The cold inhospitable days of October matched exactly Catherine de Médicis’ state of mind: the biting north wind whipped with it the venom that fomented in her heart for the Huguenot population who, despite the best efforts of her king and favourite duke, still represented the majority religion in the kingdom. Since the purge of Saint Bartholomew’s Day in Paris she had retreated to her palace at Chenonceau. Neither domestic staff, emissaries, nor councillors had caught sight of her for the past six weeks – except for her maidservant, Mathilde, who remained her most loyal aide and confidante. During these dark days the Queen Mother had, indeed, carried a heavy burden and without Mathilde, and her trusted brown syrupy liquid that helped her to sleep, she would not have endured those tempestu
