The King felt worn out by the events of the day. He wanted to rest; he wanted to forget everything in sleep.

‘How tired I am!’ he said; and the Comte de Retz, who had not left his side for many hours, was there to soothe him. ‘Your Majesty has had a busy day. You will feel better after a night’s rest.’

But, thought Charles, it was no use trying to pretend that this day was just like any other. Tomorrow? How he longed for tomorrow. Then it would be over and done, the rebellion quelled, and he would be safe. He would let Marie and Madeleine out of their little prison. He would release Monsieur Paré. How they would thank him for saving their lives!

His head was throbbing and he could scarcely keep his eyes open. Had there been some drug of his mother’s in the wine Retz had brought him, something to make him spend the next hours in sleep?

Huguenot and Catholic! Looking at them, who would believe in this great animosity between them! Why could they not always be friends as they seemed to be now?

Soon the wearisome ceremony would be over, the curtains drawn about his bed, and sleep . . . gentle sleep . . . would come. But what if he dreamed! He had reason to dread his dreams. Dreams of torn flesh . . . mutilated bodies . . . the agonized cries of men and women . . . and blood.

The Duc de la Rochefoucauld was bending over his hand. Dear Rochefoucauld! So handsome and so gentle. They had long been friends; the Duke was one of the few whom Charles really loved; he had always been happy in his company.

‘Adieu, Sire.’

‘Adieu.’

‘May only the pleasantest of dreams attend Your Majesty.’

There was tenderness in those eyes. There was real friendship there. Even if I were not the King he would love me, thought Charles. He is a true friend.

Rochefoucauld was moving towards the door. He would leave the Louvre and go through the narrow streets to his lodgings, accompanied by his followers: he would laugh and joke as he went, for there was none so fond of a joke as dear Rochefoucauld. Dear friend . . . and Huguenot!

No, thought the King. It must not be. Not Rochefoucauld! He threw off his drowsiness. “Foucauld,’ he cried urgently, ‘Foucauld!’

The Duke had turned.

‘Oh, ‘Foucauld, you must not go tonight. You may stay here and sleep with my valets de chambre. Yes, you must. You will be sorry if you go, my friend, my dearest ‘Foucauld.’

Rochefoucauld looked surprised; but Retz had darted forward.

‘The King jests,’ said Retz.

Rochefoucauld gave the King a smile and inclined his head slightly while Charles watched him with dazed eyes. He was murmuring under his breath: “Foucauld, come back. ‘Foucauld . . . oh, my dear friend . . . not my ‘Foucauld.’

Retz drew the curtains about the King’s bed.

The coucher was over.

Tears fell slowly down the cheeks of the King of France and there was silence in the Louvre.


* * *

Catherine lay in bed counting the minutes as they passed. Two hours, and then she would rise, but she could not lie there waiting. She thought bitterly of that fool Claude, who must have aroused suspicions in Margot’s mind. She thought of stupid Charles who, according to Retz, had done his best to warn Rochefoucauld. What if Rochefoucauld had got an inkling? He was one of the Huguenot leaders. What would he do? What would any sane man do if he realized what was afoot? Make counter-plans, of course.

She could not endure it. It was not yet time to rise, but she could not stay in bed. She could not wait for disaster to overtake her. She must act. While she was active she could endure the suspense.

She rose and dressed hastily; she went stealthily along to Anjou’s apartment, and drawing the curtain close about his bed, shut herself in with him.

He had not slept for his fear was far greater than hers. She saw the sweat glistening on his forehead; and his hair was uncurled.

‘My darling, you must get up and dress,’ she said. ‘There are some hours yet. But it is better to be dressed.’

‘Mother, it is just past midnight, and the bell of the Palais de Justice is not to ring until an hour before daybreak.’

‘I know, my son, but I am afraid. I wonder if the folly of your brother and your sister may have disclosed our intentions. I wonder if our enemies plan to strike first. I will give other orders. We must start earlier in case we have been betrayed. We must surprise them. Now rise and dress and I will awaken the King. We should not waste more time in our beds. I must get a message through to Monsieur de Guise. If he knows of the change in our plans, the procedure can be safely left to him.’

‘But, Mother, is it wise to change at this late hour?’

‘I fear it may be unwise not to. Come.’

This was a better than lying in bed waiting. Action was always more stimulating than idleness. She sent Bouchavannes with a message to the Hôtel de Guise, and Retz to awaken the King and send him to her.

She had chosen a position at one of the windows where she might have a good view of what was happening outside; and here the King arrived, bewildered and agitated.

‘What means this, Madame?’

‘Our plans had to be changed. We have discovered a further and most devilish plot. It is necessary to advance . . . delay is dangerous.’

Charles covered his face with his hands. ‘Let us give up this affair. I have had enough of it. If there is a plot against us by the Huguenots there are many Catholics to defend us.’

‘What! You would let them come and murder us here in the Louvre!’

‘It seems there will be murder in any case.’

His mother and Anjou looked at him in horror. He was mad. He was unaccountable. They had been right not to trust him. How did they know what he would plan from one minute to the next? Delay was dangerous and it was largely due to this unstable King that it was so.

‘There must be killing, I know,’ sobbed Charles. ‘There must be bloodshed and murder. But do not let us start it.’

‘Do you realize,’ said Catherine quietly, ‘that the Huguenots attack our Holy Church? Is it not better that their rotten limbs should be torn asunder, than that the Church. the Holy Bride of Our Lord, should be rent?’

