by Robert Merle
I immediately satisfied the king, and told him the particulars of this adventure, being careful to give as elegant a description as I could, knowing how much Henri loved beautiful language, having studied elocution with the scholar Pibrac, whose eloquence was renowned urbi et orbi.
“Monsieur de Siorac,” he observed when I’d finished, “that was well done and well presented! It was very humane of you to help Mundane under the circumstances and to warn Lord Stafford by such indirect means. The safety and well-being of Elizabeth are very dear to us, since if she and her kingdom were to fall into the hands of foreigners, our people would be infinitely more vulnerable. As you know, the Prince of Orange, Queen Elizabeth and I, though we are of different sects—the prince being of the reformed religion, the queen an Anglican and I Catholic—share the same enemies, who hide their evil designs under the cloak of religion.”
“Well, that cloak has many holes in it,” Chicot couldn’t help interjecting, “to let the assassin’s daggers through.”
“Well said,” rejoined the king with a brief, raucous laugh. “Monsieur de Siorac,” he continued after a moment’s reflection, “I would like to make a request of you.”
“A request, sire? No, sire, you command me!”
“Not in this case. I want to make sure that you freely and willingly accept my commission, knowing that it has nothing to do with your service as my physician, and that it will undoubtedly place you in great danger.”
“All the more reason, sire!”
“Henri,” interjected Chicot, “the Chevalier of Bloodletting is ready to bleed for you! Talis pater qualis filius.”*
“You’re right, my son,” agreed the king. “And I remember well how loyally the Baron de Mespech served my grandfather at Ceresole, and my father at Calais.”
“Henricus,” observed Chicot, “luckily I’m not your son and wouldn’t wish to be. You’ve fathered nothing but ingrates!”
“All but one!” corrected the king.
I wondered, of course, hearing these enigmatic words, which of the two arch-favourites was the ingrate and which the faithful friend, the latter seeming, the more I thought about it, to be Épernon rather than Anne de Joyeuse, a guess that the rest of the conversation confirmed in the most dramatic fashion.
“Monsieur de Siorac,” continued the king, “the intermediary between Mosca and me is not in the least to my liking. He’s of limited intelligence and has way too big an appetite.”
“But Mosca himself…” I smiled.
“Mosca,” said Chicot, “takes money from all hands, both those of the king and those of his enemies.”
“But Mosca can betray in only one direction,” corrected the king, “since he knows nothing of my plans, and everything of theirs. While his intermediary could betray Mosca—in which case I would be betrayed.”
“That’s remarkably well reasoned for a king!” observed Chicot.
“Sire, if I understand you correctly, you would like me to serve as intermediary between Mosca and Your Highness, since you have entire confidence in my fidelity, which is to my infinite honour.”
“But also because,” explained the king, “being my physician, your access to me is so natural and necessary that it won’t excite anyone’s curiosity.”
“But sire,” I confessed, “how great is the peril that I risk in this role?”
“Immense,” he replied, fixing his large, jet-black eyes on mine. “If Mosca is taken by those he betrays, he’ll give them your name, and these zealots, as you know, breathe fire, brimstone and murder.”
“Well, sire! I’ve encountered many other dangers!”
At this he dropped his eyes an instant, sensing that I hadn’t mentioned the St Bartholomew’s day massacre by name because he’d taken part in it. I also knew that, ever since the siege of La Rochelle, he’d become convinced that “knives resolve nothing” against the reformers, and was struggling with all his might against Guise, who wanted to force him to undertake a new crusade. Which was also why I was so dedicated to this monarch, who dared protect my people—who were still my people even though I now went to hear Mass. But it’s also true that I just plain liked Henri for himself, both for his thoughtfulness and for his heart—the most affable and generous there ever was. I am persuaded that Henri perfectly sensed my feelings about him, since his judgements about people (except when passion interfered) were usually very penetrating and sure.
“Monsieur de Siorac,” the king continued, looking up at me again, “you had occasion to meet, some twelve years ago, my cousin, the king of Navarre”—a discreet allusion to the assassination of Coligny.
