The Hostage Queen

by Freda Lightfoot

  ‘Now that he is at a distance from his Circe, Madame de Sauves, perhaps he is listening to good advice. His eyes have been opened and he has discovered the plots and machinations of our enemies. Our continued disagreement can only be the ruin of us both.’

  Until they could be together, he urged her to keep him informed of the state of affairs at court, and with her brother, which did generate a small doubt in her mind.

  ‘Does he truly love me, Lottie, and want me to join him in Béarn, or am I more use to my husband as a spy here in Paris?’

  Madame de Curton wisely ventured no opinion on the subject.

  Margot began to sense a growing fear in her mother, and the King, that she might ultimately seek revenge for her prolonged incarceration, which caused her some amusement. In a bid to gain her much longed for freedom she prudently insisted that nothing was further from her mind.

  ‘I would never prefer my own good to the welfare of my brothers and the State, to which I am ready to sacrifice myself. I want nothing more than peace, and would do all in my power to bring that about.’

  But Margot’s hatred of Henri continued unabated. Her brother claimed to have only her interests at heart, yet whenever she pleaded, with tears in her eyes, that she might join her husband in Béarn, he refused to consider it.

  ‘You will remain a hostage until Alençon, who you so favoured, returns to court.’

  Her younger brother came later in the year, accompanied by Bussy and a small army of his most notable gentlemen, and the King made a great show of receiving them with all generosity, as if he loved him dearly. Anyone watching the pair embrace would never have thought them capable of plotting against each other. But then Henri had realized the political necessity of at least a show of reconciliation.

  The country was rife with rumour that the charismatic Guise was the people’s choice as king, that they were turning against the Valois. This sickened and enraged him, and in a fit of pique, Henri broke with tradition and ascribed himself as leader of the Catholic League, a typically dramatic and unnecessary gesture. He went further by reminding Alençon of his duty as a Son of France who would one day wear the crown, offering him support to win a Catholic crown in the Low Countries rather than a Protestant one, for the sake of the House of Valois and of France.

  Alençon instantly abandoned the Huguenots and the Politiques, changed sides once again, and likewise joined the League.

  Margot remained under house arrest, although no longer so closely confined to her apartments. Many still turned their backs as she walked by, reluctant to acknowledge friendship with the notorious Queen of Navarre, or even speak to her. Only one old friend risked the displeasure of the King by reaffirming his support, and that was Guise.

  Seeing her standing alone one morning at the back of the room during the King’s lever, he came up behind her and gently pinched her waist. Margot let out a tiny squeal, and then, realizing who teased her, couldn’t help but turn and laugh up at him.

  ‘I’ve missed you,’ he said, keeping his voice low and his eyes on the King.

  The royal bedchamber was strewn with flower petals, the bed gilded and decorated with cloth of silver. Henri lay back upon crimson satin pillows in his white satin manteau-de-nuit, richly adorned with silver spangles. The chief valet was carefully removing the mask that had been soaked in perfumed oil to protect His Majesty’s face while he slept, in order to offer him a collation of sweetmeats before he rose. A second valet-de-chambre was standing before the fire airing a shirt worked in exquisite needlework.

  ‘It was by your own folly that we separated.’

  ‘But that is all in the past, and of no account,’ he said dismissively, half turning away as if fascinated by the way the valet was now removing the King’s embroidered night gloves and massaging his long white hands.

  Margot cast a sideways glance up at him through her lashes. She remembered well the warmth of his skin, the scent of leather and sandalwood about his person. So strong, so masculine, in marked contrast to the ceremony they were now witnessing with her effeminate brother.

  A shirt was being slipped over the King’s head, the high collar set upright, then the doublet was pulled on, so close fitting that it took two valets to set it properly in place and fasten it. Silk stockings came next, puffed, slashed breeches, and a pair of shoes, small and dainty enough for a woman rather than a king.

