The Queen and the Courtesan (33 page)

‘Catastrophe? She thinks to blackmail
me
?' White to the lips, Marie could hardly speak for the rage that soared through her veins.

The Italian humbly inclined her head in silent agreement. After a moment, she quietly added, ‘She has every faith, apparently, that she will succeed in placing her own son on the throne of France. She also seeks the liberation of her brother.'

‘Dear heaven, she expects a great deal. And are you certain of all this? Do we have proof ?' Evidence of a conspiracy was all Marie needed to bring the woman down, once and for all, to punish her for the pain she had inflicted upon her marriage.

‘We have it in the person of one Madame d'Escoman who wishes to be granted audience with Your Majesty, so that she may tell you the tale herself.'

‘Does this woman appear to be a reliable witness?'

‘She is an old woman, lame and hunchbacked, but claims to have worked in the kitchens at Verneuil and to be in possession of information regarding a conspiracy against His Majesty.'

‘What is it exactly that she wishes to tell me?'

Donna Leonora shook her head. ‘That is all I know, save that she also warns of portents of doom against the King, of dreams and visions suffered by simple peasant girls, bells ringing without the aid of a human hand and—'

‘Enough!' Marie's interest instantly died. Still not entirely recovered from her recent
accouchement
, which was taking longer this time, her patience was limited. ‘Predictions and horoscopes prescribing some disaster or other seem to proliferate daily. She's no more than a mad old crone thinking she can make money out of me. Send her to Sully; let him deal with the woman.'

‘She is most persistent, Your Majesty. She claims to have seen treasonable correspondence with Spain.'

The Queen sighed. ‘Very well, I will try to see her later in the week, before we leave for Fontainebleau.'

But in her eagerness to leave the Louvre for her favourite place of rest and refuge, Marie forgot all about her visitor. Queen Margot listened with more sympathy when the woman accosted her at church one day, although no more believing of her story. She too dispatched her to Sully, who declined to see her and had the woman arrested for debt. It was but one of many scare stories circulating at that time. Why pay it any heed?

Some weeks later, the runaways still not having returned, Marie was dismayed when the King announced his intention of charging them with treason, and for having left the realm without their sovereign's permission. Marie felt both distressed and depressed by the whole business. Henry was even starting to plan a campaign to bring Charlotte back.

‘You would start a war over this girl?' she asked him, dumbfounded.

‘War has long been impending.' Throughout his life Henry had suffered from a terrible fear of mighty Spain. Had not the Guises constantly intrigued with Philip II in an effort to oust him from the throne? Even the mighty Catherine de Medici had not been immune, her many intrigues and machinations often aimed to appease, or more likely trick France's rich neighbour into settling for peace. In the end Henry had turned Catholic to call an end to the wars and the turmoil.

It made him deeply uneasy to imagine Condé being assisted now by Spinola, Philip III's ambassador, and be so far removed from his control in the Spanish Netherlands. ‘We need to put an end to the ascendancy of the House of Austria, and there is every hope of enlarging France as far as the banks of the Rhine.' It was a dazzling prospect, and Henry was ever a man ready to make love and war at one and the same time, although he far preferred the former. Passion and ambition going hand in hand.

‘You go too far,' the Queen protested.

‘Who knows what mischief they might conjure up between them,' Henry snapped, attempting to justify his planned action. ‘Condé has betrayed me by putting himself and his wife under the auspices of Spain; what else could you call it but treason?'

‘It is nothing of the kind. You are reading too much into this. Condé is a fine husband, passionately in love with the girl, and she is young and foolish. Let her go, Henry.'

The King's expression set hard. ‘She has agreed to divorce him.'

Marie was only too aware where this conversation was leading. If Henry successfully procured a divorce for Charlotte, he would next seek his own freedom. ‘I have heard of your efforts to force her to sign papers against her husband by sending young d'Estrées to seduce her. To use Gabrielle's brother for such trickery speaks poorly of your honour, Henry.'

‘I dispatched him to Brussels only to bring her back, but the scheme failed as someone warned Spinola, and the Spanish envoy hindered the plan.'

