She conveyed this to Alençon and he, guessing that if his friend remained in Paris some means of murdering him would be found. agreed to Bussy’s temporary banishment, although the loss of such a friend weakened his position considerably. As for Margot, she was furious to be robbed of her lover, and she blamed du Guast; she was determined that he should suffer for what he had done to her.

Catherine offered sympathy to Margot as well as to Alençon.

‘Bussy is a fine man,’ she said. ‘A most amusing gentleman. He is the best swordsman in Paris.’ To Alençon she said: ‘He would have been a good friend to you, my son, if you could have kept him with you. You know whom you have to blame for his banishment.’

‘Du Guast!’ said Alençon and Margot simultaneously.

He grows too important,’ said Catherine. ‘He has cast a spell over the King. There will be no releasing His Majesty from the spell while that man lives.’

‘It would be well,’ said Margot, ‘if someone shot him as tried to shoot poor Bussy.’

‘Yes,’ agreed Catherine. ‘But such affrays often fail. Remember Monsieur de Coligny. And there is this affair of Bussy him_ self. There are better methods. Let us hope that one day this man will be strangled in his bed. There would be no mistake then. An assassin . . . secreted in his bedchamber, and while he sleeps . . . Why, it would not be known who had done the deed, and that is important when a man is such a favourite of a King.’

Margot and Alençon were silent. They both understood. Catherine wanted du Guast out of the way, but, in view of the King’s devotion to the man and Catherine’s desire not to offend her beloved, she wished it to seem that she had had no hand in this murder.

‘It would assuredly be a pleasure to hear that he had been strangled in his bed,’ said Margot.

Catherine left them together, to talk over, as she thought, this idea she had given them. She did not know that her son and daughter were busy with another plan.

Alençon was not going to endure being kept in semi-captivity. He was impatient. Margot called in Navarre, and the three of them talked together.

‘It is very necessary,’ said Margot, ‘that you two sink your differences. Madame de Sauves is very beautiful, I grant you; but she is far more fond of Messieurs de Guise and du Guast than of either of you. Moreover, do you not see that du Guast has become her intimate so that he can discover all that he wishes to know about you? You are fools, both of you. You let that woman lead you by the nose.’

‘Love, I fancy, has led you by the nose more than once,’ retorted Navarre.

‘In my youthful folly that may have been so. But I grow up, Monsieur. I profit from experience. But . . . to this matter which is of such great importance: you must bestir yourselves. You must escape. While you stay here the King will continue to insult you both; he will kill your men, as he nearly killed Bussy. This is my plan: you, my brother, are not kept in such restraint that you cannot visit your mistress; so we will use that woman as she has been using you. You will go to visit her in your coach. When you arrive at her house she will be engaged with my husband, and’—Margot shot a glance at Navarre—’she will not have time to tell anybody that she is spending the evening with him. He will detain her while you, my brother, make your way to the back of the house, where horses will be waiting with a few of your trusted friends. It will be simple if only you two will do your best to make it so.’

Navarre gave her a heavy slap on the back. ‘What a wise woman I have married!’ he said. ‘I admire in particular the way in which she arranges my assignation with your mistress, Alençon.’

Alençon scowled at his rival in love; but they both realized the wisdom of Margot’s plan and determined to carry it out.


* * *

When he heard of his brother’s escape, the King flew into a passion of rage, and the first person he sent for was his sister.

‘Do not think you shall thus flout me!’ he cried. ‘Where is Alençon?’

‘I do not know, Sire,’ answered Margot calmly.

‘You shall tell me. I will have you whipped. Do not think that I will endure your insolence. When did you last see him?’

‘I have not seen him this day.’

‘After him!’ cried the King to his men. ‘Bring him back. By God, teach him what it means to flout me.’

Catherine was beside him. ‘Calm yourself, my dear. You can do no good by flying into such rages. He shall be found, never fear.’

My sister shall tell me what she knows. She has aided him in this. They have been great friends . . . more than friends, if I can believe reports . . . and I do believe reports. There is nothing too immoral for those two to indulge in.’

‘Now, my son! There are always evil reports about us. I recollect similar reports about you and your sister. Do you remember the time when you and she were so fond of each other?’

‘I was foolish ever to be fond of her. She is a sly, deceitful wanton.’

‘We learn by our mistakes,’ said Catherine. ‘Sometimes we turn our backs on our real friends and trust our enemies . . .’ ‘Mother, what shall I do? I must find him.’

She smiled tenderly. ‘Have no fear. This is not such a ca. lamity as some of your friends ask you to believe it to be. I will see that nothing ill comes of it. As for your sister . . .’ She smiled at Margot as though to say: ‘We must soothe him, for I declare his passions resemble those of our poor mad Charles.’ ‘As for your sister,’ she went on, ‘I have no doubt that she knows nothing of this. Why, had she helped anyone to escape, surely it would have been her husband.’

‘Keep Navarre under control.’

‘That shall be done. My daughter, you may go now. Your brother is sorry that he misjudged you.’

Margot was glad to escape. She felt gleeful. Alençon was gone. Next it would be the turn of Navarre.

Catherine went to her daughter’s apartment. Navarre was with her.

‘It is that favourite of the King’s who works him up into these rages,’ said Catherine. ‘It surprises me that du Guast is allowed to live. There must be many who would like to see him out of the way. There is much crime in our country. Innocent men are murdered for a few francs, they tell me; and yet Monsieur du Guast is allowed to live! The ways of God are strange indeed.’

