by Jean Plaidy
‘Be strong. Be worthy. Give freedom of worship to all. Do not use religion for reasons of state. Religion and diplomacy should be things apart. Keep your promises. Lead a good life and pray continually for the help of God. And above all, my son . . . above all . . .’
The King was sobbing now. ‘Gaspard, my father, I cannot bear, this. You talk as though you will never speak to me again.’
‘Nay, it may well be that I shall recover. There is much life in me yet. Keep your promises to Orange. Remember you are in honour bound to do so. Do not follow your mother’s guidance. Follow the word of God, never the example of Machiavelli. You can make your reign a good one, Sire, so that when you come to your last hours, you can thank God that He called you to rule this land.°
‘I keep seeing the blood on your coat. Such rich, red blood. The blood of the greatest Admiral France has ever known. What shall we do without you?’
‘Do not weep, I beg of you. I am still here. Remember . . . oh remember what I have said. And above all remember what I have said about . . . your mother.’
The door had opened quietly and Catherine was standing on the threshold watching them. The King caught his breath in fear. He knew that he was terrified of her and that she was the source of all his fear.
‘This will never do,’ said Catherine briskly. ‘Our dear Admiral is worn out. He must rest. Come, Your Majesty must leave him now. Monsieur Paré, he is worn out. Is that not so?’
‘He needs rest,’ said Paré.
‘Then leave me now, Sire,’ said the Admiral.,
‘I will come again,’ said the King; and he whispered: ‘I shall remember all that you have said to me.’
On the journey back to the Louvre, Catherine seemed serene, but she was deeply aware of her son beside her.
No sooner were they back at the Louvre than she dismissed all attendants and shut herself in with the King.
‘And what had our Admiral to say to you, my son?’
The King turned his tear-stained face away from her. ‘It was between ourselves,’ he said with dignity.
‘Matters of state?’ asked Catherine.
‘Matters of state between a King and his Admiral, Madame.’
‘I trust he was not urging you to folly.’
‘Only to wisdom, Madame. I pray to God that he may recover, for what this land will do without him, I dare not think.’
‘When one great man dies there is another to replace him,’ said Catherine. ‘Why, when one King dies there is another to take the throne.’
‘Mother, I have much to do and I would wish to be allowed to proceed with it.’
‘What did that man say to you?’ she asked.
‘I have told you it was a matter between us two.’
‘You little fool!’ she cried.
‘It would be well for you to remember to whom you speak, Madame.’
‘I do not forget. I speak to a man who is scarcely more than a boy, and who is so foolish that he allows his enemies to deceive him.’
‘Madame, I have allowed you too much power . . . too long.’
‘Who said so?’
‘I say so. I say so. I .
‘You have never said anything but what you were told to say.’
‘Madame, I will . . . I will . . .’
He faltered and she laid her hands on his shoulders. ‘Do not hang your head, my son. Look into my eyes and tell me what you will do. Tell me what the Admiral ordered you to do . . .’
‘He ordered nothing. He respects me as his King, as . . . as others do not. All I do, I do because I wish to.’
‘So all that time you were alone with him he told you nothing, gave you no orders?’
‘What was said was between us two.’
‘You are bemused by all that piety. Did he say, “Pray for God’s guidance, Sire, Pray, Pray.”? Of course he did. And by God’s guidance he means his own, for in the estimation of Monsieur l’Amiral, Monsieur l’Amiral is. God.’
‘You blaspheme, Madame.
‘Nay, it is he who does that. What else did he tell you?’ ‘I wish to be left alone.’
‘You saw what his enemies had done to him, did you not? How would you feel if his friends did the same to you? I heard what happened when they took off his finger. The pain of it! You have no idea. Two men had to hold him while Monsieur Paré got to work with a pair of scissors. You would never have been able to endure that, my son. And did you see the blood on his coat? He was but slightly wounded. Men have suffered more than that. Did you notice the scowls of the people as we passed along the streets to his house? Did you hear their murmurings? They murmured against me, did they not? But who am I? I am merely the mother. It is you at whom they would strike. Oh, what a dangerous world we live in! There is bloodshed all around us. Great men die. Kings die too; and as Kings live more grandly than ordinary men, so they die more fearfully.’