“Yes, sire. We rode side by side one night from the Louvre to the rue de Béthisy”—where Coligny lived, though I was as loath as the king was to mention him by name in this conversation—“and we talked as we rode.”
“And do you believe he’d remember you?”
“I believe so, yes, sire, if it’s not too presumptuous. The king of Navarre praised me highly for having studied medicine despite being of noble birth, a circumstance that seems to have impressed him greatly.”
“That’s him all right!” he smiled. “The king of Navarre practises the religion of usefulness.”
“That’s all the religion he’s got!” observed Chicot.
“Quiet, fool!” snapped the king. “Let no one be a judge of conscience, not even you, Chicot, wise and crazy though you may be. Monsieur de Siorac,” he continued, “since my brother is dying and my queen has given me no child, I want no other successor than Henri de Navarre. Moreover, I hold him in high esteem. He is of high birth and a naturally good disposition. My inclination has always been to love him and I believe he loves me. He is sometimes quick to anger and can be prickly, but at heart he is a good man. I am sure my temperament would please him and that we could get along well. I think that in a week or so I’ll dispatch Épernon to ask him if he would agree to be my successor, on condition that he consent to convert to the Catholic religion; on this occasion, I would like you to accompany Épernon to Guyenne, since he suffers constantly from throat pain and his own physician is himself sick and bedridden.”
“Sire, I shall do everything you command me,” I replied, emphasizing the word “everything”, since I understood that my medical attentions to Épernon were not all there was to my mission, and that he preferred to leave to my imagination the part that he didn’t yet wish to reveal.
“My little Henrikins,” said Chicot, “your decision drives me, a devout henchman of the Magnificent, to despair! What? You prefer this relapsed heretic Navarre to his uncle the Great Halfwit, who must be a good Catholic since he’s a cardinal, and so senile that he shits himself! What a wicked choice you’re making! You’re going to have all the Guisards nipping at your heels, along with the priests, the preachers and the Duchesse de Montpensier, who limps with her right foot but is as nimble with her left thigh as her brother the Whoremonger! Ah, Henrikins! To hell with the most sacred rules of succession! Believe me, we should be choosing the younger branch over the older branch. And the shit-covered uncle over the valiant nephew! Heavens, once the Great Halfwit is king and trades his cross for a sceptre, then you’ll have the Magnificent as constable. A celestial choice, Henricus! The most fervent desire of the Lord God, the Pope, the Spanish king, the people of Paris and the most vociferous priests in the capital! How many strident enemies you’ve made! Aren’t you hated enough already?”
“I’m hated enough to suit me,” declared Henri III, who, having listened carefully to his fool, responded with a seriousness that frankly surprised me. “But, Chicot, never forget this! The rules of succession govern the king and he cannot violate them to suit himself without shaking the kingdom to its foundations. Navarre happens to be my legitimate successor according to those rules. And I shouldn’t choose just any so-and-so in order to thwart him. I made no vows at my coronation to exclude a prince from succeeding me on the basis of his religion. And this is not a decision I can make on my private authority. T
he state orders it. And so, convinced as I am that the good of the state orders it on this occasion, I am at ease with my conscience in naming Navarre as my successor.”
At this Chicot, forgetting his role as fool, fell silent, as did I, both of us struck beyond all words by this beautiful and strong expostulation, by which the king’s fidelity to the principles of the kingdom appeared with such strength. He considered them to be above him as he was above his people.
“Monsieur de Siorac,” continued the king, handing me a piece of paper folded in four, “it is important, as you travel to Guyenne, to be properly outfitted so as to make a good impression on the Duc d’Épernon. When you present this paper to my treasurer, he will provide you with 300 écus.”
“Sire, I offer you a thousand thanks for this marvellous munificence.”
“Oh, don’t thank him!” growled Chicot. “His generous nature is his greatest defect. If we hadn’t given so much money to all the ingrates, we’d have more to arm ourselves against the Magnificent.”
“May God,” continued the king, pretending not to have heard his fool, “keep you safe, Monsieur de Siorac, and stalwart in my service! You have greatly obliged me by your acceptance of this mission, and it cannot but redouble the friendship I bear you. I would give you my hand, Monsieur chevalier, if it hadn’t been gloved for the night. Chicot, my mask, if you please.”
