The Italian Woman

by Виктория Холт

  ‘And what religion is yours, my Prince? Are you Papist or Huguenot?’

  The crafty Medici eyes were immediately alert. He was no fool, this Prince Henry, and he knew very well that all the trouble in the land had arisen through the conflict of religion. At the mention of the subject he was on guard.

  He said haughtily: ‘I am of my mother’s religion.’

  ‘That is well,’ said Nemours. ‘It shows you are a dutiful son.’

  Now it was the turn of little Henry of Guise. He ran to the Prince and said: ‘My father is taking me on a visit to our château of Lorraine. Please come with us.’

  Prince Henry’s Italian eyes went from the Dukes to the boy. ‘I do not think,’ he said, ‘that my mother would wish me to desert my brother, the King.’

  Henry of Guise persisted. ‘It will be fun in Lorraine. There you will have the first place. Here you are merely the brother of the King. My mother has some beautiful jewels. I doubt not that you would enjoy seeing her sapphires.’

  ‘What sort of sapphires?’ asked Prince Henry with interest.

  ‘All sorts. And she has beautiful cloths from Italy. We turn out her trunks and dress up in them. You should come with us.’

  Prince Henry’s eyes began to shine, for there was nothing he enjoyed so much as dressing up. He wanted to hear more about the cloths and the jewels of the Duchess of Guise.

  ‘Come and see for yourself,’ said Henry of Guise slyly.

  ‘Very well,’ said the Prince. ‘I will come for a short visit.’

  Francis of Guise pressed his son’s shoulder gently and approvingly; and the two boys ran off whispering together.

  The Prince asked suspiciously, when they were out of earshot of the men: ‘Why do we go without the consent of my mother?’

  ‘Oh … it is but a short visit, and it will be over so soon. There is no need to trouble her.’

  ‘I do not think I should go without my mother’s consent.’

  Henry of Guise was alarmed, and, seeking to make the adventure more exciting, he whispered: ‘It will be the greatest fun. We are going to climb through our windows, and there will be a coach waiting to take us to Lorraine.’

  The Prince was thoughtful; he was not so fond of rough, boyish games as his friend was. Henry of Guise was only a young boy; it did not occur to him that such a manner of going could possibly be a deterrent. Prince Henry smelt his perfumed kerchief and studied the rings on his hands. The smile about his mouth was very sly, and he sought an early opportunity of going to his mother.

  She embraced him tenderly; there was never any ceremony with her beloved son as there was with the others.

  ‘Mother,’ he said, the crafty Medici look creeping into his eyes. ‘I am to leave my apartment by the window, go into a waiting coach and be driven off to see the fine cloths and jewels of the Duchess of Guise.’

  ‘What is this, my darling?’

  ‘That is what they plan for me.’

  ‘Who, my dearest? What do you mean?’

  ‘Henry told me about it. His father was there, and so was Monsieur de Nemours. They asked what my religion was – Papist or Huguenot – and I told them my religion was the same as yours. They said I should pay them a visit, and we should go through the window and a coach would be waiting to take us to Lorraine. I thought that was a strange way for a Prince to travel.’

  Catherine embraced him fiercely. ‘Oh, my darling. My wise and clever boy. How right you were to come straight to your mother!’

  From then on she could not bear him to go out of her sight. They had terrified her. They had thought to kidnap her dearest boy. What dangerous men these were! And what a perilous position she had put herself in by siding openly with the Bourbons!

  When, a few days later, she found herself face to face with Francis of Guise, she realised afresh the strength of this man. He was angry with her because his plot to kidnap the Prince had failed; he distrusted her, seeing her as a different person from the meek woman he had suspected her to be.

  He was blunt; the eye above the scar watered freely; the strong, cruel mouth was hard and firm.

  ‘Madame,’ he said, ‘I and mine have allowed you to become the Regent of France that you might defend the faith. If this is not your intention, then there are others – Princes of the Blood Royal, men of wisdom – who are more fitted to take over the responsibility which is now yours.’

  With an impetuosity which was foreign to her, she said: ‘Would you, Monsieur de Guise, remain true to me if I and my son changed our faith?’

