Médicis Daughter (13 page)

“What is the threat, Madame?” he asks. “And how can I help the King, my brother, face it?”

Mother pauses and considers Anjou appraisingly. “Come,” she says, decisively. “You are old enough to hear what will be said, and brave enough to be His Majesty’s strong right arm.” Then her eyes dart to me. “Margot? Why are you here?”

I have no choice but to go, but I am not happy about it. At sixteen, Henri is not much older than I, yet he is included and I am dismissed. As I make my way to Mother’s apartment, I wonder if I shall ever be permitted to participate in anything at Court more important than a pavane. I arrive to find a crowd. Apparently the fear of missing something important has caused at least two dozen women to overlook the nicety of changing after the hunt.

“A large number of armed Protestants have been spotted, with the Prince de Condé at their head,” I say. The eyes of the others register fear at my pronouncement.

We wait for more news. We have been seated for some time, when the Duchesse of Uzès enters. Clapping her hands she declares, “We depart within the hour.”

“For where?” someone asks.

“Meaux. Waste no more of my time or your own with questions. Pack only what is needed to carry you through tomorrow. Servants will see what we leave behind sent on. Assemble in the courtyard ready for the saddle. There will be no coaches.”

The handwork, books, and instruments that were mere props as we waited are cast aside, and we run from the room. I am nearly to my apartment when I dash headlong into the Duc de Guise.

“Calmly, Your Highness,” he says, reaching out a hand to keep me from toppling backwards. “Panic will not get us to Meaux more quickly.”

“Why Meaux?” I ask.

“A fortified city is more defensible than a palace built for pleasure,” he says matter-of-factly.

“Do we need defending?”

He considers for a moment. “That remains to be seen. If the Protestants stay at Rozay-en-Brie, then we will have given up our hunting for nothing.”

“Do you think they will stay?”

“No.”

“And when they come, what will be their purpose?” I hold my breath. It is the sort of question that Mother would never answer, but the Duc has thus far treated me as a person of intelligence.

He looks about to make sure we are alone, then draws very close. So close that I can feel his breath upon my face. “It is said they plot to kidnap the King.”

Holy Mary!
What stunning treachery! My body trembles slightly, and the Duc perceives it, regarding me with concern.

“Do not fear, Your Highness: there will be plenty of armed gentlemen to see you safely to Meaux.” Then, placing a hand upon my arm, he adds, “And
I
will not let harm befall you.” His hand drops as if he is embarrassed by the intimacy of the gesture. “Now go and make ready.”

CHAPTER 5

Meaux, France

When we reach Meaux we take over the Bishop’s palace—at least, those of highest rank do. Where those of lesser prominence go I cannot say. His Excellency was, of course, wholly unprepared for our coming. His Majesty’s
fourriers
were not a quarter hour before our party. I feel sympathy for His Grace as he stands on the covered stairway of his own palace looking lost as courtiers stream past. Inside all is chaos. Servants, their arms full of linens, run in every direction. Space is tight. Henriette, passing me, tells me that she is crammed into a room with her husband—a situation not at all pleasing. I am led to a chamber where I find the Duchesse d’Uzès. The thought of sharing a bed with this very elderly woman is not appealing. Seeing me in the doorway, she says, “Come in, come in. Her Majesty is with the King, and I am making sure things are as she likes them.”

I nearly gasp. For the first time in my life, it appears I am to share a bed with Mother. The dread of such auspicious lodgings adds to my state of agitation. I need a quiet place to collect myself, but where can I go when every corner is full? I hear a bell and my refuge is clear. Slipping out, I cross the courtyard to the Cathedral of Saint-Étienne. Entering the transept, I am greeted by graceful arches in pale, smooth stone and intricate carvings that give the walls the appearance of lace. I give a sigh of pleasure at the beauty. I can feel my heart slowing.

