He said to his attendants: 'We shall be meeting the King's party at any moment now. Be prepared.'

But they rode on, and there was no sign of the King's party; and when they reached the Palace of Saint-Germain, the attendants seemed surprised to see them.

Antoine, furious at this reception, said coldly: 'Take me to my apartments at once.'

'My lord Prince,' was the answer, 'no apartments have been prepared.'

'This is nonsense. Am I not expected? Conduct me to the King ... no, to the Queen Mother.'

'My Lord, they are out hunting. They will not return until the late afternoon.'

Antoine realised now that this was no accident, but an intentional slight, and he could guess who had arranged it. It could mean only one thing. His perennial enemies, the Guises, were in command.

Even as he stood there, hesitating and uncertain, he knew what Francis Duke of Guise would have done in his place. He would have drawn his sword, he would have shouted curses; he would have demanded that apartments immediately be prepared for him. And the Cardinal? Antoine could imagine the scorn on those cold, handsome features; he could hear the clear, cutting voice which would strike terror into all who heard it.

But Antoine was no Guise. He did not know how to act. He was not physically afraid; his was a moral cowardice, and an inability to think quickly and to know how to act in an emergency. In battle he would be as brave as any but this was not battle.

His friend the Marechal de Saint-Andre came to his rescue and offered him his room at the palace, saying that he would help find lodgings in the village for Antoine's attendants. Antoine accepted this offer with grat.i.tude. He saw now that this had been planned by the Guises, who had decided that he should come to court and find himself in the midst of his enemies with a few a very few attendants scattered in the village. He knew that he had been unwise to delay his visit so long and that he should have been at court weeks before, for perhaps at that time the Guises might not have been in such complete power. He should have come in pomp, well guarded by his own men. He had been a fool to listen to evil counsels, and now he knew it. He realised to the full what power was working against him when, on the return of the hunting party, he went into the audience chamber.

King Francis looking uncomfortable, it was true, but obviously obeying orders stood quite still and made no attempt to greet him. The Cardinal of Lorraine, who stood close to the King, did likewise. This was a great insult, for Antoine was of higher rank than the Cardinal, and even if the King chose to insult Antoine, the Cardinal certainly had no right to do so. But Antoine was without dignity. Uncertainly he embraced the King and the Cardinal, though neither gave the slightest response.

Catherine was present with the young Queen, and as Catherine watched Antoine de Bourbon she felt a desire to burst out laughing. She had been fortunate in not putting her trust in a Bourbon. He was reduced to the position of a chambermaid, she thought. And how meekly he accepted it! The fool! Could he not see that this was no time for weakness?

He should have demanded the homage of the Cardinal; he could have made the poor little King shiver if he had done so; and the Cardinal also would have realised that he had a strong man to deal with. But no! Antoine had no dignity, no arrogance ... only meekness.

The Cardinal spoke to him most haughtily, and Antoine smiled, glad to receive some attention.

Poor little popinjay! thought Catherine. Now, there is a man whom it should not be difficult to use.

Antoine had gone back to his wife, and Catherine laughed to think of their reunion. She was no longer jealous of their love for one another, for she was certain that one day Jeanne was going to repent of her marriage. Jeanne was strong, and as a strong woman she must despise weakness; so she must soon despise her husband. It was amusing to think of Antoine's creeping back to his wife to tell of his reception at court, of all he had been able to achieve for the Protestants, whose hope he now was since Conde had been tactfully sent away on a foreign mission for what Antoine had achieved was precisely nothing.

Conde was in a different cla.s.s. Conde was not a man to be dismissed as lightly as his elder brother Antoine; but Conde was away, and there was no need to think of him now. This scheming for power was such a difficult task, such an allabsorbing one, so complicated that one could never see more than a few moves ahead.

Still, there was time to reflect that Antoine was creeping back to his wife, his tail between his legs, to tell her a tale of humiliation and defeat. One day Madame Jeanne would be forced to see what kind of man she had married.

Thoughts of Jeanne still haunted Catherine a good deal; she would always hate her, would always see her as a political rival as well as a woman who had been successful in love though with what a partner! and a woman to watch in the future.

