Reluctant Queen

by Freda Lightfoot

  Madame de Sourdis conceded this to be a fair point.

  Gabrielle smiled. ‘I shall speak to Papa and ask him to arrange it.’

  The Marquis presented himself before his King with some nervousness. It was a difficult situation. His daughter desired a husband, and he knew full well whom she had in mind. It was a wish unlikely to be granted for he dare not even mention the Duke’s name. Monsieur d’Estrées had heard the rumours over how the fellow had almost been discovered in his daughter’s rooms. The girl’s aunt had railed at her, even slapped her for taking such a foolish risk. There was no hushing up such a scandal, try as they might.

  Now the Duc de Bellegarde had again been banished from court, had even returned his daughter’s letters, and her portrait, in order to prove his good will to the King. The Marquis felt he could do no more than somehow attempt to salvage the honour of his house.

  He bowed low and made the usual polite overtures before coming quickly to the point. ‘Your Majesty, my daughter fears for her reputation as a single lady. She wishes to know if she may select a husband?’

  Henry frowned. ‘That task is surely best conducted by her father, think you not?’

  The Marquis heartily wished he could wash his hands of the whole affair. ‘Indeed, Sire, it is the usual way of going about such matters.’

  ‘Do you have someone in mind?’

  Realizing he had no choice, the Marquis continued, ‘I rely upon your good judgement, Sire. Who would you advise that I choose?’

  Henry strode about the room for a while, brow puckered in deep thought. Not Bellegarde, his Grand Equerry, that was certain. He’d sent the miscreant packing yet again, ordering him to stay away until he was able to return with a wife this time. The King turned to the Marquis with a wide grin. ‘I have him. Nicholas d’Armerval, Baron de Liancour.’

  ‘The Baron de Liancour?’ Gabrielle stared at her father aghast. ‘But he is old, a widower with nine children.’

  ‘But extremely wealthy. You will want for nothing.’

  ‘I will want for everything: for love, for decency, for honour. The man is weak, illiterate, and utterly repulsive to me. I will not do it!’

  ‘It is the King’s command, my dear.’

  ‘Then I will speak to the King.’

  Gabrielle strode from her chamber and went straight to Henry to throw herself on her knees before him. ‘My father insists that I marry the Baron de Liancour. You cannot mean to allow him to sacrifice me in this way.’

  Henry put up his hands to calm her. ‘Do not blame me. This is family business. I cannot interfere in such private matters.’

  Gabrielle knew better than to argue with him. Disagreeing with the King, however affable he may outwardly appear, might get her sent to Usson like Queen Margot, or some similar bleak outpost. She succumbed to her ready tears. ‘But I could not endure the Baron to touch me.’

  Henry raised her to her feet and kissed each pale cheek. ‘My dear, you will not need to. It will be a marriage in name only. Within the hour, once the deed is done, I shall hurry to your side and rescue you. Monsieur le Baron will be dismissed, be assured of it.’

  ‘Oh, Henry, do you promise?’

  ‘I do, my angel, I give you my word.’

  By way of a wedding gift the King presented the bride with the lordships of Assy and St Lambert, and the county of Marie, in Picardy, to be held by her for life. It seemed small recompense for her sacrifice.

  ‘Oh, how I wish my darling Bellegarde had been brave enough to whisk me away on the pommel of his horse,’ she cried, weeping in the arms of her sisters. But neither Diane nor Juliette could offer any comfort.

  ‘He is gone, at the King’s bidding. There is no hope for you now,’ Diane warned. ‘You must accept your destiny.’

  Juliette kissed her sister. ‘You must make the best of what you have,’ privately thinking it was in reality a great deal.

  The marriage took place at Coeuvres at the beginning of January, 1591, and Gabrielle had already packed her belongings, carefully hidden from her father, so that she would be ready to join the King the moment he came for her. She had scarcely spoken to the Marquis since, believing that it was he, her own father, who had betrayed her; selling her off just as her mother had used to do.

  Vows were exchanged, then the newly wedded couple partook of the wedding breakfast, after which the bride waited with growing excitement for the King to arrive and carry her away. When Henry did not come within the hour, as promised, she excused herself and fled to her room.

