The Queen and the Courtesan (27 page)

‘I am informed by Rosny that your father has made an attempt to help Auvergne escape from the Bastille.'

‘Escape?' Henriette sat up, horrified. This was the last thing she needed, just when she was about to win Henry back. ‘I swear I knew nothing of this.'

He regarded her with a steady gaze. ‘I'm sure you did not, dear heart. Apparently ropes and pulleys were found concealed in a loft at Malesherbes, ready to be used to affect a rescue. Balzac has been interrogated, your mother too, but no further evidence has been elicited.'

Henriette's heart almost stopped beating at this news. She knew only too well what such interrogations could involve. ‘I'm sure Father must have had some other reason for the presence of these implements in his house.'

‘Such was his claim. His answers were certainly prudent, if not entirely satisfactory,' Henry shrewdly answered, giving nothing away. Rising from the couch he quickly began to adjust his clothing, little of which he'd troubled to remove. ‘The matter is now closed, but a watch will continue to be kept on your relatives. Your brother Auvergne will henceforth be deprived of visits from his friends, and his wife permitted to see him only once a week. I trust we shall have no more affairs of this nature.'

She was beside him in a second, pressing her naked body against his with a fluid, feline grace, her claws now sheathed. But as he smilingly set her aside and took his leave, for the first time Henriette experienced a shadow of doubt in the power of her charms.

Queen Marie accompanied the King on his latest campaign but did not stay long as she was again
enceinte
, and soon returned to Paris to rest. Henry wrote to her every day, showing very real concern for his wife's health, and in early November Marie met him at Fontainebleau to warmly welcome her husband home. They enjoyed a happy time together: walking in the gardens, Henry riding out into the forest, hunting and fishing, savouring the country pursuits he'd always enjoyed since boyhood. Marie loved to have him to herself, and when he was so content and relaxed he was a different man, her own beloved husband. He took her into his confidence on many state matters; sharing with her the mysteries of government, even listening to her opinion should she have one to offer.

‘You are my Madame
la Regente
when I am away on campaign, so must understand the demands made upon a monarch. And should disaster befall me, you will be well prepared.'

Marie was horrified. ‘Do not speak of such things. I have no ambitions in that regard. I am content to be your wife.' And your only love, she might have added, but refrained from doing so.

The King looked sad for a moment, as if he wanted more from her, but then softly agreed. ‘You are right not to wish to survive me, for the close of my life will be the commencement of your own troubles.'

It was with some regret that they returned to Paris in December, in time for the Christmas festivities. But in the New Year Marie's tranquillity was shattered when Donna Leonora came to her with news of the reconciliation. ‘I have it on good authority that His Majesty is again seeing La Marquise.' The
dame d'atours
softly dropped this whispered poison into her mistress's ear. ‘They have been meeting regularly for some weeks now.'

The Queen looked so devastated the Italian thought she might be about to faint.

‘I trust I have done no harm in telling you this, Madame. Concini said I should not trouble you with it, but I insisted that you would wish to be told.'

Marie felt the old hot rage bubble up inside her as she coldly responded. ‘You did right to tell me. Oh, but how could he do this to me after all we have been through? And when I am again carrying his child! I swear I shall not receive her, nor any lady, however august her rank, who has visited or even spoken in public to La Marquise. Do you understand?'

‘Yes, Your Majesty. I will let your wishes be known. Pray calm yourself. Think of the babe. Let me help you into bed. You must rest.'

But Marie refused to rest. She was in a rage, storming back and forth in her bedchamber, proclaiming what she would do should the she-cat dare to appear, even on the streets of the capital. ‘I shall have her bodily ejected by the Swiss Guards.'

Donna Leonora now deeply regretted not having listened more closely to her husband's wise advice, and rushed to bring a soothing syrup. But on further interrogation by the Queen she was obliged to also inform her that La Marquise was again installed in her château on the Rue de Tournon. ‘And the King has allowed her to spend two days at Saint Germain in order to see her children. Concini saw the letter he wrote to Madame de Montglât informing the governess to prepare for her arrival.'