‘Mother . . .’
‘My son, when will you learn that you are surrounded by your enemies? How can you say, “This is my friend? . . .” How can you know who is your friend? This Admiral . . . this Huguenot . . . has no friendship to give you. He has only his faith. He would see you torn limb from limb for the sake of the Huguenots. He is a brave man; I grant you that. He does not care if he suffers. . . if he dies . . . for his cause. Do you think that, caring so little for himself, he would care for you? He would lead you to your death; he would run a sword through your heart . . . for the good of his cause. He would put you on the rack; he would stretch your limbs, break your bones . . . he would lop off your head for the sake of his cause.’
The King was staring straight in front of him and she laid a hand on his trembling arm. ‘But the mother who bore you has a tenderness for you which none but a mother can feel. A King you may be, but you are still her son. You are the baby . . . the child she suckled at her breast. A mother never forgets that, my son. She would die for her children’s happiness. And if they should be Kings, she is the only one they should trust. Others? What do they care? They care only for power. They would laugh to see you tortured. “The King is dead,” they would say. “Long live the new King.” Oh, you are a fool indeed to allow yourself to be deceived by a man who, great though he may be, has no thought but to see the Huguenots rule this realm . . . a Huguenot King on the throne. He will strive to put him there, even though he wades through your blood to do so. Tell me, what did he say to you? What advice did he give?’
Charles plucked at his coat with shaking hands. He turned his tortured eyes on his mother.
She embraced him tenderly. ‘Tell me, my darling,’ she whispered. ‘Tell your mother what he said.’
‘I cannot . . . I cannot . . . It was between us two.’
‘Did he mention . . . your mother?’
The King glared at her in silence, his eyes bulging, his lips awry.
‘What did he say of me, my son?’ she coaxed.
‘You torture me,’ cried the King. ‘Leave me. I would be alone.’
He flung her off, and throwing himself on to a couch began biting one of the cushions. ‘I will not tell. I will not tell. Leave me. He was right when he said you were evil . . . my evil genius. He was right when he said I must rule alone. I will, I tell you. Leave me . . . Leave me . . .’
Catherine bowed her head; he had confirmed her suspicions. She called Madeleine and sent her to soothe the King. Anjou was waiting for her in her apartments. He had caught the general fear, for he had seen the looks which the people had cast at the royal party in the streets.
‘Mother,’ he said, ‘what now?’
‘The first thing we must do,’ she said, ‘is to kill off that tiresome Admiral, and without delay.’
‘And how shall this be accomplished? He has a talisman . . . a greater magic than ours. It seems impossible to kill the man.’
‘We will find a way,’ she said grimly.
Charles, having recovered under the tender care of Madeleine, had made up his mind.
He had sworn to take
revenge on those who had attempted to take the Admiral’s life and he was determined to fulfil his oath.
Without consulting his mother, he ordered the arrest of several servants of the Guises, among them the Chanoine de Villemur.
‘By God,’ cried the King, ‘if Henry of Guise is implicated, even he shall lose his life.’
Catherine sought an early opportunity to be alone with the King.
‘Ah, my son,’ she said sadly, ‘how ill-advised you are to talk thus against Henry of Guise. Do you not yet know the power of that man? Had you talked thus at Blois or Orléans, Chambord or Chenonceaux, I should have said you spoke without thinking; but to utter such threats here in Paris is to commit the greatest folly. If you dared lay a hand on the Duke, you would have the whole city against you, for Paris does not follow you, it follows Guise. He has but to lift a hand and this city rallies to his cause. You may be King of France, but he is King of Paris.’
But the King would not be diverted from his purpose. He remembered the words of his friend, Coligny. He was going to avenge Coligny; he had sworn to avenge him, and if that meant the death of Guise, then it should be the death of Guise, no matter what the consequences.
