Living at court was expensive for everyone. The King demanded high standards of dress from his courtiers, and from his mignons. It was a requirement that every gentleman must possess at least thirty suits, and never wear the same clothes two days running. These must be of the finest silks and satins and bright of colour. Only old men were allowed to dress more soberly, and to wear wool. And there were strict rules of etiquette. The cloak must be placed just so over one shoulder only, and allowed to fall from the other. One sleeve of the doublet should be worn loose at the wrist, and the other tightly buttoned. When on horseback, cavaliers were expected to ride with a drawn sword in their hand, as was the fashion among the Polish magnates. Style was everything.
Henri’s mignons favoured the tall ruff, so stiff that it crackled, a fashion which soon became the object of much satire and caricature.
One day when Henri chanced to be visiting the fair at Saint-Germain, he spotted a group of students wearing immense ruffs made out of stiff paper, clearly aping his favourites. He was hugely insulted and sentenced the young men to one week’s imprisonment in the Conciergerie.
Henri loved his pretty boys, and hated to have them mocked. He felt more comfortable with them than with his Queen. Louise had suffered a miscarriage in 1576 and still longed for a child, which her husband seemed unable to give her. He claimed love-making exhausted him, and that he needed to rest for two days afterwards. Henri preferred taking his pleasure with his particular favourites, in ways which did not involve too much tiring emotion.
Bussy mockingly called these special elite the King’s ‘bed mignons’.
Margot’s tour of Flanders was both eventful and enjoyable. She relished her new freedom, skilfully mixed business with pleasure, and made many new friends.
She travelled in a magnificent litter with glass window panes and pillars covered with ruby-red velvet embroidered with opal silk and gold, followed by a second litter for Madame de la Roche-sur-Yon, and several ladies-in-waiting. Behind them came ten maids-of-honour on horseback, her chamberlain, cooks, pages, gentlemen and household members in six coaches, an entourage fit for any queen.
She applied herself with great enthusiasm and patience to her brother’s cause, sadly not helped by the atrocities carried out at Issoire. Nevertheless, she exercised her considerable charm to win over the old Flemish Noblesse, who were vehemently anti-Spanish. She sparkled and flirted, danced with boundless energy, admired the festivals and fireworks they provided, had them marvelling at her wit and oratory, and entranced them all.
In 1573 the Spanish King had adopted a less harsh policy and appointed his bastard brother, Don Juan of Austria, as Governor, in place of Alva. But despite every courtesy and the pains he took to entertain her, he remained very much on the side of his king.
Once Margot arrived at Liège she stayed for some weeks, having the waters from Spa brought to her daily, declaring that she had never felt so well in her life. In November, letters reached her from Alençon, telling her that having achieved the Peace of Bergerac, a treaty less advantageous to the Huguenots, the King now felt in a strong position to curb the ambitions of his younger brother.
Alençon also warned her that Henri had discovered she was working for him in Flanders, and was conspiring with Don Juan to thwart these efforts, had even ordered she be taken prisoner at the first opportunity.
Margot was forced to flee for her life.
It was Twelfth Night and the King was preparing for the usual feast and celebrations. The process took several hours and his favourites loved to lounge about, reading, joking, or gossiping, while he was dressed.
The mignons loved adornment, and, like their royal master, enjoyed dressing as women, the more extravagant the better. They curled and perfumed their hair, cut and stitched their own garments, concocted perfumes and cosmetics, sang licentious songs to the accompaniment of guitars or mandolins, and relished exchanging malicious gossip and risqué stories which would bring many a blush to the cheeks of those less amoral than themselves.
Tonight, as always, they happily advised the valets, or made comments as the King’s hair was curled with hot tongues till it smoked with the heat, then dusted with violet-scented powder. One plucked his eyebrows, leaving a clearly defined arc above each elongated eye, while another prepared a paste of rose water and cypress oil to apply to his cheeks, forehead, and neck. Last of all, the chief valet knelt before the King, gently tugged on his beard to open his mouth, then after rubbing a white powder on to his gums, took some false teeth from a tiny cedar wood box and fitted each one wherever there was a space. With his beard washed with perfumed soap and water, and neatly brushed, Henri was at last ready.
