The little wax figure gave her just what she needed; it justified her in what she was about to do. It would put into her hands the lives of those two men who she had decided should die, and it would explain to the Touchet and that stupid old nurse as well as to Charles’ wife, why the King’s health had declined so rapidly.

‘I must speak to you, my son. It is of the utmost importance.’

She looked at Marie, who quailed before her; but Charles clung to his mistress’ hand.

‘You are not to go, Marie,’ he said.

Catherine gave the trembling girl her cold smile.

‘No, you must not go, Marie, for you love my son even as I do myself, and for that reason I love you too. And you will be needed at hand to comfort him, to assure him of our love when I tell him of this wicked plot against his life.’

‘What plot is this?’ asked the King suspiciously.

For answer she took out the silk kerchief and, unfolding it, held out its contents to the King.

‘A wax figure!’ said Marie.

‘Do you see whom it represents?’ asked Catherine. ‘It wears a crown,’ cried the King. ‘It is myself!’

‘You are right. And you see this pin which pierces the figure’s heart? You know what that means, my son. You know why, during these last weeks, your state of health has declined so rapidly.’

‘It is magic!’ said the King. ‘Someone has been trying to kill me.’

‘You have not always trusted your mother,’ said Catherine. ‘Your enemies have whispered about her and it has pleased you to believe them. Well, Charles, I forgive you. I only ask you to remember that it is your mother who, through her zealous efforts on your behalf, has discovered this plot against you.’

His lips began to tremble and the tears ran down his cheeks; soon he was sobbing in Marie’s arms.

‘Take courage, my dear lord, my darling,’ whispered Marie. ‘Her Majesty has discovered this plot, and doubtless she will also have discovered its perpetrators.’

‘You speak truth there, Marie. I have the wicked men under arrest,’ said Catherine.

‘Who are they?’ asked Charles.

‘The Comte de la Mole and the Comte de Coconnas. ‘They shall die,’ said Charles.

‘Assuredly they shall,’ promised Catherine. ‘This is treason. We will bring them to trial for conspiring against your life. Though there is little need of a trial. These men are guilty. This image was found on the person of La Mole when he was arrested.’

‘They shall all die,’ agreed Charles. ‘All . . . all concerned with this wicked plot against me.’

Catherine watched him; he was too weak for, violence nowadays. He slumped in his chair like an old man, his lips twitching, the mad light in his eyes and the tears running down his cheeks.

She left Marie to comfort him and went immediately to Vincennes. There she had Alençon brought into Navarre’s apartments and the rooms cleared of all guards and attendants. She faced the two of them, smiling coldly.

‘So, Messieurs, your further infamy has been uncovered. Here is a pretty state of affairs. What do you plan? A civil war? You are mad, You pretend to be friends, do you not? My son, why does Henry of Navarre assist you, do you think? Why does Alençon work with you, son-in-law? What a pair of featherbrained fools you are! Now to business. You should be wiser than to enter into such fruitless plotting, such absurd folly. Now I wish you to tell me that, if any has said you were involved in such a plot, they have lied. You two were unaware of any plot, were you not?’

Alençon could not understand her. He began to shout. ‘There was a plot! I am kept in semi-captivity. Do you think I will endure that? I am the brother of the King and I am treated as a nobody. I will not endure it, I swear. I will not have it. I am determined to take my due. One day I may be King of this realm; then, Madame, you shall see . . . you shall see . . .’

‘As ever,’ interrupted Catherine, ‘thoughtless, speaking without care. So you will be King of France, will you, my son? Make sure first that your brothers—your two brothers—do not see that you pay the penalty of treason.’

She turned to Navarre. That insolent young man was more likely to see reason; already she noticed the shrewd look on his face. He had grasped her intentions. Here is a way out of trouble, said Navarre’s twinkling eyes; let us seize it!

‘False reports have been circulated about you,’ said Catherine.

Navarre bowed. ‘Yes, Madame. False reports have been circulated about us.’

‘I see that you at least are not without sense, Monsieur,’ said Catherine, ‘and for that I am thankful. I have with me a document, and I wish you both to put your names to it. It disavows your connexion with any plot, if plot there was. You will sign it here. Come, my son, you also.’

Navarre took the document and studied it.

‘We should sign,’ he said to Alençon at length, ‘for if a plot fails, the wiser course is to disown it.’


* * *

Margot was suffering acute anxiety.

The realization of what was happening had been the more terrible because it had come upon her suddenly. The rumours of the plot which Alençon and Navarre had made against the crown had spread too much to be ignored, and there had had to be an inquiry. Navarre had come out of this with ease, thanks to the clever defence which his wife had prepared for him. All Margot’s frivolity could be banished on occasions, disclosing the bright intelligence which it obscured. But for her intense preoccupation with her lovers, she would have made as shrewd a statesman as most at court. But always she was governed by her emotions; and when she had penned that most lucid document—she was always most clever when her pen was in her hands—she had done so, not for love of her husband, whom she knew her mother would not at this time wish to see out of the way, but of the handsome Count with whom she was in love.

Navarre and Alençon had been cleared, but were still kept in semi-confinement. Margot had therefore expected the immediate release of her lover.

But this had not happened; and to her horror she had learned that La Mole and Coconnas were to be tried on another charge. What other charge, Margot could not imagine; but she was very quickly to discover, for the whole court was soon ringing with the news. La Mole and Coconnas were accused of conspiring against the life of the King.

