Mary admired tremendously for her red-haired beauty and her popularity with many handsome courtiers. The thrilling message was that they were free for several hours to see the glorious tilt match in the gardens with the king and his beautiful friends.
They did not even stop to return their needlework to their rooms or to get a proper head cover, for the hour was late and no doubt the festivities had already begun. Mary would see Francois again, Francois du Roi, her secret passionate fantasy since his magnetic eyes had rested on her momentarily three years ago and he had termed her a young Venus. How wonderful, how distant he was. And those that surrounded him, how blessed.
âNow, Anne, you shall see those great ones of whom we have told, and the wonders of the court,â Mary promised breathlessly as they descended the great curving porphyry staircase and traversed the long gallery which linked the chateau to the formal gardens. Francois had cleared a huge expanse for the tiltyard and frequently in the warmer months came the seductive sounds of trumpets and cheers.
â
Oui
, you shall see the other court, the one any red-blooded Frenchman would prefer to our shadowed world of the saintly Reine Claude,â Jeanne put in as they slowed their pace, aware that they were in public now despite the deserted state of the formal gardens in the golden sun. Deserted except for the white-haired, bearded old Italian master whom Francois now patronized. He sat with his profile to them, his sketch pad poised on his lap while he gazed at a distant vista.
âThe
Premier Peintre, Architecte et Mechanicien des Rois,
to use his proper title,â explained the lovely Jeanne as though she were lecturing guests. âThe king says his da Vinci paints the valley here and dreams he is home in Florence.â
âThe king himself told you that?â asked Mary in awe.
âWell, I heard him say it to Francoise de Foix only the other day, Marie,â Jeanne returned nonchalantly. She turned to Maryâs little sister. âFrancoise du Foix is the kingâs present
maitresse en titre, ma petite,
Anne,â Jeanne added.
âIndeed, I have told Anne of her and of them all, Jeanne, though she has not had the chance to see them before today,â Mary said.
âI understand the English king must hide his mistresses from the court. Is it true? It seems all rather uncivilized,â Jeanne commented. Mary was grateful she need not answer, for they were at the brightly festooned galleries, and the joust was already in progress.
The crowd roared its approval sporadically and the blare of marshallsâ voices broke in to announce names and titles and outcomes of each bout. Fawn and white bunting puffed then fell in the warming breeze as the girls peered over the heads of those not perched in the elevated seats to catch sight of the present fray.
âIt is Bonnivet himself,â whispered the excited Jeanne. âI can tell by his armor and crested heume.â
âThe dearest friend to the king,â recited Anne, for the clever girl had indeed learned her catechism of honored names and titles from her sister in the week she had been at Amboise.
âAnd all know he adores and wishes to seduce the kingâs sister, Madame du Alencon, who loves her own husband not at all,â added Jeanne as though anxious to impress with her knowledge of inner circle scandal. âCome. There must be some seats in the pavillion where we can see better.â
The English girls followed her carefully, wending their way through the rainbow silks and slippered feet along the rows of cushioned benches. They wedged themselves in among a cluster of other unattached flowering
mignonnes
of the vast court and thrilled and applauded with their neighbors.
To Maryâs deep disappointment, Francois himself had jousted first and they had missed his splendid victory over his picked opponent of the day, Lautrec, the brother of his
They did not even stop to return their needlework to their rooms or to get a proper head cover, for the hour was late and no doubt the festivities had already begun. Mary would see Francois again, Francois du Roi, her secret passionate fantasy since his magnetic eyes had rested on her momentarily three years ago and he had termed her a young Venus. How wonderful, how distant he was. And those that surrounded him, how blessed.
âNow, Anne, you shall see those great ones of whom we have told, and the wonders of the court,â Mary promised breathlessly as they descended the great curving porphyry staircase and traversed the long gallery which linked the chateau to the formal gardens. Francois had cleared a huge expanse for the tiltyard and frequently in the warmer months came the seductive sounds of trumpets and cheers.
â
Oui
, you shall see the other court, the one any red-blooded Frenchman would prefer to our shadowed world of the saintly Reine Claude,â Jeanne put in as they slowed their pace, aware that they were in public now despite the deserted state of the formal gardens in the golden sun. Deserted except for the white-haired, bearded old Italian master whom Francois now patronized. He sat with his profile to them, his sketch pad poised on his lap while he gazed at a distant vista.
âThe
Premier Peintre, Architecte et Mechanicien des Rois,
to use his proper title,â explained the lovely Jeanne as though she were lecturing guests. âThe king says his da Vinci paints the valley here and dreams he is home in Florence.â
âThe king himself told you that?â asked Mary in awe.
âWell, I heard him say it to Francoise de Foix only the other day, Marie,â Jeanne returned nonchalantly. She turned to Maryâs little sister. âFrancoise du Foix is the kingâs present
maitresse en titre, ma petite,
Anne,â Jeanne added.
âIndeed, I have told Anne of her and of them all, Jeanne, though she has not had the chance to see them before today,â Mary said.
âI understand the English king must hide his mistresses from the court. Is it true? It seems all rather uncivilized,â Jeanne commented. Mary was grateful she need not answer, for they were at the brightly festooned galleries, and the joust was already in progress.
The crowd roared its approval sporadically and the blare of marshallsâ voices broke in to announce names and titles and outcomes of each bout. Fawn and white bunting puffed then fell in the warming breeze as the girls peered over the heads of those not perched in the elevated seats to catch sight of the present fray.
âIt is Bonnivet himself,â whispered the excited Jeanne. âI can tell by his armor and crested heume.â
âThe dearest friend to the king,â recited Anne, for the clever girl had indeed learned her catechism of honored names and titles from her sister in the week she had been at Amboise.
âAnd all know he adores and wishes to seduce the kingâs sister, Madame du Alencon, who loves her own husband not at all,â added Jeanne as though anxious to impress with her knowledge of inner circle scandal. âCome. There must be some seats in the pavillion where we can see better.â
The English girls followed her carefully, wending their way through the rainbow silks and slippered feet along the rows of cushioned benches. They wedged themselves in among a cluster of other unattached flowering
mignonnes
of the vast court and thrilled and applauded with their neighbors.
To Maryâs deep disappointment, Francois himself had jousted first and they had missed his splendid victory over his picked opponent of the day, Lautrec, the brother of his
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