The Reluctant Queen (21 page)

If only this were a wedding in truth, and for love, instead of another sordid little deal.

The last note Gabrielle had received from her darling Bellegarde spoke of his undying love for her. ‘I will not lightly relinquish you,’ were his exact words, which made her heart beat faster just to recall them. There would surely be times when the King was out and about doing whatever business kings did. Who then would know if they renewed their trysts, and wouldn’t it be all the more exciting for being secret and forbidden?

‘Why is it that I always have to be paid for? Does no one want me simply for myself?’ Gabrielle asked, a plaintive cry.

Madame de Sourdis tutted as she clipped diamond teardrops into her niece’s hair, a charming gift from the King. There had been others: the diamonds at her throat and ears, the satin slippers on her feet. If the chit would only stop pining for what she couldn’t have, she might be better able to appreciate such munificence.

‘Enough of such foolish talk. What harm is there in setting a high value upon yourself? Are you not beautiful and highly desired? Now put on a smile, the King has no wish to see sulks.’

Gabrielle sighed, making no further protest as they dressed her in a gown of cream silk scattered with blush pink rosebuds, an attempt to make her appear virginal. Despite her so-called experience she felt nervous and miserable, even as she resigned herself to accepting the inevitable.

As she entered the banqueting hall, her aunt beside her, Gabrielle’s eyes flew at once to Henry who was magnificently attired in
cloth of silver and sky blue silk, embroidered with pearls
. ‘At least he looks like a king tonight, and not a ragged peasant.’

‘You should appreciate the danger he risked that night by crossing enemy territory for love of you,’ her aunt reminded her.

Gabrielle pouted.

The feast passed in something of a blur, then musicians struck up a tune for the King to lead her out on to the floor to start the dancing. Gabrielle went with reluctance, wishing some fairy with a magic wand would waft her far away from this place. As they danced, the King leaned close and began to whisper witty comments in her ear about the other nobles.

‘Look at your aunt’s lover,
Cheverny, preening himself like a peacock. How the fellow does love to revel in luxury and
splendour
. There’s Nevers trying to look grand and courtly when really he’s far too fat. Bouillon with his sharp tongue being rude. And my own dear Rosny looking uncomfortable, so worthy and practical he’s checking that everyone behaves themselves.’

Gabrielle began to giggle.
Despite her misgivings she found herself caught up in the excitement and fun of it all. They danced and laughed and had a merry time together. Perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad, after all, she told herself, trying to be cheerful.

And then he led her out of the door and to his bed.

Gabrielle had heard how this king lacked refinement, how he had refused to wash his feet when bedding his wife, Queen Margot; that he smelled of stale sweat and garlic, and had once taken her fully clothed with his boots on. The thought of her handsome Bellegarde, scented and elegant, a veritable Adonis, made her ache with longing for what might have been. Gabrielle felt cold dread in her heart at sight of the royal bed. She was experienced in the ways of men, but Henri III had been ineffectual and undemanding, the Cardinal exciting and erotic, and Zamet had become a friend. But as the doors of the royal bedchamber closed behind her, Gabrielle suffered a great desire to turn and run.

Perhaps Henry recognized her nervousness for he could not have been more attentive, or more considerate.

‘You are so beautiful, a perfect angel. May I kiss you?’

‘Of course, you are the King, Sire.’ But she was touched that he should ask.

‘I would rather you think of me as your lover, a man rather than your king. Will you call me Henry?’

‘If you wish it, Your Majesty.’

Then he kissed her, very tenderly, on her lips. The kiss surprised her, not being at all what she had expected, no rough peasant this, and if he wasn’t scented as were the fops at court, he smelled of soap and good wine. Not at all unpleasant.

‘Leave us,’ he said, dismissing her maids.

He untied the ribbons of her gown himself as she stood before him, cool and unyielding. He unpinned her hair and brushed the long rippling waves to her waist, which made her feel wonderfully relaxed, almost soporific. Then as Gabrielle sat on her dressing stool, he slowly peeled off her silk stockings one by one, delicately kissing her inner thigh as bare flesh was exposed. Gabrielle’s heart began to beat rather fast.

‘Your legs are divine, so long and slender, even more glorious than I dreamed of.’ Henry slowly disrobed her. He slipped off her gown, the sleeves and bodice, unfastened her stays, and last of all drew her chemise over her head so that she stood before him naked. Gabrielle was not embarrassed to be seen thus by a man for she knew herself to be beautiful, but the look in his eyes melted her heart. She could not remember any of her previous lovers revealing quite so much ardoration in one glance.

As Henry gently caressed each breast, licked and suckled, and sought that secret place between her legs with his teasing fingers, Gabrielle grew breathless with lust. He half carried her to the bed but even then did not rush to enter her. He took his time, continuing to kiss her, to nuzzle and nip, to breathe softly in the curl of her ear, till she was going mad with desire.

And when he too disrobed and they met, skin to skin, she could hardly believe how much she wanted him. He was indeed a fine figure of a man, strong and athletic, well formed and broad shouldered with narrow hips and buttocks that she could not resist caressing.

He took her sweetly and smoothly, holding back a little so that he could the better increase her own pleasure. And being the generous and affectionate girl that she was, Gabrielle couldn’t help but respond. She arched her back beneath him, entwined her legs with his, and a burning hunger swelled within as they moved instinctively to the age old rhythm.

Afterwards, she was content to lie in his arms suffused in warmth and love, something Gabrielle had never experienced before. Even Bellegarde worshipped himself as much as he did her. Henry genuinely seemed to care for her, for her needs and pleasure, not simply his own, which was a revelation to her.

