“Your brother Anjou planned the allegory. What chance do you think I had of being on the winning side?”
“Bien faible. It seems unfair, as you are the bridegroom and all this show ought to honor you.” We move forward slightly. Leaning out, I can see His Majesty and the Queen Consort making their way into the h?tel. The sight of Charles reminds me of something. “Sir, have you heard the Duc de Montmorency left Paris this morning? He came to take leave of the King. Charles was not at all pleased and kept asking Montmorency why he could not wait a few days longer and go with the Court to Fontainebleau.” I do not know if this information is important, but as I try to build credibility with my new ally, I have resolved to report whatever comes my way.
“I had heard as much from Coligny.” He stops for a moment, tilts his head, and considers me. I put a hand to my hair, wondering if my tiara is askew. “Ventre-saint-Gris!” My cousin’s curse takes me by surprise. “My men insist I should tell you nothing. But how can you counsel me if you do not know what I know? Montmorency urged the admiral to also abandon the city.”
“Odd.” The hair at the nape of my neck prickles. “Did Coligny say why?”
“Montmorency does not like the look of the crowds in the streets. Or the glances some of those closest to His Majesty throw in his cousin’s direction. But the admiral thinks Montmorency an old woman.” The King of Navarre punctuates this sentence with one of his characteristic shrugs. “He will not quit Paris without your brother, at least not until they have addressed certain matters.”
“The war with Spain?”
“You cautioned me not to speak on that subject, Madame.” My cousin brushes off my question. So he wishes to think I am not a spy, but he is not entirely sure.
Our litter draws to a stop for a final time. My cousin holds out a hand. “Oh, I should warn you,” he says as we move up the steps, “I end up in hell during today’s entertainment and there is a very long ballet while I am there, which makes things even worse.”
My cousin is wrong: the ballet is not the worst part of the spectacle. I sit in my place seething. The scenery is splendid, as are the effects, but the whole of the extravagant tale was clearly deliberately designed to demean my new husband and the gentlemen closest to him.
“Madame,” I say to Mother, “I wonder you permit such a performance. Surely humiliating the King of Navarre and his friends is contrary to your wish that the Court be exhibited as one and united.”
“I did not plan the entertainment.”
That may be, but I do not believe for a moment Anjou would stage such a thing without Mother’s imprimatur. I give her a sour look.
“Margot, it is all in good fun. In just a moment your husband will be freed and will be back at your side. I did not realize you would be so eager to have him there.”
When the dreadful allegory is over, the King of Navarre does not return. Charles throws one arm around my cousin and the other around Coligny, smiling and talking with great vigor. Glancing at Mother, I see her give a little scowl. “Well,” I say, “Anjou may wish my husband in hell, but His Majesty clearly loves him. As he loves the admiral. I will wager that you wish that gentleman had left town today with his cousin.”
“No, indeed, daughter, I assure you.”
*
“Dear God, this weather!” Henri removes his sword and leans it against a chair. “I will be glad to quit Paris.”
“You go to Fontainebleau, then?”
“If you do.”
“And if I do not?” I have already made up my mind that I will travel with the Court, whether my cousin does or not. But I have no intention of telling Henri that until I hear his reply.
“Then I suppose I must stay here, though it be hot as Hades. Speaking of which, I am enjoying the celebrations of your marriage more than I would have believed possible.”
“I am glad someone is,” I reply stiffly. I cannot decide which vexes me more: how quickly Henri has accustomed himself to my being another man’s wife or the fact that his enjoyment of the festivities is obviously based in great part on the fact they seek to make a fool of that other man.
“Come, Margot! You did not enjoy the evening’s allegory?”
“Not at all.”
“I am amazed. The only thing that might have made that bit of playacting more satisfying would have been if Coligny had been consigned to the flames with that wretched gentleman who has been made your husband.” Henri closes his eyes and takes a deep breath as if relishing that image. “But the admiral would only have been granted clemency in the end with the others,” he continues. “When Coligny is dispatched, I want him more permanently in hell.
“Come”—he puts a possessive arm around me—“let us think and talk no more of the Protestant rabble.”
I begin to unbutton his doublet.
“The King showed great affection for your husband this evening. I assume that is because Navarre supports this foolishness in Flanders.”