The Hostage Queen

by Freda Lightfoot

  Condé whispered behind his hand, ‘And he does so like to spread disaffection and stir up mischief.’

  Navarre grimaced. ‘The mischief is stirred mainly by the King of Poland and his mother.’

  Montmorency was speaking now, urging the Duke not to enter into conspiracy against the King. ‘I counsel you, Sire, loudly to proclaim your tolerant principles. You can place yourself at the head of this great faction without offending your brother the King. Once your position is secure, you can begin to oppose the overwhelming influence of the Princes of Lorraine, who are in league with the Queen Mother.’

  The discussions continued as Navarre again whispered under his breath to his cousin. ‘It is not for me to judge. Margot wishes me to offer this youngest brother of hers my full support in this venture to become King of Flanders. I enjoy his company, and see no reason not to help a young man make his way in the world, so am happy to do so. It might at least serve to take his mind off stealing his brother’s crown.’

  ‘So be it,’ Condé agreed with a sigh. ‘If that is what you wish, then we should proceed to get the matter settled here and now, although I confess I am growing tired of secret meetings and intrigues. I nurse a desire to retire to my estates and spend time with my wife.’

  ‘And I mean to return to my homeland, to rid myself forever of Catherine’s shackles. If he and I can assist each other to achieve our freedom from what has effectively become a prison, then our friendship may well prove to be mutually rewarding.’

  A plan was devised whereby Alençon and Navarre effected their escape from court under cover of darkness. The night of the Carnival on Shrove Tuesday, the 23 February, seemed the most propitious, as the court would be alive with laughter and merriment, with dancing and feasting, the courtiers too raucous in their drunkenness to notice anything untoward. Two hundred cavalry were expected to arrive at Saint-Germain that night, under the leadership of one Captain Chaumont-Guitry, who would meet with Navarre and Alençon, and quietly spirit them away while the celebrations were still in progress. Their intention was to flee north to join the rest of the Huguenot forces, ready to embark on the planned invasion of the Low Countries.

  As the day drew near, tension amongst the conspirators was palpable, and Alençon’s nerves began to crack. A born coward, weak and selfish, he lived in fear of imminent discovery. His fears were fulfilled when there was some mix-up over the time and Guitry arrived at Saint-Germain with his men much earlier than the day agreed. Worse, the detachment under his command was smaller than expected, large enough to attract attention, but too small properly to protect the two princes. The whole enterprise suddenly seemed perilous.

  He at once fell into a panic and became utterly paralysed with terror. Navarre, Turenne and the others urged him to hold fast to his nerve and the agreed plan, but Alençon fled, weeping, to his sister. ‘How dare I risk this dangerous enterprise now?’ he cried. ‘What should I do?’

  Margot attempted to calm him. ‘You should continue exactly as we have planned. We must behave as if everything were perfectly normal.’

  ‘I cannot go through with it, I cannot, I cannot,’ he kept repeating, feverish in his desperation. ‘The Queen Mother will discover all. De Sauves may well have warned her of the plot already.’

  Margot accepted that the woman would be certain to pass on to the Queen Mother any whispers she might overhear while in Navarre’s or her brother’s bedchamber. She could only hope that had not been the case, but it was obvious that her younger brother was incapable of behaving normally. He was a quivering wreck. The danger was that his very behaviour might alert suspicion, and the plan revealed before it could properly be carried out, thus endangering other lives, including that of her own husband.

  News of the arrival of a detachment of Huguenot soldiers in the vicinity of Saint-Germain did indeed reach the ears of the Queen Mother, and the court was soon buzzing with the rumour that they intended to slaughter the King, his mother, and all members of the court.

  Margot begged Alençon, now out of his mind with terror, to make his escape amidst the mayhem. ‘If it is to be successful, it must be now.’ But he refused to budge.

  In despair, Margot sent for La Molle, hoping he could help to calm him. The Comte had acted as go-between in making these arrangements, together with Coconnas, the lover of the Duchess of Nevers, but he too was alarmed by the high nervous state of his master, and by the way news of the detachment of soldiers had leaked out so quickly. Could Captain Guitry even be trusted?

