‘You are the most maddening woman in France,’ he said.

‘And you, Monsieur, are the crudest, coarsest, most hateful . . .’

He shook her and kissed her; and they were both laughing together.

‘No one amuses me as you do,’ he said. ‘It is a pleasant thing to be amused. If you were less immoral, I could easily love you.’

‘Alas!’ sighed Margot. ‘If you were a little cleaner in your personal habits I could love you.’

‘If you took fewer lovers . . .’

‘And you took an occasional bath . . .’

They laughed again and she said: ‘Enough of this folly. You need have no fear. I will look after the girl.’

‘My sweet Margot!’

He would have embraced her, but she drew back. He looked down at his feet and let out a great roar of laughter.

‘So much do I admire you,’ he said, ‘that I shall now leave you. Tell Turenne that he takes so many baths of late that he reminds me of one of the dandies of the Louvre, and nothing . . . nothing on this Earth . . . would induce me to follow his example.’

Later Margot discussed the situation with Turenne.

‘This will be the end of Fosseuse, my dear. She will regret showing her insolence to me.’

‘What do you plan?’ asked her lover.

‘Ah, my dear! You too? Can you be thinking as those others thought? I see it in your eyes. You say to yourself: “This is the daughter of Catherine de’ Medici.” But I would not murder. In this case it would be folly. Now that the King has suffered so much anxiety over Mademoiselle de Fosseuse, he is already half out of love with her. He does not like to feel anxiety. After all, it is the duty of a King’s mistress to lure him from troubles, not to cause them. Fosseuse will come with me. I will take her away, and she will not see the King for some weeks . . . and during that time, you will make sure that he sees others. I think it may well be that our pretty little Fosseuse will find that someone else has taken her place when she returns to court. If this thing were bruited abroad, the King would be less pleased than ever. Why should it not be? It is ridiculous to try to keep such a matter secret. My darling, we cannot allow this girl, who has shown us how arrogant she can be, to work against us.’

Turenne agreed. The King must be provided with a new mistress, for it was obvious that La Fosseuse had reigned too long.

Margot managed the affair very satisfactorily, but Fate helped by allowing the child to be still-born. The King’s little affair was over, and so was the brief glory of the little Fosseuse, who, to her great chagrin, when she returned to the court, found that the King was amusing himself with several light love affairs; but as these proved to be nothing very serious, La Fosseuse tried to regain her position, and she might have done so but for the fact that Diane d’Andousins, the Countess of Gramont, whom Navarre had loved at the time of the Countess’ marriage when he was a boy of fourteen, had reappeared in his life. She was the Corisanda of his youth, and he was enchanted to find her more beautiful than he remembered her.

But the story of the King’s love affair with Mademoiselle de Fosseuse continued to live after that affair was over. It was discussed throughout the country, and the scenes which had taken place between the King and Queen of Navarre were exaggerated until it seemed that the court of France talked of nothing but the shameful lives lived by those two sovereigns.

The people in the streets talked of it. The Parisians shivered and starved while they grumbled and compared the misery of their lives with the wanton extravagance of those of the royal family.


* * *

Catherine had suffered a crushing blow through her old enemy Spain, and, as always at such times, she felt the need to act quickly and to neutralize those enemies nearer home, since there was little she could do to lessen the power of the great and perennial enemy.

It had been a tragic miscalculation on her part, and the King did not hesitate to remind her of this. He was falling so completely under the spell of Joyeuse and Epernon that all they suggested seemed right, and if it should happen to fail it immediately became, in his eyes, of no importance. But when the mother, who had sheltered him from babyhood, who had schemed to put him on the throne and keep him there, made an error of judgement, he was the first one to blame her.

The King of Portugal had died suddenly and there had been two men who laid claim to that throne; both of these claimants were the nephews of Philip of Spain—one named after his mighty uncle and the other Antonio. Then Catherine surprised everyone by declaring herself a claimant to this throne. The late King’s family, she announced, was illegitimate; and by delving into the past she found an ancestor of her own who had been connected with the Portuguese throne. Philip of Spain treated this with scorn, and Catherine, in high indignation and at a crippling expense to France, mustered a fleet to support her claim. The French were not good sailors; whereas the Spaniards were the greatest sailors in the world, with the exception of the English, and Catherine should have known that her men would have no chance against them. Her fleet was routed at Terceira, and those ships which did return home presented a miserable sight to all who saw them. Philip of Spain took the throne of Portugal for his namesake, and the people of France had yet another grievance against the King and his mother.

