The Reluctant Queen (34 page)

Gabrielle wiped away the tears with her kerchief. ‘You are right, Aunt, as always.’ And with grave dignity, showing nothing of the tumult that raged within, she continued making her plans.

By early December, the news that came back from Usson was not as Henry had expected or hoped for. Margot had changed her mind. The Queen point blank refused to consent to a divorce, alleging she had only just learned from Rosny that Henry intended to marry his mistress.

‘Although I continue in the will to meet His Majesty’s desires relative to a divorce, my indignation is greatly kindled that the King intends to give my place to Madame la Duchesse – a lady lost in repute.’

Henry was furious and railed at Rosny. ‘This is your doing. She promised me she would sign. Why does she prevaricate when she knew full well my intentions to marry the Duchess.’

‘I assure you, my lord, you have my full support,’ lied his favourite minister. ‘Certain nobles, however, do ponder over the words of the Cardinal, particularly since their wives refuse to curtsey to Madame Gabrielle.’

The King exploded. ‘
Ventre Saint Gris
, I will not have it. I shall divorce Margot on the grounds of her own adultery. She has had so many lovers I could take my pick. I shall dispense with her permission and choose a different route. See to it, Rosny, with all speed.’

Instead, Rosny showed the Queen’s letter to Cheverny, who in turn passed it on to Madame de Sourdis, who showed it to her niece.

Gabrielle cried many bitter tears of disappointment. ‘The Queen has changed her mind and refuses to divorce him after all. What am I to do?’ she wailed to her aunt.

‘Hold faith in the King,’ Madame de Sourdis insisted. ‘And have you not more joyous news for His Majesty?’

Gabrielle shyly nodded.

Madame smiled. ‘I thought so. All will be well, take my word for it. This child will be born in wedlock.’

Rumours of Gabrielle’s fourth pregnancy flew round the court like wild fire, exciting yet more rumours and scandal. Since Bellegarde had recently separated from his wife, his hasty marriage now in ruins, he was as good a target as any to fix upon for their malice. Just as it had been whispered when César had been born, rumour had it that the child was not the King’s.

For once Henry showed no sign of jealousy, but simply laughed. ‘I hear this child has a different father.’

Gabrielle sank to her knees before him. ‘Sire, do not believe the tales they spread about me. I am innocent of the charge and ever loyal to Your Majesty, whom I love more than life itself.’

‘I know it, my angel. Your lovely face tells me so. Let us proceed with the baptism and prove our resolve and loyalty. You have been as a wife to me all these years, and will be so in truth very soon, I promise, with or without Margot’s consent.’

Gabrielle fell into his arms, weeping with joy. ‘Oh, Henry, you are the sweetest, dearest man. I do love you so.’

Henry took her to his bed and demonstrated, very ably, how much he cared for her.

On 13 December, Alexandre was baptized at St Germain-en-Laye, with all the ceremonial due to the baptism of a Prince of France. Cardinal de Retz and Archbishop of Paris officiated. The godfather was the Comte de Soissons, who, knowing that Catherine, his lost love, was about to be married, deemed it wise to obey this request from the King.

Gabrielle was filled with excitement, so caught up with the magnificence of the proceedings that she gave no further thought to the murmurs of discontent, not even those whispered among the citizens of Paris. Her friends and supporters encouraged her to disregard those nobles who spoke against her. She was the beloved wife, in all but name, of His Majesty, and therefore untouchable. Even the King saw no reason why every honour should not be heaped upon her and his new son.

Little Alexandre was placed, with all dignity, upon a huge bed hung with white satin and covered with cloth of gold bordered with ermine. Royal guards lined the staircase and corridors of the chateau, and the archers of the Scotch guard stood at the door of the church. The font was from Fontainebleau, the platform draped with velvet on which was featured the
fleurs de lis
of France. Gabrielle herself wore a mantle studded with the same symbols, which caused much gossip among the ladies present.

