The Reluctant Queen (4 page)

‘What?’ Navarre stared at the bowl as it was set before him, and at the maid who cowered beside it. ‘Do you expect me to take off my boots?’

‘You cannot sleep in your boots, and yes, I would prefer you to take them off when we make love, not leave them on as you did on our first encounter.’

The young maid stifled a giggle and Margot silenced her with a glare. ‘Let me help you, Sire. I will unlace them for you.’

Navarre stood up and kicked the bowl away, sending water cascading all over the tiled floor. ‘I think not, Madame. Get out of here,’ he ordered the maid, who hastily scampered away as fast as her feet could carry her.

‘How dare you!’ Margot stood before him in a fury, hands on hips. ‘That is no way to treat a servant. The girl has done no harm to you. Nor is this any way to treat a wife, one you say you have waited two long years to see again. All I ask is that you wash your feet.’

‘Do you imagine you can make me?’

‘I swear you will not get into my bed, lest you do!’

‘There are other beds, more welcoming.’

‘I dare say there are,’ she snapped. ‘But if you want an heir you must needs visit mine occasionally, and I will only allow that if your feet are clean.’

Navarre folded his arms across his chest, and they stood facing each other in a fine temper, both too stubborn to back down.

After a long moment, Margot whirled about, picked up the bowl and refilled it from a flagon of water that stood on the commode table.

‘Well, are you willing to allow
me
to wash your feet for you?’

For a moment it looked as if he might fling the bowl over her this time, but then he looked into her defiant, lovely face and suddenly put back his head and roared with laughter.

‘What a woman you are, my Marguerite. Wash my damned feet then, if you must.’ And dropping back into the chair he allowed her to kneel before him, unlace his boots, and with her nose wrinkling against the smell, wash his dusty, sweaty feet. Only then did she allow him into her bed.

But when he had left her in the early hours, she called her maid and had the sheets changed, and the room sprayed with perfume. She would be his wife and queen, but dear God there was a limit to even her tolerance.

It had finally been decided that the peace talks should take place in Nérac, being a
 
Huguenot stronghold, which were finally achieved in February 1579. And taking almost a month to persuade the Puritan pastors to come to any sort of agreement. They bitterly contested every offer Catherine made, always demanding more. She likened them to birds of prey in their sober black garb, calling them
les oiseaux nuisantes
, the nighthawks.

She aped their speech, practising it with her ladies at her
coucher
to gales of laughter, trying out these newly learnt biblical phrases on the Protestants, although with little appreciation.

They in turn marvelled at her energy as she was always the first to reach the council table, following an early Mass, and spent every spare moment writing letters to her son, Henri Trois, and to her dear friend Madame d’Uzès, who by now had returned to the French Court. Catherine was frequently heard to complain of missing her son who rarely responded to her letters. She would beg the Duchess to give her all the gossip from court, and tell her what her beloved Henri was doing.

Spring had come and the air was filled with the scent of almond and cherry blossom, and the Queen Mother was anxious to be on her way. Having done all she could in Nérac and the South, and, despite all the problems and difficulties of her constant journeying back and forth, Catherine believed she had managed to establish some sort of peace in Languedoc, Guyenne, Provence and the Dauphiné. Now she wished only to say her farewells and return to Paris.

The King and Queen of Navarre offered to accompany her to Castelnaudary, and once again she called little Dayelle to her.

‘What progress have you made, child, is the King besotted?

‘I – I know not, Your Majesty. He seems very fond.’

Catherine grabbed the terrified girl by the arm and gave her a little shake. ‘But is he fond enough? Have you told him that the time draws near for you to depart? That he will lose you if he does not accompany us to Paris?’

The young Cypriot was utterly tongue-tied. She dare not explain to this great queen how the King her lover had laughed when she’d suggested such a thing.

‘I almost left my head behind the last time I was foolish enough to visit the capital. Much as I love you, my dear Dayelle, I love my head more.’

‘I will speak to him again,’ she promised the Queen Mother, and sent up a silent prayer that when yet again she failed, Catherine would not seek retribution against her.

The farewells were duly made, the Queen Mother’s entourage departed, and Dayelle went with it. Henry of Navarre and his queen, who was no more anxious to return to Paris than he, stayed safely behind in Béarn, and much as he missed the charming Cypriot, Henry soon sought consolation elsewhere.

After parting from Catherine at Castelnaudary, Navarre and Margot travelled on to Pau. At first she was enchanted, thinking the Palace there quite beautiful and with breathtaking views of the Pyrenees. Henry showed her the bedchamber of his mother, Jeanne d’Albret, where he had been born; the
tortue de mer
, the turtle shell which had apparently served him as a cradle, and all around the room were the portraits and artefacts of his ancestors the Kings of Navarre. There were beautiful gardens too, and Margot thought she might be happy here.

But she had reckoned without the bigotry of the Calvinists.

Navarre’s tolerance in religious matters meant that he was perfectly willing to allow his wife, and a few of her closest friends, to hear Mass in the Palace chapel. It was quite small, only able to accommodate little more than a dozen people.

The Palace drawbridge was always pulled up beforehand, but somehow the people of the town came to realize what was happening and on Whit Sunday a group of them managed to get inside. They crowded into the tiny chapel as best they may, begging the Queen to allow them to hear Mass as they had been deprived of it for so long.

Margot took pity on them and without hesitation agreed they could stay, although it was a dreadful squash.

One of her ladies, a Mademoiselle de Rebours, was fiercely ambitious and nursed a fancy to replace the recently departed Dayelle. To capture the attentions of a king, even if his heart was not engaged, would be immensely exciting and surely lead to an increase in her own power and standing at court. In order to achieve this, Rebours felt it important to distance Henry a little from his queen, upon whom he was showering great affection.