‘Dear God, does she again lead the old fool by the nose?'

Donna Leonora was stunned into silence for a moment, shocked to hear the King so addressed. ‘There were rules; apparently she may lodge in the castle for one night to see her own children, and those of Gabriel d'Estrées, but may not see the Dauphin.'

Marie turned to her uncle, Don Giovanni, for support, but received only lectures.

‘You must moderate your temper, as the Grand Duke has already advised, and learn to tolerate the presence of Madame la Marquise. Do not give yourself the vexation of enquiring about her activities.'

Marie raged all the more as a result of this advice. She'd been pleased when he'd first moved to France to act as ambassador, as he was family. Now she fervently wished her uncle would go home as he was always so very disapproving, both of the Concinis, and of herself, which only served to make her feel ever more isolated.

For a time she sulked, refusing to converse with Henry, turning her back on him whenever he spoke to her. And she withdrew all intimacy, although she was near to her time so that hardly signified. She was endlessly restless and unhappy, claiming herself quite unable to sleep.

Henry, deeply concerned for his wife and the child she was carrying, urged her to rest more during the day. ‘It is essential that you remain calm and happy. Think of the babe.'

‘How can I rest when I know not where you are or what company you keep? It is impossible for me to feel either calm or happy while you prefer the society of persons who are obnoxious to me. My very dreams are haunted by this knowledge, and doubly so when I know they are false to you, and, moreover, detest you in their hearts. I pray, I
beseech
Your Majesty to abstain from the company of these personages, at least until after the birth of my child.'

Mindful of her condition Henry said no more, save that she might speak to Rosny should she be in need of him and know not where he was, then he kissed her tenderly and left her in the capable hands of her loyal attendant.

Rosny recommended a mediator who might help the royal couple through their domestic turmoil. Nothing came of this suggestion as the King, although perfectly willing to oblige, believed it to be entirely unnecessary. Marie feared blame would be cast for her distress on the Concinis, and that they would be sent back to Florence, so she declined.

‘If it is any consolation to you, Madame,' Donna Leonora said one morning during the Queen's
levée
, ‘the King is also betraying the she-cat. He is still visiting his little Madame de Moret, and has taken a new mistress: Madame d'Essarts.'

‘Isn't it ever the case when I am in this condition? I shall save my pity for myself,' came the sharp reply.

On 10 February 1606, Marie gave birth to a daughter, Christine. It was an easy labour, and the Queen made her usual speedy recovery. Celebrations were called for, and this time Henry went further. He awarded Rosny the title of Duke, an honour the minister had previously declined, claiming his wealth could not maintain so exalted a position. Now the King insisted he accept, letting him decide on his own estate to finance the honour. Rosny chose to be the Duke of Sully.

‘It is fitting recompense for your loyalty and devotion to the crown,' Henry told him, slapping him on the shoulders in that robust and friendly way he had. ‘Does he not deserve it?' he asked his queen, seeking her approbation.

‘Indeed, the minister's advice is ever sound. Perhaps we should both learn more often to take it,' Marie drily remarked.

Margot was revelling in her new freedom. She held music or dancing, poetry readings or dramatic recitals most evenings, the revels often going on into the early hours. Her banquets were munificent in their splendour. But then she was a Medici, in name and nature. The talented, the rich, and the brave flocked to her salon. The finest musicians and poets could be found there. Madame la Marquise became a frequent guest, and if Queen Marie heard of it she made no further protest, perhaps on the grounds that if the she-cat must be present in a court, let it be that of the
other
queen, and not her own.

‘I am done with the quiet life,' Margot told her friends. ‘Now that I am back in the world, I mean to enjoy it.'

There was no more talk from Henry about Margot's profligate spending habits, as he too was often present at these soirées, enjoying this relaxation away from the more staid royal court. Margot, however, was only too aware that her funds were limited, and was pursuing her petition to parliament to retrieve her inheritance. She had great hopes of success, particularly now that Auvergne had again fallen into disfavour. In the meantime she was determined to lead an impeccable life, no further scandal, no mischief or intrigue. An unblemished existence.