Marie half turned away, not wishing her husband to see her secret smile as it had been none other than herself, with Concini's help, who had warned the ambassador of the danger. The young princess was even now safely ensconced in the Imperial Palace, her doting husband not blaming her in the least for having signed papers against him. Condé was concerned only with keeping those with evil influence away from his beloved wife, and willing to forgive her foolishness. After a moment, Marie smiled up at Henry, her tone warm and gentle, in sharp contrast to his cold anger. ‘Pray do not turn into a fool in your dotage, Henry.'

A flush of crimson crept up the King's throat and over his taut jaw. The implied criticism cut deep, but where was the wrong in wanting to be with someone who cared for him? Henry's despondence over the lack of love in his life was making him feel quite ill, not at all himself. Surely he deserved more affection than either his wife or any of his current mistresses were able to give him. ‘Dearest Charlotte needed no forcing. It is my will to have her back, and I shall achieve it. No person can prevent or hinder me. I do this for her father, who is one of my oldest servants.'

Marie raised her brows in disbelief, knowing full well this was an excuse, but she said no more. There was no arguing with the King when he was in this mood. Instead she went to discuss the implications of the proposed campaign with her own advisors.

On this occasion Marie did not require their assistance, as it was Sully himself who advised Henry that, should he insist in going on campaign, it would be necessary to make the Queen regent during his absence. ‘With certain restrictions,' the cautious minister added. ‘A council could be appointed to oversee what she carries out on Your Majesty's behalf.'

Concini, however, warned her against agreeing to the plan. ‘The limitation of your power is untenable. Your Majesty's authority would be ridiculed, and your personal influence undervalued. Cease to be a puppet in the hands of a faithless husband and at least compel this coming war, undertaken more for the recovery of a new mistress than any other reason, to be the means of establishing your own rightful position.'

Marie rather liked the sound of that. It made absolute sense as she must, above all, protect her son. Nor did she much care for the idea of a supervisory council, as it meant that her voice would be but one among many, and with only one vote. She had little hope of standing alone against the cardinals, dukes and lords of the realm if they set their mind to something with which she disagreed. ‘I concede that may well be the case, and I must think of the Dauphin. But how can I establish my position?'

‘By the solemn rite of a coronation.'

Marie gazed upon her favourite in surprise, a new burst of hope in her heart. In all these long years of marriage there had never been any suggestion that she should be crowned as queen in her own right. Now she saw that was most certainly the answer. The Queen consort had suddenly developed a taste for ambition, perhaps because it pained her to see Henry, who had always been a good and kind husband to her despite his flaws, and a caring King to his people, behave so foolishly. For twenty years he'd brought them nothing but prosperity and peace, and for that reason alone they forgave him his peccadilloes, almost loved him for his passion for women and wine, gaming and hunting, because these manly pursuits were never carried out at their expense.

But Marie knew they did not feel the same affection for her, and if the King were out of the realm on campaign, she would need the protection of a crown to give her the necessary powers.

Henry would not hear of it. ‘You have chosen the wrong moment for such a request, since you are aware that I have neither the time nor the funds necessary for the indulgence of so puerile a vanity. We cannot afford such a ceremony on top of all the other expenses incurred by this campaign. I must lead an army into Germany and the Low Countries. I have none to waste on fripperies.'

‘Fripperies!' Astonished by his careless dismissal, Marie stood her ground. ‘Ever since my arrival in France I have been denied many of the privileges which should enhance the majesty of a queen, which my predecessors traditionally enjoyed. Nevertheless, I have patiently awaited Your Majesty's pleasure upon this particular, a patience which I would continue to have exercised had you not been about to cross the frontier. But under the circumstances, I now consider it would be a weakness in the mother of princes to say nothing. How can I rule in your place without the necessary consecration that should precede homage to your regent?'

