The Hostage Queen (31 page)

In the end he readily agreed to write and sign any document she presented in order to declare his innocence. ‘We, son and brother of the King of France, having heard that some impostor has sown and spread false reports against us . . .’ All lies, but a way out for both mother and son. Alençon scarcely paid any heed to the words; he simply signed.

Margot made the decision to do all in her power to save her husband. No matter what their differences, and even if he meant less to her than Guise, or even La Molle at this precise moment, she felt bound by her wifely duty to do all she could to help him. She was afraid for him, terrified at what the Queen Mother might do. She had no wish to see his head on the block.

She wrote an impassioned and articulate defence, as carefully reasoned as that of any lawyer. It began, ‘The King my husband, having none of his councillors available, charged me to put his defence in writing, so that his evidence would harm neither himself nor anyone else.’

She begged for royal clemency, and Navarre himself read the plea directing it at the Queen Mother, not to his inquisitors. He reminded Catherine of his boyhood spent under her care, how she had educated him in the ways of the French Court, and of his loyalty to the crown since that date. It mentioned how he had fought alongside his mother when threatened by the Princes of Lorraine, and how, once peace had been declared, he had agreed to this ‘very happy’ marriage with her daughter Margot. Despite what had occurred since – losing his friends and comrades in the massacre only days later; the humiliation of being held virtually a prisoner in the Louvre, and having spurned the Huguenot faith he had never ceased in his loyalty to the King.

‘I have endured many petty persecutions and tribulations, partly from the King of Poland’s favourite, du Guast, and others of the Catholic faction, who plot against me to blacken my name. I am kept under armed guard, my apartments searched daily, even my servants subjected to harassment and dismissal. I have frequently asked to speak to the King to assure him of my good service, only to be told that His Majesty has no wish to receive me. All I wish is to return to my realm where I can live in peace with my people. That is all, Madam, that I know,’ he concluded. ‘I very humbly beg you to consider whether I did not have just and sufficient reasons for going away.’

He spoke with passion and sincerity, but it was Margot’s cleverness which really won the day. Moved by the power of her daughter’s words, and her carefully contrived argument, Catherine agreed to spare both princes from execution. They were still, however, to be denied liberty of person or any opportunity for Navarre to return to his own kingdom.

La Molle and Coconnas stood trial next, and were less fortunate. Whether or not anyone believed in the black arts, other than Catherine, they were quickly found guilty of plotting against the King. They were taken into the bowels of the castle where La Molle was the first to be put to torture, his finger nails ripped out one by one by red-hot pincers, the beautifully elegant body that Margot had so adored and loved splintered and broken on the rack.

Yet he remained loyal, not implicating her, or anyone else, in the conspiracy. Coconnas was less brave and named several co-conspirators who were also arrested and sent to the Bastille.

The Queen of Navarre and Henriette, the Duchess of Nevers, had scarcely stopped weeping since the arrest of their lovers. The fear that their beautiful young men might be executed any day was too dreadful to comprehend. How had it all gone so terribly wrong? Margot visited the prison every day to see La Molle, accompanied by her dear friend, who likewise wished to see Coconnas. They took food and small comforts, doing what they could to alleviate their suffering.

Broken men, they were held in a subterranean cell with little in the way of fresh air or light, so constructed that they did not allow the prisoners either to stand, sit or lie with any degree of comfort. They were obliged to pay their gaolers if they wished to be fed, but no amount of bribing would secure their release. The two men, once so loved and worshipped by their admirers, could do nothing but await their fate.

Margot discovered that she was allowed to travel back and forth with her women right into the prison courtyard. Her coach was never searched, the guards paying her little attention once they grew accustomed to her visits. They never looked inside, nor made any of her ladies take off their masks.

‘All we have to do is smuggle in some women’s clothing, and
one of the prisoners could then make his escape by leaving with us, disguised as a woman.’

‘Only one?’ the Duchess asked.

‘There is always the danger that the guards will take a careful count of how many of us go in, and how many come out. We must mingle with the crowd to confuse them, but to attempt to bring out both men would be far too dangerous.’

Henriette was horrified. ‘Yet they are closely watched, even if we are not, so once it is discovered that one is missing, the other will be in far greater danger.’

Margot knew in her heart which man she would rather save, but then the Duchess too had her favourite. ‘We must allow them to decide. Only they can make such a decision. We can but offer to save one.’

‘Even so it would be highly dangerous to ourselves. Dare you take the risk?’

‘La Molle does not deserve to die for such a paltry conspiracy.’

‘Nor does my Coconnas, but you would risk losing the King’s good graces if the scheme fails, Margot. He would never forgive you. Your reputation and your good relations with him would be ruined for all time, if not your own life put in danger.’

Margot was sombre. ‘That is indeed a serious risk, I do concede it. And what of you, Henriette? You would be running the same risk. Think of the Duke, your husband. Think of your children. Yet we must decide soon. Time is of the essence. If we do nothing, then tomorrow, or the next day, both men will lose their heads.’

The two women looked at each other, and in silent accord an agreement was reached. Whatever the risks, they had to try.

