An Accidental Queen

Chapter 9

WE CONTINUED OUR PROCESSION through the rolling green hills and golden plateaus of France. Never had I seen so much of my homeland. Beyond the tranquil forests of Toulouse—I had not known that the country was so beautiful and its lands so diverse.

The emerald-green pines and dark spruces dwarfed even the most impressive castles and soaring spires. In the laps of the mountains grew wildflowers of colours I had never seen before, rivalling the shades of even the most vibrant tapestries in all of Toulouse. The fragrances of honeydew and dampened earth saturated the cool air, powerful against the ceaseless rains that submerged the fields in water and mud.

After the procession wound through the mountainous passages, we came upon the coast—the sun shining to reveal the deep blue of the ocean. At first, I thought that the glittering waters before me were the fragments of fine sapphire silk, though Martine corrected my error with mild irritation. I had never seen the sea except for hearing accounts of it from troubadours. So witnessing such mighty waves collapsing against the stony cliffs was breathtaking.

When the pale light of day was consumed by darkness, we ceased travelling to relieve the horses of their exhaustion, as well as to enjoy some respite and nourishment. Usually, the knights would warm themselves with fire, letting their boisterous voices float away with ribbons of smoke and crackling orange embers as they played games of chance with small wooden dice.

Though such games had been outlawed years before, Francis of Aragon ignored the forbidden diversion, much to Martine's chagrin. In fact, the nobleman's eyes twinkled with mirth whenever the knights partook in such games.

I enjoyed Francis's company, for he was more personable and entertaining than many of the visiting noblemen we had entertained in Toulouse. I learned he had deflected to the Kingdom of France as a young man, forsaking his Spanish heritage to become a member of the French court and an advisor to King Philip.

I spent these evenings swaddled beneath fur cloaks and blankets: gifts from my mysterious and generous bridegroom. Besides the furs, the dauphin had sent a brooch encrusted with rubies and sapphires, an emerald ring, a silver necklace, and another golden ring with the letters of Lady Adeliza's name engraved in Latin. When Francis presented the jewelry, I had attempted to conceal my fascination, for I had seen nothing so decadent. Though I knew the gifts were customary, I was almost flattered by the attention.

"The dauphin is awaiting your arrival with much excitement," Francis smiled as I carefully slipped one band onto my finger, admiring the precious material as it gleamed against the fire outside. "He is eager to wed the lovely bride he has heard much about."

"I regret I know little of the dauphin," I admitted. Though I was about to be married to him, my future husband's identity was veiled in secrecy. Other than his name being Charles, I knew nothing of his character or appearance.

When the lines in Francis's head deepened, I feared that my lack of knowledge might reveal my true identity. To salvage the mishap, I swiftly added: "Of course, I know he is the heir to the throne and son of Philip the Brave and his first wife, Margaret of Castile. However, I know little about his character."

Francis ran a hand through his dark beard as he considered my query. "Charles of France is the pride of his father. He has recently received a knighthood and excels in his studies of diplomacy. He was once betrothed to a Spanish princess related to his mother's family, though this match disintegrated when her father married her to another man."

I stared at the toes of my slippers, still unable to conjure up an image of the dauphin after the nobleman's somewhat vague description.

Noticing my bewilderment, Francis presented another object to me—this time a frame containing a miniature portrait. I peered into the face of the painting's subject, discerning a young man with hair the shade of an oak tree and dark blue eyes. Aside from a strong nose and thin lips, there was little in his features that announced him as noble. His gaze lay beyond the artist, a pensive expression carved into his youthful face.

"He appears to be quite young," I told Francis, a thread of worry lacing my words. As a laundress, my worst fear had been marrying a boy. Since so many of the serfs of my age had already married, it had often been recommended that I marry someone far younger than I. I prayed that my future husband was at least close to my age.

"He is already in his nineteenth year, six years older than his parents when they married. The King had wanted him to excel in his education before marrying, but now, it is time that he sired an heir." The smoke of the fire curled around Francis's face and floated above his thin shoulders, making him appear like a mirage.

A sigh of relief left my lips.

Besides his appropriate age, Charles seemed to care for learning. I had always yearned to read and write, so I was glad that my groom possessed a passion for his studies. Perhaps, when Martine taught me Latin as she promised, we would spend our evenings together huddled over scrolls and parchments. The thought brought a tenuous smile to my face.

♕♕♕

On the morning of our arrival, I was woken by the celebratory cries of men and the lyrical songs of flutes. Gingerly lifting my head from the fur cloak I had been sprawled over, I peered outside our vehicle to glimpse a swell of ruddy-faced people clawing at the carriage walls. Beaming women raised their children above their shoulders—the wind tugged at their tattered veils and tunics, and a few rowdy youths sprinted alongside the carriage, their gazes seeking mine.

The scene frightened me, and I turned to Martine—hoping that she might explain the commotion.

"They are here to see the new dauphine," Martine said, her voice a shrill whisper against the clamour of the crowd.

The thought that so many people saw me seemed unbelievable. I wondered what they would think if they knew I was but a mere laundress: illiterate and closer to them in station than I was to any nobleman. Moreover, I was a bastard, having been conceived out of wedlock. A pang of guilt pricked my chest and a wave of grief swept over me as I grappled with the true identity of my parentage. 

"Do not look so miserable. They are immensely happy to see you," Martine chided, "for you are the future Queen of France."

A peasant girl with flaxen hair emerged from the crush of people, her pale tunic drawing mud from the paved streets as she bounded alongside the carriage. Her soiled fingers were clutching a bouquet of wildflowers, and she passed them to me. I thanked her with a smile, which she returned before disappearing into the crowd once more.

"You should not have taken them!" Martine exclaimed as she glared down at the bunch of yellow flowers within my grasp. "Now you have soiled your new ring and fingers. What will the dauphin say when he sees you? He will think you are nothing more than a farmhand's daughter!"

"How could I not accept them?" I placed the flowers in my lap, my frustration with Martine's perpetual displeasure filling my voice. "She was very kind to give me a gift. Besides, I will bathe before I am presented to the court, will I not?"

Martine tensed, the violet veins in her neck tightening.

Our carriage sunk further into the heart of Paris, becoming ensconced by the high fortified walls that surrounded the city. No matter how far we ventured, the crowds accompanied us—drenching the cool air with song and laughter. Despite Martine's earlier disapproval, I beamed at them with the warmth of a thousand fires.

When I caught sight of the King's palace, my heart stopped. It was surrounded by a river with a bridge connecting it to the rest of the city. Atop pointed steeples and gilded towers sailed bright flags with the symbol of the fleur-de-lis. The most beautiful cathedral I had ever seen stood firmly against the raging waters below.

As the carriage passed over the bridge, I noticed that the structure was adorned in taffeta in the shade of pale blue and lined with ornate fountains.

"They have decorated the bridge to prepare for your arrival," Martine whispered, a note of pleased astonishment in her voice. Even she was impressed by the beautiful, unknown world we had been thrust into.

The carriage lurched to a stop. Francis appeared to assist us from our seats. I stared up once again at the looming grey castle, my limbs trembling with fear. My knees almost buckled beneath the heavy fabric of my gown, and I clutched Francis's arm to steady myself.

"Do not fear," Francis said. "You will meet your groom before long."

If only he knew that was exactly what I was afraid of.