Game Of Seduction

Chapter 15

As the horses pull up to the palace of Fontainebleau set in acres of rich woodland, Walsingham confers with the team.

"I'm working on getting a couple of you actually moving into the palace. It would help with liaising with our contact at court. Keep your eyes open and look for opportunities."

"Yes, Sir."

"We need to keep an eye on de Guise. He's a troublemaker, and he has enormous influence at court and in the city. He hates Protestants like us of every type. Needless to say, he'll be looking to cause dissent. So try not to rise to the bait. That means you as well, Trombley."

"Why does everyone assume that I'm going to be the troublemaker?" protests Trombley.

"Probably because everyone else in the team's realised you're seriously unbalanced-" mutters Walt.

Brad is puzzled when he spots the arrogant French lord from Sir Henry Norrey's house and he stops to converse with the group civilly.

"Messieurs, and Madame Walsingham-" he says to Ursula with another courtly and polished bow. "Let me have the honour of showing you round. And-" his smile is almost apologetic. 

"-if I could speak to Monsieur Colbert here?"

Walsingham encourages him.

"I believe I owe you a sincere and thorough apology." Nançay says candidly as soon as they're alone.

Brad isn't remotely mollified. "You do, do you?"

"I insulted you, your religion and your country. I hope we can start again on a better, more amicable footing." Brad has to wonder who has warned him to lay aside his animosity. Nancay is is being positively friendly right now, eager to be helpful and create some rapport.

The two men size each other up, trying to work out what the other's game is.

'What do you want, Monsieur de Nançay?' Brad asks eventually, looking down on him from his superior height.

He's rather disconcerted to realise his usual tricks of intimidation don't work this time. Not when Nançay is so determined to be friendly. There has got to be a reason for this, and I'm damned if I know what it is at the moment.

"That we should forget our little disagreement and co-operate with each other. I'm sure we can manage that."

Is it really worth antagonising him now? I made my point on the day of the duel, and besides the man may actually be of some use to us. Let bygones be bygones, why not? thinks Brad. "Very well." he says warily giving him his hand.

Nançay is striding forward at a brisk rate towards the palace. The group are quiet, taking in the surroundings, observing the area. So this is Fontainebleau, one of the many royal palaces dotting France. Henri II had before his tragic and untimely death poured untold amounts of gold into the place turning a retreat outside the environs of the capital into a stunning Mannerist masterpiece, a showcase for French art and culture.

They walk past a charming garden, complete with charming flower covered bowers and flower beds, a bevy of courtly ladies gathered listening to the music of a sole lutenist . They look as picturesque and gorgeous as flowers of the field in their multicoloured silks, brocades and velvet gowns. The gorgeous glittering court resemble the butterflies that swoop and glide in the summer sun.

The lutenist starts another song, after the applause has died down. Sir Francis stops for a moment listening to the sweet tenor voice singing a song of forbidden courtly love. The sustained notes hang in the air like drops of honey and gold. The team can't see his face, only a fall of shoulder length red gold which obscures his face. A girl sits by his feet in a pink silk dress and ropes of pearls, her face turned up towards his. She's harmonising with him, her voice mellow and sultry like blue velvet underneath fingertips. Such a striking contrast to the purity of his voice.

A woman runs out and accosts Nançay, all wild red hair and dark sparkling eyes. Her dark brown taffeta skirts gathered up in her hands as she runs towards them across the grass revealing a neatly turned pair of ankles and calves. Walt recognises her at once.

"I told you she was a lady-in-waiting or a rich girl. That's the maid Henriette." Whispers Walt to his friend. She winks at Ray shamelessly, a mischievous dimple appearing in her cheek.

"Monsieur de Nançay, would you walk past without introducing your guests? For shame! I know you are a rough soldier but I thought you were more civilised than that." She teases, her sloe black eyes gleaming with kittenish mischief.

Nançay grits his teeth. "I had no such intention, Madame la Duchesse, not at all. I was just leading the English Delegation to the palace."

"Madame la Duchesse?" whispers Ray in an undertone to Walt. "I thought she was just the maid!"

"Shush!" hisses Poke, prodding Ray.

"Come Nançay, you know they are out hunting and won't be back for hours. Join us for a while. You can't be on duty all the time. Besides-" she adds with a sly air and a wink. 'The Duc d'Anjou is here. You wouldn't pass him by, would you?'