There was much to think of at home. 'With the help of the brothers Ruggieri and her perfumer Rene, who had a shop on the quay opposite the Louvre, she had removed from this life one or two minor characters who had made themselves difficult. Such actions gave her a satisfying sense of her power; she enjoyed giving her smiles to her intended victims and a.s.suring them that they were well on the way to gaining her favour; then would come the removal, sometimes swift, sometimes lingering, whichever suited her purpose. This was like soothing ointments on her wounds, those wounds which had been made long ago by Diane de Poitiers and now by the Guises. Sometimes she thought it would be a clever thing to slip something into the wine of Francis of Guise, something which would improve the taste of the wine, for his was a rare palate; at others she thought how she would have enjoyed presenting the Cardinal of Lorraine with a book, the pages of which had been specially treated by Rene or one of the Ruggieri brothers; it would have made her happy to have given to that dandy, Antoine de Bourbon, a pair of perfumed gloves, the kind which, when drawn on to the hands, produced death. But such would be only a momentary satisfaction. It was unwise to deal thus with those of rank and importance. Moreover, she was beginning to see that the Guises and the Bourbons would be of more use to her alive than dead, for it would be to her advantage to set one rival house against the other. At the moment it might appear that she was siding with the Guises, but she did not always intend to do that. When she had a chance she would let that weak, vain little Bourbon think that she was on his side secretly, because of the power of the Guises; she would remind him that Francis could not live for ever.

When Francis died, Charles would take the crown; and Charles, hysterical and unbalanced, had been taught to rely on his mother. Yet, pliable as he was, she must not forget that streak of madness in him; there was a hint of rebellion also. Catherine had seen how, through Mary of Scotland, her son Francis had been weaned from her control.

She decided now to put into action a plan which had long been in her mind. It seemed impossible to banish Mary Stuart from Charles's mind. When Catherine talked to him, rousing that greatest emotion of which he was capable, fear fear of his mother, fear of torture and death he was compliant; but when the next day he set eyes on Mary, he would watch her like a lovesick boy.

Catherine sent for two Italians of her suite, two men whom she trusted as she trusted her astrologers.

When they were in her apartments she closed the doors and made sure that there was no one hidden in any cupboard or anteroom. Then she explained what she wanted of them. It was possible to speak frankly or as near as Catherine could get to frankness to Birago and Gondi, the Count of Retz; for they, as Italians, must obey the Italian Queen, since they knew that their prospects in France depended on her good graces.

'I am alarmed concerning my son,' she said. 'I do not mean the King, but my son Charles, who would take the King's place were the King to meet with an early death. My lords, the little boy has feelings beyond his years ... and for his brother's wife. This is not healthy in a little boy. The French ...' She smiled at them intimately ... Italian to Italian. 'The French, my lords, see nothing wrong in love between the s.e.xes ... even in the cases of children. "It is natural," they say. "What a lover he will become!" ' She gave a sudden spurt of laughter. 'But at the age of my son, it is more natural, I think, to have a fondness for members of his own s.e.x.'

Her wide, prominent eyes stared blankly before her, and the men watched her closely.

'You think, Madame,' ventured the Count of Retz, 'that it would be more natural were he to indulge in the usual pa.s.sionate friendships with ... boys of his own age.'

'How well you understand! I do. Indeed I do. I do not wish to curb his natural emotions.' She smiled, and they smiled with her, knowing full well that it was a habit of the Queen Mother's to say what she did not mean. 'I wish him to enjoy friendships with members of his own s.e.x. He is not strong, and I feel you gentlemen could do much for him. Let him not, at his tender age, think of women.'

The Italians smiled afresh. They knew that they had been chosen as tutors for Charles because of their perverted tastes rather than for their academic qualifications.

They understood the Queen Mother. The Prince Henry was as dear to her, so it was said, 'as her right eye'. Francis did not look as if he would make old bones, and as yet he had no son to follow him. If it should happen that the little Queen of Scots gave him one, they did not doubt that Catherine would know how to remove that little obstacle. And after Francis ... Charles. Let the danger of Charles's producing children be made as remote as possible. He was weak and unbalanced; well, it should not be difficult to turn such a boy from his natural inclinations.

Some might have been astonished at this interview with the Queen Mother; but Charles's new tutors were not. They understood perfectly and accepted the task required of them.

