‘You are right,’ whispered the King. ‘I must rule alone. I must rule alone.’

‘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!’