The Queen and the Courtesan (23 page)

Henriette was woken at dawn by the sound of a horn, and within minutes, or so it seemed, her bedchamber was invaded by a party of men.

‘Get out, you have no authority here!'

‘We have the King's authority, Madame. His Majesty recommends you depart at once for the château at Caen, since you seek a safe haven from the Queen's wrath. Your son, however, is to be conveyed to Saint Germain.'

‘Do not dare to touch him!'

But neither her tears nor her disdain had the slightest effect. The King's guards picked up Henri out of his cot, and bore him away. In a torrent of rage his mother screamed abuse at them as they rode off, but made no attempt to give chase. Before they were even out of sight she was calling for her sister.

‘Start packing, Marie-Charlotte, we at last have the safe haven I have striven so hard to achieve. But I must first speak to the King.' Henriette stormed through the hall and up the stairs, picking up vases and figurines to fling them in temper against whatever wall she happened to be passing. ‘He will not get away with this. I will
not
be pacified. I shall demand he return my son,
and
grant me sovereign rights over the city of Caen.'

Marie-Charlotte scurried behind, desperately trying to curb the damage, picking up the gowns and petticoats Henriette ripped from their coffers. Thinking of her own beloved and fatherless child, she wondered whether this was truly the action of a broken-hearted mother, or a scorned woman who had failed in her ambitions?

There was joy in the court, the Queen emerging with a smile from her self-inflicted confinement. Marie felt a surge of new hope, a promise of a better future at last. She ordered magnificent feasts to be held, entertainment to delight the King whose good humour was also restored. Even the children raced about laughing with glee. Husband and wife were reunited, friends again as if there had never been any friction between them.

The she-cat still had to be dealt with, of course, and would be if Marie had her way. But in his mistress's absence Henry had not taken long to find a replacement to warm his bed. She was the young and pretty Jacqueline de Beuil, who happened to be Bellegarde's niece. The King was wooing her furiously, showering her with gifts and compliments, and Marie did all she could to encourage this latest vanity on the part of her elderly husband. There was almost a desperation in him, which she found rather sad, but the Queen was hopeful the girl would help Henry to forget his former mistress. And at least she was respectful towards herself, unlike the waspish wickedness of her predecessor. La Marquise was still at Verneuil, her mother in attendance, having failed to persuade the King to return her son, which might serve to hold her rapacious ambitions in check.

Quite by chance, Marie was with Henry when the Countess d'Auvergne arrived to fling herself at the King's feet. ‘Your Majesty, they have arrested my husband and taken him to the Bastille.'

‘Indeed, I am sorry to hear it, Madame,' Henry mildly replied. ‘What is it you would have me do?'

‘I beg you, Sire, to spare him. He has done nothing wrong. He is no traitor.'

‘Mayhap you think too highly of him, as did I. I pardoned his folly once before, even trusting in him sufficiently to allow him to continue his communication with Spain. And all because I swore to his father, Charles IX, on that blighted king's deathbed, that I would show indulgence to the Count.'

Queen Marie brought the weeping Countess gently to her feet. ‘The King can do nothing, you must let the courts decide, Madame. Remember, that promise of marriage has hung over my husband's head like a sword of Damocles for years. It was long past time for him to secure possession of it.'

Henry acknowledged this truth with a slight inclination of his head. ‘I felt tolerably certain it might be found at your husband's château, Madame, or else that of your father-in-law. A search was implemented, and it has indeed been discovered at Marcoussis.'

‘I know not if my husband has unwisely become involved in some intrigue. It may have been out of ignorance of the implications, or else for the safety of his sister, with whom he is close.'

Henry thought of a recent letter he'd received from Margot in which she had offered more serious warnings, giving several names, which, added to the information that Rosny had unearthed, he now took more seriously. ‘These are grave charges, Madame.'

‘I humbly beg Your Majesty to pardon him, as you did out of love for him once before.'