But first he went along to the Queen’s apartment to spend the next several hours dressing and preparing Louise’s toilette with equal attention.
‘Why do you bother? I shall never be beautiful,’ she chided him.
‘I can think of nothing that delights me more,’ he said, as the plain, simple girl who was his Queen patiently submitted to being tweaked and curled into what might pass for a beauty.
The King and his mignons made a dramatic appearance in their most dazzling, outrageous attire, hair curled and scented, lace collars open to a low décolleté, as they processed from the Louvre to the Bourbon Chapel to hear Mass. Alençon, with Bussy and his entourage, arrived dressed in simple Puritan garb, followed by six pages all clothed in cloth of gold, sporting huge ruffs and plumes in the fashion of these effeminate dandies.
‘It is the season,’ Bussy announced in his usual insolent manner, ‘when the least important are most nobly arrayed.’
Henri was furious at his impudence, and, turning to his favourites, muttered, ‘It is long past time we clipped that fellow’s wings.’
As tempers rose, Alençon took the precaution of dispatching his First Gentleman to meet with his sister and escort her home.
When Margot at last reached La Fère, she was relieved and delighted to be met by a party of her brother’s men. She had only succeeded in returning safely to France with the help of the townspeople of Dinant, who ably assisted her in outwitting her enemies. Even during the last part of her journey, danger was still present as the Huguenots too would gladly have captured her, for they had not forgiven Alençon for changing his allegiance and taking up arms against them. Alençon himself arrived a little later, delighted to see her but complaining of the slights and insults he was once again being subjected to at court, thanks to the King’s favourites and Henri’s spiteful jealousy.
‘They try my patience to the utmost,’ he mourned.
‘Let us not think of them now,’ she consoled him. ‘Let us relax and enjoy this time of peace.’
Brother and sister spent two happy months together, resting and discussing all she’d achieved in Flanders, and what further work still needed to be done. Margot felt no desire to return to court. She longed to continue south and join her husband in Béarn, and had every intention of doing so, but they made a stop at St Denis where, to her dismay, they were met by the King, Queen Louise, the Queen Mother, and the entire court. It was a bitter blow to her hopes.
The royal party made a great show of how delighted they were to see her again, showering her with feigned affection, devising the most sumptuous diversions, and encouraging her to tell them of her adventures.
As always Margot kept her feelings private and put on a fine show, relating how well she had been received in Flanders. As they drove onward to Paris she entertained the royal party with tales of floods, disasters and disappointments, how she narrowly escaped being captured by the Huguenots, being obliged to abandon her litter and make a perilous journey across country on horseback. She spoke of sadness when one of her ladies died, and none of them guessed how distressed she was to see them.
Later, after a welcome-home supper and celebratory ball, she begged leave of the King for her to join her husband. ‘You see how well you can manage without me. Pray, allow me to go to him, as a good wife should.’
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‘But of course you should go to him, dear sister,’ Henri agreed, much to her surprise and delight.
The Queen Mother said, ‘That seems an excellent plan, daughter. I may even accompany you on the journey.’
Greatly encouraged, Margot dared make a further request. ‘And if you could expedite the payment of my marriage settlement, which I have still not received, I would be most grateful, and of no further burden to you.’
‘We will see that it is done,’ Henri agreed.
Margot was filled with new hope and excitement, but as spring advanced and still no firms plans were made for the journey, her joy gradually faded and soured. As ever in this court of double dealing and deceit, promises were easily made but rarely kept.
The mignons continued with their endless squabbles, fights and duels. They loved to swagger with great pride and bravado, thinking themselves in such high favour that even the court nobles were obliged to concede to their every whim. And they continued to spread mischief about her, claiming she was too close to her younger brother, that their relationship could not be either honest or moral.
