The Queen and the Courtesan (7 page)

Henry was taken aback, expecting to be harangued on the approaching royal marriage, not on his choice of companions on the campaign. ‘My love, why would I have eyes for anyone but yourself ?'

‘I appreciate that your high rank has placed an inseparable barrier between us, and that my own insignificance precluded the possibility of my ever becoming your wife. But I implore you to leave me the happiness of at least remaining your mistress, so that I might continue to bask in the same tenderness which you have hitherto accorded me. Do not, I beg you, banish me from your heart completely.'

He attempted to pacify her. ‘My sweet, why would I do such a cruel thing?'

‘Rumour is rife. They are saying that you are done with me,' Henriette challenged him through floods of tears. ‘Would you betray me when I'm at my lowest? Why not stab me through the heart in very truth. I am already mortally wounded.'

Henry was filled with guilt, mortified that she had discovered what he considered a very small transgression. ‘Dear heart,' he wheedled, ‘it was of no account. I would not hurt you for the world, and I apologize profoundly. It will not happen again.'

She looked up into his dark Gascon eyes and knew that it would. He loved her, it was true, but then he loved all women, and simply could not resist them. But she dare say no more. Henriette was far too unsure of herself now, a feeling she hated, to risk criticizing the King too fiercely. Nor dare she allow herself to reflect on how different it all could have been, were it not for that terrible storm. Yet as she gazed, she saw again that flare of need, and knew that he wanted her as much as ever. Flinging herself into his arms she began to smother his face with kisses. Whenever she was at a loss for words, Henriette always resorted to passion.

As usual after one of their quarrels, they made love passionately and without restraint. Afterwards, Henry was full of fresh promises.

‘I shall procure you a rich husband.'

‘You would fob me off with some old toad who is no good in bed?' she sighed. ‘I swear that you have naught to fear from any husband. He could never compete with you, my King.'

He was pleased by these soft words of flattery. ‘What about the Duke of Nevers? A Prince of the Blood no less.'

‘I care not for a husband. You know that I want only you,' she murmured, kissing him with renewed passion, even as her mind turned over this new idea. A rich husband would be no bad thing, and surely could be largely ignored. Mayhap she would give the matter some thought.

On hearing what was being arranged on his behalf, the gentleman in question hastily married Catherine de Lorraine, daughter of the Duke of Mayenne. But it mattered not, for there was no more talk of husbands, rich or otherwise. Henry and his favourite were reconciled, and all was well so far as Henriette was concerned. She may not have won a crown, but she still had the love of a King.

Marie de Medici, meanwhile, was reading one of her new husband's frequent letters.

Marie had spent the last few months refreshing her language skills and quickly regained command of French, determined to be able to converse properly with her husband and be a useful wife to him. She felt excited at the prospect of meeting Henry, and yet nervous. Would he like her? It was one thing to approve of a miniature portrait, but quite another matter to like the living, breathing person. And could he ever come to love her? she wondered.

The King had already shown himself to be kind, sending her dolls dressed in the fashion of the French ladies, and offering the services of good needlewomen, perhaps in order to ease her reception into his country. He begged a favour of hers to wear in his campaigns in Savoy, and replied the day he received it.

Unbeknown to Marie, he wrote also to Henriette, who was in Lyons. On 11 October he sent his mistress two letters, apologizing for the fact that he would not see her before Sunday, and that the wait would seem longer to him than it would to her.

Henry was engaged in further campaigns against Savoy during September and October and his next letter to his wife urged her to hurry to him as soon as the ceremony was completed, reassuring her of his love. He finished by saying she must take every care of her health, as was he by drinking the mineral waters. This brought a smile to Marie's face as she imagined a strong king fighting in a brutal war, yet worrying about his health, or more likely perhaps, their age difference. She knew Henry of Navarre to be a fine figure of a man and did not see this as a problem.

Lastly, he promised to send his closest friend, Bellegarde, to be with her at the proxy wedding.

The Duc de Bellegarde, Grand Equerry of France, together with an entourage of forty nobles, reached Livorno on the twentieth of September. Seven days later he entered Florence, and on 6 October 1600, the proxy wedding took place, the Grand Duke Ferdinand himself standing in for the absent husband. His Eminence made his entry on horseback beneath a canopy held high by eight young Florentine nobles, preceded by all the ecclesiastical and secular bodies, sixteen prelates, and fifty gentlemen bearing halberds.

Marie wore a gown of gold filigree on white satin with draped sleeves and a lace ruff about her neck, and at her wrists. Her glorious shining brown hair, tastefully ornamented with pearls, was caught up away from a face even more pale than usual; a matching string hanging low over the neatly fitted bodice. The Pontiff himself pronounced the blessing, to which the bride replied with grace and dignity, and the sweetest of smiles.

There was the usual celebration of High Mass, then the Duke of Bellegarde led the Princess to the right hand of the legate. The Grand Duke, placing himself upon his left, presented his Eminence with the procuration by which he was authorized to espouse his niece in the name of the King. The document was read aloud by a prelate, the authority given by the Pope for the solemnization of the marriage, and the remainder of the nuptial service carried out with all due majesty, followed by several rounds of gunshot.

Marie felt a mix of fear and excitement churn in her stomach. The deed was done.

The ceremony was celebrated with a ball and banquet, the days following filled with hunting-parties, jousts, races, tilting at the ring and other manly sports, while the nights were devoted to more dancing, plays, masques and ballets. There was much rivalry between the local Florentines and the noble lords from France, not all of it friendly. No expense was spared in the joyous festivities, and when it all finally came to an end, preparations were quickly concluded for her departure.