“Sire,” said Chicot as he arranged as best he could the mask over Henri’s face, “may I sleep on the floor beside your bed tonight?”
“Alas no, Chicot. Your feet stink. Call Du Halde. This mask isn’t set the way I like it. Monsieur chevalier, I shall sleep soundly, confident in your obedience and certain of your fidelity.”
“Ah, Chevalier of Bloodletting,” said Chicot after we’d left the king and he’d informed Du Halde that His Majesty was asking for him, “of all the brave and good people on this earth, Henri is the most generous and affectionate with his servants. I am enraged at the evil that they want to inflict on this lamb! And that they use us to get at him! Oh, if only I could find in this kingdom a sack large enough, I’d stuff it with the Magnificent, the Whoremonger and Madame Limp and drown them in the Seine!” He said all of this with a tear in his eye, partly out of pity for the king and partly out of fury at his mortal enemies.
“Ah, where shall we find a sack large enough?”
“Patience!” replied Chicot as he gave me a huge hug, which I returned with all my heart—though I did notice, as I embraced him, that the king was absolutely right about his feet. Nevertheless, as witty, incisive and rambunctious as he was, and sharp though his claws may have been, beneath that irreverent exterior beat an immense heart. After this moment we’d spent together, I loved him till his death, which was heroic, as I’ve said.
My poor Angelina was pained and sad when she learnt that I’d have to leave her, and though I assured her that this would be an affair of but two months, she refused to believe me, knowing full well that when great men travel in this kingdom, followed by all their servants and effects, they’re received in every town with banquets and feasting, and thus increasingly delayed by all these delights. And though she was aggrieved by this separation, and perhaps jealous of all the Circes that I might encounter in my journey, she had too much dignity and nobility to cover me with tears or to betray any of her suspicions. And yet, as I watched the pensive way that she looked at me, her beautiful doe eyes filled with such candour and trust, it seemed to me that they sometimes misted over in melancholy, which her dignity and her scrupulous concerns for me prevented her from expressing.
And bursting with love at this new appreciation for her exquisite kindness, I pulled her to me passionately and kissed and hugged her, murmuring those many tender expressions we’d exchanged over the years, and assuring her of my undying commitment to her. I told her again that what her beauty had set in motion, those many years ago, her admirable goodness had completed, and that I would love her till the end of time—or, at least, as long as I remained in the world of the living.
Leaving her side to begin outfitting myself for my mission, as the king, in his generosity, had commanded me to do, I could think only of expressing my feelings for Angelina in some way that would feel adequate, for my boundless love seemed to surpass any earthly measure of recompense. As I wandered about the streets purchasing the necessary items for my trip, I couldn’t help seeing her everywhere and desiring to please her with every beautiful object I saw in the shop windows, wishing I could offer her the very universe.
In the midst of these dreamy fantasies, I was staring at some very expensive necklaces in the window of a jeweller’s shop, when a lady wearing a black mask got out of a coach behind me, followed by her chambermaid, also masked. She stepped unabashedly to my side, and pretended to examine the display in the window that I’d imagined being able to offer Angelina.
I suspected that this mysterious lady was some well-dressed debauchee in search of a young gentleman to fleece, but my suspicions vanished as soon as she spoke: her low, musical voice was as sweet as honey and her French remarkably refined, though marked by an accent that seemed familiar.
“Monsieur,” she ventured, “I’m going to guess that, of all the rings displayed here, the one you like best is the luminous Hungarian opal, set with little diamonds.”
“Madame,” I stammered, astonished by such on opening, “you’re very perceptive! That’s the very one! But I’m afraid my pockets aren’t deep enough to afford it.”
“Ah, what a pity!” she sighed. “Or, rather, what a half-pity, for I know a noble lady who’d be very pleased to offer it to your wife, to thank her for the expense and bother of taking into her home a gentleman in need of medical attention.”