She tried to reason with him. ‘At such times as this we must resort to diplomacy. You can easily find a scapegoat for your Admiral. One of your brother’s men would do very well as they say the gun belonged to one of his guards. The Chanoine himself . . . if you must. But, I warn you, if you wish to remain King of France, do not touch the King of Paris!’
‘Madame,’ said the King, in an unusually calm voice, ‘my mind is made up.’
She smiled serenely, but she was far from serene.
She left the King and, dressing herself in the clothes of a market woman, she slipped into a little-known passage which led out of the Louvre, and made her way through the crowded streets to the Rue St Antoine. The atmosphere in the streets was unhealthy. Everywhere, it seemed, people were discussing the attempt on the Admiral’s life—the Catholics with gratification, the Huguenots with horror. She slipped into a back entrance of the Hôtel de Guise and told one of the lower servants that she had a message for the Duke; she was amused to see that she was unrecognized.
‘It is imperative that I see the. Duke,’ she said. ‘I come from the Queen Mother.’
She was at length taken to the Duke, who was with his brother Mayenne; and when Henry of Guise saw who his visitor was he immediately dismissed all attendants.
As soon as the doors were shut, Catherine said: ‘Are you sure that we cannot be overheard?’
‘It is quite safe to speak, Madame,’ said Guise.
She turned on him angrily. ‘Here is a pretty state of affairs. It seems it would have been better to have employed the Duchess after all. That bungling fool should have his hands chopped off for this.’
‘Your Majesty must realize,’ said Mayenne, ‘that it was no fault of the man’s. A better shot does not exist in France.’
‘Madame,’ put in Guise, ‘it was not his fault the Admiral stooped when he did. It was Fate.’
‘Ah!’ said Catherine, and her fingers closed over her bracelet. ‘I have always feared that some great magic protects him. Why . . . why should he have stooped at that moment?’
‘And merely to pick up a paper which had fluttered to the ground,’ said Guise gloomily. ‘But for that, he should no longer be troubled with him.’
‘Listen,’ said Catherine. ‘The King has arrested some of your servants, as you no doubt have heard. That fool left his gun behind him. It is known that he escaped on a horse from one of your friends’ stables. The King swears vengeance on you. You must leave Paris at once.’
Guise smiled. ‘But, Madame, that would indeed be folly. Leave Paris now? That would be to admit our guilt.’
‘I think,’ said Mayenne, ‘that Her Majesty has some plan to lay before us.’
‘You are right. Matters cannot rest as they are. Those Huguenots stand about the streets muttering threats. They dared insult me when I was on my way to the Admiral’s house. They simmer, Messieurs, and they are ready to boil over.’
‘Let them,’ said Guise, putting his hand on his sword. let them boil all over Paris, and they will see what Paris thinks of them.’
‘We cannot have civil war in Paris, Monsieur. I would wish this trouble to be put right before it grows beyond our control.’
Catherine’s eyes were gleaming and there was the faintest colour under her skin. She saw now that the time had come, the moment for which she had said she would wait, when she had paced the gallery of the palace of Bayonne with Alva.
Here was the moment. It was inescapable. There must be no fighting between the Catholics and Huguenots in Paris. If there was, Guise would assume the role of King, and who knew what outcome that would have? Ironical it would be if the Catholics won and decided they would put their hero on the throne! He was a Prince; he had a slight claim. It might be that, in spite of the stoppage of the mail, the news of the Catholic-Huguenot wedding was already carried over the border and into Spain . into Rome. If what she planned could be brought to pass, she would have more heads than that of Coligny to send to Rome. And the news she would send would make both Philip and Gregory forget all about a mere marriage.
‘I do not mean that you should leave Paris in fact, Messieurs. No. Pretend to leave Paris with the members of your family who are here with you. Ride out by the Porte St Antoine . . . ride a little way out . . . then assume a disguise and, at dusk, come riding back. Keep yourselves hidden for a little while . . . here in this house, so that none but your trusted followers know that you are here. I could not have you leave Paris, my friends, for you will be needed for the task which lies ahead of us.