She sought support from Sully, from the Princes of the Blood, even from the Jesuits, and at length, either worn down by the argument, or else too eager to be off on campaign to delay further, Henry finally, if grudgingly, consented. Although he had to admit that perhaps his beleaguered wife did deserve some recompense for the trials and tribulations he had heaped upon her. He'd never meant to be intentionally unkind to her, and as always Henry's soft heart was won over, which was another reason his people so loved and revered him.

The coronation took place on Thursday, 13 May 1610, at the abbey church of Saint Denis. Marie wore a robe of pale-grey velvet embroidered with gold
fleur-de-lis
that sparkled with diamonds. Her mantle was of ermine, the seven yard train carried by her favourite ladies the Dowager Princess de Condé, the Duchesses de Montpensier and de Mercoeur. Two of her sons, the eight-year-old Dauphin and three-year-old Henri, Monsieur d'Anjou, walked before her holding the lappets of their mother's robe. Following on behind the Queen came the infant Princess Elizabeth, and after her, Queen Marguerite looking magnificent in a diadem of gold and diamonds, a surcoat of crimson velvet covered all over with brilliant gems, again in the shape of
fleur-de-lis
.

Margot had been privately affronted when told she would follow the princess, a mere child, and not walk directly behind Queen Marie. The occasion was in any case something of an ordeal for her. To see another granted the crown denied to herself was a painful irony. She might well have feigned illness and cried off attending the ceremony altogether, had it not been for the support of her friends, and their urgent appeal that the King would be greatly displeased if she was not present.

Besides, was she not a Valois and had never yet been one to evade her duty? So she walked and smiled with true regal presence, showing none of the regret for what might have been; for failing to provide the King with an heir. None of her several affairs had brought forth a child, despite gossip to the contrary, and there had certainly been plenty of malicious nonsense whispered about her. But then dealing with court intrigue became a necessary part of her life, even as a young girl. The Queen Mother, Catherine de Medici, had blamed her for everything, and always been disappointed in her. But was the fault hers if as a royal princess she was the pawn of kings, and the butt of political ambition, scandal and intrigue?

Now she was unfailingly cordial to the Queen, paying Her Majesty respectful homage, having found to her surprise that she rather liked this plain-speaking, independent-minded woman.

The day after the coronation Henry rose early at five, as usual, having suffered a restless night. He was feeling increasingly harassed, the programme for the week ahead crowded with activities. His departure on campaign had already been delayed by the coronation of the Queen, and there was still her entry into Paris to achieve on the coming Sunday. Before then there was a grand hunt on Saturday, various private matters to be set in order, and on top of everything the marriage of Gabrielle's daughter, Mademoiselle de Vendôme, with Monsieur d'Elbeuf next Monday, followed by the usual state banquet on the Tuesday.

‘But come next Wednesday we will don our boots, grasp our swords, and leave. No more delays allowed,' the King told Villeroy when he came for his usual audience at seven. The courtier laughingly agreed. They talked of state matters for a while, postponing some decisions until the council met later at the Tuileries. At eight, accompanied by his son, Monsieur de Vendôme, and others, Henry proceeded to mass.

The day was as gloomy as the King's own mood, grey and cloudy, threatening rain, so the small party hurried quickly towards the monastery Des Feuillants, paying no heed to the several groups of curious onlookers who hovered in the courtyard hoping for a glimpse of the King. Nor did they see one man in particular, known by the name of Ravaillac, who carefully kept himself hidden amongst the crowd, crouching low behind the benches arrayed in the outer court.

There was a moment as the King moved forward, his hand resting on the shoulder of young César, when Ravaillac leaped up, gesticulating wildly, thereby alerting the attention of the guard who summarily ejected him. Henry continued on his way, completely oblivious to this small disturbance.

On his return to the Louvre, the King dined, spending time with his two eldest daughters, before discussing matters to be brought to Parliament, attending council meetings and dealing with other state affairs, finally visiting the Queen in the late afternoon.

Her Majesty's chamber was awash with courtiers, all seeking instruction and offering advice for her entry into Paris. Since his wife was clearly fully occupied, the King laughed and joked with the Duchess of Guise instead, enjoying her wit and beauty.