At Valenciennes they were met by the governor of the city, the comte de Lalain, a dignitary of much higher rank and authority than provincial Monsieur d’Ainsi, as witnessed by the impressive train of three hundred noblemen who accompanied him to his rendezvous with Marguerite and her entourage. Like the queen of Navarre’s first conquest, the comte de Lalain detested Spanish rule, but he was more circumspect than Monsieur d’Ainsi, as befit his higher rank. “Although he had hitherto abstained from entering into a league with the Prince of Orange and the Huguenots, being himself a steady Catholic, yet he had not admitted of an interview with Don John, neither would he suffer him, nor any one in the interest of Spain, to enter upon his territories,” said Marguerite. Another plum ripe for picking! “With this disposition of mind, the Comte de Lalain thought he could not give me sufficient demonstrations of the joy he felt by my presence,” observed the undercover agent.
This time, however, Marguerite prudently elected not to approach her target, a married man, directly but instead appealed to him through the good offices of his wife. “On our arrival at Mons [outside Valenciennes, about halfway to Namur], I was lodged in his house, and found there the Countess his wife, and a Court consisting of eighty to a hundred ladies of the city and country… The Flemish ladies are naturally lively, affable, and engaging. The Comtesse de Lalain is remarkably so, and is, moreover, a woman of great sense and elevation of mind… We became immediately intimate, and commenced a firm friendship at our first meeting,” Marguerite declared. So pleasant did she find her hostess’s company that what the queen of Navarre had intended to be only an overnight stay lengthened into a week’s visit. By the end of this period, “the Countess and I were on so familiar a footing that she stayed in my bedchamber till a late hour, and would not have left me then had she not imposed upon herself a task very rarely performed by persons of her rank, which, however, placed the goodness of her disposition in the most amiable light. In fact, she gave suck to her infant son; and one day at table, sitting next me… she, dressed out in the richest manner and blazing with diamonds, gave the breast to her child without rising from her seat, the infant being brought to the table as superbly habited as its nurse, the mother,” Marguerite marveled. “She performed this maternal duty with so much good humor, and with a gracefulness peculiar to herself, that this charitable office—which would have appeared disgusting and been considered as an affront if done by some others of equal rank—gave pleasure to all who sat at table, and, accordingly, they signified their approbation by their applause.” It seems that even a queen’s perspective could be broadened by travel.
But of course the main order of business was not an introduction to quaint local customs but the substitution of François’s rule for that of Don John’s and Spain’s. Luckily, Marguerite’s hostess made the broaching of this sensitive subject very easy by openly deprecating the Spanish. “We entertain the utmost dislike for the Spanish government, and wish for nothing so much as to throw off the yoke of their tyranny,” the countess complained. “But as the country is divided betwixt different religions, we are at a loss how to effect it. If we could unite, we should soon drive out the Spaniards; but this division amongst ourselves renders us weak. Would to God the King your brother would come to a resolution of reconquering this country, to which he has an ancient claim! We should all receive him with open arms.”
Margot made haste to disabuse the countess of the notion that Henri III might ever be induced to take up arms in Flanders’s defense. “I told her that the King of France my brother was averse to engaging in foreign war, and more so as the Huguenots in his kingdom were too strong to admit of his sending any large force out of it,” she stressed. Then she made her pitch. “My brother Alençon has sufficient means, and might be induced to undertake it,” Margot continued, as though, in her natural desire to aid her new friend, the idea had just occurred to her. “He has the command of the King’s army against the Huguenots, and has lately taken a well-fortified town, called Issoire, and some other places that were in their possession.” Then, warming to her task: “You could not invite to your assistance a prince who has it so much in his power to give it; being not only a neighbor, but having a kingdom like France at his devotion, whence he may expect to derive the necessary aid and succor. The Count your husband may be assured that if he does my brother this good office he will not find him ungrateful, but may set what price he pleases upon his meritorious service,” she added helpfully. Marguerite was getting the hang of the espionage business.
