They strutted about the court; they were everywhere; they held all the important posts; there were always a few of them at the side of the King to advise him, to turn him against his mother.

In the past, when Catherine wished to humiliate the Bourbons, she had called in the aid of the Guises, and when she had desired to act against the Guises, she had turned to the Bourbons; and, in the present crisis, as the most natural enemies of the mignons were the Guises, she sent for Henry of Guise.

While she waited for him she thought a good deal about him. He had not been so much in her thoughts of late as there had been so much to occupy her; but now she was struck by the thought that these Guises had been very quiet lately. It was not like those troublesome people to stand aside. What was it that demanded so much of their attention? The Catholic League? Catherine wanted to laugh at the thought. Henry of Guise was like all the rest—a fanatic. While they strove to keep their place on Earth, they were thinking of another in Heaven. That was where they failed. All the skill of which one single person was capable was required to achieve power and to keep it. Catherine could think of a long list of people who had failed for the simple reason that they had thought too much of Heaven and not enough of Earth; and at the head of that list would be the name of Gaspard de Coligny. So, Monsieur de Guise was occupied with his Catholic League, through which he hoped to preserve the Catholic faith in France—so much so that he was content to stand aside while others ruled the country.

But what of that? Her concern now was the elimination of the mignons.

Guise knelt and kissed her hand.

‘We have seen little of you lately,’ said Catherine. ‘That does not please me. My dear Duke, perhaps it is because I grow old that I grow sentimental, but I was about to say that I look upon you as one of my children.’

‘Your Majesty is kind.’

‘Well, were you not brought up with them? Many are the times when I have watched a quarrel between you and my sons . . . a little friendship between you and my daughter. Ah, but the days of childhood are past. You and I, you know, are of the same mind about many things. Perhaps that is why I feel tender towards you; for it is a fact that we feel tender towards those who think as we do.’

‘To what things does Your Majesty refer?’

‘Chiefly religion. I am as good a Catholic as you are.’

‘I rejoice to hear that,’ said the Duke not without a trace of sarcasm.

‘It would be a matter for rejoicing if we could say the same for the whole nation, eh, Monsieur?’

‘Ah, yes.’

‘But there is this war in Flanders . . .’ Catherine lifted her shoulders expressively.

The Duke’s eyes flashed. ‘It would seem, Madame, that there are some in high places who give their support to the enemies of Catholicism; and the enemies of Catholicism, I have always maintained, are the enemies of France.’

‘Monsieur, speak low. There was a time when I had some say in the affairs of this realm. That is so no longer. There are certain gentlemen who rule the King, and those who rule the King rule France.’

Guise nodded his assent and went on: ‘Madame, I can say this to you in confidence, and you will understand that no treason is meant: the friends of the King are turning the people against him.°

Catherine took a dainty kerchief from the pocket of her gown, and flicked her eyes. ‘Monsieur de Guise, you are right. Would I could get some patriot to remove these gentlemen! Is there not some way?’

‘Madame, I feel sure that if there was, Your Majesty would be more likely to know of it than I.’

Catherine gave no sign of having understood this insult.

‘Were I a man,’ she said, ‘I should know what to do.’

‘Madame,’ persisted that most arrogant of young men, ‘your skill is known to be greater than that of any man.’

She smiled. ‘You are too kind. I am a mother who has watched over her children—perhaps a little too jealously, a little too anxiously. I was left a widow, Monsieur, with young children to care for. What can I do? Can I challenge these .

I must say it . . . these traitors to France?’

‘Not with the sword, Madame,’ admitted Guise.

‘Assuredly I cannot. But others could. You realize that these men are working against France . . . and the League?’

‘I do,’ said Guise.

‘Monsieur, forgive me, but I am astonished that you have allowed them to live so long.’

‘Madame, what would be the reaction of the King to the death of his . . . darlings?’

‘Grief, of course; but it is necessary to take a dangerous toy from a child, Monsieur, even though for a time the child weeps bitterly. It is for his good in the end.’

‘Let us consider this matter carefully,’ said Guise.

