The Queen and the Courtesan (21 page)

Marie looked at him in dismay. ‘I am not alone in accepting such sums. It is normal practice.' These gifts, as she termed them, were an essential part of her income. Henry was not a particularly generous husband, although even more parsimonious with himself.

‘In this instance the privilege will be allowed, but the King merely asks that you curb your excesses, and do not dispense too many favours or gratuities created in your favour. These tend to offend the people without any benefit to the realm, and I would then be obliged not to countersign such documents.'

Deeply offended, Marie went at once to see the King. ‘Do you accuse me of overspending?'

‘My love,' Henry wheedled. ‘I ask only for a little prudence, and a curtailment in your generosity towards Monsieur and Madame Concini, who are preening themselves somewhat.'

Marie was at once filled with fear, remembering Rosny's hints on the very same subject. ‘Do not ask me to part with them, for I shall not. I could, of course, pawn the jewels which I brought as part of my dowry,' she suggested, a neat reminder of her own contribution to the French treasury.

‘True, Madame, your uncle purchased the alliance of France, and, having done so, his munificent donations to me now consist of cargoes of lemons and oranges.'

She said no more on the subject of finance, and put into effect a more thrifty budget.

The King and Queen returned to celebrate Easter 1604 at the Louvre in reasonably good humour, and the court proceeded to celebrate the season with an almost festive joy. It felt good to be in perfect accord with her husband again, to have Henry come regularly to her bed, and see him smile and jest with her. They could have been such a loving couple had it not been for La Marquise.

There was one amusing incident concerning the she-cat which greatly delighted Marie. She and the King were in church, seated on their usual beautifully carved and gilded fauteuil, when La Marquise and her sister came bustling in. It was unheard of to arrive after the King and there was a shocked silence as the latecomers took their seats, their rustling skirts and stifled giggles the only sound in the hushed chapel. The behaviour of La Marquise worsened as she kept wriggling her fingers at the King, sending him little signals, and winks and gestures throughout the service.

‘Their indecorum was shocking,' Marie was moved to say to Henry as they strolled from the church, her hand on his arm. ‘I would dismiss any maid of honour in my service who behaved in such a disgraceful manner.'

Before Henry could respond they were stopped by the priest, who was equally appalled by the ladies' light behaviour.

‘Sire, will you never cease to come to the house of God without being followed by these women, whose levity within these sacred precincts is a scandalous sacrilege? Silence and reverence are due, even by Your Majesty, in the court of the King of kings.'

Henry could find no fitting response to this, but appeared to take the chastisement in good part, and the royal couple went on their way. Marie secretly smiled with quiet satisfaction.

‘I hear that the she-cat is demanding a
lettre de cachet
to send the Jesuit Priest to the Bastille, but His Majesty has refused,' Donna Leonora told Marie with some glee the next day.

‘Could she be losing her influence?'

‘Too many
faux pas
of this nature and she may find herself banished from court, mayhap for good this time.'

Marie laughed out loud. ‘Then let us hope her bad behaviour continues.'

A few days later the King and Queen again attended the church at Saint Gervais, and as they entered saw the priest leaving the sacristy, about to ascend his pulpit. Henry stopped and spoke to him, offering apologies for what had occurred on the previous occasion.

‘Nonetheless,
mon pêre
, I request you in future to administer such paternal corrections in private, if you please.'

Quietly listening to this exchange, Marie thought it sounded a warning to any who dared to criticize not only the King, but his mistress too.

Part Six

T
HE
P
ROMISE OF
M
ARRIAGE

1604–1605

H
enriette ran through the corridors of the Louvre Palace, heart racing almost as fast as her flying feet. On reaching her father's apartments without even pausing to politely scratch on the door, or wait for permission to enter, she breathlessly burst upon him with the news. ‘The King has received a letter from James I of England saying that a copy of the
promesse de matrimonio
has been seized.'

Balzac went white to the lips. ‘By the grace of God, tell me he has named no names.'

