Margot’s eyes were sparkling. ‘Yes. I understand, Henry.’

‘I will speak to her of you. I will tell her how fond I am of you. I will tell her that you are my beloved sister, my second self. As for you, you must not be so much afraid of her. Speak up when she addresses you. In doing those things for me, you will do much for yourself.’

Henry put his hands on Margot’s shoulders and looked into her eyes; he saw there what he wanted. Henry was the hero of the war; and Margot, a young and impressionable girl, was ready to adore him; she was ready to be his slave and to work for him against the King.

Henry took her along to Catherine and told his mother how fond he was of his sister, and of the part he had asked her to play for him at the court. Catherine drew her daughter to her and kissed her on the forehead.

‘So you are to guard your brother’s interests at court, dear Margot?’

‘Yes, Madame.’

‘You will have to give up your silliness, your frivolity. You will have to watch your brothers … and their friends.’

‘That I will do, Mother.’

‘Well, my daughter, I shall help you in this. Henry, my son and your brother, is as dear to me as my life. Is he so to you?’

‘Yes, Madame.’

Catherine then embraced her son and, as her mother’s cold hands touched her, Margot felt that she had become a member of a trinity; and this was none the less exciting because the trinity might be an unholy one.


* * *

Growing up was an enchanting experience. Margot had other matters with which to concern herself now. She played the spy with all the verve of which she was capable. She was coming to the fore; she was always at her mother’s lever and coucher; she was often in the company of the King; she was ready to continue in her adoration of her absent brother.

But there was one other trait in Margot’s nature which both her mother and her brother had temporarily forgotten. If Margot was to grow up, she would do so in more ways than one. She was continually occupied with her dresses; she became the most fashionable lady of the court; she wore a golden wig over her long black hair one day, and a red one the next. All fashions inaugurated by Margot were provocative, designed to titillate the senses of the male.

And Henry of Guise came to court.

Henry too had grown up; they were man and woman now, not boy and girl. He sought the first opportunity of being alone with Margot to tell her of his feelings.

‘I always loved you,’ he told her as they strolled in the gardens.

‘And I … you, Henry.’

Margot could not keep her hands from the fine coat or the golden curly hair and beard. Margot was not the only one who thought there was no man in France, or in the world, to compare with Henry of Guise; others said that the Guises made all other men seem insignificant when they came among them.

‘We will be married,’ declared Henry. ‘I know that it can be arranged.’

‘It must be arranged,’ agreed Margot.

He took her hands, and kissed them eagerly with burning kisses which made Margot’s passions flame.

‘It will not be so easy as it would have been if my father was alive,’ Henry warned her.

Margot was in his arms, all desire and urgency.

‘Nevertheless, it must be,’ she said.

‘Margot … I cannot wait for marriage.’

Margot laughed. ‘Nor I!’

‘Where can we be alone?’

Intrigue was exciting, but passionate intrigue was the most delightful thing in Margot’s world. How could she have set such store on spying for her brother Henry when she could be the mistress of this completely fascinating Henry?

It was not difficult for Margot to find a place where they could be together.

And after that there was nothing of any importance for Margot but these passionate meetings with her lover. She was insatiable. She could never have enough of Henry. He was her lover – the only person on Earth, she discovered, who was really important to her. For him she would die. She declared that she would never marry any other man. The meetings grew more frequent, and the more frequent the more necessary they became to Margot. Sensual, passionate in the extreme, she had discovered something which she could not do without.

She was impetuous. She wanted an immediate marriage. Henry was more cautious. He was as passionate, as sensual as Margot – they were as well matched a pair as any lovers could be – but while for Margot there was nothing but love, for Henry there was also ambition. He was the Duke of Guise, head of the mighty House of Lorraine besides being Margot’s lover, and his upbringing would not allow him to forget that. And even while he was making passionate love to Margot he could not help remembering that she was a Princess of the House of Valois, and therefore a match with her would be the most suitable he could possibly make.

‘We must not be careless,’ said Henry.

