On the other side of the river were assembled the Queen of Spain and those who accompanied her to the border. Philip had not deigned to come; he had more weighty matters to occupy him; but representing him had come the great Duke of Alva.

The fiery heat of the midsummer sun was unbearable, and several of Catherine’s soldiers died of suffocation in their armour before the arrival of the Queen of Spain.

Catherine greeted her daughter warmly; Elisabeth was aloof, solemn, correct; in five years they had made a Spanish lady of the little French girl. Yet Catherine noticed, even in that first ceremonial greeting, that Elisabeth had not entirely forgotten the fear she had once had of her mother.

In great pomp they crossed the river, and the next day they rode into the town of Bayonne with greater magnificence than any in that town had ever seen before. Elisabeth rode between her brother Henry and the Cardinal of Bourbon, with a hundred gentlemen about them. The chief citizens of the town of Bayonne, richly dressed in scarlet, held a canopy over the Queen of Spain as they escorted her to the Cathedral, whence, after listening to music and prayer, she went to the Royal Palace, where little King Charles was lodged. Catherine noticed that the men of Spain who were in attendance were mounted on miserable mules and wore no state dress; she knew by this that Philip of Spain intended to snub her; he was implying by this lack of respect that he did not care for what his Ambassador had told him of Catherine’s recent manoeuvres with the Huguenot Party.

Little Charles gave his sister, as a present, a horse with a saddle ornamented with precious stones and pearls; other gifts were exchanged, and the tournaments, balls, masques and banquets, which were to last for days, began. The peasants danced their native dances before the royal visitors and their suites; others played on the musical instruments which were indigenous to their particular region. The Provençaux played their cymbals; the Champenois showed their skill with the hautbois, while the Bourgignons joined them; and the Poitevins performed on the bagpipes. Great prominence was given to all things Spanish; music from Spain figured largely in the entertainments; Spanish dances were danced by all; and Ronsard had composed poems for the occasion which were read aloud, and all these praised the greatness of Spain.

But the two parties had not met merely to dance together and to praise each other. Under cover of these festivities they met as opponents in the game of statecraft – Catherine with little King Charles for France, and Elisabeth with the experienced Duke of Alva for Spain.

The Duke of Alva was about fifty-five at this time, a finely made man with all the solemnity and dignity of a Spanish don. His thin face, with its yellowish skin, looked like that of a man already dead, but Catherine was aware of those keen and piercing eyes and all the shrewdness which lay behind them. She knew she would have need of all her cunning, and that King Charles would be of little use to her in their game of wits.

They met – the four of them; and when they did so Catherine felt a momentary anger against the Queen of Spain. She had never liked children who were not docile to her command, and Elisabeth, very lovely now with the abundant black hair which she had inherited from her father, and those black eyes and the dazzling, white skin, seemed more Spanish than French, far more the wife of King Philip of Spain than the daughter of Catherine de’ Medici. Elisabeth hated those whom she called ‘heretic’ as much as did her husband; and it was startling to see her beautiful face grow almost ugly with hatred whenever the word Huguenot was mentioned.

She talked to Catherine of the religious troubles in France, but Catherine did not wish to discuss these matters with one who had become as rigorously Catholic as her royal husband.

‘Your husband suspects me of favouring the Huguenots,’ said Catherine.

‘What cause have you to think, Madame, that the King mistrusts your Majesty?’ asked Elisabeth. ‘Only evil-minded people could give you such ideas.’

Catherine sighed. Here was some of that deceit of which she herself was mistress. She said: ‘Oh, dearest daughter, you have become very Spanish.’

‘You are afraid of war with Spain,’ said Elisabeth, ignoring the comment. ‘If that is so, why do you not talk to the Duke? That is why he is here, Madame – that you may come to terms which will bring peace to our two countries.’

Catherine turned to the Duke and talked of the marriages she wished to arrange. First, Don Carlos and Margot. They could see for themselves what a bright little Princess Margot was, and Don Carlos would be surely enchanted with her. And, second, Philip’s sister Juana and Prince Henry. It was true that Juana was a little old for Henry, but in royal marriages a difference of age must not be looked upon as a barrier.

The Duke of Alva smiled his thin smile. ‘I notice that you do not mention religion, Madame. And that, I assure you, should be the main subject of our discussion.’

