‘Your Majesties are gracious to listen to me,’ she said. ‘It is future of our beloved Dauphin. Who could be a better match for him than little Mary Stuart, the Queen of Scotland?’

Catherine said: ‘The Queen of Scotland! Her mother was a Frenchwoman!’

‘Your Gracious Majesty can have no objection to that?’ asked Diane, her lips curling.

‘A Frenchwoman, continued Catherine quietly, ‘a sister to the de Guise brothers. It may be that his Grace the King feels this family are a little too ambitious. A child of their house to come to France as its future Queen might make them feel of greater importance than they do already.’

‘Queens come from strange places,’ said Diane angrily.

Henry spoke: ‘Let us consider this matter. It will be necessary to find a bride for the boy― sooner or later.’

‘Francis is a baby yet,’ said Catherine.

‘The alliances of kings and queens are made while they are in their cradles,’

said Diane.

Catherine bit her lip to keep back the flow of words. So this was a way of getting more power. Diane and the de Guises wished to rule France. Now they were beginning to do so through the King’s mistress; later those ambitious de Guises would do so through their niece.

‘The reports of the little girl,’ said Diane, ignoring Catherine and speaking to the King, ‘are that she is both clever and charming. Think, Sire, what a fine thing that marriage would be for France. Think what she would bring to us!’

‘Scotland!’ said Catherine. ‘A poor country, by all accounts!’

‘Your Majesty speaks truth there,’ laughed Diane sweetly. ‘It is a poor country. All the same it would not be an unpleasant thing to see it attached to the realm of France. But there is another matter which is of the greatest interest.

Sire, have I your consent to speak of it?’

‘My dear friend,’ said the King, ‘I beg you to speak. I know your wisdom of old and I readily give you all my attention.’

Catherine noticed how his eyes adored her. She felt an impulse to burst into weeping, to beg Diane to give him up, and to beg him to tell her what she herself could do to gain his love.

She hastily suppressed such folly.

‘That little girl has a claim to the throne of England,’ said Diane, ‘and her claim is not a light one.’

‘How so?’ cried Catherine, longing to contradict her enemy. ‘There is a young King on the throne of England,:

Diane laughed. ‘That young King, Majesty, is a puny fellow. Small of stature, wan of complexion; I hear he spits blood, and his hair is already falling out.’

Catherine knew it was useless to fight against them. Henry’s eyes were shining; he was in favour of this Scottish marriage because Diane had suggested it, if for no other reason.

‘And when he is dead,’ continued Diane, ‘who shall sit on England’s throne? There are two women. Mary. Elizabeth. And both these women have been declared illegitimate at different times, and by their own father! Now little Mary Stuart, though not so close to the throne, was at least born in holy wedlock. You understand me?’

‘I am inclined to think that it will be an excellent match for little Francis,’

said Henry.

‘Yes,’ said Catherine slowly, ‘an excellent match.’

Diane gave her that smile of condescending approval which Catherine loathed more than anything. But, thought Catherine, she is right. For France it will be good. For France, there will be Scotland and possibly England. It is foolish to allow a personal grudge to spoil what would be good for France.

France will be more important than ever; but so will the de Guises!

And so, negotiations for the Scottish marriage were started.


* * *

When Francis heard that he was to have a wife he was delighted. He could scarcely wait to see her. He put away many of his most precious possessions. ‘I am keeping these for Mary,’ he told Catherine.

Elizabeth was envious. ‘ Maman, ’ she wanted to know, ‘cannot I have a wife from Scotland?’

Catherine hugged her daughter. ‘Nay, my love; but when the time is ripe, a handsome husband will be found for you.’

Catherine spent as much time as she could manage in the nursery. This possible because just at present there were other matters to occupy Diane. But while Catherine was with her children, superintending their education, working hard to win their affection, she was not insensible to what was happening throughout France.

