The Medici Queen aka The Devil’s Queen

long, thick ribbon of hair in his fist like a trophy.

Margot pressed a palm to the back of her head; it returned covered in blood. I tried to push her brother away.

Swift as an asp, he struck out; the blow landed on my jaw and sent me reeling. I fell, my skull striking hard marble. For a moment, I was winded, paralyzed-yet aware of someone coughing hoarsely, uncontrollably.

I sat up. Margot was pressing both hands to the back of her bleeding head; Charles was hunched over, retching blood-speckled phlegm onto the floor even as he staggered toward the fallen dagger.

I stumbled toward my son; he reached the dagger first and shot me a gloating glance before bending down to retrieve it.

At the instant his fingers closed around the hilt, a bootheel slammed his wrist to the floor. I looked up to see Edouard, still in the clothes he had worn to the reception.

“Maman, Margot-my God, he has hurt you!” Edouard spotted the long, dark hank of hair-one end sticky with blood-on the floor and winced as though it had come from his own head.

“I found a man in her bed!” Charles shouted. “She was fucking him, I know it!” He began again to cough.

Edouard stared down at the dagger with dawning horror. “You meant to kill them…”

“Get off my damned hand!” Charles wheezed. “I command you, as your King!”

Edouard abruptly reined in his emotions. “I’ll lift my foot when you let go of the dagger, Charles.”

“But there was a man in Margot’s bed! Guise, I know it was Guise! Now get off my hand!”

Edouard folded his arms resolutely and remained still until Charles’s fingers slowly uncurled and let the dagger drop.

Edouard bent down and picked up the weapon, then lifted his foot; Charles crawled away to sit on the floor.

“I’ll have your head for this,” he croaked.

I hurried to Margot’s side and pressed a kerchief to her scalp; her shoulders and hair were soaked with blood. She had stopped trembling, and her tone was challenging. “There was no man in my room!”

“Lie all you wish,” Charles said, “but I know what I saw.”

“What did you see?” Edouard asked softly.

“Margot, in her nightgown,” Charles said. “And beside her, a naked man crawling out the window.”

“You didn’t see his face?” I asked. “How do you know it was Guise?”

“I…” Charles grew flustered, then defensive. “Maman, you saw the way he was flirting with her last night!”

“And you didn’t look out the window to see where he went?” Edouard pressed. “Or were you too busy jumping to conclusions?”

Charles huffed indignantly. “Margot blocked me from seeing who it was!”

“Charles,” I said reasonably, “if Guise despoiled a royal princess, it would cost him his head. However besotted he might be with Margot, he wouldn’t be so stupid.”

“For God’s sake,” Margot added irritably, “I detest the man!”

“Tell all the lies you want,” Charles hissed. “I’ll uncover the truth soon enough.” He glowered up at Edouard. “As for you… Before God, one day, I will kill you.” With that, he turned his back and strode off.

I let go an exhausted sigh. When Margot and Edouard believed my gaze to be focused on their departing brother, they shared a look: hers, grateful; his, comforting.

In that fleeting instant before their expressions grew fraternal, there was something else on their faces, something calculating and unmistakably conspiratorial.

Thirty-Six

I told myself that I had been mistaken about Edouard and Margot plotting together. Margot’s ladies insisted that nothing untoward had happened in her bedchamber, but the single complicitous glance between brother and sister haunted me: I could not risk Margot becoming pregnant, and certainly could not risk her marrying a radical anti-Huguenot like Guise.

There was one obvious solution, for the good of my daughter and a united France. After the ugly encounter with Charles, I wrote a letter to my friend Jeanne, Queen of Navarre.

Why must we fight? Please come visit us, knowing that you are loved as family. I pray you are well, and happy; please reply quickly.

Her answer arrived several days later.

We are well, and as happy as those can be who are denied the freedom to worship God. Henri is a man now, as brave in battle as his namesake, your husband. He is morally strong and honest-traits that are sadly uncommon at the French Court-and devoted to the Protestant cause. He greets you and says that he hopes to see you again someday.

But he also says that such a day will not come until Protestants enjoy total freedom of worship.

I also penned a letter to Gaspard de Coligny, the Huguenot leader and nephew of old Montmorency. I was not surprised by Jeanne’s refusal, but I was delighted by Coligny’s reply:

We have no choice but to trust each other. Let me be the first to foster goodwill by putting my life in your hands.

No doubt you have formed an opinion of me based upon the reports of others; you will find that the reality is very different. I yearn to prove to you that His Majesty has no more devoted servant than I.

Admiral Gaspard de Coligny came to the Chateau at Blois in mid-September, when the oaks and poplars had just begun to turn, giving the valleys a golden cast. The morning his carriage arrived, I was sick with fever. I had tried several times to stand and be dressed, but my legs kept giving way.

A messenger from Edouard brought news that the Duke of Anjou, too, was unwell. The thought that Charles might receive the Huguenot leader alone unnerved me. The day before, the King had thrown a tantrum upon learning of Coligny’s visit.

I pointed out that the late Prince of Conde had attempted to capture us-Gaspard de Coligny had openly disapproved of the act. The King would not be jollied, however.

When I received Edouard’s message that he was ill, I changed our careful plans. A chaise longue and two chairs were placed beside my bed, and I settled, chattering with fever, beneath my blankets.

Edouard appeared early, in a dressing gown of lavender velvet and accompanied by a little dog with an opal collar. He was so weak that two attendants half carried him to my apartment. We rehearsed what we could say to reconcile Coligny and the King.

After a few hours, the Admiral was announced, and I sent for the King. Charles returned a message that he would not come, but I replied with another saying if he did not want Coligny under his roof, he should be brave enough to tell the Admiral so in person.

My strategy worked. Charles appeared soon afterward, lower lip thrust out in a pout, arms folded. Once he was settled into his chair, I gave the signal for our guest to be admitted.

Gaspard de Coligny entered. He was a short man, lean but thick of bone, with a swordsman’s powerful shoulders. Half a century of soldiering had weathered his handsome face. His pale hair was cropped short; his chin beard had been brushed out to give it a downy appearance. He sported no jewelry; his worn black doublet was