Catherine watched the red flame as it crackled about the martyr’s feet; she saw the cruel fire run like a wild thing up the coarse shirt. She waited for the cry of agony but none broke from the tailor’s lips. Others groaned in their misery, but not the tailor.
The man’s lips were moving; he was praying to God; and all the time he prayed, his eyes never left those of the King.
‘Catherine!’ said Henry in a hoarse whisper; and hand groping for hers; his palms were clammy and he was trembling. ‘He will not take his eyes from me, Catherine.’
‘Look away, Henry.’
‘Catherine― I cannot.’
Nor could he.
Catherine crossed herself. It was as though the tailor had put a spell on the King, for Henry wanted to run from the window, to shut out the sight of the tailor’s agony, but he could not; and he knew that, for the rest of his life, he would never forget the dying tailor.
But Catherine had almost forgotten the tailor, for Henry had turned to her for comfort; and it was her hand that he held. She was thinking, Out of small victories, large ones grow; a small miracle can be the forerunner of a great one. Henry was praying silently for the protection of the saints; and all the time, he stood there staring, until with sudden crackling and roaring the faggots at the tailor’s feet collapsed, and the flames roared up and the martyr’s face was hidden by a wall of fire.
THE KING’S INDISCRETION
CATHERINE LAY at Saint-Germain. Another boy had just been born. This was Charles Maximilian; and she had now three sons― Francis, Louis, who was more sickly than his elder brother, and Charles.
She should have been a happy woman, since that fertility for which she had once fervently prayed was hers; but her miserable jealousy persisted.
Only this morning, she had heard women talking beneath her window, and getting up from her bed, she had gone to the window and crouched there listening.
‘The King has gone to Anet.’
‘To Anet! At such a time! His place is here with his wife and new-born son.’
Catherine had imagined the lift of the shoulders, the sly smiles.
‘Oh yes, my friend, it is the custom, is it not, to be with his Queen at such a time? In all things deeply sensible to what is right and what is wrong. But when Madame de Valentinois beckons― ah then, it is another matter.’
‘Poor Queen Catherine! How sad she must be to find herself and her new son so neglected!’
‘The Queen?―’ The voice dropped so low that Catherine could not hear.
And then: ‘Something― strange about the Queen. I do not think she cares.’
Catherine laughed grimly. Not care indeed! And something strange? Perhaps they were right there. But what a cruel thing when a Queen must be pitied by her women!
Deliberately, then, the woman of Anet had lured Henry from Saint-Germain at such a time.
Catherine rose from her bed. Useless to remove the desk and rug and look into the room below. Instead she prayed; she; she wept; she cried out bitterly; and the subject of her prayers was: ‘Holy Mother of God, show me a miracle!’
* * *
Was this the miracle?
It was Madalenna who brought the news to her. ‘I have news, Gracious Majesty. The Duchesse de Valentinois lies sick at Anet.’
Sick at Anet! Catherine’s heart began to beat more quickly. This was it. Her prayers were answered.
‘The King is at Anet, Madalenna.’
‘Yes, the King is with Madame la Duchesse, but it is said that she is very sick indeed.’
Catherine could not wait to summon the Ruggieri brothers to her. It was dusk, and, putting on her cloak, she went to see them. She was as active as ever after the birth of five children all following close upon one another. She hurried to the house by the river.
She knew, as soon as she entered the house, that Cosmo and Lorenzo had heard the news. There was that stubborn look in their faces, that suspicion, as though they believed that in some way, although she had not long left her bed, she had contrived, in spite of their warnings and their care, to administer poison to the Duchess of Valentinois.
She was impatient with them, as they immediately closed all doors, drew the shutters and sent out their two servants, although they were Italians. They were afraid of the Queen’s obsession.
‘You have heard the news, I see,’ she said, not without a touch of scorn.
‘It is grave news,’ said Cosmo.
