The Hostage Queen by Freda Lightfoot Read Free Book Online Page B

WAR
     
    1567–1572
     
    September 1567
    THE ROYAL FAMILY were enjoying a sunny autumn holiday at the château de Montceaux-en-Brie. Margot was delighted, for she loved to ride, and would each morning join the hunt with her mother and brothers. It felt good to have the sun on her face, the wind streaming through her dark hair; to remind herself that she was fourteen years old, and still free.
    The question of her marriage had not been discussed for a year or more, but then everyone was too concerned with the fact that the religious wars had broken out again. Last year Alva had been responsible for slaughtering thousands of innocents in the Netherlands. Since then, monks and Catholics had been killed by Protestants in retaliation; religious statues destroyed or desecrated, churches burned, with much barbarity on both sides. Neighbour once more distrusted neighbour, brother turned against brother.
    Perhaps sickened by the scourge of killings, things had quietened down in recent months and the Queen Mother had decided that an autumn holiday would be the very thing for the King’s increasingly fragile health.
    ‘Country food and fresh air will do us all good,’ she had declared. There was nothing Catherine loved more than a display of family unity.
    It was as they were returning from a morning’s hunt that a rider appeared at full gallop. Skittering to a halt in a cloud of dust, he proved to be one of Catherine’s grooms and blurted out a warning of a plot by the Huguenots to kidnap the royal party.
    Catherine reined in her horse with a cry of vexation, her eyes cold as they settled on the poor beleaguered messenger. ‘They wouldn’t dare! Tis all bluster and hot air.’
    ‘But Madame, there are reports of soldiers massing at Rosay-en-Brie. I beg you move to Meaux, which is better fortified.’
    The Queen Mother took some persuading, irritated at having her holiday interrupted, and convinced that peace was at last secure. Finally, she agreed to the change of quarters, although with strict orders that the family holiday should proceed as before. Fortified or not, she had no intention of confining herself to the house, and continued to ride out every morning. Margot felt nought but admiration for her mother’s courage.
    But then who would dare beard the she-wolf in her den, let alone when she was holidaying with her cubs?
     
    It was barely three o’clock in the morning, with dawn not yet broken, when Margot was shaken awake by Madame de Curton. ‘Hurry, my lady. You must dress quickly. The castle is under attack.’
    Margot was out of bed in a second, reaching for her linen even as she rubbed the sleep from her eyes. ‘What is happening?’
    The governess let out a frantic moan. ‘We are in danger of being murdered in our beds.’
    The pair embraced, close to tears, finding some comfort in being together, as always, but there was no time to linger. Mayhem had broken out. Maids of honour were screaming, dogs barking, servants, dukes and princes running about in equal panic, the entire royal household out on the road, fleeing for their lives.
    Margot and Madame de Curton travelled in the Queen Mother’s chariot with the King and other family members, protected by Swiss guards within a square of pikes. Senior courtiers followed close behind in the fastest, lightest carriages. The rest were obliged to walk, or run if they could. The procession was hotly pursued, and never had Margot known such fear. Her heart was pounding, expecting at any moment to be apprehended by the enemy and her throat slit. It took twice as long as normal to journey to Paris so that they arrived close to collapse and weeping with shock and horror.
    Charles at once fell into one of his tantrums. He wept and raged, vowing he never wished to be frightened like that ever again. ‘I swear I will pursue the culprits to their deaths.’
    It was left to Margot to calm him, a skill at which she had become adept. The young king, feeling lonely and sick,