  The Duke answered with frankness: ‘No, Madame. I should not.’

  ‘Then you are lacking in loyalty to the Crown, Monsieur.’

  ‘As long as you and the Crown keep to the faith of your forefathers and mine, I will give my life in your cause.’

  She did not doubt for a moment that he spoke the truth. She saw the fanatical gleam in his eyes, and during the last few years she had become familiar with that fanaticism. So the mighty Duke, the great disciplinarian, the soldier of France, was as fanatically religious as those men whom she had seen tortured for their religion or burned at the stake.

  It was a startling discovery, but it was not an unpleasant one. She considered these fanatics, these people who served a cause. They were weak compared with such as herself whose cause was expediency, who had no religion but that of keeping power. She could change her course so easily, using the winds of fortune; they must plough on, whether the wind was with them or against them.

  She could see more clearly the way she must take with this man. She feared him. He was the head of the great Catholic Party, and he had a strength and a power which was lacking in the Bourbons. She had been foolish to show too much favour to Antoine of Navarre and Louis of Bourbon, the Prince of Condé, to Coligny and his brothers.

  She said softly: ‘Monsieur de Guise, rest assured that there is only one faith for me, and that is the faith of your forefathers and mine. How could it be otherwise? Why should I change with these … fanatics?’

  The Duke spoke coldly: ‘It would seem, Madame, that this is what you have done. I hear that you even allow prêches to be conducted in the palace. You surround yourself with heretics. It was therefore thought advisable to remove the little Prince Henry from such evil influences.’

  ‘Ah, Monsieur le Duc, how you misunderstand me! I am a good Catholic. It grieves me to see this land rent in twain by such disturbances, and all in the name of God. I thought to show leniency to these people. I thought to lead them back to truth by gentleness.’

  ‘They do not understand gentleness, Madame. They grow arrogant under your protection. It was not for this that we allowed you to be Regent of France.’

  She came close to him and laid a hand on his arm; she lifted her eyes to his and smiled craftily.

  ‘My object, my lord Duke, was to reform these Princes of Bourbon, to lead them back to the Catholic Faith.’

  He was scornful, and he terrified her because he did not attempt to hide his scorn. He was then still very sure of the power his family wielded.

  ‘Is that then the meaning of this great friendship you show for them, Madame? Is that why you are seen so often with the King of Navarre … and even more often with his brother?’

  Catherine felt a surge of anger as she realised the significance of his remarks regarding herself and Condé. But the anger was for herself as much as for Francis of Guise. She had been foolish to let this romantic feeling for Condé get the better of her common sense.

  But when she spoke her voice was quiet and controlled. ‘You smile, Monsieur, but that is because you have not heard my plan. I have a very good plan which I firmly believe will make these two princelings forget the more serious matters of wars and religion.’

  ‘How so, Madame?’

  ‘Think of the King of Navarre!’ She made a disgusted noise with her lips. ‘Antoine of Navarre, the little popinjay, the vainest man in France! Why is he such a good Huguenot, do you think? It is on account of Madame
Jeanne, that wife of his.’

  ‘He was a Huguenot before she was.’

  ‘He could never stay of the same opinion for more than a day or two at a time. The turncoat! That is the man we have to deal with … or it would be, but for his wife.’ Catherine let out her spurt of coarse laughter. ‘Madame Jeanne d’Albret, Queen of Navarre! She has been a Huguenot in secret for years. Oh yes, I know she has just made a public avowal of the fact, but for years she has followed the faith in secret. As for Antoine, he is a Huguenot because his wife says he must be. He is in leading strings. If we would bend Antoine to our will, we must strike at him through his wife.’

  ‘What plan have you for attacking the Queen of Navarre?’

  ‘Oh, I do not mean that we should take an army and march south. That is not my way, Monsieur. That would avail us little. We should have civil war in France, with the Huguenots fighting to free their heroine. No, we strike through Antoine, but we strike at his wife. Did you see them at the wedding of Francis and Mary? Do you remember the silver galleons and how Antoine selected his wife for his companion? “What a devoted husband!” said everyone. My plan, Monsieur, is to make Antoine a slightly less devoted husband.’

