‘Here is a true Béarnais!’ he cried.


* * *

Henry of Navarre’s interest in his grandson did not end with his birth. He had made up his mind that the boy was not going to suffer through too much coddling, and the best way of assuring this was to put him in the care of a labourer’s wife.

With great discrimination, Henry selected the woman for the job, assuring her that if the child did not continue to remain a healthy boy, terrible punishment awaited her; he told her that the boy was not to be pampered, and that he, the King, and the boy’s mother, his daughter, would visit him in private. Little Henry was not swaddled; in fact, he was treated like the son of a labourer, except that he was always assured of as much to eat as he could manage. Poor Jeanne Fourcharde, although terrified of the great responsibility which was hers, accepted it with pride – for she dared do nothing else when the King of Navarre commanded – and at least it meant that there was plenty of food for her family while the baby Prince was with them. It was no secret that this important little boy was living with them in that cottage, for across the doorway were placed the arms of Navarre and the words ‘Sauvegarde du Roy’.

And so little Henry prospered and became sturdy and strong, coarse and rough – a little boy after his grandfather’s heart; but his grandfather did not long enjoy him, for, less than a year after his birth, the King of Navarre died while preparing for a campaign against Spanish Navarre; he was a victim of an epidemic which was raging in the countryside.

Jeanne was now Queen of Navarre, and she lost no time in making Antoine its King.

It was now that Jeanne began to have her first doubts of her husband – not of his fidelity to herself, but of his astuteness as a statesman. Hitherto he had been perfect in her eyes.

Now that Navarre was ruled by a woman, Henry, the King of France, decided that he did not care to have a petty kingdom so far from Paris and so near to the Spanish frontier, so he planned an exchange of territory. For this reason he summoned Antoine to Paris, and when he was there, Antoine all but agreed to the exchange; and it was only when it was discovered that such must be sanctioned by Jeanne, in accordance with her father’s will, that Antoine thought of consulting his wife.

When Antoine hurried back to Jeanne to tell her of King Henry’s proposal, she was horrified; and this was the cause of their first real quarrel, for Jeanne could not restrain her tongue, and she called him a fool to have been so nearly tricked.

It made a coolness between them which was particularly painful to Jeanne; Antoine could quickly recover from such upsets. It was now that Jeanne discovered in herself those powers which were to make of her a clever diplomat. She travelled to Saint-Germain, where she met the King, although Antoine had warned her that this was a daring thing to do; for what was simpler than for Henry to keep her a prisoner while the exchange was made? But Jeanne, knowing her subjects would never submit to the King of France, by her subtle diplomacy made Henry believe that she herself would agree to the exchange if her subjects would agree to it; but she did not fail to point out that if they did not, he would find it impossible to subdue her territory. Henry saw the wisdom of this and sent her back to test the loyalty of her people. She had been right; she knew she could rely on that loyalty. How proud she was as she rode into Pau and witnessed the demonstrations of her people, who vowed they would accept none other than Jeanne as their ruler.

That was comforting, but she was sad, for she could not help feeling that Antoine, by his light regard for the kingdom which she loved, had betrayed her in some way.

Later there came a summons from Paris to attend the wedding which was being arranged between the Dauphin and Mary Queen of Scots; and it was during this visit that Jeanne had yet another glimpse of the impetuous folly of the man she had married.

When they reached Paris and before they had paid their respects to the King, they were approached by an old friend of Antoine’s whose servant had been imprisoned. This friend asked Antoine to help him in effecting the release of this servant, and Antoine, flattered to be asked and eager to show his authority, promised to do what was requested of him. As his brother, the Cardinal of Bourbon, was Governor of Paris at this time, Antoine had very little difficulty in pleasing his friend.

When King Henry heard what had happened, he was furious at what he considered to be officious interference; and when Jeanne and Antoine came to pay their respects, he greeted them coldly.

He turned to Antoine and said: ‘How, Monseigneur! Have I not told you before that there is and shall be only one King of France?’

