‘That may be, my darling. But how do we know what she is about while she is away from us?’

‘It is Navarre who is more to be feared than Margot.’

‘I am not sure. They are both dangerous. Ask them to pay us a visit. I should feel happier if they were here on the spot. I can find a woman for him, and you know that I have means of hearing most things that go on around me. It is not easy when they are so far away. Unfortunately, my listening tubes do not extend to Nérac.’

‘They would not come, even though I commanded them.’ ‘She would; and it might be possible to get her help in luring him here.’

‘Would you keep them prisoners here?’

‘I would see that he did not find it easy to escape again.’

‘But do you think she would come? Do you remember how importunate she was when she wished to get away?’

‘My dear son, Margot is never happy in one place for long at a time. She writes now that she has no news worthy of report, for Gascony grows news only like itself. By that she means that she longs for the court of France. She wants to hear about Paris. She only has to think of the Seine and her eyes fill with tears! Do you think any place but the court of France could please Margot long? Depend upon it, she now wishes to return as once she wished to go. We should have no difficulty in persuading her to return.’

‘But what of Navarre? Would he agree to her coming?’

‘If it were put to him as Margot would put it, he would agree. She would doubtless offer to act as his spy here at court. We should see all that she wrote to him. It would be our task to get her to lure him here. I will suggest that she comes. I am sure that she must be tired of Monsieur de Turenne; I am astonished that she was faithful to him for so long. What does the air of Béarn do to these two? Navarre was faithful to La Fosseuse until she wearied him with her troubles; and now they say he is showing the same fidelity to Corisanda. Oh, certainly Margot will have grown tired of Turenne ere this. That must be why she says Gascony grows only news like itself!’

Very well,’ said the King. ‘Ask them both to come. I should feel happier to have Navarre here as my prisoner.’

‘Send her a gift of money. Tell her that you would like to see her. Be warm and loving. I doubt not that then she will come.’

Catherine was right. Although Navarre refused his invitation bluntly, Margot was delighted with hers. Navarre reminded Margot that his mother had died in Paris, very suddenly, very mysteriously. ‘Remember Monsieur de Coligny,’ he said. ‘Remember hundreds of my friends who once went to Paris for a wedding.’

Margot lifted her shoulders. ‘It may be better for me to go alone. I will keep you informed of all that happens at court. It is well that you should know something of what they are planning.’

He agreed with this, and Margot made her preparations for the journey. There was a reason, other than boredom with her husband’s court and her distaste of staying too long in one place, why she wished to leave for Paris. When Anjou had stayed at Nérac there had been a very charming gentleman in his suite, a certain Jacques de Harlay, who was the Lord of Champvallon. Margot and he had been mutually attracted; there had been one or two tender meetings between them; unfortunately, they were surprised during one of these, in somewhat compromising attitudes, by Margot’s greatest enemy at the court—a sly and very virtuous Huguenot, Agrippa d’Aubigné. D’Aubigné, a gentleman of Navarre’s chamber, was as fond of writing as Margot was and, like her, took a great delight in chronicling the events of his day as they occurred. He knew his Scriptures well; he believed that he who was without sin should cast the first stone; and as he was certain that he himself was without sin, he had always a very big stone ready to cast. To such a man a beautiful, fascinating and vivacious Queen such as. Margot seemed the embodiment of all evil; his hatred of her coloured all his writings; nor was it his pen alone which he employed against her.

Margot at that time, deeply involved with Turenne, had no great wish to give him up for the handsome Champvallon, who would leave the court of Nérac with Anjou; but she wrote to him frequently and in a more hyberbolic style than she usually employed, even in her love letters. ‘Farewell, my beautiful sun, she wrote, ‘you beautiful miracle of nature. I kiss you a million times on that loving, beautiful mouth.’ Such letters did not always find their way direct to the one for whom they were intended, and Margot’s passion for Champvallon was known to others besides themselves.

Now, having tired a little of Monsieur de Turenne, Margot looked forward to reunion with Champvallon in Paris.

Arriving at the capital. Margot was warmly welcomed by Champvallon, but less warmly by the King and her mother. She saw now that they had asked her to come so that they might keep her under surveillance, and that they had no intention of altering their attitude towards her.

Margot was unperturbed. She was in her beloved Paris; she was at the court of France where she belonged; she took an immense delight in her surroundings and many of the courtiers were declaring that the sun had come back to shine once more upon them. She was the centre of all balls, masques, and entertainments; she was the leader of fashion; and as she was by this time passionately in love with Champvallon, she was enjoying life.

Sometimes she encountered Henry of Guise, and these meetings never failed to excite her. He was still the lover of Madame de Sauves, but Margot knew that his dreams of his future greatness occupied him far more than any mistress ever could. The League, under his guidance, was spreading across the land. There were occasions when she longed to ask him to tell her of the League’s activities, of his plans which, had they all gone as she had once so ardently desired, would have been her plans, her dreams, her hopes.

But there was Champvallon to remind her that she had done with the old passion for Henry of Guise. Why fret about it when there was a new one, and when there had been many in between, and would be many more to follow.

