The Italian Woman

by Jean Plaidy

  ‘And I … you, Henry.’

  Margot could not keep her hands from the fine coat or the golden curly hair and beard. Margot was not the only one who thought there was no man in France, or in the world, to compare with Henry of Guise; others said that the Guises made all other men seem insignificant when they came among them.

  ‘We will be married,’ declared Henry. ‘I know that it can be arranged.’

  ‘It must be arranged,’ agreed Margot.

  He took her hands, and kissed them eagerly with burning kisses which made Margot’s passions flame.

  ‘It will not be so easy as it would have been if my father was alive,’ Henry warned her.

  Margot was in his arms, all desire and urgency.

  ‘Nevertheless, it must be,’ she said.

  ‘Margot … I cannot wait for marriage.’

  Margot laughed. ‘Nor I!’

  ‘Where can we be alone?’

  Intrigue was exciting, but passionate intrigue was the most delightful thing in Margot’s world. How could she have set such store on spying for her brother Henry when she could be the mistress of this completely fascinating Henry?

  It was not difficult for Margot to find a place where they could be together.

  And after that there was nothing of any importance for Margot but these passionate meetings with her lover. She was insatiable. She could never have enough of Henry. He was her lover – the only person on Earth, she discovered, who was really important to her. For him she would die. She declared that she would never marry any other man. The meetings grew more frequent, and the more frequent the more necessary they became to Margot. Sensual, passionate in the extreme, she had discovered something which she could not do without.

  She was impetuous. She wanted an immediate marriage. Henry was more cautious. He was as passionate, as sensual as Margot – they were as well matched a pair as any lovers could be – but while for Margot there was nothing but love, for Henry there was also ambition. He was the Duke of Guise, head of the mighty House of Lorraine besides being Margot’s lover, and his upbringing would not allow him to forget that. And even while he was making passionate love to Margot he could not help remembering that she was a Princess of the House of Valois, and therefore a match with her would be the most suitable he could possibly make.

  ‘We must not be careless,’ said Henry.

  ‘Oh, Henry, my darling, what do we care?’

  ‘We must care, Margot; for nothing must stand in the way of our marriage. We can never be completely happy until then. Just think what marriage would mean to us … always together.’

  She kissed him wildly. ‘I will never let you leave me. I will follow you to camp. You do not imagine that I should let you go alone!’

  ‘No,’ he said. ‘We must never be parted. That must be our aim. Margot, you are so impetuous. We must wait … and watch … and act carefully. What if people tried to separate us?’

  She pressed her body against his. She was not really thinking of anything but the desire of the moment. He laughed, but he was a little uneasy. Margot was an ideal mistress and he adored her; but there were times when he wondered what violence of passion, what sensuality he had awakened. He had never known anyone like this gay little Princess of France with the flashing dark eyes and the eager, sensual lips, the clinging hands, the urgent desire. He was young and virile himself, but he found Margot astonishing.

  She would not discuss anything seriously. She wanted him at once … this moment. Never mind if they were in the gardens. Who would come to this spot? Who would dare say a word against the Princess Margot and the Duke of Guise?

  ‘My darling,’ said Henry, ‘I want you as much as you want me, but I want our marriage. I want to make sure of our union. I want it to be firm and secure … for the rest of our lives.’

  She ran her fingers through his hair. ‘But, Henry, of course it shall be.’

  ‘The Queen Mother does not love me; nor does the King.’

  ‘But you are a Prince and I am a Princess; and I will have none other but you.’

  ‘I know. I know. But caution, my darling!’

  But she was not listening. She was laughing up at Henry, and he, young and passionate as herself, could not help but find her irresistible.

  The lovers thought their love unnoticed, but this was not the case; and one of the important people who had seen how matters stood between the Princess Margot and the young Duke of Guise was the Duke’s uncle, the Cardinal of Lorraine.