‘Grave news indeed! It is the best news I have heard for many years.’
‘Beloved and Most Gracious Majesty,’ begged Cosmo, ‘we implore you to be calm. The Duchess is ill and none knows the illness. Rumour spreads like fire on windy nights in this city.’
Catherine drummed her fingers on the table. ‘Oh yes, yes. There will be some to say that I have had something slipped into her wine, sprinkled on her food, spread over the pages of a book― I know. They will accuse me of poisoning her.’
‘It will be well for us all if the Duchess recovers.’
‘It will not be well for me.’ She stared first at one brother then at the other.
‘Lorenzo, Cosmo,’ she said piteously, ‘I would give all my worldly goods to hear that she was dead.’
‘Madame, in the streets they talk,’ said Cosmo.
‘Talk! Talk! I know they talk. They will always talk. They accused me of having the Dauphin poisoned. I tell you I had no intention of having the Dauphin poisoned. Yet they accused me.’
‘It is well that those whose death will bring advantage to us should not die,’
said Lorenzo.
‘Lorenzo, she will have to die one day. Why should it not be now?’ She stood up and faced them. ‘You have the means here. You have poisons― subtle poisons. Give me the key of your cabinet, Lorenzo.’
‘Beloved Majesty, my brother and I will serve you every way you wish― but we cannot let you destroy yourself.’
When she was with these men, she felt she had no need to hide her feelings; and now she was hysterical with― unsatisfied desire, with humiliation and frustration ‘You mean you would destroy yourselves!’ she cried angrily. ‘That is it, Lorenzo! That is it, Cosmo! You fear the Boot and the Water Torture― and horrible death! You are not afraid for me― but for yourselves. What could I lose by her death? Nothing! I have everything to gain. I cannot be displaced. I am the mother of the future King of France. I command you to give me the key of your cabinet.’
The two brothers looked fearfully at each other.
‘Madame,’ began Lorenzo desperately, ‘I implore you―’
‘And I command you!’
Imperiously, Catherine held out her hand.
Cosmo nodded, and Lorenzo drew out the silver chain from under his doublet, on which hung the key.
Catherine snatched it, and strode towards the cabinet. The astrologers watched her, without moving.
She stood, looking at the array of bottles; each contained a substance which she knew could produce death. These brothers had taught her a little concerning their secrets; she had insisted on their doing so; therefore she was by no means ignorant on this matter of poisons.
‘Give me something, Lorenzo.’ She swung round and faced them.
‘Something tasteless.’
The brothers did not move; they could only watch her with horrified eyes.
Their thoughts flitted from this room to the sickening horror of the salle de la question in the Conciergerie.
Catherine stamped her foot. ‘This!’ she said, and laid her hand on a bottle.
Lorenzo took a step forward. ‘Majesty, you could not do it. It would be necessary to take others into your confidence.’
‘I have my friends.’
‘The Boot makes a havoc of the strongest ties of friendship, Madame.’
‘You think of nothing but torture. Have I not suffered uneasy torture in my apartments at Saint-Germain?’
‘Madame, allow us to have that hole filled in. It was a mistake that it should ever have
been made.’
She felt tears in her eyes, and, looking from Lorenzo to Cosmo, she thought of them as two little boys whom she had known and who had been her friends in the Medici Palace when Alessandro was her enemy. They were her friends, true friends; and although they feared disaster for themselves, they also feared it for her. They were wise men.
They saw her hesitation and she was aware of their relief. Perhaps she herself was also relieved. She felt that storm of passion passing. She was preparing to be calm Catherine who had learned the art of patience, the wisdom of waiting, the benefits of working in the dark.
‘There is a ring the Duchess always wears,’ said Cosmo. ‘It is said that ring has strange properties.’
‘I know the ring,’ said Catherine. ‘A large ruby. The King gave it to Madame de Valentinois in the early days of their friendship.’
