History's Great Queens 2-Book Bundle: The Last Queen and The Confessions of Catherine de Medici (74 page)

I awoke gasping, tangled in sweat-drenched sheets. The night was still, a frozen hush, but I could sense a vibration in the air, as though something struggled to adopt a nebulous shape.

Lucrezia rose from her cot. “My lady, are you ill? Shall I call for a physic?”

“No. I had a dream … an awful dream.” I told her what I’d seen. “It was so real. I can still feel the blood under my feet. I was trying to save somebody’s life.”

She peered at me. “Do you know who?”

I went still. I had foreseen death on the eve of my husband’s accident, though I hadn’t known it would be him. This dream had the same potency, the same inexorable certainty. I met Lucrezia’s eyes. “I don’t know who, but I think … I think it was Navarre.”

“The Huguenot queen’s son?” She rolled her eyes. “You know she guards him like a hawk. You couldn’t save him from anything because she’s always there. Go back to sleep. You’re weary and we ate too much at the seer’s house. Plus, you’re worried about whether Philip of Spain will let you meet with your daughter. Your nerves are playing tricks on you.”

“Yes,” I said, “that must be it. I’m just overwrought, is all.”

She trudged back to her pallet. Slipping into my sheets, I pulled the coverlet to my neck. But I stayed awake for hours, reliving the dream in my mind. Though I thought I should consult Nostradamus, I knew I would not. He had told me everything he could, and I didn’t need him to confirm that somehow I must get young Henri of Navarre to my court.

I thought of my dream for days afterward, but my letters to Queen Jeanne of Navarre were in vain. She refused to send her child to me, citing that my intention to meet with Philip of Spain, whose persecution of the Protestants horrified her, was “an infamy.” She even went so far as to inform me that my abandonment of Admiral de Coligny after le Balafré’s murder, even though he’d been acquitted, had earned me the epithet of Madame la Serpente among the Huguenots, and she would never trust me with the welfare of her heir, regardless that he stood next in line to the French throne after my sons.

Her insults enraged me. Ensconced in her mountain citadel, isolated from the discord and slaughter that nearly destroyed France, she had no concept of the difficulties I endured. As for Philip of Spain, I had no idea if he’d even approve our meeting but knew it would serve me nothing to inform her as much. From the day my father-in-law had sought to use her as a pawn to win back Milan, she had acted as if I were to blame for every misfortune in her life.

Packing up our belongings, we journeyed farther into the south, where the Mediterranean beckoned with its azure warmth and the scent of thyme and rosemary soothed our wind-chapped senses. Finally, while we rested in the white city of Marseilles, where thirty-two years ago I’d first arrived in France, word came from Madrid. Citing another of the innumerable revolts by the Flemish Lutherans and other problems in his far-flung empire, Philip sent his regrets that he could not join us. I was thrilled at the prospect of a reunion with my daughter, though I would have to resign myself to discussing my marriage proposal for Charles with the Duke of Alba, whom Philip had appointed to act on his behalf.

Summer came upon us with infernal heat, adding to our short tempers. Everyone was sick to death of poor food, sour water, and inadequate lodgings. Charles developed a fever halfway to Bayonne and had to ride with me in my coach, grumbling the entire way. By the time we came to rest in the large manor requisitioned for our use, he was insisting he wanted to return to Paris.

I agreed. Nothing appealed to me more, but I reminded him that we’d come to see Elisabeth. I ordered the court to wear its best finery and surveyed the nearby area for a site to hold the welcoming festivities.

I selected a knoll by the Bidassoa River, whose murky waters flowed into Spain. There we assembled under a sun that seared us right through our canopies. Charles sat clad in his mantle of estate and coronet, sweat soaking his auburn shoulder-length hair. He was too weakened from his recent fever to do anything but scowl at Margot and Henri, who played chess and were seemingly unaffected by heat. At twelve and fourteen, they were blessed with a vitality that left them unscathed by the saddle sores, upset stomachs, and other ailments that beleaguered the rest of us. Sipping iced wine as I searched the direction from which Elisabeth would come, the heat adhering my sienna velvet gown to my hips like a pelt, I wondered if I’d be able to rise when the time came or if I’d simply melt in a puddle at my daughter’s feet.

