“Five days,” he corrected me.
“By the Col d’Argentière?
“Yes...do you know that Pass?”
“I have camped there. I have seen some of it when I was collecting fossils. But for an army to get through, it seems impossible. You had cannons, horses, mules...”
“We were determined to surprise the Milanese.”
We watched dragonflies circle above lily pads in a small rock-rimmed fountain, their orange wings on fire in the afternoon light. Near the fountain men were planting young columnar cypress. Other gardeners were spading paths because the King was re-landscaping. Someone, pushing a barrow, with an enormous red wheel, asked the King if he could plant the roses in the circular beds already prepared.
“We had good weather,” Francis said.
“Think of it...it took me almost a month to reach here.”
“But you were in no hurry, Mon Père.”
“Snow...mud...ice...”