Catherine was preparing to set out for Francis's Coronation, which was to take place, as tradition demanded, in the town of Rheims. How long, she asked herself, would this little King stay on the throne? He had been such a difficult baby to rear. She remembered how in the first year of his life his body had from time to time been covered with livid patches about which the doctors could do nothing, being absolutely ignorant of their cause. There was an obstruction in his nose which it had been thought at one time would kill him; but he had survived to speak with a nasal accent which was not very pleasant to listen to. It had always seemed that he was too delicate for long life, and now, by the look of him, it appeared that he could scarcely survive his Coronation. Watching him, Catherine felt competent to arrange that matters should go the way she wished.

A few days before they were due to set out for Rheims, Catherine was sitting with some of her ladies when the talk turned to Anne du Bourg, whom Catherine's husband, the late Henry the Second, had sent to prison for holding heterodox views. Anne du Bourg was now awaiting his trial, and there was more unrest than ever in the country on account of this man. As they talked, Catherine realised that the ladies about her all had Huguenot leanings the d.u.c.h.ess de Montpensier, Mademoiselle de Goguier, Madame de Crussol and Madame de Mailly. Catherine was stimulated, for her sense of intrigue warned her that the gathering together of such ladies was not an accident. She let them talk.

'Ah,' she said at length. 'But, ladies, it would seem to me that there are two parties of Huguenots in France to-day: those who devote themselves to their Faith and these I honour and those who make a political issue of religion. Nay, Madame de Mailly, do not interrupt me. Some of the party, I have reason to believe, plot with Elizabeth of England. I understand it is their wish to depose my son and put the Prince of Conde on the throne.'

Her thoughts went to Conde as she spoke, and she could not prevent a little smile. Conde! What queer thoughts this man aroused in her! She knew that she would not hesitate to use him, even to slip a little potion into his wine if need be; but she could never hear his name without a slight emotion. That was folly for a woman of her age, particularly as she had no great desire for physical pa.s.sion. Yet, try as she might, she could not overcome this excitement with which she was filled at the prospect of meeting Conde. He was a man of immense vitality, and his magnetism affected every female who set eyes on him; this must be so if it could touch Catherine de' Medici. She heard that many women were in love with him. He was small, yet enchanting; he was hot-tempered, quick to take offence; and, she imagined, quite unstable. He would need much guidance, but it was said that he got this in good measure from his wife Eleonore, a fervent defender of the Reformed Faith. He was a practised philanderer, this Conde, as was his brother, Antoine de Bourbon. Philanderers both yet held in check by over-devoted wives!

She had missed a little of the conversation while she had been thinking of Conde, which showed how unlike herself she became at the very mention of the man's name.

'Ah,' she went on. 'You would not expect me to support those who ill-wished my son!'

'Madame,' cried Madame de Montpensier, 'the Huguenots are loyal ... absolutely loyal to the Crown.'

Catherine shrugged her shoulders. 'There are some,' she went on, 'who wish to have no King at all. A republic, they say they prefer ... ruled by Calvin!'

'Nay, Madame, you have heard false tales.'

'It may be that you are right.'

And when she dismissed these women, Madame de Mailly remained behind and whispered to Catherine: 'Madame, the Admiral of France would wish to have a word with you. May I bring him to your presence?'

Catherine nodded.

Gaspard de Coligny. She studied him as he knelt before her, and as she looked at his stern and handsome face, it occurred to her that such a man, after all, might not be difficult to use. She knew a good deal of him, for she had made his acquaintance when she had first come to France. He was of Catherine's own age, and his mother had been the sister of Montmorency, the Constable of France. He was handsome in quite a different way from Conde. Gaspard de Coligny had a stern and n.o.ble look. Yet in his youth he had been a gay figure of fashion, spending his time between the court and the battlefield. Catherine remembered him well. He had been seen everywhere with his greatest friend, Francis of Guise; now the greatest friends had become the greatest enemies, Francis of Guise being the nominal head of the Catholic Party, while Coligny was the hope of the Protestants. Coligny was a power in the land; as Admiral of France, he controlled Normandy and Picardy. He had been a good Catholic until, during three years' captivity in Flanders, he had taken to the Protestant religion. A quiet and serious man he had become, and he was married to a plain and very wise wife who worshipped him and to whom he was devoted. In the presence of Coligny, Catherine was aware of strength, and such strength excited her as she wondered how she could use it.