  The Cardinal was amused as well as delighted. He himself had known many erotic adventures – in fact, he was at his wit’s end nowadays to find some new diversion that could attract him. He was ready to give a good deal to any young and handsome person – man or woman – who could show him a little novelty. But regarding this affair of his nephew and the Princess he was not displeased, although Henry was being a young fool in this, and he thought it his duty to warn him.

  He asked the boy to come to his apartments and, making sure that they were unobserved and that there were no means of communication behind the hangings, he told the Duke what was in his mind.

  ‘None of the diabolical instruments of that old serpent the Queen Mother can reach us, nephew, so let us talk without reserve. I notice that you are enjoying a charming interlude with the Princess Margot.’

  Henry flushed a little. ‘If you mean that I love her, that is so.’

  The Cardinal lifted his beautiful white hand and studied the rubies and sapphires which adorned it. ‘I wish to congratulate you. What a delightful mistress she must be! You are a fortunate man.’

  Henry bowed stiffly. In view of his uncle’s reputation, he did not care to discuss Margot with him, or to contemplate those lecherous eyes and read the thoughts behind them.

  ‘I would prefer not to discuss my relationship with the Princess,’ he said.

  ‘But that is exactly what we must do. Oh, mistake me not. Do not think I wish to question you as to the most exciting experience you must be enjoying. I can imagine that it is charming – incomparable, in fact – for I doubt if there is, even at this court, a young lady who is so naturally knowledgeable in the greatest of our arts. But you are young, you are sensitive and you are in love; and you do not care to discuss your mistress with a man of my reputation. You see, nephew, I understand. I read your thoughts. Well, let us discuss the practical rather than the romantic. Nephew, I am proud of you. The House of Lorraine is proud of you. If you had made the Princess your wife instead of your mistress, we should be even more proud of you; for what we would like more than anything, dear boy, is to see the Houses of Lorraine and Valois united. The marriage would be an ideal one.’

  ‘It would indeed,’ said the young Duke. ‘And it is my earnest desire that it should be brought about.’

  ‘I wish to help you in that, but do not imagine that you can go to the King and the Queen Mother and say, “I offer my hand and fortune to the Princess Margot.” It is not so easy as that. The serpent has other plans for her loving daughter.’

  ‘I shall do everything in my power to flout them.’

  ‘Yes, yes. But reasonably, sensibly. You must not walk about the court with the Princess, both of you letting your looks and your gestures proclaim to the court what a good time you are giving each other.’

  ‘But … we have not!’

  ‘Your faces, your smiles have spoken. They tell us that Margot is a maid no longer. Margot proclaims to the world all that she has enjoyed and all that she intends to enjoy … even if you do not. This must not continue. Whether the Queen Mother knows of this yet, or whether affairs of state occupy her too closely, I cannot say; but if she did discover it, I would beg of you to watch your food and wine. Always make one of your attendants taste first. Never buy gloves, books or a garment from any but a man you are sure you can trust. Catherine and her Italians have learned more tricks in their lifetimes than we French have acquired through the centuries. Have a care, nephew. Catherine is negotiating a match for Mar
got with the Prince of Portugal. She would not therefore at this time be in favour of a match with our house.’

  ‘There have been so many negotiations for Margot. First Henry of Navarre, then Don Carlos, now the Prince of Portugal.’

  ‘That does not mean that one of these may not come to something.’

  ‘I shall never allow that.’

