Somehow a rumor had started that the Huguenots were plotting to kill the King and the Cardinal of Lorraine, though such a plot was never proved to exist. It was, however, one more excuse for the continued executions.
Now the Duke of Guise and his brother, the Cardinal, feared only one rival force in France: the Bourbons. The Bourbons were princes of the blood royal, and Antoine of Bourbon, unstable King of Navarre, was not only very close to Catherine but an avowed Huguenot as well. He became the archenemy of the Guises and the Catholic party as did his younger brother, the Prince of Conde, and his cousin, Gaspard, Lord of Coligny and Admiral of France.
Desperately afraid of losing her influence with the young King to the Guises, Catherine turned to the Bourbons. They were an excellent counterirritant to keep the Guises wondering. To make their uncertainty the more poignant, she sent the King of Navarre as the family representative to Spain with Elizabeth and prevailed upon Conde to accept a mission abroad. Thus playing both ends to the middle, Catherine felt comparatively safe. So a year passed.
However, she had not counted on that omnipresent ele-
ment, the unexpected. And the form it took was a sudden turn for the worse in the King s health. For so many years the wasted body of Catherine's eldest son had been wracked with many ills. But it was his ear, sensitive from babyhood, which gave him the greatest discomfort. Now suddenly the inflammation increased, and as though his physical pain was not enough, he was given a task before which even a robust man of mature years would have flinched.
The King of Navarre had recently returned from his mission to Spain and the Guises knew that here, for all his chronic indecision, was someone to fear. Should the King die, so ran their logic, it was quite possible that Catherine, acting quickly, would appoint Navarre Regent for Charles, the younger brother who would succeed him. Thus far they had been successful in keeping a tight rein on the King and if his health should improve and they had no interference from Navarre, they might look forward to years of continued sway at the Court of France. Keeping Catherine docile by flattery through her son, Francis, they saw nothing but clear sailing ahead, provided Navarre was disposed of.
With patient cunning the Duke and die Cardinal set to work poisoning the mind of the young King. Sick, tired, and weak, he listened. Did he suspect, they prompted, that Navarre was an archtraitor to the Crown? Would he believe that this prince of the blood royal could be capable of such treason? Incredible but true, they whispered. To avenge such infamy, they continued, who but His Majesty himself should be the one to dispatch the offender?
They fawned upon the sick boy, surrounding him, flatter-
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ing him with windy praise for his courage, his sovereign might. And Francis's eyes glowed, his thin cheeks flushed crimson. "But what must I do, milords?" he quavered; and they knew they had won him over.
It would all be very simple, they assured him. He would summon Navarre to his presence chamber and confront him with the accusation. Doubtless the Bourbon prince would deny the charge, might even reach for his sword to defend his honor. Given that threat as an excuse, Francis would lunge at him with his dagger. There was nothing to fear. His "uncles" would be there to help him the moment he called. After all, it would look as though they were but defending their beloved King—as, indeed, they would be, they hastened to add.
Badly frightened, Francis, sworn to secrecy, nevertheless must have confided in his mother. It was unthinkable among the Valois children that "Her Grace, my mother' should not share their every thought. She in turn probably warned Navarre. He arrived at the presence chamber in high spirits and whenever Francis began his halting accusation he simply laughed good-naturedly, brushing it aside. Try as he would, the frightened boy could not rouse him to anger and presently the Bourbon prince smilingly bowed himself out. The plot had failed dismally and Francis faced the fury of the Guises.
A few days later he collapsed and was put to bed and surgeons did what they could to relieve his suffering. However, the growth behind his ear ruptured and on December 5, 1560 Francis, King of France, aged seventeen, died.
His young wife, who had loved Kim deeply, was inconsolable. She chose to wear white as her sign of mourning, and Catherine cringed to see the unabashed admiration in the eyes of every man at Court as Mary followed the coffin down the nave at Saint-Denis. How she disliked the girl! Now that she, Catherine, was restored to first place, she would make it her business to get rid of .her by some means.
Catherines grief for her son, the baby she had awaited with such joy seventeen years earlier, was not profound. He had been a weakling from birth and this she found hard to forgive. True, he had brought the crown of Scotland to ap-
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pease her for his other defections, but he still was not the prince of her highest hopes since the Scottish crown, after all, had come through the Guises. So now to concentrate on the next heir in line, Charles IX. Francis's kief life had been a defect in the threads of the tapestry of dynastic strength her ambition was weaving. Unmoved, she put him out of her mind,
Charles, the precocious boy of ten with his beetling dark eyes, his extraordinarily broad shoulders and thin, spindly legs, was a character to cope with.
