‘Madame,’ said Guise, ‘I do not trust the King of Navarre. I do not think he is such a fool as he would have us believe. He poses as a frivolous man, thinking of nothing but women.’

‘Ah,’ said Catherine, ‘a man can think of women and politics at the same time, can he not?’

Guise ignored the barb and went on: ‘His manner, I feel sure, is a pose. He should be kept under strict surveillance. And as for the Duke of Alençon . . .’ Guise shrugged his shoulders.

‘You may speak out,’ said Catherine. ‘Though he is my son, I know him as a man who is full of mischief and who must be watched.’

‘But for our good fortune in discovering this plot, these two might have made good their escape. There are still enough Huguenots in the country to cause us trouble, Madame.’

‘It is indeed fortunate that we discovered the plot in time. We owe it to Madame de Sauves, did you know?’

The Duke raised his eyebrows, and Catherine, who knew him so well, realized that his heart had begun to beat a little faster at the mention of his mistress in this connexion.

‘The King of Navarre, as you know,’ went on Catherine, ‘is more interested in women than in politics. He found it difficult to tear himself away from the lady—otherwise he would have escaped before we realized what he was about. His hesitation betrayed him, Monsieur.’

‘We must be grateful for that, Madame.’

‘Very grateful indeed to that fair lady, who is, I am told, irresistible to so many.’

‘Madame, the first thing we must do is to drive a wedge between Navarre and Alençon.’

‘Leave that to me, Monsieur.’

‘How will you accomplish it?’

‘As yet I am unsure, but I am giving the matter my deepest consideration. You will see how I intend to separate those two, and you will see it in a very short time. Now, if you will forgive me, I must ask you to leave me, as I have much to do which I dare neglect no longer.’

As soon as he had left her, alone as she was, she began to laugh.

‘Ah, Monsieur de Guise,’ she chuckled, ‘you will soon see how I plan to separate those two.’

She went to the door, called her dwarf and sent him in search of Madame de Sauves.

‘And see,’ she added, ‘that when she arrives, she is left alone with me.’

Charlotte came immediately.

‘You may sit, my dear,’ said Catherine. ‘Now tell me: how progresses your affair with the King of Navarre?’

‘Just as Your Majesty commanded it should.’

‘You must be a witch, Charlotte, to keep such a man dancing attendance on you without receiving any satisfaction.’

‘I have behaved in accordance with Your Majesty’s instructions,’ said Charlotte.

‘Poor Navarre! He will be sad this night. You have heard that he has been playing tricks which we shall have to punish. think it might be a charming idea if you enlivened his captivity this night.’

Charlotte grew pale. ‘Madame . . . I . . .’

‘What! Another engagement! I promise you you need have no fear. I will see that the Baton, your husband, is kept busy and that he asks no embarrassing questions.’

‘Madame,’ faltered Charlotte, ‘could I not? . . .’

Catherine burst out laughing. ‘What! An assignation with a gentleman not your husband!’

Charlotte was silent.

‘Tell me, Charlotte, is it Monsieur de Guise? He is so charming, and from the way in which he is pursued by you women it appears he must be an adequate lover. But I have always made you understand, have I not, that duty comes before pleasure?’

‘Yes, Madame.’

‘Well, tonight you must make it your duty to enliven the poor captive King of Navarre. Now . . . no more. I have spoken. You may go, Charlotte.’

When Charlotte was at the door, Catherine called her back. ‘And come to me tomorrow, Charlotte. I shall have further instructions for you then.’

Charlotte ran along to her own apartments, and when she reached her bedchamber she drew her curtains about her bed, upon which she lay down and began to weep bitterly. For the first time in her life she was disgusted with the Escadron and wished to escape from it. She lay weeping for some time, lost in her wretched thoughts until, uncannily conscious that she was being watched, she turned her head and shrank in startled horror from the parted bed-curtains. Catherine stood there, looking at her, and her gaze seemed diabolical; but when she spoke her voice was almost tender and belied the cruel glitter of her eyes. ‘You should not grieve, Charlotte. Monsieur de Guise must learn to understand as readily as does Monsieur de Sauves. And by night one man is very like another—so they tell me.’

The curtains were drawn together again, and Catherine went away as silently as she had come.


* * *

Margot looked down at her husband, who was lying sprawled across his bed. The door was locked and outside it were members of the King’s Guard. Margot felt angry with him. He looked so inelegant lying there; he had no grace; his hair, which looked none too clean, would doubtless stain that beautiful cushion.

‘You should not be allowed to use beautiful things,’ she told him. ‘You should live in a stable.’

‘Stables can be very comfortable,’ he said reflectively, ‘and a horse is often a more amiable companion than a wife.’

She lifted her head haughtily. ‘Not only are you coarse and crude—that I accept; that I forgive—but your folly is beyond forgiveness.’

‘I was certainly a fool not to realize I had a spying wife.’

‘It was for your own good, you fool, that I stopped your folly.’

‘You call it folly because it failed. If it had succeeded it would have been very clever. And but for you, it would not have failed. Ventre de biche! I have a mind to thrash you for this.’

‘You would find yourself in a less comfortable prison if you were as foolish as that.’

‘Have no fear. I am far too lazy. To thrash such a spitfire as you, would take a good deal of energy, and I am not inclined to spend mine on you.’

‘Pray keep your coarse manners for your peasant women.’

‘I will, if you will allow me to. Why do you not take yourself off to a more comfortable apartment?’