Struggling to catch her breath Henriette continued, ‘The English King must have mentioned Morgan, for Henry has had him arrested. Was he not the secret agent my brother used to communicate with the Court of Spain? And the King has summoned
me
to his closet as compromising letters were also found upon his person, some written by yourself. What am I to do, Father? What should I say?' she cried, sinking to her knees before him.

There was an unaccustomed tremor in Balzac's voice as he answered his daughter. ‘Say as little as possible. Deny everything. You know nothing, do you understand? Nothing! The letters were merely to introduce Morgan to your cousin, the Duke of Lennox.'

‘There must be more to them than that,' was the King's cold response when she gave this answer to him. ‘Why would your name even be mentioned?'

Henriette widened her lovely green eyes, carefully adopting her most innocent expression. ‘Why would it not? What does it signify if the Duke possessed a copy of the promise of marriage Your Majesty made to me? He is family. Lennox is my aunt's son, my father's nephew. Since I have right on my side why should I not seek my cousin's support in the matter? Is that so wrong?'

‘No, no, of course not.' Henry frowned, badly wanting to believe in her innocence. ‘But it depends what Lennox intended to do with it.'

‘Nothing. At least,
I
know of nothing being done with it. In any case, it is only a copy. We still hold the original.'

She held out her pretty hands in a helpless gesture, a childlike innocence in her soft smile so that his lust for her brought a fresh ache to his loins. She looked so lovely in her rose and silver satin gown that he longed to set his hands to that tiny waist, pull her to him and sate his hunger. How could she possibly be guilty? Henry struggled to focus his mind. ‘It may be that your father is engaged in some intrigue with Morgan. If so, then it would be advisable if you were to tell me what it is.'

‘I've already told you, Sire, I know nothing. How could you think otherwise?' She was pouting now, deeply offended by his apparent distrust, and Henry felt again that dread of losing her.

Balzac was summoned. The King walked in the Tuileries Gardens with the father of his mistress, and challenged him on the matter. The Marquis denied everything.

‘All I can say is that it was evident Henriette was in some danger should Your Majesty unhappily depart from this world. I therefore sought to protect my daughter by finding her a safe retreat. I sounded out the Prince of Orange, the Duke of Lennox, and the Spanish ambassador on the subject. Surely there is no harm in that? Your Majesty was aware of Henriette's concern over this issue.'

‘That is true,' Henry admitted, grasping at anything which would prove her innocence. He could not believe that she would turn against him, let alone to the extent of engaging in treason. ‘You know that I have caused one Thomas Morgan to be sent to the Bastille. I believe he may have been intriguing with your son, and that Lennox was a party to the conspiracy.'

Balzac swallowed his fear, striving to sound normal and unconcerned. ‘I assure Your Majesty that Auvergne is innocent.' Afterwards, he wished he'd left it at that and said no more. Instead, in his desperation he recklessly continued to press his case. ‘Knowing that Your Majesty had formerly given my daughter a promise of marriage, the Spanish envoy did offer to pay two hundred thousand
livres
in exchange for it. My stepson communicated my most firm refusal to the proffered bribe.'

Henry considered this, suspicion a bitter gall in his chest. ‘If your son is implicated, he would do well to confess it. You should tell him so.'

Balzac wasted no time in dispatching a message to his son, then promptly shut himself up in his stronghold at Marcoussis.

When Henry sent for Henriette a second time she flew straight into his arms, weeping with relief. ‘You believe in me, I can see it in your eyes. Oh, thank God.'

She pressed herself to him, scattering kisses over his mouth and bearded chin, rubbing her soft body against his rather as a cat might, and to his shame Henry felt an instant arousal. She was so utterly irresistible he could never have enough of her. Summoning every ounce of self-discipline he set her from him and gazed at her with sadness in his eyes. ‘It seems that your father has been negotiating with Spain on your behalf. Perhaps because you did not trust in my promise to protect you and our children.'

