The Queen and the Courtesan (17 page)

‘I will lay in him a trust to equal your own, dearest. But Henry, pray do not distress yourself with talk of your demise. You must rest and recover your strength.'

Tears rolled down the King's cheeks as he looked at the miniature portrait of his son which lay beside him on the bed. ‘Poor little one, evil days are at hand if it be the will of God to take me.'

Marie soothed him, urged him to drink the wine and water she had prepared, then sat with him till he slept again.

‘You too should take rest, Your Majesty,' Rosny urged her.

‘I do feel rather weary; you will call me if there is any change?'

‘Of course.'

Leaving the devoted Rosny by the King's side, Marie retired to her room, attended by Donna Leonora. Later, it was her
dame d'atours
who brought her the news that Madame de Verneuil had arrived. ‘La Marquise begs an audience with Your Majesty. Shall I send her away?'

Marie was thoughtful. Were the worst to happen, the she-cat's position in court, the woman's safety and security, and the well-being of her children, would be very much in the Queen's hands. ‘No, let us see what she has to say.'

Henriette sank into a deep curtsey before her rival, head low, then brushing aside a stray tear she lifted her lovely face to the Queen's. ‘Your Majesty, I am distraught. Is it true what they say that the King is unwell, that he might . . .' It was forbidden to speak of the death of a king, so she left the sentence unfinished.

‘The report of the physicians is not unfavourable. We must hope and pray for the best.'

‘With all my heart and soul I will do so. Madame, I wish you to know that if in the past I have in any way offended you, it was not my choice so to do. I obey the King's will, as do you. He would not allow me to leave his side for anything.'

Marie said nothing, knowing the woman had used all her wiles to make herself indispensable to Henry's happiness.

‘But having said that, I swear I will give you no such offence in future. If Your Majesty will only allow me to remain at court, I will break off my connections with the King.'

The Queen walked to the window to look out across the magnificent gardens, in full bloom in the May sunshine. Much as Henry's condition distressed her, Marie almost smiled to think of the power she now held in her hands. Clearly the she-cat was anticipating the possibility of a regency, perhaps while the King lay too ill to govern. She clearly dreaded the prospect of exile, or that the Queen may seek revenge for past slights. Marie remained silent for some minutes while she considered how best to respond. At her most regal, Marie turned at last to hold out her hand to be kissed. ‘Keep your word in this and we will draw a veil over the past, Madame, and proceed anew from here. Better to be the Queen's sister than the King's . . .' Now it was she who left the sentence unfinished, but the unspoken, vile word, hung between them like a dark shadow.

Biting back the sharp rejoinder she would so love to have given, Henriette kissed the proffered royal ring, and after a second deep abeyance, silently withdrew. Difficult as it had been to humble herself before Henry's fat wife, she must think of her children's future.

But nothing and no one, certainly not an ambitious queen, would prevent her from fighting to have her beloved Henri rise to the position he deserved, no matter how long it might take.

Meanwhile, in the King's chamber, Henry was expressing his concerns on the very same subject to Henriette's brother, Auvergne. ‘I do not believe the Queen is a vindictive person, or will seek to persecute your sister, but we must needs make some provision for Henriette in the event of my demise. I give you leave to speak to the Spanish ambassador to request that she be offered the protection of Spain. I shall also ensure that she is granted the Château de Verneuil for herself and the children.'

Auvergne was thoughtful for some moments. Having drawn a piteous picture of the desolation his sister would suffer, in the event of the unspeakable happening, he dare not press further his lack of faith in the Queen's goodwill. Nevertheless, he was unwilling to commit himself to what might be a dangerous assignment.

‘Sire, the Bastille has taught me prudence. In the event of such a calamity to which you allude, and from which we pray God will yet deliver us, the anger of the Queen would focus upon myself, and the entire Balzac family. I would need to prove that I was but obeying your will in this matter. I beg you to grant a written warrant ordering me to carry out the mission.'