Drawing in the familiar smells of incense and candle wax, I move to the nave. The church is not deserted. Near the high altar a gentleman kneels, head bowed. I make my way forward quietly. I would not disturb the man’s devotions. When I am a few yards away, I recognize the Duc de Guise. So he is a man of prayer—what a pleasant discovery. Looking up, he nods with a faint smile, then drops his head again over his clasped hands. Sinking to my knees and closing my eyes, I give thanks for our safe arrival and pray God will protect the King—protect us all. Then, though the subject is less exalted, I ask God to help me to show myself to best advantage while I am so closely in company with Mother. When I open my eyes, the spot where the Duc knelt is empty. I feel a certain disappointment, which is erased when I find him standing by the door. Silently he offers an arm and we step into the courtyard, now striped with golden light from the falling sun. Pausing he says, “You are a great deal calmer than when I saw you last.”

“The walls of the city and my prayers bring me reassurance.”

“I am glad to hear it.”

“Did your prayers comfort you?” I ask.

“I did not seek comfort, but strength—the strength to slay Coligny.” His voice is fierce.

“But I thought Condé headed the party we would evade.”

“The heretics would never undertake such a plot without consensus. Their party is a many-headed monster and I expect more than one chief to be with them if we meet.”

*   *   *

We are waiting for the Swiss. That is all I know. All anyone knows. Well, that is not precisely true. Those important enough to be on His Majesty’s council doubtless know much more, but as they remain closeted with Charles, they are not to be seen or heard from. Last night I waited up for Mother, hoping to learn something. Day turned to night and still she remained absent from our room. Tucked in our bed, I left my light burning and tried to stay awake. Tried and failed.

As I pace the Bishop’s great hall on this, the morning after our arrival, I wonder: Did she even come to bed? The hall is full. There was a certain excitement, albeit driven by fear, in our rapid ride here yesterday. Now there is nothing but overcrowding, boredom, and the disagreements that arise from those conditions.

I am sitting, made silent, stupid, and irritable by
ennui,
when I glimpse Anjou. I have not seen my brother since Mother parted us yesterday. He will have news. He always does. I jump to my feet but Henri moves through the crowd and is lost to my eye. Frantically, I search for him, spotting his back as he exits by another door. By the time I reach the next chamber, Henri has disappeared. I press on, in each room disappointed, until I reach what appears to be the Bishop’s library. I could swear I hear Henri’s voice as I enter, but I do not see him. Stopping, I listen closely. I hear whispering and breathing other than my own. The draperies by one of the long windows twitch. Why would my brother hide from me? This is no time for games. Walking to the curtains, I pull them aside. Renée de Rieux is against the wall, her legs wrapped around my brother, who pushes himself against her again and again. It takes me a moment to realize what I am seeing, and when I do I turn and run, the sound of Renée’s laughter pursuing me long after heavy oaken doors should have killed it. I go straight to my room.

I am so angry. After the episode at Montceaux I had reason to know that my brother was involved with Renée, but knowing is far different than seeing. I close my eyes trying to banish the horrible proof that I have just had of their intimacy. It is no use—the image will not be banished.

Why her? Why?
There are a dozen ladies in Her Majesty’s household more refined, prettier, and less annoying. Nay, two dozen. I tell myself that I would be more sanguine had Henri chosen any of those, but I am not sure it is true. In verity I think of my brother as mine—my confidant, my dance partner—and it bothers me that he needs any other woman.

For hours I hope that Anjou will seek me out and apologize for what I stumbled upon. But by the time I send Gillone for a cold supper, I have given up. Unable to cheer myself, I retire. I dream of Henri and Renée. He is kissing the side of her neck as I saw him do and she is laughing—laughing at me. I call out to him and the next instant, in that strange way that only happens in dreams, it is I who leans against the wall. My neck he kisses. I wake with a start and sit up to find my flesh tingling strangely. Mother is at the dressing table brushing her hair in preparation for bed. I am glad to be in shadow, I would be mortified if she could see the excitement in my body. Thank God, neither she nor anyone else can see the content of my mind. Yet, even as I am mortified by my dream, I am also angry—angry at Henri.

“Anjou has taken up with Mademoiselle de Rieux,” I blurt out.

Mother stops brushing and looks at my reflection—pale and wide-eyed—in the glass.

“I have remarked upon it,” she replies.

Good
. “And what will you do?”

She regards me curiously. “Nothing. Your brother is a man now and will behave as one.”