Marie was delighted to learn that the daughter of her old nurse, one Leonora Dori, was to attend her. She was a skinny little woman with no marked good looks, her dark eyes seeming too large for her elfin face, and most prominent. But she possessed great skill in dressing hair. And there was a stillness about her gracious movements, quiet voice and humble demeanour, of which Marie rather approved.

‘I am grateful that you should agree to my appointment, Your Majesty. I will do my utmost to give satisfaction,' the woman humbly assured Marie.

‘The
King
has granted permission for your appointment. I'm sure we'll do very well together as I was always fond of your mother. What of your father? Is he not a carpenter?'

‘He was, Your Majesty, but he passed away some time ago. I have nothing to hold me to Italy. I am yours, body and soul.'

Leonora was outwardly timid and unobtrusive, the kind of woman most people would not even notice when present in a room. But she was nothing if not ambitious, and recognized a good opportunity when it was offered. Being of lowly stock she was concerned about how she might be received in the French Court. Having Carlo Dori, a carpenter, for a father would not impress the aristocratic nobles of France. As a consequence she had done some research and discovered that at some distant time in the past the Dori family had been loosely connected with the noble Galigai, and for a sum of money the Florentine family's only survivor, a childless old man, was willing to acknowledge the kinship. Leonora showed this proof to the Queen.

Feeling rather sorry for her, Marie did not examine the document too closely, but accepted it as true. ‘Then from now on you shall be Donna Leonora Galigai, and my
dame d'atours
, albeit in an unofficial capacity until we have the King's blessing
.
'

Leonora was delighted. The role of the
dame d'atours
, or mistress of the robes, was the most senior rank in the Queen's household at the French Court. As well as taking care of the royal garments she would attend the sovereign at her
levée
to hand her a petticoat or gown. The
dame d'honneur
assisted, as did the
première femme de chambre
and perhaps as many as twelve
femmes
and
lavandières
. But her position would be the most important and much coveted.

Donna Leonora was well satisfied, and particularly pleased with herself today. Among the cavaliers who were to be a part of the Queen's entourage was one Concino Concini, a handsome young man who had quite caught her eye. He was to be included because he was the son of Giovanni, once a loyal and wise minister to Cosimo I. Admittedly, the younger Concini had not inherited his father's eminence or good fortune, Duke Ferdinand accusing him of leading a somewhat dissolute life. But then he was young and hot-headed. He was tactful and courteous, and had certainly managed to charm the Queen. Leonora had caught him casting interested looks in her direction, which thrilled and excited her. It seemed that her dull, quiet life had suddenly taken a turn for the better, and with everything to play for to make it even brighter in the future.

On the thirteenth of the month Marie de Medici set forth upon her long journey, accompanied by her new
dame d'atours
, her aunt the Grand-Duchess, her sister the Duchess of Mantua, half-brother Don Antonio, and her handsome cousin the Duke of Bracciano, whom she'd once hoped to marry. There were numerous other ladies and gentlemen of the Italian Court, as well as the French Ambassador, and she felt excited at the prospect of leaving Italy to at last meet her husband.

Part Three

F
OR THE
L
OVE OF A
K
ING

1600–1601

T
hey were quarrelling again. In December Henry and his men, having effectively starved the armies of the Duke of Savoy by trapping them in the mountains, withdrew into Piedmont where word reached him of the arrival of his young bride at Marseilles. Now the Marchioness de Verneuil was refusing to attend Her Majesty's reception.

‘It would be an insult to myself,' Henriette stormed, tossing her fiery locks. She was sitting beside him in bed, completely naked and all too sensually aware of the effect she was having upon her royal lover.

Henry fingered an auburn curl that fell on her bare shoulder. ‘How so? You know that I love you. Have I not given you sufficient proof of my affection this night?' He gave a low chuckle. ‘Every night, in fact.'

‘If you insist on attending your
wife
, I shall make haste to Paris.'

‘Whether in Paris or Marseilles you must be presented, dear heart. She is the Queen.'

‘
I
shall do as I please.' Henriette turned the full fury of those glittering green eyes upon him. ‘Did you not deliberately set out to humiliate me by selecting the Duc de Bellegarde to carry the marriage papers to Florence? Of all the high nobles you could have chosen, Your Majesty saw fit to select the one you had previously accused of paying court to me. A cheap revenge, was it not, used as a deliberate affront against myself.'

Henry looked faintly surprised by this outburst and then laughed out loud. ‘Is that what is troubling you? Then I swear the thought never entered my head. I forgave Bellegarde for that petty fight he picked with Joinville a long time ago, as I have forgiven him many times in the past for his indiscretions. We have had our differences, he and I, but he is my most loyal friend. As are you, my love, I trust,' he murmured, teasing a pert nipple with the heel of his thumb. ‘So have done with your sulks, put on your most glamorous gown and be presented to your new queen.'

‘Never!' In one swift movement Henriette leaped from the bed, reaching for her
robe de chambre
. But Henry was too quick for her, and catching her by the wrist pulled her back into his arms. The heat between them instantly ignited and he was astride her in a second, pinning her down and taking her with all the force of his passion. Henriette yielded willingly, giving of herself with generous abandon, the harsh words between them forgotten.

Nevertheless, she departed for Paris the very next morning.

Marie was weary of travelling. Being November, the normally calm blue waters of the Mediterranean had been choppy, the rough crossing demanding they frequently put ashore to shelter. Her uncle the Grand Duke had again counselled her before she'd embarked, warning Marie that it might have been unwise of her to make such promises to Leonora. ‘Make no demands upon your new husband the King until you have spent some time in his company.'