She discussed the matter with the Spanish ambassador. He was favourably impressed. So Catherine next sent for her daughter, and there took place one of those secret interviews with which the children of Catherine were very familiar.

‘My daughter, you know that I have always had your well-being at heart . . . your position . . . you future . . . You did not know, did you, that I also concerned myself with your happiness?’

Margot was inclined to be truculent. She too had changed. As a married woman and a Queen she seemed to have moved from her mother’s influence, even as her brother the King had done. ‘No, Madame,’ she said, insolence carefully veiled. ‘I did not know that.’

Catherine would have liked to slap the saucy young face. ‘Well, you shall know it now. This marriage, which was so necessary, has been a tragic affair. But you do understand, do you not, my daughter, that it was a necessity at the time it took place.’

‘Yes, Madame,’ said Margot. ‘The unsuspecting Huguenots had to be drawn into the trap, and for that reason the marriage and its ceremonies were very necessary.

Catherine was determined to show no anger. ‘My dear daughter, you repeat the scandals of the court, and you should be clever enough to know that scandals are but half-truths; and surely you are wise enough not to believe all you hear. Now I have good news for you. That man, to whom it was necessary to marry you, is unworthy of you. He is provincial, coarse . . . Really, his manners shock me.’ Catherine gave her sudden laugh. ‘And you, who are forced to live with him in intimacy, must be doubly shocked, I’m sure.’

‘One adjusts oneself,’ said Margot.

‘And what an adjustment must be necessary, my poor dear child! You are elegant. You have charm and beauty. You are of Paris. It is intolerable that you should have to endure the caresses of the boor of Béam. There is one who is worthy of you. A man who, many in France would tell you, is the most revered . . . next your King and your brothers, of course. You guess to whom I refer?’

‘To Monsieur de Guise. But . . .’

‘My dear, you need feel no shame. Your mother knows of your relationship with that gentleman, and quite understands it. In fact she has always understood it. He is a Prince and you are a Princess. What more natural than that you should love?’

Margot was watching her mother closely; she could not guess the meaning of this interview. That her mother was preparing her for some dark scheme she was sure; but what?

It is your happiness that I now seek, my child,’ said Catherine. You have served your country by marrying for reasons of state. You will understand that I speak truth when I say I seek nothing but your happiness, when I tell you that I am now going to arrange that you shall marry for love.’

‘Madame, as I am already married, I do not understand.’

‘My dear child, my obedient daughter! You married most reluctantly, did you not? Ha! I remember how you refused to make the responses at the ceremony. That was a very brave thing to do. And he was so close, was he not, the man you loved? Well, now I have decided that you shall live in torment no longer. You shall have Henry of Guise for your husband.’

Margot was stunned by this revelation. ‘Madame . . . I . . . do not see how that can be. I . I am married to the King of Navarre. Henry of Guise is married to Procien’s widow . . .’

‘Then you shall be “unmarried” and . . . marry each other!’

Catherine waited for the joyful tears, the expressions of gratitude; instead Margot’s face had become cold and hard.

‘Madame,’ she said, ‘I am married to the King of Navarre, and that marriage took place against my will; but now it would be against my will to . . . as you say . . . “unmarry” him.’

‘Oh come, Margot, your rank as Queen of Navarre is not such a good one. How will you like going with him to that miserable little kingdom when the time comes? There are some Duchesses who are in positions superior to some Queens . . . and the Duchess of Guise would be one of them.’

‘That may be so,’ said Margot, ‘but Henry of Guise does not please me, and I would not marry a second time against my wishes.’

‘This is sheer perversity!’ cried Catherine angrily. ‘You to talk like this! You who have made a spectacle of yourself over that man!’

‘You are right, Madame,’ said Margot coolly. ‘But one grows out of one passion and into another. I have grown out of love with Monsieur de Guise, and nothing would induce me to marry him; and since you have told me that nothing but your desire for my happiness prompts you to make this suggestion, there is no more to be said. For, quite simply, I am not in love with Monsieur de Guise. Have I your leave to retire now?’

‘It would be advisable for you to do so,’ said Catherine grimly, ‘before you tempt me to do you some mischief.’

