‘She’s being mysterious,’ Alison told him. ‘Ambroise Paré examined the king this morning.’ Paré was the royal surgeon. ‘But so far only Caterina knows what he said.’
‘Perhaps the king is recovering.’
‘And perhaps he’s not.’ Alison’s happiness, and that of Mary Stuart, depended on the uncertain health of Francis. It might have been different if Mary had had a child, but she still had not become pregnant. She had seen the doctor recommended by Caterina, but she would not tell Alison what he had said.
Pierre said thoughtfully: ‘If King Francis dies without fathering a child, his brother Charles will become king.’
Alison nodded. ‘But Charles is ten years old, so someone else would have to rule as regent on his behalf.’
‘And that position goes automatically to the first prince of the blood, who happens to be Antoine of Bourbon.’
‘Our great enemy.’ Alison foresaw a nightmare in which the Guise family lost all influence, and she and Mary Stuart became nobodies to whom people hardly bothered to bow.
She felt sure that Pierre shared the nightmare, but she saw that he was already thinking about how to deal with it. He never seemed daunted: she liked that. Now he said: ‘So the challenge for us, if Francis dies, will be to neutralize Antoine. Do you think that’s what Caterina wants to discuss with the Guise brothers?’
Alison smiled. ‘If anyone asks you, say you don’t know.’
An hour later, Alison and Pierre were standing side by side with Duke Scarface and Cardinal Charles amid the gorgeous décor of the presence room. A fire blazed in a massive fireplace. To Alison’s surprise, Antoine of Bourbon was also there. The rivals stared at each other across the room. Scarface was flushed with anger, and Charles was stroking his beard into a point as he did when he was truly furious. Antoine looked frightened.
Why was Caterina bringing these mortal enemies together? Would she instigate a gladiatorial combat to decide which faction would prevail if Francis died?
The others in the room were leading courtiers, most of them members of the king’s Privy Council, all of them looking bemused. Nobody seemed to have any idea what was going on. Was Antoine to be murdered in front of all these people? The assassin, Charles de Louviers, was not present.
Clearly something big was going to happen, but Caterina had been at great pains to keep it secret. Even Pierre did not know, and he usually knew everything.
It was unusual, Alison reflected, for Caterina to take the initiative like this. But the queen mother could be crafty. Alison recalled the little vial of fresh blood that Caterina had provided for Mary Stuart’s wedding night. She recalled the kittens, too, and realized that Caterina had a tough streak that she habitually concealed.
Caterina came in, and everyone bowed low. Alison had never before seen her look so commanding, and she realized that the black silk and the diamonds had been deliberately chosen to project authority. She was wearing the same outfit now but had added a headdress that looked like a crown. She crossed the room followed by four men-at-arms whom Alison had not seen before. Where had they come from? Also following her were two clerks with a writing desk and stationery.
Caterina sat on the throne normally used by Francis. Someone gasped.
Caterina was carrying two sheets of paper in her left hand.
The clerks set up the writing table and the bodyguards stood behind Caterina.
‘My son Francis is very ill,’ she said.
Alison and Pierre exchanged a glance. My son? Not his majesty the king?
She went on: ‘The surgeons can do nothing for him.’ Her voice faltered, in a moment of maternal weakness, and she touched a lace handkerchief to her eyes. ‘Dr Paré has told me that Francis is certain to die in the next few days.’
Aha, thought Alison; this is about the succession.
Caterina said: ‘I have brought my second son, Charles-Maximilien, from the Château of Saint-Germain-en-Laye, and he is here with me now.’
That was news to Alison. Caterina had moved fast and shrewdly. In the dangerous moment when one king succeeded another, power could lie with whomever had possession of the person of the new monarch. Caterina had stolen a march on everyone.
Alison looked at Pierre again. His mouth was open in surprise.
Next to him, Cardinal Charles whispered angrily: ‘None of your spies told us this!’
Pierre said defensively: ‘They’re paid to spy on Protestants, not the royal family.’
Caterina separated the two papers in her hand and held one up. ‘However,’ she said, ‘King Francis has found sufficient strength to sign the death warrant of Louis of Bourbon, prince of Condé.’
Several courtiers gasped. Louis had been convicted of treason, but until now the king had hesitated to have him executed. To kill a prince of the blood was an extreme measure: all Europe would be horrified. Only the Guise brothers were keen to see Louis dead. But it looked as if they would get their way, as they usually did. It seemed as if Caterina was going to make sure that the dominance of the Guise family would continue.
Caterina waved the paper. Alison wondered whether the king really had signed it. No one could actually see.
