She had said to Henry when they met: ‘I must see you later. I want to come to you in my rich gown and my jewels. I have said I will wear them to greet my bridegroom. You are my bridegroom.’
‘It is dangerous,’ he said.
But Margot’s passion carried her beyond the thought of danger. She must see him. It was so long since they had made love. Two days ago … It was an age! To-night, after the ceremonial meeting with the King of Portugal, they would meet. Did he know that small chamber close to his own apartments in this palace of the Louvre? She would come to him there, and he must be ready for her. They would spend the whole night together. They must. She would not be put off with a mere hour. They must be together all through the night. It was only with such a prospect before her that she could face the ordeal of the evening’s ceremony.
He had agreed to be at the rendezvous, and Margot, having dressed herself with the greatest care, knew she had never looked so beautiful.
‘Ah!’ said one of her women. ‘You look like a Princess who is going to meet her lover.’
Margot embraced her warmly, and the woman knew what that meant.
‘Keep my doors locked to-night,’ whispered Margot.
‘My dearest lady Princess, be careful.’
‘Have no fears for me.’
‘It is dangerous, my lady.’
Margot laughed; she loved danger if it meant love-making with Henry of Guise.
‘Ah, my Princess, I can understand. There is no one like him in the whole of France.’
‘There is no one like him in the whole world,’ corrected Margot.
She conducted herself with decorum at the ceremony of meeting her suitor, who was deeply impressed with the wild beauty of the Princess. It was true, he concluded, that she was the most fascinating lady at the court of France.
Henry of Guise was there, watching. Margot wondered if he suffered similar pangs to those she felt when he bent his handsome head towards that of Catherine of Clèves.
Catherine watched too. The girl was defiant, but she knew she must obey. During her chastisement she had cringed in a manner which had been quite gratifying. Margot was wild; she was passionate, more desirous – and perhaps therefore more desirable – than a woman should be; but Catherine believed she knew how to manage Margot’s affairs with satisfaction.
For Margot the evening seemed endless; the bright lights were too dazzling. She was charming to the King of Portugal and his attendants. She gave the impression that the match would not be distasteful to her; but all the time she was scarcely aware of her suitor; she was only aware of Henry, now talking to the Princess of Clèves, now dancing with her, while the latter – the little fool that she was! – looked as though all she desired on Earth was the smile of the young Duke of Guise.
Margot fretted and waited; and during those long hours of ceremony she yearned for her lover.
At last it was over, and the palace was quiet.
Margot was ready, waiting in her robes of state, for the moment when she should slip out and along to that little chamber where Henry would be waiting for her. Her women ran about eagerly, touching her dress here and there, putting a fold of her gown in place, telling her she was more beautiful tonight than she had ever been; they looked into the corridor to make sure that no one was lurking there; and then Margot was speeding through corridors, up stairs to her meeting with her lover.
She clung to him while they murmured words of love. He told of his jealousy, she of hers. She lit the candles that he might see her in all her finery.
‘You were more beautiful than ever to-night,’ he said.
‘It was because I was coming here to you. If I had not been coming to you, I should have been ugly … hating them all. Oh, Henry, shall I ever cease to love you like this?’
‘Never,’ he said, ‘I hope.’
He had made a bed of his velvet cloak; she saw it and laughed. ‘We have known so many strange beds. When shall we know our marriage bed?’
‘Soon, Margot, soon. But we must be doubly cautious now that this man from Portugal is here.’
The candles guttered out, and they lay in the darkness. The night passed and, when the first signs of the new day were in the sky, Margot regretted its passing.
‘The most wonderful night of my life!’ she sighed. ‘I shall remember it always.’
‘There will be many such when we are married. Then we shall have no fear of discovery.’
She was laughing, demanding more kisses. Neither of them heard the door open, so engrossed were they in each other; nor did they see the figure standing there watching them. The door was quietly closed again, and not long after there was a great commotion in the corridor which even they could not fail to hear.
‘Keep very still,’ said Henry. ‘Make no sound.’
He had risen silently, but before he had his coat on and his sword at his side, the door burst open. The King stood there; his clothes had been hastily thrown on; his eyes were bloodshot and his mouth working. Behind him stood several of the attendants of his bedchamber.
He screamed an order. ‘Take them to my mother’s apartments. With all speed. No delay.’
The lovers were surrounded. Four men were needed to overcome the struggles of Guise. Two seized Margot; and the pair were then hustled along the corridors to the apartments of the Queen Mother.
Catherine, startled out of her sleep, stared at the intruders, but it did not take her long, when she saw who the captives were, to realise what had happened. Charles, the little fool, had once more acted without his mother; by this impetuous act he had exposed the liaison between his sister and the Duke of Guise to the whole court. And Sebastian, the King of Portugal, was in the Palace of the Louvre at this very hour!
Catherine did not know whom she hated more at this moment – her stupid son Charles or her wanton daughter, Margot.
Angry as she was, she did not lose her self-control.
‘Monsieur de Guise,’ she said, ‘your presence is not needed here.’
Henry bowed and left the room. It was the only thing he could do. He flashed a warning glance at Margot, begging her to be calm and diplomatic.
Catherine glanced at all those assembled, and her look said clearly that it would be the worse for them all if they mentioned to any what they had seen this morning. ‘All may leave with Monsieur de Guise,’ she said. ‘His Majesty and I wish to be alone with the Princess.’
When the room was empty but for the three of them, Catherine went to the door and locked it. She signed to Charles to attack his sister, and he, nothing loth, took his stick and approached the terrified girl. Margot ran to her mother, who flung her back to the King. Charles was biting his lips so that blood mingled with the foam there.
‘We must try to beat some sense into this little fool,’ said Catherine. ‘On the very night when she meets her suitor, she keeps an assignation with her lover. Beat her. Let her learn what it costs to bring disgrace on us all.’
Catherine now unleashed her fury. Margot’s rich gown was torn in shreds and, bleeding and exhausted, she begged them to spare her. But she was not to be spared.
Margot had suffered many beatings in her lifetime, but nothing so severe as this. At length she sank unconscious to the floor. Charles kicked her as she lay there; the sight of blood always inflamed him, and a mood of frenzy had come upon him.
Catherine, looking on, considered the possibility of Margot’s death. It would not be the first time that a disobedient child had been beaten to death, but Margot’s death would be most inconvenient. Catherine’s rage had passed. Moreover, the room was light, for the day had now come.
‘Enough!’ she cried to Charles.
But it was not easy to stop Charles. He wanted to see blood flow. It was always thus when his madness was on him. He wanted to have Henry of Guise’s head off.