The Hostage Queen Read Free Page A

the tall graceful bearing of all the Valois. In a black velvet gown trimmed with jewels, slashed to reveal embroidered scarlet satin sleeves, she seemed aloof and somewhat remote. The timid young girl had indeed turned into a magnificent Queen.
    Elisabeth wept softly as they embraced, before turning to greet her siblings. While soft kisses and salutations were exchanged, the troops released a cannonade in salute.
    Catherine felt a surge of pride in her daughter even as her gaze flicked over the assembled lords and Spanish nobles, seeking a face which was clearly absent, as she had feared it might be.
    There had been doubts for some weeks that Philip may not keep his promise to attend the meeting. Rumours at court had been rife, and although such gossip ceased whenever Catherine drew near, the reason for His Majesty’s absence was plain. Philip II disapproved of her too tolerant attitude towards religion: the fact that she was willing to pacify alleged heretics rather than see France torn apart by yet more civil war.
    Addressing her daughter, Catherine coolly enquired, ‘He did not come then? Do you not see that your husband’s suspicions will lead us straight to war?’
    Elisabeth’s response was not only impassioned but regal. ‘What cause have you to believe that the King mistrusts Your Majesty? Only evil-minded people could give you such ideas.’
    ‘My dear daughter, you have become very Spanish.’
    ‘I am indeed Spanish, as it is my duty to be so. But I am ever your daughter, the same that you sent to Spain.’
    Catherine’s smile barely touched her round, slightly protruding eyes. ‘I trust you will always recognize your duty to your mother.’
    Elisabeth looked discomfited, the innate fear of her mother still present despite her new regal status. ‘My husband the King sends his apologies, and his emissary, the Duke of Alva, a soldier and statesman of renown, in his stead.’
    Right on cue, the gentleman himself, stern-faced with a long nose and a beard, stepped forward to bow over the Queen’s hand in courtly fashion.
    Catherine barely managed an icy smile, striving not to reveal her fury and disappointment. She had hoped not only for a marriage for Margot, but also a union between her darling Anjou and the Dowager Queen Joanna, Philip’s own sister. Despite the difference in their ages, a match would help to unite the two nations. Instead of Philip, she would now be obliged to deal with this odious little man with an even greater reputation for harshness and cruelty than his cold-hearted master.
     
    The day of the water picnic dawned hot and humid, and Margot felt sticky with the summer heat, even in her silver tissue, and excited at the prospect of the celebrations ahead. It was to take place on the Isle of Aiguemeau on the Adour River.
    The Queen Mother had spent many tiring weeks preparing for this most important day, ordering alcoves to be built, each one containing a round table to seat a dozen revellers, with the royal dais raised on four banks of grass at one end.
    Pretty shepherdesses dressed in cloth of gold and satin, after the fashion of the different provinces of France, tripped and danced across the meadows. Mermaids draped themselves in artistic decadence upon the rocks, while imitation dolphins playfully disported themselves around magnificently decorated barges. Margot was enchanted. It was a fabulous display, no doubt intended to demonstrate that France was a rich and powerful nation.
    The Duke of Alva looked on unimpressed.
    The royal party, including this unwelcome interloper, had been carried upriver on the royal barge, accompanied by satyrs and nymphs playing their pipes and flutes and singing their songs of welcome.
    He was old, Margot decided, older even than her mother, and thin and erect like a soldier. His face was long and hollow-cheeked, the skin like yellow parchment, the brown eyes shrewd and piercing, and his long beard much speckled with grey. Most striking of all, she