It was inevitable that the Duke of Suffolk should challenge the Dauphin, and when these two tilted against each other, Mary was clearly apprehensive.
There was, indeed, an atmosphere of tension not only on the royal stage but throughout the crowd, because thousands of Frenchmen wanted to see the Dauphin win.
Louis watched the Dauphin’s mother and sister and saw them craning forward, watched their apprehension— which was no greater than the Queen’s.
Sardonically Louis thought of the years when Louise had suffered every time his late wife had promised to bring an heir to the throne of France. What anxiety those ambitious women had endured on the Big Boy’s account; and still did. He could not take part in a game without their making a drama of it.
There was a sudden murmur of horror; Mary had risen to her feet and Marguerite and Louise were staring at the arena in dismay.
Louis wished his eyes were better. “What has happened?” he demanded, and for a few seconds those about him ignored him, forgetting that it was the King who had spoken, so intent were they on what was happening in the arena.
“Francois,” cried Louise. “My son … my son!”
Francois had been wounded in the hand and this was a blow to French hopes. Suffolk was about to prove himself the champion, and the honors were going to the English. That was the result of the first day’s joust. But there were more to come.
Francois appeared at the banquet which followed, with his hand in a bandage; ruefully he confessed that he would be unable to hold a lance, so was out of the tournament.
He talked to the Queen as they supped in the
“Your Englishman took me off my guard,” he told her.
“Was that not what you would have expected him to do?”
“So you favor the English?”
“I lived all but the last few weeks of my life among them, remember.”
“Shame! I thought you had become one of us.” He leaned toward her. “’Twas my own fault. I was thinking of you when I should have been concentrating on my opponent.”
“Confess,” she retaliated, “your opponent was too good for you.”
“Nay, I’ll challenge him yet and defeat him.”
“I fancy he will be judged the victor of this tourney.”
“It was my devotion to you, not his skill, that gives him that victory.”
“It is not a good enough excuse! You went in to win and you found him a better man.”
“You are vehement in your praise of him. I grow jealous of this man … Suffolk, is it?”
“Charles Brandon”—she said his name slowly, loving every syllable—“Duke of Suffolk.”
“Something of an adventurer, I have heard. Do you know he tried to marry the Archduchess Margaret? The Emperor put a stop to that little game.”
“I do not think he played that little game as well as he jousted today.”
“I will tell you a secret,” said Francois. “Monsieur Suffolk is not going to be declared the champion.”
“How can you be sure of that, Monsieur le Dauphin?”
“Because I must avenge this.” He touched his bandaged hand.
“How so when you cannot hold a lance? And if you could not beat him before you were injured, how can you hope to now?”
“Madame, you are too triumphant. There is a German fellow in my service. He is even taller than I; he is the strongest man in France. He is unbeatable. I am going to put him up against Monsieur Suffolk, and he’ll have the fellow out of the saddle. You will see. It will be more than a bloody hand he’ll be nursing tomorrow.”
Mary turned away. She was afraid that in seeking his revenge Francois would do Charles some harm.
The Queen spent a sleepless night and her restlessness awakened the King.
“What ails you, my love?” he asked.
“I am well enough,” she answered.
“Yet you do not sleep. Perhaps you are overtired. It was an exhausting day.”
“And there will be another tomorrow. Louis, I heard that a German who has never yet been beaten is going into the joust. Is it true?”
“Oh, I know the man. One of the Dauphin’s servants, a great burly fellow. I’ve seen him turn men out of their saddles as though they were sacks of corn. Yes, it is true, none can stand against him.”
“Then he is the champion of France?”
“My love, he is not of the nobility so we do not often see him joust.”
“Then he should not joust tomorrow.”
“Ha,” said Louis. “Your Englishmen are too good. We have to throw in what we have in the hope of defeating them.”
