The Queen and the Courtesan (24 page)

Much against his will the minister presented himself at the residence of Madame de Verneuil, but he saw at once the fruitlessness of his mission. Her self-possession and her confidence appeared undimmed. Far from offering up a humble confession, she instead demanded concessions from
him
, complaining loudly about her living conditions, her lack of servants, her daily discomforts and loss of freedom.

‘The King has defiled my honour with these calumnious accusations.
He
should apologize to
me
, rather than the reverse.'

Rosny blinked at her impudence. ‘A king does not apologize to a mere subject. And you have done nothing to save yourself from this dangerous situation.'

‘Have I not more than once attempted to leave court to save my mortal soul, and yet the King himself always insisted on my return.'

‘May I remind you, Madame, that you are a prisoner under suspicion of treason, one who might consider herself fortunate to be permitted to expiate your crime by self-exile to any country you choose, save for Spain. But first you must confess and be pardoned.'

‘And may I take my son and daughter with me?'

‘Indeed not.'

‘Then I refuse, although I would gladly accept exile if my children, my parents, sister, and my brother, could come with me. But do not imagine, Monsieur, that I have any intention of leaving the kingdom and taking up an abode with strangers to risk dying by hunger. I am by no means inclined to afford such gratification to the Queen, who would doubtless rejoice to learn that this had been the close of my career. I must have an income of a hundred thousand
livres
, fully and satisfactorily secured to me in land, before I leave, and this is a mere trifle compared with what I have a legal right to demand from the King.'

Rosny's expression was grim. ‘I shall submit your proposition to His Majesty, Madame, and acquaint you with the result. Though I offer little hope of the King agreeing to such a request.'

He accused her of disrespect towards the Queen, of insulting Marie de Medici by calling her ‘the fat banker's daughter', of indecency, impertinence and absurd affectation. ‘You are not royal, Madame, yet you preen and disport yourself as if you were, as if your bastard children were on a par with our royal offspring. You would be wise to throw yourself at the feet of the Queen and entreat her pardon for the wrongs you have done Her Majesty.'

Henriette listened quietly to every word of this lecture, which continued for some time, detailing every facet of her licentious life, some details of which she had quite forgotten herself and was amused to be reminded. Yet she felt a certain sadness that Henry had discovered evidence of her lack of constancy in their union. She had bluffed him so well until now, particularly over Joinville. Throughout the diatribe Henriette displayed exemplary patience, and then stifling an ostentatious yawn, wearily thanked the minister for his unasked for advice. ‘I need to reflect further upon all you have said, before I can decide upon what measures to take.'

‘If you do not confess and beg forgiveness, there can be no guarantee that a trial would not end badly.'

Henriette answered with a placid smile. ‘I doubt the King would agree to such a damning indictment.'

The festivities of Christmas and the New Year were over, and on 2 February 1605, the Parliament convicted Balzac, Auvergne and Morgan of
lèse-majesté
, the crime of violence against the King. Throughout the trial Auvergne had sat miserably upon a low wooden
sellette
, answering every question at length, in the desperate hope of saving himself. To no avail. The nobles were deprived of all their honours and privileges, and committed to be decapitated at the Place de Grève. A few days later on 11 February, the court further ordered that Madame de Verneuil's head be shaved and that she be confined to the nunnery of Beaumont les Tours, for life. The Queen herself had stood as witness against her, at last able to air her indignation and contempt for her husband's favourite.

The King made no protest to his wife venting her anger, perhaps relieved it was no longer directed against himself. Already he was secretly hoping to find a way to pardon Henriette, once she'd been suitably humbled. This punishment, however, was somewhat extreme.

Marie Touchet, Duchesse d'Entragues, and her younger daughter, Marie-Charlotte, cast themselves at his feet, imploring his clemency. As always Henry was deeply moved by the women's tears, particularly the mother and sister of the woman he still loved. He raised them up with tears in his own eyes.

‘You shall see that I am indulgent. I will convene a council this very day. Go, Mesdames, and pray to God to inspire me with the right resolutions, while I proceed in my turn to Mass with the same intention.'

