The Duke spoke coldly: ‘It would seem, Madame, that this is what you have done. I hear that you even allow prêches to be conducted in the palace. You surround yourself with heretics. It was therefore thought advisable to remove the little Prince Henry from such evil influences.’
‘Ah, Monsieur le Duc, how you misunderstand me! I am a good Catholic. It grieves me to see this land rent in twain by such disturbances, and all in the name of God. I thought to show leniency to these people. I thought to lead them back to truth by gentleness.’
‘They do not understand gentleness, Madame. They grow arrogant under your protection. It was not for this that we allowed you to be Regent of France.’
She came close to him and laid a hand on his arm; she lifted her eyes to his and smiled craftily.
‘My object, my lord Duke, was to reform these Princes of Bourbon, to lead them back to the Catholic Faith.’
He was scornful, and he terrified her because he did not attempt to hide his scorn. He was then still very sure of the power his family wielded.
‘Is that then the meaning of this great friendship you show for them, Madame? Is that why you are seen so often with the King of Navarre … and even more often with his brother?’
Catherine felt a surge of anger as she realised the significance of his remarks regarding herself and Condé. But the anger was for herself as much as for Francis of Guise. She had been foolish to let this romantic feeling for Condé get the better of her common sense.
But when she spoke her voice was quiet and controlled. ‘You smile, Monsieur, but that is because you have not heard my plan. I have a very good plan which I firmly believe will make these two princelings forget the more serious matters of wars and religion.’
‘How so, Madame?’
‘Think of the King of Navarre!’ She made a disgusted noise with her lips. ‘Antoine of Navarre, the little popinjay, the vainest man in France! Why is he such a good Huguenot, do you think? It is on account of Madame Jeanne, that wife of his.’
‘He was a Huguenot before she was.’
‘He could never stay of the same opinion for more than a day or two at a time. The turncoat! That is the man we have to deal with … or it would be, but for his wife.’ Catherine let out her spurt of coarse laughter. ‘Madame Jeanne d’Albret, Queen of Navarre! She has been a Huguenot in secret for years. Oh yes, I know she has just made a public avowal of the fact, but for years she has followed the faith in secret. As for Antoine, he is a Huguenot because his wife says he must be. He is in leading strings. If we would bend Antoine to our will, we must strike at him through his wife.’
‘What plan have you for attacking the Queen of Navarre?’
‘Oh, I do not mean that we should take an army and march south. That is not my way, Monsieur. That would avail us little. We should have civil war in France, with the Huguenots fighting to free their heroine. No, we strike through Antoine, but we strike at his wife. Did you see them at the wedding of Francis and Mary? Do you remember the silver galleons and how Antoine selected his wife for his companion? “What a devoted husband!” said everyone. My plan, Monsieur, is to make Antoine a slightly less devoted husband.’
‘You think that possible? Jeanne is as strong as granite.’
‘And Antoine is as weak as water. That is why we strike through him. Great plans are in my head; I am a poor, weak woman who loathes violence. My plans are quiet plans, but I think they will work as efficiently as your massacres. We will separate Antoine from his wife. It is, after all, unnatural for the man to be such a devoted husband. He was born a philanderer. We will put temptation in his way. We will so anger that saintly wife of his that she will be infuriated with him. The adored wife, the publicly chosen of her husband, will be neglected, forced to see her husband with a mistress whom he adores. And then, where will the leader of the Huguenots be? You know these Huguenots, Monsieur. They are more prim than we Catholics. They do not love adulterers. His mistress will lead him as his wife now leads him; I plan that she shall lead him back to the Catholic Faith.’
Francis of Guise was excited. It was a good plan, and it was not an impossible plan. If the Queen Mother had had this in mind right from the first, he had misjudged her. She was as good a Catholic as he was. She was as much his ally as she had been when Francis was alive.
He looked at her and, smiling maliciously, said: ‘And the Prince of Condé?’
She repeated slowly: ‘The Prince of Condé.’ And she could not help it if her mind went back to those visits to his cell, those conversations that had held in them a hint of tenderness. She shook off such thoughts and looked unflinchingly into the face of Le Balafré. Then she said: ‘I had the same sort of plan for Condé as for his brother. He also, as you know, has a strong and saintly wife, a woman whom I suspect of leading her husband.’
‘And for him also, Madame, you would suggest a mistress, a love that will lead him back to the Catholic Faith?’
‘That is what I suggest.’
‘You think it possible in his case?’
‘Monsieur, I do think it possible.’
‘And’ – the Duke’s eyes openly mocked her now – ‘and which lady would you suggest for the seduction of the Prince of Condé?’
She was ready for him. ‘There is one in my Escadron Volant. I do not know whether you have noticed her: Isabelle de Limeuil. She is a very beautiful woman and, I believe, irresistible to most.’
‘And so, you have selected her as Condé’s temptress?’
‘I have, Monsieur.’
‘And for Antoine?’
‘Mademoiselle du Rouet.’
The Duke nodded. ‘You have chosen two very beautiful women, Madame, and very light ones.’
‘Those are the qualifications necessary for this particular task, great beauty and lightness. One would not choose such as the Princess Eléonore and Queen Jeanne of Navarre for such tasks, I do assure you.’
The Duke laughed with her, his good humour quite restored.
‘And what of Coligny?’ he asked at length. ‘That man is more dangerous than any.’
‘He is indeed, for no light and beautiful woman could seduce him from what he believes to be his duty. When the time comes, we shall have to think of a way of subduing Coligny.’
The Duke came nearer to her, and she saw in his eyes that he was remembering rumours he had heard concerning her. She knew that his thoughts had flitted to the Dauphin Francis, who had died after his Italian cupbearer had brought him water. He was remembering what he had heard of her poison closet at Blois, and waiting to hear what she planned for Coligny.
‘When the time comes,’ she said, ‘we shall know.’
He took her hand and kissed it, reminding himself that it was as well to have the Italian woman working on his side.
As Catherine looked at the proud head bent over her hand she reflected that it was a pity one could not remove from this life the people who made it so difficult; and she was not thinking so much of Coligny as of the Duke of Guise.
The ladies of the Escadron Volant lounged about their apartment talking together. They had just returned from the hunt, and it had been a strenuous day. The Queen Mother, growing stout as she was, had lost none of her energies.
Mademoiselle Louise de la Limaudière, the daughter of the Seigneur de l’Isle Rouet, was smiling secretly to herself. She was a very lovely woman, and with her friend and confidante, Isabelle de Limeuil, shared the distinction of being the most beautiful in this group of women who were selected not only for the quickness of their wits and their skill on a horse, but for their beauty.