Marie marvelled at the woman's humility, in stark contrast to the unswerving arrogance of her sister-in-law, La Marquise. She could see that the Countess's earnest efforts to save her husband had touched the King's soft heart. Marie too wept along with the woman cradled in her arms. Her own heart swelled with pity for her, thinking how she too would beg for a beloved husband.

‘May I second the Countess's petition for mercy, Your Majesty, on the grounds you have yourself outlined. At least spare his life.'

But Henry feared for his own life now, and frowned upon the woman. ‘Deeply, Madame, do I pity you, and sympathize in your suffering, but were I to grant what you ask, I must necessarily admit my wife to be impure, my son a bastard, and my kingdom the prey of my enemies.'

The Countess succeeded only in gaining the King's permission to visit her husband. Such was the gentle countess's devotion to her lord that being presented with a pass, she braved the rigours of the prison and asked Auvergne what he desired of her. His reply was that she might send him a good stock of cheese and mustard, but that she need not trouble herself further.

‘His arrogance will be the death of him,' Henriette mourned.

Growing tired of the country, as she generally did, Henriette returned to Paris. For all the promise of a supposed safe haven she dare not accept the offer without her son by her side. Little Henri was still her one hope of salvation. If something were to happen to the Queen, perhaps in childbirth, the King would surely turn to her for comfort, and the boy could take up his true inheritance as he so deserved. But if she retired to some distant castle, Henry would soon forget her. She'd already heard rumours that he'd taken a new mistress, that he'd found the girl a rich husband and even presented her with the beautiful little house in the forest at Fontainebleau which he'd once bestowed upon herself. All of this troubled Henriette immensely.

But he would come for her soon, she told herself. Some chit of a girl could not keep him entertained for long.

It was a cold day in early December, and she was alone at her mansion on the Rue de Tournon Faubourg Saint Germain when there came a hammering on her door. The next instant the house was filled with the King's archers.

‘Madame, we have a warrant for your arrest.'

The words fell upon her ears like a death knell.

Henry had sent Brulart de Sillery, but as this trusted envoy handed her the document she barely glanced at it, the words dancing before her dazed eyes, making no sense. Henriette listened in stunned disbelief as he coldly instructed her to make a full confession.

‘The King is disposed to grant you a pardon, and also to pardon those whom you might wish to nominate for this favour. Think carefully, Madame, before you decline this offer. Your unfortunate father is enjoying a miserable time in prison. He is allowed no visitors, not even family, and it was several hours before he was even granted the indulgence of light in his cell, or a fire to warm him. Food too is in short supply. All you need do to secure his release is to declare your guilt.'

‘I am guilty of nothing!' She was on her feet now, facing her accuser with open contempt.

‘Madame, you are charged with high treason against the King. It is claimed you borrowed the keys of the Sainte Chapelle from His Majesty in order to take part in a secret interview with the Spanish ambassador.'

Henriette was outraged. ‘These charges are false. I sought only to provide myself with a place of safety because of the threats by the Queen to have me put into perpetual imprisonment, should anything untoward happen to the King. Such an establishment was eventually granted to me, but at the cost of losing my son I refused to accept it. I would be obliged, sir, if you would take your men, quit my house, and leave me in peace.'

‘I am instructed to carry out the King's orders.'

Hot fury roared through her veins. ‘I do not fear to die. On the contrary, I desire release from my earthly tribulations. Nevertheless, it would be always said that the King had put his wife to death – for I was the true and lawful queen before La Florentine.'

Turning to the archers, Sillery issued the necessary commands, which were instantly carried out. Her servants were dismissed save for one elderly old crone left to attend her, the keys to all the doors collected up, and the Captain of the Watch put on guard.

‘You will remain under house arrest until you confess, or the King decides otherwise. No man may have access or speak with you except in the presence of the Chevalier du Guet, or his deputy, who will guard you.'

And so they left her. Henriette was utterly distraught, barely able to sleep or eat as she railed against her fate. She was quite unable to believe that Henry would treat her with such cruel disregard. Had he lost all love for her? What was she to do? How could she save herself if she was locked up here, and her father and brother in the Bastille?

