"I haven't named her yet," Elisabeth said. "She's a puppy, but she won't grow much bigger than she is now. I'm told the breed is very long-lived and cleaves to one master."

The little dog yipped, writhing in my embrace as she tried to get free of the wool long enough to lick my nose. I stared at Elisabeth in helpless silence.

"She's also rather noisy." My daughter laughed. "She'll bark at anyone she doesn't know and will make an excellent guard for your door."

"She's lovely," I said. "I'll call her Muet, silent one, because she's so noisy."

Elisabeth whispered, "I love you, Maman. I'll write to you every day."

I embraced her, Muet wiggling between us. Then I released her to her escort, standing on the riverbank as she embarked on her passage into the mountains. Countless people had crossed the Pyrenees; Spain was just across our border. We could visit every year if we liked.

Still, I stood there long after she disappeared, smelling her scent on the dog's soft fur.

The court moved to Blois after Francois again took ill, no doubt from the strain of his crowning, during which he'd been forced to stand and kneel for hours in a freezing cathedral, his chest bared for anointing. He'd never been strong, but I barely recognized the dreadfully gaunt adolescent huddled in bed, his sunken eyes glittery with opiate and fever.

I tried to reassure Francois and lend him encouragement. I brewed special herbal drafts of rhubarb and chamomile; I sat and read to him. But whenever I mentioned the Guises or the edict, he moaned and turned his face from me, muttering he had never wanted to be king.

Mary didn't appear to enjoy being queen either. She was thin and agitated, worrying over Francois until I insisted she partake of other diversions. We walked the walled gardens of Blois together, played the lute and embroidered, establishing a delicate rapport that was shattered one afternoon as we sat in my rooms.

"Those Huguenots are vicious dogs," she said without warning. "They defied my uncle Monsignor's edict and ripped it from the town squares, though it is forbidden by law. Burning is too good for them. They should be drawn and quartered, their limbs left to rot on every city gate. My uncle says they cast spells on poor Francois to make him ill. He says they poison the wells and curse the harvests, so that our people thirst and starve."

I looked up from my sewing hoop. I had not heard this particular brand of venom from her before. "My dear, your uncle exaggerates. I assure you, they are not monsters. And I doubt there are so many as to bring about such calamity."

Her eyes grew huge in her drawn face. "You don't think heretics dwell under this very roof? The entire court seethes with them!"

In the corner on her cushions, Muet growled. Lucrezia came over to refill our goblets. I drank it in one gulp. "You should heed less rhetoric," I said, more sharply than I intended. "Francois has always suffered from earaches and we've had bad harvests and too much rain for several years now. As a queen you must learn the value of tolerance with all your subjects."

She gasped. "You ... you actually defend them ...?"

"I defend the innocent." I fixed her with my stare. "I want peace in France and prosperity for all. This is not Spain: we do not burn people here for differences of opinion." I stopped her protest. "Yes, it is a difference of opinion. Last I heard we worship the same Christ."

She stood, trembling, her embroidery falling in a tangle at her feet. "So it is true. You ... you are ..." She gulped, as if she were choking on the word.

I shot a look at Lucrezia, who stood immobile, decanter in hand. I forced out a chuckle. "What? What am I? By God, you do not think that I, the king's mother, am a heretic?"

She didn't move, didn't meet my eyes. Her silence was answer enough.

I sighed. "You disappoint me. I was born in the Roman faith and, I assure you, I will die in it. Just because I advocate tolerance doesn't mean I share the credo. Like you, I know almost nothing of these Huguenots, but I am sure of this much: they do not persecute us."

"Yet you defend them!" Mary cried. She whirled about, marching away. I rolled my eyes in exasperation at Lucrezia. "Have you ever heard such nonsense? Now my own daughter-in-law thinks I'm in league with the Protestants. Where could she have gotten such a preposterous notion?" Even as I feigned dismay, I knew what she would say before she spoke.