She even resolved to take no more lovers. ‘I am done with men,' she would cry, even as she teased and flirted with some handsome
chevalier
or other.

The Queen still had her favourites, of course, including several footmen who, as well as handsome, must always be blonde so they could provide her with the hair she needed for her perukes. These young men would vie with each other for her favours, each trying to outdo the other with some love poem or recital to please her.

Content with her new life, she installed her household in the Rue de Seine, Faubourg Saint-Germain, near the Pré aux Clercs, a much finer mansion.

Learning that she now had two rivals, Henriette was not only furious but filled with a new fear. Her banishment from court and the intrigue of the last months with her father and brother had left her isolated, and she'd lost some of her hold over the King. She was itching to know how often Henry saw these other two women, who were little more than whores in her opinion. Did he grant them any particular favours? Did he love them as he claimed to love her? Any information she could discover might help her devise a way to extinguish these rivals from the court.

Usually, when the King's messenger, Bassompierre, arrived with letters from Henry, she would tell him to leave them on the table while he hurried off to see her sister. The pair had been lovers for some years and Marie-Charlotte was anxious to marry him, not least because she had borne him an illegitimate child, although Henriette was less convinced of the chamberlain's honourable intentions. The son of a noble family who were supporters of Guise and the League during the wars of religion, Francis de Bassompierre was one of the most handsome and sought after men at court. Charming, amiable and gallant, he could take his pick of the nobles' lovely daughters. Henriette very much doubted he would choose Marie de Balzac. Nevertheless, he was a useful contact, so she encouraged him. Today, when he came, instead of idly dispatching the fellow, she engaged him in conversation.

‘Do you carry other letters for the King?' she mildly enquired, indicating his pouch.

‘But of course. His Majesty relies upon me completely. I have a second letter to deliver today.'

‘May I see the address?'

‘Madame, I'm not sure I can allow it.'

‘Nonsense, I allow you to see my sister, do I not? I ask only to see the address, where is the harm in that? I promise not to open it.'

Reluctantly he handed over the letter, and, ignoring her earlier promise, Henriette immediately broke the royal seal, and read it.

Bassompierre cried out, appalled. ‘Madame, what have you done? The King will never forgive me.'

The contents of the letter having yielded nothing of any value, Henriette tossed it back at him. ‘You can easily get it resealed, then engrave it with the royal cipher. Henry will never know.'

A day or two later Marie-Charlotte flounced in to confront her sister. ‘Do you know what you have done now? Because of your stupid curiosity you have endangered my beloved Bassompierre.'

Henriette gazed impassively upon her sister, her face the very picture of innocence. ‘I have not the first idea what you are talking about.'

‘Oh, yes you have,' snapped Marie-Charlotte, for once standing up for herself. ‘Your breaking of the King's seal meant that Bassompierre had no choice but to follow your suggestion and get a new one. He sent his valet to an engraver with the letter, so that an impression of the broken seal might be taken and a duplicate made. Unfortunately, this ploy was discovered by the court jeweller who cut the original seal for the King. Bassompierre was alerted to this by his valet, and was obliged to accept the blame by saying that he'd broken the seal himself, by accident, thinking the letter was addressed to him. What other reason could he give?'

Henriette shrugged. ‘What of it? It is but a love letter; the matter is hardly likely to be set before the Privy Council.'

‘This is a violation of the King's privacy!' cried Marie-Charlotte, in despair. ‘And by a circuitous route the King himself heard of this alleged accident, and called Bassompierre to account. Will you never learn discretion, sister?'

‘And did the King send your lover instantly to the Bastille for having so violated his privacy?' Henriette scornfully remarked.

Marie-Charlotte gave a little shake of her head, nervously clasping and unclasping her hands. ‘Thankfully, no. As always with the King, he took it in good part and laughed at Bassompierre's distress. He told him to find a new mistress with a name and address less similar than Madame de Moret's.'