‘Because I wish to talk to you.’

‘I am expecting a visitor.’

‘A wife of one of the gardeners, or one of the kitchen wenches?’

‘Guess again,’ he said.

‘I am not inclined to waste my energy on that! Gardener’s wife or kitchen woman, it matters not to me. I am not interested in your crude amours. What angers me is that you should have entered into such a plot as this and told me nothing of it.’

‘It did not concern you.’

‘It concerns Navarre, of which I am Queen.’

‘Only as long as I allow you to be.’

‘How dare you!’

‘Madame, you astonish me. You play the spy; you place your husband and his kingdom in jeopardy, and then you come here and tell me that my kingdom is yours.’

‘I had thought that we two had decided to be allies.’

‘We had, but you show yourself to be a very doubtful ally.’

‘And you plot such things without consulting me!’

‘If I had been successful, I should have come back for you. And how can you talk of our being allies when you so callously betray me?’

‘You are indolent as well as foolish. You do not seem to know what forces would be brought into action against you.’

‘You overrate Monsieur de Guise,’ said Navarre. ‘We who would pit ourselves against him and his Catholics do not hold him in the same reverence as you do. You involve yourself too deeply in your love affairs, my dear. You look upon your lover as a god. He is but a man. Why, is it not for that very reason that you love him? You will never be happy in love until you learn to love as I do. I have had a hundred love affairs and never a pang of remorse or wretchedness on account of any of them. Yet you . . . you are all passion, all hate, all desire. When we have more leisure you and I must compare experiences, but tonight I am expecting a visitor.’

‘You are a provincial boor,’ she cried, ‘and as for discussing my love affairs with you, I would as soon discuss them with a stable boy.’

‘Or a kitchen wench, or a gardener’s wife?’ he taunted.

She went to him and, taking his stiff hair in her hands, shook him angrily. He was almost apoplectic with laughter, and to her annoyance she found herself laughing with him.

‘There, you see,’ he said, ‘we cannot be bad friends. You betray me and I forgive you. Why, I even forgive you for spoiling the set of my hair which, although not elegant like that of your brothers, or softly curling like that of one whom it would be provincial, boorish, coarse and crude to mention at this point . . .’

She gave him a stinging blow on his cheek, which delighted him.

‘Oh, Margot,’ he cried, catching her by the arms suddenly and holding her so tightly that she cried out, ‘I almost wish that I had not this visitor coming to me tonight, for I find you extremely attractive in this fighting mood.’

He released her and she stood up, for she had heard a movement in his closet.

‘Who is there?’ she asked.

‘No one,’ he answered; and turning to look at him she believed that he was as surprised and startled by that sound as she was. There followed immediately a light tap on the door of the closet.

‘May I come in?’ said a voice which both of them recognized.

‘This is my visitor,’ said Navarre. ‘I did not expect her to have secreted herself in my closet. She must have had a key to come in that way, no doubt from your mother. Come in!’ he called.

Margot stepped back so that the curtains of the bed hid her.

Charlotte de Sauves walked to the bed. She was holding a key. ‘I managed to acquire a key to the small chamber,’ she said. ‘It seemed better to come in that way.’

Navarre said: ‘Her Majesty is most helpful, and so generous with her personal keys. But, my dear, it matters not how you come, as long as you come.’

Margot stepped out, and Charlotte stared at her in dismay.

‘Do not be afraid of me, Madame de Sauves,’ said Margot. ‘I was just about to leave.’

Charlotte looked from the husband to the wife. ‘I . . . I did not know that Your Majesty would be here . . . If I had . . .’

Margot waved a hand. ‘You must obey the royal command, must you not?’ she said; and she threw a contemptuous glance at Navarre, which implied that she despised him since, know- ing this woman was her mother’s spy, he could yet receive her. ‘I was just about to go,’ she added. ‘I wish you joy, Madame. A very goodnight to you both.’

‘And a very goodnight to you, my dear wife,’ said Navarre, smiling at her cynically. Margot walked out, aware that he scarcely waited for her to reach the door before pulling Charlotte down beside him.

Margot was angry. One did not expect a husband to be faith. ful; but one expected a certain show of good manners.

She was bored; the monotony of her life was more than she could endure. She decided that, for the want of something better to do, she would go and make her peace with her brother; for he, like her husband, would be annoyed with her, and lacking the humour of Navarre, would not be so inclined to find humour in the situation.

She went into his apartments, and the King’s Guards made way for her. In an ante-chamber, a tall slim young man was sitting, and as Margot approached he leaped to his feet and bowed low.

Margot smiled at him charmingly, for she noticed immediately that he was an exceptionally handsome young man, and it was obvious from his expression that he was as impressed by her charms as she was by his. Indeed, this kind of adoration was just what Margot needed most at this moment. She was at once enchanted by this young man.

She studied him closely. He was, she guessed, in his mid-twenties, a few years older than herself; his hair was dark and he wore it long and curling; his eyes were a deep shade of blue, and Margot found the contrast of eyes and hair striking. His moustache could not hide the sensitive lips, and if his expression was one of melancholy, although somewhat relieved by his delight in looking at her, it was such a contrast to the crude boisterousness of the man she had just left, that it was enchanting. Bowing, he had placed a white hand on his velvet doublet which was a deep shade of blue that matched his eyes and was decorated with black jet.

‘I do not know you, Monsieur?’ she said.

His voice was low and melodious. ‘There, Madame, I have the advantage of Your Majesty.’