"Where else?" she said. "Take heed, my lady, lest Monsignor find a way to consign you to the flames. It seems he will stop at nothing to achieve his ends."

Five nights later, a pounding on my door awoke me. I fumbled for flint to light my candle when Lucrezia raced in. "My lady, you must rise! We must leave at once!"

I slid from my bed; from her truckle bed at my side, Anna-Maria peered at me. Birago came in moments later. "Blessed Virgin, what is it?" I asked, throwing on a shawl.

"The Guises say that Huguenot rebels march toward us. Monsignor orders our departure for Amboise. There is no time to pack. We must go as we are."

I recalled my confrontation with Mary and wanted to break something. I searched Birago's face. "Is it true? What do you know?"

He looked tired, his thin features drained from the long nights and days he spent acting as my spy in the galleries and passageways of the courts, trying to ferret out any useful information he could. "All I know is that a Guise scouting party came upon the rebels in the forest and captured one. This man confessed that the Huguenots plan to siege Blois and take Their Majesties captive." His voice lowered. "The Guises have spies everywhere. I can't imagine how they failed to uncover this before now. In any event, we're expected in the courtyard. I wouldn't tarry."

I dressed, grabbed my jewel coffer and sleepy Muet under my arms, and sped from my apartments. Courtiers were rushing from every direction, carrying half-packed valises as they stumbled down the tiered staircase in a panic. My women and I were swept along, staggering into the courtyard breathless and with our headdresses askew.

A contingent of guards blocked the chateau's iron gates. Grooms ran about with torches, casting a smoky glow over the women as they scrambled into carts normally reserved for transporting furniture. Men leapt onto horses; le Balafre's retinue cantered around the courtyard, yelling and inciting more panic. Fear ripened in the midnight air.

I caught sight of le Balafre herding Mary and Francois into a carriage. Thrusting my coffer and Muet at Lucrezia-"Find a wagon!"-I dashed across the courtyard. I reached le Balafre with my heart in my throat. He gave me a cruel smile from his white steed, his lean figure encased in armor. "I see Your Grace heeded our warning. You may ride with Their Majesties."

I scrambled into the upholstered interior. When I looked up, Mary seared me with her stare. Smothered in furs, Francois groaned, "What's keeping them? Do they expect us to wait and be killed?" and I banged on the rooftop with my hand. "Go! Now! The king commands it!"

The carriage lurched forward, descending the steep chateau road and careening into the night.

"How can you call it a revolt?" I faced Monsignor and le Balafre in the lusterless light seeping through their study in Amboise, the sumptuous palace embellished by my father-in-law, where I had first struck my pact with Diane. Now I fought to strike another pact, having waited days for an audience, badgering Monsignor's secretary until he agreed to see me. "You sent us racing from Blois when you know those men were disorganized and desperate. They let themselves be rounded up like lambs; they wanted to plead with the king and offer their grievances. They are starving, afraid; your edict has denied them the right to conduct business and they've lost their livelihoods. You can't blame them for seeking justice."

Monsignor sat at his desk, his well-fed fleshy cheeks tinged red with anger. At his side, his brother, le Balafre, stood like a granite pillar, his unblinking gray-blue eyes fixed on me.

"An example must be made," repeated the cardinal. "Those poor men, as you call them, are traitors. They planned an attack on a royal chateau." He raised his voice to cut short my protest. "We have the documents to prove they were both organized and willing to do harm to Their Majesties. They planned to take them captive and kill my brother and me."

"And they planned to legalize the Huguenot faith and sit their leaders on the Council," intoned le Balafre, his voice inflexible as the gold-sheathed sword at his waist. He grimaced, his puckered scar distorting his lips. "We are the ones who seek justice, madame, and after we have had it, we will have their leaders-all of them, including Admiral de Coligny."

I returned his stare in silence, willing myself to stay seated, for now I knew that I fought for more than the lives of anonymous men ensnared by the Guises.