The two friends set about making careful preparations that very afternoon as there was no time to be lost. Margot put on a second gown, Henriette an extra petticoat, before they each wrapped themselves in their cloaks, Margot wearing two. She pulled the hood up to hide her face.

‘I swear I must look as fat as a pig, and I’m sweating like one too. Does it look obvious that I am overdressed?’ she asked, anxious suddenly.

‘No, no, my lady. You are as slender as a willow wand.’

‘Don’t forget to tuck a spare mask into your pocket, Henriette. No lady is ever seen out and about without her mask, save for myself on occasions, and whichever one of them is chosen, he must needs hide his face.’

‘And his beard,’ her friend agreed, hiccupping on a hysterical giggle.

All went perfectly smoothly. The ladies settled themselves comfortably against the cushions of the Queen of Navarre’s coach, which was waved through the gates into the prison yard by the guards without being apprehended.

Margot climbed out of it on legs that felt decidedly shaky. She could hear Henriette at her side almost whimpering with fear. ‘Hold your head high and look confident. Let us mingle with that group of wives over there. Quickly, while no one is watching.’

The Queen, the Duchess, and a maid, each carrying a basket of food, hurried across to join the line of women already queuing at a small side door. As always, the stench of the prison almost overwhelmed them as they entered, and the ladies quickly held their pomanders to their noses.

‘I swear I shall faint clean away from the stink of it one of these days,’ moaned the Duchess.

‘There are no days left,’ Margot grimly reminded her. ‘This is the last. We must put the plan into action at once. Delay could be fatal for us all.’

With fast-beating heart, Margot led the way down a stairway slippy with moss and fungi, and something far less pleasant. The sound of feet scampering away into the darkness made her shudder with revulsion. They reached the prison cell in what felt like the bowels of the earth, and the turning of the huge rusty key in the lock by the gaoler grated loudly in her ear, causing her to tremble with a new fear. If the plan failed, she may well be hearing that sound locking her into such a cell.

Margot held up her lamp, struggling to adjust her vision in the gloom. La Molle lay curled in a corner, his eyes fixed and glazed. Coconnas was huddled beside him, the cell barely big enough to accommodate the two prisoners, let alone their visitors. There was no other light but the lamps they carried with them and, as always, Margot was shocked by the sight of her lover. He looked like a bundle of filthy rags, half dead already. She fleetingly recalled his crimson-lined, cream satin cloak, the glorious elegance of the man as he danced, and the way his enigmatic smile would melt her heart. Tears ran down her cheeks at the thought of this lost beauty.

For the first time she began to question the wisdom of her scheme. Could he even get up, let alone walk out of this place disguised as a lady-in-waiting?

She kissed him on the mouth, trying not to mind the foul stink that emanated from it, or the lice that moved in his hair. Nor did she allow herself to recall how scented and smooth this skin, now so grey and rough, had been when last they’d made love beneath her satin sheets.

She wasted no time in asking after his health, an irrelevant question in the circumstances. Margot let him sip from the flask of wine she had brought, gave him a hunk of cheese to eat, but he turned his head away.

‘Where is the point in eating? I shall need no more food from tomorrow.’

‘It is vital that you keep up your strength.’

She rapidly outlined her plan, and as she saw hope dawn in his loving gaze, hastened to explain how they could only risk taking one of them out. ‘You must decide quickly. Which of you is it to be?’

But they could not decide. The two men fell to quarrelling, knowing that whoever was left would undoubtedly suffer further torture before the blessed relief of death finally overtook them. How could one friend leave the other to such a torment? They clasped each other in terror and regret.

‘We will die together, as we lived together,’ La Molle finally announced. ‘There is no other way.’

Margot was forced to accept the futility of her plan. But she was shocked and devastated by their decision, tried desperately to make them change their mind while the Duchess wept, adding her own pathetic pleadings. But no amount of tears or persuasion would alter their decision.

Then came the rattle of a key. The gaoler was at the cell door. It was time to go, and reluctantly the two ladies kissed their lovers goodbye and departed.

The following morning, 30 April, Margot and the Duchess watched in horrified disbelief as their lovers were executed on the Place de Grève. From the safety of the Queen of Navarre’s coach, they saw how La Molle showed remarkable strength and courage, walking unaided to the scaffold. His last words were, ‘God have mercy on my soul, and the Blessed Virgin. Commend me well to the good graces of the Queen of Navarre and the ladies.’

And how the ladies wept, all of them, for the tragic loss of such beauty.

The head of Coconnas was the next to roll, and was equally mourned.

Following an execution, according to custom, the heads were placed on public exhibition in the square, as a warning to the populace. Later that night, Margot sent her chamberlain to collect the heads of both their lovers, giving instructions for them to be embalmed and buried in the Chapel of St Martin at Montmartre.

She could not bear to go herself. For days Margot couldn’t even bring herself to leave her room. The two friends were distraught, inconsolable in their loss, weeping and sobbing together, offering each other what comfort they could in their grief. The Duchess of Nevers ventured out only to call for a maid to bring them some sustenance, although persuading Margot to eat was difficult.

Margot felt responsible for La Molle’s death. If she had not encouraged Alençon in his ambitions, and her husband in his bid to escape, none of this would have happened, and these two innocent men might have been alive to this day. It was a bitter lesson.