Henry was too ill to argue. He had the paper quickly drawn up by his secretary, which he willingly signed, and having now ensured the safety of his wife and children, and that of his
maîtresse-en-titre,
perhaps he might be permitted to concentrate on making peace with his maker.

But when Auvergne returned some days later from making the necessary arrangements with the ambassador, it was to find the King sitting up in bed partaking of a hearty breakfast.

‘How glad I am to see you, Auvergne, for the doctors are now telling me that I should make a full recovery.'

The Count was slightly taken aback, having already begun to secretly dream of putting his nephew, young Henri, on to the throne, with himself as regent. ‘I am delighted to hear it, Sire, as no doubt you will be relieved to hear that the Spanish ambassador willingly agreed to help you in the delicate matter of which we spoke earlier.'

‘Then I shall write a note expressing my gratitude, despite his assistance being no longer required. You may also return to me the document I gave you.'

There was a slight hesitation before Auvergne continued, ‘Sire, I understand that Her Majesty is nonetheless to be proclaimed regent and a council of regency nominated, of which Rosny will be president, in the event of such a disaster ever occurring. I beg leave, therefore, to retain the document for the same reasons for which you issued it.'

The King, still not fully recovered, attempted to consider the implications were he to comply with this request. He most certainly wanted Henriette to be safe, were the worst ever to happen. And not even a king was immortal. Nevertheless, he had no wish to incite the ire of his consort. ‘I would have no wish for the Queen to hear of the purpose of your visit to the Spanish embassy.'

Auvergne bowed low. ‘She shall not hear of it from my lips. I beg you, Sire, to allow me to continue to protect my sister, and my family, as Your Majesty suggested.'

Henry saw no reason not to agree.

He was less happy though when, fully recovered, he again found his mistress's door closed to him.

‘I cannot see you! I promised the Queen,' Henriette wailed. She had practically prostrated herself before the Medici woman, and now that the King was fully recovered, the humiliation had proved to be entirely unnecessary.

But Henry was not to be denied entrance. Was he not a man who needed his comforts? ‘Do not dare to blame Her Majesty for what is plainly your own perfidy. Where is he?' Henry shouted as he burst through the door on a tide of fury.

‘Where is who?'

‘Your lover. Bring him out so that I can run him through.'

Henriette cried out as she heard the scrape of metal. But then remembering that on this occasion at least she was innocent, she drew herself up proud before him and looked Henry straight in the eye. ‘Search every corner of my house, but you will find no lover hiding in a closet, nor under my bed. Should you do so, then you have leave to run me through with that sword for being so foolish as to betray my dearest love.'

Her words gave him pause, and finally, a satisfactory search having been made, Henry sheathed his weapon and took his mistress to bed. ‘I will not be denied you,' he cried, ripping aside her bodice to suckle her breasts.

Hiding a smile of delight, Henriette lifted her skirts and happily broke her promise to the Queen.

Part Five

J
EALOUSY AND
R
EVENGE

1604

T
he scare over the King's health had only increased Henriette's fears about her own situation. If Henry would not grant her permission to marry, then other steps must be taken. She needed security for the future, and for her children. So when one day the Comte de Soissons came asking for her support in a financial project, she snatched at the opportunity. They were both in need of a larger income and the Count intended to request the privilege of levying a small tax on bales of linen cloth at the frontier.

‘Is it likely that Henry will grant such an edict?' was the only question Henriette asked.

‘Am I not his cousin? Besides, he owes me some recompense for having married his sister off to the Duke of Bar despite her protests of undying love to me, the woman I have loved all my life.'

The King did indeed grant permission, although prudently insisting that Rosny's signature must still be obtained as his favourite minister was in England arranging a treaty. When he returned, the Count told Henriette that Rosny was opposed to the plan and had refused to sign.

‘He had the temerity to say that he could not presume to allow such a benefit when the finances of the realm are so embarrassed.'

‘How dare he refuse when the King has already given his word?' she furiously retorted. ‘The fellow gets above himself.'

