Reluctant Queen

by Freda Lightfoot

  After leaving Fleix, the royal party spent some months in the Gironde. As spring approached, Navarre returned to Béarn but Alençon and Margot moved on to Bordeaux for a couple of months, where she devoted much of her time riding and walking with Champvallon, enjoying secret trysts, making love in dappled glades. Romance was very much in the air.

  Eventually a message came from her husband suggesting that it was time she return to Nérac, which Margot agreed to quite willingly, seeing no reason why this blissful happiness should not continue.

  Margot happily returned to Nérac, accompanied by Alençon and Champvallon. The elders, courtiers and ladies at her husband’s court did not immediately warm to the brother of their Queen. He was shorter and less handsome than they’d expected. They did not care for his pockmarked face, or his small, hard eyes that constantly cast darting glances about him, as if anticipating mischief, or perhaps seeking an opportunity to create it.

  Wanting to make her young brother feel welcome, Margot threw a fine ball in his honour, making herself look especially magnificent in blue velvet with her favourite diamonds at her throat and in her ears.

  Navarre too welcomed him, clapping him on the shoulders in brotherly fashion. There had been little time to speak of personal matters while at Fleix, now they did so, laughing together as they remembered past times and old rivalries; how they had almost came to blows over them both paying court to Madame de Sauves at the same time.

  ‘And how is dear Charlotte?’ Alençon teasingly enquired.

  Navarre laughed. ‘She returned with Queen Catherine to Paris, since she did not care to have her nose pushed out of joint by newer rivals.’

  ‘Then you do not pine for her?’

  ‘Why would I, when I have my beautiful Fosseuse?’ Henry drew the young girl to his side to introduce her to Alençon, and saw at once his mistake. The Duke’s eyes lit up as they beheld the young beauty, and it soon became clear that he had fallen head over heels in love with Fosseuse at first sight.

  Much to Navarre’s fury, his brother-in-law spent the rest of the evening complimenting her with all the skills and impeccable manners he had acquired at the French Court. Alençon kept on asking Fosseuse to dance and she kept accepting, clearly flattered by his attention, and so it continued in the days following. Henry began to worry that his petite fille was being easily seduced by his brother-in-law’s charm because she was feeling homesick for the sophisticated life she had left behind in Paris.

  The girl was still young, and Henry had been careful not to be too impatient or seem to rush her. She had not yet succumbed, always drawing back whenever their love making became too intimate. It was little Tignonville all over again, only the prize was surely greater. Now he grew fearful that, pockmarked dwarf though he may be, Alençon might win her first.

  ‘You must speak to your brother,’ he barked at Margot when he visited her bedchamber a day or two later.

  Margot paused in brushing her long dark hair to look at him with that haughty expression on her lovely face which so infuriated him. ‘On any particular matter?’

  ‘You know of what I speak. Alençon is monopolising Fosseuse. He’s paying court, panting for her.’

  Margot set down the brush and applied a little rouge to her cheeks and lips. ‘It is your own fault for sharing the same taste in women. He was ever your rival.’

  ‘Fosseuse is different from de Sauves. She is young and vulnerable. I will not have her spoiled,’ Henry declared, pacing back and forth in an agitated manner.

  Margot raised mildly questioning brows. ‘Not until you have spoiled her yourself first, eh?’

  Navarre ignored the jibe. ‘You will speak to him? He always did listen to you. I swear he is doing this only to vex me, but I am not amused. Tell Alençon he may have any woman in the court, but not mine.’

  ‘I will consider the matter.’ She cast him a teasing look. ‘Now, do please go. I am expecting a visitor of my own this evening, and I’m sure you have no wish to perform your marital duties if your thoughts are so caught up with your petite fille.’ And dropping her robe de chambre to the floor, Margot walked naked to the bed, aware of his eyes upon her.

  Navarre could feel himself hardening just watching her. This wife of his was the very devil of a woman. He marched out, slamming the door behind him. Margot lay back on her black satin sheets, laughing. Oh, how she was enjoying her freedom.

