His hands began to twitch and pull at his jacket – the well-known signs of hysteria.

‘But I will not do these things. I will not put myself in danger.’

‘You have your mother to look after you. And, Charles, do you realise how fortunate you are to have a mother whose one thought is the welfare of her children?’

‘I do realise that.’

‘Then you will remember that you are a child yet, and that wise children are guided by their parents. Papa is with me in all I do. I feel him near me … guiding me. You would want to do what Papa and I know to be wise?’

‘Yes, Maman.’

‘That is a good boy; that is a wise King. You must be wise, for if you are not, terrible things will happen to you. Kings have been murdered ere this.’

‘No, Maman, no! Do not tell me. I know … I know these things are, but do not speak of them or I shall have bad dreams to-night, and when I have these dreams …’

She embraced him.

‘We will not speak of them, but you know, do you not, my son, my little King, that you must be very wise? You have been guilty – ah, yes, I fear you have been a little guilty – of infidelity to your brother, your dead brother. What if Francis did not understand and came down from Heaven to haunt you?’

‘He would not come to haunt me. I love Francis. I have always loved him.’

‘And you loved his wife …’

‘Not … not … only as a sister.’

‘And you want to marry your sister?’

‘Only after a time when Mary has recovered from her grief and I have recovered from mine.’

‘Listen, Charles. Go carefully. Not a word of your intentions towards your sister-in-law to anyone. You would not find many to understand as I understand.’

‘No, Maman.’

‘There might be some who would be angry. Now, remember. Why, if this were to reach Mary’s ears … or those of her uncles, what would they think?’

Charles smiled a little slyly, she thought. ‘Oh, I do not think Monsieur the Duke and Monsieur the Cardinal would mind very much. Mary would be the Queen of France if she married me.

Catherine said firmly: ‘Now, take heed of this very carefully. If the people of France knew of your evil thoughts concerning your brother’s wife, if they knew of your unholy intentions, they would rise against you. And one day when you walked abroad a man would come up to you and … you would think he was a friend until you saw the knife gleaming in his hand. Then you would cry out as you felt the cold steel pierce your heart. The pain, my son, would be terrible. I will tell you …’

‘No, no! I know. You are right, Maman. I must tell no one. I will say nothing.’

Catherine put her fingers to her lips. ‘Swear to me, my son, swear you will be wise and say not a word of this to Mary and her uncles. This is our secret. No one else whatsoever must know of it. And if at any time you feel inclined to speak, remember cold steel … in your heart … just about … there. You would swoon with the pain, for it is unbearable, but your swoon would not last and you would wake to your agony … dreadful agony … and the sight of blood on your clothes, and all about you … the stench of blood in your nostrils … your own blood.’

Charles was shaking with fear. ‘I will not tell. I will not tell.’ He caught her hand. ‘But later … later, you will help me? You must let me have Mary for my wife.’

She put her lips to his forehead. ‘I shall do everything in my power, everything for your good.’

He knelt and kissed her hand; she felt the trembling of his small body, the tears on her hand; and, smiling, she thought: I will see you dead before I put that spy back on the throne.


* * *

Jeanne was worried. The news from the court of France was too good to be true.

Was it possible that the Guises could have become so weak that they bowed to the greater power of the Bourbons? What of the Queen Mother? How was it that she had suddenly become the dearest friend of Antoine and Louis de Bourbon? How was it that Coligny and the Huguenot leaders were being received at court? Something strange and unhealthy was afoot.

But she was far from the court of France, and she felt that it was better for herself and her family – and perhaps most of all her husband – if she remained where she was, safe in her own province, at the head of an army which was ready for any emergency that might arise.

She had had long discussions with her religious advisers, and it seemed to her that now the time had come for her to announce her complete conversion to the Reformed Faith.

There was nothing to stop her, and with a new King on the throne of France this seemed as propitious a time as any.

She was convinced that the Protestant Faith was the true one, and she wanted the whole of France – and Spain – to know that from henceforth she would support this Faith with everything at her disposal.

This might be a test as to whether the court of France was sincere in its new tolerance. If the Catholic Guises were really in decline, she felt she would soon know, and that this public avowal of hers would enable her to know the sooner.

