Chapter 7 - The Idea of Love

The feast was uneventful. The Pope arrived in an exuberant mood. He was happy and talkative. The center of attention and apparently, a breath of fresh air.

"As holy as I am, by the grace of God, I am famished. So no talk of anything, other than this delicious food in front of us." Raising his glass to Queen Catherine, "Long may you reign, Catherine. You always had superb taste!"

Catherine takes the compliment like the graceful hostess that she is.

Smiling daintily at the Pope, "Thank you, your eminence. The bounties of France and of Italy is a blessing from God. We cannot thank God enough for his blessings." Queen Butterfly mode was on. No one can entertain a guest like Catherine can.

All were seated at their designated seats. Sebastian wasn't allowed yet to be seated at the royal table. And Henry couldn't and wouldn't put him to meet the Pope now. He can't afford to. He must make nice until this payment has been fully transacted, that is, the nuptial documents are signed and ratified. He discretely, behind everybody's back, had burn the treaty, minutes after the Pope arrived. Yes, this feast is also his thanksgiving to God for taking care of everything. And he will have England. And Scotland. And every country in Europe. And then the world.

"And also the celebration of the arrival of my son, the Dauphin Francis from his travels." Catherine pointedly looked at Marie and Mary to keep their mouths shut. No use of discussing the impending nuptials and other dark cloud in Catherine's mind.

"Indeed, Catherine. I heard Francis was quite the dashing hero. And how reckless he has been. That boy- "

"You knew Francis of his travels?" Mary couldn't help but asked. Something about how tight-lipped Marie had become. She wouldn't say what she meant of Francis coming close to death. "Reckless? Was he in any danger? How did you meet?"

"Of course, Mary. Didn't you? Haven't you?"

"Your eminence, don't mind my daughter. She just misses Francis so much, she thinks she hasn't heard enough of Francis' travels-"

"Because I have never heard any! And being reckless-"

"Mary, Francis is a boy. And having freedom for the first time, he's bound to be reckless."

"Talking behind my back, I see."

Francis comes strutting in. He looked beautiful in his white and gold ensemble. The trimmed hair and clean-shaven face also brought out a more youthful Francis. He was every bit of the Dauphin he is.

But to Mary, everything, everyone was dulled out. All were in bored tones, except for Francis. He was techni-color in a hazy, gray world. It was as if, the heavens open up and put forth a beam of light on Francis and gave him every tone of the rainbow. The way his golden head bob on, the blueness of his eyes, the healthy color of his cheeks, the redness of his lips. And Mary couldn't but sigh. Was it only hours ago, she last saw him? He looked haggard then. A good sleep amongst his siblings and a lot of pampering from Catherine did wonders for Francis. While she didn't bother wearing a new gown, nor put up her hair. She was in the same dress she wore when she came back to the French court. The first time she met Francis as a young man. Marie almost lost her head, when she saw Mary wearing an old dress. What would the Pope think? France think? But Mary was stubborn, she will not wear any new dresses. Besides, most of her dresses don't fit right anyway. Will Francis remember their meeting in this dress? Will Francis look at her that way again?

"Francis! Dear dauphin, come sit beside me." The Pope in his exuberance slapped the table hard.

When Francis bowed to pay respect, Mary swore she saw a flutter of silvery wings on his back.

How could she even think she could love another? How could she think she could learn to love another? How could she think she could forget? How could she hurt this beautiful person? This angel.

"Your eminence. How are you, sir?"

"I'm good, Francis. And I'm buzzed. This is very good wine, Catherine. Delicious! Come, sit beside me, Francis. You have to tell me how you met Clementine. She can't stop talking about you-"

"Ah, as much as it is an honor to sit beside you, your holiness, I have to pass on that good fortune. I am going to sit with my brothers and sisters, sir. I have missed them terribly and I want to spend these days with them. And as for Lady Clementine, till next time." Francis smiles slightly at the Pope.

"What a good brother! I understand. Go on, we can talk tomorrow then." Shooing Francis towards the children's table.

"I look forward to that, your holiness." Leaving the table, with a bigger smile.

