The Accursed Kings Series Books 1-3: The Iron King, The Strangled Queen, The Poisoned Crown. Maurice Druon

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СКАЧАТЬ days earlier Marguerite had received it as a present from her sister-in-law, the Queen of England, by the hand of a discreet messenger who had brought two similar purses for Jeanne and Blanche. A note from Isabella asked them not to talk of them, for ‘my husband watches carefully over my expenditure, and it might anger him.’

      The three princesses had been somewhat surprised by their sister-in-law’s unaccustomed kindness. ‘She’s having trouble at home,’ they said to each other, ‘and wants to be in our good books.’

      ‘They go splendidly together,’ said Marguerite, passing the girdle through the golden loops, holding it against her waist, and going to look at herself in a huge pewter mirror.

      ‘Who gave you that purse?’ asked Philippe.

      ‘It was …’

      She was quite simply going to tell him the truth. But she saw him stiffen with suspicion and was unable to resist teasing him.

      ‘It was … someone,’ she said.

      ‘Who?’

      ‘Guess.’

      ‘Louis?’

      ‘My husband isn’t as generous as that!’

      ‘Then, who?’

      ‘Can’t you guess?’

      ‘I want to know. I have the right to know,’ Philippe said, losing his temper. ‘It’s a present from a man, a rich man, a man in love … and because you’ve given him reason to be so, I should think.’

      Marguerite went on looking at herself in the mirror, first trying the belt on one side, then on the other, then in the middle of her waist.

      ‘It was Robert of Artois,’ said Philippe.

      ‘Oh, what bad taste you credit me with, Messire!’ she said. ‘That great lout, always smelling of game.’

      Neither of them imagined how near they were to the truth, and what part Robert of Artois had played in the sending of the purse.

      ‘Gaucher de Châtillon, then,’ said Philippe. ‘He’s always hovering round you as he does round every woman he sees.’

      Marguerite put her head on one side as if lost in thought.

      ‘The High Constable?’ she said. ‘I hadn’t noticed that he was interested in me, but since you tell me that he is … Thank you for drawing my attention to it.’

      ‘I shall find out in the end.’

      ‘When you’ve named everyone at the Court of France …’

      She was going to add, ‘Then perhaps you’ll think of the Court of England.’ But she was interrupted by the return of Madame de Comminges, who entered, pushing before her the Princess Jeanne, still almost an infant. The little girl walked slowly, made awkward by a long velvet dress embroidered with pearls. She bore no resemblance to her mother except for her round, swelling, almost convex brow. She was fair, had a thin nose and long eyelashes which fluttered over clear eyes. She might equally have been the daughter of the King of Navarre or of Philippe d’Aunay. But on that point, too, Philippe had never been able to discover the truth, and Marguerite was much too clever ever to give herself away on so important a matter. Every time Philippe saw the little Jeanne, he asked himself, ‘Is she mine?’ And he thought that one day he would have to bow as he received the orders of a princess who was perhaps his daughter and might well succeed to two thrones. For Louis of Navarre, the heir of France, and Marguerite his wife, had so far no other children.

      Marguerite picked up the little Jeanne, kissed her forehead, and commenting that she looked well, handed her back to the woman-of-the-bedchamber.

      ‘There, I’ve kissed her,’ she said. ‘You can take her away again.’

      She became aware from Madame de Comminges’s expression that the latter perfectly understood that she had only been sent to fetch the child in order to get rid of her for a moment. ‘I must be relieved of this old woman,’ thought Marguerite.

      A lady-in-waiting entered hurriedly, asking if the King of Navarre were there.

      ‘He’s not usually to be found with me at this time of day,’ said Marguerite.

      ‘He’s being searched for everywhere,’ said the lady. ‘The King wants him at once. There’s an urgent Council at the palace.’

      ‘Is it known what it’s about?’ Marguerite asked.

      ‘If I understood aright, Madam, the Templars have rejected their sentence. The populace are rioting about Notre-Dame and the guards have been doubled everywhere.’

      Marguerite and Philippe looked at each other. The same idea had struck them both and it had nothing to do with affairs of state. These events might compel Louis of Navarre to spend at least part of the night at the palace.

      ‘Perhaps the day will not end as we thought,’ said Philippe.

      Marguerite looked at him for a moment and thought that she had made him suffer enough. He had resumed a respectful and distant mien; but his expression begged for happiness. She was moved by it and felt her love revive as in the early days.

      ‘Perhaps, Messire,’ she said.

      At the same time, she was thinking that no one would ever love her more than he did.

      She went over and picked up the piece of paper upon which she had written ‘Prudence’ and threw it into the fire, saying as she did so, ‘I don’t care for the letter I’ve written. I’ll send another to the Countess of Poitiers later on; I shall hope for better news to give her. Good-bye, Messire.’

      The Philippe who quitted the Hôtel-de-Nesle was not the same man who had entered it. On the strength of a single word of hope he had a new-found confidence in his mistress, in himself, in life in general, and this particular noon seemed radiant.

      ‘She loves me as much as ever; I’ve been unjust to her,’ he thought.

      As he passed the guard, he ran into the Count of Artois who was coming in. One might have thought that the giant was following up Philippe’s tracks. But it was not so. For the moment Artois was busy with other matters.

      ‘Is Monseigneur the King of Navarre at home?’ he asked Philippe.

      ‘I know that they’ve been looking for him for the King’s Council,’ said Philippe.

      ‘Were you sent to warn him?’

      ‘Yes,’ said Philippe instinctively.

      And as soon as he had said it, he realised that the lie was foolish and too easy to check.

      ‘I’m seeking him for the same reason,’ said Artois. ‘Monseigneur of Valois wishes to talk with him before the Council.’

      They separated. But this chance meeting gave the giant a lead.

      ‘Can it be he?’ he suddenly thought as he crossed СКАЧАТЬ