Hostage Queen (Marguerite de Valois)

by Freda Lightfoot

  The Duchess herself offered to do the deed, since she had the greatest grievance against him. The entire family remained eager for vengeance for the murder of her husband, Le Balafré. In the end, Maurevert was the chosen assassin, as he would be a more reliable shot. The candidate was called and informed that if he valued his safety, he would not refuse.

  The Duchess suggested that the shot be fired from the ground-floor window of a house on Rue des Fossés, owned by her family, and conveniently located on the route Coligny would take on his way home.

  Catherine was very much in favour of this plan, as suspicion would naturally fall upon the Guises and not on herself, or the King. And if the Huguenots rose against the Princes of Lorraine, she might well be rid of both troublesome factions.

  At the usual council meeting the next morning, the duc d’Anjou presided in the absence of the King, who had risen late. On leaving the cabinet Coligny met Charles coming out of the chapel, having heard matins with the Queen Mother. The pair talked quite amicably together and the old Admiral accompanied His Majesty to the tennis court, where the King, the Duke of Guise, and Teligny were to play.

  Coligny politely declined joining them in a game and continued on to his apartments at Rue de Béthisy, accompanied by his friends. They strolled through the Rue des Fossés, Saint-Germain, discussing the latest dispatches he’d received from the troops. Coligny was about to hand one over to his comrade when a shot rang out and his arm fell uselessly to his side.

  He sank to his knees in agony as pandemonium broke out, his friends instantly distraught that their beloved leader had been shot.

  ‘Tell the King,’ Coligny implored. ‘But take care not to alarm him.’

  Some forced the door and rushed into the house to seek the perpetrator, but the assassin had made his escape by the cloister of the Church of Saint-Germain l’Auxerrois and they found only a smoking arquebus. Others ran to the stables behind the house, which they realized belonged to the Guises. Téligny called a doctor, and had his father-in-law carried inside so that he could be properly attended to.

  Charles was still playing tennis when news of the attack reached him. He threw down his racquet in a fit of temper and let out a string of oaths. ‘Shall I never have a moment’s peace?’ he cried, then ran in terror to his apartments and locked himself in, fearing he might be next.

  Anjou too trembled at the prospect of the Huguenot chieftains deciding to retaliate. Catherine received the news with her usual equable calm, just as she was about to sit down to dinner. She regally ordered that the Royal Surgeon, Ambroise Paré, be called. Fortunately, as a Huguenot himself, he was above suspicion so far as the Admiral was concerned.

  At first it seemed as if Coligny might lose the entire arm, as fears were expressed that the bullet could have been poisoned. But thanks to the surgeon’s skill, and the old man’s courage and tenacity to withstand the amputation of a wounded finger, and much painful probing to extract the bullet which had then lodged in the arm, the limb was saved. Those about him showed less patience, striding about and furiously speculating on the identity of his assailant.

  ‘I have no enemy but the Guises,’ Coligny calmly insisted, and when his friends angrily cried for blood, he forbade them to retaliate. ‘But I do not assert that it was they who struck the blow.’

  Old soldier that he was, he seemed unperturbed by the attack and received several callers during the course of the morning, Navarre and young Condé among them. Following this visit the cousins went straight to the King, threatening to leave Paris forthwith unless immediate guarantees were given for the safety of their men. They also demanded that the Princes of Lorraine be banished from the city.

  Charles flew into a frenzy of distress, crying out that it was himself who was most wounded by this attack on mon père.

  ‘It is the whole of France. They will soon come and attack the King in his own bed,’ Catherine cried, which did little to reassure her son, serving only to exacerbate his anxieties still further.

  The streets became thronged with noisy crowds, the people suspicious that something serious had occurred, exactly as they’d feared. They filled every avenue and, at around eleven o’clock, an hour or so after the shot had been fired, the King gave orders for the Catholics living by the Rue de Béthisy to be moved out, and Huguenots be allowed to replace them. This went some way towards calming nerves but groups of Protestants could still be found huddled together whispering at every corner, and the sense of dread grew hourly.