Catherine was urging Margot to persuade her husband to come to Paris, but Navarre sent continuous refusals. Catherine knew that as soon as Margot had arrived at court she had begun to act as her husband’s spy, but that had been expected and provided little occasion for anxiety, for Catherine believed she intercepted all their correspondence.

Margot had been some months at court when an incident occurred which aroused the King’s wrath to such an extent that he determined on revenge.

His beloved mignon, Joyeuse, had desired to become the Archbishop of Narbonne and envoy to the Holy See, and although this young man was not yet twenty-one years of age and was completely lacking in the necessary qualifications, he had so charmingly begged for the honour that the King had been unable to resist throwing it to him as though it were a sugared plum—even though it meant that the darling must absent himself from court for a while to visit Rome. While Joyeuse was in Rome, Henry sent dispatches to him, but the royal courier had been waylaid and shot, and these dispatches were stolen.

The King was furious, half suspecting his mother, for this smacked of her methods, yet he decided he would blame his sister, for he was looking for a charge to trump up against her.

He wished to take his revenge in a manner which would bring her the greatest shame, and, acting without consulting his mother, but taking instead the advice of his darlings, he chose the state ball as the occasion.

Margot looked as striking as ever that night; she wore her hair loose about her shoulders and adorned with diamonds; her dress was of scarlet velvet.

She was dancing when the King gave a sign to the musicians to stop. The dancers stood silent, wondering what was wrong. The King then strode to that spot where his sister stood.

‘Behold!’ he cried, addressing the assembly. ‘Behold this wanton! My friends, I am ashamed to own her as my sister. I could not begin to enumerate her crimes to you. There are too many, and I, mercifully, am unaware of them all. I might name forty men who have been her lovers . . . but, my friends, that would by no means complete the list. There is one Champvallon. Do you know that she bore his son recently here in Paris? This is so. With wicked secrecy she endeavoured to keep this from us, but we are not foolish, nor so blind as she thinks.’

Margot’s eyes blazed. ‘You . . .’ she cried. ‘You . . . with your painted mignons . . . to call me immoral . .

The King’s eyes narrowed, and Margot was aware that two of his mignons had taken their stand on either side of her. Beware! mocked their eyes. No one speaks to the King of France as you have . . . and lives!

Margot’s fear was greater than her fury. Never before had she realized the depth of her brother’s hatred. She had been foolish to plague his mignons, to show her enmity towards them. She saw now how right her husband had been when he had refused to walk into the trap by coming to Paris. She was sure this was a prelude to her arrest.

She looked appealingly at her mother.

Catherine stood silently watching. She was sick at heart. These children of hers, with their folly, were wrecking all that she had worked for. This story would be told all over the streets of Paris, distorted, enlarged; and the sum of the iniquities of the house of Valois would be totted up afresh, with the result that there would be a bigger total for the discontented to grumble over.

‘Brother,’ said Margot, ‘you have been listening to lies. I have no child.’

Her mother whispered to her: ‘Say nothing. Depart at once. Go to your apartments. It is your only chance if you would escape your brother’s anger.’

Margot bowed and, holding her head high, walked out while the assembly, in silence, made way for her.

Her women gathered round her in her apartments. What now? they asked each other.

Margot lay on her bed, apprehensive, yet enjoying, as usual, a dangerous situation; and, although the King had accused her of having an illegitimate child, and that news would soon be all over Paris, all over France, she was not entirely displeased. Her sterility—the result of the sins of her grandfathers—was deeply regretted by her; so, if she could not bear children, it was a little gratifying to be suspected of having done so.

Nothing more happened that night, but when she awakened it was to find sixty archers in her bedchamber. This was a meaningless indignity put on her by the King, for they had not come to arrest her, but merely to bring a message from him commanding her to ‘deliver the city of her presence without delay’.

As Champvallon, when informed of the scene in the ballroom during which his name had been mentioned, had fled to Germany fearing the vengeance of the King, Margot decided to obey her brother without delay, and accordingly set out that very day for Gascony.

The King came delightedly to his mother. ‘There, you see! I have rid our court of that spy, and done it promptly. As Ep. ernon said from the first, it was a mistake to bring her here.’

Catherine shook her head. ‘My son, how I wish that you would take my advice before you act rashly. It is far better to have such a dangerous person under our eyes than far away. And I greatly fear that your manner of dismissing her was most unwise.’

‘I am a man,’ said the King, ‘who, once he has made up his mind, acts promptly.’

‘Sometimes it is wiser to ponder awhile,’ said Catherine. ‘We shall see whether you were right or whether you should have taken my advice and acted more cautiously.’

Henry soon did see. Navarre, having heard of the King’s attack on Margot, sent dispatches to the King telling him that he could not be expected to take back a wife whom the King of France—her own brother—had so publicly slandered.

The fact was that Corisanda was pregnant and, being very eager to possess a son and heir to his dominions, the King of Navarre contemplated marrying her. He said in his dispatches that he thought he should receive reparation for the royal family’s having married him to such a woman. He wanted a divorce. What would Christendom say, he demanded, if he received a woman on whom the great King of France had inflicted such public scandal before banishing her from his court!

Catherine raised expressionless eyes to her son’s face; but the King ignored her and refused to admit that he had been wrong.