Free The Queen and the Courtesan by Freda Lightfoot

Grand Duke’s fingers, even as she inwardly calculated how she could not only hang on to her new role, but better it.
    The grand-ducal fleet had set sail on the eighteenth of the month, comprising seven galleys, one French ship, five papal frigates and five galleys of Malta; persons on board numbering upwards of a thousand. The royal standard of France flew above the main galley, a most magnificent vessel belonging to the Grand Duke. Seventy feet in length, it was richly gilded from stem to stern, inlaid with a profusion of lapis-lazuli, mother-of-pearl, ivory and ebony. The ship needed fifty-four oarsmen to propel her. Marie’s own cabin had been decorated in regal splendour, hung with cloth of gold; the fleur-de-lis of France, profusely decorated with sapphires and pearls, and the shield of the house of Medici, suspended side by side opposite the state chair. But it was with great relief that the young Queen finally arrived at Marseilles.
    When she stepped ashore, gasps of admiration came from the watching crowds. Marie was magnificently gowned in dove brocade threaded with gold, fashioned in the Italian manner, a carcanet of pearls about her throat and her light-brown hair left loose and without powder. She was welcomed by the Chancellor, the consuls and citizens going down on their knees, the former carrying out the traditional ceremony of presenting her with the golden keys of the city.
    Marie felt oddly nervous, and disappointed that Henry was not here to welcome her. When would she ever meet her husband? And there were still many more miles to go before she reached Lyons. But bells were ringing, flags were fluttering in the breeze, and salvoes of artillery from the guard of honour on the quay told of a rousing welcome from the people. Marie de Medici, royal princess that she was, drew breath and smiled upon them all.
    And all the while the French eyed her carefully and gossiped among themselves. ‘The figure of Her Majesty is magnificent,’ the Duchesse de Nemours whispered to Mademoiselle de Guise. ‘See how her eyes sparkle with health and vigour.’
    â€˜And her complexion is superb, with neither rouge, paint nor powder needed to enhance it.’
    The Duchesse advanced to make obeisance, and to introduce the ladies of the French retinue. ‘The King sends his apologies as he is in Savoy fighting a campaign, and asked me to welcome Your Majesty to France in his place.’
    â€˜I thank you, Duchess,’ Marie warmly responded.
    Then the cardinals and prelates, preceded by the Constable, conducted the new queen to the palace beneath a rich canopy. The ladies of the court followed on behind, led by the wife of the Chancellor. There was some slight altercation over precedence between the French and Italian courtiers, but Marie was too fatigued to pay them any heed.
    It delighted her hosts when she thanked them for the courtesy of her reception in fluent French. They were deeply flattered that she should take the trouble to learn their language so well. Her dignity and demeanour, the magnificence of her apparel, and the flush of health and happiness which glowed about her, filled the people with joy and hope. Here was a fine young queen indeed, one to be proud of.
    Festivities and celebrations went on for some days, and Marie ached for it all to end. She felt weary of travel, and of civic celebrations. She had endured several as she’d progressed through Italy, now she must suffer them all over again in France.
    The King had sent a royal coach to transport her to Lyons, and ultimately to Paris. Outwardly adorned in brown velvet trimmed with silver tinsel, inside it was lined with carnation velvet embroidered with gold and silver. Henry had certainly done her proud. Yet despite being drawn by four fine greys, the vehicle was cumbersome and uncomfortable to ride in, being crudely sprung. More decorative than fast.
    But as she was driven around, Marie would draw back the heavy curtains