The next day was even worse as Parliament ordered she be brought to the Conciergerie to answer charges.

‘Dear God, would they put me too in the Bastille?' She sank to her knees in floods of tears, but not for long as she again fell into a raging tantrum, as was her nature.

Later in the day Sillery brought her the glad tidings that the order had been rescinded on the instructions of the King. She was to remain under house arrest, as first agreed. ‘His Majesty bids me remind you that he asks only for a confession to your wrongs and you will be pardoned. Your mother, the former Marie de Touchet, appears to have left her home and cannot be found.'

‘My mother was ever wiser than me,' Henriette drily replied.

Yet she took heart from Henry's defence of her. Had she not known that he would never see her imprisoned? He wanted only to humble her, to prick her pride and frighten her into apologizing for her arrogance in daring to claim her rights and thereby raise the status of their son. Lifting her chin she met Sillery's studiously blank gaze with soft tears in her eyes.

‘I swear I knew nothing of this intrigue. I disown my half-brother, and all knowledge of his scheming. I deplore the calamitous fate he has brought upon my father, whose sole crime was that he loved me too faithfully.'

‘Madame, letters in your own hand written to Auvergne have been discovered which refer to correspondence with Spain. These are now held by Rosny as proof against you. Confess all, and the King will pardon you. Not only yourself but all for whom you may intercede.'

‘Perfidy is written in the soul of Auvergne. For my part I have no confession to make. I demand nothing but pardon for my father, a rope for Auvergne, and justice for myself.'

The questioning continued for some hours, Henriette being formidably interrogated not only by Sillery, but also Achille de Harlay, the President of Paris. She held fast to her argument, and even managed to gird her temper.

During the course of the interview Sillery revealed that papers had been found at Marcoussis bearing the cypher of the King of Spain, and its key. ‘These were used in communications between the Spanish ambassador and your brother.'

‘But not by me.'

‘There were several letters, one from Philip III, in French, addressed to yourself, as well as others directed to your father and brother. The Spanish king stated that should your son, Henri de Bourbon, be delivered to his guardianship and custody, he would recognize him as the true dauphin of France, and heir to the crown. Depending on the success of this policy he would also assign to him five fortresses and a pension of fifty thousand gold
écus
, and yourself twenty thousand ducats and a residence within his dominions. There is more. Need I go on, Madame?'

But Henriette was immune to his bullying, her bearing and tone as arrogant as ever. ‘I am not responsible for what the King of Spain promised as a result of my brother's wicked machinations. Where is the evidence of treason you hold against
me
?'

They could find none. Henriette's personal correspondence to her relatives in France and in England was indiscreet, to say the least; her language regarding the Queen deeply offensive. Yet Henry was most hurt by love letters found addressed to her from the Prince de Joinville, among others, which he read with avid interest and a bitter heart. Several courtiers had apparently fallen under her spell; even the Queen's own cousin, the Duke de Bracciano, had successfully beguiled her with his gallantry. It was evident she had not been as faithful as she had claimed, which was heart-rending to learn. Could he ever trust her again?

He had at first refused the pleas of her supporters to see Henriette. ‘Her offence is not against my person, but the State,' he had told them. Now he was having second thoughts, as despite all the advice he still received from Queen Margot and from Rosny, no truly damning evidence had been found against her.

In recent weeks he'd enjoyed a mild affair with Jacqueline de Bueil, who had started life as a penniless orphan until she'd been adopted by the Dowager Princess de Condé. She was young, blonde and beautiful, with a dazzling complexion, large luminous eyes and exquisite porcelain shoulders. But he had grown weary of her already. Her want of intellect bored him, and Henry constantly found himself comparing her with the dazzling wit of La Marquise. Despite the dangers she presented, he wanted Henriette back.

As always when in difficulty, the King turned to Rosny.

‘Go and see her. Force her to confess so that I may pardon her without risk of criticism.'