  ‘It may well be too dangerous, Sire, for you to risk flight.’

  ‘It certainly will be if my brother does not have the stomach for it, and has been indiscreet with his mistress,’ Margot murmured, torn between pity and exasperation for the ineffectual François-Hercule.

  ‘I must throw myself upon the King’s mercy. Ah, but then I would have to face my mother.’ The young prince wrung his hands in fear, whimpering piteously, trembling at the prospect. If he did not have the stomach to risk flight from the Louvre, he certainly couldn’t find the courage to face the Queen Mother’s wrath. ‘La Molle, you must do it for me. You must go to the Queen and speak on my behalf. Confess all and beg her to forgive me.’

  ‘But Sire, is that wise?’

  ‘It is if I wish to save my neck,’ screamed Alençon, too far gone in his distress to think rationally. ‘Tell no one – not Navarre, not Condé. No one!’

  ‘That would be wrong,’ Margot protested, alarmed by the way their simple plan was suddenly falling apart. ‘They have a right to know what is happening, that there will be no attempt to escape tonight.’

  ‘All right, all right, tell them the plan has been aborted if you must, but do not on any account reveal my confession.’

  La Molle and Margot exchanged a glance of desperation. She recalled that previous occasion when she had confessed how the princes had planned an escape on their return from escorting her brother Anjou to Poland, and how she had begged for them not to be punished. She’d sought and won Charles and her mother’s compassion, successfully securing forgiveness. Perhaps it could work again, and her brother was certainly in no condition to continue with the plan.

  ‘Are you willing to try this?’ she asked La Molle.

  ‘I am.’

  She sighed. ‘Then I will speak to my husband and tell him we have decided it is too dangerous to proceed and he should lie low for a while.’

  It seemed the wisest course of action.

  Catherine listened in stony silence as La Molle waxed almost lyrical over his master’s loyal devotion to the King and Her Majesty, how she could ever rely upon his good services, before frankly confessing the entire plot: how the King of Navarre and the Duke of Alençon had planned to make their escape and join the Huguenot army.

  ‘That was the true reason for Guitry’s advance,’ he informed her.

  Pale with fury, Catherine instantly despatched the officer on guard to command the presence of the two princes. Concerned not only for the safety of the King, but for the throne of France itself, she meant to make an example of these two young men. She had no fears that, well guarded as it was, the security of the Palace could be breached, or that her runt of a son could ever succeed in such a venture, despite his love of intrigue. But she had every intention of using the evidence of this plot to bring him down, if only to ensure it was never repeated.

  Whatever happened, the people of Paris must see that this miscreant had endangered the life of their Sovereign, as well as the succession for her favourite son. It was a sin tantamount to treason, and one she would not tolerate.

  During the next few hours there was complete uproar as courtiers rushed about making arrangements for a hasty departure, some planning to leave by coach and litter, others by boat. The Palace guards were doubled, extra patrols of Swiss Guards set up, and the King urged to flee at once to Paris. It felt like the Surprise de Meaux all over again. Once more the royal family were forced to flee in the middle of the night to Paris, carrying th
e poor dying King with them on a litter.

  Navarre and Alençon were placed in the Queen Mother’s coach, although not for their greater comfort. Catherine had not done with them yet. Once the King and his court were safe, the reckoning would come. Even Madam de Sauves was also included in the royal party, in order to entertain the Queen Mother and her two lovers with her bright chatter.

  Charles cried, ‘If only they had waited at least for my death.’ For the entire length of the perilous journey that night he kept repeating, ‘Too much malice! Too much malice!’

  ‘A fitting way to describe my mother’s regency, wouldn’t you say?’ Margot whispered to her husband.

  Navarre, fearing this may be the end for him, made no reply. It seemed inevitable that he would be charged and executed as a traitor.