‘Do not grant them any favours,' Queen Marie sternly warned. She felt outraged by the very idea, held a great desire to wreak vengeance upon this trollop and her reprobate family who had inflicted such pain upon her marriage. She wouldn't now be against seeing heads roll. ‘You should be done with offering pardons. What safety is there for myself and our children if the heads of these persons guilty of so foul a treason do not fall?'

The privy-council agreed with her, insisting that by granting pardon to crimes of so serious a nature the safety of the kingdom would be put at jeopardy, and bring contempt upon the judicial authority. ‘If this decree be not executed, the sentences of the High Court will be seen to be debased instead of, as of old, a power to control the evil-doer and to avenge crime.'

The majority of the populous likewise supported the council. Henry IV was a much-loved king, and the people of Paris would not tolerate any interference with the peace and prosperity he had brought to the realm.

But Henry did not possess the bloodlust necessary to destroy relatives. ‘Can I doom to the scaffold the son of Charles IX, and the uncle of my children? Can I decapitate the grandfather of my children?' He sought advice from England, and the Duke of Lennox brought letters from King James and Queen Anne requesting him to defer the sentence.

Finally, following further discussions with the council, a compromise was agreed. The King ordered that the death sentence be commuted to perpetual imprisonment, and that Henriette should remain under arrest at her mansion on the Rue de Tournon.

When she heard she'd been spared a humiliating and horrific fate, Henriette sank to her knees shaking with relief. The commune of sixty Benedictine nuns had a reputation for austerity and strict rule, and despite her many declarations of piety in the past the prospect of spending the remainder of her days in such an establishment was chilling. Not that perpetual house arrest greatly appealed to her either, although infinitely preferable to a convent.

Henriette had been determined throughout the interrogations and subsequent trials not to beg or show any sign of humility which might indicate guilt. She was, however, greatly distressed by the fate of her father and brother. To be incarcerated for life in the Bastille was no sinecure, and she wrote to Rosny begging for him to intercede on their behalf.

‘As for myself, let the King consummate my perdition. Where there is no crime it is ignominy to solicit pardon.'

She expected no mercy from the King now. It was a bitter blow to be exiled from the court life she loved, to be a prisoner confined within the boundaries of her own estate; the Medici woman no doubt rejoicing in her disgrace. Nevertheless, a great deal could happen in the months ahead, she told herself, swiftly shrugging off her momentary display of weakness. Henry would soon come knocking at her door, once he felt he'd punished her enough. She must simply hold fast to her courage.

Meanwhile, her anger spent, Marie wept with despair, sunk into melancholy as she feared Henry meant to forgive La Marquise. It was but a matter of time before the she-cat would be back in her husband's bed.

Part Seven

Q
UEEN
M
ARGOT

1605–1606

Q
ueen Marguerite de Valois sat at her window, looking over red-tiled roofs which reminded her of Nérac, watching the sun rise over the mountains of the Auvergne. How many dawns had she witnessed during the nineteen years she had spent incarcerated in this grim fortress in the foothills of the Pyrenees? It must be thousands. She had been a young woman in her early thirties when first brought here by her husband's guards. Now she had turned fifty. The summer of her life was long gone, with only autumn and the winter of her days left to enjoy. A deep sadness enveloped her at the thought. Was she to spend her final seasons on this isolated rocky outcrop where the damp gave her rheumatic pains, and her only solace the correspondence of old friends?

How she had depended upon those. Were it not for the generosity of Mesdames de Nevers and Retz, not forgetting her beloved sister-in-law, Elizabeth of Austria, now sadly demised, Margot thought she might well have starved in this ancient Cathar stronghold.

She had been married against her will, incarcerated twice, first in the Louvre following the Massacre of Saint Bartholomew, which had taken place within days of her wedding, and later here, in Usson. She had begun her life as a prisoner, but once she'd taken the castle with the help of men sent by her lover, Guise, it had become instead her safe haven. Margot had gathered about her a band of loyal supporters, and made a life of sorts for herself. She'd done what she could to assist the vine growers, and help them repair their cottages. She'd become a part of this small community.