  Coligny asked to see the King. ‘For I have certain things to tell him which concern his person and the State.’

  Charles came with all speed, although not alone. Catherine had no intention of allowing him such freedom. She brought with her Anjou and Alençon, and the Admiral’s most bitter enemies: Tavannes, Montpensier, Retz and Nevers.

  Crowded into every room of Coligny’s house gathered the Huguenots and, as she walked through to his bedchamber, Catherine could feel their sullen silence, their simmering rage.

  Charles, clearly moved by the plight of his beloved mentor, began to weep. ‘Mon père, you have the wound but I have the pain.’ As always the smell and sight of blood had a disturbing effect upon him. ‘Is that then the blood of the famous Admiral?’ he sobbed. Head nodding and twitching on his crooked neck, he began to get excited and started to rant about vengeance and salvation.

  Catherine judiciously stepped forward to place a calming hand on her son’s arm. ‘We all bleed for you,’ she told Coligny, her smile cold.

  The Admiral spoke of his long fidelity to the crown and of his ambitions for the Low Countries. ‘I implore you, with all the urgency I have, not to lose the present opportunity from which France may reap great advantage.’ He was becoming more agitated, determined to have his say. ‘My only regret is that my wound should deprive me of the happiness of working for Your Majesty.’

  ‘I will avenge this outrage in so signal a manner that the memory of the penalty shall be eternal,’ cried the King.

  ‘Your Majesty need not seek far for the culprit. Let Monsieur de Guise be questioned, Sire. He will confess through whose benevolence I lie here. I rely on your justice to avenge this crime.’

  ‘Par le mort Dieu! I promise that I will do you justice.’

  ‘Is it not a disgrace that your desire for peace has been violated in this way?’ he told Charles. ‘All because fifty thousand crowns was offered to any man who brings my head.’

  Téligny put up a hand, as if in an attempt to halt this alarming tirade against their Sovereign. ‘Father, I beg you, have a care for your health.’

  Catherine added her own warning. ‘Pay heed to your son-in-law’s wise counsel, Monsieur, else we might start asking questions concerning certain matters regarding the assembly of troops.’

  In the ensuing silence, perhaps out of morbid curiosity, or oblivious to the tension growing around him, Charles asked if he might examine the bullet that had wounded him.

  Catherine snatched it from his hand. ‘I am very glad,’ she dryly remarked, ‘that the bullet was not left inside you, for I remember that when Francis of Guise was murdered near Orléans, the doctors told me that if the bullet had been got out of him, even though it was poisoned, there would have been no danger of his death.’

  Meeting the old man’s shrewd gaze, Catherine realized she may well have condemned herself out of her own mouth. She glanced anxiously at her son but he was too absorbed with the blood stains on the sheets, and hadn’t heard her. She quickly rose, urging him to make his farewells and leave the patient to rest. Charles obediently complied, and they were almost at the door when Coligny called out and he hurried back alone to the bed.

  ‘Reign by yourself, Sire,’ Coligny whispered to the King beneath the rasp of his breath. ‘Trust no one, not even the Queen your mother. Only evil will come of it.’

  Catherine grew suspicious as she stood impatiently tapping her toe, Anjou beside her, itching to interrupt what seemed an unnecessarily prolonged conversa
tion. Must the fellow always stir up trouble, even in the hour of his death? Although he was taking an unconscionable time to reach it. She knew then that he would survive, and that Coligny meant to use this attempted assassination to strengthen his position with the King.

  But surrounded as she was by a dozen Huguenots, many more filling adjacent rooms and the street below, she dare make no move. Their distrust was all too evident. Some whispered in corners, others strolled insolently about, showing none of the respect due to her station, making her feel decidedly uneasy.

  Losing patience she marched back to her son’s side, a fraction too late to hear what had been said. ‘Come, the Admiral has talked enough. Too much excitement will be bad for him.’

