The Medici Queen aka The Devil’s Queen

“The Guises will be my advisers, won’t they? And Mary always agrees with them. So of course, I will promise you.” He leaned forward and kissed my cheek.

“Thank you,” I said tenderly. “You are a good son.” And with a sinking heart, I realized that I could not afford to die so long as my eldest son lived.

Thirty

The wedding celebrations continued for five days, with pageantry and circus; they concluded with the customary jousting tournament. Tradition required that the bridegroom take part in the last joust of the day, but Francois’s ill health made his participation impossible; he sat with Mary, Diane, and me in the stands to cheer his athletic father on.

I suffered through another banquet hosted by Francois de Guise, then retired to my chambers. To my surprise, Henri arrived not long afterward.

He bent down as I stood on tiptoe to kiss him. His face was still flushed and his cheek warm from the joust; his skin smelled of soap. I scrutinized him carefully: He had come with no amorous intent; indeed, he sagged back in the chair and sighed with exhaustion. A tired man would simply have gone to his own bed.

“What is troubling you, husband?” I asked bluntly. We were both too fatigued by the recent celebrations to waste time with formalities.

His feigned smile fled. He turned his face toward the hearth, empty now in late spring, and sighed again.

“It’s Francois,” he said finally. “And Mary…”

I had not asked about the wedding night; I had been too afraid. My eldest son had miraculously survived the marriage ceremony, but I dared not hope he could survive the marriage.

“You know I was required to be a witness,” Henri began. “If it had been another boy, a healthy, normal boy, perhaps it would not have been difficult. But given that it was our Francois…

“It was terrible.” His voice was a low monotone as he stared dully into the blackened, empty hearth, where the chambermaid had set a large crystal bowl of white lilies in honor of the wedding couple. “I had explained things about… you know, about the marriage bed, to Francois. And I thought he understood well enough. But when I arrived, and he and Mary were underneath the sheets together… Well, he just lay there. I had to whisper to him that he was supposed to take her, but he answered that he was far too tired.

“I was so ashamed,” Henri continued. “I seized his shoulder and said in his ear that I was not the only one waiting; there was the Cardinal, too, who had to report to the Pope. Then he grew upset, and had one of his fainting spells, there in the bed. I had to call for the physician, who advised that we wait until morning.”

“Poor Henri,” I said, shaking my head. “Poor Francois… Could anything be done?”

“The next morning, Francois declared himself indisposed,” my husband said unhappily. “But there were other affairs to attend, and Mary wouldn’t tolerate his missing any of them. I endured endless jokes about the newlyweds’ first night together… But how could I tell anyone the truth of it? How can I ever?”

I put my hand gently on Henri’s forearm. “Did anything…”

“Did anything ever happen?” he finished for me, without humor. “Yes, something, on the second night. Let us just say that Francois made the attempt but lacked the determination to finish what he had started. He was frightened, poor boy, and unwell, and I left him sobbing in Mary’s arms. So I lied to them all-lied to the Cardinal, who came in after me and found them in what he assumed to be a nuptial embrace. I will swear before God to anyone who asks that the marriage was consummated. But I fear Mary might have said something to Diane. And if she knows…” He shook his head at the thought.

“Oh, Henri, how awful for all of you.”

“It is awful.” He turned toward me at last; yellow lamplight glinted off the silver strands in his hair and beard. “I’ve said everything I can say to the boy. So I’ve come to you- He loves you so, Catherine, and you’ve always been better at explaining things to him. Could you…?”

“I’ll go to him,” I said quickly. “He must understand how critical it is to produce an heir.” I put my hand upon his and smiled. “After all, I still remember what it’s like to soothe a nervous young man in the bridal chamber.” My tone grew serious again. “But you must set the Guise brothers straight on the issue of succession. They think to make themselves kings. If word gets out of the Dauphin’s behavior, the question of succession might arise. If it does, it must be clear to everyone that the Bourbons are next in line to the throne. The Guises must be put in their place. Otherwise, there will be unrest-perhaps even war.”

My husband’s expression subtly hardened. “They’ve been too full of themselves. I can scarcely bear Francois of Guise’s preening anymore; I do so only for Mary’s sake.”

“Mary must know,” I said smoothly, “and her uncles must know, that if there is ever a question, the Bourbons take precedence over them. If you die, if I die, how would Francois ever stop the two families from killing each other?”

Henri nodded thoughtfully. “What you say has merit. I will think on it, Catherine.”

I looked at him, at the faltering resolve in his eyes, and knew he would do little. Still, I had planted the seed, and could only hope that time would water it.

I rose and laid a hand upon my husband’s shoulder. “I’ll talk to our son,” I said softly. “Don’t worry. He and Mary will have sons, many sons, and this palace will be filled with our grandchildren. That I promise you.”

Henri smiled up at me. “Of course,” he murmured. “Of course.”

But when I looked into his eyes, I saw the truth that was surely reflected in my own: There would be no children.

My words about trouble with the Bourbons quickly proved prophetic: On the fourteenth of May, the First Prince of the Blood, Antoine de Bourbon, mounted his stallion and led four thousand Protestants on a march through Paris. One afternoon, I stared out the windows of the Louvre and saw what appeared to be an army of hymn-singing civilians marching over the bridge from the Ile-de-la-Cite. Henri was outraged-as were the good Catholic Guise brothers.

I summoned my friend Jeanne, Antoine’s wife, and told her I felt betrayed to think that someone in the Court knew of such plans and had failed to warn the King. Jeanne was, like me, a queen and did not take kindly to my insinuation. She had not known, she claimed, and with a burst of temper added:

“Surely you, of all people, understand that a wife cannot always control her husband’s public actions, nor can she be privy to all his secrets.”

Her remark stung. Though we parted with polite words, we became distant from that moment on.

Shortly after Henri’s visit to my chambers, I summoned Ruggieri.

“Once again, the question of producing an heir has arisen,” I told him, annoyed at my own embarrassment. “The Dauphin requires… help. To instill lust.”

The morning light was unkind to the magician, showing all too harshly his sickly pallor, his scarred cheeks, the shadows beneath his eyes. “A simple talisman, perhaps?” he asked.

“That would be suitable, yes,” I answered. The room seemed suddenly close and warm.

He nodded; a stranger would have thought his expression ingenuous, innocent. “Might it also be salutary to have two talismans: one for health, one for fertility?”

“That would be fine,” I said, a bit irritably. “So long as-”

“Yes, Madame la Reine,” he said with consummate courtesy and a nod. “So long as no one is harmed. I understand.”

“Very good,” I said. “You may go.”

Tall and still thin, in a black silk doublet that fit too loosely, he rose and bowed, but as his fingers touched the door, he turned to face me.

“Forgive me, Madame la Reine,” he said. “Forgive me, but should the talismans fail to produce a child…?”

My voice grew cold. “They will not fail.”

He cast aside his courtly manners and said bluntly, “Without blood, there can be no guarantee. The talismans