‘They are accusing me of incest now!’ Margot railed to Guise.
Alençon too was continually insulted and ridiculed, his bed chamber searched on one occasion, Henri certain he was intriguing against him. To his embarrassment the King found only a letter from de Sauves tucked under his brother’s pillow.
Escaping from the Louvre became of paramount importance, and once more Margot came up with a plan, this time for him to climb out of the window of her bedchamber and somehow be lowered to the moat below. She sent one of the maid’s beds to be re-sprung with a new strong rope. All she had to do then was to unfasten this new rope from the bed and tie it to the old one, which would surely be long enough for the task. The escape must be made undercover of darkness, assuming Alençon could hold fast to his courage for once in his life.
Bussy was set the task of making the necessary arrangements to quickly spirit his master safely out of Paris. He would wait for him, with horses, at the monastery of Sainte-Geneviève.
The entire operation was filled with risk. Margot had already been held prisoner once in lieu of her brother, which meant that her life was as much at stake as his.
The next evening the King was fasting, so Margot and Alençon dined alone with the Queen Mother. Margot saw that her younger brother was indeed a bag of nerves, as always in tense situations. She feared he might change his mind at the last moment and not go through with the plan, as had happened before. Towards the end of the meal he rose, still jittery, and whispered in her ear that he would meet with her later in her room.
Unfortunately, this exchange was noted by several of those present and, after the Duke had left, Catherine took Margot to one side and demanded to know what he’d said to her. ‘You know that I pledged my word to the King that your brother would not get away.’
Suspicion crackled between them, but Margot made no attempt to defend him. Adopting an air of perfect innocence, she calmly replied, ‘Had the Prince conceived such a plan, he would certainly have confided it to me, from whom he has never concealed anything. I would answer for him with my life.’
‘Consider well what you are saying, daughter. You will answer for it with your life.’
Dry-mouthed with fear but smiling sweetly, and with all the skill of the practised liar she had become, Margot said, ‘That is just what I would wish. Goodnight, Your Majesty.’
Once in her room she quickly undressed, dismissed all her ladies save for three she could trust, and fell into bed. She was far too restless and emotionally charged to sleep, and time seemed to drag by excruciatingly slowly as she waited.
At last Alençon appeared with his valet and a friend, Simiér. With their help the rope was tied in place. The Duke went first, laughing and joking, the prospect of being free of the spiteful mignons overcoming his fear of falling. Simiér, quaking at the knees and pale with fright, went next, followed by the valet. It was at this moment as she looked down, that Margot thought she saw a man start to run from the moat towards the guardroom. She and her ladies at once fell into a panic.
‘It must be a spy. Oh, dear God, he has been betrayed. Quick, we must dispose of the rope. Throw it on the fire in case they come to search us, then to your beds, ladies. We must pretend to be asleep.’
Margot lay on her bed, heart pounding, listening for the sound of approaching footsteps, of the clink of arms from the guards. The room beyond her bed curtains was dark save for the bright fire, the rope taking an unconscionable time to burn as it was so very thick, making her cough a little from the smoke.
Then of a sudden, a loud hammering came on the door. ‘Madame, your chimney is on fire. We can see flames coming from the top of it.’
Margot and her ladies looked at each other in horror. There was nothing they could do, for the rope was still only half burned.
‘One of you must go quietly to the door, apologize for having made too big a fire and explain that I am asleep and you dare not disturb me. Do not, on any account, let them in.’
The youngest, prettiest lady volunteered, and opening the door by the smallest crack, peeped out at the guards and whispered her tale of woe.
‘I beg you please not to wake my mistress or she might be angry with me for making up such a big fire. We are quite safe. I’m sorry for worrying you all,’ she said, tears rolling down her pale cheeks.
They took pity on her, not a little influenced by her pretty face, and agreeing to say nothing, went away. Margot and her three ladies breathed again, and, giggling a little hysterically, went back to their beds.