When Coligny had risen, she asked him what he wished to say to her, and he answered that it was the Queen Mother to whom the Protestants were now looking with hope. She smiled, well pleased, for it was amusing to discover how successfully she had managed to hide her true self from the people about her.

'They are aware of your sympathy, Madame,' said Coligny earnestly.

Then she spoke to him of what she had mentioned to the ladies; of plots with England, of plots with Calvin. He in his turn a.s.sured her of his loyalty to the Crown; and when Coligny spoke of loyalty she must believe him.

'Madame,' said Coligny, 'you are on your way to Rheims. A meeting could be arranged there ... or somewhere near. There is much which should be discussed with you.'

'What would be discussed with me, Admiral?'

'We shall ask for the dismissal of the Guises, who hold so many offices; we shall ask for the redistribution of offices; the convocation of the States General. All this would be in the true interest of the Crown.'

'Ah, Monsieur l'Amiral, when I see poor people burned at the stake, not for murder or theft, but for holding their own opinions, I am deeply moved. And when I see the manner in which they bear these afflictions, I believe there is something in their faith which rises above reason.'

'Our people look to you for help, Madame,' pleaded Coligny. Madame de Mailly cried out: 'Oh, Madame, do not pollute the young King's reign with bloodshed. That which has already been shed calls loudly to G.o.d for vengeance.'

Catherine looked at Madame de Mailly coldly. 'Do you refer to what took place when my husband was on the throne?'

Madame de Mailly fell on her knees and begged the pardon of the Queen Mother.

Catherine looked from Madame de Mailly to Coligny. 'I think,' she said slowly, 'your meaning is this: many suffered at my husband's command, and you think that because of this a terrible death overtook him.' Catherine laughed bitterly. 'You would warn me, would you not, that if there are more deaths, more suffering, I may suffer? Ah, Madame, Monsieur l'Amiral, G.o.d has taken from me him whom I loved and prized more dearly than my life. What more could He do to me?'

Then she wept, for it pleased her to appear before Coligny as a weak woman, and both the Admiral and Madame de Mailly comforted her. But as she wept Catherine was asking herself whether or not it would be wise to agree to this meeting with the Protestants. She decided that it would, for she need commit herself to nothing while she learned their secrets.

So she promised that she would see any minister whom the Reformed Church cared to send to her; and Coligny and Madame de Mailly retired very well satisfied with the interview.

When Catherine was alone she thought continually of the Protestants; that led her to Conde; she contemplated his attractiveness, and his weakness. She thought of Antoine and Jeanne; Conde and his Eleonore. And when her women came in for her coucher she thought how lovely some of them were. There were two among them of outstanding beauty; one was Louise de la Limaudiere and the other Isabelle de Limeuil.

She said, when she had dismissed all but the most beautiful of her attendants: 'Do you remember how in the days of my father-in-law Francis the First, there was a band of ladies, all charming, all good company, great riders, witty, the pick of the court?'

They had heard of Francis's Pet.i.te Bande, and they said so.

'I have such a band in mind. I shall gather about me ladies of charm and elegance, ladies who will do as much for me as Francis's did for him. Beauty, daring, wit, these shall be the qualifications; and it shall be deemed as great an honour for a lady to enter my Escadron Volant as it was to be a member of Francis's Pet.i.te Bande.'

The court had moved to the Castle of Blois on the advice of Ambroise Pare, the King's surgeon. Francis's poison of the blood was particularly severe at this time, and it was thought that the climate of Blois, milder than that of Paris, might be good for the King.

During these uneasy days, Catherine felt herself to be most unsafe. The meeting with the Protestant ministers which she had planned had not taken place, for the arrangements had come to the ears of the Cardinal of Lorraine and he, in his arrogant way, together with his brother, the Duke of Guise, had made it very clear to Catherine that she could not serve two masters. If she wished to throw in her lot with Coligny and the Protestants, she would immediately and automatically become the enemy of the Guisards. And Catherine with Francis on the throne, and Francis's wife, subject to those uncles of hers, in command of the King could not afford to offend these men.

