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marriage was never consummated and was eventually annulled. Her second husband, Antoine of Bourbon, she had loved with all her heart. Unfortunately the sentiment had not been returned, and he had never been faithful to her.
    He’d died an ignominious death, being hit by a musket shot whilst relieving himself at the Siege of Rouen, done as a gesture of contempt to his enemies, and had forfeited his life as a result. It was almost a fitting memorial for a King with a ripe sense of humour. One Henry felt certain he’d inherited.
    Finally freed from the bitterness of a loveless marriage, Jeanne had thrown herself heart and soul into the new faith, becoming a fanatical Puritan, surrounding herself with black-gowned ministers who conducted endless prayer-meetings. His mother had come to despise luxury and revel in austerity and privation; callously driving out priests and nuns from her land, forbidding Papist ritual and did not hesitate to have churches pillaged and destroyed. The Catholics might see her as a ruthless, despotic heretic; Jeanne saw herself as simply observing the tenets of her faith.
    Since then Catherine had insisted Henry live at the French Court. He knew that his mother missed him and longed to have him home with her in Nérac, and to return him to the Huguenot religion. He wanted that too. He went through the motions of taking Mass with his royal cousins, but was indifferent to it.
    ‘You know that I remain loyal to the reformed faith,’ he assured her now, as he had done many times in the past.
    In truth he had no strong feelings either way. Henry felt no passion for religion, couldn’t quite understand this fanaticism of hers. For some reason he could always see the other point of view, and certainly wouldn’t risk his life for a doctrine. Since he was brought up to be a Huguenot, both by his mother and his tutor, Gaucherie, then that is what he was, but he could just as easily have been a Catholic. Wasn’t there but one God? What did it matter how He was worshipped? Why was one way right and another wrong? And why did Catherine de Medici see the Protestant faith as a threat?
    Jeanne listened with increasing alarm to the tale he was telling her. Some mischief had been hatched at that chateau amidst the semi-tropical, hot-house atmosphere of the Bay of Biscay. But she gave no indication of these thoughts to the young prince.
    ‘You should join the hunting party, my son. The fresh air will bring the colour back to your cheeks, grown pallid by court life, I fear.’
    Henry returned her warm embrace, basking in her approbation, yet he was equally eager to be out in the sunshine, as a certain dairy maid had caught his eye. He knew his mother was afraid he would grow up to be a licentious libertine like his father. Henry thought she might well be right, but why should he care? He loved women, whatever their age or class, whether court ladies or peasant girls. And i f the desire to make love was in his blood, wasn’t that better than making war? He strode from her privy chamber feeling proud of his achievement. Not such a country clod, perhaps.
     
    Margot was bubbling over with happiness, not only because she would be with Guise back in Paris in a few short months, but Madame de Curton had smilingly informed her that she was, after all, to be spared marriage with a madman. T he meeting at Bayonne had not been the success Catherine had hoped for, and the talks with Alva had ended in failure so far as the marriage proposals were concerned. Since these joyful tidings Margot had thrown herself wholeheartedly into the dancing and merry-making, even if it was only at the provincial Court of Nérac.
    She thought the town pretty enough with its red-roofed galleried houses, and she loved to walk in the Queen’s gardens along the banks of the wide River Baïse with its stone bridge and ancient mill. Today she was out following the hunt, riding lazily along the forest trails of the Landes de Gascogne, the tall oak and