Checkmate - Dorothy Dunnett [63]
The Queen turned. ‘Do you think he will want to marry Catherine d’Albon?’ said Mary.
‘I think it would be politic to hope for it,’ said Fleming cautiously. ‘If he is so fine a commander, the King will wish to keep him beside him.’
‘I see you think he should marry her,’ said her mistress. ‘I do not. I think it unsuitable. She has manners, breeding, education I grant you, but he will marry her not for these but her fortune. His present wife has no flaw. I say that the situation may quite equally be met by Mr Crawford remaining attached to his wife, and resident here, where he may continue to serve His Majesty. These things are not hard to arrange.’
There was a guarded silence. Then, ‘Your grace …’ began Fleming warningly.
Queen Mary smiled: an illuminating, mischievous smile which dispatched, for the moment, the strain and discontent from her features. ‘You need have no fear. These matters can be brought about with perfect discretion.
‘What are you afraid of? He will enjoy our favour, his wife can surely have no objection, and he will be married, and therefore free of the intrigue which surrounds a divorced man. Nothing could be more suitable.’
So she had thought of that. There were some people at court, notably of the Constable’s party, who would be happy to see the Queen of Scotland tied to one of her own noblemen, instead of to the Dauphin of France. Mary Fleming looked up. Ahead, Queen Catherine, sackcloth raised, was stepping with care into her litter. Holding back her black curtain was Catherine, the Maréchale’s daughter, who was not auburn-haired but who had, none the less, a great many fine gifts to offer.
Mary Fleming said, ‘They say that he has not … That the charms of his wife do not interest him.’
‘Respect,’ said Mary of Scotland, ‘is all one requires, surely, in wedlock. Do you suggest that he might find a fondness for Catherine d’Albon?’
It was the question which had launched the discussion, and was harder to sidestep a second time. From the wisdom of fourteen years old: ‘Perhaps,’ said Mary Fleming sanctimoniously, ‘he is married to his profession?’
‘Then,’ said Queen Mary of Scotland, ‘it is time he was shown better ways of spending his leisure. After, that is, our city of Paris has been made safe for our people. Remind me to send for him.’
Mary Fleming, with gravity, dropped a curtsey.
*
Five days after that, on a Saturday at the start of September, Jerott Blyth and his wife entered Paris. They were met by Archie Abernethy, and led to the Porte Montmartre where part of the old Séjour du Roi had been made habitable for them. Then, briefly refreshed, the one-time merchant of Lyon set out, together with Archie, to find Francis Crawford and report to him.
It was a week now since Saint-Quentin had surrendered, and as yet no combined army from England and Spain threatened Paris.
One understood their hesitation. Even as far south as Orléans, word had filtered through of the reception the King’s new commander in Paris had prepared for the enemy. Of the 70,000 armed troops who had entered the city; the cannon brought in by river; the new fortifications; the stores of food and weapons and powder; the novel traps and ingenious devices built for him.
Of course, further help would be coming. Eight thousand workmen, Jerott had been told, had dug the trenches outside the walls to hold the 22,000 new German and Swiss levies. The Duke de Guise and his Italian troops were approaching; M. de Thermes was expected daily from Piedmont. He listened, and wondered indeed why more help was needed. In ten days, it seemed to him, Paris had become a defensible city.
It had never been that before. To Marthe, new to the town, he had talked of it, as it might be a honey-bee straddling the river, its body an island, with the Cathedral of Notre-Dame at its tail and as its head the Sainte Chapelle and the old Palais and gardens.
Outspread on either bank, you would say, were the wings, outlined with walls and with river-filled fosses. On the left, the University