The Queen and the Courtesan (4 page)

‘Does one hundred thousand
livres
not soften his loss sufficiently that he must demand more?'

Henriette felt the smallest panic start up in her breast as she pressed herself ever closer, showering kisses over his mouth and bearded chin. ‘I reminded my father that the word of a king was of equal value to his signature, and that I, a mere subject, could never dare to demand such a promise. But he is adamant, and since he will not relent, can you not indulge this whim? Of what consequence is it? If you love me, and value the love I hold for you, how can you hesitate to comply with his desire? Name what conditions you please, I am ready to accept them, content to obey your slightest wish. In
everything
.'

And leading the King to a couch she gave him most, if not quite all, he desired. The document was duly signed before the day was out.

Rosny was furious. He picked up the carefully worded document, read it to the end, then ripped it in two.

‘Since you wish to know my opinion, that is what I think of such a promise.' Had he not just rejoiced at finally being rid of the obstacle to his plans to provide France with an honourable queen, he most certainly had no wish for another.

‘
Ventre Saint Gris!
' cried the King. ‘What are you about? Have you gone mad?'

‘I fear so, Sire,' Rosny answered. Privately he thought it was his monarch who had lost his wits. ‘I am a fool. Would that I were the only one in France. Sire, remember how d'Entragues and his daughters created a scandal in the time of the Duchess de Beaufort. Did you yourself not insist that I give
une baggage
orders to quit Paris?'

Flushed with irritation Henry refuted this. ‘It was my dear angel who insisted the girl leave, as she was foolishly beset with jealousy over a simple dance.'

‘But the promise of marriage will only serve to bring Your Majesty into derision. In addition, the document would prove a serious obstacle both to the projected divorce from Queen Marguerite and to a suitable matrimonial alliance which might benefit France. I beg you to think carefully on this, Sire. Queen Margot will not surrender her title to any demoiselle, nor will the Pope insist that she does. You could well lose all hope of alliance with the Italian princess, Marie de Medici, who is by all reports a lovely young woman as well as rich, and find yourself once again shackled to Queen Margot with no prospect of escape.'

Furious at being so challenged, yet knowing the argument to be sound, Henry strode from the room. But obstinately refusing to back down he called for his private secretary to write out a fresh promise of marriage to replace the one which Rosny had destroyed. Then he mounted his horse and went hunting, an expedition which conveniently took him to Malesherbes, where he remained for several days.

The matter was far from settled. Balzac decided he would be satisfied with nothing less than the post of Marshal of France, a position for which Henry considered him entirely unsuitable as he did not possess the necessary military qualifications. The Marquis made this further demand as he daringly outfaced the man who lusted after his daughter, even though he was a king. Henry was incensed and refused, point blank, to grant his wish. He'd thought the girl almost in his hands, now it was all going wrong.

‘This transaction is turning out to be far more expensive than I bargained for. You have silver in your pocket, your daughter a fine château, and a promise of marriage. Would you have my bleeding heart too?'

Balzac smirked, certain he was winning. The only danger to his plan was that his daughter was like a cat on heat, more than eager to surrender whatever was left of her virtue. In order to separate her from the King while he concluded these arrangements to his complete satisfaction, he dispatched the girl to Marcoussis, then followed himself in order to guard her.

The King fell into a sulk and on 10 October wrote to Henriette.

It seemed the King had reached the end of his tether and Henriette was deeply alarmed. Marcoussis was closer to Fontainebleau than Malesherbes, but it was a stronghold with ramparts, and a keep which was only reached after crossing three drawbridges. The castle had been erected in the fourteenth century, since which time it had more than once withstood a siege, notably by John the Fearless of Burgundy in 1417. It could easily withstand that of a lover, even if he were a brave soldier king.

The protracted argument over her surrender had gone on long enough, so far as Henriette was concerned. She wanted to enjoy some of the benefits of capturing a king's heart. She certainly had no wish to be confined in a prison, as was Queen Margot. ‘Why would I wish to be locked behind these stone walls when I could grace the bed of a king?' was her constant cry. ‘Advise me,
Maman
, how to keep his interest, as you so successfully retained the love of Charles IX. Am I not as clever and as beautiful as you?'

‘You are certainly more ambitious, child.'

‘At least I took the precaution of getting this,' she snapped, flourishing the signed document in her mother's face. Soon, I shall be his wife and Queen of France. What say you to that?'

‘That Henry of Navarre was never a man for keeping his promises, or for constancy, so do not count your chickens too soon, my love. He could easily grow bored and turn again to Mademoiselle de la Bourdaisière. And I've heard he is also paying court to Mademoiselle de la Chastre,' Marie mildly remarked. ‘Did I not warn you of possible disappointment?'

Henriette stamped her foot, her cheeks growing crimson with fury. ‘So tell me your secrets. What must I do to win, and
keep
, a king,
and
a crown? He is a man, after all, with a man's weaknesses. What more can I do to fascinate him?'

Marie could have said that Henriette should listen less to her own greed and more to her heart, and not too blindly to her own father, but did not dare. And in truth her younger daughter, Marie, was far less shrewd, having recently eloped with Bassompierre without any promise of marriage. Perhaps this one was cleverer than she gave her credit for. With a sigh, Marie gave Henriette the kind of advice a mother should never give a daughter on how to please a man with pretty and titillating little tricks. However unsavoury and embarrassing, it was the only advice to which she would listen.

When this was done, or Marie could bear to say no more, Henriette merely laughed. ‘But I've already tried all of that, save for the falling in love part,' she scorned. ‘I've learned a few tricks myself these last few years. Have I not had two lovers fighting over me? Skilled as I am in the art of love, why have I failed to capture the King? Why does he not come to me now?'