As there was no help for it, Catherine began to talk of all that had happened in recent years in her country – always from her point of view; but Alva insisted on giving his version of affairs, which was a little different from that of Catherine.

‘Well,’ said Catherine at length, ‘what is the remedy which will put an end to our troubles? Tell me that.’

‘But, Madame,’ said Alva suavely, ‘who knows better than you do? Is it not you who should say what has to be done? Tell me, and I will pass on your wishes to my royal master.’

‘Your royal master knows better than I do what is happening in France!’ retorted Catherine. ‘Tell me by what means he proposes to suppress the Huguenots.’

‘To take up arms would be useless,’ said Alva. ‘Strong measures must suffice. Banish the sect from France.’

The Queen of Spain put in: ‘Why does not my brother, King Charles, chastise all who rebel against God?’

Charles looked in fear at his mother, who said sharply: ‘He does all that is possible.’ She saw the fanatical gleam in the eyes of her daughter and in those of Alva. To avoid the subject of religion, she tried to speak once more of the proposed marriages, but Alva stopped her. He dispensed with the customary etiquette and solemnity of Spain and spoke bluntly:

‘Madame, we must settle this matter of religion. Give it your consideration, and we will discuss it later. I shall tell you the wishes of my master, and I think you will agree with him.’

And so it was that later, in a quiet gallery of the Bayonne Palace, Alva and Catherine talked earnestly together. It was comparatively cool in the shaded gallery, sheltered as it was from the great heat of the midsummer sun. Alva in his darkly severe Spanish dress and Catherine in her long black robes paced back and forth, their garments flapping as they walked, like the wings of giant birds.

‘… the heads of Condé and Coligny, Madame, should be severed from their bodies,’ said Alva quietly. ‘Condé is a man whom many will follow, but he is not a great man. Nevertheless, we shall not be safe from these heretics until he is dead. The Admiral of France too must die. He is a leader of men, a man who knows how to bind men to him. He is a great soldier; and yet you allow him to lead your enemies!’

‘My lord Duke, how could I lay hands on such a man?’

‘Madame, Monsieur de Guise was a great man, yet he was shot by a spy of Coligny’s. Coligny works fast, while you hesitate. Can this hesitation be due to your fondness for these Huguenots?’

‘You have been listening to evil tales concerning me. I have no love for the Huguenots. I am a true Catholic.’

‘I wonder how your Majesty can administer justice when it has to pass through the hands of your Chancellor, Michel l’Hôpital … the Huguenot!’

‘He is not a Huguenot, my lord Duke.’

‘You, Madame, must be the only person in France who does not think so. In your husband’s lifetime he was known as a Protestant, and as long as he is Chancellor, Huguenots will be favoured. My Catholic King wants to know what you propose to do to remedy these matters. This is the reason why the Queen and I are here at Bayonne.’

Catherine could only reply: ‘I am a true Catholic. You must believe this.’

‘Your Majesty will have to prove it.’

‘That I will do. But … in my own way. I will not plunge my country into civil war. These things must be done slowly, cautiously, and over a long time. I have a notion that I might, on some pretext or other, gather in one spot all the most influential of the Huguenots, all their leaders and thousands of their followers.’

‘And then, Madame?’

Catherine’s eyes shone. ‘Then, my lord Duke, I would suggest that the Catholics should deal with them, take them by surprise.’

The Duke nodded. ‘His Catholic Majesty would need to see such evidence before he felt he could have complete confidence in your good faith.’

Catherine went on talking as though she had not heard him. ‘It would be in Paris – for Paris is our most loyal city, Paris is Catholic. Yes, some pretext … I know not what as yet. For that we must wait. This must not have the air of being arranged; it must happen naturally … a sudden annihilation of the heretics by those of the true faith. All the important leaders would surely die – Condé, Coligny, Rochefoucauld … every one of them and all their followers, every single Huguenot in the city.’

‘I will carry your plans to his most Catholic Majesty.’

She laid her fingers to her lips. ‘Never let it be mentioned in despatches. It is a matter for our ears alone and those of his Majesty. I do not know when it will be possible, but I give you my word that it shall be. I must wait for the opportunity … the perfect moment. It may not be for years. His Majesty must trust me till then.’