The upshot of this confidential talk was the appearance in Marguerite’s rooms the next morning of the count himself. “He explained to me the means whereby my brother might establish himself in Flanders,” said Margot, “having possession of Hainault, which extended as far as Brussels… we agreed upon an interview betwixt my brother and M. de Montigny, the brother of the Count, which was to take place at La Fère [in northern France, where Marguerite owned a château] upon my return, when this business should be arranged.”* Cambrai, Valenciennes, and Hainaut all to go to François, and she had been in Flanders barely more than a week! In her exhilaration at having succeeded so thoroughly at her assignment, upon her departure Margot presented her hosts with diamond jewelry of “considerable value,” which no doubt added convincingly to their impression of French generosity.
Flushed with triumph, armed with the knowledge that she had immeasurably aided François’s ambitions, the queen of Navarre left Mons for Namur. The comte de Lalain and his men accompanied her part of the way but turned around as soon as Don John and his entourage appeared on the horizon, leaving the covert French operative in the company of only the faithful Monsieur d’Ainsi to face the Spanish governor.
DON JOHN WAS THE king of Spain’s illegitimate half brother. He had recently replaced the unpopular duke of Alva, whose repressive government had been disturbingly effective, as Philip II’s ranking commander in the Netherlands. Don John was thirty years old and highly experienced in the art of warfare, having spent the previous dozen or so years in the Spanish navy, the most successful fighting force in Europe. He was universally admired—and feared—for having destroyed the seemingly invincible Turkish fleet at Lepanto six years earlier.
He was also well informed about the political situation in France. In fact, Don John had passed through the kingdom on his way to his Netherlands assignment just the year before, where he had caught a glimpse of Marguerite at a court ball. More to the point, perhaps, he had also had an opportunity to engage in secret negotiations with the duke of Guise at his château in Joinville. There, a daring Catholic plot had been devised between the two men for the overthrow of Elizabeth I. As soon as he dealt with the annoying problem of Protestant unrest in the Netherlands, Don John volunteered to lead an armed raid across the Channel to rescue Mary Stuart from her English prison. As a reward for his bravery and initiative, the duke of Guise promised that the hero of Lepanto could then wed Mary and rule England with her in her cousin’s place. In return, Don John would aid the Guises and the Catholic League in France. The duke of Guise had explained all about the enmity between Henri III and his brother François and the political alliance between François, Marguerite, and Henry of Navarre that had resulted in the odious Peace of Monsieur. Accordingly, when Henri III wrote to Don John to advise him that his sister would be coming to Belgium, the Spanish governor was already fully aware of Marguerite’s political sympathies and knew to keep a close eye on her activities, surmising that she might be intriguing for her brother François.
Being far more adept at espionage than his royal guest, Don John of course hid his suspicions from Marguerite. Just as she played the part of fashionable queen on a sightseeing holiday to Spa, so he took on the corresponding role of charming, infatuated host. He met her outside Namur and “alighted from his horse to salute me in my litter, which was opened for the purpose,” Margot remembered. “After an exchange of compliments, he mounted his horse, but continued in discourse with me until we reached
the city.” Darkness having already descended, Don John had thoughtfully ordered all the lamps in the city to be lit in honor of the queen and her entourage. “Namur appeared with particular advantage, for the streets were well lighted, every house being illuminated, so that the blaze exceeded that of daylight,” Marguerite admitted.
Nor could she complain about her accommodations. Don John had gone out of his way to impress her, and Marguerite was suitably dazzled. “The house in which I was lodged had been newly furnished for the purpose of receiving me,” she remembered. “It consisted of a magnificent large salon, with a private apartment, consisting of lodging rooms and closets, furnished in the most costly manner, with furniture of every kind, and hung with the richest tapestry of velvet and satin, divided into compartments by columns of silver embroidery, with knobs of gold, all wrought in the most superb manner.” When one of her party questioned the furnishings, observing that they “seemed more proper for a great king than a young unmarried prince like Don John,” he was informed that they were a gift from an exalted Turkish lord whose sons had been captured at Lepanto. “Don John having sent the… sons back without ransom, the father, in return, made him a present of a large quantity of gold, silver, and silk stuffs, which he caused to be wrought into tapestry at Milan, where there are curious workmen in this way; and he had the Queen’s bedchamber hung with tapestry representing the battle in which he had so gloriously defeated the Turks.”