The distant blare of trumpets startled me to attention. Waving the court to its feet, I stepped out into the glaring afternoon. In the distance appeared the limp banners of a cavalcade. When I spied two figures riding at its head, I yanked up my skirts and dashed forward.

The cavalcade halted. I saw the spectral figure of Alba dismount and
help my daughter from her horse. She stood hesitant for a moment. From behind her, another figure appeared—a slight man clad in unrelieved black, wearing an odd high-browed hat with an ebony-colored plume.

He took her by the hand and they began walking to me.

Her red gown was in the Spanish fashion, stiff skirts draped over the narrow farthingale that had gone out of style in France years ago, her auburn tresses coiled under a diamond-spangled cap. As I neared, breathless from my run, I saw her eyes sunk in shadows, her mouth taut and cheeks hollow, as if she’d suffered an illness.

The man beside her regarded me without expression. His skin was like polished ivory, a close-cut silver-blond beard covered his jutting jaw. I knew that jaw: I’d seen it countless times in portraits sent to our court by the Imperial Hapsburg family. I felt faint as I bent my knees in clumsy reverence. I was completely unprepared for this.

Elisabeth said, “Mother, may I present His Majesty King Philip II, my husband.”

Philip inclined his head. “Madame de Medici, a pleasure.” His greeting was spoken with perfect neutrality; as I met his gaze I glimpsed frigid pale gray eyes, shadowed by his hat’s rim.

Elisabeth submitted to Charles’s embrace and Henri’s and Margot’s quizzical stares. They had been children when she left and seemed confused as to who this composed stranger was.

We then attended an outdoor feast. As we dined, I gauged Philip’s response, watching the way his spidery fingers tapped on his thigh as each platter of roast pheasant, venison, and duck was set before him. He ate sparingly, without any indication that what he tasted was agreeable to him.

The entire court stared. Here was the dreaded king of Spain, a legend among Catholics. He was frugal in both his speech and appearance, far smaller than my imagination had made him, with delicate hands and an almost feminine timidity, as if he were ill accustomed to attention. Still, I saw his gaze turn again and again to Elisabeth like a bird of prey’s and I had the disquieting sensation he had another motive besides a familial reunion.

I knew it was customary for Spanish queens to remain quiescent in public, but I didn’t like the way my daughter’s eyes were muted, as if she
were detached from everything around her. Our conversation was impersonal, without intimacy; as the festivities continued, a pageant and feast every night, a hunt or sail on the river every day, I managed to find time alone with her when Charles, Henri, and the other gentlemen invited Philip and his suite to go hawking.

I summoned Elisabeth to the long gallery, with its mullioned bay windows overlooking the river. Behind us trailed our women, dogs, and Margot, who dragged her feet because I hadn’t allowed her to join the court in its blood sport.

Before I had so much as inquired into her state of health, Elisabeth declared: “My husband demands that all edicts of toleration be rescinded and Catholicism asserted as France’s one true faith. All those who wish to convert must beg for absolution. Those who do not must die.”

Still standing, I came to a halt and looked her up and down. “Why hasn’t he told me this himself? He’s been here for weeks, dining at my table. Are you to act as his ambassador?”

“I am his wife and queen. It is my duty to speak to you.”

“And so you presume to advise me, your mother, on how I should rule my realm?”

“It is not your realm. My brother Charles is king of France.”

I flicked my hand at Lucrezia, who herded Margot and the others out of earshot. I let a few moments pass before I said, “I’ve looked forward to our reunion every day since you left. It pains me to think I’ve done something to offend.”

“You have let heresy take over France. That is what offends.”

I stared at her, at a loss. “Blessed Virgin,” I said. “What has he done to you?”

“If you refer to my husband, he’s utterly devoted.” She paused; I felt her hand slip into mine. Her fingers were cold. “You must listen to me.” She glanced over her shoulder to where the women gathered by the tapestries to play with the dogs. “Philip will not approve of any compromise. He believes you’ll never put an end to the Huguenot insurrection. If I hadn’t intervened when le Balafré seized you and Charles, he’d have sent an army to aid the Guises.”

“You … you intervened?”

