The Italian Woman

by Виктория Холт

  ‘Yes, Madame.’

  ‘Well then, as a good Catholic, does it not become you to try to turn his footsteps in the right direction?’

  ‘I … I had not thought that my duties would lie that way.’

  ‘And now you hear they do.’

  ‘Yes, Madame.’

  ‘You do not seem to relish this task.’

  ‘It is so unexpected, Madame. I had not thought about religion. I … I will do my best.’

  ‘I shall demand nothing less,’ said Catherine with a smile, and the smile made Louise shiver. ‘Now, child,’ continued the Queen, ‘do not look so glum. You know that I reward those who work with me and for me. Make a good Catholic of your lover and I will see if I can turn him into your husband.’

  ‘My husband! But he is a King, Madame, and … married.’

  ‘He is a King – that is true. And far above you in rank, my dear. But I doubt not that if you brought him into a mood in which he wished for marriage with you, he would insist on it; and how could he be refused? He is married, you say. Yes, he is married to the Queen of Navarre. I do not think, my dear, that the Pope would withhold a divorce from a Catholic King who wished to free himself from his heretic wife. Now go and think on what I have said. But remember – discretion. It would be unwise to repeat at this stage a word of anything I have said to you – to any. Pray remember that.’

  Louise came out of the apartment dizzy with excitement. Had she heard correctly? Had Catherine really held out to her a promise of marriage with the King of Navarre – to her, who was merely the daughter of the Seigneur de L’Isle Rouet? And all she had to do to achieve this was to make him change his religion!

  * * *

  When Louise had left her, Catherine sent for the Duke of Guise and the Cardinal of Lorraine.

  She was pleased with herself. She had lulled the fears of these men by showing them her hostility to Jeanne of Navarre and the Huguenot cause and supplying two of its leaders with mistresses, so creating a court scandal which must be angering the Coligny brothers whilst it struck right at the heart of the Huguenot Party by bringing into disrepute two of its most prominent leaders.

  So far so good; but Catherine did not want this to go too far. She must keep these rival houses of Bourbon and Guise at odds with one another; for if they were to unite and band together against her, she could not hope to hold out against them.

  She did not believe for a moment that the beautiful Louise would be able to induce Antoine to change his religion, but it was necessary to make the Guises believe that that was the intention. She thought she understood these fanatically religious people. They never changed. Who would have believed that the cruel and ambitious Francis de Guise could be such an ardent Catholic? They were all alike, scheming, cunning and unscrupulous – except where their religion was concerned.

  The Duke and his brother were ushered in. They bowed low over her hand.

  ‘Welcome, Messieurs. What think you of the way things go with the Bourbon brothers?’

  ‘I should enjoy,’ said the Cardinal with his sly malicious smile, ‘seeing the faces of Mesdames Jeanne and Eléonore when they hear of the frolics in which their husbands indulge.’

  ‘To let them both get caught up by mistresses was a master stroke,’ said the Duke with a laugh. ‘I myself think that what Antoine does is immaterial. Condé is another matter.’

  ‘Condé,’ said the Cardinal, ‘is the stronger of the two.’

  ‘But not strong enough to say “No” to Mademoiselle de Limeuil,’ added Catherine with her gusty laugh.

  ‘He is soft with women, but a formidable enemy,’ put in the Duke. ‘Condé must be watched. The greatest mistake that was ever made was to free him after the death of King Francis.’ The Duke glared at Catherine with something like his old arrogance as he said this. ‘The safest place for Condé’s head is on the battlements – not on that elegant body of his.’

  Catherine said: ‘I like not injustice. Condé defended his honour and it was agreed that he should go free.’

  ‘Not by us, Madame,’ the Cardinal reminded her.

  She bowed her head in silence, and thought: Of all my enemies, I hate most this Cardinal. Even more than I hate the Duke, I hate him. Would to God I could find some way of despatching him!

  ‘It may be that concerning Condé you are right, Monsieur le Cardinal,’ she said soothingly. ‘How can we know? But these Bourbon Princes are popular with the people. I think that had we executed Condé on that occasion there would have been risings throughout France.’