Shocked by this revelation, Henriette's thoughts raced. Had her father confessed? Surely not. More likely he had blundered while trying to salvage the situation. And what of her much adored, but weak, half-brother? Auvergne was as reliable as the wind, incompetent, ineffectual and light-minded, his conceit and ambition a danger for them all. Why her father had agreed to go along with his crazy schemes she would never understand. Yet hadn't she too been led astray by his scheming, motivated by her own disappointed ambition?

No doubt Auvergne was now hiding in his château in a state of desperate inactivity, dithering over whether to run, or trust the King to pardon him a second time. Whatever he decided, Henriette realized there was no one she could turn to now for protection, but instead must rely upon her own wit. She pouted seductively as she swiftly manufactured a few tears.

‘If I did not easily rely on your protection, Sire, perhaps it was because I'd seen little evidence of Your Majesty keeping
his
word.'

‘Are you confessing that you knew of this plot?'

Henriette felt something like cold terror unfurl inside. ‘Have I not already answered this question? I am innocent, I swear it.' Sliding her arms about his neck she kissed him full on the mouth, letting her tongue dance with his, almost smiling with triumph as she felt his desire harden against her. ‘How can you be so cruel as to accuse me of such mischief ? You know how much I love and need you.'

And because he wanted to believe in her so badly, Henry made no protest as she led him to a shadowy corner away from busybody courtiers, lifted her skirts and, hooking one leg about his waist, swiftly guided him deep inside her. Powerless to resist, within seconds he was thrusting hard, her little gasps and cries exciting him to greater urgency. But then one of the things he loved most about Henriette was her complete lack of inhibition, or need for foreplay.

No more was said on the subject of intrigue, at least for today.

Henriette was relieved when the King continued to treat her with his usual consideration and friendliness, even inviting her to accompany him to St Germain, where her children were being reared with those of Gabrielle d'Estrées and the Medici woman. But then one day when she approached the little dauphin to kiss his hand, as required by etiquette, Henry stepped in and prevented her from doing so. In that moment she realized that however much he might protest, the King no longer trusted her. The very next day she returned home to Verneuil, taking her son with her. Thereafter, she refused to see him. Whatever blame he was laying at her door, Henry would soon desist if he didn't see her for a while. It was ever so.

There were risks attached to such a ploy, since the King's fondness for pretty maids of honour was well known. But Henriette believed that the only way to make him realize how much he loved her was to stay away from court until Henry's need for her made him edgy and miserable. He'd come looking for her fast enough then.

So it was that Henriette was still residing at Verneuil when her younger sister arrived in a state of great distress. ‘What is it, what has happened?' Heart pounding in alarm, Henriette stood awkwardly by, observing Marie-Charlotte's tears but not quite able to offer comfort when she was so filled with fear for herself.

‘Our father has made an attempt upon the life of the King.'

Henriette stared at her in horror. ‘What are you saying?'

‘It was all my fault. I chanced to mention that the King had flirted with me and . . .'

‘You flirted with the
King
, with
my
Henry?' Henriette interrupted, enraged, and slapped her sharply across the face. ‘Can I not even trust my own sister in my absence?'

Marie-Charlotte sobbed all the more, holding a hand to her hot, stinging cheek. ‘
I
did nothing, you know that I love Bassompierre and hope to marry him. It was the
King
who made the moves, because he was missing
you
. I'm sure it was only harmless fun but Father took the matter seriously, or as an excuse for revenge. He accused Henry of propositioning me, then sent a party of fifteen men who hid in the forest, and when the King rode out hunting they attempted to take his life. By a miracle they did not succeed.'

‘It would take more than fifteen men to beat Henry,' Henriette scoffed. ‘His mount is good and he rides well, but what on earth possessed Father to be so foolish? Do we not have enough trouble?'

‘I cannot imagine.' Marie-Charlotte was wringing her hands in agony. ‘Father tried to force me to make an assignation with the King and lure him out alone. Fortunately, I managed to find a way to avoid that happening, partly by leaving Saint Germain and coming here to you. I refuse to become embroiled in the family's plots and mischief.'