“I didn’t want him to worsen the situation. But I may not be able to do
so the next time.” She raised her eyes, looking to me for the first time since her arrival as I remembered her. “I miscarried six months ago. I almost died. That was why Philip delayed his response about our meeting with you. He feared I would not be well enough to travel.”

I couldn’t move. My eyes filled with tears.

“I realized then I may not live long,” she added. “I decided I had to do what I could to maintain the peace between our countries. Philip hears of everything that transpires here and he was not pleased that you let Coligny go free after he ordered le Balafré’s murder.” She led me unresisting to a nearby window alcove. I sat beside her on the cushioned seat, stunned.

“Maman, please,” she said. “Are you listening?”

“Yes,” I whispered. “I am. I’m so sorry. I wish you had told me. I would have come to you.”

“The loss of my child was God’s will. I mean, about Coligny. He should have been put to death. Why did you not command it?”

“He … he was acquitted.” I wiped my eyes with the back of my hand. “I ordered an investigation, but no one could establish that he had any complicity.”

“That doesn’t matter. There isn’t a Catholic in Europe who believes in his innocence. If he didn’t have le Balafré killed, he desired it, and he led a rebellion against his king.”

“Not his king,” I protested. “He led it against the Guises. My child, you have no idea what they had done, what they would have done had le Balafré not died. Your brother and I would still be his captives while he and Monsignor ruled the country.”

“Be that as it may, you cannot play both sides forever. In the end, you must choose.”

In my mind, I saw him as he’d been in Chenonceau, chiseled sinew and bone, his breath warm as he bent over me … My voice caught in my throat. “Don’t you see? He did what he did for France. I cannot condemn him for what I myself would have done, given the chance.”

“Then you risk everything. He raised an army. What makes you think he won’t do it again?” As she spoke, she did not take her eyes from me, as though she peeled back layers of my skin to expose the heart of my secret. She let out a gasp, rose swiftly to her feet.

“Dear God, you love him.”

I gripped her hand. “No,” I heard myself say, the lie keen as a blade on my tongue. “I care for him because in times of great trials with the Guises, he cared for me. It’s not what you think.”

She went rigid. “He is a heretic. He’s not worthy of your care. There will never be peace while he and his kind live. You must rid France of them, once and for all.”

“You think that because of their faith, I should see them dead? They are people, Elisabeth: people, not monsters. I cannot kill thousands of French subjects.”

“They are damned.” She pulled her hand from me. “You must protect France from those who defile it. Philip is right: you have lost your faith. You must beg God for strength.”

“And you have become too Spanish!” I said angrily. “You forget that in France, we do not put our subjects to death without cause.”

“What more cause than heresy and revolt and the defense of our Holy Church? You must—”

Her voice cut off. Turning about, I saw Philip coming down the gallery, alone.

“It is too hot for hawking,” he said as he came before us. “I thought I should return so we could converse. We haven’t had time to speak, madame, and we’ve important matters to discuss.”

I caught a warning in Elisabeth’s eyes, but as I looked at his tidy figure and thought of the dogma he’d instilled in my daughter, I was beyond caring. “Your wife has said quite enough, my lord. Indeed, we should converse. I would hear your opinions from your own lips.”

Rays of scorching midday sun fell through the windows at our feet. I stood and we began to walk down the gallery, our shadows blending on the polished wood floor.

“You expect too much of me,” I began, without preamble.

“Oh?” I heard a sarcastic surprise in his tone. “You’ve always declared yourself a devout Catholic. Now is the chance to make good on your words.”

“I
am
devout,” I retorted. “But I never said I’d wage holy war on the Huguenots.”

He came to a halt. I saw fire leap in his icy eyes. “The holy war has already begun. The question now is who shall win. It is in my interest that you do, given the alternative.”

I regarded him. “I see you prefer candor.” I turned and resumed walking the way we’d come, forcing him to follow. The gallery stretched empty before us; my daughter and her women had left. “Let me elucidate the matter for you,” I said. “France is at peace. We’ve had our difficulties, but they are over, which I believe should be cause for rejoicing. After all, your concern is for our welfare, is it not?”

“That is not an explanation, madame. It is an excuse. You have not earned peace as much as prolonged the inevitable.”

I stopped in midstep. “My lord, tell me: What would you do, with half your nobility professed heretics and the other lusting for blood? It is not so easy a situation, I can assure you.”