‘Why is it that whatever else she wears, the Duchess is never without it?’
said Lorenzo. ‘The spell may well be in that ring. It is not natural for a man of the King’s youth to remain faithful to an ageing woman. Only magic could do it.
It may well be that the answer is in that ring.’
‘If we could but lay our hands on the ring―’ began Cosmo.
‘It should not be impossible,’ said Catherine, allowing her attention to be drawn from the poison-cabinet.
‘Gracious Madame, she never lets it off her finger.’
‘But if she is sick it might not be impossible. If I might get one of my friends to help me― Yes, I begin to believe there is something in this story of a ring.’
The brothers became excited. Lorenzo turned the key in the lock with shaking fingers; he hung the key on its chain and buttoned up his doublet. Both brothers breathed freely now.
Catherine stared at the closed doors of the cabinet and wondered why she allowed herself to be lured away from the sure method of poisoning.
The answer was simple. The stake was too high. Diane’s death might not prove a stepping-stone to the love, but to his hatred.
There was no wisdom in loving as she did.
* * *
Diane was feeling very ill. It was the first time in her life that she had been ill, and she was alarmed. She had grown thin, and had no idea what was the cause of her malady.
She was listless and had no great desire for company.
The King, like a devoted husband, insisted on being with her; he was very anxious.
Diane found it a great effort to continue with the strenuous routine she had set herself. She was no longer fit to ride in the morning; she felt herself incapable of entertaining the King and she wished he would curtail his visit.
Looking in her mirror, she scarcely recognized herself. She was sure of the King’s devotion; he was the dearest and honourable of men; but no one, she reasoned in her practiced way, likes to be continually with the sick.
She decided that she would not keep him with her at Anet.
She said to him one day as he sat beside her bed: ‘Henry, it is dull for you here.’
‘My dearest, how could it be dull for me to be with you?’
‘Oh Henry, this is not the life we were wont to lead together.’
‘We shall return to that.’
‘I fear it is not good for you to remain.’
‘I am happier with you than anywhere else. I trust that you will soon recover from this mysterious malady. I long to see you well again.’
She thought: I am too old to wear illness with grace. He must not see me wan and listless. Far better for him to leave me. I trust him. I shall recover the quicker for not being anxious as how I seem to him. She was determined he should go.
A woman entered with a drink of herbs which his best physician had prescribed for her.
‘A thousand pardons, Sire,’ said the woman, curtsying as she saw the King.
‘It is time for Madame’s dose. I crave your forgiveness for the interruption.’
‘That is well enough, Marie,’ said Diane. ‘Give it to me and I will take the odious stuff.’
She drank off the liquid and handed the glass back to the woman with a smile.
‘It is a great inducement to get well,’ she said, ‘that I may be expected to take more of that.’
The woman curtsied and went out.
‘I have not seen her at Anet before,’ said the King. ‘Though she is not unfamiliar to me.’
‘She is a nurse the Queen kindly sent to me. It was good of her. She has a high opinion of Marie. It is said that she is skilled in the mixing of medicines.
Your physician thinks her a good and capable woman.’
‘I am glad Catherine was sufficiently thoughtful as to send her.’
‘Catherine is thoughtful, and my very good friend,’ said Diane. ‘I trust that she is managing the children well without me. I think that Fleming woman rather a silly creature. Much too foolish to be entrusted with the care of young Madame from Scotland.’
The King was silent; and Diane did not notice the slightly embarrassed look which had come into his eyes.
‘Indeed,’ went on Diane, ‘little Mary is inclined to be pert, do you not think?’
The King still did not speak, and Diane smiled up at him. ‘Do you not think she is inclined to pertness?’
‘Who was that, my dear?’
‘Mary Stuart.’
‘Ah! Very high-spirited and lovely enough to be thoroughly spoiled, I fear.’
‘Henry, my love.’
‘Yes, my dearest?’
‘You should not stay here. You should be at court. You forget, for my sake, I know, that you are King of this country.
