Catherine, startled out of her sleep, stared at the intruders, but it did not take her long, when she saw who the captives were, to realise what had happened. Charles, the little fool, had once more acted without his mother; by this impetuous act he had exposed the liaison between his sister and the Duke of Guise to the whole court. And Sebastian, the King of Portugal, was in the Palace of the Louvre at this very hour!

Catherine did not know whom she hated more at this moment – her stupid son Charles or her wanton daughter, Margot.

Angry as she was, she did not lose her self-control.

‘Monsieur de Guise,’ she said, ‘your presence is not needed here.’

Henry bowed and left the room. It was the only thing he could do. He flashed a warning glance at Margot, begging her to be calm and diplomatic.

Catherine glanced at all those assembled, and her look said clearly that it would be the worse for them all if they mentioned to any what they had seen this morning. ‘All may leave with Monsieur de Guise,’ she said. ‘His Majesty and I wish to be alone with the Princess.’

When the room was empty but for the three of them, Catherine went to the door and locked it. She signed to Charles to attack his sister, and he, nothing loth, took his stick and approached the terrified girl. Margot ran to her mother, who flung her back to the King. Charles was biting his lips so that blood mingled with the foam there.

‘We must try to beat some sense into this little fool,’ said Catherine. ‘On the very night when she meets her suitor, she keeps an assignation with her lover. Beat her. Let her learn what it costs to bring disgrace on us all.’

Catherine now unleashed her fury. Margot’s rich gown was torn in shreds and, bleeding and exhausted, she begged them to spare her. But she was not to be spared.

Margot had suffered many beatings in her lifetime, but nothing so severe as this. At length she sank unconscious to the floor. Charles kicked her as she lay there; the sight of blood always inflamed him, and a mood of frenzy had come upon him.

Catherine, looking on, considered the possibility of Margot’s death. It would not be the first time that a disobedient child had been beaten to death, but Margot’s death would be most inconvenient. Catherine’s rage had passed. Moreover, the room was light, for the day had now come.

‘Enough!’ she cried to Charles.

But it was not easy to stop Charles. He wanted to see blood flow. It was always thus when his madness was on him. He wanted to have Henry of Guise’s head off.

‘Kill him! Kill him!’ he screamed. ‘Torture him … And Margot shall see it all. Let her be there. Let her watch him, naked and sweating under the torture, and see then if she recognises her handsome lover.’

‘Silence!’ commanded Catherine.

The King’s face was distorted as he stared wildly at his mother; his lips were twitching; his glaring eyes were bloodshot; moisture trickled from his mouth. He was prancing about the unconscious body of his sister. He wanted to kick her to death, yet when he recovered his sanity he would be filled with remorse if he had hurt her.

‘My dear son,’ said Catherine, putting an arm about his twitching form, ‘have a care. You know these Guises. What if they turned the tables on you? What if you were naked … sweating, eh? Remember who is the man you wish to torture. Remember Le Balafré. Remember the Cardinal. Have a care, my son.’

‘He must die! He must die!’ panted Charles.

‘He shall die,’ soothed Catherine. ‘But my way … Mother’s way … not yours. Lie on the couch, my darling, and rest. Leave this to your mother. She knows best. She does not want them to take her darling boy … her dear little King, and torture him.’

‘They could not. They could not. I am the King.’

‘You are the King, and a wise King, because you will do what I say. Rest now, my son, and leave this to me. Am I not always right? I will see that the arrogance of Monsieur de Guise is subdued. I will see that there is no more love-making with your sister.’

Catherine led him to a couch and soothed him; she stroked back his hair and wiped his mouth with her kerchief. He lay back, his eyes closed.

Catherine then unlocked her door and called to her attendants.

‘The Princess has fainted. Bring water. We must bathe her. She has had a fall. Hurry … I command you.’

They brought the water, and she herself bathed Margot’s bruised body, adjusted her dress and helped the girl back to her apartments.

She announced: ‘The Princess will rest for a few days. See that she keeps to her apartments. I will make her excuses.’