  ‘What did he say to you?’ she sharply enquired of her son as they were driven back to the Louvre in her coach.

  ‘Nothing of any importance,’ Charles sulkily responded, turning his face away.

  But Catherine was having none of his moods today, and throughout the journey back to the Palace she subjected him to an inquisition that gradually wore down his resistance. Confined with his mother and brother alone in the carriage Charles could find no escape, and at length his nerves snapped and he blurted it all out.

  ‘He said that you were a malign influence over me, that everything had gone to pieces in your hands, and that only evil would come of it.’

  Following this outburst he fled to the sanctity of his privy chamber, to his darling Marie Touchet and his beloved nurse.

  Catherine privately resolved that next time she would find someone who was a better shot.

  When news reached Margot that an attempt had been made on the life of the Admiral, she was thrown into a panic. She hastily dispatched a message to Guise via Madame de Curton, warning him to lie low, as he was being implicated in the plot.

  ‘The King may arrest you. The Huguenots are baying for Guise blood, and I greatly fear for your life.’

  Guise and his uncle, the Duke of Aumale, begged the King for protection so that they might leave the city for their own safety.

  ‘You can go to the devil if you wish, but I shall know how to find you if I need to,’ was Charles’s brusque response.

  Guise and his men slipped quietly out of Paris, but retreated only part way to Porte Saint-Antoine before returning to the comparative security of the Hôtel de Guise. Charles, entirely hoodwinked by this subterfuge, and fearful of reprisals, applied himself to writing letters of assurance to the Queen of England, among others. He laid the blame entirely upon ‘the evil enmity between the House of Châtillon and the House of Guise’.

  The Queen Mother attempted to persuade him that if Guise had indeed been involved in this attempt upon the Admiral’s life it was surely excusable. ‘He is a son who has been denied justice, and has no other means of avenging his father’s death.’

  ‘He cannot take the law into his own hands,’ Charles shouted. ‘I am the King, not Guise. He should be brought back and punished!’

  The sense of dread in the city was palpable, and Navarre demanded instant protection for the Protestants. The King placed a guard of fifty arquebusiers outside Coligny’s lodgings, militiamen were stationed at strategic points about the city with the orders to keep the populace calm and prevent looting, yet the Huguenots were still not reassured. They anxiously considered their options. Some were for leaving Paris forthwith, but Coligny was against the idea, and his son-in-law Téligny, Navarre and Condé all agreed that it would be an insult to the King. Charles had swiftly ordered an enquiry, and convinced them by his genuine concern of his own innocence in the affair.

  They were less trustful of the Queen Mother but had no proof that she was involved. The most likely suspect was still the Guises. Téligny would have moved the Admiral to the Louvre but others thought this a bad idea. The surgeon agreed that, in his weakened state, the old man might not survive the move.

  This decision was reported back to Catherine by one of her spies, who reported everything, even the most wild and radical comments. He told her that the Huguenots were quietly arming themselves in defence, but that he did not rule out the possibility they might instigate an attack.

  Catherine was enraged, not only by the truculence of the Reformationists, but also by the independent action of the King, who seemed to be more and more on their side. Time was of the essence, and she said as much to Anjou.

  ‘They couldn’t resist the lure of the wedding, and are now caught like rats in a trap. But the Admiral could at any moment decide to leave and a valuable opportunity will be lost, perhaps for ever. The man is not only stirring up trouble in France with this new faith he clings to so tenaciously, but planning a war against the Spanish in the Netherlands.’

  ‘And setting the King, your own son, against you,’ agreed Anjou. ‘His folly is too great to be ignored.’

  Death was the only solution.

  Catherine once more met with her collaborators in the quiet privacy of the Tuileries gardens where they could walk in the cool green alleys without fear of being overheard. As before, in addition to Anjou, these included Tavannes, Nevers and Retz, plus two Florentines and Guise, his mother Anne d’Este, and his uncle the Duke of Aumale.

