The Reluctant Queen (11 page)

‘Dearest Alençon should spend less time on campaigns and more resting at court,’ Margot said, preferring not to respond to the more personal part of the question. But her mother was not done yet.

‘Even my beloved Henri has turned against me.’

‘How so?’ Henri was Catherine’s favourite, although he had not always responded well to his mother’s adoration.

‘Come, let us take the air,’ the Queen Mother said, leading her daughter out of the royal chambers, where they could talk more freely away from wagging ears. ‘Henri relies too much upon his
mignons
, and he too is still without an heir, and likely to remain so. The people mock him and hate him, saying he has bled them dry and left them near to starvation. He has ruined his own health and that of the kingdom by debauchery. Can they not see that he suffers the flaws that beset all my sons?’

All the Valois brothers had suffered from consumption, and some from other afflictions passed down from the sins of their fathers, but Henri had developed many more of his own. Margot gravely nodded, not wishing to remind her mother of the painful losses she had borne, even as she admired her valiant strength.

‘If Alençon does not survive,’ Catherine was saying as they stepped out into the spring sunshine, flunkies opening doors for them as they passed by. ‘I see no alternative but for the succession to pass to Navarre. That would be a political disaster, unless he agrees to take the Mass. I take it my son-in-law is still firm in his beliefs and remains a Huguenot?’

‘Let us not speak of such things today,’ Margot said, anxious to avoid conflict. Although it was true enough. Navarre would indeed inherit following the demise of her two remaining brothers. And after him came his cousin, Prince de Condé, a widower with one daughter: a man of fierce Huguenot zeal, unpredictable temper, soured by his grievances against the Valois, and the loss of his beloved wife.

‘At least with Navarre, assuming I can persuade him to change his religion, it would mean that you, daughter, would be Queen of France. That is something, I dare say.’ Queen Catherine almost smiled. ‘You would probably make a better job of it than all your brothers.’

‘I doubt it will ever happen,’ Margot said, thinking of Fosseuse and how the girl would almost certainly have gained herself a crown, had she shown herself capable of producing a son.

 
‘Can we not trust Navarre? I confess I have never entirely understood how his agile brain works.’

Margot burst out laughing. ‘Neither do I. He is an enigma, a law unto himself. Full of affable wit and yet …’

‘As wily as a fox, playing the fool while he decides which way to wear his coat,’ Catherine finished for her. ‘Did he not very cleverly escape by first persuading us to think him too stupid to even contemplate it?’ Catherine cackled with laughter, always ready to see the funny side. ‘Guise is far less complicated. Mayhap I should have let you have him after all.’

‘Don’t, it is too late now.’ There had been a time when Catherine had offered Margot the opportunity for divorce, but to accept would have put her husband’s life at risk. Margot did not dislike Henry enough to do that to him. Though Navarre had his faults, she trusted her mother less.

‘You do know, do you not, Margot, that your old amour plots against us with Philip of Spain?’

‘I cannot think Guise would do such a thing.’ Margot diplomatically responded.

‘And against you.’

Margot considered this surprising remark but made no reply, not wishing to believe it. They were by now walking in the Tuileries Gardens, a favourite place of the Queen Mother’s for private conversation. She led her daughter along a green alley, seeing no irony in the fact it was the very same one where she had plotted the St Bartholomew’s Day massacre.

‘Henri of Guise is still bristling with resentment over the House of Lorraine being held responsible for the events of that terrible night.’ Even Catherine balked at using the word that best described it. ‘Consequently, he feels no compunction in stirring rebellion against us.’

She went on to briefly explain how her spies had discovered correspondence between Guise and Philip of Spain, and even the King of Navarre. ‘Philip was so impressed with your husband’s gallant capture of Cahors, that he has proposed Navarre join the Catholic League. In return he will provide him with an army to overthrow the House of Valois, otherwise the King of Spain would see to it that Navarre was excluded from the succession on account of his faith.’

Margot listened until she could keep quiet no longer. ‘My husband would not be so foolish as to attempt such a reckless venture. He will see that if the Guises are not loyal to their anointed King, nor would they be to him, whether or not he changes his faith, which I very much doubt he would do.’

Unperturbed, Catherine quietly continued, ‘Philip has also offered your husband one of his own daughters, were he to divorce you.’

Margot sucked in her breath, attempting to stifle a startled gasp.

‘Nor would Guise choose you to share his crown, were he to win the succession in place of Navarre, as the offer would then revert to him.’

Stunned by this news, and afraid suddenly for her own vulnerability if this plot were ever to reach fruition, Margot held her silence. Later, she took her mother’s advice and wrote to her husband, warning him that she was aware of his duplicity, and urging him to come to Paris and prove his good faith. Navarre politely declined.

Once it became clear that Navarre wasn’t going to obey the royal summons, Henri’s peevish jealousy came once more to the fore, fostered by his
mignons
.

He had collected yet more pretty boys to join his nefarious crew, and in place of those killed in a notorious brawl were two new favourites. These became known as Epernon and Joyeuse, once Henri had bestowed titles upon them. They were less effeminate than the rest, and even more ruthless, jealous and petty than their predecessors. As always, Henri showered them with gifts and benefices. He married Joyeuse off to Queen Louise’s sister, and Epernon was granted several bishoprics and made Governor of Guyenne. Even the Queen Mother feared to offend him.

The duc d’Epernon was reckless and bold, with a fondness for practical jokes, and much the favoured courtier. Joyeuse never quite achieved the same power over the King, for all he was more aristocratic, which resulted in a bitter jealousy between the two. They were jealous too of Margot, knowing how Henri had always adored his sister and wished to control her. They saw her as a new rival.