At the ball and banquet that followed she looked the perfect picture of beauty, for all she was now twenty-seven and grown a little plumper from her several pregnancies. And the King was as adoring as ever, insisting that all due homage be paid to her.

Gabrielle sat back, happy and content, revelling in the ballet and the adulation from Henry and her friends. The baptism had been a marvellous success.

And then Rosny received the bills for this momentous event.

When the Baron saw what must be paid to the heralds, trumpeters and hautboys, archers and guards, clergy and choir boys for their services, he absolutely refused to honour them. ‘This is outrageous! Far too much money. That spoiled madam has gone too far this time.’

He paid instead a much reduced amount, a sum Rosny deemed to be fair. The archers and heralds, and others owed money, were not happy and an official representative was sent to complain.

‘Monsieur, the amount you have paid is incorrect. The sums payable at the baptisms of Children of France has long been regulated.’

‘What does that signify?’ retorted the Superintendent of Finance. ‘There are no Children of France!’

The official went away to complain to Gabrielle and, seeing that he needed to protect himself, Rosny hurried at once to the King.

‘Do you see these figures, Sire, they are quite scandalous and reckless in the extreme.’

Henry read the accounts and paled. Ever careful with money himself he saw that he may well have made a grave mistake in giving Gabrielle such a free hand. He ruefully rubbed his chin. ‘The final sum does seem excessive. You must speak to the Duchess de Beaufort on this matter, and suggest she do all she can to get it reduced.’

Rosny hurried to obey. Here, at last, was his chance to humiliate the favourite.

Gabrielle was staying with her aunt at the Deanery, quite close to the Louvre, and met the impertinent suggestion that she had overspent with barely concealed contempt. ‘If that is the sum due, then it must be paid. I will not be dictated to by some valet,’ she said.

Rosny was struck speechless, deeply offended by this insult. How dare this trollop look down her nose at him? She had got above herself, and needed bringing down. Spinning on his heel, he stormed away and hurried straight back to the King.

The moment Henry saw Rosny’s expression, he groaned. The last thing he wanted was to alienate his most talented minister. The King was all too aware of the rumour and intrigue that rumbled about him, often bound up in self-interest. He dare not risk Rosny’s high-standing in court being destroyed by some silly quarrel over the cost of a baptism. He depended upon him too much. Somehow, he must reconcile these two people who were each so vitally important to him.

‘I fear the lady may have misled me,’ Henry said, playing the coward.

‘Something must be done,’ Rosny insisted, not willing to let the matter drop.

‘Of course, of course,’ blustered Henry. ‘You shall see that a woman shall never control me, although I suspect the fault lies with her friends and her greedy aunt, rather than Madame la Duchesse.’

‘Then let us settle the matter now, once and for all.’

Stifling a sigh, Henry strode off in the direction of the Deanery, Rosny hot on his tail. For once he did not greet Gabrielle with the usual three kisses, but insisted she make peace with the minister whom she had so deeply offended. ‘You must learn to practice patience and moderation in future,’ he warned, attempting to look stern.

Gabrielle was aghast. ‘But Your Majesty, you sanctioned the ceremony. Surely those who took part deserve their fees?’

Henry felt as if he was being held on a very large fish hook with two lines, one held by his keeper of finance, the other by his mistress. Whoever reeled him in, he would be the loser. Like the fish, he wriggled to be free. ‘I trusted you to maintain a sensible hold on the expenses,’ Henry scolded, desperately striving to hold on to the high ground. ‘I have always loved the sweetness and amiability of your disposition. Have I been deceived?’

Tears sprang into Gabrielle’s blue eyes and she sank to her couch, weeping. ‘I cannot abide it when you are angry with me. What have I done? What are you suggesting, Sire? I see that it is your intention to abandon me. Remember it was against my wishes to occupy this position which
you
forced upon me. Have I not done my best to please you?’