‘I told him that money has never been grudged to near relatives of a king in the past. Rosny's response was to say that the King's relatives were those persons whom His Majesty
chooses
to acknowledge. Evidently meaning that he has no wish to acknowledge my kinship.'

‘I shall speak with him myself on the matter,' Henriette said, with a toss of her abundant curls. ‘Rosny will not dare to refuse
me
, as that would risk a fall-out with the King.'

Rosny was about to leave for the Louvre when La Marquise came striding into his room, skirts swishing angrily upon the tiled floor and his secretary scurrying behind in a feeble effort to restrain her.

‘Madame?' He sketched a bow only just short of insulting.

Henriette's gaze fixed at once upon a roll of paper in the minister's hand. ‘May I know the contents of that document?'

‘It relates to an affair in which you bear no small part.' Rosny unrolled it and began to read. ‘These are the sums allegedly conceded. However, I have amended them with the true figures.' That such a tax should benefit Soissons, let alone for Madame de Verneuil to take a share of the plunder, was, in the opinion of the prudent minister, quite outrageous.

Henriette met his disapproving glare with audacious impertinence, holding on to her temper with difficulty. ‘And what, Monseigneur, are you about to do with that document thus amended?'

‘I am even now on my way to the Louvre to make suitable representations to His Majesty.'

‘Upon whom would you desire that a king
should
bestow his favours, if not on his relatives and his mistress?'

Rosny bestowed his coldest glance upon this woman whom he loathed even more than he had hated Gabrielle, whose life had ended so tragically and so mysteriously. ‘Your remark, Madame, would be reasonable if the King took this money from his privy purse, but to burden poor tradesmen, artisans, labourers and farmers, is without excuse. They, poor creatures, have enough to do to pay tribute to one master, without the burden of relatives and a mistress!' So saying, he rudely abandoned her and left for the Louvre.

When Henriette reported her failure to the Count she over-dramatized the minister's reaction somewhat, as was her way, for added effect. ‘Rosny will not sign. He says that the King has too many relatives, and would be glad to be rid of such personages altogether!'

Incensed beyond measure, Soissons requested a further audience with the King and demanded satisfaction.

Henry looked at him askance. ‘Are you challenging my minister to a duel?'

‘If he is man enough to accept.'

‘And how do you know that he made these remarks about you? Who was your informant in this affair?'

‘I cannot say, Sire. But the insolence of Rosny was a dishonour to the blood royal. I
will
have satisfaction. At the very least the fellow should be exiled.'

‘
Ventre Saint Gris!
Cousin, since you refuse to divulge the name of the person who spread this mischief, then I can only believe what Monsieur de Rosny tells me. What other proof do I have? And his veracity has always been without question in the past.'

Nevertheless, Henry was sufficiently fearful for the life of his favourite minister to take him under royal protection, and confined Soissons to his Hôtel until he agreed to a reconciliation.

Henriette came to Henry the next day in a fine temper. ‘Why do you refuse this most modest request? It is not right that a king should go back on his word. You promised!'

‘I might ask why you support the Count in this, and not your sovereign?' Henry's jealousy was again aroused.

Henriette tilted her chin in open defiance. ‘Do not think to win me round with soft words. I am indifferent to you now. I have promised the Queen that in future I will resist your attentions.'

Henry laughed, and grasping a lock of her wild auburn hair tugged her closer to within inches of his lips. ‘You cannot possibly resist me.'

‘Indeed I can! If I had my way I would leave for my estate at Verneuil this very day and have done with this pernicious, insecure life.'

She spoke with such conviction that Henry's worst fears were confirmed. ‘Dear heart, you must understand that I only agreed to the scheme being imposed in the first place on the condition that the total amount levied should not exceed fifty thousand
livres
per annum. Rosny estimates the tax would yield more like three hundred thousand, and be most prejudicial to trade in several provinces. Soissons has duped me.'

‘Rosny is the one who has duped you. The Count is seething. He refuses to comply with Your Majesty's request, and here lists the wrongs and insults he has suffered at the minister's hand.' Henriette thrust a letter into the King's hand.