  ‘Madame,’ said the Duke, ‘the whole question of religion has to be decided sooner or later. It is your behaviour towards the Huguenots which has made them arrogant, too sure of themselves.’

  ‘I think, my lord Duke, I have shown you that I am a true Catholic.’

  The Guises were insolently silent, and she could not quell the fear which came to her as she looked at them. The Bourbons inspired no such fear. The Duke was a strong man; the Cardinal was an infinitely cunning one; as a team they were irrepressible, impossible to subdue except by death; and the only death one could consider for such men was a secret, silent stab in the back.

  ‘I asked you to come, Messieurs,’ she said, ‘that I might give you further proof of my friendship for you, of my loyalty to the faith we mutually hold. I propose to make Catholics of Antoine and Condé.’

  ‘You never will. They are ardent heretics. Their wives would not let them be good Catholics.’

  ‘Their wives would not let them sport with their mistresses if they could help it, Messieurs! But these two gentlemen have, nevertheless, managed to elude the control of their very virtuous wives.’

  ‘But their religion, Madame!’

  ‘Louise de la Limaudière is a very attractive girl, my lord Duke. She is already with child by our little King of Navarre. The Queen of Navarre is not going to be very pleased when this news reaches her. She is going to give our Antoine a piece of her mind, and he, the little coxcomb, flattered and adored by such a beautiful girl as la Limaudière, is not going to relish a scolding from that less beautiful and shrewish wife of his. I do not despair at all of our Antoine’s turning his coat. He can never be of one mind for any length of time.’

  ‘A man’s religion, Madame,’ said the Cardinal, ‘is sacred to him. He may change his women, but not his faith.’

  Catherine agreed; and it was now necessary to her plans that Antoine should not change his religion. But she pretended to believe that he would do so.

  ‘He is weak, my lords. He is like a reed in the wind. Jeanne of Navarre – she is the danger, for although she is the wife and Antoine the husband, it is she who rules. We can do nothing with her except have her branded as a heretic, hand her over to the Inquisition, or have the marriage annulled and our King of Navarre married to a wife more suited to him.’

  The Guise brothers were interested now. The Cardinal’s long white hands stroked his gorgeously coloured robes; the Duke’s eye began to water above his scar.

  ‘And whom have you in mind, Madame, for the King of Navarre’s second wife?’

  ‘Your niece, my lords. Mary Queen of Scots. What think you of my choice?’

  ‘An excellent one,’ said the Cardinal.

  ‘To that I agree,’ added the Duke.

  They smiled at the Queen Mother, being once more assured that she was their friend. Catherine wanted to laugh. They were as easily duped as la Limaudière. Did they really think that she would bring back to France their little spy? Evidently they did!

  Holy Mother! thought Catherine. How can I fail when these great men are such fools!

  * * *

  The Spanish Ambassador, de Chantonnay, was a man well versed in the ways of intrigue. De Chantonnay had been trained in diplomacy from his childhood; he had inherited his astuteness and his boldness from his father, Chancellor Nicholas de Granvelle; and Philip of Spain had chosen wisely when, at this time, he had decided that de Chantonnay was the man best fitted to ser
ve his interests in France.

  De Chantonnay was not, therefore, unaware of the traps which had been set for the Bourbon Princes, and since the ladies who had lured them into these traps were members of the Escadron Volant, and he knew very well what the duties of that esoteric band comprised, it was no great feat of cerebration to determine who had set the traps. The Queen Mother! But whether out of fear or friendship for the Guises he was not sure.

  The Guises were the allies of Spain; the Queen Mother, by her prevaricating behaviour since little Charles had been on the throne, had been the subject of many disquieting letters which de Chantonnay had sent to his King. Philip of Spain did not trust the Queen Mother, for he accepted his Ambassador’s keen judgment; and de Chantonnay was certain that the waverings from Bourbon to Guise were due to her desire to use their friendship whenever she might need it, and by so doing to keep her own power.