‘I do not know,’ cried the King. ‘I only know that I wish to stop this bloodshed.’

The tocsin of Saint-Germain l’Auxerrois opposite the Louvre began to ring out; and almost immediately it seemed as though all the bells in Paris were ringing.

Noise broke forth. Shouts; screams; laughter that was cruel and mocking; the agonized cries of men and women mingled with their pleas for mercy.

‘It has begun then . .’ said the King in a whisper.

‘God in Heaven!’ murmured Anjou. ‘What have we done?’

He looked at his mother and he saw in her face that which she had rarely allowed him to see—fear . . . such fear that he never hoped to see in any face again.

She repeated his words softly as though to herself: ‘What have we done? And what will happen now?’

‘All Hell is let loose!’ screamed the King. ‘All Hell is let loose.’

‘Stop it,’ entreated Anjou. ‘Stop it before it goes too far. Before we are destroyed . . . stop it, I say!’

Catherine did then what she had never done before: she panicked.

She muttered: ‘You are right. We must stop it. I will send a message to Guise. The Admiral must not die yet .

But although the dawn was not yet in the sky, all Paris had awakened to the Eve of St Bartholomew.


* * *

The Admiral was in too much pain for sleep. Paré had wanted to give him an opiate. but he would not take it. He had much to think of. In an ante-chamber his son-in-law was sleeping, lightly, he surmised, eager to answer his slightest call. Dear Téligny! God had been good to allow him to give his daughter into such hands

Nicholas Muss, the Admiral’s faithful servant, was dozing in a chair. Merlin, his pastor, sat in another. He had many faithful servants in his house; he had many friends in Paris. The Prince of Condé and the King of Navarre had visited him earlier in the evening, but they had now left for the palace of the Louvre. Ambroise Paré, who had made such great efforts to save his life, had been with him until a few hours ago; he had been reluctant to leave him and would not have done so but for an urgent command from the King himself.

What disquiet there was all through Paris! If only the King would throw off the influence of his mother and his brother Anjou, together with that of the Guises, what good could be achieved! The Admiral knew that they hated him; he knew that when the Queen Mother had uttered her condolences and spoken of her sympathy, she was furiously angry because the shot from the gun of the Guise hireling had failed to kill him outright. He knew that when the King had ordered a guard to protect this house, Anjou and his mother had seen to it that the men who arrived had been led by a certain man named Cosseins, and this man was an old enemy of the Admiral and the Huguenot cause. This was ominous and he knew that danger was all about him and his friends.

How quiet it was tonight! There had been so many nights of feasting and roystering during the celebrations of the wedding that on this night the silence seemed all the more impressive.

He wondered fitfully if he would ever see Châtillon again. Had news reached Jacqueline of his accident? He trusted not. She would be beside herself with anxiety, and that would be so bad for her and the child. He was glad that François and Andelot were safe at Châtillon, and Louise with them. Perhaps, if he recovered, as Paré assured him that he would, he would be in Châtillon in a few weeks’ time . . . perhaps by the end of September. The roses would not be all gone. What joy to wander in the alleys once more, to gaze at the grey walls of the castle and not care whether he went in or stayed out, since there could be no dispatches waiting for him!

Who knew, perhaps he would be home by the end of September, for it was now nearing the end of August. Today was the . . . yes, the 23rd. St Bartholomew’s Eve.

He started suddenly; the sound of bells crashed on the air.

Whence did it come? Who was ringing the bells at this hour? Muss started up from his chair; Merlin opened his eyes.

‘Is it morning then?’ asked Merlin. ‘What mean these bells?’

‘I wonder,’ said the Admiral. ‘Bells before daybreak! What can it mean?’

‘And they startled you from your sleep master,’ said Muss.

‘Nay, I was not sleeping. I was lying here thinking oh, thinking most happily, of my wife and family and my roses at

Téligny had come into the room.

‘You heard the bells, my son?’ asked the Admiral.

‘They awakened me, Father. What is the reason for them? Listen. Do you hear? The sound of horses’ hoofs . . . coming this way.’

The men looked at each other, but none spoke his thoughts. A great terror possessed them all except the Admiral. For hours now he had lain in pain, expectant, waiting for death; and if this were death it would merely mean that the end of his pain was at hand.

‘Muss,’ he said, ‘go to the window, my friend. Tell us what you see below.’

The man went and, when he drew back the hangings, the room was filled with the wavering light from the torches and cressets below.

‘Who is there, Nicholas?’ asked the Admiral.

Téligny was at the window. He turned his pale face towards the Admiral and stammered: ‘Guise . . . and ten . . . twenty more mayhap.’

Gaspard said: ‘They have come for me, my friends. You must help me to dress. I would not care to receive my enemies thus.’

Téligny ran from the room and hurried down the staircase.

‘Be on guard!’ he shouted to the men who were posted on stairs and in corridors. ‘Our enemies are here.’

As he reached the main door, he heard Cosseins shout: ‘Labonne, have you the keys? You must let this man through. He has a message from the King to the Admiral.’

‘Labonne!’ shouted Téligny. ‘Let no one in!’

But it was too late. The keys were already in Cosseins’ hands. He heard Labonne’s shriek; and he knew that that faithful friend had been murdered.

‘Fight!’ cried Téligny to the men. ‘Fight for Coligny and the cause!’

He ran back to the bedchamber, where Merlin knelt in prayer while Muss was helping the Admiral to put on a few clothes. The sound of shots and shouts could now be distinctly heard in the room.