“I do not understand.”

Mother sighs. “And I wish you did not have to. This is an uncomfortable subject, but I will press it because a woman who does not understand men’s needs will find herself a disadvantaged, heartbroken wife.” For a moment her eyes lose their focus. Then, squaring her shoulders, her gaze sharpens again. “You will seldom be the only woman in the lives of those men most important to you. Whether you have only a husband or, one day, God willing, sons, you must reconcile yourself to sharing them with mistresses.”

I swallow hard.

“You do not have to like this,” Mother says. “You may even take revenge. Do you remember when you were a little girl how I took the Château de Chenonceau from Diane de Poitiers?” She smiles. “That was my revenge. But notice, I waited until your father was in his grave.”

Of course I have heard this story—everyone has. Just as everyone, even his children, knows that my father kept Diane de Poitiers as his mistress. Still, to hear my mother state as much out loud is a difficult thing. I draw up my knees and wrap my arms about them in discomfort.

“I was polite to Madame while His Majesty lived, for the King’s sake,” Mother continues, “but also for my own. Had I harangued your father, pressing him to be rid of the lady, all I would have done was anger him and extinguish the power and influence I sought to cultivate.

“But I get ahead of myself. I would not merely tell you a story but give you a lesson—something you can use to manage your own future.”

Coming to the bed, she sits and lays a hand upon my arm where it wraps around my knees. “It is to your advantage to permit and ignore those women who are least dangerous—those less clever than you, lacking connections, or with personal attributes which presage a short tenure. A woman who a man will soon tire of is no serious threat. In the case of your father, I did not have the opportunity to suborn such a liaison. Diane de Poitiers was in the King’s heart before I came to France. Had I arrived and found His Majesty without a mistress, I would have made it my business to steer him toward a woman loyal to myself. One must be clever where there is a husband to be managed.”

“But Anjou is not a husband. He is your son. If you chastise him, surely he will cast off Mademoiselle de Rieux.”

“You fixate too much on the present situation,” she replies with exasperation. “You are correct that the power of a woman over her child exceeds that of a wife over her husband. Sons are still men, however. They may be led from reason—from the good guidance of those who care for them most—by pretty eyes and easily opened thighs.”

I look away. Thinking of Renée’s thighs, which I so recently glimpsed, makes me feel sick.

Ignoring my discomfort, Mother proceeds. “Your brother is in the first flush of his manhood, and a glorious manhood it will be. He has been tutored in languages, in diplomacy, in combat. His education will not be complete until he is tutored in the ways of the flesh. I have weighed the Mademoiselle and think she will do quite well for that task. She will satisfy his desire for carnal pleasure, but I need not fear he will become so entangled as to be dangerously influenced.”

Curious, I turn my gaze back to Mother’s face.

She smiles. “Renée is not intelligent enough to entertain Henri’s mind, nor graceful enough to please his aesthetic eye for long. He may lust for her but he will never love her. And he will never credit her counsel in place of mine.”

I sense that she wants me to acknowledge her lesson. Not wishing to disappoint, I say, “Madame, I understand.”

If she senses that I lie, she does not betray as much.

“Good,” she says, patting my knee and then climbing into bed. “Now to sleep. When the Swiss arrive, we depart.”

*   *   *

The sound is like thunder. Someone pounds upon the door. Gillone springs from her pallet, eyes wild like an animal’s in the low light cast by the embers of a nearly dead fire.

“Hand me my
surcote
.” Mother’s voice is strong and clear. As she rises and pulls on the garment she calls, “Enter.”

I have just enough time to pull the covers to my chin before the door swings wide.

The Duc de Nevers and Baron de Retz stand wreathed in light from lanterns they carry.

“The gates of the city have opened for the Swiss,” Nevers says.

“What is the hour?” Mother asks, continuing to fasten her
surcote
.

“Just past three.”

“I will rouse the King, you the Court. We depart as soon as horses can be saddled.”

There is no panic in her voice. I wish I could say the same for my breast! To ride out of Meaux in darkness—never as I was drifting to sleep did I interpret Mother’s words that we would depart at the arrival of the Swiss to mean a nighttime flight!