  ‘You think that possible? Jeanne is as strong as granite.’

  ‘And Antoine is as weak as water. That is why we strike through him. Great plans are in my head; I am a poor, weak woman who loathes violence. My plans are quiet plans, but I think they will work as efficiently as your massacres. We will separate Antoine from his wife. It is, after all, unnatural for the man to be such a devoted husband. He was born a philanderer. We will put temptation in his way. We will so anger that saintly wife of his that she will be infuriated with him. The adored wife, the publicly chosen of her husband, will be neglected, forced to see her husband with a mistress whom he adores. And then, where will the leader of the Huguenots be? You know these Huguenots, Monsieur. They are more prim than we Catholics. They do not love adulterers. His mistress will lead him as his wife now leads him; I plan that she shall lead him back to the Catholic Faith.’

  Francis of Guise was excited. It was a good plan, and it was not an impossible plan. If the Queen Mother had had this in mind right from the first, he had misjudged her. She was as good a Catholic as he was. She was as much his ally as she had been when Francis was alive.

  He looked at her and, smiling maliciously, said: ‘And the Prince of Condé?’

  She repeated slowly: ‘The Prince of Condé.’ And she could not help it if her mind went back to those visits to his cell, those conversations that had held in them a hint of tenderness. She shook off such thoughts and looked unflinchingly into the face of Le Balafré. Then she said: ‘I had the same sort of plan for Condé as for his brother. He also, as you know, has a strong and saintly wife, a woman whom I suspect of leading her husband.’

  ‘And for him also, Madame, you would suggest a mistress, a love that will lead him back to the Catholic Faith?’

  ‘That is what I suggest.’

  ‘You think it possible in his case?’

  ‘Monsieur, I do think it possible.’

  ‘And’ – the Duke’s eyes openly mocked her now – ‘and which lady would you suggest for the seduction of the Prince of Condé?’

  She was ready for him. ‘There is one in my Escadron Volant. I do not know whether you have noticed her: Isabelle de Limeuil. She is a very beautiful woman and, I believe, irresistible to most.’

  ‘And so, you have selected her as Condé’s temptress?’

  ‘I have, Monsieur.’

  ‘And for Antoine?’

  ‘Mademoiselle du Rouet.’

  The Duke nodded. ‘You have chosen two very beautiful women, Madame, and very light ones.’

  ‘Those are the qualifications necessary for this particular task, great beauty and lightness. One would not choose such as the Princess Eléonore and Queen Jeanne of Navarre for such tasks, I do assure you.’

  The Duke laughed with her, his good humour quite restored.

  ‘And what of Coligny?’ he asked at length. ‘That man is more dangerous than any.’

  ‘He is indeed, for no light and beautiful woman could seduce him from what he believes to be his duty. When the time comes, we shall have to think of a way of subduing Coligny.’

  The Duke came nearer to her, and she saw in his eyes that he was remembering rumours he had heard concerning her. She knew that his thoughts had flitted to the Dauphin Francis, who had died after his Italian cupbearer had brought him water. He was remembering what he had heard of her poison closet at Blois, and waiting to hear what she planned for Coligny.

  ‘When the time comes,’ she said, ‘we shall know.’

  He took her hand and kissed it, reminding himself that it was as well to have the Italian woman working on his side.

  As Catherine looked at the proud head bent over her hand she reflected that it was a pity one could not remove from this life the people who made it so difficult; and she was not thinking so much of Coligny as of the Duke of Guise.

  * * *

  The ladies of the Escadron Volant lounged about their apartment talking together. They had just returned from the hunt, and it had been a strenuous day. The Queen Mother, growing stout as she was, had lost none of her energies.

  Mademoiselle Louise de la Limaudière, the daughter of the Seigneur de l’Isle Rouet, was smiling secretly to herself. She was a very lovely woman, and with her friend and confidante, Isabelle de Limeuil, shared the distinction of being the most beautiful in this group of women who were selected not only for the quickness of their wits and their skill on a horse, but for their beauty.