Catherine smiled. She guessed that she had won her point. She had seen his expression when she had mentioned the League. He was wondering whether this meant that Catherine had realized the importance of the League. If she had, and she considered that it was likely to become as great as he intended it should, she would doubtless have decided to throw in her lot with it, for it was ever her desire to be on the side of the most powerful.

He found it difficult to hide his emotion. That scar of his was like his father’s in more ways than one. The eye above it watered when he was under the stress of any emotion. Ah, Monsieurle Balafré, thought Catherine, that scar has done you much service in the streets of Paris, but it is apt to betray you to those who would read your thoughts.


* * *

She sat at her window, looking out on the spring evening, and wondered how long a time would elapse before Guise took action.

She did not have to wait long.

Early on that morning which followed the day she had spoken to Guise, she heard shouts below her window while she lay in bed. Her woman came to tell her that there was a crowd making its way towards the palace. It appeared that someone was being carried.

‘A duel, I suppose,’ said Catherine, smiling to herself. ‘Jesus, why do they not choose a more reasonable time to settle their quarrels!’

‘It must be some important gentleman, Madame, to judge by the crowds.’

Catherine did not rise with any haste; and it was during her lever that the King rushed into her apartment as though he were demented. He had carelessly thrown on his clothes, and his tear-stained face was pallid.

He flung himself at her knees and, leaning his head against her, wept bitterly.

‘My darling, my darling, what has happened?’

‘Madame, terrible tragedy! Scoundrels have set upon my friends. It is too terrible to speak of. I shall die of grief. Quick! Dress quickly, I beg of you. You must come to my poor Caylus. I fear for him. I fear he will not live. Paré is with him but tremble. Maugiron is dead. Oh, I thank God those wicked murderers have not escaped.’

‘My dearest,’ said Catherine, ‘go back to poor Caylus. I will come to you as quickly as I can. He will wish you to be at his side.’

The King nodded and hurried back to Caylus.

Catherine heard the story from the women whom she had sent out to discover it.

Three gentlemen of Guise’s suite—Messieurs d’Entragues, Riberac and Schomberg—had been loitering near Les Tournelles at dawn, when three of the mignons—Caylus, Maugiron and Livarot—had strolled by.

‘Only those three?’ questioned Catherine.

‘Yes, Madame?

She was irritated. It should have been Epernon and Joyeuse, of course.

Riberac had shouted an insulting remark at the mignons, who, thinking it came from some members of the Paris mob, and having grown accustomed to such insults from that quarter, were inclined to ignore it; but when more remarks followed and it was realized that they came from noblemen, it was impossible to disregard them. Moreover, one of the gentlemen, d’Entragues, was approaching with a drawn sword.

‘Are you too lady-like to fight, then?’ he asked mockingly. At this, Livarot—the best swordsman of the three mignons—had his sword out of the sheath and the fight started. The duel was a desperate one, for, realizing that they were fighting for their lives, the mignons lost their languid ways and proved themselves to be fair fighters. Maugiron had been killed outside Les Tournelles; Schomberg also lost his life. Riberac had received such wounds that it was hardly likely he would recover; Caylus, as the Queen Mother knew, was in a very bad state.

Catherine hurried along to her son’s apartments, where he had installed the wounded Caylus. Catherine felt reassured when she looked at the man. Surely those wounds must be fatal.

‘This is terrible,’ she said. ‘Oh, my poor son, my heart bleeds for you as freely as this poor gentleman’s wounds, for I know how you love him.’

The King took her hand and she was happy, since in his trouble he had turned to her. It was pleasant too to reflect that he was not the least suspicious of her. Once I have rid him of these accursed men, she thought, he is mine.

Caylus lingered on for a few days, during which the King rarely left his bedside; Henry wept continually, imploring his darling not to die, begging his surgeons to save the life of one whose welfare was dearer to him—so he declared—than his own. But nothing could be done to save Caylus.

There was a good deal of satisfaction for the King in the fact that the Guisards, Riberac and Schomberg, had both lost their lives. Two Guisards for two mignons was a fair enough exchange. This proved a lesson to all that a mignon, when roused, could put up as good a fight as most men.