward and is less full tonight than it was
last night, skipping the full moon entirely this month!" said Flamina,
a trifle shortly.

Below them, the gardeners were busy raking the paths, strewing them
with petals, and staking the flowers that were nodding, top-heavy with
blooms. Their apprentices followed along behind, watering and
weeding.

In the back of the garden, a yew hedge had grown to shoulder height
since the childish Mary had first set out the knee-high plants. The
ornamental pond had become almost overgrown with water lilies, opening
their huge, waxy flowers like yearning mouths.

"And you yourself will not wear white, will you?" asked Beaton
anxiously. "If it is to be a white theme "

"No," said Mary quickly. "Mourning is over."

She had worn the mourning veil for the required forty days after the
death of Henri II. Francois had been crowned King at Reims shortly
thereafter, and Mary had been determined to get him out of mourning as
quickly as possible to help his spirits recover. He clearly wished to
remain in seclusion and mourning as long as possible in hopes of
postponing assuming the duties of ruling. But the longer he waited,
the more dreadful they seemed to him. So Mary gently coaxed him out in
the sunshine and back onto his favourite horse (the Arab had arrived as
promised), and gradually he began to warm to the task set before him.

This evening's entertainment was just part of her efforts to ease him
into his new authority. She knew he would not be intimidated by an
event held in one of his smaller palaces, and limited only to young
people and friends. Francois had permitted her to plan it and select
his clothes for him.

"And Maman is not to be allowed to come?" he had asked gleefully.

"No, she is too old!" Mary had assured him.

There had developed friction between Catherine de Medicis and the
Guises, with the former trying to manage domestic policy and the latter
foreign policy.

"I hope the sky is completely clear," said Beaton. "It would not do to
have a cloud to mar the light!"

Dear, tender-hearted Beaton, always worrying about conditions.

"If there are, we will just claim they are part of the decorations,"
said Flamina.

Flamina and Beaton made their way over to the lily pond and attempted
to pick one of the blossoms. Immediately two of the gardeners young
and handsome, Mary noted rushed to help them.

"What a charming picture."

The Cardinal! He had stolen in and was now standing only a few feet
away on the terrace, the soft air playing with the hem of his churchly
robe. He cocked his head at her as he had since she was a child; his
manner toward her had not changed.

"Now, you know you cannot come!" she chided him.

"Ah! Cruelle dame!" He clutched at his bosom. "And here is the most
coveted invitation in France just now the first f te of Their Glorious
Majesties Francois II and Marie. Where have I failed?"

"What is it you wish?" Of late his nosy inquiries and attempts to
direct and control her subtly disguised, or so he thought were putting
her off.

"Only to share with you some intelligence from Scotland." He made as
if he were hurt slightly. "Or are you no longer concerned with that
small, troublesome realm?"

Not Scotland again. Yes, she was still concerned with it, deeply
concerned. But could the news from there never be pleasant? "Of
course I am. What is it?"

She indicated a wooden bench in the shade of an ornamental shrub, and
they took their places side by side.

"I hate to be the one to tell you, but the ships you sent to aid your
mother ..."

Eight of them, loaded with three thousand soldiers, she remembered. The
pride of France.

".. . were wrecked in violent storms, and all lost."

"Storms! But it is too early for storms!"

The Cardinal coughed gently. "I know. I know. Perhaps Master Knox
controls the winds and seas. They seem to obey him, at any rate."

"Knox! And his mobs have overrun the country, looting and burning,
worse than the English armies!"

"They've joined forces now," said the Cardinal softly.

"What do you mean?" The bright day seemed ominous, as if Knox might
suddenly materialize out of one of the hedges, or the trimmed topiary
take on his shape.

"I mean that the rebels the ones who declared your sweet mother
suspended from the Regency have signed a treaty of alliance with
England, and that Queen Elizabeth has formally taken Scotland 'under
her protection. This allows her openly to send an English army in to
aid the rebels, which is what she is doing."

"But upon what grounds?"

"Upon the grounds that she must defend England against a French
army."

"My mother's army! The help I send her!"

"Exactly."

The Cardinal had managed to ruin the party without even being there. "I
shall send more and more forces!" she said fiercely. "They shan't
prevail!"

After the Cardinal left reluctantly, she knew Mary sat staring down at
her own feet for a few moments. Clearly she and Frangois would need to
make a royal visit to Scotland. Surely that would calm the troubles
there. Scotland bewildered her in its swift turn against the religion
of its forefathers, under the direction of the fiery Knox. No other
country had seen such a quick rise of Protestantism, and of such a
virulent type. These Lords of the Congregation who were they? Were
they truly devout, or just power-hungry? And this Knox what sort of a
churchman openly carried a two-handed sword and preached revolution? It
was a type never seen before.