How she longed for her youth! How she longed to throw off the nagging pains of her body!

She suggested to Guise that he should command the army, that he should be heir to the throne, and that Navarre’s claim should be ignored, that the Duke of Mayenne should take charge of a wing of the army and go out to attack Navarre. She saw that, in order to avert revolution—which was very near—the King must join the League; and she would take it upon herself to persuade him to do so. Guise had to trust her; she was the only possible go-between. Her suggestion, if carried out, would be the only way of restoring temporary order in France.

She went to Chartres. The King had been badly frightened. Epernon had fled, so there was no one to advise him but his mother. On her advice, he signed documents which Guise had prepared for him. He could tell himself, if he liked, that he was now the head of the Catholic League, for the Catholic League had become royalist.

But when the Pope heard that Guise had allowed the King to escape from Paris he was filled with wrath.

‘What poor creature of a Prince is this,’ he cried, ‘to have let such a chance escape him of getting rid of one who will destroy him at the first opportunity?’

Navarre in his stronghold roared with laughter when he heard the news. ‘So all is well between the King of France and the King of Paris! What an uneasy friendship!’ He spat. ‘I would not give that for it! Wait, my friends. We shall soon see what happens. There could be little better news than that I might hear that she who was once Queen of Navarre—and is now so no longer, for I’ll not have her back—has been strangled; that, and the death of the lady’s mother, would make me sing the song of Simeon!’

Meanwhile, Catherine did all in her power to nourish that uneasy friendship between her son and Guise.


* * *

The King was in a fury, and all his fury was directed against one man. He would never be happy while Guise lived. If I do not kill him, he thought, he will kill me. The wiser of us two will be the one who strikes first.

Guise had become generalissimo of the armies, and was ready to make another bid for the throne. He was growing more and more powerful; he had the army with him, and the fastidious aristocrat need not now rely only on the mob.

When the States. General had met at Blois, and the King had addressed it, the Duke of Guise, as steward of his household, had sat at his feet. Guise had not applauded the King’s speech—and numbers of the men in the hall, all Guisards, followed their master’s example—for the King had deliberately attacked them when he had said: ‘Certain grandees of my kingdom have formed leagues and associations which in every well-ordered monarchy are crimes of high treason. But, showing my wonted indulgence, I am willing to let bygones be bygones in this respect.’

Guise had prevented the publication of those words.

The King had been more or less ordered to meet his committee, and there he had been respectfully but firmly informed that he must alter that pronouncement, for it was not his prerogative to forgive benignly; it was his duty to take orders.

Catherine had been there beside Guise, and it was she who had advised the King to comply, but it was obvious that no self-respecting King could bow to such tyranny.

It had come to the King’s ears that the Cardinal of Guise had proposed the health of his brother—referring to him not as the Duke of Guise, but as the King of France.

Philip of Spain had been Guise’s ally, but, a few months ago, that monarch had suffered a defeat so great that the whole of Europe was agape, for many believed that the greatest power in the world had been quenched for ever. There had been placards posted in the towns of France. Frenchmen had read them and tried to look perturbed while they laughed in their beards:

‘Lost. Somewhere off the English coast, the great and magnificent Spanish Armada. Anyone bringing information of its whereabouts to the Spanish Embassy shall be rewarded.’

Spain was crushed, for there was nothing to be done which could minimize that disaster. Spain, which lived by her sea power, had lost her sea power; and a small island off the coast of Europe had risen high in significance during that fateful summer. In place of mighty Philip, Gomez, Parma and Alva, other great men had arisen: Sir Francis Drake, Sir John Hawkins, Lord Howard of Effingham. The little island had become a country of great importance. The red-headed Queen was smiling serenely on her throne; and she was a Protestant Queen ruling a Protestant people. The previous year, on the pretext of having discovered that her cousin was involved in a plot against the crown, Elizabeth had sent the Catholic Mary Queen of Scots to the block. She had snapped her fingers at Spain then; and this year her sailors had delivered what might well prove to be the final blow.

