‘When blood flows,’ said the King, ‘I am always so sorry afterwards. And then . . . people will say that King Charles the Ninth of France shed the blood of Huguenots who came in innocence to his sister’s wedding. They will say it for ever . . . . they will remember it always . . . And they will blame me . . . the King!’

Retz was alarmed. He knew the King’s moods as well as his mother did. A return to complete sanity would be disastrous at this point.

‘Sire,’ he said, ‘I beg of you to recall what they have planned to do to you. As for recriminations, why, all will know that it is the result of a feud between the Houses of Guise and Chatillon. Henry of Guise never forgave the murder of his father. You are outside this, Sire. It is no fault of yours. Henry of Guise is the man behind it. The blame will be placed on him; to you it will mean safety.’

‘To me it will mean safety,’ said the King; and he began to sob.


* * *

While the long night progressed the King took fright suddenly. He went in great haste to the apartments of Marie Touchet. His appearance alarmed her.

‘What ails you, Charles?’

‘Nothing, Marie. I shall lock you in tonight. You will be unable to get out. No matter who comes to the door . . . remember you are not to answer.’

‘What has happened? Why do you look so strange?’

‘It is nothing . . . nothing, Marie. But you must stay here. Promise me you will stay here.’ He laughed madly and cried: ‘You will have no choice. I shall lock you in. You will have to stay.’ He laughed gleefully. ‘You are my prisoner, Marie.’

‘Charles, what is wrong? Tell me.’

‘Nothing is wrong. All is well. After tonight it will be well indeed.’ His face crumpled. ‘Oh, Marie, I forgot. There is Madeleine.’

‘What of Madeleine?’

‘I cannot tell. I shall lock you in now. You are my love, my prisoner. Tomorrow you will know.’

When Marie was alone she began to cry. She was very frightened. She was to have the King’s child, and this fact half delighted, half ter- rified her.


* * *

‘Madelon,’ cried the King. ‘Where are you, Madelon? Come here to me at once.°

Madeleine was in her own small chamber close to the King’s apartments; she was singing a Huguenot hymn.

‘Do not sing that. Donot!I forbid it. You must not sing it, Madeleine.’

‘But, Sire, it is just one of the hymns which you have heard me sing many times. I used to sing you to sleep with it. You will remember it. It was a favourite of yours.’

‘Not tonight, Madeleine. Dearest Madelon, be silent. Come with me. You must come with me.’

‘Chariot, what ails you? Is it the strangeness again?’

He stood still and his face puckered. ‘Yes, Madelon, it is the strangeness. Here . . . in my head.’ His eyes had grown wild. There was excitement in them now as though he looked forward to something with most joyful anticipation ‘Come, Madelon. Come at once. Marie needs you. You must stay with her tonight.’

‘Is she ill?’

‘She needs you. She needs you. I command you to go to her. Go at once. You must stay with her all through the night, Madelon. And you must not leave her apartment. You will not be able to. Madelon, you must not sing that hymn . . . or any of your hymns. . . not tonight. Swear you will not tonight, Madelon.’

‘Chariot, Charlot, what ails you? Tell Madelon . . . you know how that used to help.’

‘It would not help now, Madelon. Nor do I need help.’ He took her roughly by the arm and pushed her towards Marie’s apartment.

Marie was at the door when he unlocked it. He pushed Madeleine in, and stood there watching them. He put his fingers to his lips—a gesture he had learned from his mother.

‘Not a sound from you. Only I have a key to this room. Rest assured it shall not leave my possession. No singing. No sound . . . or it will be death . . . death . . .’

He locked the door and the two women looked at each other with puzzled apprehension.

‘He sent me because you were ill,’ said Madeleine. ‘But I was not ill, Madeleine.’

‘He must have thought you would need me.’

Marie sank on to her bed and began to cry bitterly.

‘What ails you, my little one?’ asked Madeleine. ‘Tell me, for he has sent me to comfort you. There has been some quarrel?’

Marie shook her head. ‘Oh, Nurse, I am so frightened sometimes. What is it? What is happening? Everything seems so strange tonight. I am frightened . . . frightened of his strangeness!’

‘It is nothing,’ said Madeleine. ‘It is only some wild notion that he has got into his head. He thinks we are in danger and he wishes us to protect each other.’