  Gabrielle stood at her window gazing out upon the familiar view, anxiously waiting for the sound of horses’ hooves on the gravel. She’d once excitedly anticipated the arrival of her lover, Bellegarde, and even Longueville, coming to pay court to her. How foolish she had been to vacillate between the two. If she had accepted Bellegarde when he’d first offered for her, they’d have been married long before the King ever set eyes on her. Oh, how things had changed. Now she ached for the sight of the King’s white banner. Yet still Henry did not come, and her heart fluttered in panic.

  ‘What am I to do?’ she sobbed to her aunt.

  Madame de Sourdis shared her distress, if for a different reason. Keeping her niece in the King’s favour was all-important to her plans, for the sake of the family, and for her own fortune. ‘He will come. The King is a busy man. He must have been held up by some unexpected event. You will just have to be patient.’

  ‘And if he does not arrive before nightfall?’ Gabrielle stared at her aunt, wild-eyed.

  Madame de Sourdis gave her niece’s hands an affectionate squeeze. ‘You will do what is required of you.’

  ‘Never.’

  ‘Oh, yes, my dear, you will.’

  Henry was, at that precise moment, riding towards Paris. At long last an opportunity had arisen to engage in a project which he hoped might gain him entry to the city. Not for a moment did he hesitate. His love for his mistress, his promise to Gabrielle, were entirely forgotten against this greater ambition.

  Henry and his men planned a surprise attack, which they attempted on the night of 20 January. A couple of dozen soldiers disguised as peasants leading donkeys laden with bags of flour, or pulling carts and wagons, approached the city gates at three in the morning and knocked for admittance. Behind them came the Baron de Biron at the head of an army of eight hundred men and four hundred horse. These held back under the cloak of darkness, the silence of the night broken only by the soft snort of a patient horse.

  The plan was that the moment the gate opened, the army would charge and take the city.

  Henry’s pulse was pounding as he waited for the guard to let them in. Instead, the foolish fellow shouted that the city gate could not be opened at that hour. ‘You’ll need to go lower down the river, and cross at the ferry,’ the guard advised.

  ‘He’s suspicious,’ Biron said, coming forward to speak to his king. ‘We have made a mistake in the hour. The ploy isn’t going to succeed.’

  The city suddenly came alive. Church bells began to peal, lights flitted about on the walls like crazed fireflies, and the ramparts began to swarm with men. Someone had got wind of their presence and Henry and his army were forced to turn tail and run.

  As the King fled across country, pursued by Mayenne’s army, Gabrielle was in the midst of her worst tantrum yet at Coeuvres. She stamped her foot and screamed at her aunt. Two feverish spots of crimson high on each cheekbone were the only sign of colour on her ashen face. ‘It is too much! Too much, I say. How many more men will you sell me to? I will not do it! I will not step inside the same room as that monster, let alone sleep in the same bed.’

  ‘My dear child, he is not at all a monster, but a most pleasant man. He may be weak and stupid and old, but also quiet and not unkind, and he is devastated to find his bride so unwilling.’

  ‘Unwilling? I am adamant! I absolutely refuse to be a wife to him.’

  ‘But you must, he is your husband. Were you to become enceinte with the King’s c
hild, would you not need to have at least slept once with the Baron in order to persuade him to father it?’

  ‘I care not whether he did or not!’ Gabrielle screamed, quite beside herself.

  ‘Then you are in danger of throwing the handle out with the hatchet.’

  ‘No, I am not! The King promised me this marriage would be in name only. I’m sure he told Monsieur le Baron the same. Liancour can go to hell in a hand cart for all I care, but I will not sleep with the fat old fool.’ And picking up a ceramic urn that had stood in all innocence upon her dressing table for years, she flung it across the room. It hit the door frame and smashed into a dozen pieces, causing her to wail all the louder for it had been one of her favourites.

  In a panic, Madame de Sourdis called for one of the maids. ‘Bring some cordial, quickly, my niece is unwell.’

  Fearing Gabrielle may fall into an apoplectic fit, Madame was obliged to put her to bed with a warm posset and make what excuses she could to the bereft husband.

