And there, close to him, stood this evil genius . . . his own mother, her eyes large, the largest things in the room . . . so large that he could not escape from them; and as he looked at them he seemed to see there all the horrors of which she had talked to him; it seemed to him that he was not in this room, but in the torture chambers; they had taken off his clothes; they were putting him on the rack; and the torturer was bending over him. The torturer had the stern and noble face of Gaspard de Coligny.

He heard his own voice; it sounded faint, but that was only because of the pounding of the blood in his head which made such a noise; he knew that he was shouting.

‘By the death of God, since you have decided to kill the Admiral, then I consent. My God . . . but then you must kill every Huguenot in France, so that none is left to reproach me with that bloody deed after it is done!’

He was aware of his mother’s triumphant smile. He turned from her. He was trembling violently and the foamy saliva spattered his velvet jacket.

He stared at Catherine. His evil genius! ‘This is your wish!’ he said. ‘To kill . . . kill . . . kill!’ He ran to the door of the chamber. He shouted: ‘Kill . . . kill then . . . kill them all. That is it. Death . . . blood . . . blood on the cobbles . . . blood in the river . . . Kill them all, for that is what you wish.’

He ran sobbing to his apartments while the councillors looked from one to another in dismay. They had rarely seen even the King in such a sorry state.

Catherine turned on them sharply. ‘Gentlemen,’ she said, ‘you have heard the command of the King. There is little time to be lost. Let us make our plans.’


* * *

And so discussion went on in the council chamber.

‘Monsieur de Guise, it is only right that to you should be left the destruction of the Admiral, his suite and all his noblemen in the quarters about Saint-Germain l’Auxerrois.’

‘Madame, you may safely leave my father’s murderer and his followers to me and mine.’

‘Monsieur de Montpensier, you should make yourself responsible for the suite of Condé.’

‘Madame,’ said Montpensier, ‘what of the young Prince himself?’

Guise said: ‘Did not the King say, “Kill every Huguenot”? Why should you wish to exclude the Prince of Condé, Monsieur? Every Huguenot was the King’s command; and by that is included Condé, Navarre, Rochefoucauld and all Huguenots.’

Catherine was silent. Here was an old problem. She looked at them, these Princes of the House of Guise and Lorraine. They were full of arrogance and ambition. Henry of Guise was already in command of Paris; what if all the Bourbon Princes were destroyed? Why, then there would be no one between the House of Valois and the House of Guise and Lorraine. The men of Valois were not strong; they did not enjoy the rude physical health of the Guises. She had only to compare Henry of Guise with the mad King, or even with her own Henry, beautiful though he was. Even her beloved Henry could not compare with Henry of Guise for virility and strength of body. The Guises were irrepressible; they were natural leaders. Even now this Henry of Guise was ready to take over the management of the massacre as though he had been its instigator. Remove the Bourbons, and the House of Guise and Lorraine would know no restraint whatsoever.

She decided then that Navarre and Condé must not die.

The Duke of Nevers, whose sister had married the young Prince of Condé, had no wish to see his brother-in-law killed. Catherine glanced at him and with a look encouraged him to plead for young Condé, which he did with eloquence.

Catherine said: ‘Let us give Condé and Navarre the chance of changing their religion.’

‘That,’ said Guise, ‘they will never do.’

‘In that case,’ she promised him, ‘they must go the way of the others. But I insist that they shall be given the chance to change. Now to more practical matters. What shall the signal be? Let the bell of the Palais de Justice give the signal. You must all be ready when it is given. l suggest it shall be when the first sign of dawn is in the sky. How many men can we rely on in Paris?’

An ex-prévôt answered her. ‘Twenty thousand at this time, Madame. Later we could call in thousands more.’

‘Twenty thousand,’ repeated Catherine. ‘They would all be ready to follow the Duke of Guise?’

The Duke reassured her that this would be so.

He gave instructions to the prey& who was then in office. ‘Monsieur le Charron, it will be necessary to close all city gates so that none may leave or enter. There must be no movement of boats on the Seine.’

Catherine, visualizing revolt, insisted that all the artillery should be moved from the Hôtel de Ville.

