Reluctant Queen

by Freda Lightfoot

  But she had reckoned without her ambitious father.

  ‘Do you hope for a visit from the King this afternoon, child?’

  Gabrielle shrugged, pouting prettily. ‘I know not. He has sent no word.’

  ‘It is some time since we last saw him. You have not caused any offence, I trust?’

  ‘Not that I am aware of, although I shouldn’t care if I had.’

  ‘Indeed you must care. He is the King, and could turn up at any moment, so run and change and make yourself pretty, child,’ the Marquis sternly informed her.

  ‘I do not see why I should.’

  ‘Because he is the King, for goodness sake. You will do as I say, girl.’

  ‘But he is old, and he is married!’

  ‘That does not signify.’

  ‘Well, it does with me,’ Gabrielle stubbornly responded, stamping her foot.

  ‘Come, come, you are no fainting virgin. Why play games? If Henry were to take you for his mistress you would be well provided for. In fact, the entire family would benefit.’

  ‘You are as bad as Mother, that is all you ever think of, your own ambitions,’ Gabrielle cried, sobbing with fury. ‘I will not have him! I haven’t the slightest wish to encourage his suit. He is neither gallant nor courtly as is Longueville, nor as charming and elegant as Bellegarde. I desire no better fortune than to become the wife of Monsieur de Bellegarde.’

  ‘I admit that I have no quarrel with the Duke. He is a fine young gentleman.’

  Instantly drying her tears, Gabrielle saw her advantage and, slipping on to her father’s knee, turned her wheedling charm full upon him. ‘Will you not, darling Papa, arrange a marriage with this fine gentlemen for me, since you do approve of him, in your heart. Bellegarde is possessed of courtly accomplishments and graces, is of high rank, a bachelor, and therefore in a good position to offer marriage. He is both dashing and brave, having fought gallantly at Arques and Dreux, and in addition has captured my affections. What more can he do to win your consent?’

  The Marquis pressed a kiss on his daughter’s cheek. Sweet Gabrielle had always been a warm, affectionate child, if a little vain. He would dearly like to see her happy, but girls, in his experience, did not always know what was good for them. He would not go so far as his wife, perhaps, to win preferment for them, but nor would he be blind to a golden opportunity. ‘I will certainly speak to the fellow, but I will not gainsay a king. Do as I say, child, and prepare yourself to receive him. You must ever be ready in case he should find time to call upon you.’

  Gabrielle flounced off in a fine temper.

  In Paris the people were starving, the stores of wheat all but exhausted, meat was being offered for sale at a price far beyond all but the rich. The hungry multitude trailed after the coaches of the nobles begging for a crust, and if any should throw them a coin instead, would cry out, ‘Give us bread! What good is money when there is nothing to buy?’

  Many died, or caught dreadful diseases from infected food, ending their days either in a hospital or the gutter, depending upon their luck. Even the living spent their days in agony, their bellies swollen, their guts paining them, and only the fortunate few found themselves standing in line for a bowl of soup from the public cauldrons set up on the odd street corner by some charitable nun.

  The monasteries were ordered to provide an inventory of their stores, and to distribute it to the people. But many refused, one ecclesiastic protesting that, ‘the brethren of the church must first be consulted and their wants provided for’.

  Meanwhile, the population resorted to eating their own dogs.

  It was agreed that if they took their pets to the monasteries the monks would erect great coppers and serve them a stew comprised of vegetables, barley meal, dried pease and dog flesh. Weeks later even this revolting mess would have been welcomed as famine and pestilence stalked the city. Not a live horse, or animal of any sort could be found, and corpses littered the empty streets.

  Yet not for a moment did the citizens consider relenting and accepting a heretic king. They lived in fear of revenge from the Huguenots for the St Bartholomew massacre. Were the siege to be broken and the Protestants allowed in, murder and mayhem would surely follow. And if Paris fell, so would the League.

  Henry had marched on the city more times than he cared to count. Now, after the latest expedition against the Leaguers, he felt weary of battle and preferred to think of love. Bellegarde, he noticed, had similar thoughts on his mind.