  ‘Several arrests have already been made,’ the Duchess informed them. ‘Mainly servants believed to be involved in the plot.’

  ‘A horse was recovered which led to the identity of the assassin,’ Aumale added. ‘Thankfully, they have not captured Maurevert himself.’

  ‘Excellent!’ Catherine’s expression was thoughtful. ‘Despite these minor difficulties all seems to be proceeding according to plan. The King remains entirely unaware of the plot, although he cannot be kept in ignorance for much longer.’

  Charles’s fear was centred upon the Guises, and in bringing justice for the Admiral. If he succeeded and Coligny lived, the senseless young king would take them all into a war with Spain, and the Huguenots would be stronger than ever. Was ever a woman more blighted than she? Catherine knew that she had to win Charles round to her way of thinking, to somehow get him to see that the blame for this situation lay not with the Guises, but entirely with the Huguenots. More importantly, not with her.

  ‘Whatever we decide,’ she told her fellow conspirators, ‘the King must agree.’

  Heads nodded gravely. The collaborators were all too aware of the risks involved in what they now planned; that a second and more successful attempt on the Admiral’s life was likely to produce an uprising.

  Tavannes was most insistent that any ensuing conflict be confined within the city walls, and not allowed to spread nationwide.

  Anjou, thinking of his hopes for winning the Polish crown since the king in that country was said to be failing, and with less appetite for military glory these days, agreed that another civil war should be prevented at all cost. ‘We must act with all due speed.’

  ‘There are Huguenots clad in armour even now patrolling the streets outside our own house,’ Guise warned. ‘The Louvre could indeed be their next target.’

  Dismay and anger simmered amongst them.

  Catherine stifled a shudder. She had once laughed as loud as any when her enemy had named a cannon after her, La Reine la Mère, because of its huge size. Now she wished she had blown them all to smithereens.

  ‘I have long thought that we need more than the head of one salmon to effectively decapitate this religion. We need several of their fellow frogs as well.’

  There were murmurs of assent, and the conspirators at once began to devise a list of the most prominent Huguenot leaders, many of whom lodged with or were adjacent to the Admiral. They huddled together beneath the tall poplar and lime to make their plans, sweating in the August heat despite the shade. It was agreed by all that they would finish the task which Maurevert had begun.

  ‘We must warn the King of this likely attack upon his person, and of the plans we have made here today. Once Charles has learned this truth, I will bring him round to understanding the extent of our alarm. He will be
with us in this, I am certain of it.’

  This plan met with entire agreement as none could dispute that although the King was more than ever under the influence of the Admiral, no one could instil terror in him better than his own mother.

  It proved a more difficult task than the Queen Mother had expected. Charles refused to believe this indictment against his dear friend, the man who called him son.

  ‘Coligny would never harm me. He loves me.’

  ‘He cares nought for you; he loves only his religion.’

  With consummate skill she pursued her argument. She let her spy describe what he had heard at the lodgings, including the mutterings of the most unwise fanatics, never mentioning how Coligny had quieted their worst ravings.

  ‘I cannot break my word, my tryst of friendship. I love the Admiral; I do not wish him hurt.’

  ‘Yet he would have you hurt.’ Catherine calmly reminded her son of Meaux, the night the Protestants had come to kidnap, perhaps even kill the royal family. ‘Remember how they pursued us throughout the night to Paris. Did you not swear that you would never again allow them to put our lives in such peril?’

  Charles had never forgotten that night, had suffered nightmares as a consequence for weeks afterwards.

  She described the blood spilled during the following siege of Paris, including the death of the Constable. ‘Would you go through that again?’

  ‘No, no!’ His distress was pitiful.

  He never looked people in the face when he spoke to them, perhaps because he had always desperately avoided the fierce, condemning glare of his own mother. He’d hunch his shoulders, lower his head and sullenly stare at the floor. Now Catherine grasped his shoulders and forced him to look her in the eye, an experience which set him shaking with renewed terror.