  The last few years in Nérac had been such happy ones that Margot saw no danger in admitting to her infatuation for Champvallon, nor consider for a moment that her husband would ever object, let alone send her back to her hated brother. How could he criticise her for infidelity when he was guilty of the very same offence? A moment later her lover arrived, and Margot instantly forgot about the problem of Alençon and Fosseuse; too caught up in her own love affair to care.

  The court was highly entertained by this new rival for Fosseuse’s affections and while the ladies gossiped in corners, the gentlemen laid surreptitious bets on who might win the prize of the girl’s virginity, the King or the Duke, even though gambling was strictly forbidden in this Puritan court.

  Mademoiselle Rebours was also paying particular attention to this tangle of royal love affairs. She deeply resented the fact that Margot had deliberately brought Fosseuse to the King’s attention in order to foil her own ambitions in that direction. The girl was young and healthy, could no doubt easily bear him children, while her own health had never entirely recovered from that illness in Pau. She blamed the Queen for this too, Margot having most casually abandoned her there.

  Now she saw her opportunity for revenge.

  Rebours put on her most modest attire and went to see Aubigné. With artful cunning she was careful not to attack the King, but instead pleaded for the chamberlain’s advice.

  ‘I know not how best to proceed. The King is clearly desirous of an heir, and yet Her Majesty spends most nights with her new lover, Champvallon. Not only that, but she seems to be encouraging her brother to steal the affections of the King’s beloved Fosseuse from him. I really do not see how I can stop her from behaving so recklessly. I feel I should do something to help His Majesty, but cannot think what.’ At which point she burst into floods of dramatic tears.

  Aubigné was unmoved by her weeping, made no attempt to comfort her, yet white hot rage flooded through him. How dare that Jezebel, that Whore of Babylon so betray his sovereign lord? No wonder the King was obliged to seek comfort elsewhere when his own wife refused to do her duty by him.

  ‘Say nothing, woman. Do nothing. You can safely leave this matter in my hands.’

  Rebours slipped quietly away, dark eyes gleaming with triumph.

  Aubigné knew better than to seek an audience with the King. Henry’s attitude towards love had ever been cavalier, to say the least. He went straight to the Queen, insisting upon an immediate audience.

  Margot dutifully granted him admission. The wily pastor could tell by her dishabille, and the sickly sweet scent of the room overlaid by the smell of something far more erotic, that her lover must have only recently vacated her apartment, perhaps seconds before.

  ‘Your Majesty, I would speak with you on a most urgent and delicate matter.’

  ‘Indeed?’

  ‘You will appreciate how vital it is that our lord King produce an heir, and yet sadly you have both been disappointed in this respect thus far.’

  Colour flooded into Margot’s cheeks. This was a worry she buried deep inside, and really had no wish to examine too closely. ‘How dare you raise such a topic with me!’

  ‘I would be failing in my duty to God and the kingdom, if I did not do so. It is clear that you and the King do not often enough . . .’ Aubigné paused to cough politely and clear his throat. ‘How can I put it? It is the will of God that marriage is for the purpose of procreation, yet you and the King do not often enough avail yourself of the opportunity to bring about this most happy result.’

  Margot was furious. She glared into the man’s me
an little eyes above his jutting nose and fat, bearded chin. ‘How dare you speak to me in this manner! Pray leave my presence at once.’

  Aubigné remained firmly rooted to the spot. ‘I am aware of the King’s indiscretions, and how difficult it must be to achieve any intimacy between you as a result. Nevertheless, it would perhaps be wise if you were to refrain from following his lead quite so ardently, and concentrate instead on doing your duty as queen of this realm, even if ...’ The unspoken end to this sentence seemed to hang in the air between them … even if you have no morals.

  Margot stared at him, too stunned by the man’s effrontery to think of a suitable response.

  ‘The danger is that you may find there are other ladies – younger, and mayhap more fecund, who would not hesitate to take your place in this respect.’

  ‘Is that meant to be some sort of threat?’ The prospect of divorce suddenly reared its ugly head in Margot’s startled mind. With divorce came disgrace, loss of status, penury perhaps, and even, God help her, a nunnery.