  ‘You expect me to forgive you when you treated our love so shabbily, falling at the feet of that harlot de Sauves?’

  ‘You forgave your husband and brother, why not your lover?’

  Margot sighed with exasperation. What was it about that woman? A harlot indeed, who, under the edict of the Queen Mother, had been ordered to plot and cause mischief where she could. Yet Guise was as handsome and as desirable as ever. There was something in his eyes even now, in the way his look challenged her, that she found impossible to resist. To see him about court and not be able to speak to him was painful enough; to have him press so close was robbing her of any sensible thought.

  ‘You and I should talk,’ he murmured, in that throaty tone that set her pulses racing.

  ‘Not here. You must be mad to even attempt it in such a public place.’

  The valets were decking Henri out with perfumed gloves, handkerchief, rings, chains, a mirror that hung from his girdle along with a delicate lace fan, pomander and comfit boxes. Last of all, they carefully set his Polish-style hat with its decorative plume upon the royal perfumed hair.

  Guise murmured, ‘We could help each other in so many ways. Should you be passing our special place this afternoon around four, I would explain further.’

  Before she could catch her breath to find an answer to this, he had drifted away to speak to others; a smile here, a quiet word there. Margot remained where she was, her heart beating like a mad thing in her breast.

  It was as if they had never been apart. Margot fell into his arms with only the faintest whimper of protest. She had never stopped wanting him, needing him, loving him, thinking of him every single day, and here she was at last, in his arms where she belonged.

  He showered her with kisses, tracing his lips over the flutter of her translucent eyelids, pale cheeks, her rosy, eager mouth. His greed for her was such that he seemed to devour her. He couldn’t get enough of her, nor she him. And to have him inside her, bringing her to those heights she could attain only with Guise, surely took her close to the realms of paradise.

  Afterwards, as they lay together on the silken sheets, their hearts beating as one, they spoke quietly of their lives since last they were together. ‘I have never stopped loving you, Margot,’ he said, his voice a caress. ‘You are a part of me, and ever will be. No matter where fate takes you, know that I am yours.’

  She pressed her lips against the hard planes of his chest, a tear cooling her hot cheek. ‘I have need of friends,’ she murmured. ‘I have need of your love, and I fear for what the future will bring. I must get away from this exalted prison, to my husband where I will at least be safe. I do not trust the King. He is more and more controlled by his squabbling mignons, and by his moody selfish temperament, his petty feuds and jealousies, his peevish demands and grievances.’

  They understood each other perfectly. Neither had ever forgotten their hatred for Henri, from when as the Duke of Anjou he had readily listened to the malice that du Guast spilled in his ear, and destroyed the young Princess Margot’s reputation by spreading vile rumour and slander against her. Nothing had changed in Henri’s attitude towards his sister since that day.

  ‘The people loathe him as much as do we,’ Guise whispered, his mouth breathing the words softly against her ear. Then with a grin he added, ‘They call him the King of Sodom.’

  Margot widened her eyes as a mischievous smile curled her lips. ‘A wicked epithet.’

  ‘But apt.’ His grin faded as he stroked her cheek. ‘I too fear for your future. We could help each other, my love, so that we both get what we want: you safe in Béarn w
ith your droll husband, and I . . .’

  ‘Yes, what is it that you want, my lord?’ she asked, trailing her fingers along his inner thigh. He smiled at her before capturing her mischievous hand with his own, saying nothing as she returned his smile, reading his thoughts only too well. ‘You want the diadem.’

  Guise demurred with a slight lifting of the brow. ‘I want to be head of the Catholic League.’

  ‘And that is all?’ she teased.

  Two heartbeats passed before he answered. ‘For now. Should a time come when there is no other suitable candidate for the crown of France, I, as a Bourbon Prince, would not fail to do my duty.’

  Margot smiled mockingly at him, even as she kissed his beloved mouth. ‘I’m sure you would not.’