  However, de Chantonnay’s one object was to work for his master, and for this purpose he was spy and intriguer as well as Ambassador. He had his spies just as the Queen Mother had, and he knew that Louise had been instructed to induce the King of Navarre to change his religion. This suited Spain; but Spain wanted more of the King of Navarre than his conversion.

  For this reason de Chantonnay ingratiated himself with Antoine, flattered him, admired him, and made a friend of him. Antoine was the easiest man at court with whom to make friends. Flattery was all he needed, and that was cheap for a Spanish Ambassador to provide.

  De Chantonnay talked and drank with Antoine.

  ‘Ah,’ said the Spaniard, ‘what a great and glorious future might be your Majesty’s if you would but play the right cards. I cannot doubt that you will, for I’d wager with anyone that there’s a fine head for business beneath those handsome curls. Do you know, my lord King, that there are some who are deluded enough to think that because a man is handsome he is a fool?’

  ‘What great and glorious future do you speak of, Monsieur?’

  ‘My lord King, could we go somewhere where we shall not be overheard? There are too many eyes and ears in this palace, and I should prefer to be out of doors.’

  So they walked together in the palace gardens while the Spanish Ambassador unfolded the Spanish King’s plans for Antoine.

  ‘Part of the province of Navarre, as your Majesty well knows, is in the hands of my master – won from the sovereign of Navarre in battle.’

  Antoine looked sullen. That was a sore point with him. But the Spaniard hurried on: ‘What an uneasy thing it is for such a province to belong half to one King, half to another! What if you were offered Sardinia in exchange for Navarre?’

  ‘Sardinia!’

  ‘A wonderful island, Monseigneur. A beautiful climate. A land of beautiful women and great cities. You would be King of all Sardinia. But first it would be necessary that you embrace the Catholic Faith. My master could have no dealings with a heretic. Oh, Sire, do not be rash. Do not be angered. Your soul is in danger. Your future life is in jeopardy – not only in Heaven, but here on Earth.’

  ‘My future here on Earth? How is that?’

  ‘His Most Catholic Majesty, the King of Spain, thinks often of you, Sire. He grieves that you should put yourself at the head of heretics, for that way lies disaster. Give up this new religion and save your soul. And get yourself a triple crown at the same time.’

  ‘What is this? What do you mean, man?’

  ‘If you became a Catholic you could not remain married to a heretic.’

  ‘But … Jeanne is my wife.’

  ‘The Pope would let nothing stand in the way of your divorce from one who has publicly proclaimed herself to be a heretic. Moreover, there was a previous marriage with the Duke of Clèves, and this was binding. Oh, Monseigneur, Your Majesty would have no difficulty in divorcing your wife.’

  ‘But I had not thought of this. We have our children.’

  ‘Children who are illegitimate, since the woman you call your wife was first given to the Duke of Clèves! You would have other children – children to inherit a triple crown.’

  ‘Whose triple crown?’

  ‘Your own, for one.’

  ‘But I have that because it was bestowed on me through my wife.’

  ‘We need not let a little detail like that worry us, Sire. Your wife would lose all her possessions, as do all heretics. You would have your own crown – the crown of Sardinia – and in addition the crown of Scotland and the crown of England.’

  How so?

  ‘By marriage with the Queen of Scots. His Most Catholic Majesty does not intend to allow the red-headed heretic to hold the throne of England for ever; and when she does not, who should? Mary Stuart, Queen of Scots. You see what glories I hold out to your Majesty.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Antoine, dazzled. ‘I see, Monsieur.’

  ‘And all you have to do is renounce Navarre and take this beautiful island of Sardinia in its place. Then shall you be married to the heiress of Scotland and England. Her uncles are most willing that the marriage should take place. Oh indeed you are a fortunate man! The triple crown within your grasp, and all you have to do is save your soul and divorce your wife.’

  Antoine pondered in silence. Mary of Scots? That little beauty! And such great good fortune! It was enough to make a man thoughtful.