"I'm sorry sirs, we will not stay long, I promise.' Nançay assures them, irritation almost palpable. His mouth pulls into a disapproving line at her needling and there is the merest dash of a blush on his cheeks. 'Just long enough to be polite-"

Henriette sweeps into the bower. "Look what I found! Visitors!" she peals, naughty dark eyes sparkling with malice and mischief. "Handsome visitors! Fresh from England, would you believe?"

The music stops abruptly. Every curious French eye is on them.

"Madame de Nevers?" A man's cultured voice says as they turn to examine the visitors.

"Sir Francis Walsingham. Sir Bradley Colbert, Signor Antonio Espera and Sir Walter Hasser at your service." Lord Walsingham introduces himself.

A dark haired woman in a rich dark pink robe rises from her seat at the lutenist's feet and approaches them, a radiant smile on her face. Walt gets a good look at her face and freezes.

"May I present to you Prince Alexandre Edouard de Valois, Duc d' Anjou and his fair sisters Princesse Claude, Duchesse de Lorraine and Princesse Marguerite de Valois of France."

Walt freezes next to him. Brad would swear he heard a stifled curse and as he turn to check on him, Walt's face is blanched as he faces Margot. Something odd is going on. Ray and Walt are obviously trying to hide something but they haven't got the skill to conceal things, not from him. The lad looks very young and terrified as he stares at the princess. Ray's mouth is hanging slightly open. If Brad didn't know better, he would think he'd been struck dumb for once.

"My Lady?" Walt breathes.

She's as shocked as he is. Before she can control herself, she steps forward, taking his hands in hers.

"Walt-" she whispers. Her eyes stray to his mouth for a moment, almost as if she wants to kiss him.

The others are surprised by her break with protocol. Even the rest of the court have noticed and are starting to whisper at this rather unusual greeting.

"Walt? What's going on?" Walsingham says, watching the scene closely.

Walt feels he can't breathe. No wonder she wanted to keep her mask on. Why she defiantly told him her name, as if she expected he would reject her once he'd seen her true face. 

She's a Princess, and standing here in the garden surrounded by her attendants she looks the part, deep rose pink silk gown studded with a wealth of pearls, echoing the precious ropes which bind that long dark river of hair. Walt remembers the silken feel of it against his naked skin in the morning as she kissed him goodbye, and feels empty and bereft inside.

She's leaning towards him before the iron self-control kicks in and she stops herself, presenting an elegant pale hand for him to kiss.

"Pleased to meet you, Lord Hasser. I hope you enjoy your stay in our home." Her voice is even, back in control once again.

"My Lady-" he kisses her fair hand and feels her hand slide round his neck in a subtle indulgent caress. A bold move considering the circumstances. He can feel someone's stare on the back of his neck. It's the lutenist, who stares at him with an utterly impassive yet slightly insolent face.

She's polite to the others, but shows nowhere near the intimacy she's shown to Walt. She curtseys to Brad, letting her eyes travel over his impressive height but he's totally immune to her wiles. He's seen too many girls like that, too secure in their own opinion of their own allure. There's something in her manner that reminds him of the Lady Eboli and that scandalous song in the Escorial garden that day.

Trombley is utterly starstruck by her beauty up close, gaping as he bends over her lily white hand to pay respect to her.

"My Lady-" he stammers, utterly tongue-tied by her gorgeousness.

Brad elbows him in the ribs. "Don't even think about it, Trombley."

"What?" Trombley squeaks.

Walsingham strides behind them. "Fall back for a moment, gents. Need to have a word."

They obey with an apprehensive look between themselves.

"Would you like to explain what exactly is going on, Lord Hasser? How did you know the Lady Marguerite?" Walsingham's voice is dangerously quiet and calm.

"Look Walt, we're going to have to 'fess up and tell the truth." Ray says hastily.

Walt is shocked. "Ray, we took a vow! We made a promise to keep silent!"

"f**k that, Walt! I don't want Lord Francis pissed at me!"

"Well?" Sir Francis interrupts.

Walt swallows nervously. "We met her, Sir. On a night out."

"What?" Walsingham stops so abruptly that Trombley nearly collides into him.

"I had no idea who she was, Sir. Honestly-"

"You're going to tell me everything. Don't even think of leaving anything out."