But despite the magnificent panoply of mountains over Puy de Sancy, with nothing more exciting to divert her than the chickens pecking in the courtyard below, Margot knew she'd be glad to leave this dour castle in Les Gorges d l'Aude, situated as it was in the middle of nowhere.

‘I sometimes think of those early dark days, when I was obliged to run for my life,' she told her
dame d'honneur
, speaking her thoughts out loud. ‘I fled amidst wild accusations of attempting to poison my husband, of plotting against my brother King Henri III with my younger brother Alençon, and arousing his jealous temper; even of secretly giving birth to two bastard babies. I do not count myself innocent of all charges levelled against me, but most certainly of all those.'

The dry old lips of Madame de Noailles curved into a placid smile as she warmed a cup of morning chocolate over a burner for her mistress. ‘Your Majesty was famously adventurous in her youth.'

Margot laughed out loud. ‘Some of the rumours of my scandalous behaviour are undoubtedly true, I do not deny it. I did so love to intrigue and to live as freely as my husband. What is good for the goose . . .'

‘You were, I believe, the fashion icon of the French Court. Where the young Princess led, the other ladies would surely follow.' The older woman set the dish of chocolate on the table, Margot's favourite
croustarde de pomme
, baked by the castle
boulangerie
, beside it.

‘I was indeed.' Margot sighed. Noailles had not been with her in those far off days, her first woman of the bedchamber then being her beloved Madame de Curtin, who had been like a mother to her. But it was true that in her prime she had been quite captivating, with sparkling brown eyes and dark luxurious hair often worn loose, although on more formal occasions it was tucked beneath a tightly curled, fashionably blonde peruke. She liked to think that her skin was still flawless, and pale as silk. Her bosom remained reasonably firm if not quite as pert as it once was, and she had admittedly grown somewhat plumper than in her younger days.

Margot felt a keen nostalgia for the days of her youth, sighing softly for the glorious balls and ballets in which she had loved to take part, the music and games, challenging Guise at archery, stepping out in the pavane with him, aching to have him kiss and make love to her. Which he frequently did with consummate skill. She smiled now at the memory even as tears sprang to her eyes at the thought of Henri de Guise, the love of her life, tragically slaughtered at the hand of her own brother, King Henri III.

She remembered reckless La Molle, the beautiful Champvallon who was her
coup de foudre
, and poor sad Aubiac who paid the ultimate sacrifice for his love. Men had doted on her, and willingly died for her.

‘But had I done half what I was accused of, or slept with a quarter of the men named as my alleged lovers, I would have been a busy woman indeed. I simply believed in enjoying the same freedom as my husband in the political union that passes for marriage in royal circles. Where is the wrong in that?'

‘None, Your Majesty. Without doubt you were a much maligned and misunderstood young woman. A woman, perhaps, born before her time, as men will never agree to such equality.'

‘You speak true. I've been interrogated, besmirched, dishonoured, ignominiously searched by Henri Trois' men, and had my life threatened on more than one occasion. I have no wish now for intrigue and adventure. Oh, but how I ache for some diversions and entertainments to enliven my last years. I am filled with a yearning to go home.'

‘And why should you not?' Noailles settled in a chair beside her mistress, the two women often sharing breakfast for the pleasure of each other's company.

‘Henry will not allow it, but before I die I would so love to walk again in the beautiful Tuileries Gardens created by my mother, to see the sun rise over the Seine instead of these bleak cold mountains. I ache to again be part of a court where poets and artists gather to speak of their art, to discuss and argue over the mysteries of life.'

‘The King might allow it now.'

Margot cast her a sceptical look. ‘Many times over the years I have sought my ex-husband's permission to return, but he has always denied me that right. We were friends of a sort once, even lovers, although not
in
love, if you can understand the difference.'

The old lady smiled. ‘I think I can still remember how it feels to be in love.'