Part 39

“Kill the Admiral?” he said slowly.

“The Admiral and the chief Huguenot leaders,” she said, much in the tone she might have used, were it a matter of wringing the necks of a dozen capons.

“Ah, ca! Par la Mort Dieu!” He heaved himself up, raging. “Thus would your hatred of him be served. Thus would you--”

Coolly she sliced into his foaming speech.

“Not I--not I!” she said. “Do nothing upon my advice. Summon your Council. Send for Tavannes, Biragues, Retz, and the others. Consult with them. They are your friends; you trust and believe in them. When they know the facts, see if their counsel will differ from your mother's. Send for them; they are in the Louvre now.”

He looked at her a moment.

“Very well,” he said; and reeled to the door, bawling hoarsely his orders.

They came, one by one--the Marshal de Tavannes, the Duke of Retz, the Duke of Nevers, the Chancellor de Biragues, and lastly the Duke of Guise, upon whom the King scowled a jealous hatred that was now fully alive.

The window, which overlooked the quay and the river, stood open to admit what air might be stirring on that hot day of August.

Charles sat at his writing-table, sullen and moody, twining a string of beads about his fingers. Catherine occupied the chair over beyond the table, Anjou sitting near her on a stool. The others stood respectfully awaiting that the King should make known his wishes. The shifty royal glance swept over them from under lowering brows; then it rested almost in challenge upon his mother.

“Tell them,” he bade her curtly.

She told them what already she had told her son, relating all now with greater detail and circumstance. For some moments nothing was heard in that room but the steady drone of her unemotional voice. When she had finished, she yawned and settled herself to hear what might be answered.

“Well,” snapped the King, “you have heard. What do you advise? Speak out!”

Nevers was the first to answer.

“There is no other way,” he said stiffly, “but that which Her Majesty advises. The danger is grave. If it is to be averted, action must be prompt and effective.”

Tavannes clasped his hands behind him and said much the same, as did presently the Chancellor.

Twisting and untwisting his chaplet of beads about his long fingers, his eyes averted, the King heard each in turn. Then he looked up. His glance, deliberately ignoring Guise, settled upon the Duke of Retz, who held aloof.

“And you, Monsieur le Marechal, what is your counsel?”

Retz drew himself up, as if bracing himself to meet opposing forces. He was a little pale, but quite composed.

“If there is a man whom I should hate,” he said, “it is this Gaspard de Coligny, who has defamed me and all my family by the foul accusations he has put abroad. But I will not,” he added firmly, “take vengeance upon my enemies at the expense of my king and master. I cannot counsel a course so disastrous to Your Majesty and the whole kingdom. Did we act as we have been advised, Sire, can you doubt that we should be taxed--and rightly taxed in view of the treaty that has been signed--with perfidy and disloyalty?”

Dead silence followed that bombshell of opposition, coming from a quarter whence it was least expected. For Catherine and Anjou had confidently counted upon the Duke's hatred of Coligny to ensure his support of their designs.

A little colour crept into the pale cheeks of the King. His glance kindled out of its sullenness. He was as one who sees sudden hope amid despair.

“That is the truth,” he said. “Messieurs, and you, madame my mother, you have heard the truth. How do you like it?”

“Monsieur de Retz is deceived by an excess of loyalty,” said Anjou quickly. “Because he bears a personal enmity to the Admiral, he conceives that it would hurt his honour to speak otherwise. It must savour to him, as he has said, of using his king and master to avenge his own personal wrongs. We can respect Monsieur de Retz's view, although we hold it mistaken.”

“Will Monsieur de Retz tell us what other course lies open?” quoth the bluff Tavannes.

“Some other course must be found,” cried the King, rousing himself. “It must be found, do you hear? I will not have you touch the life of my friend the Admiral. I will not have it--by the Blood!”

A hubbub followed, all speaking at once, until the King banged the table, and reminded them that his cabinet was not a fish-market.

“I say that there is no other way,” Catherine insisted. “There cannot be two kings in France, nor can there be two parties. For your own safety's sake, and for the safety of your kingdom, I beseech you so to contrive that in France there be but one party with one head--yourself.”