But straightforward Henry, fierce Montmorency, and ardently Catholic Diane did not see the matter as did Catherine. To them the Catholic way was the only true way. They had not the gift which enabled them to look at a matter from the angle that was best suited to their own advantage; they could not say:

‘This is good for us, therefore it is a good thing.’

If only Henry would listen to me! thought Catherine. How I would help him! There was this tragedy of the salt tax rising which had done Henry no good.

Why did he not consult his wife on State matters? Because he thought her colourless and unworthy of proffering advice. And how could she change that― while Diane lived? There must be a way of removing her enemy. She would read everything that had ever been written on the subject of subtle poisons; she would summon every seer, every magician to her presence, in the hope of finding some way in which it would be safe to rid herself of Diane. For it was good that she should do so. She was cleverer than Diane; and yet, unless she would suffer complete neglect, she must feign to possess a character which was not hers.

Once again, as she had done so many times before, she set about proving to herself that it would be no sin to rid herself of the woman she hated. If she herself could advise her husband instead of Diane, France, she assured herself, would be a happier country.

‘Holy Mother of God,’ she prayed. ‘A miracle.’

This problem of the salt tax had arisen six years before, when Francis was on the throne, and Francis had dealt with it more cleverly than had his son.

Had I advised him, thought Catherine, I would have begged him to take a lesson from his father. Under Francis, there had been an insurrection in the town of Rochelle against this tax― the gabelle. The citizens of Rochelle had refused pay the tax and had even maltreated those men sent to collect it. Francis, wisely, had gone to Rochelle in person, and had, with that characteristic charm of his, won the citizens to his side. He had gone amongst them, smiling, and begged them to have no fear. They had committed an offence, but he would dismiss that from his mind. They had his free pardon. The citizens of Rochelle had expected bloodshed and the pillaging and burning of their King’s men; instead, the charming Francis himself had visited them and smiled upon them. It was true that they were fined for their offence and the tax remained, but in Rochelle, they talked warmly of the King long after he had gone, and they forgot the burden of the salt tax for a while.

Now that, Catherine thought, was the way in which to deal of the gabelle.

But how differently from his father had Henry dealt with it.

There was a rising in the south, and one town joined another in its protest against the tax-collectors. When these collectors entered the towns, they were seized and maltreated. Near Cognac, one was thrown into the river.

‘Go, you rascal of a gabelleur!’ cried the enraged citizens. ‘Go and salt the fish of the Charente!’

Beggars and robbers swelled the ranks of the insurgents; the movement spread to the banks of the Gironde. This was like a minor civil war.

Oh, why would not the King listen to his wife! But he had no respect for her opinion. He preferred to listen to grim old Montmorency when he was not listening to Diane; and that old man’s way of dealing with a rising was to march at the head of his soldiers; and whilst he said his prayers, he thought of what punishment he would deal out to these men of France who dared revolt against a tax which their Lord King had put upon them.

So down to Bordeaux marched Montmorency with ten companies behind him.

It was a different matter to face an army than to rob and pillage defenceless towns, so the vagabonds deserted and left the honest citizens to face the Constable’s wrath.

What terror Montmorency had carried to the south! He was not content with hangings. He wished to show these men what happened to those who revolted against King Henry. He had the citizens of Bordeaux on their knees in the streets begging pardon; he imposed a heavy fine on the town while he selected one hundred and fifty of the leaders for execution.

Those insurgents who had thrown the collector into the river were themselves thrown into a fire which was prepared for the purpose.

‘Go, rabid hounds!’ cried the Constable. ‘Go and grill the fish of the Charente which you salted with the body of an officer of your King and Sovereign.’

But death by fire was too easy a death, thought the Constable.

He would show these fools. Some were dismembered by four horses; some were broken on the wheel; others were attached to a scaffold, face down, their legs and arms being left free; thus they remained while the executioner smashed their limbs with an iron pestle without touching either their heads or bodies. All these things must rebellious citizens witness.

‘King Henry’s way is not the way of his father,’ said the people of France.

Catherine knew this, because she wrapped her cloak about her and mingled with the gossiping crowds. None guessed that the quiet, plump woman who encouraged them to talk their Queen. Thus did she learn the sentiments of the people.

She enjoyed these excursions, for they gave her a sense of hidden power.

She decided that whatever happened in the future she would adhere to this interesting habit.

She had convinced herself now that to murder Diane would be good, not evil. She continued to pray to the Virgin to show her the sort of miracle which could be made on Earth.


* * *

Death and horror at Bordeaux! Pageant and revelry in Lyons! Catherine had looked forward to this visit to Lyons, for in this town, she was sure she would be recognized as the Queen. The citizens of the province would not treat her as she had been treated in the capital.

The King had been in Piedmont and Turin, visiting his armies, and she and Diane, with an entourage, travelled to Lyons to meet Henry there. Catherine had enjoyed that journey, for during it she had been able to feel, briefly, that she was truly Queen. Moreover, she was once more pregnant and was expecting a child in the new year.

