‘His Most Catholic Majesty, the King of Spain, thinks often of you, Sire. He grieves that you should put yourself at the head of heretics, for that way lies disaster. Give up this new religion and save your soul. And get yourself a triple crown at the same time.’

‘What is this? What do you mean, man?’

‘If you became a Catholic you could not remain married to a heretic.’

‘But … Jeanne is my wife.’

‘The Pope would let nothing stand in the way of your divorce from one who has publicly proclaimed herself to be a heretic. Moreover, there was a previous marriage with the Duke of Clèves, and this was binding. Oh, Monseigneur, Your Majesty would have no difficulty in divorcing your wife.’

‘But I had not thought of this. We have our children.’

‘Children who are illegitimate, since the woman you call your wife was first given to the Duke of Clèves! You would have other children – children to inherit a triple crown.’

‘Whose triple crown?’

‘Your own, for one.’

‘But I have that because it was bestowed on me through my wife.’

‘We need not let a little detail like that worry us, Sire. Your wife would lose all her possessions, as do all heretics. You would have your own crown – the crown of Sardinia – and in addition the crown of Scotland and the crown of England.’

How so?

‘By marriage with the Queen of Scots. His Most Catholic Majesty does not intend to allow the red-headed heretic to hold the throne of England for ever; and when she does not, who should? Mary Stuart, Queen of Scots. You see what glories I hold out to your Majesty.’

‘Yes,’ said Antoine, dazzled. ‘I see, Monsieur.’

‘And all you have to do is renounce Navarre and take this beautiful island of Sardinia in its place. Then shall you be married to the heiress of Scotland and England. Her uncles are most willing that the marriage should take place. Oh indeed you are a fortunate man! The triple crown within your grasp, and all you have to do is save your soul and divorce your wife.’

Antoine pondered in silence. Mary of Scots? That little beauty! And such great good fortune! It was enough to make a man thoughtful.

De Chantonnay came nearer and whispered: ‘There is a fourth crown that might be yours. But perhaps we should not speak of that yet. The little Charles is not, to my mind, a healthy child. And Henry? And Hercule?’ De Chantonnay lifted his shoulders and smiled shrewdly. ‘I would not say that those boys have long lives before them. And then, Sire, think what might be yours! This, as you know, could only come about with the aid of His Most Catholic Majesty.’ De Chantonnay’s face was very near Antoine’s as he whispered: ‘The most desirable crown of all, Sire – the crown of France!’


* * *

The Queen Mother was worried. Events were moving too fast and away from her control. She had reckoned without de Chantonnay. So he had offered to exchange Sardinia for Navarre! And that fool Antoine was actually dazzled by the prospect, foolishly believing Sardinia to be all that the Spaniard represented it.

If she were not careful, the Guises would have their niece back in France and the girl would be married to Antoine, for Louise had reported that he was wavering and showing more and more tolerance for the Catholic Faith.

She paced up and down her apartments. Was ever a woman so beset by enemies on all sides? Which way could she turn? To the Guises? To the Bourbons? To the Spanish Ambassador and that shadow which haunted her life, his grim master, Philip of Spain, her own son-in-law? Only for a little while could she turn to any of these, only for a little while walk along beside them in step. She was playing her own lonely game, a secret game; they must never guess what she was planning. She had to work alone, to keep her power, to keep the throne for Henry when the time came. And she doubted not that they were all working against her.

It was she who had, in a misguided moment, suggested Mary Queen of Scots for Antoine. How could she have guessed what such a suggestion would involve? She was beginning to wonder whether after all she was still a novice in this game of politics. She had made so many mistakes.

She must learn by these mistakes. She must prevent Antoine’s marriage with Mary Queen of Scots. What a dangerous alliance that would be! The Guises would not rest until they had Mary on the throne of France, and if Antoine became a Catholic they would wish to see him there too.

She had been foolish. She had shown too much favour to the Huguenots. So now the Catholic Party planned to set Antoine on the throne, with Mary Queen of Scotland as his Queen. What of her children – her little Charles, her darling Henry? These children might die. Others had quickly learned the secrets of those poisons which she and her followers had brought with them when they came to France. Was Charles weaker than he had been? Was Henry? It was typical of Catherine that she considered everyone to be as unscrupulous as herself, and that as her thoughts flew so often to poison, she should imagine that other people’s did also.