"What ... what does Coligny have to do with this?"

"He is the mastermind," replied Monsignor. "We found a letter on one of the prisoners, conveying Coligny's order to capture the king. This was his plan. He is heretic as Satan."

"If that is true," I countered, "then why send us such a pathetic lot?" I looked at le Balafre. "You are a soldier, my lord. You fought beside my husband and you know Geneva and the Low Countries are full of mercenaries for hire. Surely, Coligny could have hired some."

Le Balafre didn't answer; the cardinal's fist clenched on his desk. "Madame, we have heard you out in patience," he said, "but I suggest you confine yourself to your household affairs. These men are rebels. They'll be put to the death and a warrant will be issued for Coligny."

"Dear God," I breathed. "You are mad. You cannot kill those men. It could mean war with the Huguenots. Coligny is a nobleman, nephew to the constable. You cannot-"

"We can!" roared le Balafre. He took a step to me, his huge veined hand at his sword hilt. "Do not presume to tell us how to rule. We are Guises, descendants of a noble line that puts your merchant's blood to shame. Our late king had no choice when they wed him to you, the niece of a false pope with nothing to commend her; but we do. Mother to His Majesty or not, one more word and we'll see you exiled for life, Medici."

He spat my family name as if it were filth. For a heart-stopping instant, I couldn't move. I met his malignant stare and saw the revulsion he'd never fully displayed until now-the contempt for my lineage, my gender, my very person. I was horrified by the thought that during the twenty-six years I'd been with Henri, this man had nurtured such loathing of me. But I was even more horrified by his omnipotence, his undoubting belief that he was in the right, always, because he was a Guise.

Monsignor folded his supple hands at his mouth, in a vain attempt to disguise his smile. "Madame, you look pale. Perhaps you should retire."

I started to turn, not feeling the carpet underneath my feet.

"You will attend the executions when a date is set," I heard le Balafre clip. "The entire court is expected to attend. We will broach no absences save for the queen and Their Highnesses."

I looked back at him. "I wouldn't miss it," I said and I left them with their eyes narrowed, pondering my meaning. Only once I'd clicked the door shut on them did I let myself feel the horror and fury that ran like poison through my veins.

We assembled in Amboise's inner courtyard. I wore a veil to obscure my face and sat apart; I was the only one to don black, while the court assembled in their finery on tiers, as if for a tournament. In the background came the muted roars of Amboise's caged lions in the menagerie.

Monsignor brought forth Francois in his royal robes and coronet, sitting him on a chair under a canopy, his oversized cap shadowing his waxen face. He looked frailer than ever, but as I started to rise le Balafre stepped forth to stop me.

"His Majesty is here because he will see the heretic traitors pay for their crimes."

"Then I should be with him," I said. I saw Monsignor nod, a pomander held at his nose. I could barely look at him as I sat next to Francois and noticed how my son gripped his chair's armrests, his knuckles drained to white.

Guards hauled in the first ten prisoners, their hands roped behind their backs. Their features were indistinct from where I sat but I saw they were young. My stomach knotted as I wondered who they were: landowners, farmers, or merchants; if once they'd dwelled in safety in their townships, where they bedded their wives, loved their children, and sought meaning in an incomprehensible world through a new faith that promised what ours had failed to give.

Condemned traitors weren't allowed to speak, but when the first young man caught sight of us above him, a collection of shadows, he called out, "Mercy, Your Majesty! Have mercy-"

He didn't finish. The executioner swung his sword and sent the man's head flying. The next victim staggered on his predecessor's blood. He was forced to his knees. Leather-clad apprentices below the scaffold caught his severed head.

Another followed, and another. Blood flooded the scaffold, dripping to the cobblestones and snaking toward the keep, where the others sang as their comrades died-not somber Catholic prayers but the vibrant psalms of the Protestants. But as the pile of heads mounted and the air turned foul with the stench of urine, feces, and blood, their singing faltered and by dusk the guards were dragging the last of the fifty-two shouting and flailing to their deaths.

