Médicis Daughter (31 page)

“Come to cheer your brother?” Mother asks.

“Who else should I cheer?”

“Indeed,” Anjou snipes, “Guise is absent.”

“Let that be, now, Henri,” Mother says. “Margot knows it is finished.”

“Not quite, apparently,” he says. “The Duc has returned to Paris, or am I misinformed?”

Mother gives him a stern look.

“Hardly surprising, considering that he lives here,” I reply, with a shrug.

“For the moment.” Anjou gives a wicked smile. “But I suspect him to be keeping company with his father before too long.”

“Henri!” Mother’s voice has none of its customary fondness. “Enough.”

I long to snap that the day Anjou tries to put my beloved in a grave will likely be the day my brother finds himself mortally wounded, either at Guise’s hands or at mine.

Bussy misses a return, giving Charles the victory. Racket over his head, Charles turns to one gallery and then the next to receive the cheers of his courtiers. Charlotte and I rise and shout like the rest. Mother applauds. Anjou alone does not stir himself until, as everyone is returning to their seats, he raises a hand to point down the gallery. “Look who has come to make excuses.”

Angoulême moves through the young men who roughhouse good-naturedly courtside. They have no reason to be sobered by my half brother’s arrival and so slap him on the back and jostle him, but the sight of Angoulême alters His Majesty’s expression. The light of triumph disappears, replaced by a flush caused by a less pleasant emotion.

“Who will Your Majesty play next?” Bussy asks.

“You play in my stead,” the King replies. “Perhaps you will play better against the next opponent than you did against me.”

Leaving Bussy puzzled, Charles drifts toward Mother. “Out of our place,” he says to Anjou with a wave of his hand. Anjou avoids rising and bowing by slipping from chair to floor and leaning against the leg of Mother’s seat as if to say to Charles,
You may have the throne but I will always come between you and our mother.

Angoulême, having broken free of the knot of noblemen, makes his way toward us.

“Remember, Your Majesty, your business with the Chevalier is private. I urge you, therefore, to keep your displeasure private as well.” Mother speaks low. She tries to catch my eye to dismiss me, but I am careful not to see her.

Reaching us, Angoulême makes a bow, clears his throat, and says, “Your Majesty—”

“Please,” Charles interrupts, holding up a hand, “do not tell us you have brought us back a boar or a stag. You knew the tribute we wanted, and, failing that, nothing will satisfy.”

“The man has two score eyes and twice as many friends.”

“And you have too many excuses.”

“If Your Majesty desires it, I will continue my pursuit.”

“We do desire it, but if you could not bring down the beast in the forests, why should your luck be better in the streets of Paris? What might pass as an accident where many are shooting will hardly look like one in the Rue du Chaume.”

Mother puts a warning hand on Charles’ arm, apparently thinking his mention of the street in which the Hôtel de Guise stands too explicit.

“There are ruffians about everywhere, Your Majesty. A man may be set upon for his purse and lose limb or life instead,” Angoulême says.

Unwittingly I give a little gasp. Turning in her seat, Mother says, “Baronne de Sauve, would you and the Duchesse de Valois return to my apartment and tell my ladies I will be there soon to dress for dinner.”

I am loath to go, and have my own lack of self-possession to blame. As we make our way out, I console myself; it is beyond imagining that the details of whatever my half brother plans next would be discussed beside the tennis court. It is enough for the moment to know that Charles’ anger is not spent.

That is what I tell Henriette later in the afternoon while all the ladies of the Queen’s household are in the gardens of the Tuileries. Henriette and I have retreated to Monsieur Palissy’s grotto. It is an excellent spot for privacy, as the ceramic frogs, snakes, and lizards he fashioned, which I find delightful, repulse most of the ladies. As an extra precaution Charlotte sits outside, prepared to sound a warning before any can overhear us.

“Leave it to Entragues and me,” Henriette says confidently. “We will keep the Duc one step ahead of the King’s men. I will see Guise this evening.”

“How I wish I could go with you.”

“I know. I know too that the Duc would bless me a thousand times over were I able to transport you secretly to the Rue du Chaume. But, alas, such subterfuge lies outside even my considerable powers.” She seems genuinely regretful, though whether at disappointing me or at being forced to admit there are limits to her machinations, I cannot be sure. She begins to leave, then stops short. “Why not?”