‘Later, Monsieur le Charron,’ she said, ‘you will learn where it is to be placed.’

Le Charron was aghast. He had come to the council expecting to discuss the dispatch of a dangerous enemy, and now he found himself confronted with a plan for wholesale murder. Catherine saw his hesitancy and it terrified her. She had caught her son’s fears. This was, she knew, the most dangerous period she had yet lived through. One false move and the tables could be turned; it might be herself, her sons, the royal House of Valois, who were massacred in place of the Huguenots.

She said sharply: ‘There will be no orders given until the morning; and, Monsieur le Charron, all traitors to our Catholic cause need expect no mercy.’

‘Madame,’ said the terrified le Charron, ‘I am at your command.’

‘That is well for you, Monsieur,’ she said coldly, but she was shaken.

They went on with their plans. Each Catholic should wear about his arm a white scarf, and there should be a white cross in his hat. Everything must be planned to the minutest detail. There must be no false moves.

Finally the council broke up and the nerve-racking period of waiting began.


* * *

It seemed to Catherine that the night would never come. She did not believe she had ever before experienced such fear. Up and down her apartment she paced, her black garments flowing about her, her lips dry, her heart pounding, her limbs trembling, while she sought in vain that calm which she had maintained in the course of so many dangerous years.

All those in the secret were awaiting the signal, but first there was a night to be lived through, a night of suspense and fear. Guise and his family with their followers were in their hôtel waiting for the hours to pass. Instructions had been given to trusted friends. But who could still be trusted? She had seen the revulsion in the face of le Charron, the prévôt. Could le Charron be trusted?

Never had time passed so slowly for the Queen Mother. This was the most critical, the most important night of her life. It must be successful. It must put an end to her fears. It must convince Philip of Spain that she was his friend, and in such a way that he would never doubt her again. He would know she was keeping a promise which she had made long ago at Bayonne. But would the dawn never come?

What could go wrong? The prévôt could be trusted. He was a man with a family; he could be trusted not to put them in danger. A Catholic never betrayed Catholics to Huguenots. She rejoiced that, for the time being, she and the Guises were allies. She could rely on them. There was no greater hater of Huguenots than Henry of Guise, and there was nothing he wished for more than the death of the Admiral. All those who, she had feared, might not be trusted, knew nothing of the venture. Alençon was in the dark. He had flirted with the Huguenot faith—oh, just out of perversity, for that youngest son of hers was as mischievous as Margot. Margot herself had been told nothing of what was to take place, because she was married to a Huguenot and seemed to be on better terms with him since her marriage than she had been before; and Margot had previously shown that she was not to be trusted. There was nothing to fear . . . nothing . . . nothing. But the minutes would not pass.

If only Henry were King in place of Charles! Henry was as eager for this as Guise, and she could trust Henry. But Charles? ‘Kill every Huguenot!’ he had cried; but that was while the madness was on him. What when it faded? She was terrified of what he might do. She sent for the Comte de Retz.


* * *

Retz went to the King. Charles was pacing up and down his apartment, his bloodshot eyes staring wildly about him.

Retz asked the King to dismiss all his attendants that he might speak with him alone.

‘How long it seems,’ said Charles when this had been done. ‘Too long to wait. I am afraid, Comte, that they will start before we do. What then? What then?’

‘Sire, we are controlling everything. We need fear nothing.’ But he thought: except the King.

‘Sometimes I think I should go to the Admiral, Comte.’

‘Nay, Sire. You should do no such thing,’ cried Retz in horror. ‘It would ruin all our plans.’

‘But if there is a plot against us, Comte, it would be against the Guises. It is they whom they accuse of trying to kill the Admiral.’

‘That is not so, Sire. They accuse also your mother and the Duke of Anjou. And rightly, because, Sire, your mother and your brother knew that it was necessary to kill the Admiral to protect you. That is not all. It is believed that you also were involved in the plot. That is why they make their plans to . remove you. Nothing you could say to the Admiral would convince him and his friends that you had no hand in the attempt to assassinate him. There is no way out of this other than the way we plan.’