Виктория Холт - Queen Jezebel

Margot turned away and went back to her chair; it did not take her long to forget her anger, because already she was anticipating a reunion with Henry of Guise; those about her knew her well, and they were fond of her, for, with all her faults, she was the most lovable member of the royal family. Her temper rose quickly but it fell with equal speed and she was generous and goodhearted; she could always be relied upon to help anyone in distress; she was vain and she was immoral; there had in fact been unpleasant rumours concerning her affection for her brother Henry, the Duke of Anjou; she had at one time admired him greatly; this was when he was seventeen and the hero of Jarnac and Montcontour, and Margot’s love, whether for cousin or brother, held nothing back that might be asked. But beautiful as she was, both gay and learned, so eager always to talk of herself, to make excuses for her conduct, she was an enchanting companion, a joy to be with, and greatly she was loved.

Now, because of the words of Charlotte de Sauves, she must justify herself in the eyes of her women. She shuddered and rocked herself gently to and fro. To think,’ she murmured, ‘that each passing minute brings me nearer to a marriage which I hate!’

They tried to comfort her.

‘You will be a Queen, dearest sister,’ said Claude.

Others added their balm. ‘It is said that Henry of Navarre, although lacking the beauty of Monsieur de Guise, is not without his attractions.’

Charlotte joined them, still tenderly fingering her ear. ‘You would find many women ready to testify to his attractiveness,’ she murmured. ‘He is a little rough, they say, a little coarse; but it would be difficult to find another as affectionate and as elegant as Monsieur de Guise. Duke Henry is a king among men; and the King of Navarre, it is said, is just a man . . . among women.’

‘Be silent, Charlotte,’ said Margot, beginning to laugh. ‘Oh, but my heart bleeds. What shall I do? I declare I’ll not be married to this oaf. I hear he has a fondness for peasant girls.’

‘Not more than for great ladies,’ said Charlotte. ‘He just has a fondness for all.’

‘It may be,’ said Margot, ‘that the Pope will not send the dispensation. Then there can be no marriage. I pray each hour that the Pope will refuse to allow the marriage to take place. And then what can we do?’

Her ladies smiled. They were of the opinion that the Princess mother, who desired the marriage, would not allow it to be prevented by a mere Pope. But they said nothing; it was the fashion to share wholeheartedly in Margot’s fables. As for Claude, she did not wish to add to her sister’s distress.

Then there will be no wedding,’ continued Margot, ‘and all these men and women can go back where they belong. But it is exciting to see so many people in Paris. I must confess I like it. I like to hear the shouts of the people all through the night. They have turned night into day—all because they have gathered here to see me married to that oaf Henry of Navarre, whom I will never marry, whom I have sworn never to marry.’

There was a knock on the door.

‘Enter!’ cried Margot; and her face changed when she saw Madelenna, her mother’s confidential Italian attendant. Claude shivered; she invariably did when there was a prospect of her being called to her mother’s presence.

‘What is it, Madalenna?’ asked Margot.

‘Her Majesty, the Queen Mother, desires the immediate presence of Madame de Sauves.’

All except Charlotte showed their relief, and she gave no indication of what she was feeling.

‘Go at once,’ said Margot lightheartedly. ‘You must not keep my mother waiting.’

There was silence when Charlotte had gone. After a pause Margot went on to talk of her hated marriage, but her eyes had lost their sparkle and the animation had left her face.

Charlotte de Sauves knelt before Catherine de’ Medici, the Queen Mother of France, until Catherine, waving a beautiful white hand, bade the young woman rise.

Catherine was fifty-three years of age at this time; she had grown very fat in the last years, for she was very fond of good food; she was dressed in black—the mourning which she had worn since the death of her husband, Henry the Second, thirteen years before. Her face was pale, her jowls heavy, her large eyes prominent; her long black widow’s veil covered her head and fell over her shoulders. Her carmined lips were smiling, but Charlotte de Sauves shivered as many did when they were in the presence of the Queen Mother, for in spite of a certain joviality of manner, her sly secret nature could not be, after so many years, completely hidden; and it was such a short time since the death of Jeanne of Navarre, the mother of the bridegroom-to-be, who had, much against her inclination, been persuaded to come to court to discuss the marriage of her son with Catherine’s daughter. Jeanne’s death had been swift and mysterious and, as it had occurred immediately after she had done what Catherine required of her, there were many in France who connected the death of Jeanne of Navarre with Catherine de’ Medici. People talked a good deal about the strange ways of the Queen Mother, of her Italian origin, for it was recognized that the Italians were adepts in the art of poisoning; it was suspected that her perfumer and glove-maker, René the Florentine, helped her to remove her enemies as well as her wrinkles, supplied her with poisons as well as perfumes and cosmetics. There had been deaths other than that of Jeanne of Navarre—secret murders of which this widow in black had been suspected. Charlotte thought of them now as she stood facing her mistress.

But Charlotte, young, bold and beautiful, was by no means of a timid nature. She enjoyed intrigue; she was delighted to exploit the power which was hers through her unparalleled beauty. She had found favour with Catherine because Catherine always favoured those who could be useful to her; and she had her own way of using beautiful women. She did not keep a harem to satisfy her erotic tastes as her father-in-law Francis the First had done. The women of Francis’ Petite Bande had been his mistresses whose task was to amuse him with their wit and their beauty; Catherine’s women must possess the same qualities; they must be able to charm and allure, to tempt husbands from their wives and ministers of state from their duties; they must wheedle secrets from those who possessed them, and lure foreign ambassadors from their Kings. All the women of the Escadron Volant belonged to Catherine, body and soul; and none, having entered that esoteric band, dared leave it. Charlotte, like most young women who had joined it, had no wish to leave it; it offered excitement, intrigue, erotic pleasure; and there was even a certain enjoyment to be had from the more unpleasant tasks. No woman of virtue would have been invited to enrol in that band, for women of virtue were of no use to Catherine de’ Medici.

Charlotte guessed the meaning of this summons. It was, she was sure, connected with the seduction of a man. She wondered who this might be. There were many noble and eminent men in Paris at this time, but her thoughts went to the young man whom she had seen on horseback from the window of Princess Margot’s apartment. If it were Henry of Guise she would enter into her task with great delight. And it might well be. The Queen Mother might wish to curb her daughter’s scandalous behaviour; and as Margot and Henry of Guise were in Paris at the same time there was bound to be scandalous behaviour, although he was another woman’s husband and she a bride-to-be.

Catherine said: ‘You may sit, Madame de Sauves.’ She did not go immediately to the point. ‘You have just left the Princess’ apartments. How did you find her?’