  ‘Now listen, my nephew: it is all very well to be gallant and noble in the presence of your mistress. With your old statesman uncle you must be frank. You want to marry Princess Margot. I, and all our house, will help you in this. Therefore I beg of you to go carefully. Try to hide your intentions for a time, until the moment comes when it is good policy to show them. Dear boy, you are as close to me as though you were my own son – closer, in fact, for are you not the head of our house? My brothers, your uncles, all have discussed this matter with me, and we have agreed that nothing could advance our house more than this marriage with the Princess. But you must take care. We do not wish to see you in your grave. Your brothers, Charles and Louis, have not your qualities. You must therefore take our considered advice in this matter, which is this: continue to enjoy your mistress; bind her closer to you; but act with more secrecy, and, moreover, it will be as well if you pay court to another lady to divert suspicion. That should not be difficult, for I have heard it said that there is no young man at the court of France who can compare with Henry, Duke of Guise; and there are few women who could resist him. Your success with Mademoiselle Margot, I imagine, did not demand a great effort on your part. My boy, you have charm, you have good looks, you have power and rank. In fact, you have everything. Do not dissipate these assets, but use them to good advantage. Now, the Princess of Clèves watches you, my boy, with languishing glances; she is pining for you. It would not seem amiss if you paid court to her, for she would be a good match.’

  ‘I have no intention of marrying anyone but Margot.’

  ‘Of course you do not wish to marry any but Margot; nor do we wish it. But on account of the Queen Mother and her spies, pay a little court to the Princess of Clèves. Do not let the Queen Mother think that you have hopes of Margot, for I greatly fear that if she did she would not be very pleased. My dearest Henry, it is fatal when the Queen Mother turns those cold eyes upon a man and decides he has become a nuisance to her.’

  ‘Such an affair is repulsive to me.’

  ‘Oh, come come! Are you the head of a great house or are you a love-sick boy? Explain to Margot if need be. She will not be colder, I imagine, if she thinks you look elsewhere.’ The Cardinal laid his arm about Henry’s shoulders. ‘A great destiny may be yours,’ he whispered. ‘Look at Catherine’s sons: Charles, a little madman; Henry, a pervert; Hercule, that strutting coxcomb! And then … Navarre? A lazy good-for-nothing. I have seen in him something which tells me that he will be wax in the hands of women. Condé? Condé will not live long, depend upon it. Either some battle or the Queen Mother will finish him. Ah, my lord Duke, there are many between our house and the throne, I know, but the citizens of Paris love you as they loved your father. I have heard their shouting in the streets. Paris thinks for France, decides for France.’

  Henry drew away; he could hear the shouts of the Parisians in his ears. King … King of France! And Margot his Queen!

  The Cardinal smiled at the flushed, handsome face.

  ‘Why not?’ he said. ‘A marriage with a royal Valois Princess would doubtless clinch the matter. My boy, do not, in your reckless folly, spoil that chance. Act the statesman even while you act the lover.’

  Margot was in a fury of jealousy, and Henry found it difficult to calm her.

  How dared he look as he had looked at Catherine de Clèves? She had seen his smile; she had also seen the way the woman had answered it.

  He tried to explain: ‘Margot, I love you more than anything in the world. I want no one but you. But others have noticed our love, and this must not be.’

  ‘Who? ‘Who?’ she demanded. ‘And what do I care? They will notice that you are playing me false with that creature. I hate her. I will have her banished. I could not believe that you could treat me so.’

  It was necessary to make ardent love to her, to soothe her, to assure her a hundred times of his devotion to her alone. Then when she lay quiet beside him he decided to explain.

  ‘My uncle, the Cardinal, knows what is between us.’

  ‘That lecher! That man of God!’ she cried.

  ‘I know, my darling. But he has great wisdom. He says it is unsafe for us to show our love.’

  ‘Unsafe? He is a coward. He wears a suit of mail under his church robes. He fears someone may stab him, as he deserves to be stabbed.’

  ‘We must be wise, my Princess, my love. Our hearts would be broken if aught came between us.’

  She wept and clung to him.

  ‘Swear to me that you do not love her.’

  ‘I love no one but you, Margot. I must pay some court to her, because to some we have made our love known. We must think of the future. We must marry, but at the moment everything would be against us. Your mother is negotiating for the Prince of Portugal. What do you think would happen if it were known that you and I have already been what we have been to one another?’

  ‘I do not know and I do not care. I only care that we should continue to be that to one another. I am afraid of my mother … oh, so terribly afraid. There is something in her that frightens me. But I would brave her anger; I would brave anything for this, Henry.’