  ‘You would not object, Sire, were I to visit my Gabrielle, and offer for her? I must needs take a wife, and she has as good as promised herself to me.’

  Henry considered. ‘Yet you are not actually betrothed.’

  ‘No,’ Bellegarde reluctantly admitted. ‘But almost. There is what might be described as an understanding between us. I have been waiting for her permission to speak to her father and make a formal request for her hand.’

  ‘I would prefer it, Bellegarde, were you to withdraw your suit entirely.’

  Bellegarde was mortified. He was not unaware of the King’s interest in his mistress, but how could he bear to part with his darling Gabrielle? Yet no more could he openly flout the wishes of his monarch. Looking crestfallen, he said, ‘But she favours me.’

  ‘A woman may change her mind, given the right kind of persuasion.’

  Tight-lipped, the equerry tentatively enquired, ‘I trust the manner and degree of such persuasion would not be excessive?’

  Henry looked aghast. ‘Do you imagine I would resort to force? Am I not a man of honour?’

  ‘Of course, Your Majesty,’ Bellegarde hastily agreed, but couldn’t resist adding, ‘Then the choice will be hers entirely?’

  Henry smiled, inclining his head in agreement. ‘She will choose whichever of us pleases her most. It might be you, Bellegarde, but then again, why would she not choose her King?’ He hadn’t set eyes on Gabrielle’s lovely face in over a month and he was eager to return to Coeuvres to see her. He’d been too busy fighting the forces of the League scattered through north-western France, and attending to his military duties, which had denied him the opportunity to give rein to the passion that burned within him for Gabrielle d’Estrées. ‘I certainly intend to press my suit with all vigour. We must wait and see if I succeed, shall we not? In the meantime, you will stay away.’

  ‘Stay away?’

  ‘You will go nowhere near the château, or the lady in question, is that understood?’

  The young equerry swallowed his disappointment with difficulty. ‘As you wish, Sire.’

  Henry laughed. ‘Don’t sound so despondent. The best man will win in the end, I am certain of it. I may go to see her quite soon, in fact, to test the waters, as it were.’

  Bellegarde was dumbfounded. ‘But many of the Leaguers still lurk within those forests. It would be far too dangerous to attempt to traverse them alone, Your Majesty. It would mean crossing enemy lines.’

  ‘Faint heart never won fair lady, isn’t that how the saying goes?’

  ‘I beg you, pray do not even attempt it, Sire. The country needs you.’

  ‘And I need the lovely Gabrielle.’

  Gabrielle was heartbroken when she received the letter from Bellegarde explaining how he had been obliged to promise the King he would stay away. ‘Be assured of my undying love, and I shall ever hold the hope in my heart that one day you will be mine.’

  How she wept over these poetic words, which surely came from a broken heart.

  The following evening Gabrielle was about to retire when she heard a great commotion in the kitchen. The maids were screaming and running about in a panic. When she and Juliette ran to see what all the noise was about, they found the cook beating some decrepit old fellow about the head with her broom.

  ‘Get out, you filthy creature. I’ll not entertain dirty peasants in my clean kitchen. Take yourself to the cow shed at once, and I’ll maybe send a quart of ale out to you, if I feel so inclined.’

  But far from doing as
he was bid, the moment the fellow saw Gabrielle, he fell to his knees before her and whipped the sacking cloth from off his head. ‘My dearest beloved, there is no need to fear. See, it is I, your adoring King.’

  Gabrielle almost fainted from shock, and from the stink of horse manure that emanated so strongly from the tattered remnants he wore.

  She half glanced at her sister Juliette in despair, at the cook who seemed to be struck with paralysis, and then back to the creature who called himself a king.

  ‘I doubt that can be so,’ Gabrielle frostily remarked, with all the dignity she could muster. ‘I have met the King personally and he is a fine soldier, not a filthy bag of stinking rags.’

  Henry got to his feet and laughingly grasped her hand, managing to kiss it before Gabrielle snatched it away. ‘Ah, but I am in disguise, dearest. I have travelled miles to see you, first by horse, and the last three on foot, crossing forests known to harbour bands of Leaguers. I’ve risked my liberty in order to prove the sincerity of my love.’