  Having failed to enter Paris, the Maréchel de Biron marched instead to Chartres while Henry returned immediately to Senlis, and then to Chauny. His first thought was of Gabrielle. She’d written him a passionate letter, smudged with her tears, begging for rescue. But it was impossible for him to go to her at this time. Henry dispatched an order commanding Liancour to join him at Chauny, and to bring his wife. He even named the hour he would be expected to arrive.

  The Baron wasted no time in obeying. He’d endured more than enough tears and threats from his reluctant bride in the last few days, and her undisguised hatred and contempt for him. The King could have her and welcome. When Henry offered him a castle in Limousin as compensation, the Baron gladly accepted and quickly departed with unseemly alacrity to take up residence there, not caring if he never saw his wife again.

  ‘My dear,’ Henry said to Gabrielle. ‘Did I not come to you, as I promised?’

  Gabrielle was so relieved that he had rescued her from marriage with a man she loathed, that she did not attempt to quarrel with his timing. ‘I am so very glad to see you, Henry.’

  ‘Of course you are, my love, and I you.’ He was already kissing her, his breath hot on her face as he tugged at the laces of her bodice with greedy fingers. Pushing her back on to the bed he quickly lifted her skirts, grunting with satisfaction as he entered her. ‘There, isn’t that what you were waiting for?’

  Gabrielle willingly gave herself up to his demands, seduced, as ever, by the thrills of the moment, and a delicious relief at having escaped the gross attentions of a fat old husband.

  Later in the month, Rosny brought Henry the news that the Duc de Mayenne, alarmed at the attempted assault on the city, had agreed that the Spanish could be admitted into Paris, so long as there were only sufficient to guard them from any future attacks.

  Rosny continued, ‘But then when the Spanish regiments entered on the eleventh of February, they were greeted with derision by the people, Sire, and pelted with excrement.’

  Henry laughed out loud. ‘Paris may not wish for a heretic king, but nor do they want the Spanish. We make progress, Rosny, we make progress.’

  Following the departure of her husband, Gabrielle readily accompanied Henry on his march to Champagne, and the longer she spent in his company the fonder she became of him. He was an honest man, easy-going, who treated all those around him with respect and affection, including his servants. He liked to joke with his men, who all adored him and followed him gladly into battle. Gabrielle’s generous heart warmed towards him, so much so that during the siege of Epernay in 1592 she was the one suffering from jealousy when the King appeared fascinated by the charms of Anne du Puy, like herself blonde and beautiful.

  In distress she turned to her aunt for advice. ‘What am I to do? Henry has even written a song in her honour.’

  ‘A song is not his heart. It is you he loves, my sweet.’

  ‘But how do I keep it?’

  Madame de Sourdis smiled. ‘Ah, the age-old question. Do not fret, all will be well. You must not complain but simply keep the King amused and happy. Make him laugh.’

  Which Gabrielle proceeded to do with consummate skill.

  Songs and poetry were soon forgotten as the siege of Epernay proved to be a serious business, in which Henry’s old lieutenant, the Maréchel de Biron, lost his life by being mistaken for the King. A wind had blown off the King’s hat with its trademark white plume. The pair had dismounted and in a jest the old Marshal had picked it up and placed it on his own head, whereupon he’d been struck by a cannonball.

  In spite of his friend’s death, Henry went on to win the battle, but he still wasn’t able to capture Paris.

  ‘There are rumours the Parisians now favour young Guise, son of their beloved hero,’ Henry told her. ‘He might marry the Infanta Isabelle of Spain. ‘Oh, but I am growing weary of battles and war.’

  Gabrielle soothed him, stroking his head with a cool cloth. ‘You will one day march in and take Paris, my dear, I know it.’

  ‘My generals constantly urge me to bombard the city, but I have no appetite to take it at the expense of the lives of my people. What would I gain by slaughtering thousands in order to gain entry? I will not do it. I love France, and wish to bring peace, to restore her fortunes so sadly battered by years of civil war. I want prosperity and security for my people, for every Frenchman to have a chicken in his pot.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ Gabrielle suggested, ‘The best way to achieve that ambition peaceably, is to renounce the Huguenot faith and reconcile yourself with the Catholic Church.’