Antoine bowed low. ‘Sire, before your Gracious Majesty my sun is in eclipse, and in this kingdom I am but your subject and your servant.’

‘Why then do you presume to open my prisons without my authority?’

Antoine burst into floods of explanations, while the King’s face darkened with fury. But at that moment, most unceremoniously, but as it turned out most propitiously, there ran into the chamber a small boy – little Henry of Navarre, the son of Jeanne and Antoine. He stared about him, his eyes bright, his cheeks rosy; and then without hesitation he ran straight to the King and embraced his knees. He did not know whose knees he was embracing; he only knew that this man had made an instant appeal to him.

King Henry could never resist children, just as they could never resist him. He hesitated for a moment – but only for a moment – and then he looked down into the bright little upturned face which was raised to his in genuine admiration and complete confidence.

‘Who are you?’ asked the King.

‘Henry of Navarre,’ answered the boy promptly. ‘Who are you?

‘Henry of France.’ The King lifted the boy in his arms and smiled, while the arms of Henry of Navarre were clasped about the neck of Henry of France.

‘Why,’ said the King, ‘I think you would like to be my son.’

‘That I would!’ replied the boy. ‘But I have a father, and that is he.’

The King was amused. He kissed the rosy cheek. He said: ‘Methinks then that there will be no alternative but to make you my son-in-law.’

‘That will be good,’ said little Henry.

And after such a scene with the boy the King found it difficult to be angry with the father. The matter was dismissed. ‘But,’ said the King warningly to Antoine, ‘you will do well to remember in future the rank you hold in France.’

Watching this scene, Jeanne’s pride in her son was spoiled by her apprehension on her husband’s account. It was a strange revelation to know that she must go on loving a man even when her respect for him had so sadly diminished.

How alien little Henry looked among the children of the royal household! He certainly looked more healthy than they, with his glowing cheeks and cottage manners. He himself was quite unconscious of any inferiority; and when Margot, who was a year older than he was, laughed at him, she soon found herself sprawling on the floor.

‘He is but a child,’ Jeanne explained, for Margot made the most of her injuries and carried the tale to her governess. ‘And he has, as yet, learned little of court manners.’

Catherine heard of the incident and laughed somewhat coarsely. ‘An old Béarnais custom perhaps, to knock down the ladies?’ she asked; and Jeanne found herself gripped by that fury which Catherine seemed to be able to arouse in her more than any other could and which was out of all proportion to the incident.

But Henry learned quickly; he was soon imitating the manners of Catherine’s sons and daughters and those of the little Guise Princes, who spent much time with the children of the royal household.

Jeanne felt that she could never be sure of these people who inhabited the court of France; they were not straightforward; they bowed and smiled and paid charming compliments while they hated. The royal children filled her with apprehension.

Poor Francis, the bridegroom-to-be, was so sickly and so passionately in love. He was continually telling young Mary how much he loved her, taking her into corners that he might whisper to her of his devotion. His love was his life, and he taxed his strength by trying to excel in all manly pastimes; he would ride until he was exhausted just to show the little Queen of Scots that he was every bit a man. His mother watched him, but showed no concern for his failing health; it seemed to Jeanne that Catherine regarded it with complacency. Surely a strange maternal attitude!

Then there was Mary herself, all charm and coquetry, the loveliest girl Jeanne had ever seen; though, thought Jeanne a little primly, she would have been more attractive if less aware of her own fascinating ways. Calmly this girl accepted the homage offered her; she seemed to think of little but her own charm and beauty. She even tried to fascinate Jeanne’s little Henry, and he – the bold little fellow – was quite willing to be fascinated. Would he, wondered Jeanne, be another such as his grandfather and his great-uncle, King Francis the First?

Then look at Charles. Little Charles was only eight years old, yet there was something about him which was quite alarming. Was it that wildness in his eyes, those sudden fits of laughter and depression? It was disturbing to see the longing glances he cast at Mary Queen of Scots, his envy of his brother. At times, however, he was a pleasant enough little boy, but Jeanne did not like the gleam in his eyes. There was a look almost of madness in them.