The Queen and the Courtesan (20 page)

‘She would never leave. She has no wish to leave. She is but posturing.'

But by the time Rosny had finished outlining his suspicions, without any mention of the Queen's input on the matter, Henry was convinced that some mischief was afoot. Seeing that he had no alternative he summoned all his courage, every scrap of his regal authority, and ordered Henriette to deliver the promise of marriage without delay. With these words ended an uneasy truce as Henriette turned on him, spitting with rage.

‘I see no reason to return it. The document was freely given, and the birth of my son rendered it valid.'

‘It is absurd to claim it as such, when, tragically, the child died.'

‘I pity Your Majesty if you would deny
me
in favour of a fat Tuscan princess, whose gestures and language are the jest of the whole court!'

‘That is a gross impertinence upon the dignity and bearing of my royal consort. I warn you to silence your insolent tongue.'

‘Do not dare to criticize
me
for speaking no less than the truth.
I
have not broken any promises. It is Your Majesty who has done that, and your so-called royal consort who swore to accept me into her circle without argument or disfavour. Yet she brands me as a traitor, and my children as a disgrace to the realm. I can only reiterate my demand for permission to leave the country for a safe haven with my son and daughter. My family have offered to come with me, as they are willing to share my misfortunes, gloomy as they might be. My fear of God will not permit me to repeat the errors of my past without the most profound repentance.'

Henry listened to these arguments with some cynicism and a great deal of irritation. Not for a moment had he ever thought of Henriette as devout, and knew she was adopting this guise only as a ploy, and so for once he held fast to his resolve. ‘If you insist, Madame, then you are at liberty to retire to England whenever you think it proper to do so, and place yourself under the protection of your kinsman, the Earl of Lennox. However, I repeat that I will never suffer our children, nor any other member of your family to share your exile.'

Henriette picked up a figurine and threw it at the King, who neatly caught it as he might a tennis ball and set it gently down on a side table.

‘Nor will you be permitted to reside either in Spain or in the Low Countries, where the treasonable practices of your brother, the Comte d'Auvergne, and the party of the discontented nobles with whom he has allied himself have already given me cause for displeasure,' he quietly continued. ‘Do not take me for a fool. Others have made that mistake in the past and regretted it. If you insist upon an estrangement from me, then you must face your exile alone.'

‘I care not for our estrangement!' Henriette shouted, not really meaning it, but quite beyond reason now as terror gripped her heart.
How much did he know about this latest intrigue?
She lashed out in the only way she knew. ‘Your royal presence has long since ceased to be a subject of joy to me, since you became so distrustful, and suspicious, and stupidly
jealous
. I feel myself to be an object of revulsion in the eyes of the court and shall be only too glad to leave.'

Henry breathed a heavy sigh of despair. Yet even as he furiously argued with her, he could not help but be filled with admiration at her daring, her courage to treat him as she would any other man. He should feel naught but disgust for this woman who, in every respect, had insulted the person and decency of the Queen. But no matter what he ought to do, both as monarch and as a man, Henry knew he could never overcome the attraction he felt for her.

Yet again Henriette withdrew from court, and Henry stubbornly looked elsewhere for the sensual excitement he craved. He did not find any.

‘Every other woman is pale and insipid by comparison,' he mourned to Rosny. ‘They are meek and agreeable.
Too
meek,
too
agreeable. They show no sign of her wit or vitality. They possess no fire, no spirit, not a trace of excitement in their lovely bodies. Unlike the fascinating La Marquise, who might well be outrageously bold and grossly impertinent, but at least she makes me feel alive. Do you see?'

Rosny saw that, sadly, their separation would not last long. ‘Never forget, Sire, how you are blessed with good fortune in your wife and family, the Dauphin and little Princess Elizabeth. Her Majesty is a handsome woman still, for all she has grown a little plump of late, and would be a loyal wife.' If she were so allowed, he might have added.

Henry looked at his advisor as if he were speaking some foreign language he did not quite comprehend. ‘But how can you compare the two? The Queen and the Marquise are different in every way. While Marie de Medici is cold, Henriette is warm and full of teasing vivacity. My mistress possesses wit while my wife is haughtily supercilious.'

‘Her Majesty may consider that she has reason to be so, Sire, as I have said before. It is good that the Marquise has left court. Let her stay away, and concentrate on rebuilding your relationship with your consort.'

Henry mumbled an agreement that he would try, but the moment Rosny departed, he sat down to pen Henriette a letter.

But it was not the last. When this letter elicited no response Henry wrote again, in a softer, more persuasive tone, suggesting that she may stay at the house at Fontainebleau which he had given her, if she wished.

‘How can I resist him when he writes such loving letters?' Henriette cried, showing the latest missive to her sister. ‘Let us start packing at once. We can be in Fontainebleau by noon on Friday.'

Queen Marie was not pleased when she heard of the she-cat's return. ‘I refuse to receive her,' she told Henry, her cheeks afire with outrage.

‘You will do as I ask, as a duty to me, your husband and king.'

‘I will
not
! I will hold on to my pride and dignity, since nothing else is left to me.'

Henry rode off in a temper to meet with his mistress. ‘I trust that when,
if
, I return, you will be in a better frame of mind, wife.'

Donna Leonora was greatly alarmed by this display of reckless independence on the part of her mistress. She was happy enough to stir things politically, but if the Queen grew too quarrelsome they would all be the losers. ‘Would it not be wise to write and apologize?' she humbly suggested.

Concini, the Italian's equally devious husband, fearful for his own ambitions, also advised caution. ‘Your Majesty does not wish to risk losing all influence over the King,' he warned. Being the Queen's equerry was all well and good, but he had his sights set on higher office.