“Why not what?”

“Help you see your Duc, of course.”

Rushing forward, I take both her hands in mine. “Do you think it possible? Do not raise my expectations cruelly without hope of fulfillment.”

“I never raise anything cruelly.” She laughs. “I have planned to meet Entragues at that little house in the Rue Pavée that I have taken expressly for the sort of rendezvous my husband cannot know about. But instead I shall give up my hours of
amour
so that you can steal one with Guise. I will bring him here.”

“Here?”

“The weather is warm. The moon will be nearly full. All the Court will be at the Louvre, and these gardens deserted. You have only to contrive to be here.”

*   *   *

Henriette was right. The moon is very bright, though not so bright as to justify the care with which I dressed. I have not been so fastidious in my toilette since my love left to hunt. Removing my cloak, I lay it on a bench, pinch my cheeks, straighten my necklace, and wait.

Henriette has arranged for Henri to give a long, low whistle before entering the grotto, and never has my ear been more eager for a sound. When it comes, and before it stops reverberating from the rock around me, I am in Henri’s arms. His lips close over mine. His hands caress my cheeks, where they find moisture. He breaks off our kiss.

“Are you weeping?” He draws me into the moonlight so he can see me better.

“Only a little, and nothing compared to the tears I should have shed had Angoulême found the courage to take aim at you in the forest.”

“Angoulême? Pfft!” Henri wipes my tears with his thumbs. “Pardon me, love, but he has neither the courage nor the aim to make me take him seriously. When I arrived at the Hôtel de Guise, I heard that you took far more punishment at the hands of your brutish brothers than I ever feared from your half brother. It was only with the greatest difficulty that I subdued my urge to ride for the Louvre and make them pay.”

“You must not even joke about such actions. My brothers are your sworn enemies. Charles wants you dead and you must not give him any opportunity to see his wish fulfilled.”

“He can hardly have me killed in open court. I would have more respect for him were he—or Anjou—to challenge me openly. In trial by combat I would thrash either soundly, and perhaps in future they would remember that a man who attacks a woman is not man at all.” He pulls me against his breast and strokes my hair. “They have not enough honor between them to equal one true gentleman. But forgive me, I forgot they are your brothers.”

“There is nothing you could say of Anjou that I have not myself thought. Charles…” I push back from him and seek his eyes. “… I believe Charles left to himself would be a good man and a good king.”

“Ah, but he is never left to himself.”

“Oh, Henri.” My tears begin again. “You have fought and bled for Charles. There are none braver or more worthy among his gentlemen. Why can he not let you have my hand as your reward?”

“Your mother wants to stop my influence. She fears the sway of even healthy friendship upon him. But will you give me up so easily?” His voice is earnest. “Will you consent to marry Dom Sébastien?”

“To save your life, yes.”

“It will not come to that, I swear it.” He kisses the side of my neck. The effect of his touch, his scent, is overwhelming. The strong yearnings I felt before he went away—the very urges that, along with a need to lessen gossip, drove him to the cool of the forest lest we fall into sin—surge through me. I know that he feels them as well, for as he moves his mouth to mine his kisses are frantic, the arms that hold me are tense and, when my hand strays to the front of his
haut-de-chausses,
his arousal is clear. I am nearly delirious with desire.
I have already been accused of having Henri and he of defiling me. Why should it not be so, then?
The offer of myself stands on the tip of the tongue I thrust into his mouth.

Then I remember the rage on Charles’ face as the cry of “Whore!” rang from his lips. If there is to be even a feeble hope of calming the King’s hatred, I must retain my trump card—the ability to offer myself up to a physician’s examination to prove my virginity.

I push against Henri. Rather than being confused by my action, he releases me entirely, takes two very deep breaths, then paces away and takes a seat on the low bench. He knows as well as I how close we are to committing an act that can never be undone.

“We must have a plan,” he says at last. “Just as we would if we sought victory in battle.”

“You have won so many battles; do you believe we can win this one?”