The second time she went to him more willingly, eager for his touch, for his searching mouth to plunder hers, for his skilful hands to explore her body. He kissed her deeply, evocatively, flaring a ready response in her. As passion flowed between them she clung to him, cried out and almost wept in the moment of climax. Before the night was over Gabrielle began to think that perhaps she hadn’t made too bad a bargain after all.

Corisande received the news of this betrayal in a fury of despair. Word reached her from many sources so she did not doubt its veracity. Henry had deserted her. Despite his having sworn fidelity in so many of his letters, a younger, more beautiful, more desirable woman had taken her place in his heart, and in his bed. After all they had been to each other, all he had promised, a crown no less, he had forsaken her. Now he wanted her only as a go-between to break unwelcome news to his sister.

How dare he use her so!

A messenger had also come direct from Henry in the person of La Varanne, one of his most trusted servants, the very same who carried
billets deux
between Henry and his new mistress, Gabrielle d’Estrées, which infuriated Corisande all the more.

As did the letter.

The King began not with any word of affection but simply a wish, an order almost, that Varanne talk with her on this most important matter of Princess Catherine’s marriage: ‘I understand that your discourse tended utterly to blame me, and to incite and support my sister in a course highly improper and injurious. I could not have believed this of you! … I will never pardon any person who tries to foment quarrels between my sister and myself.’

‘I rather think you manage that all by yourself,’ Corisande raged.

The Princess was frequently in tears over being treated so ill. It was a surprising love match in a way, as Soissons was lean, dark and swarthy, and rather cold in demeanour for all his sumptuous attire and fastidious habits. But then Catherine herself was somewhat stern, though cultivated and well educated in the classics, Latin and Greek, proficient in playing the organ and the flute. She could have taken her pick of suitors, yet had chosen her cousin, a catholic no less, and refused to relinquish him. Corisande felt it would be heartless to deny their love. Perhaps, king or no king, Henry should be taught a lesson for the callous way he behaved towards his ladies. For such a compassionate, good natured man, he could be obstinately stubborn at times.

Corisande went at once to speak to Catherine, and to Soissons. Monsieur le Comte had been visiting his mother, the dowager Princess Condé, but had then written to inform the King that as Princess Catherine was intending to journey north into France, he felt he should personally escort her from Pau. Henry clearly saw through this excuse as his sister would have informed him, had she any such intention. Consequently, the Comte too had received a royal missive, issuing very clear instructions for him to stay away from Catherine, that a marriage was to be arranged for her, if not with James IV, then some other suitable alliance.

‘I have responded with defiance,’ Soissons told Corisande, reading her an extract from his letter. ‘“To obey Your Majesty would be an insult to the royal dignity, having once received permission to sue for the favour of that peerless princess, Madame Catherine.” Were I not so in love, I might well have joined Mayenne to fight against the King.’

‘Your only hope of happiness is to marry in secret, and quickly,’ Corisande told them.

The Princess was aghast. ‘Without my brother’s consent. I dare not!’

‘I dare,’ Soissons assured her, taking Catherine’s hands in his to cover them with ardent kisses. ‘I am ready to face death rather than lose you. I have loved you since we were children together.’

‘But this alliance with Scotland is necessary for Henry’s campaign. He is still determined to bring it to fruition.’

‘He will win through and gain the crown without need to sacrifice your happiness. He asks too much.’

‘Charles is right,’ Corisande urged, thinking how she would dearly like to see the King not get his own way for once. A just revenge for his callous treatment of her. ‘Henry can be somewhat single-minded, but he loves you. You are his beloved sister, and, once you are wed, he would forgive you readily enough.’

‘But what if he didn’t? What then? He is not only my brother but King of France and Navarre.’

‘I could not bear to lose you,’ Charles said. ‘Within the week I must return to the war. Marry me, Catherine, I beg you.’

Her heart was so full of love for him, and her resentment against her brother so bitter, how could she resist? She too feared losing Charles, was terrified of being packed off to cold, distant Scotland and the bed of a stranger much older than she. ‘Very well, let’s do it. Corisande, will you help us?’

‘You know that you have my full support. I will speak to your pastor without delay.’

Catherine laughed with excitement. ‘Good, let us waste no more time.’

Cayet, Catherine’s pastor, refused absolutely to conduct the service, and Soissons angrily reached for his sword. ‘How dare you refuse a royal princess!’

‘Kill me, Monsieur, if you must, for the King surely will if I obey.’

The Counsel of Elders informed the Princess that no pastor would take the risk of standing against the King.

‘It would be a dangerous folly for any to marry the King’s sister to the Comte de Soissons without Henry’s express permission,’ they told her, and no amount of persuasion or threats would change their minds.

Catherine was appalled to find her quarters surrounded by guards, and a furious and humiliated Soissons was escorted out of Béarn without even allowing them to make their farewells.

When rumours of this planned secret marriage reached Seigneur de Pangeas, he went straight to relay the startling news to his darling wife,
la petite
Tignonville, a former favourite of the King whom he had obligingly married in order for him to safely bed her. He’d been well pleased with the bargain, particularly now that Henry was no longer around. Tignonville hated Corisande, as her rival had managed to hold on to the King’s affections far longer than she.

‘I am glad to see that woman brought down at last, delighted that Henry has deserted her for another. But he will not welcome Corisande’s interference with the Scottish alliance.’

‘Indeed not,’ Pangeas agreed. ‘What would you recommend we do, my dear?’

‘I believe, since we wish to remain in the King’s favour, that we should report this mischief to him.’

Pangeas beamed at his pretty wife. ‘It shall be done.’

When news reached Henry of the Princess’s attempt to secretly marry Soissons, he was filled with dismay that Corisande and his beloved sister should plot together against him, and wrote a furious letter demanding an explanation.

Catherine’s reply enraged Henry all the more. She did not even trouble to deny the charge, and hotly disputed his refusal to agree to their marriage.