If the matter had ended there it would not have been important, but the persecutions of the Protestants had increased. The terrible sentence that he should be burned at the stake had been carried out on du Bourg, and many had watched him die in the Place des Greves.

The Protestants were murmuring against Catherine for having failed to keep her promise. The French, of whatever cla.s.s or party, were always ready to blame the Italian woman.

Catherine chafed against her inability to get what she wanted; but the Cardinal of Lorraine and the Duke of Guise had followed the court to Blois. They were on the alert. Catherine knew they watched her closely.

Only the children seemed unaware of the tension. The King knew nothing of what was going on about him. He was only concerned with his happiness in his married life. Mary was happy too, as long as she could dance and chatter and be admired; it seemed wonderful to her to be the most beautiful of all the Queens of France, to be courted and petted by her two formidable uncles.

Charles was not happy, but then how could he be? His tutors bewildered him by the strange things they taught him. He still longed to be with Mary, the Queen and wife of his brother; he wanted to write poetry to her and play his lute to her all day long.

Henry was happy with his dogs and those members of his own s.e.x whom he chose for his playmates; these were all the pretty little boys of the court, not the big, bl.u.s.tering ones, like Henry of Guise, who were always talking of fighting and what they would do when they were grown up; Henry's friends were clever boys who wrote poetry and read poetry and liked fine pictures and beautiful things.

Margot was happy because Henry of Guise was at Blois. They would wander together along the banks of the Loire and talk of their future; they were determined that one day they would marry.

'If they should try to marry me to anyone else,' said Margot, 'I shall go with you to Lorraine and we will rule there together; and perhaps we shall one day take the whole of France and I will make you King.'

But Henry scoffed at the idea of there being any opposition to their marriage.

'Say nothing of this to anyone yet, dearest Margot, but I have already spoken to my father.'

Margot stared at him. 'About us?'

He nodded. 'My father thinks it would be a good plan for us to marry.'

'But Henry, what if the King ... ?'

'My father is the greatest man in France. If he says we shall marry, then we shall.'

Margot thought of Henry's father, the mighty Duke of Guise, Le Balafre, with the scar on his face which somehow made him more attractive because he had received it in battle. There would be many who would agree with his son that Francis of Guise was the greatest man in France; and if he could give her his son Henry in marriage, Margot herself was prepared to believe it.

And so the little lovers wandered through the castle grounds, talking of the future and the day when they would marry, swearing fidelity, a.s.suring each other that no one should be allowed to stand in the way of their ultimate marriage.

Francis, Duke of Guise, called a Council at the Castle of Blois. He was grave, but his eyes sparkled as they always did at the thought of adventure; for there was nothing that delighted Francis more than a battle the bloodier the better.

'Mesdames, Messieurs,' he said, addressing the Council, which consisted of the young Queen and the Queen Mother as well as the King, the Cardinal of Lorraine and the leading figures of the court, 'I have news that a plot is afoot. My spies in England have brought me word of this. The King is in danger. A military rising is being planned, the motive of which is to kidnap the King, the Queen, the Queen Mother and all the royal children. These traitors plan that if the King refuses to become a Protestant, another King will be set up to take his place. At the head of these traitors, as you will guess, are the Bourbon brothers. There has been correspondence with Elizabeth of England, who promises them help. Every care must be taken of the King. We must guard the castle.'

After this revelation all were confined to the castle. There were no more ramblings along the banks of the Loire for Margot and Henry of Guise. They did not care; they were happy as long as they were together; and both were of the kind to enjoy the thought of danger's being near to them. Not so Francis and his brother Charles. Charles's fits became more frequent, and he would cry out in his sleep that he was being murdered; he was terrified, on retiring, lest an a.s.sa.s.sin should be hiding in the hangings of his room. He was becoming more and more nervous. His mother watched him with calculating eyes; it seemed to her that his tutors were having some effect upon him; she was not displeased.

