Any correspondence with Catherine de’ Medici seemed, to the friends of the King of Navarre, a dangerous procedure, and one of his gentlemen decided to tell him that his wife was acting as the Queen Mother’s spy in Béarn.

The enraged Henry of Navarre determined, now that so much was at stake, to be increasingly watchful, and had one of Margot’s couriers arrested just as he was leaving Nérac for Paris. This man, a certain Ferrand, was brought into the King’s presence and, greatly daring, even as he stood before him, managed to throw quantities of paper on to the fire. These roared into such a blaze that they were burned before they could be recovered. The remaining letters were taken from him, but these proved to be only love letters from Margot and her women to lovers they had known in Paris.

After he had laughed at these revealing epistles, Navarre had Ferrand arrested, and during painful cross-examination, Ferrand told the King that the Queen was planning to poison him because of the insulting way in which he treated her.

In horror, Navarre confronted Margot.

You are exposed, Madame,’ he said.

‘How so?’

‘Your evil plans concerning me are known.’

‘I know of no evil plans: She was genuinely surprised, being quite innocent of the charge. She was no crafty poisoner; all her sins were committed impetuously. Moreover she was always most furious when she was falsely accused, and when she heard from her husband of what Ferrand had said against her, her rage broke forth.

‘How dare he suggest such a thing! It is cruel; it is folly.’ ‘You are in communication with your mother, are you not?’ ‘Why should I not be?’

‘She has declared herself in favour of the Cardinal’s succession.’

‘What a fool you are! She is in favour of my succession, and that must be yours. And you are foolish enough to think I would poison you!’

‘You are your mother’s daughter.’

‘I am my father’s daughter also. I do not love you; that would be impossible. But I realize my position rests with yours. Do not be such a fool as to believe the confession of a man, made under torture. You will have to be shrewder than that if you are ever going to win what is yours by right.’

‘Your mother is in constant council with Guise. To my mind, he is the one who, backed by the League, is going to make a bid for the throne.’

Margot smiled faintly. Yes, she thought; and if all had gone as I once wished it to, I should be with him now.

She thought of him—tall, spare and handsome still; more noble now, more distinguished, some said, than he had been even in ‘the fresh beauty of his youth. There was a yearning within her, a longing for Paris, for a different life, to go back and act differently. Marriage with the man who now stood before her had been inevitable; but there had been an occasion later when she had had a chance to break away from him. She had refused it in her blind and stupid pride.

‘You,’ she said at length, ‘have suspected me of trying to bring about your death, and I find that hard to forgive. I am tired of your court. I am tired of your people. I do not like your mistress, who is the real Queen of Navarre; and that is something I cannot happily endure. I would like to leave Nérac for a while.’

‘You shall not go to Paris,’ he said.

‘I was not thinking of Paris. During the Lenten season a great Jesuit father is to preach at the cathedral at Agen. May I have your permission to make the journey there?’

He hesitated. It would be a relief to be rid of her. How did he know what secrets had been in those documents which she sent to Paris? How could he be sure that,- however closely she was watched, she would not smuggle out important information? If she went, he could see that she was well guarded.

‘Very well,’ he said. ‘Go to Agen for the Lenten season. I will give my consent.’

She was happy now. She thought: once I have left him, I will never return to him. Why should I tolerate a husband who scorns me—me, the daughter of France, the sun of the court of Paris, the most beautiful of Princesses . . . when he is nothing but a provincial oaf!

But why concern herself with a man who meant little to her? Her thoughts were of another—that man whom she firmly believed would be King of France, for he was surely destined for greatness; the gods had fashioned him for it.

Margot was now deep in intrigue such as she loved. She would hold the town of Agen for the Catholic League. She would show France and Henry of Guise whose side she was on.


* * *

Catherine saw clearly for what Henry of Guise had been working all these years. He had decided not to depend entirely on his popularity. Rumour was circulated throughout the country that the Guises had been proved to have a stronger claim to the throne than had the Valois; and although these rumours did not appear to spring from Henry of Guise, Catherine knew that he was behind them.