  Gabrielle, still smarting from the sad letter she’d received from her lover, was having none of it. Her glance was cold and filled with disdain. ‘If you hoped by dressing yourself as the lowest of the low to win my heart, then you were grievously mistaken.’

  Henry was instantly contrite. ‘It was but a jest.’

  ‘And was it but a jest to banish the man I love from my life? I have no wish to be disturbed in my inclinations, and no effort on your part to prevent me from marrying a man whose suit has been approved by my dear papa, would only inspire feelings of contempt and hatred.’

  ‘Pray give me a chance, dear one. Let me try to win your heart.’

  He looked so very ugly and smelled so atrociously, that Gabrielle could not bring herself to be near him, and despite his begging her to stay, she walked away, leaving him alone with her sister.

  Juliette’s soft heart went out to the dejected King who looked so woebegone and so utterly ridiculous in his disguise. She brought him wine and bread. ‘I can only apologize, Sire, for the incivility of the reception accorded to you. My sister is simply stunned at seeing you appear, unannounced, in such a disguise. She no doubt fears that our father, who is in the vicinity, might suddenly appear and put the worst possible construction upon the scene.’

  Henry gathered together what remnants of his pride he had left, and begged leave to depart. ‘I fear my masquerade might have been a touch presumptuous. I shall present myself to your sister at another time, in another guise. Good evening to you, Mademoiselle.’

  Whereupon he retreated into the night, nursing his bitter disappointment.

  Henry’s humiliation was made worse by a complete lack of sympathy from the Baron de Rosny. Rosny was a skilful and clever politician, loathed dishonesty and profligacy, and was devoted to his king. This meant he was hated by the Catholics, since Henry IV was a Protestant, and by many Protestants because he was faithful to a king who had once turned Catholic to save his own neck. Henry, however, trusted him implicitly, except when it came to women.

  ‘Did you expect the chit to fall into your arms when you smelled like a cesspit?’ his counsellor asked. ‘And you do have one or two more important matters to occupy you. The people of Paris are driven mad with hunger, and our spies inform us that the Duke of Nemours has ordered that Church plate not actually used in the Mass, be melted down. Although what they will find to buy with the money thus coined, I fail to comprehend.’

  Henry looked even more mournful. It seemed that when finally he gained his crown, the treasury would be bankrupt, and the Parisians would hate him for starving them. ‘Let the people out of the city.’

  ‘Let them out?’

  ‘They need to buy and search for food. It is the only humane thing to do. We will temporarily call a halt to the siege and withdraw our troops in order for the populace to find food and take it to their loved ones. And make sure they know that it was their new King who issued this order.’

  Rosny inclined a bow. ‘As you wish, Sire.’ He rather doubted the generals would approve, but he would make sure they obeyed. In his opinion, this gentle king was also a wise one.

  Paris was not alone in suffering from penury. Henry’s loans and debts were mounting. While he felt he was making good progress in his campaign, funds were at an all-time low. The eagerness of his soldiers to go into battle would soon start to fade if their pay was not punctual. And they too had to be fed. Henry’s own table was poor, the food plain and unappetizing. Yet what did he care what he ate when he was heart-sick for love.

  He struggled to banish the thought of the luscious Gabrielle from his mind, but the image of her haunted him. She had rejected him, both as man and monarch, and that he could not accept, in fact it made her all the more desirable. Perhaps Rosny was right and he had gone about things the wrong way. He no doubt had smelled like a midden. Next time he would make better shift of it. But when would he have the opportunity? He was confined here, at his headquarters at Mantes, and she was in her castle at Coeuvres, no doubt with the drawbridge pulled up.

  But he was the King, and as such could issue a summons she dare not disobey.

  Henry sent a command to the Marquis d’Estrees to join him at Mantes, and to bring with him his entire family. The fellow duly arrived, and in order to make certain that he stayed, Henry appointed him a member of the Royal Council. The honour pleased the Marquis, proving to him how very wise he had been not to consent to some foolish romantic marriage for his daughter, when there were titles and offices for the taking.

