‘I am alarmed concerning my son,’ she said. ‘I do not mean the King, but my son Charles, who would take the King’s place were the King to meet with an early death. My lords, the little boy has feelings beyond his years … and for his brother’s wife. This is not healthy in a little boy. The French …’ She smiled at them intimately … Italian to Italian. ‘The French, my lords, see nothing wrong in love between the sexes … even in the cases of children. “It is natural,” they say. “What a lover he will become!” ’ She gave a sudden spurt of laughter. ‘But at the age of my son, it is more natural, I think, to have a fondness for members of his own sex.’
Her wide, prominent eyes stared blankly before her, and the men watched her closely.
‘You think, Madame,’ ventured the Count of Retz, ‘that it would be more natural were he to indulge in the usual passionate friendships with … boys of his own age.’
‘How well you understand! I do. Indeed I do. I do not wish to curb his natural emotions.’ She smiled, and they smiled with her, knowing full well that it was a habit of the Queen Mother’s to say what she did not mean. ‘I wish him to enjoy friendships with members of his own sex. He is not strong, and I feel you gentlemen could do much for him. Let him not, at his tender age, think of women.’
The Italians smiled afresh. They knew that they had been chosen as tutors for Charles because of their perverted tastes rather than for their academic qualifications.
They understood the Queen Mother. The Prince Henry was as dear to her, so it was said, ‘as her right eye’. Francis did not look as if he would make old bones, and as yet he had no son to follow him. If it should happen that the little Queen of Scots gave him one, they did not doubt that Catherine would know how to remove that little obstacle. And after Francis … Charles. Let the danger of Charles’s producing children be made as remote as possible. He was weak and unbalanced; well, it should not be difficult to turn such a boy from his natural inclinations.
Some might have been astonished at this interview with the Queen Mother; but Charles’s new tutors were not. They understood perfectly and accepted the task required of them.
Catherine was preparing to set out for Francis’s Coronation, which was to take place, as tradition demanded, in the town of Rheims. How long, she asked herself, would this little King stay on the throne? He had been such a difficult baby to rear. She remembered how in the first year of his life his body had from time to time been covered with livid patches about which the doctors could do nothing, being absolutely ignorant of their cause. There was an obstruction in his nose which it had been thought at one time would kill him; but he had survived to speak with a nasal accent which was not very pleasant to listen to. It had always seemed that he was too delicate for long life, and now, by the look of him, it appeared that he could scarcely survive his Coronation. Watching him, Catherine felt competent to arrange that matters should go the way she wished.
A few days before they were due to set out for Rheims, Catherine was sitting with some of her ladies when the talk turned to Anne du Bourg, whom Catherine’s husband, the late Henry the Second, had sent to prison for holding heterodox views. Anne du Bourg was now awaiting his trial, and there was more unrest than ever in the country on account of this man. As they talked, Catherine realised that the ladies about her all had Huguenot leanings – the Duchess de Montpensier, Mademoiselle de Goguier, Madame de Crussol and Madame de Mailly. Catherine was stimulated, for her sense of intrigue warned her that the gathering together of such ladies was not an accident. She let them talk.
‘Ah,’ she said at length. ‘But, ladies, it would seem to me that there are two parties of Huguenots in France to-day: those who devote themselves to their Faith – and these I honour – and those who make a political issue of religion. Nay, Madame de Mailly, do not interrupt me. Some of the party, I have reason to believe, plot with Elizabeth of England. I understand it is their wish to depose my son and put the Prince of Condé on the throne.’
Her thoughts went to Condé as she spoke, and she could not prevent a little smile. Condé! What queer thoughts this man aroused in her! She knew that she would not hesitate to use him, even to slip a little potion into his wine if need be; but she could never hear his name without a slight emotion. That was folly for a woman of her age, particularly as she had no great desire for physical passion. Yet, try as she might, she could not overcome this excitement with which she was filled at the prospect of meeting Condé. He was a man of immense vitality, and his magnetism affected every female who set eyes on him; this must be so if it could touch Catherine de’ Medici. She heard that many women were in love with him. He was small, yet enchanting; he was hot-tempered, quick to take offence; and, she imagined, quite unstable. He would need much guidance, but it was said that he got this in good measure from his wife Eléonore, a fervent defender of the Reformed Faith. He was a practised philanderer, this Condé, as was his brother, Antoine de Bourbon. Philanderers both – yet held in check by over-devoted wives!
She had missed a little of the conversation while she had been thinking of Condé, which showed how unlike herself she became at the very mention of the man’s name.
‘Ah,’ she went on. ‘You would not expect me to support those who ill-wished my son!’
‘Madame,’ cried Madame de Montpensier, ‘the Huguenots are loyal … absolutely loyal to the Crown.’
Catherine shrugged her shoulders. ‘There are some,’ she went on, ‘who wish to have no King at all. A republic, they say they prefer … ruled by Calvin!’
‘Nay, Madame, you have heard false tales.’
‘It may be that you are right.’
And when she dismissed these women, Madame de Mailly remained behind and whispered to Catherine: ‘Madame, the Admiral of France would wish to have a word with you. May I bring him to your presence?’
Catherine nodded.
Gaspard de Coligny. She studied him as he knelt before her, and as she looked at his stern and handsome face, it occurred to her that such a man, after all, might not be difficult to use. She knew a good deal of him, for she had made his acquaintance when she had first come to France. He was of Catherine’s own age, and his mother had been the sister of Montmorency, the Constable of France. He was handsome in quite a different way from Condé. Gaspard de Coligny had a stern and noble look. Yet in his youth he had been a gay figure of fashion, spending his time between the court and the battlefield. Catherine remembered him well. He had been seen everywhere with his greatest friend, Francis of Guise; now the greatest friends had become the greatest enemies, Francis of Guise being the nominal head of the Catholic Party, while Coligny was the hope of the Protestants. Coligny was a power in the land; as Admiral of France, he controlled Normandy and Picardy. He had been a good Catholic until, during three years’ captivity in Flanders, he had taken to the Protestant religion. A quiet and serious man he had become, and he was married to a plain and very wise wife who worshipped him and to whom he was devoted. In the presence of Coligny, Catherine was aware of strength, and such strength excited her as she wondered how she could use it.
When Coligny had risen, she asked him what he wished to say to her, and he answered that it was the Queen Mother to whom the Protestants were now looking with hope. She smiled, well pleased, for it was amusing to discover how successfully she had managed to hide her true self from the people about her.