‘We have been taxed to starvation to pay for her follies. She murders the courtiers with poison and the people with starvation. How long shall we tolerate the Italian woman and her vile nest of vipers?’

Catherine would stand at the windows of the Louvre and look out; she would see the people huddled together, gesticulating; now and then one would turn towards the palace and shake a fist. She heard what they said as she mingled with them in the markets. ‘Jezebel . . . Queen Jezebel! Only you’d not find a dog to eat her flesh!’

They sang:

‘L’une ruyne d’Israel,

L’autre, ruyne de la France.’

But they sang it sullenly, not gaily; and it was that brooding sullenness which Catherine feared more than anything It was like a smouldering fire, she knew, ready to break into flames.

She must watch all her enemies. And what of those two at Nérac? What did they plot and plan?

She spoke to the King while he fondled his lap-dogs. ‘My son, we should have your sister back at court.’ The King looked at her in dismay. ‘It is much pleasanter without her.’

‘That may be, my darling. But how do we know what she is about while she is away from us?’

‘It is Navarre who is more to be feared than Margot.’

‘I am not sure. They are both dangerous. Ask them to pay us a visit. I should feel happier if they were here on the spot. I can find a woman for him, and you know that I have means of hearing most things that go on around me. It is not easy when they are so far away. Unfortunately, my listening tubes do not extend to Nérac.’

‘They would not come, even though I commanded them.’ ‘She would; and it might be possible to get her help in luring him here.’

‘Would you keep them prisoners here?’

‘I would see that he did not find it easy to escape again.’

‘But do you think she would come? Do you remember how importunate she was when she wished to get away?’

‘My dear son, Margot is never happy in one place for long at a time. She writes now that she has no news worthy of report, for Gascony grows news only like itself. By that she means that she longs for the court of France. She wants to hear about Paris. She only has to think of the Seine and her eyes fill with tears! Do you think any place but the court of France could please Margot long? Depend upon it, she now wishes to return as once she wished to go. We should have no difficulty in persuading her to return.’

‘But what of Navarre? Would he agree to her coming?’

‘If it were put to him as Margot would put it, he would agree. She would doubtless offer to act as his spy here at court. We should see all that she wrote to him. It would be our task to get her to lure him here. I will suggest that she comes. I am sure that she must be tired of Monsieur de Turenne; I am astonished that she was faithful to him for so long. What does the air of Béarn do to these two? Navarre was faithful to La Fosseuse until she wearied him with her troubles; and now they say he is showing the same fidelity to Corisanda. Oh, certainly Margot will have grown tired of Turenne ere this. That must be why she says Gascony grows only news like itself!’

Very well,’ said the King. ‘Ask them both to come. I should feel happier to have Navarre here as my prisoner.’

‘Send her a gift of money. Tell her that you would like to see her. Be warm and loving. I doubt not that then she will come.’

Catherine was right. Although Navarre refused his invitation bluntly, Margot was delighted with hers. Navarre reminded Margot that his mother had died in Paris, very suddenly, very mysteriously. ‘Remember Monsieur de Coligny,’ he said. ‘Remember hundreds of my friends who once went to Paris for a wedding.’

Margot lifted her shoulders. ‘It may be better for me to go alone. I will keep you informed of all that happens at court. It is well that you should know something of what they are planning.’

He agreed with this, and Margot made her preparations for the journey. There was a reason, other than boredom with her husband’s court and her distaste of staying too long in one place, why she wished to leave for Paris. When Anjou had stayed at Nérac there had been a very charming gentleman in his suite, a certain Jacques de Harlay, who was the Lord of Champvallon. Margot and he had been mutually attracted; there had been one or two tender meetings between them; unfortunately, they were surprised during one of these, in somewhat compromising attitudes, by Margot’s greatest enemy at the court—a sly and very virtuous Huguenot, Agrippa d’Aubigné. D’Aubigné, a gentleman of Navarre’s chamber, was as fond of writing as Margot was and, like her, took a great delight in chronicling the events of his day as they occurred. He knew his Scriptures well; he believed that he who was without sin should cast the first stone; and as he was certain that he himself was without sin, he had always a very big stone ready to cast. To such a man a beautiful, fascinating and vivacious Queen such as. Margot seemed the embodiment of all evil; his hatred of her coloured all his writings; nor was it his pen alone which he employed against her.