But their relief was short lived.
The next morning Margot was again called to stand before the Queen Mother, recalling all the times she had suffered from intimidation and threats in the past. The King was sitting at the foot of his mother’s bed, and Margot trembled at the ice-cold fury emanating from them both. Would she never be free of their malice? Henri might not fall into the mad tantrums that Charles had been prone to, yet his displeasure could still be keenly felt and exercised in more peevish, underhand ways.
Catherine was the first to speak. ‘You assured me that your brother would not leave court, and pledged yourself for his stay.’
Margot began to weep, although they were very much crocodile tears on this occasion.
‘He has deceived me, as he has you, Madame. He gave no indication, told me not a word of what he planned. But I am ready still to pledge my life that his departure would not prejudice the King’s service.’
Henri appeared somewhat mollified by her distress, which seemed genuine. ‘Do not weep, sister. Tell us where you think he might have gone?’
‘I’m sure it is only to his own principality to hunt and rest awhile.’
By a miracle, they believed in her tears and her innocence, and within the hour, letters came from Alençon containing assurances of his continued loyalty, and his hopes for making yet another expedition to the Low Countries on the King’s behalf, once all due preparations had been made.
Henri made a show of affording assistance to this proposed expedition, while secretly resolving to use every means in his power to frustrate and defeat it. Nothing had changed. The King remained distrustful of his brother, and fearful of offending Spain.
He need not have worried, for in July when Alençon marched into Flanders to a fanfare of trumpets, he gained only two towns and his campaign ended in miserable failure. His sister would have made a much better job of it.
It was in late summer that Margot was at last to be permitted to set out on her journey to Béarn to join her husband. Henri now considered her of no further political use at court, at least for the present, and showered her with affection and good wishes in the days before her departure, fearful of parting on bad terms which might work against him with the King of Navarre. He restored to her the lands and benefices that formed part of her dowry, and gave her money from the privy purse, to which as a Daughter
of France she was rightly entitled.
‘How useful our friendship could be, sister, while your brother’s will lead only to your ruin.’
Margot refused to be drawn. If Henri thought she would act as spy for him, after all the ill service he had done her over the years, then he was doomed to disappointment. ‘You can be sure that when I rejoin my husband, I will not in any way fail to obey his commands.’
Catherine was to accompany her daughter on the journey before continuing on a progress of peace in the Southern Provinces. Margot began making preparations with joy in her heart. She was to be free, at long last.
Leaving Guise was the hardest thing she had ever done. They met for one last time in their favourite place, making love with a desperate passion, and many promises of devotion.
‘Why do you go? Do you not love me?’ he asked, his handsome face unusually sorrowful as they lay entwined on the black satin sheets.
Margot gently kissed his mouth, tracing the familiar feel of it beneath her own, fixing it in her memory. ‘I love you more than life itself.’
He lifted the heavy curtain of her dark hair to kiss her slender neck. ‘Then why leave me for some Huguenot Prince?’
‘Because he is my husband, and I would be a true wife to him.’
‘Ha, an impossibility! The fellow drives you to distraction with his many amours. Am I not a better man than he?’ His eyes gleamed in the light from the lamp as he grinned wickedly at her. ‘I am miserable when you are not at court.’
Margot gave her trilling laugh, tugged lightly at his short pointed beard and kissed him again. ‘Liar! You will hardly notice I am gone. Within days you will be in de Sauves’ bed.’
‘Madame de Sauves is travelling with your mother in her Escadron Volant.’
‘Is she indeed?’ Margot’s eyes widened, wondering how Navarre would react to seeing his erstwhile mistress again. ‘I hadn’t heard. Well, you will have your wife to console you instead,’ she said, glancing archly at him through her lashes. It had always been an unspoken agreement between them that his wife was never mentioned, and Margot instantly regretted having done so now, even before she saw his brow pucker, darkening those mesmeric eyes of his.
Hostage Queen (Marguerite de Valois) Page 29