When, in his bid for a crown, Alençon made an attempt to capture the city of Antwerp, the two favourites convinced Henri that Margot was responsible by supporting her younger brother in this latest bid for power. She denied involvement, but was not believed. Alençon’s men became trapped and were mercilessly butchered, resulting in yet another disastrous campaign in what became known as the Folly of Antwerp. Guise offered to go to his assistance but the King refused to give his consent. His bitter jealousy over her preference for their younger brother still grated.

Early in 1583, Margot moved into Rue Culture Sainte Catherine and began to keep open house for poets and artists. She held parties, soirees, dancing and feasting, very much as she did at Nérac. Most exciting of all, so far as Margot was concerned, she was again thoroughly involved in a scandalous affair with Champvallon. She was determined to live life in her own way and if she was aware of the risks she took, she gave no sign of it.

She had few friends around her: no Bussy who had once supported her in her ventures, no husband or brother at her side. Alençon was still in Flanders, and failing. Not even Madame de Curton, her dear Lottie, to guide her. Even Guise could no longer be entirely trusted since he pursued his own ambitions for the crown, something she’d always been aware of but was now too dangerous to ignore.

And her anger with Navarre urged Margot to be reckless. She could not forgive him for the Fosseuse incident where he had blamed her for the death of the infant. And now he seemed willing to plot with Philip of Spain in a bid to divorce her. What would happen to her then she dare not even consider. Margot had never been one for discretion but the growing dangers gathering around her, made her, if anything, even more rash. She laughed them all off. Life was for living, after all.

Rumours flew about court, instigated and spread by the
mignons
, that she had smuggled her lover into her room in a trunk. True or not, she did permit her beloved Champvallon to visit her regularly, and to lodge at the house with her from time to time. She had been heartbroken a few months earlier when he’d declared his intention of marrying a high born widow, even if it were only in order to pay his debts. But she forgave him in the end. A marriage was for financial or political reasons, an
affaire
was personal. Theirs continued as normal, in spite of his new wife.

Paris was highly entertained by the goings on of their royal family.

Such gossip didn’t trouble Margot in the slightest, for she was enjoying herself far too much. Perhaps life was too good in the French Court, or she held a few too many parties and sumptuous dinners, for she began to put on a little weight, which led to the inevitable rumour that she was pregnant by her lover.

Margot’s old feud with her brother the King now took a far more serious turn. Henri chose an evening when the entire court was present, so that everyone might witness the scene, to accuse her of this transgression.

‘I see that you have brought your immoral ways with you,’ as if the French Court were a picture of chastity and rectitude.

‘I think you must be judging me by your own standards, brother,’ Margot sharply rejoined. ‘Or else listening to mischief promulgated by my enemies.’ She glared at Epernon and Joyeuse, but then wondered if Aubigné was still in correspondence with Henri. It would not be beyond that gentleman to stir up fresh intrigue against her.

‘I am reliably informed that you have borne Champvallon a child. You lead a shameful, adulterous life, sister, and the result apparently is an illegitimate son.’

Margot’s cheeks burned, fired by a fury she found difficult to contain. ‘That is a gross lie!’

‘Did you rid yourself of the encumbrance then?’

Turning to her ladies, Madames de Duras and Béthune, Henri accused them of being procuresses and abortionists. ‘If the tale of my sister’s pregnancy is true, and I have no reason to doubt it, then you must have helped her to get rid of the child.’

The ladies gasped in shock at such a charge. Margot was appalled and terrified by this sudden twist in her fortunes, almost thankful that dear Lottie was no longer with her. Would not her governess have fiercely scolded her for bringing this new calamity upon herself?

Henri was in one of his self-righteous moods, heavily involved in street processions, floggings and penitential practises, manically religious, even to the extent of banning all balls and concerts. No doubt he’d objected to the ones she’d regularly held at her own house. Yet his debauchery with his
mignons
continued unabated. And just as he had once insisted she dismiss Thorigny for alleged licentious behaviour, he now ordered Margot to dismiss these two attendants.

Margot had no intention of doing so, nor of admitting that the ladies in question had indeed conspired in her
affaire
with Champvallon, if not to the extent of which they were accused. There had been no baby, no abortion, nothing of that sort at all. They were also high born and cultured, and Margot stubbornly refused to be parted from them.

‘Why are they any less moral than de Sauves?’ she demanded of the Queen Mother.

‘Impudent minx! You must dismiss them. I cannot always protect you from the King. He will not take kindly to this obduracy on your part.’ The Queen Mother herself had clearly lost patience with her daughter. Margot suspected the friendship she’d been at pains to offer in recent months had all been a sham. Why had she ever trusted her?

Henri had been away during July but when he returned to find his sister still defied him, he was furious. To make matters worse, he received word of an attack on a royal courier, pertaining to the theft of some letters which he’d dispatched to Joyeuse, who was presently in Rome. They contained information concerning the difficulties Henri was experiencing with the Huguenots, and with Navarre. He easily convinced himself of Margot’s guilt, always willing to believe the worst of his sister, and who else would have the nerve to steal them? No doubt she thought it her wifely duty to procure them in order to win back a betraying husband. For Henri it was the last straw.

The first Margot learned of this was when a courtier came to her house and presented her with an order banishing her from Paris, the words of the King her brother castigating her for licentious behaviour.

‘Am I expected to simply pack up and leave?’

‘That would be wise,’ she was coolly informed.

‘This quarrel is not about my so-called immorality, but my continued support for Alençon.’

The courtier offered no argument to this assessment, merely told her she was at least more fortunate than her lover. ‘The Watch has been sent to arrest Champvallon at his lodgings.’

Margot quickly sent him warning but he must have already heard for he’d fled to Germany. He was safe, but gone from her life. It seemed she had no alternative but to return home to Gascony.