  ‘It is but a timely warning I recommend you heed. I would suggest that Your Majesty give this matter most careful thought.’ Having had his say, he sketched a bow and departed. Margot stamped her foot, let out a scream of fury, and, calling at once for her ladies, started to tear off her bedgown.

  Henry considered his wife with weary trepidation. ‘What is it now, Margot? I have no time for tantrums this morning, I have papers to attend to.’

  ‘I want that man dismissed.’

  He let out a heavy sigh. ‘And which of my councillors have offended you today?’

  ‘Aubigné. The man is offensive, insubordinate and downright rude. He has no right to lecture me, a queen, upon my duties. I will not tolerate his insolence.’ She told Navarre, most succinctly, of how Aubigné had dared to criticize her behaviour, though carefully making no mention of the chamberlain’s concern over the lack of an heir. That would have come far too close to an uncomfortable truth. ‘I insist that he is dismissed.’

  ‘I cannot do that, Margot. We have been here before, I recall, and you really must not keep dismissing members of my council simply because they have fallen foul of your temper. I will not have it.’

  Margot lifted her chin. ‘You will not have it? Yet you would have me warn my brother off your petite fille.’

  There was a short, startled silence. Endeavouring to keep his exasperation under control, Henry finally found his voice. ‘What are you saying?’

  Margot took a steadying breath. ‘I will come to an agreement with you, my dear Enric. If you dismiss your insolent chamberlain, I will make sure that Alençon no longer impedes your attentions to the little Fosseuse.’

  ‘Margot, you are impossible.’

  She laughed out loud, all temper gone. ‘Then we are agreed?’

  Navarre thought of the ripe beauty of his darling Fosseuse, like a rare peach ready for the picking, and simply could not find it in himself to say no.

  Later that day he faced his loyal servant with pity in his face. ‘I am sorry, Aubigné, but I can do no other than to agree with my wife’s demands. You have greatly offended the Queen, which of course I cannot condone.’

  The chamberlain was shocked. This was not at all the reaction he had planned. ‘But Your Majesty, do you choose to play the cuckold? You will be the laughing stock of the court, of the kingdom. Think of your duty to God, and to your people. We need an heir.’

  Henry frowned, not quite caring for the fellow’s Puritan bluntness. Yet he adored his darling Fosseuse, and must have her, no matter what the cost. The prospect of losing that most coveted prize to his ugly brother-in-law did not bear contemplating.

  He went to put an arm about his chamberlain’s shoulders. ‘Your banishment will be but temporary. In any case, so long as the Queen does not become aware of it, you could continue to visit me in private to conduct our business, at least until her temper has properly cooled and the matter has blown over.’

  Margot’s discussion with her brother went even more smoothly. Alençon was always agreeable to doing anything his beloved sister asked of him. ‘I adore little Fosseuse, but if it is your wish, Margot, then I shall not go near the girl again, nor even speak with her.’

  He proved to be as good as his word and not long after that, Navarre took his petite fille to his privy chamber one evening to wine and dine, and hopefully bed her. ‘Why is it, my precious, that you still resist me? Am I not attractive to you?’

  ‘Of course! Does Your Majesty not realize how much I adore you?’

  Her eyes were so trusting, so adoring as they gazed up at him, that he could not fail to believe it. His excitement quickened. This could be the night that he won her at last. ‘Then what is it that holds you back, my sweet one? Why so coy? Surely you are not still shy with me now that you are no longer the young child you once were.’

  Fosseuse was indeed no longer a child. She had grown sufficiently to understand the extent of her power, and learned through this little intrigue how very important she was to the King. She pouted delightfully at him.

  ‘But what if I were to become enceinte? How could I have your child when we are not married? I have no husband to protect me.’

  Henry was all too familiar with this concern. It was Tignonville all over again. He smiled, caressing her softly rounded buttocks as he led her gently towards the bed. ‘Is that all that troubles you? But such a situation can easily be remedied. You need have no worries on that score. I would always protect you, my sweet one.’