“Madame,” I replied, suddenly suspicious, “I know not which gentleman you could be referring to! Nor who this noble lady might be! Nor who you might be, for that matter!”
“I serve the woman I’ve mentioned,” said my mysterious friend, “and she’s good enough to lend me some of her jewels from time to time, which are much like these you see on my hand. And as you have such a good eye for jewellery, perhaps you will recognize the owner of these stones…” And so saying, she slowly removed her glove from her left hand; when it was bare, she raised it to her mask as if she were intending to adjust it, and allowed me to admire the set of rings that had adorned the fingers of Lady Stafford when I’d kissed them in Madame de Joyeuse’s salon.
I now saw that this was no attempt to trick me, and I was struck by the subtlety of my English friend’s feminine intuition, for, though I’d not said a word, Lady Stafford, seeing my admiration of her jewellery, had subsequently had the idea of using it to express her gratitude for what I’d done.
“The gentleman is well on his way to recovery. He’ll be able to ride a horse in a week or so.”
“Then he’ll be able to accompany you on your trip to Guyenne,” said my mysterious friend, leaving me dumbfounded that she knew of this voyage and the unexpected request of the king.
“And these are your mistress’s wishes?” I asked when I’d recovered my voice.
“Yes, Monsieur.”
“Assuredly,” I conceded, “her wishes are important, but I cannot accept without first having discussed it with my master, to see if he agrees, so I won’t be able to answer you before tomorrow morning.”
“Well then, Monsieur, let’s agree to meet here again tomorrow at the same time, so you can inform me of his decision.”
“Agreed,” I consented, “as long as you’ll share with me the identity of your mistress, which is more persuasive than your rings.”
At this, my masked friend, whom I imagined to be one of Lady Stafford’s ladies-in-waiting, gave a saucy laugh and departed with a great swish of her generous skirts.
I was able to speak to the king the next morning while appearing to take his pulse, and apprised him of my previous day’s encounter. He gave his consent to her request, on condition that no one should know that the fellow was Eng
lish, since His Majesty was convinced that in the Duc d’Épernon’s retinue there would be some of Guise’s spies. On the other hand, he understood that Queen Elizabeth wanted to use the offices of this gentleman to consult with Navarre on ways to foil the assassination plots of their common enemies, and this was what ultimately convinced him to sanction the project.
As I did every day, I accompanied the king to Mass in the chapel of the Hôtel de Bourbon, and, when I returned to my lodgings, I found Giacomi in despair after having received a report from Mosca indicating that, after losing any trace of Samarcas for the past several days, he’d discovered the Jesuit had embarked from Calais two days previously with his pupil. I comforted my Italian brother as best I could, and decided to obey the sudden inspiration of my feelings by asking him to accompany me to Guyenne, since I’d also be bringing Miroul and Mr Mundane with me. He hesitated at first, until I suggested that he tell the Montcalms that he’d be away for six months, pointing out that they’d doubtless communicate this information to Samarcas, who then might stay with them during his next visit, believing the maestro to be conveniently separated from his pupil.
From the change that came over his face at my suggestion, I could tell that I’d given him some hope with this dazzling possibility, however fragile, given that I wasn’t certain that we’d be returning before six months had elapsed, or that Samarcas would be returning to Paris during that period. It’s well known, however, that the lover who lives in perpetual fear of losing the object of his affections thrives on speculations about his mistress, some sombre, others radiant, and all of them unreasonable. At least what I’d told him was neither impossible nor nonsensical, since, when he was in Paris, Samarcas wouldn’t stay with the Montcalms if there were any chance of seeing Giacomi there.
In the examination I performed on Mr Mundane after my midday meal, I found him well on the way to recovery and had no doubt he’d be able to saddle up by the date the king had set for the departure of the Duc d’Épernon, so I immediately informed him of what the sovereign he served was expecting of him. He answered that he was aware that when his mission in Paris had been completed he would be sent to Guyenne to support the king of Navarre, and that he’d be delighted to join me in this voyage, especially since he spoke French with an accent and would need my help to avoid the suspicions of the Guisards, who held the queen of England and all of her loyal subjects in particular execration.