The wars of religion had taken a new and bloodier turn. John Calvin was preaching hell fire from Geneva, and crowds were flocking to his side; many in France were supporting him the time of King Francis there had been men ready to risk their lives by tampering with the fine decorations of the church which to them seemed idolatrous. Now there was a fresh outburst of such desecrations; and Henry, supported by Diane‚ was a stauncher Catholic than Francis had been with Anne d’Etampes at his elbow to help the cause of the Reformers.

Catherine shrugged her shoulders over these differences; it seemed to her that life had taught her that there should be only one religion― self-advancement. She wanted power for herself as long as she lived; she wanted Valois-Medici Kings on the throne of France forever. These religious factions― what were they? All very well for some to serve the Holy Church of Rome and some to swear by Calvin. But what was the difference? One believed in pomp and ceremony; the other in austerity. Who should say which would best please God? The Catholics persecuted the Protestants, but that was because the Catholics were the more powerful. Give Protestants the chance and they would be murdering and torturing Catholics. Take this man Calvin; he wished to usurp the place of the Pope― nothing less. What did he say? ‘You shall obey my rules and mine only.’ He was as strict and cruel as any Catholic.

Religion? thought Catherine, as she combed Elizabeth’s hair. What is religion? Observe the rules of the church, one observes the rules of the court. It is a good thing. But right or wrong, good or bad? For me, it is good to rule France. For Diane and Henry, for the de Guises, it is also good to rule France. But if they rule, how can I? It is good in my eyes for me to rule, and bad in theirs. So much for good and bad! No! Keep quiet. Take no sides― unless it is of benefit to take sides― for one side is as good, or as bad, as the other.

But straightforward Henry, fierce Montmorency, and ardently Catholic Diane did not see the matter as did Catherine. To them the Catholic way was the only true way. They had not the gift which enabled them to look at a matter from the angle that was best suited to their own advantage; they could not say:

‘This is good for us, therefore it is a good thing.’

If only Henry would listen to me! thought Catherine. How I would help him! There was this tragedy of the salt tax rising which had done Henry no good.

Why did he not consult his wife on State matters? Because he thought her colourless and unworthy of proffering advice. And how could she change that― while Diane lived? There must be a way of removing her enemy. She would read everything that had ever been written on the subject of subtle poisons; she would summon every seer, every magician to her presence, in the hope of finding some way in which it would be safe to rid herself of Diane. For it was good that she should do so. She was cleverer than Diane; and yet, unless she would suffer complete neglect, she must feign to possess a character which was not hers.

Once again, as she had done so many times before, she set about proving to herself that it would be no sin to rid herself of the woman she hated. If she herself could advise her husband instead of Diane, France, she assured herself, would be a happier country.

‘Holy Mother of God,’ she prayed. ‘A miracle.’

This problem of the salt tax had arisen six years before, when Francis was on the throne, and Francis had dealt with it more cleverly than had his son.

Had I advised him, thought Catherine, I would have begged him to take a lesson from his father. Under Francis, there had been an insurrection in the town of Rochelle against this tax― the gabelle. The citizens of Rochelle had refused pay the tax and had even maltreated those men sent to collect it. Francis, wisely, had gone to Rochelle in person, and had, with that characteristic charm of his, won the citizens to his side. He had gone amongst them, smiling, and begged them to have no fear. They had committed an offence, but he would dismiss that from his mind. They had his free pardon. The citizens of Rochelle had expected bloodshed and the pillaging and burning of their King’s men; instead, the charming Francis himself had visited them and smiled upon them. It was true that they were fined for their offence and the tax remained, but in Rochelle, they talked warmly of the King long after he had gone, and they forgot the burden of the salt tax for a while.

Now that, Catherine thought, was the way in which to deal of the gabelle.

But how differently from his father had Henry dealt with it.

There was a rising in the south, and one town joined another in its protest against the tax-collectors. When these collectors entered the towns, they were seized and maltreated. Near Cognac, one was thrown into the river.

‘Go, you rascal of a gabelleur!’ cried the enraged citizens. ‘Go and salt the fish of the Charente!’

Beggars and robbers swelled the ranks of the insurgents; the movement spread to the banks of the Gironde. This was like a minor civil war.