The king’s own doctor, Ambroise Paré, was by the body of my sister.
‘She is dead, I’m afraid,’ he told my father. ‘Take comfort that it would have been a swift death. Her neck was broken in the fall.’
‘I thank you, sir,’ my father replied dully. He reached in his purse to find a coin, for it was customary to pay the doctor who attends at a death.
Monsieur Paré put his hand over my father’s. ‘There is no charge, minstrel. Keep your money for your daughter’s funeral costs. For fear of Plague she needs to be buried without delay.’
We did not even have the satisfaction of knowing that Chantelle and Armand would lie close to each other in their graves. No trace could be found of Armand’s body. The Count de Ferignay stated that Armand Vescault had disappeared on the morning of his wedding day. He said that his vassal had told him that he had changed his mind about marrying such a lowly lady. He’d seen Armand ride out of the palace. He suggested that Chantelle, unable to bear the humiliation, had committed suicide by casting herself from the tower window.
We did not hear any of this until our return from the place where we had buried Chantelle.
‘We will go to the king and demand justice,’ I said to my father. He was rushing around our room in the palace, stuffing music sheets into a satchel and clothes into saddlebags.
‘We must leave before another day goes by,’ he said.
‘Leave?’ I said. I looked around the chamber Chantelle and I had shared and had left so happily that morning. Our sewing basket lay open, spilling the bright threads we’d used to embroider Chantelle’s wedding dress. The quill sat on the portable writing block. There was the music score where I’d begun to write a wedding song for Chantelle and Armand as my gift to them. ‘We cannot leave until the Count de Ferignay is brought to trial for the murders of Chantelle and Armand.’
‘Without witnesses, there will be no trial.’
‘There will be those that will testify.’
‘Against Ferignay? I do not believe so.’
‘I am a witness to what happened.’
‘Mélisande,’ my father said firmly. ‘We are leaving this place within the hour.’
‘Papa!’ I cried, incensed at what I saw as my father’s weakness. ‘Papa! Did you not love Chantelle?’
He wept then. ‘I adored her. As I do you. And it is for love of you that I know we must take this course of action.’
‘What has your love for me got to do with us leaving?’
‘Mélisande’ – he spoke desperately – ‘the complexities of court life are too devious for you to appreciate.’
I stamped my foot. ‘I am not a child. I am a woman and if you persist in running away I will go and plead with the king myself.’
‘No! You must not do that!’
‘I will!’ I shouted in hysterics. ‘I will! I will! I will!’
And then my father did something he had never done in all the years of my life. He struck me.
I fell back with both hands to my face where he had slapped it.
‘Don’t you see that you are now the one in danger?’
I shook my head, unable to reply.
My father fastened the straps of the saddlebags. ‘I will go to the keeper of the king’s purse and ask for the money that is due me. I’ll be lucky if I get even half of it. But that will do, as long as I have enough to enable us to get to the Isle of Bressay. While I am away doing this you must barricade the door, Mélisande, and admit no one. Change your dress to prepare for a journey. You may bring your travelling cloak and mandolin, that is all. I’ll find my horse in the stable and put these saddlebags on it. Then I will come here for you and we will quietly leave this palace at dusk.’ He lifted the satchel and saddlebags and was gone from the room.
I sat down on the edge of my cot. I was too numb now to cry any more. My father was betraying my sister and Armand, and there was nothing I could do about it. I must obey him. I took up my mandolin and put it in its chamois leather carrying bag. Then I looked around for my travelling cloak. I recalled that it was in the tower room. In order to be ready to leave with my father on his return I would have to go and fetch it now.
I took my mandolin and went to the door. There I hesitated. Turning, I lifted the long scissors from our sewing basket and tucked them into the waistband of my dress. Then I opened the door of the room and cautiously went out.
The palace was quiet as the courtiers were now assembling for dinner in the main hall. I made my way through the courtyards and into the turret room. My cloak lay beside the chair. I snatched it up and stuffed it into the top of the bag that held my mandolin. I swung this across my back, and hurried down the turret stairs, unhappy to be even one moment in those rooms.
I came into the main part of the palace and stepped into the first corridor.
My way was barred. A man stood before me.
It was the Count de Ferignay.
Chapter Seventeen
‘LET ME PASS,’ I said.
My anger with this man was such that I had no fear of him at this point.
‘We must speak together, you and I.’ He glanced up and down the corridor then grabbed my arm and manhandled me into a nearby alcove. He surveyed me up and down. ‘With the older one gone, I suppose you will have to do.’
‘I don’t know what you mean,’ I said. ‘Allow me to go.’
He had hold of my arm and now he shook me quite roughly. ‘You have no figure. Your face is plain. You are much more forward and opinionated than a girl should be, but my whip will soon beat that out of you.’ He laughed. ‘I might even enjoy taming you.’