‘Oh, Henry, my darling, what do we care?’

‘We must care, Margot; for nothing must stand in the way of our marriage. We can never be completely happy until then. Just think what marriage would mean to us … always together.’

She kissed him wildly. ‘I will never let you leave me. I will follow you to camp. You do not imagine that I should let you go alone!’

‘No,’ he said. ‘We must never be parted. That must be our aim. Margot, you are so impetuous. We must wait … and watch … and act carefully. What if people tried to separate us?’

She pressed her body against his. She was not really thinking of anything but the desire of the moment. He laughed, but he was a little uneasy. Margot was an ideal mistress and he adored her; but there were times when he wondered what violence of passion, what sensuality he had awakened. He had never known anyone like this gay little Princess of France with the flashing dark eyes and the eager, sensual lips, the clinging hands, the urgent desire. He was young and virile himself, but he found Margot astonishing.

She would not discuss anything seriously. She wanted him at once … this moment. Never mind if they were in the gardens. Who would come to this spot? Who would dare say a word against the Princess Margot and the Duke of Guise?

‘My darling,’ said Henry, ‘I want you as much as you want me, but I want our marriage. I want to make sure of our union. I want it to be firm and secure … for the rest of our lives.’

She ran her fingers through his hair. ‘But, Henry, of course it shall be.’

‘The Queen Mother does not love me; nor does the King.’

‘But you are a Prince and I am a Princess; and I will have none other but you.’

‘I know. I know. But caution, my darling!’

But she was not listening. She was laughing up at Henry, and he, young and passionate as herself, could not help but find her irresistible.


* * *

The lovers thought their love unnoticed, but this was not the case; and one of the important people who had seen how matters stood between the Princess Margot and the young Duke of Guise was the Duke’s uncle, the Cardinal of Lorraine.

The Cardinal was amused as well as delighted. He himself had known many erotic adventures – in fact, he was at his wit’s end nowadays to find some new diversion that could attract him. He was ready to give a good deal to any young and handsome person – man or woman – who could show him a little novelty. But regarding this affair of his nephew and the Princess he was not displeased, although Henry was being a young fool in this, and he thought it his duty to warn him.

He asked the boy to come to his apartments and, making sure that they were unobserved and that there were no means of communication behind the hangings, he told the Duke what was in his mind.

‘None of the diabolical instruments of that old serpent the Queen Mother can reach us, nephew, so let us talk without reserve. I notice that you are enjoying a charming interlude with the Princess Margot.’

Henry flushed a little. ‘If you mean that I love her, that is so.’

The Cardinal lifted his beautiful white hand and studied the rubies and sapphires which adorned it. ‘I wish to congratulate you. What a delightful mistress she must be! You are a fortunate man.’

Henry bowed stiffly. In view of his uncle’s reputation, he did not care to discuss Margot with him, or to contemplate those lecherous eyes and read the thoughts behind them.

‘I would prefer not to discuss my relationship with the Princess,’ he said.

‘But that is exactly what we must do. Oh, mistake me not. Do not think I wish to question you as to the most exciting experience you must be enjoying. I can imagine that it is charming – incomparable, in fact – for I doubt if there is, even at this court, a young lady who is so naturally knowledgeable in the greatest of our arts. But you are young, you are sensitive and you are in love; and you do not care to discuss your mistress with a man of my reputation. You see, nephew, I understand. I read your thoughts. Well, let us discuss the practical rather than the romantic. Nephew, I am proud of you. The House of Lorraine is proud of you. If you had made the Princess your wife instead of your mistress, we should be even more proud of you; for what we would like more than anything, dear boy, is to see the Houses of Lorraine and Valois united. The marriage would be an ideal one.’

‘It would indeed,’ said the young Duke. ‘And it is my earnest desire that it should be brought about.’

‘I wish to help you in that, but do not imagine that you can go to the King and the Queen Mother and say, “I offer my hand and fortune to the Princess Margot.” It is not so easy as that. The serpent has other plans for her loving daughter.’