Виктория Холт - Queen Jezebel

‘Then,’ said Coligny, ‘there is nothing to be said. If the opinion contrary to mine has won the day, that is the end. Oh, Your Majesty. I am as certain as I kneel here that if you follow the advice of your council you will repent it.’

Charles began to tremble. He put out a hand as though to detain the Admiral; he seemed as though he were about to speak, but his mother’s eyes were on him and he lapsed completely into her power once more.

Coligny went on: ‘Your Majesty must not be offended if I, having promised aid to the Prince of Orange, cannot break my word.’

Charles flinched and Coligny waited; but still the influence of Catherine was greater than that of the newly arrived Admiral, and although Charles seemed once more about to speak, no words came.

‘This,’ added Coligny, ‘will be done with my own friends, my relations and servants, and with my own person.’ He turned to Catherine. ‘His Majesty has decided against war with Spain. God grant that he may not be involved in another from which he cannot retreat.’

Coligny bowed and took his leave.

There were letters waiting for him in his apartments. One said: ‘Remember the commandment which every Papist obeys: “Thou shalt not keep faith with a heretic”. If you are a wise man you will leave the court at once. If you do not, you will soon be a dead one.’

‘You are in acute danger,’ wrote another. ‘Do not be deceived by the talk of marriage between the Queen of England and the Duke of Alençon. Do not be beguiled by this marriage of Marguerite and Navarre. Get away as quickly as you can from that infected sewer which is called the Court of France. Beware the poisoned fangs of the Serpent.’

‘You have,’ said another, ‘won the regard of the King. That is sufficient reason for your death.’

He read through those letters, and as the dusk crept into his apartment, he found that the least rustle of the hangings set his heart beating faster. He touched the walls gingerly with his fingers and wondered whether here, where the wood was uneven, there was a secret door. Was there a hole up there among the ornate carving of the ceiling through which an eye watched him? Any moment might be his last.

Charles was soon under the spell of the Admiral. Since Gaspard had come to court, Charles felt bolder, less afraid of his mother. He kept Gaspard with him, and there were many interviews at which none but the King and the Admiral were present. But Catherine was aware of what took place at those interviews. There was a tube from her secret chamber adjoining her apartments which was connected with the King’s, and by means of this she was able to hear most of what took place. It was enough to alarm her.

The proposed war with Spain was continually under discussion, and the King was wavering. ‘Rest assured, my dear Admiral,’ he had said, ‘that I intend to satisfy you. I will not budge from Paris until I have utterly contented you.’

There must be no delay in putting the murder of the Admiral into effect, but it must be after the wedding. If the Admiral suddenly died now, there might be no wedding. Catherine found a pleasure in watching her victim; it was like fattening up a pig for the kill. There he was, puffed up with pride and confidence; he thought he only had to come to court to gain the King’s goodwill; he had only to persuade and his plans would be put into action.

Well, let him enjoy his last weeks on Earth. Let him continue to think he was a power in the land . . . for a few weeks.

The Admiral had no finesse, and like most blunt soldiers he needed lessons in statecraft and diplomacy. He rarely stopped to consider his words; he said what he thought, which, in a court such as this where artificiality was a fine art in itself, was the height of folly.

At one of the council meetings, he brought up this matter of the Polish throne.

‘There are several claimants,’ he said, ‘and there can be no doubt that very shortly it will become vacant. If that throne is to fall to France it is very necessary for the Duke of Anjou to leave for Poland at once.’

The King nodded with enthusiasm, since there was little he would like better than to see his hated brother out of the country. Catherine was furious, but she calmly appeared as though she were considering the matter. As for Anjou, his rage was almost uncontrollable; the hot colour flamed in his face and the earrings quivered in his ears.

‘It seems to me that Monsieur l’Amiral interferes in matters which do not concern him,’ he said coldly.

‘This matter of Poland is of vital concern to France, Monsieur,’ answered Gaspard with his habitual frankness.

‘That is true enough,’ supported the King.

‘And if,’ went on Gaspard, ‘Monsieur who would have none of England by marriage, will have none of Poland by election, he should say outright that he does not desire to leave France.’

The council broke up and as soon as possible Anjou sought out his mother.

‘What think you of such insolence, Madame?’ he demanded. ‘Who is this Admiral to address me thus?’

Catherine soothed her beloved son. ‘My darling, do not distress yourself. Do not take the words of such a man too much to heart.’

‘Such a man! You know he is the close friend of the King. Who can guess what they will hatch up between them? Mother, will you let them plot against me?’

‘Have patience,’ said Catherine. ‘Wait until after the wedding and you will see.’

‘The wedding! But when can this be? I know they are all here . . . all the nobles of France and their followers, but that old fool, the Cardinal of Bourbon, will never perform the ceremony without the dispensation from the Pope; and will he give it, do you think? Will he allow a marriage between our Catholic sister and the Huguenot to take place? Why, soon we shall hear that he forbids the marriage and Paris will be in an uproar.’

‘You are young yet, my love, and you have not learned that there are ways of working miracles. We shall manage without Monsieur Gregory, never fear.’

‘One cannot think that the Bourbon will perform the ceremony against the wishes of the Pope.’

‘He will not know the wishes of the Pope, my son. I have written to the Governor of Lyons that no posts must be allowed to come from Rome until after the ceremony.’

‘Then we shall wait in vain for the Pope’s dispensation.’

‘Better that than that we should receive word from Rome that the wedding must not take place.’

‘How will you get him to perform the ceremony without the Pope’s consent?’

‘Leave that to your mother. Ere long your sister will be united to Navarre. Never fear. I can manage the old Cardinal. Have patience, my dearest. Wait . . . just wait until the wedding is over and then you shall see.’

Anjou’s dark Italian eyes gleamed as he looked askance at his mother. ‘You mean? . . .’

She put her fingers to her lips. ‘Not a word . . . even between us. Not yet. But have no fear.’ She put her mouth close to his ear. ‘Monsieur l’Amiral has not long to live. Let him strut as much as he likes through his last hours on Earth.’

Anjou nodded, smiling.

‘But,’ whispered his mother, ‘it is necessary for us to employ the utmost caution. Planning the end of such a man is full of dangers. He is no little fish. We have our spies everywhere and they tell us that he receives warnings of what is about to happen to him. How this becomes known it is beyond my knowledge to understand. It is necessary to lay the net very carefully in order to trap the salmon, my son. Make no mistake about that.’

‘My mother, I have no doubts of your powers to achieve what is necessary.’

She kissed him tenderly.

In the closet which led from her bedchamber, the Princess Marguerite entertained the Duke of Guise. She lay beside him on the couch which she had ordered should be covered in black satin as the perfect contrast to her beautiful white limbs. She smiled at him, for the moment sleepily content. No man delighted her, nor she believed ever could, as did her first lover, Henry, Duke of Guise.