She was not sure which way to turn. But Jeanne of Navarre must be made to come to court. That much was obvious, for if anyone could prevent the divorce of Antoine and his wife, that one must surely be his wife.

She wrote affectionately to Jeanne. How were the dear little children? Did Jeanne not think that a match between her little Catherine, Catherine the Queen Mother’s own namesake, and Catherine’s own son Henry, would be a pleasant thing? ‘How it would bind us together!’ she wrote. ‘And then there is the match between my daughter Marguerite and your son Henry, which my husband decided on. We should discuss that together and, as you know, such discussions are difficult by letter …’

Then Catherine wrote once more to say that Jeanne must come north for the Council of Poissy.

‘My dear cousin, you know I am your friend. You know that these differences of faith, which have steeped our country in blood, distress me. I have thought it would be a good plan for members of both sides to get together, to discuss, to try to come to an understanding, this time without bloodshed; for what understanding was ever reached through bloodshed?’

When she had written the letters to Jeanne she summoned the Duchess of Montpensier to her, for, knowing this lady’s Huguenot sympathies, she felt she was the one to do what was required.

‘Ah, Madame de Montpensier,’ she said. ‘I am sending letters to the Queen of Navarre, and I think that you should write to her also. It is a very bitter subject, I know, but I am of the opinion that the Queen of Navarre should be made aware of it. It is my belief that if she were here she might be able to rescue that foolish husband of hers from his follies. Mademoiselle de la Limaudière grows larger every day with the King’s bastard. I do not like such things to be seen at my court, as you know. The King of Navarre is as devoted to the woman now as ever, and I think his wife should be told. There is another thing. I think that she should know that he is attempting to barter her kingdom for a worthless island. That man is foolish enough for anything. You are the Queen’s friend. Write to her and tell her of these things.’

‘I will write and tell her of the proposed exchange, Madame.’

‘You will also mention that the King’s bastard is spoiling Mademoiselle de la Limaudière’s slender figure.’

‘Madame, I …’

‘That,’ said Catherine, ‘is a command.’


* * *

The Monastery of Poissy at which the Council was held was not far from Saint-Germain; and to this monastery during those summer weeks came the important figures from the Catholic and Protestant movements. The Council was, as Catherine realised later, doomed to failure from the start.

When people were concerned with religion, they became fanatical. They would not give way. Endlessly they discussed the different tenets. What did it matter, Catherine wondered, how the sacrament was taken? Yet endlessly they must discuss and continually they must disagree on such subjects as the Ordination, Baptism, the Laying on of Hands.

Catherine, as she looked round at these great ones assembled in the monastery refectory, was thinking: Why do they fight each other? Why do they die for these causes, these stupid quibbles?

They were all the same: the crafty Cardinal of Lorraine and the mighty Duke of Guise; Calvin, who mercifully was not present; Théodore de Bèze; Michel de l’Hôpital, that fine Huguenot Chancellor to whose wise judgement she owed a good deal; Jeanne of Navarre and Eléonore de Condé; yes, they were fanatics, every one.

And what did she expect to come from the Council which she had arranged? Nothing – precisely nothing. They would never agree, these two factions. Nor did she wish them to; she only wished to let them think she hoped they would agree. For herself, she had no religion; for her there could only be expediency. But it was good, for her, that others should possess this fanaticism, since it made them vulnerable, while those who did not have to consider a faith were free to turn this way and that, to act not for what was right for their faith, but for what was to their own material advantage.


* * *

The excitement brought about by such a Council caused tension throughout the entire country. The Huguenots believed that the Queen Mother was, after all, on their side. Catherine, worried at the thought of what disaster might threaten herself and her family if Antoine turned Catholic and allied himself with the Guises, now began to show favour to the Huguenots. She wished to be sure of their support, although she realised that a section of the Huguenot community wished to eliminate the monarchy altogether and set up a presidency in its place.