‘Perhaps,’ said Navarre, ‘the gentleman will not live much longer, for although the good God works in a mysterious manner, the ways of men—and women—are more transparent.’

Catherine felt uncomfortable under that shrewd scrutiny.

She went to the apartment which her son had recently vacated. There she found some of his most intimate friends. She looked sadly about her and wiped her eyes.

‘You must forgive me, my friends,’ she said, ‘for you are my friends, since you love my son. It is a worried mother whom you see before you. I pray the saints will preserve Monsieur d’Alençon.’

‘Is is true, Madame,’ asked one, ‘that the King has threatened his life?’

Nay. That is the kind of tale that is bruited abroad. My son is surrounded by evil advisers, I fear. I would God would free him from all evil men. Perhaps He may, for the mignons have their enemies. It surprises me that he—and you know, my friends, that I refer to the greatest and most destructive of them all—it amazes me that he has not been murdered in his bed, for such murder would be easy, and who would be able to name the murderer? I am sure Monsieur d’Alençon would be safer than he is now if that deed were committed; I am sure he would be ready to reward with his favours the one who should rid him of such a menace. But I talk too much. I know, my friends, that you will pray with me this night for my younger son’s safety.’

She left them, wiping her eyes as she went.


* * *

Du Guast lay in his bed. It was ten o’clock and he was tired. He could hear the first of the October gales stripping the leaves off the trees and rustling the hangings at the windows of his bedchamber.

He was well content with life, for he considered that the King was ready to be swayed whither he, du Guast, intended. The King adored his favourite and du Guast was growing richer every day. His latest acquisitions had been some rich bishoprics, which he had been able to sell for vast sums. He could, he believed, call himself the uncrowned King of France. It amused him to think of. all the arrogant princes—men like Guise and Navarre—who were of little account when compared with Louis Bérenger du Guast. But it was more gratifying to contemplate the Queen Mother than any of those others in this connexion.

He was tired and preferred sleep even to such contented contemplation.

He dozed, but was almost immediately awakened by the sound of groans close to his bed. He opened his eyes, startled, and peered into the darkness. He thought that he must have been dreaming.

He had closed his eyes again, but the sound of his bed- curtains being pulled apart made him open them quickly. He could make out the shadowy shapes of several men who stood about his bed. One of them clapped a hand over his mouth as he opened it to scream.

He did not have time to think with regret of the great wealth he had amassed, to ask himself whether the Princes of Navarre and Guise were not better off than he was; nor was there time to wonder whether, after all, the power of the Queen Mother was as great as it had ever been.

There was no time to do anything but to die.


* * *

Catherine had quietly assumed control of the King, who, stricken with grief, declared nothing could compensate him for the death of his favourite. Epernon, Joyeuse and Caylus tried to arouse his interest in clothes and jewels, while they vied with each other in trying to win the place of first favourite which had become vacant by du Guast’s death. The King’s lap-dogs seemed to comfort him more than anything, and he and his wife the Queen, rode together round Paris looking for new ones which they might add to their collection; but everywhere he went, the King complained, he was reminded of his lost darling; and the people called out unkind and obscene remarks after his carriage as he drove about.

He blamed Margot for the murder of du Guast, and his hatred of his sister was intense. Catherine, fearing that he might have her murdered, suggested that she be kept a prisoner, a hostage for Alençon. ‘If we keep her under lock and key,’ she said, ‘we shall know that she is not helping Alençon; besides, he is fond of her, and he will not be too rash if he knows that she may have to answer for his misdeeds.’

Henry nodded. ‘You are right. Let us lock her up.’

It was like old times, thought Catherine; she had only had to rid herself of du Guast, and she and Henry resumed their old relationship. How foolish she had been—and how unlike herself—to lose heart as she had done! She could always gain control over her sons by careful action.

Henry grew a little brighter; he was grieving less, and he was beginning to bestow a great deal of attention on Epernon. She must watch that young man and be certain that he did not become too influential; it would not be so easy to remove another favourite.

But what a mischievous family was hers! Alençon was determined on revenge, determined on power; he was now mustering an army and was in touch with the two Montmorencys, Thoré and Méru; he was calling together the subjects of Navarre. He had written several letters to various people of the court—and unfortunately they had not fallen into Catherine’s hands and the object of these letters was to discredit the King and his mother.

‘It was very necessary for me to escape,’ he wrote, ‘not only for the sake of my liberty, but because news was brought to me that His Majesty was about to take some advice concerning me which was moulded on the counsels of Cesare Borgia.’

That was a direct stab at his mother, for her knowledge of those morceauxItalianizés was alleged to have been acquired from the Borgias.

Alençon also wrote that he had heard the news which was circulating about Montgomery and Cossé, who had been in prison ever since they had been arrested at the time of the affair of La Mole and Coconnas. There had been orders to strangle these two men in their dungeons, but their jailers had refused to carry out such sentences. Nor would they administer the morceaux, no matter whence came the instructions.

‘I have narrowly escaped,’ wrote Alençon. ‘There are spies in my camp. Last evening when we were at dinner, wine was offered to me. It was very well mixed, sweet and delicious, but when I gave it to Thoré and he tasted it, he commented on its extreme sweetness, and it struck me that there was too much sweetness in that wine. So I would drink no more, nor allow my friends to do so; and although shortly afterwards we were very sick, we were saved through the grace of God and the good remedies which were at hand. My friend, you see why it was necessary for me to leave my brother’s court.’