He had suffered bitterly on the death of his wife, but his life was so full and busy, and there was, Jeanne knew, one thing in it which must always come before wife and family, before the consideration of his personal happiness; and that was honour, the long and weary fight for the cause which he believed, with Jeanne, was the only true religion for the French.
It was a simple wedding, after the Huguenot fashion. And how noble was the bridegroom in the dignity of his years and that stern handsomeness that could only accompany a righteous and an honourable nature! Jeanne’s eyes filled with tears, as she compared this bridegroom with another – more handsome perhaps in a worldly way, in his gorgeous apparel, the fashionable court gentleman – Antoine! It was so long ago, but it would never be forgotten by her.
Beside her stood her son, handsome with his dark hair and lively black eyes which were fixed on one of the women there in the church; his thoughts were not those which should come to a young man at such a time. The full, sensuous lips were curved into a smile. She tried not to think of him as the young philanderer, the lazy sensualist, but as a man of battle, the son who had sworn to serve the Huguenot cause as his mother and the great Gaspard de Coligny had taught him to do.
The bride was young and beautiful, a widow, earnest and devout, laying such devotion at Coligny’s feet as he had received from his first wife; that devotion which, so effortlessly, he seemed to inspire in so many.
She had come from Savoy, this Jacqueline d’Entremont; a widow of great property, for years she had been an ardent admirer of Coligny’s. He was a hero to her as he was to so many Huguenot ladies; she had told Jeanne that she had followed his adventures with enthusiasm, and each day her longing to serve him had increased. When she had heard of his wife’s death she had determined to comfort him, and against the wishes of her family and the Duke of Savoy, she had travelled to La Rochelle. Here she met Coligny himself and, so great was her love that he had after a little while found that he could not be indifferent to it, and later that he returned it.
‘May the Lord bless them both,’ prayed Jeanne.
As for herself, she was growing old; she was now just past forty. She should not be so foolish as to feel envious of her friend’s happiness.
And how pleasant it was, in the weeks that followed, to see the happiness of these two and to have some share in it. Friendship between Jeanne and Jacqueline grew as once it had grown between Jeanne and her sister-in-law, the Princess Eléonore of Condé.
Then came the letters from court.
These were letters from the woman who represented herself as a poor mother, anxious for the welfare of her country. Now that there was peace in this tortured land, she needed such a great man as Coligny to help her and her son to govern. Coligny must come with all speed to Blois, for she was most eager to consolidate this uneasy peace. The Queen Mother had succeeded in having the Spanish envoy, Alava, recalled to Spain, so there would be no awkward meeting of the Huguenot leader with the emissary of Philip of Spain. Would Coligny not come and help a poor weak woman? Would he not give that advice which was so sorely needed and might result in years of peace for his country?
Coligny read the letters and was excited by them. An invitation to court from which for ten years he had been more or less an exile! What could he not do if he had the ear of the King and Queen Mother? He began to dream of war against Philip of Spain, of an extended French Empire.
When he told Jeanne and Jacqueline what the letters contained, they were horrified. Jeanne was reminded of another occasion, when her Antoine had been called to court.
‘It is a trap!’ she cried. ‘Can you not recognise the insincerity of the Queen Mother?’
‘My dearest husband, I beg of you, take care,’ cried Jacqueline. ‘Do not walk into this trap. They mean to kill you. Remember the plot which was foiled only just in time … the plot to poison you while you were in camp.’
‘My beloved wife, my dear good friend and sovereign, this is a chance which should not be missed.’
‘A chance for your enemies to kill you?’ demanded Jeanne.
‘A chance to put the case for the Huguenots before the rulers of this land. A chance to bring about the Reformation in France. This is a call from Heaven. I must go to court.’
At length they knew it was useless to try to dissuade him, and the happiness of the bride was clouded with great misgiving. The Queen of Navarre felt resigned; no one, it seemed, understood the deadly quality of the Queen Mother as she did. Catherine was surely behind that plot to poison Coligny in camp. What fresh mischief was being planned in that tortuous mind concerning him?
They would see; meanwhile Jeanne increased her prayers for the Admiral’s safety.
With two hundred and fifty men, Coligny rode up the hill towards the Castle of Blois. He was conscious of the tension among his followers. They, like his wife and Jeanne and the people of La Rochelle, thought it folly to ride straight into the trap his enemies had probably prepared for him. He was anxious to calm their fears. There was no good purpose, he said, in looking for evil; when it was found, let them try to stamp it out, but until it was manifested, let there be trust.
There was none to greet the party when they arrived at the castle, and this was ominous. Coligny called to a man who appeared in the courtyard, and asked that he might be conducted at once to the Queen Mother.
When he was eventually taken to her, King Charles was with her. Coligny knelt at the King’s feet, but Charles begged him not to kneel. He embraced the Admiral with great friendliness, and lifted his eyes to the stern, handsome face.
‘I am glad to see you here, my father,’ he said, using that form of address which he himself had given Coligny during that earlier friendship of theirs. ‘We shall not let you go now we have got you.’
There was no mistaking the honest intentions of the young King; he had always been fond of the Admiral.
Catherine watched the pair closely. She greeted the Admiral with a warmth which completely disguised her hatred. Her smile seemed as frank as her son’s; and Coligny accepted the smile at its face value.
They took Coligny to the apartments of the King’s brother Henry, Duke of Anjou.
Henry was in bed; he was, so Catherine had explained to Coligny, slightly indisposed, and for this reason had been unable to greet the Admiral with the ceremony due to him. Henry was clad in a garment of crimson silk, and there was a necklace of precious stones about his neck, which stones matched those in his ears. The room was like a woman’s room; an odour of musk hung about it. Seated close to the bed were two of Henry’s favourites, very beautiful young men, their garments fantastically exaggerated and almost feminine, their faces painted, their hair curled. They bowed to the King and the Queen Mother, but the glances they gave to Coligny were insolent.
Henry, languidly and with no attempt at sincerity, said that it delighted him to see the Admiral at court. He would be forgiven, he knew, for not leaving his bed. He was most indisposed.
Coligny’s hopes were high.
But that evening as he walked from his apartments to the banqueting hall, in a dimly lighted corridor he came face to face with the Duke of Montpensier. Coligny knew Montpensier for a firm Catholic and a man of honour. Montpensier made no secret of his hatred for the Huguenot cause, but his hatred of treachery was equally intense.