But at present she must turn her thoughts from her children to the bigger issue the war between the Catholics and Protestants in which she would not become involved, unless she might effect, by her intervention, a favourable advantage to herself. Sometimes she laughed at the fervency of the people about her. She was the only one who cared not a jot whether Catholics or Protestants got the upper hand, as long as they were subservient to the will of Catherine. Her religion was neither Catholic nor Protestant; she would fight for no cause but that of keeping the Valois Kings on the throne of France, and the Valois Kings under the control of the Queen Mother.

So, while listening to the plans of the Guisards, she was busy formulating her own.

Secretly she sent for Coligny. She had betrayed him once, but she felt that by sending out distress signals she could fool him again. Like most straightforward men, there was little subtlety about Coligny. She wrote to him that she had heard the English were about to attack a convoy of French ships. Now, although Coligny might be in league with England against the Guises and the Catholics, in such a man as he was honour demanded that he must always fly to the help of France; so he came at once to Catherine when he received the message from her. Catherine received him with tears, told him that she was a weak woman completely in the hands of the Guises, and begged him to stand by the King.

'The cause of all this trouble,' said the Admiral, 'is the family of Guise. The only remedy, Madame, and the only way in which a terrible civil war can be avoided is by an Edict of Tolerance.'

Catherine declared that everything in her power should be done to bring this into being; and because it seemed imperative to her to win the confidence of the Protestants, which she had lost when she failed to keep her word with regard to the meetings near Rheims, she issued a decree; it was a decree to stop the persecution of the Protestants; it gave them freedom to worship and contained a promise of forgiveness to all except those who had plotted against the royal family.

Catherine felt that she had handled a delicate situation rather well; but when, a few days later, Francis of Guise was ushered into her apartments, and the man stood before her, his scarred, handsome face set and determined, those glittering eyes watching her cynically, that cruel mouth smiling a little, she began to realise the mighty force she had to pit her wits against, and her uneasiness returned.

Francis said: 'Madame, we are leaving Blois immediately. I can give you thirty minutes in which to prepare yourself.'

'Leaving Blois!'

The eyes flickered and the one above the scar watered a little, as it did when Francis was experiencing strong emotion.

'Danger, Madame, to the King, yourself and the royal children.'

'But,' she retorted, 'the danger is past. The Edict ...'

'Your Edict, Madame,' said the Duke with unmistakable emphasis, 'will not help us to fight our enemies. We leave Blois for the safety of Amboise. I cannot leave the King exposed to danger.'

She realised the power of the man, and that wonderful self-control of hers was ready to meet this situation as it had met many more in the past. She, the Queen Mother, would accept the humiliation of bowing to the will of the Duke of Guise, for, she a.s.sured herself as she prepared to leave Blois, it would not last for ever.

Francis the King was very frightened. Why could they not leave him alone? He wanted nothing but to be happy with Mary. He did not ask much only that he might ride with her, dance with her, give her fine jewels, hear her laughter. It was so pleasant to be a young husband in love; so frightening to be a King. There were so many who wanted to rule France: his mother, Monsieur de Guise, the Cardinal of Lorraine, Antoine de Bourbon, Louis de Bourbon ... If only he could have said: 'Very well, here is the crown. Take it. All I want is to be left at peace with Mary.'

But that could not be done. Unfortunately, he was the eldest son of his father. Oh, why had dearest Papa died? Why had there been that terrible accident which had not only robbed him of a father whom he loved and who had made him feel safe and happy, but had put a crown on his head!

And now there was fresh trouble. Here at Amboise they had been kept like prisoners. The Cardinal sneered at him; the Duke ordered what he should do. Oh, that he might be free of Mary's uncles! Men sought his life, he was told. He must be wary. They had caught some men in the forests surrounding Amboise, and these men had said they would talk to none but the King. He had been lectured and drilled as to what he must do. His mother had told him; the Guises had repeated their instructions. He was to give these men a crown piece each and be jolly and friendly to them while he asked sly questions and found out who had sent them to Amboise.

He knew that while he talked to the men, his mother would be listening through a tube which connected her room and his. He knew that the Cardinal would be concealed somewhere or other and that, if he made a false step or failed to get what they wanted, he would have to face the scorn of the Cardinal, the anger of the Duke, and, worse still, the coldness of his mother, which he dreaded more than anything.

The men were brought in; they bowed low over his hand.