‘How glad I am!’

‘What? Glad that your choice of a mistress is such that she is noticed neither for her wit nor her beauty?’

‘Madame,’ he said, ‘those who remain unnoticed by you are the safest.’

She looked at him sharply, and saw that obstinacy in his face which she had noticed before. He would not lightly let her take his mistress from him. And why should she? What harm could the little Touchet do? She was of no importance whatever. Touchet was safe enough.

‘Ah, enjoy yourself, my son,’ she said. ‘The duties of kingship are hard, but the privileges are rewarding. No woman, however virtuous, can resist a King.’

He stammered: ‘You do Marie wrong. She did not know … who I was. She loved me ere …’

Catherine patted his shoulder. ‘There, my son. Your mother but teased you. Go and enjoy your little Touchet to your heart’s content, I like her well enough. She is such a mild little playfellow.’

He kissed her hand, and she was pleased with him; he still obeyed her; that was what she wanted.

They had not been able to make a pervert of him. Nevertheless, it was hardly likely that he would procreate offspring. It would be an interesting experiment to let him be tried out on the little Touchet. If there was no child within a reasonable time, it might be safe to get him married and satisfy the people of France.

Henry was growing up. He was seventeen. Young yet for kingship, but in a few years’ time he would be ready. She must watch Charles, though. He must not think that, because he took a mistress, he was like other young men. He was not quite sane; he must never be allowed to forget that.

Charles had changed. Marie inspired him, gave him confidence, listened to his accounts of how his mother favoured his brother Henry. ‘He is to her as her right eye, Marie. There are times when I believe she wants the throne for him.’

‘Then she cannot have it for him,’ said Marie with sound provincial common sense. ‘Not while it is yours.’

In Marie’s company he felt truly a King.

One day his attendants came to him and told him that the Queen of Navarre, who was at court, wished to have a word with him.

He received her warmly, for he was fond of Jeanne, who was so calm and serene; she had the very qualities which he lacked and which he longed to possess. It was true that she was a Huguenot but – and he had determined that none should know this – Marie had confessed to him that she had leanings towards the Huguenot Faith, and though he had bidden her to tell no one, he felt a friendliness for the Huguenots that he had never felt before.

Jeanne was ushered into his presence. She kissed his hand.

‘You have something to say to me, dear Aunt,’ said Charles. ‘Shall I ask my mother if she will join us?’

‘Sire, I beg of you, do no such thing, for I would rather talk to you alone.’

Charles was flattered. People usually requested his mother’s presence, because they knew that nothing important could be decided without her.

‘Proceed then,’ said Charles, feeling just as a King should feel.

‘Sire, as you know, I am leaving Paris in the next few days to visit Picardy. I have long been separated from my son, and I think that the time has come for him to be presented to his vassals in Vendôme, through which I shall pass. I ask your most gracious permission for him to accompany me.’

‘But, my dear Aunt,’ said the King, ‘if it is your wish, certainly Henry shall go with you.’

‘Then I have your permission, Sire?’

He saw the joy in her face, and tears rushed to his eyes. How delightful it was to be able to give so much pleasure by granting a small request! It mattered not to him whether the noisy lustful Henry of Navarre left the court or not.

‘You have my permission,’ he said in his most royal manner.

‘I thank you with all my heart, Sire.’ She seized his hand and kissed it.

‘Dearest Aunt,’ he said, ‘I am glad to be able to please you.’

‘You have given your word,’ she said, ‘and I know that nothing will make you break it. May I go, Sire, and give this wonderful news to my son?’

‘Go by all means,’ said Charles.

She retired, while he sat smiling, thinking that it was sometimes very pleasant to be a King.


* * *

Catherine walked up and down the apartment while Charles sat miserably watching her – not a King now so much as a foolish boy.

‘Have you no more intelligence,’ demanded Catherine, for once shaken out of her calm, ‘than to let that wily she-wolf come and snatch the heir of Navarre from under our noses? What hope will you have, my lord, of subduing the Huguenots, when you let your most precious hostage go? You give him away. No conditions. Nothing! “I want my son,” she says, “my little Henry. He needs his Maman!” And you, like the little fool you are, say: “You may take him, dearest Aunt. He is only a boy …” Fool! Idiot! He was a hostage. The heir of Navarre … in our hands! If Jeanne of Navarre had dared threaten us – and I mean you and your brothers – I would have threatened her with the death or the imprisonment of her precious boy. And you, you fool, would give him back! I shall not allow it. The boy shall stay here. And never dare give an order again without my permission. Never grant a request without first asking me if you may do so.’