  The court settled at the Castle of Vincennes, the chateau being well fortified and able to withstand a possible attack. In any case, the King could go no further as he was in a high fever, haemorrhaging so badly that his devoted nurse and Queen were constantly changing his blood-soaked sheets.

  The confession had not attracted the beneficial result that Margot’s had done on that previous occasion, and the Queen Mother remained terrified that the throne itself was under serious threat. Even more so when on having the conspirators’ belongings searched, a waxen image wearing a crown with a pin piercing its heart was found among La Molle’s goods and chattels. She had the man brought before her.

  ‘What is this? You have conjured spells to slay the King?’

  La Molle was horrified. ‘Indeed, I would never do such a thing, Your Majesty.’

  Try as he might to beg the Queen Mother to believe that the image was not that of the King but of Margot, whose heart he’d wished to capture, Catherine remained unconvinced. She was far too credulous of the black arts, of ill-wishing and evil omens, having performed many such rites herself over the years. His pleas fell upon deaf ears. Further investigation revealed that it was her own favourite astrologer, the swarthy Italian, Cosimo Ruggieri, who had made the doll.

  He too was arrested, and, when questioned, the frightened man insisted that La Molle spoke true, that the doll was indeed a likeness of the Princess, her heart pierced by love. Catherine refused to accept even his word. How could she when her son the King was sick unto death?

  Ruggieri did not help himself by showing concern for his Sovereign. ‘Is the King vomiting?’ he asked. ‘Does he have pains in his head?’

  ‘Why do you ask? Have you put them there? You must tell us the exact truth of the King’s illness,’ Catherine demanded. ‘You must remove the spell.’

  ‘There is no spell,’ the astrologer cried, fiercely protesting his innocence, but the Queen Mother remained stonily unmoved. ‘You have even worked your magic to make my younger son follow La Molle, your co-conspirator. You must undo that magic as well.’

  Cosimo was flung into prison. Catherine hated to be cheated by those she had trusted most.

  When all of this was later related to Margot, the Queen of Navarre almost fainted from fear. Her dear friend Henriette, the Duchess of Nevers, was likewise in a state of terror. If both their lovers, and even Cosimo Ruggieri the Queen Mother’s favourite, had been arrested, Navarre and Alençon were also in serious danger, not to mention the women themselves. Margot dreaded to think what might happen next.

  The two princes were held under close house arrest, and then the questioning began. Alençon’s version changed each time as he desperately sought to defend himself, vehemently protesting his innocence. He blamed everyone but himself, swore there had been no intention to attack the King, although he could not satisfactorily explain his motivation in wishing to join the Huguenots or the Politiques.

  Catherine considered him with open contempt as he stood quivering before her. ‘What have you done, my son? Will you kindly hasten to disavow all that has been planned in your name?’

  In the end he readily agreed to write and sign any document she presented in order to declare his innocence. ‘We, son and brother of the King of France, having heard that some impostor has sown and spread false reports against us . . .’ All lies, but a way out for both mother and son. Alençon scarcely paid any heed to the words; he simply signed.

  Margot made the decision to do all in her power to save her husband. No matter what their differences, and even if he meant less to her than Guise, or even La Molle at this precise moment, she felt bound by her wifely duty to do all she could to help him. She was afraid for him, terrified at what the Queen Mother might do. She had no wish to see his head on the block.

  She wrote an impassioned and articulate defence, as carefully reasoned as that of any lawyer. It began, ‘The King my husband, having none of his councillors available, charged me to put his defence in writing, so that his evidence would harm neither himself nor anyone else.’

  She begged for royal clemency, and Navarre himself read the plea directing it at the Queen Mother, not to his inquisitors. He reminded Catherine of his boyhood spent under her care, how she had educated him in the ways of the French Court, and of his loyalty to the crown since that date. It mentioned how he had fought alongside his mother when threatened by the Princes of Lorraine, and how, once peace had been declared, he had agreed to this ‘very happy’ marriage with her daughter Margot. Despite what had occurred since – losing his friends and comrades in the massacre only days later; the humiliation of being held virtually a prisoner in the Louvre, and having spurned the Huguenot faith he had never ceased in his loyalty to the King.