"You raised a good son, Catherine, Henry. Friar Pierre was telling me about the generous offer Francis made-" as the Pope drones on and on about how good Francis is, Mary on the other hand, couldn't take her attention away from Francis.

Whoever coined the phrase, Out of sight, out of mind, was clearly right. Now that Francis is back, she can't get him off her mind. Will she always be looking for him? Looking at him from a distance? Could she keep her distance? The prophecy said, it was her marriage to Francis that will bring his death. But he belongs to her now. To Scotland. And she is Scotland. Isn't this like marriage? Except Francis' life is now hers for the taking. And he has no way out. Isn't all this, is making Francis' imminent death closer? Oh God! What if this is the prophecy? What if they interpreted it the wrong way?

Nostradamus! She had to talk to him and make sure Francis will not die.

"Excuse me, your holiness, your grace. But my head aches. I think I'll retire for the night." Abruptly leaving the table, not bothering to answer her mother's inquiry.

She had to be quick. Nostradamus didn't attend the festivities and his quarters' a bit of a trek from the main dining hall. And she needs to bring Francis too.

She stops by their table. At Francis' side.

"Francis, I need you." Well, that came out too strongly. Four pairs of innocent eyes peered at her.

"Your grace, I am indisposed at the moment. As you can see, I am dining with my siblings."

"But Francis-"

"No. Can't you just give me this night?" Francis turns to look at her, and all the air sucks out of Mary. She can see in his eyes, how tired and miserable he really is. The fight in him is gone. He has resigned himself to be this payment. And its heartbreaking. She broke him. She broke Francis.

"Please, just one night. One measly night, just for myself. Just for me."

"I can't." I need you. I need you to live.

"Fine." Francis stands up "Charles, if I'm not back in 10 minutes, you can look for me and drag me back here, ok?" and quickly leaves the hall.

Mary has to double her steps to catch up with Francis. Suddenly, he turns around and pushes her into the hidden alcove, his right hand against her chest.

"What are you getting at? Can't you stop for one night? Tomorrow, tomorrow, you can do whatever you want with me, heck, even guillotine me if you will. But just not now." He grits at her.

"Francis, I need, we need to see Nostradamus now! We have to make sure the prophecy will not happen. That you won't die. What if being married to my mother, belonging to Scotland, to me, is the prophecy. I won't have you die. I can't have you die!" she implores.

He laughs sardonically, "As opposed to you stabbing me in the back? And taking away everything that I ever knew? Everything that I was born to do? Everything that I love? Thanks so much!"

"I was saving you!" she pushes away from him. Tears running down her face. "I told you, I will always save you. I won't have you die because of me. Francis, I can't have you die. I love you!"

"You say you love me, but I don't believe you. I hear words, but I don't feel it. You said you saved me, and yet, I'm the one who lost everything. Everything! Even my name." Francis takes a step away from her.

"No, you didn't save me. You saved yourself. You don't want blood on your hands as the bloody prophecy said I was to die because of you. We could have done anything and everything against this prophecy. Together. I promised you that. But you believe in the prophecy more than my love for you. Than me. Than our love. Than God himself."

"You don't love me, Mary. You love the idea of me. You love the image, what I represented. What I was supposed to be to you."

He takes two steps towards her, crowding her again. "If you did really love me, you would have trusted me. My words, my love, my everything would have mattered to you."

"I would matter." He kisses her hand and her signet ring. "As you matter to me."

"Francis." Mary tries to breathe through her tears. She grabs the lapels of his coat, intending to keep him close to her.

He kisses her lips, biting her lower lip, savoring her essence. One last time.

"Tomorrow, I'll be your property. You can do whatever you wish with me. But tonight, I belong to me. And I will spend my remaining hours as my own person with the people who love me, without consequences and repercussions. My siblings."

He steps away from her, rearranging his white and gold ensemble.

"At the stroke of midnight, Francis Valois II, the dauphin, will die. He will cease to exist. I guess, you could say, the prophecy is fulfilled."

"Good bye, Mary. Be happy."