There was a short delay involving her transportation to Liège, the next stop on her journey before arriving at Spa, so she was obliged to stay over an extra day. Don John again exerted himself to the very best of his abilities to entertain her in grand manner. There were two balls, with dancing late into the evening, and a wonderful boat ride on the river. “In short, Don Juan manifested, by every mark of attention and politeness, as well to me as to my attendants, the very great pleasure he had in receiving me,” Marguerite recalled.
The next day the barges necessary to transport her party were ready, and the queen of Navarre made preparations to leave. Don John personally escorted her to her vessel “and there took a most polite and courteous leave.” As Marguerite and her entourage floated away to begin the last leg of their trip, Don John offered a final adoring salute from the bank of the river.
No sooner was she out of sight than he rode out at the head of a well-armed company, attacked the region surrounding Namur, arrested a number of high-ranking people, forcibly took possession of the strongest castle in the region, and, in the parlance of Cold War espionage, rolled up her networks.
HAVING NO INKLING THAT anything was amiss, Marguerite arrived at Spa and stayed six weeks, the customary length of the water cure. Although her sojourn was marred by tragedy—the teenage daughter of Madame de Tournon, Margot’s first lady of the bedchamber, was stricken with terrible chest pains en route to Liège and died two days later of an unknown ailment*—on the whole the queen of Navarre enjoyed herself greatly at the resort. “I was every morning attended by a numerous company to the garden, in which I drank the water, the exercise of walking being recommended to be used with them,” she noted. “From this garden we usually proceeded to the place where we were invited to dinner. After dinner we were amused with a ball; from the ball we went to some convent, where we heard vespers; from vespers to supper, and that over, we had another ball, or music on the river.” Vacation destinations devoted to health being invariably self-contained and remote, their purpose being to promote wellness in body and soul through the avoidance of terrestrial cares, very little news of the outside world reached the queen of Navarre and her companions while she was preoccupied with her cure.
It therefore came as something of a shock, as she prepared to return to France, to learn of Don John’s duplicity. She got her information firsthand from a thoroughly frightened noblewoman from Mons who had only just escaped the Spanish governor’s clutches herself.* And coming hard on this unsettling information was an equally disturbing letter from François, specially delivered by messenger. It seemed that in her absence her favorite brother’s fortunes had taken a turn for the worse. In his missive, François complained that, despite having successfully routed the Huguenots, as he had been requested to do by the king, upon his return to the court “he had found it entirely changed, so that he had been no more considered than if he had done the King no service whatever.” Reading further, Margot found that the real purpose of her brother’s letter was to warn her that “the King had repented of giving me leave to go to Flanders, and that, to counteract my brother, a plan was laid to intercept me on my return, either by the Spaniards, for which purpose they had been told that I had treated for delivering up the country to him, or by the Huguenots, in revenge of the war my brother had carried on against them, after having formerly assisted them.” So Henri III had betrayed her yet again, and now, of the three opposing factions in Flanders openly at war—Catholics, Protestants, and Spaniards—two were after her. “I found I was in great danger of falling into the hands of one or other of these parties,” Marguerite conceded soberly.
There then settled upon the queen of Navarre the anxious uncertainty universal to spies left out in the cold. What to do? Should she make a run for it or stay put and chance arrest or capture? If she chose to flee she would require aid in the form of safe houses, guides, and protection. But whom to trust and whom to fear?