‘And the task, Madame?’ asked Guise.
‘To rid France of these pestilential Huguenots for ever . . . and at one sweep.’
Later that day the city was seething with excitement. The Guises had left Paris! They had, it appeared, almost slunk out without ceremony and without followers, as though they were eager to escape from the city at the greatest possible speed. The Catholics were aghast; the Huguenots were jubilant. What could this mean, they asked each other, but that the Guises were in disgrace? The King then was siding with the Huguenots. If this were so, said the Huguenots, all that the Admiral had suffered was not in vain.
There was an incident in the Tuileries gardens; a Huguenot started trouble with a member of the King’s Guard who had refused him entry, whereupon Huguenots rushed into the gardens and demanded justice. Téligny, with great wisdom, managed to avert disaster, but the tension had increased.
Catherine had now determined to act quickly. She called a meeting, but it was a secret gathering, and it took place in the shady alleys of the Tuileries gardens, whither her fellow conspirators came to join her and Anjou, who had her confidence in this matter. All these conspirators were Italian, and she had selected them because she believed that her fellow countrymen were more skilled in the art of murder than the French. There were Retz and Birago, those two whom she had set to tutor the King; Louis of Gonzaga, the Duke of Nevers; and the two Florentines, Caviaga and Petrucci.
‘My friends,’ whispered Catherine when they were all assembled, ‘the Admiral must die and die speedily. You can see there will be no peace in this land until he is dead.’
It was agreed that what she said was true.
‘And now,’ she said, ‘we must decide which are the best means to employ.’
And while she talked she was alert for the arrival of a man whom she had employed more than once in delicate matters, and who, she had arranged, should on this occasion burst in on them with news of a plot which he had just discovered; for she had decided that she would need great justification for what she was about to propose, and the alleged discovery by this man would provide that justification.
His entrance was perfectly timed.
He had the alert eyes of the spy, this Bouchavannes. Installed in the house in the Rue Béthis
y ever since the Admiral had been in Paris, it had been his duty to repeat to the Queen Mother all that he had heard and seen during his sojourn there. Now he had a startling story to tell. The Huguenots, he declared, planned revolt. They were going to rise and take possession of the Louvre, kill every member of the royal family, set Henry of Navarre on the throne of France and subdue the Catholics for ever.
‘Messieurs,’ said Catherine, ‘now we know what we must do. There is only one path open to us.’
‘What are Your Majesty’s plans?’ asked Retz.
Catherine replied calmly: ‘To destroy, monsieur, not only the Admiral, but every Huguenot in Paris . . . before they destroy us. We must preserve absolute secrecy. Only those who are with us and whom we can trust must know our plans. And, Messieurs, we must get to work at once, for there is little time to be lost if we would strike at them before they strike at us.’
‘Madame,’ Nevers reminded her, ‘it would be necessary to obtain the consent of the King before such a matter could be undertaken. It must have a seal of authority. If Guise were in Paris we could rely on him to rally every Catholic in Paris to the cause.’
Catherine permitted herself a smile. ‘Have no fear. Monsieur de Guise will be here at the right moment. As for the King, leave him to me. Monsieur de Retz, you were his tutor and you know him well. I may need your help in persuading him.’
‘Madame,’ said Retz, ‘the King has changed. He is not the pliable boy we once knew. He is now obsessed by the idea of avenging the Admiral.’
‘Then we must jerk him out of his obsession.’ She turned her cold stare on Retz, and looked from him to the others. ‘We must meet again. We must call together all those whom we can trust. I will see that Monsieur de Guise and his family are with us. As for the King we must get to work on him at once.’
Together, Retz and Catherine worked on him; but the King showed unwonted determination, and the influence of the Admiral was aggravatingly apparent.
‘Madame,’ he shouted at Catherine, ‘I have sworn to bring to justice those who would have murdered him, and this I will do.’