Jeanne wanted him to lead the Protestants so that they might rid themselves of these perpetual persecutions. In Jeanne’s eyes he was already a leader. He would come back to Nérac, to Jeanne and his children; and she would be proud of his achievements.
He said to his attendants: ‘We shall be meeting the King’s party at any moment now. Be prepared.’
But they rode on, and there was no sign of the King’s party; and when they reached the Palace of Saint-Germain, the attendants seemed surprised to see them.
Antoine, furious at this reception, said coldly: ‘Take me to my apartments at once.’
‘My lord Prince,’ was the answer, ‘no apartments have been prepared.’
‘This is nonsense. Am I not expected? Conduct me to the King … no, to the Queen Mother.’
‘My Lord, they are out hunting. They will not return until the late afternoon.’
Antoine realised now that this was no accident, but an intentional slight, and he could guess who had arranged it. It could mean only one thing. His perennial enemies, the Guises, were in command.
Even as he stood there, hesitating and uncertain, he knew what Francis Duke of Guise would have done in his place. He would have drawn his sword, he would have shouted curses; he would have demanded that apartments immediately be prepared for him. And the Cardinal? Antoine could imagine the scorn on those cold, handsome features; he could hear the clear, cutting voice which would strike terror into all who heard it.
But Antoine was no Guise. He did not know how to act. He was not physically afraid; his was a moral cowardice, and an inability to think quickly and to know how to act in an emergency. In battle he would be as brave as any – but this was not battle.
His friend the Maréchal de Saint-André came to his rescue and offered him his room at the palace, saying that he would help find lodgings in the village for Antoine’s attendants. Antoine accepted this offer with gratitude. He saw now that this had been planned by the Guises, who had decided that he should come to court and find himself in the midst of his enemies with a few – a very few – attendants scattered in the village. He knew that he had been unwise to delay his visit so long and that he should have been at court weeks before, for perhaps at that time the Guises might not have been in such complete power. He should have come in pomp, well guarded by his own men. He had been a fool to listen to evil counsels, and now he knew it. He realised to the full what power was working against him when, on the return of the hunting party, he went into the audience chamber.
King Francis – looking uncomfortable, it was true, but obviously obeying orders – stood quite still and made no attempt to greet him. The Cardinal of Lorraine, who stood close to the King, did likewise. This was a great insult, for Antoine was of higher rank than the Cardinal, and even if the King chose to insult Antoine, the Cardinal certainly had no right to do so. But Antoine was without dignity. Uncertainly he embraced the King and the Cardinal, though neither gave the slightest response.
Catherine was present with the young Queen, and as Catherine watched Antoine de Bourbon she felt a desire to burst out laughing. She had been fortunate in not putting her trust in a Bourbon. He was reduced to the position of a chambermaid, she thought. And how meekly he accepted it! The fool! Could he not see that this was no time for weakness?
He should have demanded the homage of the Cardinal; he could have made the poor little King shiver if he had done so; and the Cardinal also would have realised that he had a strong man to deal with. But no! Antoine had no dignity, no arrogance … only meekness.
The Cardinal spoke to him most haughtily, and Antoine smiled, glad to receive some attention.
Poor little popinjay! thought Catherine. Now, there is a man whom it should not be difficult to use.
Antoine had gone back to his wife, and Catherine laughed to think of their reunion. She was no longer jealous of their love for one another, for she was certain that one day Jeanne was going to repent of her marriage. Jeanne was strong, and as a strong woman she must despise weakness; so she must soon despise her husband. It was amusing to think of Antoine’s creeping back to his wife to tell of his reception at court, of all he had been able to achieve for the Protestants, whose hope he now was since Condé had been tactfully sent away on a foreign mission – for what Antoine had achieved was precisely nothing.
Condé was in a different class. Condé was not a man to be dismissed as lightly as his elder brother Antoine; but Condé was away, and there was no need to think of him now. This scheming for power was such a difficult task, such an allabsorbing one, so complicated that one could never see more than a few moves ahead.
Still, there was time to reflect that Antoine was creeping back to his wife, his tail between his legs, to tell her a tale of humiliation and defeat. One day Madame Jeanne would be forced to see what kind of man she had married.
Thoughts of Jeanne still haunted Catherine a good deal; she would always hate her, would always see her as a political rival as well as a woman who had been successful in love – though with what a partner! – and a woman to watch in the future.
There was much to think of at home. ‘With the help of the brothers Ruggieri and her perfumer René, who had a shop on the quay opposite the Louvre, she had removed from this life one or two minor characters who had made themselves difficult. Such actions gave her a satisfying sense of her power; she enjoyed giving her smiles to her intended victims and assuring them that they were well on the way to gaining her favour; then would come the removal, sometimes swift, sometimes lingering, whichever suited her purpose. This was like soothing ointments on her wounds, those wounds which had been made long ago by Diane de Poitiers and now by the Guises. Sometimes she thought it would be a clever thing to slip something into the wine of Francis of Guise, something which would improve the taste of the wine, for his was a rare palate; at others she thought how she would have enjoyed presenting the Cardinal of Lorraine with a book, the pages of which had been specially treated by René or one of the Ruggieri brothers; it would have made her happy to have given to that dandy, Antoine de Bourbon, a pair of perfumed gloves, the kind which, when drawn on to the hands, produced death. But such would be only a momentary satisfaction. It was unwise to deal thus with those of rank and importance. Moreover, she was beginning to see that the Guises and the Bourbons would be of more use to her alive than dead, for it would be to her advantage to set one rival house against the other. At the moment it might appear that she was siding with the Guises, but she did not always intend to do that. When she had a chance she would let that weak, vain little Bourbon think that she was on his side – secretly, because of the power of the Guises; she would remind him that Francis could not live for ever.
When Francis died, Charles would take the crown; and Charles, hysterical and unbalanced, had been taught to rely on his mother. Yet, pliable as he was, she must not forget that streak of madness in him; there was a hint of rebellion also. Catherine had seen how, through Mary of Scotland, her son Francis had been weaned from her control.
She decided now to put into action a plan which had long been in her mind. It seemed impossible to banish Mary Stuart from Charles’s mind. When Catherine talked to him, rousing that greatest emotion of which he was capable, fear – fear of his mother, fear of torture and death – he was compliant; but when the next day he set eyes on Mary, he would watch her like a lovesick boy.
Catherine sent for two Italians of her suite, two men whom she trusted as she trusted her astrologers.
When they were in her apartments she closed the doors and made sure that there was no one hidden in any cupboard or anteroom. Then she explained what she wanted of them. It was possible to speak frankly – or as near as Catherine could get to frankness – to Birago and Gondi, the Count of Retz; for they, as Italians, must obey the Italian Queen, since they knew that their prospects in France depended on her good graces.