‘I could not find it in my heart to leave you.’
“But you must. It worries me that you should neglect your duties for me.
You have given me everything I could desire. Henry, I beg of you, go back to court. I cannot get well while you are here because I am anxious. I cannot forget that I keep you from your duties. Go to court. Write to me every day. I shall get well all the quicker in my desire to be with you again.’
He shook his head. Passionately he declared he could not leave her. Nothing, he assured her, could mean to him what she did. Gladly would he neglect everyone, everything, for her sake.
But as usual, eventually she got her way. And after he had gone she grew very ill indeed, but she would not have him told.
Marie, the Queen’s nurse, continued most assiduously to care for her.
* * *
Before the King returned to court, little Louis died. It was saddening, but not heartbreaking, for he had been ailing since his birth, and the tragedy was not unexpected. His life had flickered like a candle in a draught, and it had seemed inevitable to all that the flame should be early extinguished.
Gloom hung over the court. The death of the little Prince, together with the sickness of his mistress, filled the King with melancholy. Catherine was filled with secret exultation. Louis’ death had been expected, and the love she had for her children was a pale thing compared with this passion for her husband.
Louis was dead; but Henry was back; and in her possession was the magic ruby ring. She had it carefully locked away; it would never do for the King to see it; and yet, when he was with her, she must wear it. She had forced herself to a pathetic belief in the ring, and this belief had been nourished by the Ruggieri brothers.
In her heart she knew they thought: Let us keep her mind on the ring in order that it may not stray to our poison closet.
A week after Louis’ death, Henry came to her. He was very gentle and courteous. Doubtless he thought: Poor Catherine! She has lost a child, and what has she but her children?
He sat on the chair which was kept for his use. She thought how handsome he was in his coat of black velvet with the diamonds which decorated it, flashing in the dim light from the candles. The graying hair and beard, while robbing him of youth, gave him dignity. His long white jewelled hands rested lightly on the rich fabric of the arms of the chair, while h
is head lay against the silver brocade that was embroidered with the golden fleur-de-lys. Looking round that room with its rich hangings, its costly bed, whose curtains were embroidered in red and purple, with its furnishings worth a fortune, Catherine thought again how happy she would be if Henry would but love her.
‘You are filled with melancholy, Henry,’ she said; and she went to him, standing behind him, timidly laid a hand on his shoulder. She longed for him to take the hand, but he did not. She thought of the ring, lying ready in a drawer.
The drawer was now unlocked; all she had to do was open it and slip the ring on her finger.
‘My thoughts are with our son,’ said Henry; he did not add ‘And at Anet.’
But she knew that they were, and the knowledge filled her with bitterness.
‘I know,’ she said. ‘It is sad indeed to lose a child, and that child a son.’
Her fingers pressed hard on his shoulder; she was now restraining that mad impulse, which his near presence always inspired in her, to throw her arms about his neck and speak to him of her wild love for him, of her burning desire.
‘Poor little Louis,’ murmured Henry. ‘His coming into the world seemed so pointless, since so soon he has been taken from it.’
She must wear the ring. Now was the time, He would not notice that she wore it, for he hardly ever noticed what she wore. Yet if he became enamoured of her as her as he had been of Diane― She felt dizzy with joy at the thought, taking her hands, kissing each finger. But what would it matter then if he noticed the ring? The magic ornament would by that time have worked its spell.
‘I have wept for him until I have no more tears left.’ she said; and she sped to the drawer, and, taking out the ring, slipped it on her finger.
Her heart hammering, her eyes gleaming, she went back to the King’s chair.
He had not moved, but sat quietly, still staring blankly into space.
The magic will take a little time to work, she thought.
‘Henry, we must not grieve.’ She stood behind his chair; she felt as if her excitement would choke her. She laid her hand on his graying hair and stroked it; the great ruby light caught the light from the candle and winked back at her.
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