Diane had been quiet and unobtrusive; the children were at Saint-Germain where they were waiting to greet the little Queen of Scotland on her arrival; therefore Catherine had not to face the continual jealous irritation which seeing Diane with her children always brought her. As Henry was riding from Italy to Lyons, Catherine had not to watch him with Diane.

Thus would it always be, thought Catherine, if only I could win to myself what is my just due. Holy Mother, show me that miracle. It was September, and it seemed to Catherine that the autumn tints of the countryside had never been so glorious. Her spirits were high. The citizens of Lyons were preparing to greet their King and Queen― good, noble citizens, the backbone of France. They would do homage to their Queen, and the King’s mistress would be forced to slip into the background Did Diane know this? Did it account for her subdued manner?

Alas! when Henry joined them at Ainay, some miles from the town of Lyon, everything was back at normal. He had hardly a word to say to his Queen; his attention was all for Diane. It was long since those two had been together; there much talk of, love to be indulged in.

She could not see them together now, but Catherine’s imagination was vivid.

It tortured her; it maddened her. For what did the homage of the citizens of Lyons mean to her when Henry’s love was denied her?

They thought her cold. If they but knew! To them she was just a machine― a machine for bearing children― because Fate had made her the King’s wife. It was cruel. It was so coldly sordid and humiliating.

‘The Queen is with child,’ she seemed to hear Henry saying to Diane.

‘Thank God. I am relieved of the necessity of visiting her.’

I will kill her, thought Catherine. There must be some slow poison that will make it seem like old age creeping on. Holy Mother, show it to me. But even as she raged, calm common sense did not desert her. If anything happened to her, you would be blamed, she reminded herself. Remember Dauphin Francis, for he is not forgotten. Be careful. Rid yourself of any other who stands in your way, but not Diane― not yet, for you might find that in ridding yourself of your enemy you had also rid yourself of your husband. They travelled in an immense and beautifully decorated gondola down the Rhone to Vaise; its seats were engraved with that device, the interlacing Ds and an H, which kind people pretended to believe was two Cs and an H.

Catherine reminded herself bitterly that this gondola would have been made to the King’s instructions, and that was why it bore those letters.

At Vaise a pavilion had been made ready to receive them and everywhere Catherine looked there were those significant letters. The whole country, then, was saying: ‘It is not the Queen we must honour if we will please the King; it is his mistress.’

When they left the pavilion and entered the town they found themselves in an artificial forest which had been erected by the citizens for their reception. It was cleverly contrived, but spoiled for Catherine, for no sooner had they entered this man-made forest than through the artificial trees came a party of nymphs― all the most beautiful girls of the neighborhood― and their leader, the loveliest of them all, carried a bow and a quiver. It was immediately apparent that she was to represent Diana, the goddess of the chase. She lead a tame lion on a silver chain, and she asked the King to accept the animal from the citizens of Lyons.

And I, the Queen, Catherine thought, might be nothing but the attendant of Diane, for all the respect that is paid to me! Yet there was worse to come. There followed the entry into Lyons itself, under triumphal arches, past the fluttering flags; and, listening to the cries of the welcoming crowds, Catherine in her open litter with the weight of diamonds and wretchedness, knew the acclamation was not for her, but for Diane, who rode behind her on her white palfrey dressed in her becoming garments of black-and-white.

The citizens of Lyons had no doubt of what was expected of them. When the burghers came forward to greet the ladies, they kissed the hand of Diane first, and that of the Queen second.

Between her lids, the Queen surveyed them.

Never, never had a Queen of France been so publicly humiliated!


* * *

After the triumphal journey through the cities of France, the royal party made its way to Saint-Germain. Catherine was more unhappy at Saint-Germain than anywhere else; yet when she knew that they were bound for this palace, she could scarcely wait to reach her apartments. In them she could suffer more exquisite torture than in any other spot. Everywhere else she imagined; there she saw.

All were eager to see the little Queen of Scotland, who was now living at Saint-Germain with the royal children, and the child was the topic of conversation as the cavalcade rode On the arrival, the usual ceremonies which accompanied the King wherever he went were performed; and once again it was Diane who was treated with the homage and respect which should have been the Queen’s.

Quietly, and as soon as she could do so unobserved, Catherine slipped away and went to the nurseries.

The nurses in attendance curtsied low.

‘And how are the children? And how have they been in our absence?’

‘Your Majesty, the baby is very well, and so is Mademoiselle Elizabeth.’

‘And the young Prince?’

‘He is not so well, Madame, but the coming of the little Queen has cheered him greatly.’

Catherine went into the first of the nurseries, where three children were playing together. Francis and Elizabeth smiled the queer, uncertain smiles they always gave her.

‘Good day to you, my dears,’ said Catherine.

‘Good day to you, Maman,’ said Francis. He was now five and small for his years. Little Elizabeth was three and a half.

Now Catherine’s eyes were on the newcomer, was the loveliest little girl the Queen had ever seen; her hair was fair and softly curling, her eyes bright-blue, her complexion delicately tinted, and her face a perfect heart-shape. So this was little Mary Stuart! No wonder accounts of her charms had preceded her! She was enchanting; and Catherine was immediately aware that it was not merely enchantment of face and form.