  De Chantonnay came nearer and whispered: ‘There is a fourth crown that might be yours. But perhaps we should not speak of that yet. The little Charles is not, to my mind, a healthy child. And Henry? And Hercule?’ De Chantonnay lifted his shoulders and smiled shrewdly. ‘I would not say that those boys have long lives before them. And then, Sire, think what might be yours! This, as you know, could only come about with the aid of His Most Catholic Majesty.’ De Chantonnay’s face was very near Antoine’s as he whispered: ‘The most desirable crown of all, Sire – the crown of France!’

  * * *

  The Queen Mother was worried. Events were moving too fast and away from her control. She had reckoned without de Chantonnay. So he had offered to exchange Sardinia for Navarre! And that fool Antoine was actually dazzled by the prospect, foolishly believing Sardinia to be all that the Spaniard represented it.

  If she were not careful, the Guises would have their niece back in France and the girl would be married to Antoine, for Louise had reported that he was wavering and showing more and more tolerance for the Catholic Faith.

  She paced up and down her apartments. Was ever a woman so beset by enemies on all sides? Which way could she turn? To the Guises? To the Bourbons? To the Spanish Ambassador and that shadow which haunted her life, his grim master, Philip of Spain, her own son-in-law? Only for a little while could she turn to any of these, only for a little while walk along beside them in step. She was playing her own lonely game, a secret game; they must never guess what she was planning. She had to work alone, to keep her power, to keep the throne for Henry when the time came. And she doubted not that they were all working against her.

  It was she who had, in a misguided moment, suggested Mary Queen of Scots for Antoine. How could she have guessed what such a suggestion would involve? She was beginning to wonder whether after all she was still a novice in this game of politics. She had made so many mistakes.

  She must learn by these mistakes. She must prevent Antoine’s marriage with Mary Queen of Scots. What a dangerous alliance that would be! The Guises would not rest until they had Mary on the throne of France, and if Antoine became a Catholic they would wish to see him there too.

  She had been foolish. She had shown too much favour to the Huguenots. So now the Catholic Party planned to set Antoine on the throne, with Mary Queen of Scotland as his Queen. What of her children – her little Charles, her darling Henry? These children might die. Others had quickly learned the secrets of those poisons which she and her followers had brought with them when they came to France. Was Charles weaker than he had been? Was Henry? It was typical of Catherine that she considered everyone to be as unscrupulous as herself, and that as her thoughts flew so oft
en to poison, she should imagine that other people’s did also.

  She was not sure which way to turn. But Jeanne of Navarre must be made to come to court. That much was obvious, for if anyone could prevent the divorce of Antoine and his wife, that one must surely be his wife.

  She wrote affectionately to Jeanne. How were the dear little children? Did Jeanne not think that a match between her little Catherine, Catherine the Queen Mother’s own namesake, and Catherine’s own son Henry, would be a pleasant thing? ‘How it would bind us together!’ she wrote. ‘And then there is the match between my daughter Marguerite and your son Henry, which my husband decided on. We should discuss that together and, as you know, such discussions are difficult by letter …’

  Then Catherine wrote once more to say that Jeanne must come north for the Council of Poissy.

  ‘My dear cousin, you know I am your friend. You know that these differences of faith, which have steeped our country in blood, distress me. I have thought it would be a good plan for members of both sides to get together, to discuss, to try to come to an understanding, this time without bloodshed; for what understanding was ever reached through bloodshed?’

  When she had written the letters to Jeanne she summoned the Duchess of Montpensier to her, for, knowing this lady’s Huguenot sympathies, she felt she was the one to do what was required.

  ‘Ah, Madame de Montpensier,’ she said. ‘I am sending letters to the Queen of Navarre, and I think that you should write to her also. It is a very bitter subject, I know, but I am of the opinion that the Queen of Navarre should be made aware of it. It is my belief that if she were here she might be able to rescue that foolish husband of hers from his follies. Mademoiselle de la Limaudière grows larger every day with the King’s bastard. I do not like such things to be seen at my court, as you know. The King of Navarre is as devoted to the woman now as ever, and I think his wife should be told. There is another thing. I think that she should know that he is attempting to barter her kingdom for a worthless island. That man is foolish enough for anything. You are the Queen’s friend. Write to her and tell her of these things.’