She began with Mondoucet, whose bright idea it had been to undertake this dangerous mission in the first place. Seeking to neutralize at least one of the enemies allied against her, she sent him to the prince of Orange, the head of the Protestant party, to request a safe passage through Flanders, “as he [Mondoucet] was acquainted with the Prince and was known to favor his religion.” The result of this endeavor was not encouraging. “Mondoucet did not return, and I believe I might have waited for him until this time to no purpose,” she stated flatly.
Having failed with the Protestants, she turned to the Catholics. She was extremely fortunate that her host, the bishop of Liège, within whose jurisdiction the town of Spa fell, and “who most certainly acted towards me like a father,” offered tangible aid in the form of horses and his own grand master, the ranking member of his household, to accompany her on the homeward journey. But of the allegiance of some of the members of her own entourage she was less certain. She was particularly wary of her chief steward and her treasurer, both cohorts of the unfaithful Mondoucet. The two men strenuously opposed any plan to escape and insisted instead that she stay where she was. When she overruled their objections, they tried to keep her at Spa by pretending that there was not enough money to pay the bill she had amassed during her visit and that consequently the management intended to keep her horses. “I suspected a plan was laid to entrap me,” Margot noted grimly.
But the princess of Roche-sur-Yon, in whom Marguerite had also confided, came to the rescue. Being an extremely wealthy woman and having no desire to see either the queen of Navarre or herself fall into enemy hands, the princess loaned Marguerite the money necessary to settle her accounts. Margot retrieved her elaborate coaches and livestock and set off with her company at once, attended by the bishop’s men.
It was immediately apparent that she was in fact in grave danger. The mood of the countryside, unsettled by the prospect of war, was ugly. In Huy, the very first town where she stopped to rest for the night, the citizenry, despite owing allegiance to the bishop of Liège, were terrifyingly hostile and threatening. “They paid no respect to the grand master of the Bishop’s household, who accompanied us, but knowing Don John had taken the castle of Namur in order, as they supposed, to intercept me on my return, these brutal people, as soon as I had got into my quarters, rang the alarm-bell, drew up their artillery, placed chains across the streets, and kept us confined and separated the whole night,” Margot recalled. Still, to detain a member of the French royal family against her will was a significant offense and might invite repercussions. By daybreak, when Don John did not appear to relieve them of their
prisoner, the townspeople obviously reconsidered. “In the morning we were suffered to leave the town without further molestation, and the streets we passed through were lined with armed men,” she concluded tensely.
The next stop, Dinant, despite being only about twenty miles south of Namur, was staunchly allied with the Catholic party and opposed to both Don John and the prince of Orange. The municipality ought to have been a safe haven, but even there the inhabitants armed themselves at her approach and shut the gates of the city against her. Nor could she establish communication with the local government, as it turned out that she had arrived on election day. “In consequence… it was a day of tumult, riot, and debauchery; everyone in the town was drunk, no magistrate was acknowledged,” Marguerite despaired. With darkness coming on quickly and nowhere else to go, she sent in an advance squad of servants to entreat the local officials to allow her to stay for just one night, but the men were immediately arrested. “They bawled out to us from within, to tell us their situation, but could not make themselves heard,” Margot observed in frustration. “At length I raised myself up in my litter, and, taking off my mask, made a sign to a townsman nearest me, of the best appearance, that I was desirous to speak with him… I represented that it was far from my intention to do them harm… I only begged to be admitted to go into their city.”
It was agreed that Marguerite and her women, and some of the elderly men, including the grand master, who was eighty, could stay the night. But no sooner had the queen of Navarre and her attenuated entourage passed through the main gate than the bishop’s representative was recognized. Unbeknownst to Marguerite, the entire town had a grudge against the old man, and they moved to attack him. The queen of Navarre, the princess of Roche-sur-Yon, Madame de Tournon, and the other women of her party had to surround the venerable grand master to protect him. “At length I got him into my lodgings,” recounted Margot, “but the mob fired at the house, the walls of which were only plaster.”
The Rival Queens Page 26