  The Queen Mother had talked to Louise this afternoon when they were in the forest. She had told her what was expected of her. Nothing less than that she should, at the earliest possible moment, become the mistress of Antoine de Bourbon, the King of Navarre.

  Louise smiled. Antoine was a charming man. She was not at all surprised by the commission. Every woman in the Escadron knew that she belonged to the Queen Mother, body and soul, much as every woman in the Petite Bande of King Francis the First had belonged to him. Sooner or later must come the summons to go here or there, to make oneself irresistible to this minister or that, to learn his secrets and pass them on to the Queen Mother. There was danger as well as excitement in the Escadron; each member knew that even though she longed to escape, once she was initiated there was no way out. It was, Isabelle had said, like selling one’s soul to the Devil. When she had said that her eyes had shone and Louise understood perfectly what she meant. Life under such a mistress – of whom they were permitted a more intimate glimpse than others enjoyed – had its excitements, its pleasures, its intellectual side, its morbid enchantment. All knew that to attempt to escape from the thraldom of the Queen Mother, to pass on her secrets, could end in one way only. They had seen it happen. There had been one girl who had wished to leave the Escadron, who had decided to reform and had begged leave to go into a nunnery. ‘By all means,’ said the Queen Mother. ‘If you wish to leave our company, you must go.’ And go she did, though she never reached the safety of a nunnery. She had fallen into a decline, her skin had shrivelled, her eyes had sunk into her head and her teeth had broken like glass.

  Louise shuddered, yet with a thrill of excitement. She had no wish to go into a nunnery; the life of the Escadron delighted her.

  She was sensual in the extreme. She enjoyed the caress of satin against her skin and anointing her body with the scents which Catherine graciously allowed her own parfumeurs to supply to the ladies of the Squadron. There was, Louise knew, some special aphrodisiac quality in those perfumes. She was quick-witted, as all the women were required to be; she delighted in the erotic literature which was so fashionable at the court; she herself composed verses and sang charmingly. Catherine’s Escadron was very similar to Francis’s Petite Bande; Catherine desired her women to be clever as well as beautiful, just as Francis had.

  Smiling at the ornate ceiling of the apart
ment, at the naked cupids depicted there with their adorably fat bodies, she thought of Antoine. She had often noticed him with pleasure, and she imagined that he had not been altogether oblivious of her; his gaze had at times rested on her with something like regret, and she guessed that in the background of his mind were memories of his stern wife, Jeanne of Navarre.

  Jeanne of Navarre! That woman with the cold, stern face, the new leader of the Huguenots! They were really rather stupid, these stern women who thought themselves so wise. They were so energetic, concerning themselves with prêches and edicts; cleverer women achieved their desires by far simpler methods.

  Isabelle came to her bed and lay down beside her.

  She whispered so that none of the others might hear: ‘The Queen Mother spoke to you this afternoon?’

  Louise nodded.

  ‘To me also,’ said Isabelle.

  ‘And who is your quarry?’

  ‘You’ll never guess.’

  ‘I’ll swear he is not so exalted as mine.’

  ‘Do not be too sure of that. Mine is a Prince.’

  ‘Mine is a King.’

  ‘A King!’

  ‘Antoine … King of Navarre.’

  Isabelle began to laugh.

  ‘It is true,’ she said, ‘that you have a King and I have only a Prince, but my man is the more important.’

  ‘How could that be? Next to the Queen Mother, my Antoine is the most important personage of the court.’

  ‘Only on the surface, my dear. I assure you he is not so important as his brother.’

  ‘So yours is Condé?’

  ‘You are envious.’

  Louise laughed, and sang quietly so that only Isabelle could hear:Le petit homme tant joliQui toujours chante, toujours ritEt toujours baise sa mignonne –Dieu garde de mal le petit homme.

  ‘Ah, my friend,’ said Isabelle, ‘I see that you are jealous.’

  ‘Who would not be? But you will never get him.’

  ‘Will I not!’

  ‘He is devoted to his wife.’

  ‘So is Antoine.’

  ‘Do you think I have anything to fear from that prim Huguenot?’