"De Guise deludes himself if he thinks he can overcome Navarre's claim to France," Adam said. "I suspect we have not yet seen the last of France's civil wars. How unfortunate!"

"How foolish of the French to fight over semantics," Skye replied. "I have never understood how sane men could argue about the way in which they worship."

"I have often thought," Adam said softly, "that if the Christ returned to earth today he would shed bitter tears over the cruelties men perpetrate in his name."

She nodded and slipped her hand into his. "Let us think on something more pleasant, my darling, like our own wedding."

"I have already sent a messenger to England for the children," Adam replied. "They all will be easy to gather, but for Robin. I have written to Robbie asking that he bring Robin from court on the pretext that his sister is ill and wishes to see him. I will not write to the Queen until after our marriage, for fear she forbid it. I do not want to have to go directly against Elizabeth Tudor."

"No," Skye said. "She will be angry enough when we present her with the fact of our marriage, but I, too, would prefer not to defy her openly."


***

For the next week Paris was a city of celebration in honor of the royal marriage. There were fairs with fortune-tellers, and dancing bears, and wonderful food distributed by the King in honor of his sister; and for the nobility the feasting and the dancing at the Louvre hardly stopped. Neither did the intrigue. The Huguenot Coligny's influence grew, and Catherine de Medici seethed.

"Well, madame, you see what your meddling has gotten you," the Duc de Guise sneered softly to Catherine one evening.

"It is not good, I will admit," the Queen Mother said. "I would be quit of Coligny. Navarre will come around eventually."

"Admiral Coligny must pass by the house of an old tutor of mine on his way home, madame. I would consider it an honor to aid you in your hour of need. We are both of us, after all, for France."

The Queen Mother's eyes gave no indication that she had even heard de Guise. "You will, M'sieur le Duc, of course do as your conscience dictates," she murmured as she moved away from him.

On the twenty-second of August Admiral Coligny was shot at and wounded as he walked the short distance from the Louvre Palace to his own Paris house. There had been witnesses, unfortunately, and it was ascertained that the shot had come from a house owned by the Duc de Guise. Who had fired the shot, however, was not known.

The Huguenots in Paris for the wedding were outraged, and it was all the King's men could do to keep order, for the city was seething with anger as the two factions met in various public places, trading insults, threats, and sometimes blows. The princes of Navarre and Condé as well as Admiral Coligny himself worked valiantly to keep their people under control. "A hothead," the admiral declared. "'Twas only a shot fired by a fanatic. Did God not spare me, my friends? Is that not a sign that I am meant to five on to carry out his work?" The Huguenots settled down to an uneasy truce with the Catholics.

In the Louvre Charles IX was outraged, furious, and fearful by turns. The lucid mood that had prevailed duc to his sister's nuptials was fast dissolving into terrified paranoia, helped along by his mother and the Duc de Guise. Still rational, Charles demanded that the assassin and his accomplices be brought to justice.

"Coligny is my friend!" he shouted. "His first thoughts are for me, and for France. He would end this civil strife between his Huguenots and the Catholic League. Civil war is not good for the country! You have said so yourself, Mother! You have told me a hundred, nay, a thousand times that a king who cannot maintain order is doomed!" Charles paced nervously about his apartment. "A blow against Coligny is a blow against me, against France! I want the cowardly assassin found!"

Catherine de Medici sat very still in her chair. Her hands were folded in her lap, her black eyes flat and expressionless. "You are getting needlessly upset, Charles, and you are beginning to babble. No one has struck a blow against either you or France. Admiral Coligny has of late usurped your very authority, and it is obvious that someone who saw that attempted to correct the situation. That the means chosen were less than peaceful is regrettable. Still, we must examine why Coligny and his Huguenots have of late been less than cooperative."

"Come, sire," de Guise murmured, "you have been more than generous to these heretics, and now they attempt to stab you in the back."

"What do you mean?" The King was beginning to look terrified.