  ‘But you could never acknowledge such a child. He, were it a boy, would be a bastard,’ she said, artlessly reminding him of what she could offer.

  He was peeling off her gown, his eyes upon the firm ripeness of her breasts, so full and yet so pert, her waist no more than two hand spans, her hips curved but slender, legs long and shapely. She was so innocent, so pure, and tonight she was his for the taking. He was hot for her, impatient as he pulled her down on the bed. ‘I would most certainly acknowledge him,’ Henry groaned, feeling that familiar, delicious ache in his loins.

  ‘Oh, Your Majesty!’

  ‘You can trust me implicitly, my darling, I would not see you dishonoured.’

  He saw at once, by the stars in her lovely eyes as she gazed entrancingly up at him, by the breathless rapture of her response, that she had misunderstood him completely. Navarre was accustomed to finding convenient husbands for his mistresses, or acknowledging a bastard child as his own, which was all he had meant by the remark. But he might have phrased the words carelessly, for this innocent child believed that he had proposed. He paused a moment to consider. Would that be an answer, to divorce Margot and marry little Fosseuse, assuming she were able to give him children?

  But she was kissing him with a delicious fervour now, allowing him to ravage her little pink tongue with his own, and he was impatient to thrust into her in other ways. Beyond thought now, he was insensible of everything but the peachy quality of her skin, the soft firmness of her young breasts. Henry moaned with desire, hurting so badly he could barely hold himself in check to prepare this pretty virgin for the moment that he’d waited for so eagerly. No matter what the consequences, he would have her.

  From that day on Fosseuse began to change. In every way she was a loving and devoted mistress, but no longer quite so undemanding. She began to require constant evidence of the King’s devotion. ‘I have worn that gown three times this month already, and I have barely a piece of jewellery to my name.’

  ‘But I gave you those emeralds only at Christmas, my sweet.’

  ‘You cannot wear emeralds with a rose red gown, and it is the only one I feel fit to be seen in, even though I have owned it forever. The Queen has diamonds by the score, but I have nothing.’

  The King of Navarre bought his love some diamonds, and a new gown to go with them.

  Nor was she quite so obedient to the Queen. Fosseuse began to avoid Margot and her duties as lady-in-waiting, even though she was supposedly still a part
of the Queen’s retinue. She became rather secretive, giggling with her friends and then falling silent and looking all prim and innocent whenever the Queen drew near.

  Furthermore, she began creating ill feeling between husband and wife by telling tales about Margot to Henry. These stories were wildly exaggerated, highly embroidered versions of what might pass for the truth, and sometimes downright lies. They nevertheless inflamed his ire, and Henry rarely castigated her or challenged their veracity. Relations between husband and wife cooled as a result.

  Margot began to complain to her ladies. ‘What is going on? What has happened to the girl?’

  ‘Ignore her, my lady. She is simply behaving like a spoiled miss.’

  ‘But she was once so biddable, and now is becoming a little minx.’

  ‘Pay her no attention. She represents no threat to Your Majesty.’

  Margot wasn’t so sure. She had many ladies she could rely on in her entourage: Princess Catherine de Bourbon, her husband’s sister, Madelaine de la Tour, who had been deprived of an eligible suitor by Henri Trois, and Mademoiselle de Thorigny, who was once threatened with drowning in the Seine by her brother’s brutal troops. They were all devoted to her, but Margot was beginning to feel very slightly vulnerable. It was obvious that her husband had by now taken the girl’s virginity. But what if this healthy young girl became enceinte, where would that leave her?

  How she longed for her old governess to advise her, but the old lady had finally passed away last winter. Margot’s eyes filled with a rush of tears at the memory of her adored Madame de Curton. She missed her faithful servant and beloved companion dearly. The Duchess of Nevers and other dear friends were still in Paris with their husbands, and at times Margot felt a worrying sense of isolation. She had even quarrelled with her Chancellor, Pibrac, since she suffered from the typical Valois flaw of extravagance of which he disapproved.