Guise’s ally, Spain, was not going to be so useful to him as had seemed possible a few months ago.

When he had considered these matters, the King determined on action. Either he or his enemy must die, he was sure. It must be his enemy.

A plot fermented in the diseased mind of the King. He would not discuss it with his mother, as he knew she would not approve of it. She had taken to her bed once more; she was ageing fast; her skin was yellow and wrinkled, and those eyes which had once been alert now had a glassy look.

There was many a brawl, in the weeks that followed, between the supporters of Guise and those of the King. Men on guard in the courtyards picked quarrels, and often these would result in duels which were fatal.

The King hinted to one or two men whom he trusted that he did not intend to let traitors live. ‘There is not room for two Kings in France,’ he said. ‘One has to go, and I am determined that I shall not be that one.’

He thought constantly of his mother and wished that she would join him in this. She was a murderess of great experience; there was not a woman in the world who had removed so many enemies with such a deft touch. But she was old; she had lost her sharp wits; she was—for nothing she could say would convince her son to the contrary—fascinated by Guise. It might be the fascination of hatred; it might be the fascination of fear; but fascination there was. She had always wished to ally her-herself, at least outwardly, with the powerful party of the moment; and there was no doubt that she now looked on Guise as the most important man in France. No! The King could not take her into his confidence, but he could emulate her ways.

He arranged a public reconciliation with Guise; and at this meeting he declared he was going to hand over his authority to the Duke and his mother jointly; for, he said, he himself had had a call from God. He was going to spend the rest of his life in prayer and penance.

Catherine had left her bed in order to be present and hear this declaration. She smiled on her son. This was the way to lull suspicion. Her son was learning wisdom at last.

Guise was sceptical. The King had not deceived him, and he told Catherine so.

‘You are wrong, my dear Duke,’ she said. ‘The King speaks truth. He is weary and he lacks the physical strength of a man like yourself. You cannot understand his abandoning his power, but I can. You see, I am getting old. My son also feels his age. He-is a young man, but he lacks your physical perfections.’

She smiled at the ambitious man; she was telling him: ‘you will not be bothered much, for I also am too old to care for power. All power can be yours. You are virtually King of France.

The King made plans and as usual abandoned them. He talked to his friends so frequently and with such lack of caution that his schemes inevitably leaked out.

One day Guise was sitting at table when a note was handed to him. On it was written: ‘Take care. The King plots to kill you.’ Guise read it and smiled. He asked for a pen, and when it was brought to him, he wrote on the note: ‘He dare not.’ Then, to show his contempt, he threw it under the table.

His brother, the Cardinal of Guise, remonstrated with him.

‘You must leave Blois at once. You are not safe here another hour. Go at once to Paris.’

‘My brother,’ said the Duke, ‘I have always been lucky. I will go when my time comes.’

‘Why do you not leave at once?’ demanded the Cardinal. Guise lifted his shoulders, and his brother came closer to him. ‘Could it be because of an appointment with the Marquise de Noirmoutiers?’

‘That might be,’ said Guise with a smile.

The Cardinal laughed bitterly. ‘You would not be the first man who has been lured to his death by a woman. This Charlotte de Noirmoutiers was the Queen Mother’s creature when she was Charlotte de Sauves. Her marriage with Noirmoutiers did not break the power of her mistress. Depend upon it, the King and his mother plot to kill you through that woman.’

Guise shook his head. ‘The Queen Mother does not wish me dead. That fool the King does, I know. But he is weak and quite stupid. He has been plotting my death for months, but he is afraid to make the attempt.’

‘Charlotte de Sauves is the tool of Catherine de’ Medici.’ ‘Dear brother, the Escadron ceased to be effective when the Queen Mother lost her power.’

‘You are wrong to trust Jezebel. She has always been a serpent and her fangs are poisonous.’

‘She is a sick serpent who no longer has the power to lift her head and strike.’

‘So you are determined to spend the night with Madame de Noirmoutiers?’

Guise nodded.

The Cardinal walked away in exasperation, but before he left the apartment a messenger arrived with a letter which he handed to the Duke.