Queen's Play - Dorothy Dunnett [48]
The second was his older brother, Jean de Bourbon, sieur d’Enghien, olive and beautiful, who sat at the same table, newly back from London with one of the younger de Guises, with his favourite love lock dyed rose. No wealthier than Condé, d’Enghien liked a mode of life equally self-indulgent, a shade wilder, and decidedly more eccentric in its scope. It was difficult not to like him, and few people tried.
In London, d’Enghien had left the third gallant, François de Vendôme, Vidame of Chartres. A favourite of the Queen Mother of Scotland, the Vidame combined brilliance and charm with the subtle mind of a diplomat: if treaty making with an elderly queen was in question, the Vidame was the man to send. In London at this moment he was enchanting the ladies of England with four-thousand-crown parties into which even the stiffer noblemen of the Court threw themselves with abandon—d’Enghien had brought to France a highly witty rendering of the Duke of Suffolk at one of the Vidame’s parties, dressed as a nun. Lively, superstitious, enthusiastically scheming, the Vidame was the best company of all.
And lastly, close to the King stood Jacques d’Albon, seigneur de St. André, Marshal of France; soldier, courtier, wellborn son of the Governor of Lyons, who was twenty years older than these three young men; rich, adventurous and at the height of his power.
Fourteen years before, when Henri became heir to the French throne, St. André had been brought to his side to make of him a king of courtiers and a commander of armies, where Diane had been installed to instruct in the gentler arts. As with Diane, the growing love between the Dauphin and his tutor earned St. André the dislike of King Francis. As soon as Francis was dead, the new King Henri made of St. André a member of his Privy Council and a Marshal of France, appointed him Chevalier of the Order of St. Michael, and First Gentleman of the Bedchamber, and later gave him his father’s post as Governor of Lyons. Shrewd, courageous and intimate friend of the King, St. André shared with these three men, with the younger de Guises and with the other quick-witted, cultured and happily immoral lights of the Court, a talent for profligate luxury which was a byword in Europe.
Of the four courtiers, three had suffered the displeasure of the old King; a matter of near poverty to men like Condé and the Vidame, who had survived on a pittance of twelve hundred crowns yearly as chamberlains-in-ordinary to Francis. They had used their wits, and contrived: the Vidame by refusing to marry Diane’s younger daughter, which had endeared him to the Queen; and the Prince by judicious friendships among the married ladies at Court. Since taking his place tonight, for example, Conde had expertly avoided the eye of Madame la Maréchale de St. André, and instead lavished all his public attention on the handsome, arid presence of the Princess de la Roche-sur-Yon on his right. Divining with a sure courtier’s instinct the King’s dilemma and his desires, the Prince of Condé carried them out as best he could by presenting to Thady Boy Ballagh without courtesy or compromise, a permanent view of his round, jewelled back.
Thady Boy paid no attention. He sat like a blackbird in cold weather at the table end and applied himself with both hands to his food.
There were nine courses, served feathered and ribboned by good-looking pages in cloth of silver to the interminable blasting of trumpets. Knife in hand, nose to plate, Thady Boy muttered from time to time. ‘ ’Tis marvellous, surely. One toot for the ham, and another for the capons; and wouldn’t you think it, at the third you get attacking the pages.’
Louis of Condé faltered only a moment in his chatter. He was far enough from the royal table to exchange a little current gossip; philosophic dialogues with Marguerite of France were well enough in their place, but with the Princess he could relax. They had finished discussing the sale of chastity belts at the last St. Germain fair, which