But Marie, feeling the child within her, could not be so easily comforted.


* * *

Retz tried to calm the King, but the King was in a frenzy. ‘Marie!’ he cried. ‘Madeleine! Who else?’

He remembered Ambroise Paré; and, ignoring Retz, he rushed to the door of his apartment shouting to his attendants: ‘I wish Ambroise Paré brought to me at once. Find him. Lose no time. And when you have found him send him to me . . . at once . . . at once . .

An attendant ran off, spreading the report that the King was ill and calling for his chief doctor.

Retz begged the King to go with him into a small private chamber, and when they were there he locked the door. ‘This is madness, Sire. You will betray the plan.’

‘But I cannot let Paré die. Paré is a great man. He does much good in France. He saves lives. Paré must not die.’ ‘You will betray us, Sire, if you act thus.’

‘Why does he not come? Fool that he is! He will be caught. It will be too late. Paré, you fool, where are you? Where are you?’

In vain did Retz try to soothe the King. He was unsure of what method was needed to keep Charles balanced between madness and sanity. If he were quite mad, there was no knowing what he might do; yet if he were wholly sane he would not agree to the massacre.

Paré arrived, and when Retz let him into the chamber, Charles fell on him, embracing him, weeping over him.

‘Sire, are you ill?’

‘No, Paré. It is you . . . you . . . You will stay here. You will not move from this room. If you attempt to, I will kill you.’

Paré looked startled. He expected guards to enter the chamber and arrest him. He could not imagine of what he was about to be accused.

Charles laughed with abandon to see the terror in Paré’s face and to guess its reason.

‘My prisoner!’ he cried in hysterical mischief. ‘There will be no escape for you tonight, my friend. You shall stay here under lock and key.’

Laughing wildly, he allowed Retz to lead him away, leaving the bewildered and alarmed surgeon staring at the locked door.


* * *

Margot was disturbed. Henry of Guise had failed to meet her as they had planned. What could have happened to detain him?

She had been occupied all that day with the thoughts of two men—Henry of Guise and Henry of Navarre. This was a piquant situation such as she delighted in. This husband of hers was not such an oaf after all. He could be amusing; she was even a little jealous of his pursuit of Madame de Sauves, though she could counter that by continuing her liaison with Henry of Guise. But where had her lover been this night, and why had he not kept his appointment?

It was certainly disturbing. She had met him coming from a council meeting when she had thought he was not even in Paris. She had noticed his discomfiture on meeting her, and he told her somewhat shamefacedly that he had hurried back to the capital in some secrecy. She had accepted that explanation at the time, but now when he did not keep his promise to meet her she began to wonder what was meant by this secret coming and going.

It was now time for her mother’s coucher, which she must, of course, attend, and this night there seemed more people than usual in the bedchamber. Margot was suddenly alert. There was something different about these people tonight, some tension, some excitement. Little groups seemed to be whispering animatedly, but it seemed to her that when she approached, the conversation which had previously been so lively became dull and commonplace. Could it be that there was some new scandal in the court of which she knew nothing and which they were keeping from her? Could it be concerned with Guise’s failure to keep his appointment?

She sat down on a coffer and looked about her, watching the ceremony of the coucher.

Her mother was now in bed and several people were talking to her.

Then Margot noticed her sister, the Duchess of Lorraine, and she saw that she looked sad and frightened rather than excited.

Margot called to her sister and patted the coffer.

‘You look sad tonight, my sister,’ said Margot; and she saw that Claude’s lips were trembling as though she had been reminded of something which was terrifying.

‘Claude, what is it? What is the matter with you?’ ‘Margot . . . you must not . . .’ She stopped.

‘Well?’ said Margot.

‘Margot . . . I am frightened. Terribly frightened.’

‘What has happened, Claude? What has happened to everybody tonight? Why do you persist in this secrecy? Tell me!’ Charlotte de Sauves was beside them.

‘Madame,’ she said to Claude, ‘the Queen Mother desires you to go to her at once.’

Claude went to the bed, and Margot, watching, saw the angry glance her mother gave her sister, saw Claude bend her head and listen to Catherine’s whispered words.

It was bewildering. Margot noticed now that some of those present watched her with concern.