acknowledgment than a pleased sidewise glance.
When I neared, she turned her head deliberately to take me in, as a cat would prey, then swept her gaze over me: me, in my plain, shapeless cloak and my foolish French hood covering my very Italian hair; me, with my unforgivably olive complexion and bulging eyes.
“Madame de Massy,” I said politely, with a nod. “Madame Chabot. Madame de Montpensier. Madame de Canaples.” I turned to the Duchess and said, simply, “Your Grace.”
The Duchess’s lips tightened into a rosebud of a smile, as though she was struggling to repress a laugh at my thick accent.
“Your Highness,” she said, in a voice deeper than expected from so small a throat. “We are honored to have you ride with us this day.”
It was at that instant that my own horse, Zeus, was led out, snorting an eager greeting. I ran to him and stroked his dark muzzle, whispering of how I had missed him.
“Whatever is
The King more courteously echoed the question.
“My own design, Your Majesty,” I answered, “so that I might mount and ride in modesty and without assistance.” I demonstrated. “I put my left foot in a stirrup, here, and grasp the pommel…” With a small bound, I swung myself up onto Zeus and settled into place. The act permitted only the most fleeting glimpse of my calves, which were covered in white stockings. “I put my right leg around the horn, at the pommel. It holds my right knee fast, you see, so that I don’t fall.” I gathered up the reins and waved off the groom who wanted to take them.
“Brilliant!” said the King. “But surely you cannot ride as swift as a man.”
“Sire, I can.”
“Certainly when you ride at such speed, your legs will show,” said Marie de Canaples.
“A pity,” the Duchess said slyly, “to distract the King from such a fair face.”
Marie grinned; her eyeteeth were sharp, like a fox’s.
I flushed at the insult and looked to the King, but he offered no protection. Like the others, he was watching to see how I handled myself.
“Your Majesty,” I said pleasantly. “Shall we ride?”
The King led us south, away from the chateau and steep hills, toward the broad river.
Our pace was unbearably sedate. The women’s mares were content to be led by the grooms, but the King’s stallion and my gelding were straining at the bit. To ease the tedium, Marie told a story of how one devious young woman, new at Court, had invited her paramour to a great banquet. As her husband dined nearby, her lover crawled beneath the table and, hidden by her voluminous skirts, pleasured her while she ate.
We made our way onto the long wooden bridge across the river, which took several minutes to cross. I looked back over the river, its blue broken here and there by golden sandbanks, to see the houses and church spires and hills behind us, and the great white rectangle of the royal chateau dominating the city.
The King grew bored; his gaze was on the dense woods waiting on the other side. The instant we made it to the other shore, he broke into a trot. The grooms quickened their pace a bit, which caused the women to bounce in their saddles.
“Your Majesty!” the Duchess called after him, with overt irritation. “The doctor didn’t want you to ride at all today-you mustn’t overtax yourself!”
In reply, His Majesty gave a laugh that terminated in a small cough and grinned over his shoulder at me. “Catherine! Let’s see if you can truly keep up with a man!”
I grinned back at him and signaled Zeus with my heel.
I expected the King to lead me on a chase through the open meadow along the riverbanks; instead, he rode at a gallop straight into the thick woods. I drew in a breath and followed-ignoring, as he did, the women’s warnings. I rode headlong into the forest of bare-limbed beech, oak, and fragrant pine. Luckily, the trees were all a century or more old, with branches high enough that I was not immediately knocked from my mount. Even so, I had to lean low to avoid some of them-not an easy feat when one is astride a horse at full gallop.
King Francois whooped at the realization that I had given chase and urged his stallion to go faster. Reveling in the sting of cold air on my cheeks, I followed him through the thick of the woods-hares and birds scattering before us-until he swerved and broke clear to ride alongside a neatly tilled vineyard. I followed in close pursuit but, in the end, couldn’t catch him; Zeus’s stride was shorter than that of Francois’s huge charger. Even so, I refused to yield him more distance.
When he circled to retrace his path through the woods, I followed, encouraging Zeus to go as fast as he dared. I ducked at a low-hanging limb of a pine, then looked up to see the King veering sharply: The Duchess and the others had entered the forest and were heading directly toward us.
Immediately after his change in course, the King crouched low as the black charger surged upward over an obstacle.
The trunk of an ancient oak had split and fallen, blocking our way; the bare fingers of its upper limbs had caught on those of a neighboring tree, so that it hung high above the ground.
I saw the obstacle the second after it would have been possible to steer my horse away from the fallen limb and the nearby band of riders. I knew Zeus’s limits, and this pressed them sorely, but the time for decision was past: I had no choice.
The horse’s muscles strained beneath me; the spectators gasped. The fall happened, as falls do, so quickly that I had no time to be frightened. The world whirled as my body collided with Zeus’s lathered flank, the jagged edges of wood, the cold, damp earth.
For an instant I couldn’t breathe, then just as suddenly I was gulping in air.
King Francois stood over me, his long face made even longer by his gaping mouth. “Good God! Catherine, are you all right?”
The Duchess stood beside him, her mouth open in a tiny circle. The other ladies were still mounted.
My skirts were bunched up about my hips, exposing my petticoat, my stockinged calves, and my knee-length pantaloons of fine Italian lace, part of the exquisite trousseau chosen by Isabella d’Este. I made a sound of disgust as I pushed myself up and quickly rearranged my skirts.
The instant she realized I was unharmed, the Duchess said, in a low voice, “So. You did indeed distract the King from your pretty face. Such comely legs.” A ripple of repressed laughter made its way through the women on horseback behind her; humor glinted in the King’s eye, but he dutifully extinguished it.
I pushed the grooms’ proffered hands away as I got to my feet. Zeus stood nearby, breathing heavily but exhilarated after the fine run, his reins held by the youngest groom.
“I’m fine, Your Majesty,” I said.
I brushed dead leaves and splinters off my cape. The jagged limb, broader than my thigh, had caught my right shoulder, gouging the wool; had I been unprotected by the thick fabric, the branch would have torn open my gown to leave a serious wound. As it was, my shoulder ached from a bad bruise. My French hood had been pulled off completely; the punctured veil fluttered from the offending branch like a flag of surrender. One of the grooms fetched it like a trophy. It was torn, so I told him to hold it.
The King took my hand. “I can’t believe you tried to take that tree. You must be more careful.”
“My horse is a good jumper, Your Majesty,” I said. “Under better circumstances, he could have cleared it.”
A curious look came over him; he cocked his head, and the beginnings of a faint grin showed at one corner of his mouth. “You jump?”
“I do. Or at least I did, before coming here. Have you never seen a woman on horseback take a hedge?”
He gave a small laugh. “I didn’t know it was possible. Of course, my sister has always said that, given the opportunity, women would be better at the hunt than men.” He paused. “Perhaps I will have you accompany me on a hunt sometime.”
“Nothing would please me better, Sire.”
As we left, he rode next to me, and we made our way out of the woods at our original slow amble. The Duchess brooded silently, ignoring Marie’s attempts at conversation. We cleared the forest and made our way onto the open, grassy riverbank. The King led us back toward the bridge, but the Duchess resisted.
“Canter along the shore, Your Majesty,” she said, with feigned cheer, “and let us have a contest to see who can best keep up with you.”