  Henry looked at her lovely face for a long moment. ‘It is true that I have done as much before.’

  ‘Then why not again?’

  Henry was thoughtful for some time, but said no more on the subject.

  In the months following, what with conflict against the intrigues of the League, and not certain whom he could trust among the ministers and nobles about him, Henry insisted on dealing with every important document himself. As a consequence, it surprised no one when he fell ill with exhaustion and a fever at St Denis. Many feared for the King’s life and conferences were held almost hourly, with much speculation over who would succeed in the event of his death. Would it be the young Guise? Did Soissons stand the greater chance, the infant Condé, or the Cardinal de Bourbon who was universally distrusted? It was all most worrying.

  The royal surgeon ordered complete bed rest and bled the King copiously in an effort to rid him of the fever. But Henry was hindering his own recovery by also fretting and worrying about the succession, privately vowing to confront Margot yet again on the issue of divorce the moment he was well.

  Gabrielle, who was not with him on this occasion, wrote in alarm, ‘I am dead with fright. Reassure me, I pray, by tidings of the health of the bravest of the brave … I am a true Princess Constance, keenly sensitive to all that regards yourself.’

  Thankfully, the King gradually recovered his health but the episode caused Gabrielle to think more seriously of her own situation.

  She was at last content. Gabrielle had accepted her lot, grown fond of the King, and decided that she really rather enjoyed being a royal mistress. She had even stopped pining for Bellegarde who had returned to court, ostensibly in search of a wife. The King, ever generous and warm-hearted, had agreed to take his old comrade back. But then he had ever been fond of his Grand Equerry. Who else could look after his horses so well when out on campaign?

  This morning, as usual, Gabrielle received in her chamber with all due ceremony as if it were a lever, and she were indeed a queen. It pleased her that even the King would remove his hat in her presence.

  She began to dream of a crown. If Henry could get a divorce from Queen Margot, why could not she be granted one from Liancour too?

  Gabrielle had perfectly made up her mind to be Queen of France in very truth one day. And yet she had concerns. The ladies of the court did not yet accept her, and with the Princess Catherine due to arrive at any time, she f
eared yet more humiliation and disdain.

  ‘How could I ever dare to hope he would make me his queen? How could I possibly be good enough for the task? ‘I am too ignorant.’

  Madame de Sourdis smiled and patted her hand. ‘You may not be classically educated as is Madame Catherine, but you have a good heart and much affection for her brother. The King not only loves you but is completely faithful to you. That has not been the case with any of his other mistresses. And he readily rescued you from your husband, did he not?’

  Gabrielle gave a wry smile. ‘In his own good time he did, yes. But what if he tires of me, as he did with Corisande, and Tignonville, and goodness knows how many others?’

  ‘I will teach you whatever you need to know to keep his interest and passions hot. Am I not an expert in the art of pleasing a man? I manage to keep both husband and lover content.’

  Gabrielle laughed. ‘Dear Aunt, that will not be necessary. I was well taught by the Cardinal, and the King seems well pleased with me in the business of the bedchamber. But perhaps in other matters such as etiquette, court traditions and politics, and dealing with the austere Princess Catherine, I would welcome your advice.’

  ‘You can be assured you will have it.’ Madame de Sourdis had no intention of losing her influence over the new maîtresse en titre.

  Still unconvinced of her own ability to cope, Gabrielle sweetly begged Henry if she might be permitted to withdraw from the court to Coeuvres during the length of his sister’s visit, but he would not hear of it.

  ‘I will ensure honourable treatment from Madame,’ he promised her.

  When the moment came Gabrielle sank into a deep curtsey as Madame Catherine walked towards her in all her majesty. She was no beauty, her forehead broad, mouth tightly pursed, and with a small, pointed chin. But just to look at her was to know that she was a royal princess. Her azure gown was magnificent, encrusted with emeralds and pearls, a matching tiara atop her blond peruke. Her bearing, her manner was so regal, so superior, that Gabrielle was overcome with a sense of her own inadequacy. What folly to imagine herself capable of donning the royal mantle!