Then Catherine went back to her bed. She appeared to be sleeping when the ceremony of the lever was about to begin, and when aroused she wore her usual calm expression.


* * *

Catherine spent much time, during the days that followed, with those creatures of hers – the Ruggieri brothers and René, the perfumer, who made such beautiful gloves and sold such exquisite jewels in his little shop on the quay opposite the Louvre.

She had made sure that she was alone in her apartment before unlocking her secret cupboard; she had dressed herself in the garments of a market-woman so that no one would recognise the majestic Queen Mother in the portly woman with the basket on her arm and the shawl which covered her head and half her face.

She left by the secret passage, which she realised must be known to a few besides herself, since it had been in existence long before she had come to France. But she used it frequently, and it provided her with a certain amount of secrecy. She certainly could not leave by the main gates of the palace, dressed in these garments.

As she made her way to the house of the Ruggieri, so conveniently near the river that it was possible to leave by a back entrance and take the boat which was moored there, she could not resist mingling with the market crowds, exchanging a word here and there, trying to get them to speak of the royal house.

‘Wars … wars … wars …’ said one woman. ‘Why should our country be bathed in blood?’

‘For the good of the Faith,’ said the stout woman in the shawl.

‘For the good of the Faith! For the good of great nobles who would snatch power from one another.’

‘Oh … we shall have a grand marriage soon in Paris,’ said Catherine.

‘The Portuguese gentleman will be getting a handful, so they say.’

Catherine laughed coarsely and came closer to the woman,

‘There are rumours about the little Princess, I believe.’

‘Have you not heard? She is madly in love with the Duke of Guise – the good God bless him! – and she has been his mistress for many years … since they were in their cradles almost. They say that our Margot is mad for him … that she is such another as our great King Francis, her grandfather. There was a man! He couldn’t look at a woman without wanting to take her to his bed. They say Margot is such another.’

‘Then it is well, is it not, that she should be married quickly?’

‘Well for her … or for him?’

Catherine passed on. So the rumours concerning Margot had already travelled beyond the palace walls!

The Ruggieri received her with the pleasure which they always expressed when she came to visit them. They took her at once into their secret apartment.

‘What I need,’ she said, ‘is a present for a gentleman. It is a gentleman of the highest rank – fastidious in his tastes. It must be very charming, and most cleverly devised for such a man.’

The brothers looked uneasily at one another, as they always did when asked to help despatch the important enemies of Catherine. They were very happy to assist in the removal of the insignificant who happened to be in their mistress’s way, but they were terrified of supplying their wares for use against the great.

‘If,’ said Catherine, ‘it will help you not to know the name of the gentleman, I will not tell it.’

But they knew. Any rumour that had left the palace walls would be sure to find its way into the Ruggieri stronghold; and every market-woman and fishwife, it seemed, was gossiping over the love affair of the Princess Margot and the Duke of Guise.

The Ruggieri brothers were not eager to assist in the removal of a man of such high rank.

Still, their fear would make them subtler; and subtlety was what was needed in such an affair.

‘I will give you twenty-four hours in which to think of something. It must be something which will not arouse suspicions. Not a book … not gloves. It must be something which has never been tried before. But it must have speedy results.’

Catherine left the brothers trembling at her command. They knew they had been asked to help in the removal of the head of the most powerful family in the country. How could they escape implication? They could not shut out of their minds the sly, clever face of the Cardinal of Lorraine, the power of his family. And the Queen Mother was asking them to help her remove the handsome young Duke of Guise!

Catherine left them and came out into the streets.

She did not notice that one of the women who had been in that group with whom she had paused to chat kept a little way behind her as she made her way to René’s shop before going back to the Louvre. For the time she had forgotten that the spy system of the House of Guise and Lorraine was as efficient as her own.

She made her way to the secret passage, where she changed her garments. She came through to her own apartments, unlocked her doors and went along to see her daughter.

Margot was in bed. Fortunately, her face had suffered little damage, but the girl could not move for the cuts and bruises on her body. She lay, pale and wan – very unlike her usual vivacious self. She shrank under the bedclothes at the sight of her mother.