They were tried and condemned to death. They had, it was declared, made a waxen image of him which they had pierced to the heart with a red-hot pin; and all knew that this meant that they had employed the Devil’s aid to bring about Charles’ death. This was treason of the worst kind.

It had been impossible to keep the maker of the image out of the case, and Cosmo Ruggieri, primed by Catherine, when arrested admitted that he had made the image for La Mole and Coconnas. He said that it was an image of the King.

‘They came to me,’ he said, ‘and begged me to make an image of a royal person.’

‘And you guessed who this royal person was intended to be?’

Cosmo bowed assent.

‘Did you ask for what purpose the image was made?’ asked his judges.

Cosmo said that he had not asked.

‘You must have guessed that it was for some evil purpose since you supplied also the pins with which to pierce the heart.’

La Mole and Coconnas swore that the image did not represent the King, but a lady of whom the former had become enamoured.

‘A lady in royal cloak and crown! Come, sir, you must think that we are a little foolish. It is clearly an effigy of His Majesty.’

‘It is the image of the lady whom I love, and whom I wished to win,’ insisted La Mole.

‘The name of the lady?’

Catherine had been right when she had guessed it would be safe for such a question to be asked. La Mole, with his ideas of chivalry and gallantry, would never allow scandal to touch his mistress.

He sighed and said it was a lady whom he had met when he was travelling in another country.

‘What country? And the name of the lady . . . this royal lady?’

But he would not mention her name. He was stubborn and said his judges—as Catherine had known they would—his inability to answer betrayed his guilt. He was, therefore, with his accomplice Coconnas, sentenced to be taken from his prison to the Place de Greve, there to die the traitor’s death of decapitation; while for his part in the affair Cosmo Ruggieri was condemned to the galleys for life.

Margot appealed to the King. She flung herself on her knees before him.

‘Sire, I beg of you to listen to me. The Comte de la Mole is being wrongly accused. I can tell you all you wish to know about that image. Oh, Sire, dearest brother, it was not meant to be of you, but of myself.’

The King was in the throes of that hysteria which always resulted from fear of assassination. He did not trust his sister. He knew that La Mole had been her lover; and he knew that previously she had worked for Henry of Guise against himself. Now he believed that her only thought was to save her lover, and that she cared not how many lies she told in order to do so.

He demanded that she leave him before he put her under arrest. He shouted that he did not trust her.

In desperation, Margot went to her mother. ‘You know the truth of this. You must. You must help me.’

Catherine smiled sadly. ‘If I could help you, my daughter, I would do so. But you know how deeply enamoured you become of certain men. You do not see in them any villainy while you desire their persons. It was thus with Monsieur de Guise. Do you remember?’ Catherine laughed. ‘Well, so it is with Monsieur de la Mole. You do not consider the important fact that these men are traitors, for all that matters to you is that their beauty pleases you.’

‘La Mole is not a traitor.’

‘What! Is not a man a traitor who conspires against the life of his King?’

‘He did not. The waxen image was of me. I swear it. Como Ruggieri knew it was of me. Why did he lie?’ Margot looked at her mother with terrible suspicion. She said softly: ‘He is a great favourite of yours, this Ruggieri. It was a stupid pretence, that trial. You allowed Ruggieri to be sentenced, yet you assured him that he would never see the galleys as a slave. You have had him pardoned; you have sent him back to his brother to work for you. You could save those two men as you saved the liar Ruggieri.’

‘If I could be convinced of their innocence . . .’

‘Do not pretend to me! You know they are innocent! Involved in a plot with my husband and brother they may have been. But they are my brother’s men. How could they help being involved if they were chosen to obey certain orders? But you know that they are innocent of this other charge of conspiring against the life of the King.’

‘They did not seem so at their trial, alas! La Mole said the image was of a lady, and he would not give her name. That was a little stupid of him.’

‘He is a chivalrous fool! As if I cared whether he mentioned my name! What is my reputation compared with his life!’

‘You shock me, daughter. Your reputation as Daughter of France and Queen of Navarre is of the utmost importance. Moreover, you should choose less chivalrous lovers.’

‘It is true then that you know the image was of myself?’

Catherine lifted her shoulders. ‘We must abide by the judges’ verdict, my dear.’

When Margot had gone, Catherine summoned Madalenna.

‘See that the Queen of Navarre is closely watched,’ she told Madalenna. ‘See that all her letters are brought to me . . . without fail . . . let nothing pass. See that all her actions are reported the instant they occur.’


* * *

Margot took Henriette to her ruelle and there they wept together.

‘But it is no use weeping, Henriette,’ cried Margot. ‘We must do something. I will not stand by and let this terrible thing happen to our darlings.’

‘But, Margot, what can we do?’

‘I have thought of something we might try.’

‘Margot! What is this?’

‘You know how we ride about unchallenged. The guards never look into my coach when they recognize the royal arms it bears. Henriette, I believe we could do this. We will dress ourselves in two gowns and two cloaks apiece; and masked, we will ride in my coach to Vincennes.’

‘Yes?’ cried Henriette. ‘Yes?’

‘I will first of all make sure that I can bribe the jailers.’ Margot’s eyes began to sparkle in spite of her tears. This was an adventure such as she loved. ‘That should not be difficult. I think I can do it. And then we shall visit our lovers. You shall go to the dungeon of Annibale and I to that of Boniface. When we are there we will, with all speed, take off our top cloaks and one of our dresses. La Mole shall get into mine and Coconnas into yours.’