Before departing for Nérac, where she intended to stay well fortified, awaiting fresh news from her husband, she went formally to the Cathedral at Pau and there attended Holy Communion in accordance with the Reformed ritual.

Jeanne of Navarre was now acknowledged as one of the leaders of the Huguenots; she was standing side by side with the brothers Coligny and with her husband, Antoine, King of Navarre, and his brother, Louis de Bourbon, the Prince of Condé.

This caused rejoicing among the Huguenot population throughout France. Jeanne was recognised as a staunch leader, even though her husband was suspect. With Jeanne and the Condés and the Colignys, the Huguenot Party felt itself rich in the right sort of leaders, and it seemed to them that a new liberty was beginning to dawn in the political sky. The Huguenots now began to give themselves airs, to become arrogant in their new importance. There were stones of Huguenot atrocities carried out against Catholics. The wheel seemed to be slowly turning.

There were many rumours circulating about the Queen Mother. It was whispered that she was gradually becoming converted to the Protestant Faith and that she would have the royal children brought up in that religion.

But what had happened to the Guises? Was it possible that the death of one sickly little King and his replacement by another, even younger and almost as sickly, had brought about the eclipse of such men?

Letters began to arrive at Nérac for Jeanne, and when she recognised the hand in which they were written, a smile of contempt curved her lips. She would never believe in the sincerity of Catherine. She had seen that quiet smile given to Diane de Poitiers; she had noted the meek expression which seemed to say: ‘Stamp on me. Humiliate me. I like it.’ Then she remembered that message which had been sent to Diane when King Henry, Catherine’s husband and Diane’s lover, lay dying: ‘Return all his gifts. Hold nothing back. I have noted every one.’ All the cunning in the world was hidden behind that expressionless face, and because it was successfully hidden, it behoved one to be the more wary of it.

How was Antoine faring at court? Of what indiscretions was he guilty? How could he – light-hearted, flippant, weak as water – deal with such a sly one as the Queen Mother?

The letters were affectionate. Catherine called Jeanne her ‘dear sister’. Jeanne must come to court, for Catherine longed for a sight of her. ‘Come, my good sister, and bring your little ones with you, those darlings whom I think of as my own. I have a plan which I should like to discuss with you. It concerns your Catherine, my little namesake. Do not forget that I am her godmother. I would like to arrange a match between her and my little Henry. Such an alliance, dearest sister, would render our union indissoluble. You could not have a more affectionate and sincere relative than myself …’

This, from the craftiest woman in the world! What did it mean? What could it mean?

Those were days of great uneasiness at Nérac.


* * *

Little King Charles had a new friend. This man had frequently come to the palace since the death of Francis, and now had apartments there.

Such a man, thought Charles, I should long to be.

To be with Gaspard de Coligny, the Admiral of France, was a pleasure; with this man Charles did not feel frightened or bewildered, and this in itself was a strange thing, for the Admiral was a great man, a far greater man than either of the King’s tutors.

They walked together in the grounds of the palace; they rode together. People said: ‘The King and the Admiral are the greatest of friends.’

Charles talked to the Admiral of the greatest fear in his life – the fear of horrible torture and death.

‘One should not fear death, Sire,’ said the Admiral, ‘for after death comes the life everlasting, the life of joy if it has been preceded by a good and honest effort here on Earth.’

‘But, Admiral, if one has committed sins …’

The Admiral smiled. ‘The sins of a boy of ten years could not be great ones. I think it would be easy to obtain forgiveness for them.’

‘I have asked for the intercession of the saints.’

‘There are some of us who appeal to God direct, Sire.’

The New Faith! It was exciting to hear of it; and there was nothing wrong in hearing of it, because his mother, it was said, had given her support to it.

How pleasant it was to listen, not only to the Admiral’s talking of the New Faith, but to hear him tell of battles he had fought, and of how, when he was a prisoner in Flanders, he had seen what he called ‘The Light’! How happy the King felt after these sessions, how stimulated, for when he was with the Admiral, although they often talked of wars and bloodshed, these things were different when spoken of by this man who doubtless knew more of them than did Charles’s tutors and his mother.