‘How can he when you are so well guarded?'

Her head jerked up and she grew instantly thoughtful. ‘Then how can he get past Papa?'

‘Ah, that is a difficulty for you to resolve. I couldn't possibly advise.'

Her mother quietly withdrew, leaving Henriette to restlessly pace her bedchamber, chaffing even more at the restrictions placed upon her. Then an idea came to her. Calling for pen and paper she quickly wrote a note which suggested that the King summon her father to some alleged duty away from the castle, which would leave the way open for her rescue. She quickly dispatched the missive with a loyal page.

The plan worked like a charm. The Marquis innocently obeyed the King's orders, and, once he had left the castle, Henry presented himself and carried off Henriette. No one dared to protest.

She was duly installed at the Hôtel de Larchant in Paris, which had been specially prepared to receive her, decked out with new hangings and flowers in every room. ‘A pretty bird should have a pretty cage,' Henry said, gathering her hungrily in his arms.

‘I want no cage,' Henriette softly protested. ‘Only the freedom to be every moment at your side.' Carefully remembering all her mother's advice, she did indeed shower him with love and fond words of affection, well laced with her own adventurous spirit. That night she gave the King all he had hoped and dreamed of, and beyond. As always, Henry was an eager lover, nor was he disappointed with his prize, and Henriette set no boundaries in her resolve to please him. She let him do with her as he willed, and even showed him one or two tricks of her own. Henry was enslaved.

By the end of the month Henriette d'Entragues was firmly established as the royal favourite. One of her first unselfish acts was to solicit the pardon of the Prince de Joinville. But then he had previously been her lover, so she was determined to help him if she could. Henry generously granted the request, and in early November Joinville came to Saint Germain-en-Laye, accompanied by his uncle, the Duke of Mayenne, to pay obeisance to the King. Henry received him with much kindness. Soon after that, his royal mistress was presented with her new domain and granted a title to go with it. Gabrielle had been the Duchess of Beaufort, Henriette would in future be known as the Marchioness de Verneuil. Not quite so high in rank, but it was a good place to start. Henriette resolved that her next advancement would be the highest in the land, next to the King's.

Part Two

T
HE
I
TALIAN
M
ARRIAGE

1599–1600

‘
T
he marriage arrangements have been successfully concluded.' Ferdinand I, Grand Duke of Tuscany, beamed exultantly upon his niece. ‘In return I have agreed to release France from its indebtedness, the balance to be given in cash to a total sum of six hundred thousand
livres
, which will represent your dowry. The Ambassador has this very day been dispatched to Paris with the signed articles of marriage. What think you of that?'

Marie de Medici gasped. Six hundred thousand
livres
! How could she be worth such a sum? It terrified her. So many projects of marriage had been mooted and failed. She had once hoped to marry her cousin, Don Virginio Orsini, Duke of Bracciano, a handsome and chivalrous
chevalier
, but it had come to nothing, as had this one with Henry IV, which had rumbled on for years. By now the King of France must be approaching fifty, and with a reputation for philandering, so she'd rather hoped that too might similarly flounder. No doubt he was pressed for cash, and she, as a rich royal bride, was seen as a solution to his troubles. Marie sighed. She should not complain. Was that not always the lot of princesses?

‘Will I suit him, do you think?' she asked in tremulous tones.

She was twenty-seven years old and eager for a husband and children of her own. If she loved him well, mayhap he would no longer feel the need for a mistress.

As if reading his niece's mind, and being of a kindly nature – if a little hectoring at times – the Grand Duke came to put his arms about her. ‘Any man would be a fool not to appreciate your youthful loveliness. You are a handsome young woman, never forget it.'

Marie gave a wry smile. ‘Handsome? I'd sooner be a beauty.' She did not see herself as beautiful. Her oval face she thought pale and unremarkable, the nose rather too long, the chin too pointed. But she was of reasonable height and slender, with a shapely figure. ‘How can I compete with the late Duchess of Beaufort for whom the King must still secretly mourn? And his new mistress, the Marchioness de Verneuil.'

‘Remember that whatever affections have gone before in Henry's life, you must ignore them. You are a Medici, and the daughter of the Archduchess Joan of Austria. Be proud of that.'

She looked up at her uncle, all the pride she felt in her heritage and her Italian blood gleaming in her dark, shining eyes. Besides, she longed to please him as he had improved her life exponentially since his accession. ‘Oh, I
am
proud, I am.' Even as a small child her beloved mother had taught her to lift her chin high and walk with assurance in every step.

‘You will be queen, and therefore have no need to compete with anyone. You possess the proper dignity and presence, have inherited your dear mother's pretty Hapsburg mouth, as well as her soft brown hair and porcelain complexion. And from your father, my wayward brother Francesco, his intelligence and confidence, though not his cold, unfeeling nature, praise God. Were your parents still with us, I believe they would be proud of you this day.'

Marie smiled with warm affection, grateful for the care her uncle gave her, while privately acknowledging that her neglectful father had never shown the least pride in her. Following the death of her mother he'd dispatched her to the Pitti Palace in Florence, just days from her fifth birthday, where she'd spent a sad and lonely childhood. But it was surely true that her intellect was quick and cultivated, thanks to the excellent education she and her half-brother, Antonio, had been given by the formidable Donna Francesca. Marie had particularly loved the arts and poetry, and developed a gift for languages. She'd loved to walk in the Boboli Gardens, created by her grandfather, Cosimo. But if she did not suffer fools gladly, wasn't that only right and proper in a royal princess?