I did not look away. I did not close my eyes. Though my heart quailed and bile rose in the pit of my being, I forced myself to bear witness to the madness unleashed by the Guises. It was in those hours, as night fell and the cardinal started to turn green about the mouth, as one by one the nobles staggered away while le Balafre remained obdurate, directing the executions with militant precision, that my own resolve turned to stone.

I would destroy the Guises. I would not rest until I freed France of their menace. Forever.

My son let out a moan as the last prisoner was hacked to pieces by the exhausted executioner. I felt his icy fingers grip mine and heard him whisper, "May God forgive them."

I knew he meant the Guises; but what God might forgive, I never would.

And if I had my way, neither would the Huguenots.

TWENTY.

FLAMBEAUX LIT THE NIGHT, SUMMONING CURIOUS FIREFLIES TO circle in the spring air. A pavane sounded in the distance, redolent of Florence. Canopied barges shaped in the fantastical images of proud swans and birds of prey glided past on the Cher, their painted oars stirring the river's silvery surface. Mary and Francois sailed there with a select group of attendants, holding hands and finding solace in a make-believe refuge veiled by hangings of gossamer. My other children, Margot, Charles, and Henri, sat in another barge with their governors, without a care in the world.

I'd managed to spirit them away following the executions, but only after the smell of the rotting heads garlanding Amboise's balustrades had caused Mary to faint and crowds of angry citizens clamored at the gates, flinging a dead dog at the cardinal's carriage when he attempted to leave the palace. As I'd hoped, with one act the Guises had unmasked themselves as tyrants, turning all but our most conservative Catholics against them; for if Monsignor and his brother could slaughter fifty-two men without even a trial, it did not bode well for anyone else who might think to oppose them.

And so Monsignor conceded to my request that a change in scenery was in order. He and le Balafre had to remain behind to restore some semblance of order, but he didn't want his precious Stuart niece or Francois falling ill; and I seized full advantage to divest ourselves of most of the court, as my chateau was too small. As soon as we reached Chenonceau I sent out my invitation. I now had the advantage and I stood at the window, watching my son and his queen sail past.

A knock came at my study door. Lucrezia said, "He's here." She paused. "Are you sure you know what you're doing?"

"Of course. Don't fret." I gave her a smile as I gathered the portfolio containing the document that I'd drafted with Birago. "I'll be there in a minute. See that our meal is readied."

She snorted and retreated. I eyed myself in the mirror. I'd donned a new black damask gown with a high collar. Pearls adorned my ears; rinses of walnut juice and henna had restored the auburn in my hair, now coiled in a gilded net at my nape. I'd shed pounds by riding for an hour every morning and cutting back on my penchant for bread. In all, my reflection assured that I'd succeeded in resurrecting something of the girl he'd met in Fontainebleau. It was vital I appear vibrant and strong.

Taking up the portfolio, I pushed open the door between my study and the adjacent room.

Birago and Coligny stood by the hearth, goblets in hand. He had accepted my wine and removed his cloak: good signs. At the sound of my entrance, he turned. In the flickering of the candlelight, he didn't seem to have aged a day.

"Welcome," I said, as he set aside his goblet and bowed over my hand. Birago excused himself, leaving us alone. Coligny had about him the aroma of horses and sweat, for he'd ridden several hours to get here. Abruptly nervous, I motioned him to the table.

I'd chosen this chamber because of its intimacy and saw that despite her reservations Lucrezia had outdone herself. The sideboard shimmered with polished gold platters; a vase of lilies sat on the mantel, while the central table was set with my Limoges porcelain and Murano glass goblets.

A frown crossed Coligny's brow as he stood by his chair. His beard was fuller, its brassy color radiant, as if he'd combed pomade into it. However, the candlelight deceived: I could see new harsh lines scoring the corners of his eyes and he was much thinner.