  Henry called for his valet-de-chambre, eager to look his best when next he met Gabrielle. ‘Do I have a decent shirt to wear?’

  ‘My lord, you barely have a dozen shirts to your name, and they are all in a sad state of repair. Your handkerchiefs too, Sire, of which you have only five.’

  Henry was appalled. ‘Then you must have my shirts mended and laundered. Order new linen, do whatever you have to. I am not some schoolboy at camp. See to it, man.’

  That evening when he presented himself to Gabrielle, Henry looked his best, even if his shirt was patched and his handkerchief tucked well out of sight. He had also bathed and scrubbed his face and hair till it shone, although he had not gone so far as to resort to using violet powder. He would never emulate the fops.

  ‘We are delighted to see you again,’ he told her.

  ‘And I you, Your Majesty,’ Gabrielle politely responded.

  She told an untruth. Gabrielle had obeyed the King’s command with reluctance, but no amount of tears and temper on her part had persuaded her father to decline.

  ‘It is not an invitation,’ he’d sternly informed his daughter. ‘It is a summons.’

  Dutifully Gabrielle allowed the King to kiss her hand, hiding a secret smile as she recognized the effort he had made to impress her. What power she must have over him. She agreed to sit by him at dinner, and, to her surprise, found herself highly entertained by his wit and charm.

  But she still preferred Bellegarde, and since he, and Longueville, were also at the camp, Gabrielle thought this might, after all, make for a lively interlude, particularly when the demands of war took the King away for long periods.

  As the court moved on to Senlis, Gabrielle was joined by her aunt. Younger than her sister, Madame de Sourdis was still beautiful, and with an equally rackety reputation, having caused much amusement and scandal from a liaison with the Chancellor de Cheverney, which her husband steadfastly ignored. Wearing a purple and pink gown and blond peruke decorated with matching ribbons and flowers, she arrived with a fine fanfare of trumpets from her pages and cotillions.

  Falling upon Gabrielle she enveloped the girl in her arms, smothering her with fond kisses. ‘I shall take the place of your absent mother, dear child, and act as chaperone.’ She believed her sister had badly let her daughter down, foolishly missing a golden opportunity by running off in that madcap fashion.

  ‘Dear Aunt, I am so glad to see you.’

  In no time Gabrielle
was weeping upon her aunt’s breast, and confiding her quandary.

  ‘Although the King is making every effort now to please and charm me, he can never offer marriage. I love Bellegarde, and Papa has agreed that he would not be against a marriage between us. I love Longueville too, though perhaps not quite as much. Oh what should I do, dear Aunt?’

  ‘Ah, better to be a wife than a lover,’ Madame de Sourdis acknowledged, picking over her niece’s jewels to see if there were any pretty pieces she might borrow. ‘Unless that lover be a king.’

  ‘But I would much rather be a queen.’

  ‘That, my dear, may be a dream too far.’

  ‘But not impossible,’ Gabrielle suggested. ‘A queen has much more power than a mistress, and more security.’

  ‘I grant you that is often the case, yet it is not always so. A queen suffers from having been selected for political purposes, while a mistress has been chosen by her consort of his own free will, and is usually adored. I urge you to consider the King’s offer with all seriousness. All you need do is to please him, and not grow fat like Corisande. And who knows, when Henry finally gets his divorce from Queen Margot, he may well marry you.’

  But Gabrielle continued to resist, refusing to be alone with the King, returning the sumptuous gifts he bestowed upon her. While she dithered and Henry continued to pursue her, the Duc de Longueville asked for the return of his letters. Knowing that the King himself was paying court to his erstwhile mistress, he feared they might compromise him.

  ‘I will most certainly do so,’ she told him, annoyed that he should ask. ‘If you will likewise return mine.’

  ‘But of course,’ he archly replied.

  When the bundle arrived and Gabrielle quickly riffled through them, she saw that one or two important letters, in which she had less discreetly spoken of her love for him and the trysts they had enjoyed, were missing.