‘I have no influence. The King ignores me.'

‘But you are still his queen. For now,' Concini shrewdly added. ‘It would be wise to remember that His Majesty has already disposed of one wife, Queen Margot, who was a trouble to him. He would not hesitate to discard another, were it politic to do so.'

Marie was shocked by this thought, which had never before occurred to her. Now she considered the possibility with a flutter of unease. Perhaps she had grown a touch strident in her jealousy, and should guard her tongue better, as she was ever telling herself. Ever since the affair of Father Hilaire she had kept a close watch on her rival, fearing further intrigue, which helped her to feel a little less powerless. For it was true, she had neither influence, nor proper support from her uncle.

The Queen found the endless stream of letters from the Grand Duke trying in the extreme, as if she were incapable of organizing her own life. She knew that Concini disliked the way the Tuscan envoy ignored him, as if her equerry's presence in the French Court were of no account. Don Giovanni was also her uncle, as an illegitimate son of Cosimo he was the half-brother of the Grand Duke Ferdinand, but Marie disliked him with an equal intensity, finding him supercilious. When once she had written demanding Don Giovanni be recalled as he was creating difficulties, Ferdinand had responded most disagreeably. He had found her request to be so disrespectful that he'd complained to Henry about the lassitude he allowed his wife. He considered the court of France a disgrace to a hero who had conquered France inch by inch but could not control two unruly women. Marie had been shamed by those remarks, and furious that her uncle's refusal to recall the hated envoy meant that she was unable to grant the position to her favourite's husband.

‘What value do I have if I am not allowed any say over my own household? Yet I have given the King a son, a dauphin.' She gazed at her loyal equerry with dark, troubled eyes.

‘Unfortunately there is a rival for that post.'

‘Of that I am fully aware,' the Queen bitterly replied.

‘Your Majesty must know that my wife and I will do everything in our power to assist you.' And also improve our own situation, he thought, but did not say as much.

Marie could only smile with warm gratitude at these, her most loyal supporters. Being Italian they shared a love of their homeland, could converse quickly and easily together, and therefore felt united in this foreign land. Above all, she trusted them. And if, as the Grand Duke claimed, she spent too much time conversing with them and her other Italian supporters, and had lost some of her facility with the French language, she cared not. Why trouble to please a husband who made no attempt to please her?

‘My life is a complete misery,' Marie mourned.

‘Then we must make every effort to improve it, and win the result Your Majesty craves,' Concini said.

‘But first write the letter.' Donna Leonora handed the Queen a sharpened quill, and Marie was inveigled upon to write to her husband with every show of affection and humble apology, begging him to return to her. Which, thankfully, he did.

A matrimonial truce had been declared. The Queen was doing her utmost to be all that Rosny had asked her to be, and for a time there was genuine contentment between the royal couple. Marie organized entertainments to amuse the King, and made no complaints about La Marquise. All was going well and then one afternoon Rosny walked in to the Queen's closet, obviously with some important purpose in mind, and found her deep in conversation with Concini.

The minister's expression was forbidding. ‘I trust this fellow is not brewing more trouble for Your Majesty. I heard of his recent fight with the Tuscan envoy.'

The Queen flushed, as it did look very much as if they were hatching some plot together, which perhaps in a way they were, albeit of a minor nature. ‘I was merely saying how weary I was of my husband's affairs, and wondering whether or not I should feign some of my own,' she admitted. ‘I could tell Henry that I too might take a lover. How would he react to that?'

Rosny looked startled by this suggestion, but while he swiftly assessed how best to reply, Concini rashly intervened.

‘Would it not be a good ploy to make His Majesty jealous?'

Having collected himself, Rosny rewarded the arrogance of the Italian with a condemning glare. He disliked these hornets of the Queen's household with a venom, and would as dearly love to be rid of them as would the King. They were forever dipping their sticky fingers into the treasury, as well as stirring up mischief at every opportunity. ‘It is not for me to advise on such delicate matters,' he tactfully remarked, ‘but I would say it is a risky device. The danger is that the King will assume that you only tell him this because you are already guilty of the offence, and have been discovered. What then of the provenance of the Dauphin?'

Marie was stunned into silence for some moments, but when Concini would speak again, she dismissed the equerry with a flap of her hand. ‘I beg your forgiveness, Monsieur Rosny,' she murmured when they were at last alone. ‘Sometimes my supporters do not always think matters through clearly.'

‘We could find you wiser advisers.'

‘No, no, I need my friends about me.'

‘So long as they are trustworthy.'

She stiffened, adopting that familiar haughty expression which she used as a defence to protect herself. ‘May I ask why you chose to call upon me today?' Marie wanted to make it very clear, by the coolness of her tone, that she would not tolerate any interference over the choice of her attendants.

‘I fear I must query Your Majesty's expenditure.'

‘Are you suggesting that I am profligate?' Marie was shocked, yet only too aware that she could be a little reckless in her expenditure. It was very much a family flaw. But then it was such a relief to be free of the parsimony of her neglected childhood. Rosny, ever the prudent minister of finance, disapproved, and had become somewhat dilatory in the payment of her allowance of late. Marie at once went on the attack and took him to task over the matter. ‘I admit that I am somewhat generous to my favourites but that is no reason to withhold my allowance, sir.'

Rosny cleared his throat, again finding himself playing devil's advocate. ‘I apologize and will look into the matter. Nevertheless, the expenses of Your Majesty's household exceed three hundred and fifty thousand
livres
a year. No small amount. It has also come to the King's attention that eighty thousand
livres
has been offered to you in return for an edict granting certain privileges to officials of the salt-works in Languedoc.'