  ‘I have endured many petty persecutions and tribulations, partly from the King of Poland’s favourite, du Guast, and others of the Catholic faction, who plot against me to blacken my name. I am kept under armed guard, my apartments searched daily, even my servants subjected to harassment and dismissal. I have frequently asked to speak to the King to assure him of my good service, only to be told that His Majesty has no wish to receive me. All I wish is to return to my realm where I can live in peace with my people. That is all, Madam, that I know,’ he concluded. ‘I very humbly beg you to consider whether I did not have just and sufficient reasons for going away.’

  He spoke with passion and sincerity, but it was Margot’s cleverness which really won the day. Moved by the power of her daughter’s words, and her carefully contrived argument, Catherine agreed to spare both princes from execution. They were still, however, to be denied liberty of person or any opportunity for Navarre to return to his own kingdom.

  La Molle and Coconnas stood trial next, and were less fortunate. Whether or not anyone believed in the black arts, other than Catherine, they were quickly found guilty of plotting against the King. They were taken into the bowels of the castle where La Molle was the first to be put to torture, his finger nails ripped out one by one by red-hot pincers, the beautifully elegant body that Margot had so adored and loved splintered and broken on the rack.

  Yet he remained loyal, not implicating her, or anyone else, in the conspiracy. Coconnas was less brave and named several co-conspirators who were also arrested and sent to the Bastille.

  The Queen of Navarre and Henriette, the Duchess of Nevers, had scarcely stopped weeping since the arrest of their lovers. The fear that their beautiful young men might be executed any day was too dreadful to comprehend. How had it all gone so terribly wrong? Margot visited the prison every day to see La Molle, accompanied by her dear friend, who likewise wished to see Coconnas. They took food and small comforts, doing what they could to alleviate their suffering.

  Broken men, they were held in a subterranean cell with little in the way of fresh air or light, so constructed that they did not allow the prisoners either to stand, sit or lie with any degree of comfort. They were obliged to pay their gaolers if they wished to be fed, but no amount of bribing would secure their release. The two men, once so loved and worshipped by their admirers, could do nothing but await their fate.

  Margot discovered that she was allowed to travel back and forth with her wo
men right into the prison courtyard. Her coach was never searched, the guards paying her little attention once they grew accustomed to her visits. They never looked inside, nor made any of her ladies take off their masks.

  ‘All we have to do is smuggle in some women’s clothing, and one of the prisoners could then make his escape by leaving with us, disguised as a woman.’

  ‘Only one?’ the Duchess asked.

  ‘There is always the danger that the guards will take a careful count of how many of us go in, and how many come out. We must mingle with the crowd to confuse them, but to attempt to bring out both men would be far too dangerous.’

  Henriette was horrified. ‘Yet they are closely watched, even if we are not, so once it is discovered that one is missing, the other will be in far greater danger.’

  Margot knew in her heart which man she would rather save, but then the Duchess too had her favourite. ‘We must allow them to decide. Only they can make such a decision. We can but offer to save one.’

  ‘Even so it would be highly dangerous to ourselves. Dare you take the risk?’

  ‘La Molle does not deserve to die for such a paltry conspiracy.’

  ‘Nor does my Coconnas, but you would risk losing the King’s good graces if the scheme fails, Margot. He would never forgive you. Your reputation and your good relations with him would be ruined for all time, if not your own life put in danger.’

  Margot was sombre. ‘That is indeed a serious risk, I do concede it. And what of you, Henriette? You would be running the same risk. Think of the Duke, your husband. Think of your children. Yet we must decide soon. Time is of the essence. If we do nothing, then tomorrow, or the next day, both men will lose their heads.’

  The two women looked at each other, and in silent accord an agreement was reached. Whatever the risks, they had to try.

  The two friends set about making careful preparations that very afternoon as there was no time to be lost. Margot put on a second gown, Henriette an extra petticoat, before they each wrapped themselves in their cloaks, Margot wearing two. She pulled the hood up to hide her face.