  ‘The south belongs to your husband, to Navarre. The central provinces to Alençon, the eastern follows the House of Lorraine. But Paris bitterly resents the King’s constant demands for money to pay for his excesses, and toys for his mignons, while the people starve. Even the bankers refuse to offer him any more credit, yet he is in dire need of funds for he is in terror that Philip II may bring his armies out of the Netherlands and invade France. He needs the strength of the League for protection, yet I am the leader they crave, not Henri Trois.’

  Margot was thoughtful. ‘My brother may wear the crown he so long coveted, but I wish it to feel like a crown of thorns upon his head. I would thwart his every wish, seduce both Catholic and Huguenot, and favour my younger brother in his own far-fetched ambitions, however improbable it may be for him to realize them. The King views me as his enemy, so why should I not be so in very truth?’

  Guise was grinning widely now, his eyes gleaming. ‘As ever, Margot, you and I are as one.’

  ‘I desire only to avenge the many insults Henri has inflicted upon me, and if by supporting one brother I offend and bring about the downfall of the other, so be it.’

  ‘Then this is how we must proceed. Discord, and the threat of war, will allow the League to expand and survive, and give us the power we need.’

  Margot frowned. ‘We have had enough of war; it is peace we crave.’

  ‘Think you this latest treaty will last any longer than those which came before it? While pretending to pursue peace, the King, as always, is hypocritically doing the exact opposite and preparing for war. He is setting the Huguenots against you and your brother by making Alençon turn Catholic, and by keeping you from your husband. We must make the threat of more conflict work in our favour.’

  When they had done talking and scheming and planning, they made love again before going their separate ways about court, their faces blithe with innocence. But each knew that this would be only the first of many such meetings.

  Margot again requested permission to go to her husband, but the King insisted he had need of her at court on State occasions whenever he wished to dazzle the opposition with her beauty and glamour. Margot knew it was not quite so simple, and when she learned that Navarre had sent an envoy to Paris to demand his Queen be allowed to come to him, she repeated her plea with some fervour.

  Henri point-blank refused and dismissed the envoy with cold contempt. ‘If the King of Navarre wishes to have her back, he should first become a Catholic.’

  Margot put forward a stout defence. ‘I did not please myself in getting married, but did so under the will and authority of King Charles, the Queen Mother, and yourself. You are against my going to him because he has again become a Huguenot.’

  ‘What the Queen my mother and I are doing is for your own good. I am determined to carry on the war until I exterminate this wretched religion which is of so mischievous a nature. If you, who are a Catholic, were once in their hands, you would become a hostage and they might seek revenge upon me by taking away your life. No, you shall not go amongst them.’

  ‘He will never allow it,’ she told Guise when they again met at their secret place. Margot felt on the brink of despair, finding the situation impossible. ‘But I do not see how I can possibly remain at court while my brother rages war against my husband.’

  ‘Then you must change the nature of your request,’ Guise suggested, as he unhooked her corset to release her soft breasts into his hands. ‘Ask to visit Sainte-Claude on a retreat, or go on a pilgrimage to Notre-Dame-de-Lorette.’

  He was caressing her breasts, moving his hands down over the sweet curve of her belly, sending her mad with desire as she arched her body against his. She reached up to curl her arms about his head, but then, unable to bear any more, turned in his arms and pushed him back on to the bed. Climbing astride him wearing nothing but her silk stockings she gave herself up to pleasing her lover.

  It was some time before either could speak again, but they made their plans with complete agreement.

  Guise said, ‘Alençon is chaffing at the restrictions imposed upon him since he foolishly returned to court. Yet with the right word, in the right ear, you could be free to help restore his lost cause in Flanders. But let the suggestion come from him. That should infuriate Henri nicely. Speak to the Queen Mother. It is essential you enlist her support.’

  Margot went to see her mother and begged her to persuade the King to allow her to make a pilgrimage to take the waters at Spa.