When she heard what was happening in the chapel, Mademoiselle de Rebours saw her opportunity and ran to tell him of this scandalous behaviour. But halfway to the King’s apartment it occurred to her that perhaps she shouldn’t be the one seen to meddle. She decided this news might be better coming from another source, and went instead to his secretary, Jacques Lallier, Sieur du Pin. The man was a bigoted Huguenot and had no time at all for this Catholic Queen.

‘There are
Catholics
in the Palace chapel,’ Rebours burst out in shocked tones the moment she was admitted to his private
cabinet
. ‘Brought there by the Queen.’

Pin was outraged, and, calling his men, marched them down to the courtyard. He did not stand on ceremony, did not even pause to knock but barged right into the tiny chapel, dragged the peasants out, and had them flogged right there in the courtyard.

Horrified, Margot cried out in protest. ‘Stop that at once!’

‘Madame, step back. This is none of your concern.’

‘Indeed it is! I demand that you let these people be.’

Pin brushed her aside and had the Catholics arrested and thrown into a cell.

Margot caught up her skirts and ran. Bursting into her husband’s apartment she breathlessly told him what had just occurred. ‘I insist that they be released immediately.’

Navarre was startled, deeply disturbed by this unfortunate incident, which at first glance seemed of no consequence, and yet had clearly made his wife angry. ‘I cannot do that. You ask too much, Margot. Be grateful that I at least permit you and your people to hear the Mass. I cannot allow half the populace of Pau to partake of it too. This is Huguenot territory. You are being unreasonable.’

‘
I
am being unreasonable? What of that bully of a secretary of yours? He has no right to imprison innocent people simply for their beliefs. I would have thought that you, of all people, would see that. The insolence I suffered at the hands of that little man was unspeakable. The fellow should be dismissed at once.’

Henri would dearly like to have released the Catholics, but dare not, knowing this would only enrage the more bigoted Puritans, and stir up hatred even more. He also had not the least wish to part with his secretary, and said as much. ‘I will speak to the councillors of the Pau parliament and see what can be done for these people. Pin was doing only what he thought to be right. He’s an excellent man, and good at his job.’

Margot was having none of it, and, stiffening her spine, stood tall before him in all her royal dignity. ‘Pin is well known for being high-handed. Even your own people accuse him of such. The man is insolent. You must choose, Henry, between your secretary or your wife. I swear if you choose that odious little man, then I will return at once to Paris and tell my brother the King what you have done.’

It was a bluff, of course. Margot had no wish to do anything of the sort, but she was in tears for the poor souls who had been beaten and thrown in to prison, simply for wanting to take part in the Mass. She was also furious with this allegedly excellent secretary for having breached her orders to let them alone.

Pin had to go, and the prisoners were released. Navarre could see no way of avoiding it, for he certainly had no wish to annoy the King of France, and Margot, in her present temper, was capable of cutting off her own nose to spite her face and carrying out the threat.

Perhaps he would be able to forgive the man later and quietly return him to his former status. But the incident put Henry in a bad mood and he did not visit the Queen for some days after that. How he longed, at this moment, for his dear little Dayelle.

Mademoiselle de Rebours thought the King might ultimately learn that it was she who had betrayed the Queen, and decided it best to break this news to him herself. She went to him in tears begging his forgiveness. ‘Did Monsieur Pin tell Your Majesty that it was I who brought him word of the Catholics attending Mass?’

‘Ah, was it indeed?’ Henry was intrigued. ‘No, he said nothing about his source.’

She glanced up at him with frightened eyes, damp with false tears. ‘Oh, dear! Have I then condemned myself? I did it for the best. I was thinking only that it seemed a dangerous thing for the Queen to do. I was but mindful of her safety. You will not tell her it was I? You will protect me, Sire?’

Navarre narrowed his eyes and considered the woman with interest. She was pale and rather thin, not at all the voluptuous beauty which normally attracted him, although not unhandsome, and there was a fragility about her which reminded him a little of Dayelle. But this woman was no innocent. He knew that Mademoiselle de Rebours had enjoyed two previous admirers, the Comte de Frontenac and his old friend and general, Damville. But he so hated to see a lady in distress.

Besides, it would surely be highly appropriate to find consolation with a lady from his wife’s suite, since he was vexed with her.

He put an arm about the woman’s shoulders and drew her close to press a kiss upon her brow. ‘Fear not, your secret is safe with me. Come, why don’t we walk a little in the gardens.’

And so it began.

Margot was no fool, and soon discovered that the secretary Pin had learned of the presence of the people in the chapel from one of her own ladies, and how that woman was now occupying her husband’s bed. Furious at being doubly betrayed she called Xaintes, another of her maids-of-honour, a woman who was both voluptuous and experienced, and particularly attractive to men.

‘I dare say you have heard the gossip.’

Xaintes lowered her gaze. ‘It is rife, Madame.’

‘Indeed! Rebours is a malicious girl who has done me a great disservice. She spies on everything I do and I would have you do the same with her. Report to me everything she does, everywhere she goes.’

Xaintes willingly complied, but the result was that she too caught Navarre’s eye. Margot was highly amused and gave the King every encouragement. Rebours was furious, believing, quite rightly, that Margot had deliberately planted this rival for the King’s affections in order to make her jealous, and had succeeded.

Margot had been barred by her gender from ruling France, although she felt quite certain she could have done far better than any of her brothers: François II who had died at just sixteen, Charles IX whom she had loved dearly but the poor boy had carried a fatal flaw of madness, and now Henri Trois who surrounded himself with pretty boys, lap dogs, monkeys and a doll-like, obedient queen. Margot had made the decision long since to devote herself to Alençon, her younger brother, instead, although he too had his flaws, being somewhat deceitful and cowardly. The relationship had created much jealousy and soured relations with Henri still further.