"My lord," I said, "you must be hungry. Please, sit."

"Before I do, I must ask you about what happened at Amboise. The Huguenot pastors are horrified, as is our brethren. I ... I need to know."

I faced him. "What? If I sat there like Jezebel while innocent blood was spilled? Is that what you think?"

To my relief, he did not hesitate. "No. I think that you did everything you could to stop it."

"I did. Birago must have also assured you that I protested the warrant for your arrest. Fortunately, they'll not dare issue it now that Monsignor has seen the enormity of their error."

"Too late," he said in a low voice, and I assented.

"For those poor souls, yes; but I trust, not too late for us. Now, will you dine with me?"

We sat opposite each other. Lucrezia entered with our first course of roast goose garnished with artichoke hearts from my gardens. He looked surprised; I told him, "I brought the seeds from Tuscany myself. There is no artichoke superior to the Florentine."

"It's ... delicious," he marveled, tasting it. "I'd expect such fare in a country home."

"This is a country house." I reached over to pour claret into his glass. "I loathe meals at court. The food arrives cold from its long trek from the kitchens and is so spiced or drowned in sauce you don't know what it is. When I'm not at court, I eat what my gardens can produce. The goose was born and slaughtered here; even this wine is made from my harvest of grapes."

He raised his goblet. "To Your Grace's health."

"Catherine," I said, as our goblets clinked together. "You must call me Catherine."

We fell into silence as we received next a course of chicken basted in fennel. He ate with gusto; I was pleased to note he had rough table manners, a country boy at heart. It was one of the reasons I liked him. After years of mincing courtiers and backstabbing mistresses, conniving churchmen and arrogant nobles, to me he personified all that was still gallant in France.

I breached the quiet. "I want you to know that my son regrets the events at Amboise. He did not realize how terrible a retribution the Guises would enact."

He considered me. "Was His Majesty's signature not on the warrant of execution?"

I swallowed. "It was. But Francois has been ill and the Guises forced his hand. He didn't understand what he was doing. I saw how awful he felt as he watched those men die."

"Not as awful as their widows and children." He sat back in his chair as Lucrezia came in to remove our plates. "Your Grace-I mean, Catherine ... I'm afraid that one deed has caused grave mistrust among the Huguenot leaders. They deem the king as bloodthirsty a tyrant as Philip of Spain, who slaughters Protestants by the thousands in his dominions."

He couldn't contain the anger that crept into his voice. His trust in me was betrayed and I found as I drank down my wine and poured another glass, my hands trembled.

"I am aware of how low my son's reputation has fallen," I said, "and that it will worsen unless something is done. But I take some comfort in the fact that the Guises confront equal calumny." I reached to my side and slid the portfolio across the table to him. "You will find here an edict I intend to see ratified by parlement, allowing the Huguenots liberty of conscience. We can overthrow the Guises and safeguard your brethren, but I will need your help."

His silence weighed as he read my edict, which I'd spent days preparing. An eternity seemed to pass. Then he said, "What do you mean by 'liberty of conscience'? This says Huguenots won't be disturbed if they abide by the law. But the law currently forbids all gatherings for worship."

"What I mean is that the law will change. By my edict, Huguenots will be able to petition the king when wronged and hold services in sanctioned temples designated for that use."

He nodded. "A shrewd move. It invalidates the Guises' edict of persecution." He set the paper aside. "And you believe the king will sign it?"

"Francois is under my care now. He understands the urgency of our situation."

Coligny took up his goblet. The candlelight fractured on the beveled crystal, shedding gilded fragments over the blond hairs on his hands. "Are you considering legalizing the Huguenot faith?" he asked, as he lifted his eyes to mine. "If so, you'll find opposition from many Catholic lords, as well as Rome and Spain. None wishes to sanction coexistence of our two religions."