Rosny watched as his royal master’s expression melted with love for his mistress when he saw her distress. He plainly ached to gather her in his arms and offer her the whole world if she would but stop crying and say that she loved him. The two lovers were entirely bound together by an emotion and intimacy that was hard to witness without feeling an intruder upon the scene. Yet Rosny dare not leave, as he feared that Henry might actually offer her son the title of Prince of the Blood the instant he did so.

Gabrielle went on, ‘Have I not sacrificed myself to you, and given you all my affection? Now I see that I must sacrifice myself to please your valet!’

She had used that dreadful, insulting word yet again. ‘Sire, this is intolerable!’ Rosny cried.

‘You must dismiss the fellow,’ Gabrielle sobbed. ‘He is the one at fault, not I.’

Henry’s patience ran out. ‘Madame, it were better that I dispense with ten mistresses than with one servant such as Rosny.’

Only then did Gabrielle realize the extent of her blunder, and desperately attempted to make good. She fervently apologized and voluntarily conceded that any title for Alexandre should be postponed. For his part, Rosny agreed to look again at the costs and see that all due bills were met. To all outward appearances, a reconciliation had been achieved, but beneath the surface the ill feeling continued to fester.

The religious factions were each starting to grumble over the Edict of Nantes, the treaty meant to bring peace to the realm. The radical priests continued to preach from the pulpit against the Huguenots, saying they ought to be dragged to the slaughterhouse. They not only attacked the Huguenots, but Gabrielle herself. One declared that ‘a lewd woman in the court of a king was a dangerous monster and caused much evil, particularly when she was encouraged to raise her head’.

It was clear they were referring to herself, which greatly distressed Gabrielle.

The rebels also vociferously objected to allowing the Protestants equal rights and the opportunity to enter public office. Some had the effrontery to call upon Gabrielle to intercede on their behalf with the King to put a stop to this menace.

Gabrielle’s response was a picture of innocence. ‘I do not understand the nature of your objection. What possible problem could there be in admitting the Huguenots to Chambers or any public office, as they are loyal, true-hearted subjects. Has not the King allowed those who have actually borne arms against him to sit in his Chambers, which is surely far more dangerous? Besides, my efforts would be to no avail. Nothing will change the King’s mind on this matter.’

If her answer did not please the Catholics, it delighted the Huguenots, and Aubigné wrote to thank her. Despite her having urged the King to accept the Mass, she had never interfered with them, or criticized their faith, and they greatly preferred Gabrielle to any Spanish queen. Now her popularity with the Huguenots increased tenfold.

Gabrielle went further. Aubigné had openly chastised the King for having abandoned the Huguenot faith. The stern old Puritan had been so outspoken and critical at the time that he’d feared Henry might never speak to him again, had even lived in dread of being taken into custody by the guard for a while. Now Gabrielle effected a reconciliation between the erstwhile chamberlain of Nérac and his royal master, with whom he had once been so close. She wrote to Aubigné and suggested he express his thanks to the King personally.

One morning, as she and Henry returned from their ride, she spotted him in the crowd of gentlemen gathered in the courtyard, and pointed him out to Henry.

‘Ah, here is Aubigné back in court again, ever loyal, and no doubt wishing to express his gratitude for your work on behalf of the Huguenots.’

Henry dismounted and strode across to his one-time minister, clapping him on the shoulders and placing his cheek against his. ‘Well met, old friend. I’m delighted to welcome you back to court. I trust this means you have thought better of your criticisms towards us.’

‘Sire, so far you have only renounced God with your lips, and it pleased Him to pierce them. But when you renounce Him with your heart, it is your heart that He will pierce.’

Henry frowned, the allusion to that attack upon his life might be apt, but he didn’t much care for the implication that he had abandoned his God rather than his religion. It was Gabrielle who spoke up for him.

‘Fine words, sir,’ she exclaimed, ‘but you use them ill.’

‘Aye, madam,’ Aubigné agreed. ‘But then they are to no avail. His Majesty will do as he pleases.’

‘I will do what pleases France.’

Aubigné inclined his head in obeisance. ‘I am happy to be here, Sire, and welcome the opportunity to offer my thanks for all you have done for my people.’