When Margot left her she sat in furious silence. She found it impossible to believe that Guise and Margot were no longer lovers. They had been so ever since she could remember. Was a woman ever before cursed with such a family? The King had turned against her; Alençon she had never liked nor trusted; Margot was too clever, too shrewd—a little spy, not averse to working against her family; only Henry could be trusted.

She instructed one of her spies to watch Margot and Guise very closely. It was true that they had ceased to be lovers. In the course of these investigations Catherine made a discovery which resulted in her sending for Charlotte de Sauves. She was very angry with that young woman.

‘Madame,’ she accused, ‘you seem to be very friendly with the Duke of Guise.’

Charlotte was startled, but Catherine was quick to sense a certain smugness. ‘I did not know that Your Majesty would frown on such a friendship.’

Catherine stroked one of the charms on her bracelet. So this was the explanation. Guise was indulging in a love affair with Charlotte, and Margot was piqued and jealous.

She said sharply: ‘There must be no love-making with the Duke, Charlotte. If there were, it would displease me greatly. I can speak frankly to you. The Queen of Navarre is greatly enamoured of the Duke.’

‘Your Majesty . . . that is no longer so. I understand that the Queen of Navarre has declared that she no longer feels friendship towards the Duke.’

‘Because you have been playing tricks, I suppose.

‘Oh no, Madame; she gave him his congé before he looked my way. Monsieur de Guise is of the opinion that she has become enamoured of the King of Navarre.’

‘Margot and Guise must make up their quarrels,’ said Catherine. ‘As for you, Madame, you will keep away from the Duke. There must be no love-making.’

‘Madame,’ said Charlotte slyly, ‘I fear your command comes too late.’

‘You sly slut!’ cried Catherine. ‘I thought I had given you instructions regarding Navarre.’

‘But only to attract him, Madame. That was all; and there was no word in Your Majesty’s instructions regarding Monsieur de Guise.’

‘Well, you have my instructions now.’

Charlotte looked at Catherine from under those thick eyelashes of hers. ‘Madame,’ she said, ‘it will be necessary for you to instruct Monsieur de Guise, for I fear that, no matter how I tried to avoid him, I could not succeed. It would therefore be necessary to give him Your Majesty’s personal instructions. Otherwise I fear there could be no stopping what has already begun. Monsieur de Guise would take orders from none . . . except, of course, Your Majesty.’

Catherine was silent, thinking angrily of the arrogant Duke. How could she say to such a man: ‘Your affaire with Madame de Sauves must stop immediately!’ She could imagine the haughty lift of the eyebrows, the courteous remark which would imply that his affaire was no concern of hers.

She laughed suddenly. ‘Go away,’ she said. ‘I see that this matter must take its own course. But, in future, Madame, you will ask my permission before you enter into such a liaison.’

‘Madame, never fear that I shall offend again.’

Catherine sat back, thinking of Charlotte de Sauves. It was galling to think that that sly little harlot’s love affairs could turn the Queen Mother from a line of policy which she had intended to adopt. But such things could happen occasionally. Catherine therefore decided that there was nothing to do for the moment but to shelve the idea of ‘unmarrying’ her daughter.


* * *

Civil war between Catholics and Huguenots had broken out again, and an army under Anjou was sent to besiege the Huguenots’ stronghold of La Rochelle.

With the Catholic army were Guise and his uncle, the Duke of Aumale; and Catherine felt comforted to think of those two supporters of her beloved son, for Catherine—even as far as Henry was concerned—had a habit of looking facts in the face, and it was hard, even for her, to believe that Henry, with his effeminacy and his unstable ways, had really the character of a great general. It was true that the credit for Jarnac and Mont-contour had gone to him; but would he have succeeded but for those brilliant soldiers who had shared the campaign? As the Prince of Valois, brother of the King, and the most illustrious general in the army, he had received the credit; but Catherine knew that credit did not always go to those who most deserved it. It pleased her though that he should take the glory and so win the approval of the people. To him should go the honours of the victory which must surely come about at La Rochelle. Guise and Aumale were great men of battle; and Guise could inspire—effortlessly as his father had done—that blind devotion which led men to victory.