Madame Serpent (43 page)

She studied his face in the faint light that came through the barred window.

The window was small and it was growing dark outside so that it was not easy to see him, yet she fancied that three months in prison had left their mark upon him.

‘It was good of you to come― Catherine,’ he said.

She flinched a little at the use of her Christian name, but he did not notice that.

‘You are to be released tomorrow,’ she told him.

‘Tomorrow!’ His voice was hysterical with joy. ‘And you― my Queen―

have done this for me.’ He was on his knees; he took her hand again and she felt his tears fall on it.

How arrogant he was! He had had great success with women; he believed

himself to be irresistible to all women; he did not know that Catherine de’

Medici was no ordinary woman. He could not guess that she had but used him in the hope of arousing jealousy in her husband, that when he had bungled the simple matter of carrying letters to his powerful relative she had no further use for him; that this release of his was yet another move of the Guises, to set him free that they might watch him and catch him again and perhaps others with him; he did not guess that the last thing the Queen-Mother wanted was his release.

She stood back, pressed against the cold stone wall. He said in a whisper:

‘How did you get in?’

She answered: ‘There are many who serve me.’

‘Yes,’ he whispered slowly. ‘Yes. I see.’

‘You will be watched when you come out,’ she said rapidly. ‘It will be well for you to leave France.’

He came close to her so that she could feel his breath on her cheek. ‘Leave France! Leave― you! Though you asked me to do that, I could not.’

‘It is the wise thing to do,’ she said.

She heard his quick intake of breath. ‘Can it be that you would wish to be rid of me?’ There was in his voice a desperate note; she understood; he was

determined not to be banished. He was prepared to run risks. Why not? He was an ambitious man. One thing he was not prepared for, and that was exile.

‘They will be suspicious of you,’ she said. ‘They will have you watched.’

‘You cannot think that I am afraid of danger?’

‘I think you would be wise to get away. Go to Italy.’

‘I feel my life is here― beside you― serving you―’

She drew closer to the wall, but he came closer too.

‘There is much to be done,’ he said. ‘The King is young, and is your son.

The little Queen― she is but a child. You and I― with others to help us, could get the Protestants to rise against these upstart Guises. I have news. I have not been idle in here. I have laid deep plans. The Protestants are straining at the leash. They but await a leader.’

‘And you will be that leader?’ she said, her voice expressionless.

‘You, Catherine, are the Regent of France. It is for you to rule this country.’

‘And you― would work for me― serve me― no matter how dangerous the

work?’

‘To serve you is the only course I would follow. You dare not send me from you. The court has seen our deep and tender friendship. Why, Catherine, our names have been linked. I could tell many secrets―’

She laughed. ‘We have been nothing but friends.’

‘Who would believe that? Ah, you see how devoted I am. You must, for the

sake of honour, keep me at your side, for I declare, so deep in love am I, that I would let nothing stand in the way of keeping at your side.’

‘Listen to me now,’ she said, ‘for I dare stay no longer. Tomorrow you will be released. We will meet, but secretly. Depend upon it, the spies of the de Guises will be watching you. Come, if you can, at this hour to the house of the brothers Ruggieri. You know it? It is close to the river.’

‘At this hour,’ he repeated. And then: ‘Yes, I know the house.’

‘I will be waiting, and we will talk of the future over a goblet of good Italian wine.’

He would have kissed her lips, but haughtily she held out her hand.

He bowed low, and, turning, she hurried out of the cell.

———————

Catherine sat in her room. She had asked that she might be quite alone.

Looking in her mirror, she saw a woman, fattening, coarsening, who had never been really beautiful even in her youth; thick, pallid skin, sly mouth, and those flashing dark eyes.

This was an important day in her life. It was three months since she had lost her love, but that tragedy was behind her now. She must look to the future. Last evening, at dusk, she had gone to the house near the river, and there she had met that ambitious young man who wished to become her lover. He had great plans for himself, this Vidame de Chartres.

She had talked to him calmly, kindly, and affectionately over a goblet of wine.

Together they had planned to put down the mighty Guises, they had

arranged to meet again, this night.

The sly mouth smiled, for Catherine realized that the ache in her heart was growing less acute. There was so much work to be done. Her eyes went to the cabinet in the corner of the room. None but herself knew the secrets of that cabinet. In it lurked death, to be administered to the enemies of Catherine de’

Medici.

For years she had planned the murder of Diane; but now that she was calm, she could see that it would be pointless to murder Diane. Yet, all those years when she had added secret after secret to her cabinet, she had thought of murder; and now murder was a part of her life, a servant, ready at her command, waiting for that moment when it could work for her.

She was not happy as she could have been with the love of Henry, but she

was stimulated. She knew that a bitter battle was before her, but she also knew the strength of her armour.

She was going to fight the seemingly all-powerful de Guises. Sickly Francis was on the throne. How long could he live? Then it would be the turn of

Charles. He was but a boy yet, and his upbringing was in the hands of his mother. She would get an Italian tutor for him. A face leaped to her mind. Yes, she knew the tutor she would get; and Charles should be taught a way of life that some might call unnatural. He was not strong; he was peevish― but pliable. She did not wish Charles to marry― but if he did, he must not have children. While Charles was on the throne, his mother would rule; and after Charles would come beloved Henry, whose pleasure it would be to serve his mother, as it would be hers to serve him.

Power was beckoning her, and she would have to fight for it with all her

craft and cunning, in all the devious ways she had learned in a lifetime of humiliation. She would deeply relish such a fight.

Madalenna was knocking at the door.

‘Come in.’

Madalenna’s eyes were wide, her face pale.

‘You have something to tell me, Madalenna?’

‘Terrible news, Madame.’

‘Of whom?’

‘Madame, the Vidame de Chartres was released from the Bastille

yesterday―’

‘Is that such terrible news?’

‘Oh, Madame― you have not heard. He died― last night. He had been out

in the city― and when he returned, he was ill― violently ill. He died at

midnight.’

Madalenna looked fearfully at her mistress, who was holding a kerchief to her eyes.

‘Madame,’ stammered Madalenna, ‘I wish to offer― my― my deep

sympathy.’

Catherine answered from the depth of the kerchief: ‘You may go,

Madalenna. Leave me― leave me―’

As the door shut on Madalenna, Catherine thrust the kerchief into her mouth to stifle the gusty laughter which was shaking her.

Madalenna’s sympathy! Perhaps others in this palace would be sorry for a

woman whom they believed to have lost her lover?

Poor Vidame, she thought. This is the end of your flirtation with a Queen; it is also the end of the brilliant career you planned for yourself. You have been the first to learn that it is unwise to ignore the wishes of Catherine de’ Medici.

She was exultant. Thoughts of murder had haunted her for so long; now she would be their master. She understood much now. The future, brilliant and powerful, stretched out before her; and she was free to take what she wanted.

She had been the victim of her emotions― hot-blooded, impetuous, making so many mistakes. She had been Catherine de’ Medici in love.

But now she was free. It was the end of Catherine de’ Medici in love.

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THE END

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