‘But she is his mother, and she asked for him with tears in her eyes. They have been so long separated. I could not refuse her.’

‘You could not refuse her! And others have heard you grant this request, I doubt not?’

Charles was silent.

‘This was so, was it not?’ demanded his mother.

‘Yes. Others heard.’

‘Fool! To think I should have such a son! Your brother Henry would never have behaved with such folly. But I shall cancel the order. Navarre shall not be allowed to leave the court. His mother shall go alone. Stop stammering and trembling, and sign this order.’

‘But I gave my word.’

‘You will sign this at once.’

Charles cried shrilly: ‘I am tired of being told that Henry would do this and Henry would do that. Henry does not happen to be the King of this realm. I am. I am … and when I say …’

‘Sign this,’ said Catherine. She pushed him into a chair and put the pen into his hand. He looked over his shoulder; her face was near his – very pale, her eyes enormous. He trembled more than before. He felt that she saw right through to his soul.

He began to write.

‘That is well,’ she said. ‘Now we can remedy your rash act. Oh, my son, I know you do this out of the kindness of your heart, but always remember that I am here to love and advise you. Never decide such weighty matters without first consulting your mother, whose one thought is to make you happy and’ – her face came closer to his – ‘and … safe. Why, Charles, my dear son, what you have done might let loose civil war. And what if your enemies should be triumphant? Eh, what then? What if they took you prisoner? You would not relish lying in a dank dungeon … close to the torture-rooms … the rats your companions … until …’

‘Pray cease,’ whimpered the King. ‘You are right. You are always right. Navarre must not go. I have signed it. You will stop his going. You will stop it.’

She nodded. ‘That,’ she said, ‘is my wise little King.’


* * *

But Jeanne was not so easy to handle as Charles had been. The two women faced each other, and each felt that overwhelming hatred between them which had always been there, and yet at times was greater than at others.

‘My dear cousin, I cannot allow you to take the boy away, I look upon him as my own. Moreover, if he is to marry my daughter, he must be brought up with her. You know it has always been our wish to let the young people get fond of each other … as these two are doing. It does my heart good to see them together.’

‘Madame,’ Jeanne replied, ‘all that you say is true. But my son has spent so much time at the court, and it is well that he should be reminded of his own kingdom.’

‘We will see that he does not forget that. No, Madame. I love the boy too well to let him go.’

‘I also love him,’ insisted his mother, ‘and, but for the fact that I feel he should be allowed to visit his dominions, I should be delighted to leave him in your care.’

Catherine smiled. ‘I am going to keep him because, Madame, I know what is best for him. You have only recently come to Paris, and therefore you do not see as clearly as I do what is happening here. I know that it is best for little Henry that he stays with his cousins and learns the manners of our court. I must confess that when he first came to us I was a little astonished. He had the manners of a barbarian. Now there is a great improvement in him. I should not like to see him turned into a country lout.’

Catherine watched the angry colour flood Jeanne’s face.

Jeanne said: ‘Madame, you need have no qualms on that score. My son would have the best tutors available.’

‘But these are more easily obtainable in Paris than in Béarn. My dearest cousin, I insist on his remaining here.’

But Jeanne was wily, and did not allow the matter to rest there.

Later, when Charles and Catherine were surrounded by members of the court, she had the effrontery to bring the matter up again.

‘I cannot believe,’ she said, ‘that any obstacle will be put in the way of my taking my son with me.’

Catherine answered coolly: ‘But that, Madame, is a matter which we have settled.’

‘The King,’ Jeanne persisted, ‘graciously promised that my son should accompany me when I left Paris. Many will bear witness to that. I feel sure, Madame, that when you said this promise was cancelled, your Majesty was joking, for I know that it would bring too great a discredit on His Majesty to suppose him capable of breaking his word.’