"She approached Ray while we were in the tavern and propositioned him. I didn't recognise her because she was wearing a vizard at the time."

"Well, she seemed to recognise you very well indeed, Walt."

"Of course she recognised him!" interrupts Ray. "Considering we spent most of the night swiving each other."

"Ray!" Walt protests.

"Sorry Walt, the truth had to come out some time."

"Let me get this straight. You met Marguerite de Valois on your night out, and ended up sleeping with her? Both of you?" Brad asks, absolutely deadpan, a look of complete disbelief on his face.

Walt nods miserably. "She went outside with Ray. I was slightly less drunk, so I followed him. They were down an alleyway-"

Ray can't help grinning, despite the fact that he and Walt are in all sorts of trouble. "Getting my prick sucked. I tell you she might be a Princess of the Blood, but that girl dropped to her knees and sucked c**k like a goddamn pro!"

Trombley looks outraged that he missed out. "Hey, when did this all happen?"

"You were drunk, Trombley. I told you to pace yourself, but would you listen to your pal Ray-Ray?"

Trombley sulks, his lower lip jutting out just like a spoilt child denied marchpane. "I can't believe you two have a debauched night with a hot piece like that, and you didn't even bother to wake me? That's wrong. And I bet you got into a fight with some stinking Parisians as well-"

"Trombley, you'd passed out in an alcoholic stupor. I doubt you'd have woken up for the Apocalypse."

Brad shakes his head. "Dear God. Only you two could f**k a princess by accident..."

"-We got a tavern room and stayed 'til morning. Nançay came to collect her, and made us promise not to tell anyone."

Walsingham sighs. "What a mess! No wonder Sir Henry Norreys can't take any more from these people."

"Why is it so terrible?" asks Brad, trying to make the best of the situation. "Walt and Ray both know better than to brag about this round court and even that Nançay is making more effort to be civil to us. Perhaps we can put this down to a simple case of mistaken identity-"

Sir Francis turns to him. Brad can see the weariness on his face."We're stuck organising terms for the Huguenots. Henri de Navarre is relying on us and our good will to avert outright religious civil war and his bride is out on the streets of Paris giving her body to any man that'll have her . I'd say that's quite a problem, Brad, even for us."

He sighs. "We cannot let de Guise and his family win. If they do, they'll support Mary Stuart's relentless push for the English throne as well as the Scottish one. The Guise family in power on both sides of the channel? Rabid Catholics such as them? That's bad news for France, and worse for Elizabeth and England. They have to be stopped. The wedding must happen . The peace must hold ."

His brow furrows as he tries to work it out. "What puzzles me is Catherine's role in all this. She must know what her daughter is up to. No, Catherine de' Medici has a long range strategy, and I'm not sure what it means. We'll have to have a meeting about this. Once we've made contact with our agent."

"When will we meet him?" Brad asks.

Walsingham gives him a grim smile. "You already have."

"Already have? In that gaggle of pampered indolent butterflies?" His mind works quickly, running through the men in the group, trying to narrow down candidates. It wouldn't be Anjou or Alençon. I doubt it would be Nançay. One of the pages? The lutenist? Who could it be?

"Patience, Brad. It's the perfect cover. He's one of them. Trusted and adored by the family; in a perfect position to ferret out all their secrets and pass them back to us. He's been doing this for a long time and I know I have his complete loyalty."

"He would never betray us?"

Walsingham smiles. "No. He is my man, through and through."

Ursula is thoroughly displeased by the time the group reach the palace.

'Where have you all been? You fell back and left me with all the French. I could see you at the back chattering away in English.'

Sir Francis's voice was curt. 'We were discussing something important that came up. Nothing for you to worry about, my lady.'

'What was so important, Sir Francis, that you have to leave me with those people-' Her tone leaves him in doubt just how much she disapproves of these courtiers. '-I really must say it was very inconsiderate of you, not to mention anti-social!'

'I do not have time for this, Ursula, not now!'

Her mouth pulls into that disapproving line he knows so well.

'Don't sulk, it won't work with me! Now we must be pleasant and show a front of unity and harmony for the French court. I'm sure you can manage that, dear wife, can't you?'

She glares at him, but his gaze is implacable. She decides to cede for the moment, though this isn't over not by a long shot.