"Now, Chariot," the Duc of Anjou replied, the King's next brother, "is it not obvious?"

"Is not what obvious, Henri? I do not understand," Charles quavered.

Anjou put an arm about his elder brother, and spoke in a confidential tone. "Coligny is shot at, and his witnesses, all Huguenots, claim the shot was fired from a house owned by Coligny's archenemy, de Guise here. How do we know that Coligny did not plan the whole thing himself, and that the alleged assassin is a Huguenot."

"But why would he do that, Henri?"

"Most obvious, dearest Chariot, most obvious. If Coligny could rouse all his supporters to believe that you, our beloved King, and de Guise, your loyal servant, were responsible for the attempted murder, he could then incite them to rebellion right here in Paris. He could convince them to storm the Louvre itself, and the Louvre could scarce be defended against an armed mob, brother. They would kill all the Valois, and then put their Huguenot King of Navarre upon your throne. His claim, after we are all gone, is quite legitimate, and with our sister, Margot, as his Queen, who would gainsay him France? This is not a plot against Coligny, my brother. It is a plot against you! Against France!"

"Rubbish!"

Everyone, the frightened King included, turned to look to Charles's youngest sibling, the Duc d'Alençon.

"Really, Charles," the good-natured Alençon drawled, "you are allowing de Guise and Anjou to terrify you out of your wits. Whatever the truth of this matter, neither Coligny nor his Huguenots are plotting to destroy you. If I were looking for a villain I should certainly look closer to home, brother."

"And exactly what do you mean by that, Alençon?" the Duc de Guise demanded, his hand going to his sword.

"Mon Dieu, de Guise, you are bold, and quite sure of yourself," the youngest Valois prince taunted. "Will you dare to draw your weapon in the king's presence?"

"Messieurs, messieurs!" Catherine chided, seeing the situation begin to get out of hand. Damn Alençon, anyway! "We are getting away from the heart of the matter. Why are the two greatest houses in France, the Valois kings, and their premier noblemen, the house of de Guise-Lorraine, bound not only by blood but by religion, squabbling? May God have mercy on me for my shortsightedness in trying to make peace between the heretics and the Mother Church. I have been wrong, and it has caused needless suffering." Catherine de Medici rose from her chair, and walking over to her son, she knelt at his feet. "Forgive me, Charles! I have been wrong, and I have given you bad counsel! I shall retire to a convent and spend my days atoning for this terrible sin."

Both Anjou and de Guise cast their eyes heavenward in their attempt to appear pious, but the poor Duc d'Alençon was hard put not to burst into laughter at his mother's theatrical gesture. He knew, as did the others, that she had no intention of taking up the religious life. A less religious woman he had never known!

The King, however, was now totally shaken and confused. The one constant in his life had always been his mother. She had never, ever failed him. "No, Mother! No! Do not leave me! We will solve this problem together!" he cried, helping Catherine to her feet.

"There is only one way, Majesty," de Guise said ominously. "We must kill the Huguenots."

"But it is a sin to kill," the King whispered.

"No, brother," Anjou murmured soothingly, "the Church will not condemn us for destroying the heretics. They will sing our praises."

Charles looked to his mother. Catherine de Medici said nothing, but she did nod her head in the affirmative.

"I can't."

"You must!" de Guise pounded.

“There is no choice," Anjou said. "It is either you or them, dearest brother! We cannot lose you. You are France!"

"All of them?"

"All!'' de Guise thundered, a fanatic's gleam in his eye.

"Not Navarre or Condé," the Queen Mother said with sudden determination in her voice. If Margot were freed of Navarre it would only be a matter of time before the Princesse de Porcien was put aside by her husband de Guise. Catherine knew that her sons would then be killed ruthlessly, and with Navarre gone, de Guise would press his slender claim to the throne with a Valois heiress as his wife. Oh no, my clever friend, Catherine thought. I am smarter than that!