  ‘How can I remain at court when Henri plans to march his armies into Gascony and attack my husband? The Princess of Roche-sur-Yon is unwell and I have suffered another outbreak of erysipelas, the skin complaint which you know has always troubled me. I feel the waters would do it good, as well as keep me from causing offence to my husband by seeming to be party to my brother’s plans.’

  Catherine agreed this might be prudent. ‘I too am concerned that the King, through the persuasion of the bishops, has resolved to break the last peace which was concluded in his name. I see already the ill effects of this hasty decision, as it has removed from the King’s Council many of his ablest and best servants. I doubt you could remain at court without offending your husband, or creating jealousy and suspicion in the King’s mind. I will advise Henri to give you leave to set out on this journey.’

  Margot was hardly able to believe her good fortune. Their little scheme had worked exactly as they’d hoped. Henri gave his permission, probably because he’d achieved his aim of separating Alençon from the Politiques and Huguenots. The necessary papers for free passage were obtained, and preparations duly made.

  She was to be freed from her prison at last and allowed to embark on what felt very like an adventure. Margot had always been at the beck and call of the Queen Mother, living under her domination and power, not even able to properly enjoy her marriage. Her two recent lovers, whom she’d taken in retaliation against Navarre and Guise’s earlier defection, were now all but forgotten: poor La Molle gone to his death, and while Bussy was now back at court with Alençon, she had no inclination to rekindle their affair, even had she not been back with Guise.

  After so many long miserable months in isolation, Margot would at last be able to conduct herself without having constantly to check her every move. She longed to join her husband in Béarn where she might at last be safe, perhaps even enjoy being Queen of her own small kingdom. In the meantime, she could at least be free and begin to live.

  Yet it was in her nature to do what she could to help her younger brother, whom she loved despite his failings. And she’d never been afraid to risk dipping her fingers in the political pie.

  Sadly, Alençon seemed bent on destroying his own cause before ever she got the chance to support it. Having been given command of the royal army during this, the sixth war of religion, in May he captured the Protestant stronghold of La Charité-sur-Loire. He was only prevented from doing untold slaughter by Guise’s firm intervention. But Guise was not with him when the following month he sacked Issoire in the Auvergne, and had 3,000 citizens massacred. To his former Huguenot allies it seemed like a repeat of St Bartholomew’s Eve and lost him all credibility.

  Henri, of course, was delighted by the victory, if jealous of his brothe
r’s part in it, just as Charles IX had been of his own military glories. Nevertheless he held a magnificent ball to celebrate. Dressed like a woman, he wore a gown of gold brocade, sparkling with Polish diamonds, emeralds and pearls, his hair tinted with violet powder, easily outshining his plainer wife. It was but a mark of the dissolute style he’d adopted, paid for by the taxes wrung out of the Parisians.

  And in July, when Margot set off for Flanders, the King ordered his armies to head south and make war on her husband.

  Having put these matters into effect, Henri returned to his usual indolent and profligate ways, leaving his mother to deal with State affairs from her palace in the Tuileries. Catherine opened all dispatches, devised new laws, received ministers and foreign ambassadors, and paid a daily visit to the Louvre to lay documents before her son for signing. The King, meanwhile, could more likely be seen strolling about the gardens of the Louvre with a basket hung about his neck, richly lined with crimson satin, in which were curled several of his tiny dogs.

  Parrots and small monkeys were also an obsession, and Henri enjoyed teaching the former to curse and use rude words, while the monkeys were trained to practise their mischief on some poor unfortunate, or to raid a lady’s apartment.

  Henri would often give away one of these pets to his favourites, and then buy them back for an extravagant sum. He recklessly plundered the privy purse, squandering huge sums on masques, balls and pageants. When the public treasury ran dry and the banks refused him further credit, he called upon wealthy individuals and local businesses to sponsor him in what became known as édits bursaux. None dared refuse as these loans were not voluntary, but compulsory.