“I must believe. To think otherwise is to be defeated at the outset. And the prize”—despite the low light I can see him shake his head—“the value of the prize nearly within my reach is beyond any city I have ever taken.”

A joy equal to the desire that a moment ago consumed me fills my breast.

“I am not a patient man, but I know how to besiege a city—how to play a waiting game. The King will cool. He has not the temperament to maintain a heated and active grudge. There is a royal ball just shy of a fortnight from now. I will keep to my
hôtel
until that occasion and then, as I am called upon to do by my position as
Grand Maître de France,
present myself with an outward show of deference befitting a loyal subject and dutiful officer.”

“And I?”

“You will spend the next two weeks being the most obedient sister and daughter in Christendom. Or appearing so. Reassure the King and your mother that you stand willing to marry the Portuguese as soon as it can be arranged—”

“But such a marriage, or even a betrothal to Dom Sébastien, puts an end to all our dreams!”

“And for that reason the marriage must be prevented, but not by you. You must appear blameless when it comes to nothing.”

“How, then?”

“Philip of Spain thinks your brother too lenient with the heretics.”

I know my love thinks this as well. Any tolerance for Protestantism in France is wholly unacceptable to his pious nature. I think again how fitting it would be that we should marry and Henri become the King’s chief counsel in seeing France entirely Catholic again.

“While Admiral Coligny draws his men closer to Paris,” Henri continues, “perhaps word will reach the Spanish that Charles thinks of peace.”

“Does he?”

“Who can say? He thinks whatever Madame Catherine thinks for him at present. No matter. My uncle wants your hand for the House of Lorraine nearly as much as I want it myself. He will be happy to see the right words home to the right ears.

“Now come.” He holds out a hand. “Kiss me again without tears.”

I hesitate. Not because I do not wish to be kissed, but because—as I was reminded so recently—my will to stop at a kiss is severely to be doubted. Henri senses the hesitation.

“Marguerite, I swear to you, on my honor, that as I revere you and hope to have you for my wife, I will not take the rights of a husband until I am bound to the duties of one.”

I need no further reassurance, for I wish to be upon his lap as much as he wishes to have me there. “Do not show too much restraint,” I urge an instant before I offer my lips. Without further thought of the kings of Portugal, Spain, or France, I surrender to the sensations of my body. Until I hear a noise—a low whistle.

Henri hears it too and, springing to his feet, unceremoniously drops me on the floor of the grotto. Moving his hand to his sword, he carefully unsheathes it. The whistle comes again. “Who goes there?” Henri’s voice is almost a growl.

“Put up your sword, fool, who do you think?” Henriette slips in. “Are you so besotted that you forgot I accompanied you here?”

I blush in the darkness, wondering where Henriette was while Henri and I wrestled lustfully.

“Time to go,” she says matter-of-factly. Henri nods. “But first, here.” She removes her cloak and holds it out. “You must act the part of my maid, and I will take you home in my litter.”

“Surely I can slip back on my own.”

“You cannot. While the two of you exchanged pretty words, Entragues found me. It seems one of Anjou’s spies reported that you left the Hôtel de Guise, though he could not, praise God and our luck, tell the Prince your destination.”

“No!” I put a hand on Henri’s arm.

“Entragues heard your brother say, ‘Never mind where he has gone: he must come home again and I shall set Angoulême to wait for him.’ So, Duc, you will play my maid.”

Henri takes the cloak and ties it on. I draw up the hood for him. “Take care, Henri. If anything were to happen to you…”

“Nothing will happen. I will feel humiliated but nothing worse.” Turning to Henriette, he says, “I do not see what this achieves. Assuming I am taken for your maid, how am I to get from your litter to my home? You are well-known, Madame.”

“I should hope so.”

“And well-known as a friend to the Duchesse de Valois. If Angoulême recognizes your litter arriving at my
hôtel
and a woman is seen exiting it, will not a rendezvous with Marguerite be suspected?”

“Not when that woman can be clearly seen to be my sister the Princesse with a servant trailing a step behind. And that is what you shall appear to be: a servant come to make her late-night visit to a man look somewhat less scandalous. We will stop to retrieve Catherine en route. I’ve sent a message telling her you are eager to see her and that we will make a merry party.”