There was a great deal of speculation about Henry. He had been such a wild and reckless youth that people were asking what sort of king he would make. Many people said England would be ill-governed. Perhaps that was wishful thinking, for an ill-governed England would suit France very well. Heaven knew France was in a sorry state. There was what was tantamount to war between the Burgundians and the Armagnacs; the King’s periods of lucidity were growing more and more infrequent; the Dauphin was young and inclined to flaunt his authority, and there were sycophants all around him; he was not on good terms with his mother, who objected to his attempts to interfere with her plans. She, I believed, was intriguing first with the Armagnacs and then with the Burgundians. This internal strife had weakened the country to a considerable extent, and across the Channel was a new king who had not been tested yet but had made it clear that he was casting covetous eyes on France.
All were watching events on the other side of the Channel. There were rumors that the new king had changed his character overnight. There was no more roistering with rowdy companions, no more frequenting of low taverns. He threw these habits off as though they were a cloak and revealed his true nature—a young man with a mission to rule his country well and make it great.
“It cannot last,” said some. “It is just a phase. He is a wild young man. He goes from one mood to another. No one changes like that overnight as it were.”
Others said he had long wanted the crown and that he had been impatiently waiting for his father’s death to take it. There was a story in circulation that when his father lay sick he had taken the crown and tried it on and had very much liked the feel of it upon his head.
This man they had chosen for me seemed to have many facets and moods. He was a rake; he was a dedicated king; he cared only for the life of pleasure, yet he had waited with the utmost impatience to shoulder the burdens of state.
It was difficult to know what to believe. I wanted to find out all I could about him, while I prayed that I might never have an opportunity of discovering whether it were true.
I was often in my mother’s company, and sometimes I felt that the more I saw her, the less I knew her. I had very soon learned that it would be unwise to show any defiance of her wishes. I had a habit of lowering my head in case she should read rebellion in my expression. I was always wishing that I might be sent away from Court. I longed for Poissy. But even if the negotiations did hang fire, I was still an important pawn in my mother’s game; and she wanted to keep me under close surveillance.
I was afraid of her. Large, voluptuous, perfumed, there was something snake-like about her. I saw it in the sudden venom in her eyes when she considered her enemy; and if I refused to fall in with her wishes, I could qualify for that description.
She must be at the center of some plot. I knew that she swayed between Burgundy and Armagnac, feigning friendship with each in turn and being the friend of neither. Yet, in spite of her love of intrigue, she wallowed in voluptuous indolence. Her sensuality was her most outstanding characteristic; and it must be satisfied at all cost. When I think of her now, it is to see her reclining on a couch in her splendor, lapsing into voluptuous ease, nibbling sweetmeats, calling to her little dogs, petting them, scolding them, popping sweetmeats into their mouths, stroking them while they watched her with attentive adoring eyes. I think she cared more for her pets than for any people. I supposed it was because they were completely hers to command. They obeyed without question. She did not have to manipulate them. But then I believed she enjoyed manipulating people; of course, she could fly into wild rages if those about her did not dance to her tune.
She had her lovers—several of them. I remember especially Louis de Bosredon, whom I particularly disliked. He was a nobleman who came from the Auvergne and she had made him her steward so that she could keep him close to her.
He was good-looking and very conceited. He gave himself airs, and I had heard it said that, because the Queen liked to have him in her bed, he thought he was all but in name King of France.
He clearly did not realize how short-lived the Queen’s favor could be and that she never seemed to show any regret for her lost lovers. Even in the case of the Duke of Orléans, who many believed had had a special place in her affections, she had shown no great sorrow when he was murdered.
My mother was anxious to keep my brother Louis close to her and to guide him in every way. He was a child no longer and many believed that before long he would be King of France. My father was growing less and less capable of understanding state affairs and there was a good deal of speculation about his abdicating in favor of the Dauphin. Courtiers were aware of this; and with every day Louis grew more important in the eyes of those about him—and in his own.
No one was quite sure which side the royal family supported…Burgundy or Armagnac. The Queen was so devious; she swayed between them. But Louis suddenly developed a very close friendship with the young Duke of Orléans and they were constantly together. They even dressed alike; and therefore Louis became a friend of the Armagnacs. The people followed the Court, and the Burgundians who had been in high favor in Paris were no longer so. It was fashionable now to stand with the Armagnacs. It was amazing how quickly people took up causes, and they were completely fickle. There was fighting in the streets and, I am grieved to say, often murders. Anyone who dared say a good word for Burgundy was set upon.
I felt a great sorrow for my country. People did not see that the continual bickering between two great houses could do nothing but harm to everyone.
It was not to be expected that the Duke of Burgundy would allow himself to be ousted from his position of power; and when his secret negotiations with the King of England were disclosed, there was a great outcry against him.
My mother was enraged.
“The perfidious scoundrel!” she cried. “He thinks he is the King of France…no less. How dare he! I’d have his head for this. Jean the Fearless! I’d give him something to fear!”
I do not know why she talked to me about it. I supposed it was because at that time she talked to anyone, so furious was she.
“Do you know what he has done? He has sent men to London, trying to persuade the King there to consider his daughter.”
My heart leaped with hope. Could it be that I was to be supplanted? I was sorry for the girl, but what an escape for me!
“He is offering his daughter as wife to Henry. Does he think he can achieve that! The upstart!”
Burgundy was no upstart, I wanted to say. He was more royal than she was. But of course I lowered my eyes and kept quiet.
“I never heard of such arrogance. Her name is Katherine,” she added wryly, as though that made the offense even more treacherous. “Yes…he hoped to get ahead of me…ahead of your father, by bringing about a marriage between that wretched daughter of his and the King of England.”
“And…what did the King of England say to that?”
“What think you? He is making high enough demands for you. Do you think he would think twice of Burgundy’s daughter?”
“She is royal.”
“She is not the daughter of a king. He is a king, is he not? He will take you in time…never fear. But he strikes a hard bargain. Burgundy is mad.”
That was not true, but perhaps he had been a little unwise.
My hopes that there would be a substitute were dashed. My father was brought out of retirement and set up in the council chamber.
He must sign certain documents which would be delivered to the Duke of Burgundy without delay, informing him that on pain of forfeiture and treason, he must not enter into any treaty with the King of England either for his daughter’s marriage or for any other reason.