It was said that ‘The line of Capets had succeeded to the temporal administration of the kingdom of Charlemagne but it had not succeeded to the apostolic benediction which appertained to none other but the posterity of Charlemagne. The House of Lorraine sprang from the issue of Charlemagne, and as certain members of the line of Capet were possessed of a spirit of giddiness and stupidity while others were heretic and excommunicated, it was now time to restore the crown to its new heirs . . .’

This was ominous. So he would be King, not by popular acclaim only, but by right. That was typical of Guise, she was beginning to understand. He must be King not only because the people wished it, but because he was heir to the throne. As an aristocrat of aristocrats, he worshipped law and order; and mob rule nauseated him.

Catherine was disturbed to realize that this was not only being said throughout France, but that Cardinal Pellevé, a firm supporter of the League, had given his approval of it, and that it was being submitted to Rome and Spain. She knew that she had not been wrong when she had guessed that Guise and his supporters had no intention of allowing the Cardinal of Bourbon to rule.

She sought out Guise at once.

‘There is much in this account of the House of Lorraine’s being descended from Charlemagne,’ she said. ‘You know of what I speak, of course?’

The Duke admitted that he had heard the rumours.

‘My lord Duke, it seems to me that there is one course we must take. If it is true that the Capets have forfeited their right to the throne, then the Cardinal of Bourbon has no right.°

‘That is so,’ admitted Guise; but apart from the brightness of his eye above the scar he showed no sign of emotion.

‘The House of Lorraine,’ she said slowly, ‘according to this new authority should be the rulers of France. There will be some to agree with that, and some to dispute it.’

‘There are always some who are for us and some who are against us, Madame.’

‘And it is wise in some cases to placate both sides. Do you agree?’

He indicated his agreement, wondering what suggestion she was going to offer. He was certain that it concerned Margot. Divorce for him; divorce for Margot; and that marriage, which had been proposed before, could take place.

Catherine understood his line of thought and let him pursue it. Then she spoke. ‘I was thinking of the son of my dear daughter Claude, a boy whose parents were a Duke of Lorraine and a daughter of Valois. What could be more suitable? The supporters of my House would be pleased; the supporters of yours should be pleased.’

In his astonishment, he was silent for a second or two before he regained his composure. ‘Madame,’ he said, ‘that is a most excellent proposition.’

They smiled at each other; but she knew that he intended that no man should mount the throne of France after the death of Henry the Third but Henry of Guise; and he knew that she knew it.


* * *

Events were moving fast in the lives of the three Henrys of France—Henry the Third, Henry of Guise, and Henry, King of Navarre.

Guise was growing daily more powerful. The Treaty of Joinville, which Guise and the leading Catholics of France had made with Philip of Spain, was followed by Philip’s promise of troops and money for the cause to which Guise had pledged himself—the defence of the faith, the wiping out of heretics, and the disinheriting of Henry of Navarre. The League was everywhere; all over France it had sprung up in small groups to work not only against the Huguenots, but against the throne, Guise was now in control of a great army, one section of which was commanded by himself, the other by his brother, the Duke of Mayenne. The Pope, however, was now suspecting that the League had not been formed so much for the sake of Catholicism as for the elevation and advancement of the House of Guise and Lorraine. He foresaw that the arrogant man who was making a bid to rule France would be no humble vassal of Rome and Spain, for he had already announced that high offices of the Church should be appointed by the League and not as hitherto by Rome. The Pope was watchful; it might be that the pleasure-loving King would be easier to handle than the warlike Guise.

Catherine, eagerly watching, had, as she had planned, walked step by step with Guise. The League was now putting forward demands which the King must either concede or refuse; and if he refused, he would have to face the mighty army of the League. The King was angry at being bothered, for he was in the midst of a delightful carnival. He wanted peace in which to enjoy himself. So he allowed Catherine to treat with Guise. The King was to force all his subjects to accept the Catholic Faith, and those towns which had been given to the Huguenots were to be taken from them and given to the League.