  He could only caress her, murmur endearments, undying fidelity, let himself be drawn into more passionate lovemaking.

  ‘Margot,’ he said at length, ‘understand me. Our whole future depends on this. When you see me smile at the Princess of Clèves, remember that my heart belongs to the Princess Margot.’

  ‘For every smile you give her, you must give me two. If you ever kiss her hands, you must pay twenty kisses to make up for that.’

  She clasped her arms about his neck and strained herself against him. ‘Henry, my love, I adore you.’

  ‘And you will understand? You will know that every thing I do is to make our future secure, that I have no thought, no wish beyond my union with you?’

  She drew his face down to hers, and her kisses, tender at first, grew warmer and more wild.

  ‘Oh, Margot, Margot,’ said the Duke of Guise, ‘there was never one like you in the whole of the world.’

  She laughed. ‘If all women were like me there would be no wars, no politics. There would be no time for anything but love-making. But then, all men would have to be like you to make the women desire them so much – and there is no one in the world like you, my beloved.’

  It was difficult to be wise with such a woman; when he was with Margot, Henry forgot that vision of a crown which, by sagacious diplomacy, might be his one day.

  Margot, deep in her love affair, had completely forgotten that other Henry, her brother, for whom she had promised to play the spy.

  Henry, returning from the wars, found her changed, and he, like the Cardinal of Lorraine, knew the meaning of the change in her. He was angry that she should have forgotten her promises to him, but when he discovered who her lover was, his anger increased to a fury.

  Henry was clever enough to understand his sister’s nature. Margot made a good spy, but Margot was born to love men. Her lover would be all-important to her; she would betray anything or anybody – even her own brother – for the sake of the man she loved. Henry of Guise was probably already in possession of any secret he cared to know. Margot was the sort who would hold nothing back from the object of her passion.

  It was perfectly simple to see what Guise was after. He wanted more than Margot; he wanted alliance with the Royal House. And Margot, the little fool, did not realise that the greatest enemy to the House of Valois was the House of Guise and Lorraine.

  Henry sought out his sister.

  ‘You little fool!’ he cried. ‘You traitress! What is all this of you and Henry of Guise?�
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  Margot opened her lovely dark eyes very wide and looked at her brother in astonishment. Her lover had made it clear that, as they hoped for their marriage, they must at the moment keep their intentions secret. ‘I do not understand you,’ said Margot.

  Henry took her by the shoulders and shook her.

  ‘You and he have been together …’

  ‘What makes you say so, Monsieur? And take your hands from me. Do not bring your camp manners to court.’

  Henry was furious; Margot was to have been his creature. Now she was entirely Henry of Guise’s.

  ‘You have ignored my interests,’ he accused.

  ‘Indeed, there was nothing to report.’

  ‘You were too busy looking into the eyes of Henry of Guise.’

  ‘And you, my lord, have been listening to idle gossip.’

  Henry left her and went to his mother.

  ‘You know of this affair between Margot and Guise?’

  Catherine knew. She had, through her tubes, heard certain conversations between the lovers. The shamelessness of Margot made her laugh. Her spies had been secreted in certain places and had given her details of what had taken place between those two. It seemed to Catherine that she had a wanton for a daughter, a reckless, passionate girl who pursued Henry of Guise with complete lack of shame, just as she always had done since she was a child.

  ‘My dear son, Sebastian of Portugal will soon be here, and he will be made your sister’s husband.’

  ‘And in the meantime you allow her to behave as she does with Guise?’

  ‘It is too late to stop that now.’

  ‘The scandal …’

  ‘There will always be scandal concerning Margot. Besides, she goes into a new country where this scandal will not be known. I have made it clear to all those who have spoken of the matter to me that it would be better to remain silent on the subject.’

  ‘So meanwhile our lovers continue to enjoy each other.’

  ‘And never did two enjoy each other more!’ Catherine burst into coarse laughter. ‘And, my darling, you are back, and it is good to see you.’