‘What do you want with me?’ I struggled to understand what this man was after. ‘I know you desired my sister. When we were presented to you, I saw how you looked at her.’
‘It would have been a bonus to have her, but a man as deep in debt as I am cannot afford to be choosy.’
‘You want me?’ I stared at him.
‘You don’t think I want you for your person, you stupid girl?’ he said. ‘It is your estate that makes you desirable. It was to obtain the land that I gave permission for my vassal to marry your sister. Armand Vescault was so naive that I would have sequestered it from him quite easily once they were wed. Unfortunately my appetite overcame my good sense in that instance. She was a particular beauty, your sister, unlike the painted harlots of this court who jade my palate.’
Anger flooded through me as I heard him speak of Chantelle in this way. I wrenched my arm from his grasp. But he moved quite easily across the width of the alcove and blocked me in.
‘Here is the situation,’ he said. ‘Now that your sister is gone, all of the estate will fall to you when you marry. The Isle of Bressay has very rich pickings for a lord who can manage it more shrewdly than your father does. He seems unaware that tenants are supposed to work the land for their master, not for themselves. I had my agents look into it when your father first mentioned it as the dowry for your sister. You and I will be wedded. I will have your land, which will help me repay my debts and give me an income beside.’
I could not believe his effrontery but began to realize that he was very serious and that I was in great danger here. If I called for help, who would rescue me? I could hear no footsteps in the corridor. The courtiers would be assembled at dinner. Even if they heard me scream, none of the servants would dare interfere in the business of a nobleman, especially one with a connection to the House of Guise.
‘Your wife is alive,’ I said. Perhaps if I stalled for time, my father would return to our room, find me gone and come looking for me.
‘Only just,’ Ferignay replied. ‘She lingers, but Monsieur Paré has said that she will not last more than a day or two. You and I can be married within a week.’
‘I will not marry you,’ I said.
‘I will leave you no option.’ He lunged at me.
But I had remembered the long scissors tucked in my waistband and had them in my hand. My gown ripped as he tore a
t me but I had the point of the blades at his throat.
‘There is a vein there,’ I gasped. ‘If I plunge these in, you will bleed to death before you can cry out for help.’
‘You will not do it,’ he said, but his tone was uncertain.
‘I will,’ I said. And in that second I would have done it, for vengeance for my sister if no other reason.
He must have heard the purpose in my voice for he said in a placating manner, ‘Listen to me. You are being foolish. If you kill me they will find the body and you will be hanged, and your father too most likely, for they will certainly believe he had a hand in it.’
He must have felt me waver. He went on more confidently, ‘We can make a deal on this, you and I. Marry me and I will leave you alone. I have women friends enough and you may have your own male companions, as long as you’re discreet. Both you and your father will be safe with a mighty lord to protect you. Otherwise you become a murderer. You will both be fugitive and hunted down. Think on it.’
I began to reflect on what Ferignay had said. If I married him, I and my father would have a barrier between us and the world. For he was right: if I killed him, we would never escape the palace. And I remembered the punishment the Guise had arranged for the two Huguenot farmers, who had been innocent of anything other than worshipping God in their own way.
‘You may even play your silly music,’ Ferignay added, ‘if that’s what takes your fancy. As may that shiftless, worthless thing that is your father.’
The spell shattered. Whatever else my father was, self-effacing, fond of drink and gambling maybe, he was neither shiftless nor worthless. His soul was filled with love of life, and music. As mine was.
‘No,’ I said. ‘I will never marry you.’
But I had relaxed my grip and the fiend took immediate advantage. His fingers snaked around the hand that held the scissors. And he gripped me by the wrist.
‘You will do as I say, madam. Maybe if you promise to behave I will not whip you every day – only every second day.’
With my free hand I clawed out at him. My nails scratched his face. I opened a long ragged tear running from eye to chin.
‘You cat!’ he yelped, clutching both hands to his wound. ‘You minx! I will have you, and beat you every day for the rest of your life!’
I eluded his grasp and ran. And as I ran I thought what I might do. The court was at dinner. I would go to the main hall. To where the royals sat at table. I would go to the king, our king, who had taken sacred oaths before the altar of God to care for his people, and I would ask for justice. King Charles, who looked favourably on my father, would listen to me.
I had forgotten that the king was ill.
The person presiding over dinner that night, and dispensing justice for his majesty, was the queen regent, Catherine de’ Medici.
Chapter Eighteen
‘JUSTICE!’ I SCREAMED, as I ran into the main hall and flung myself on my knees in front of the high table. ‘I ask for justice in the king’s name!’
‘Who is this child?’
Catherine de’ Medici stopped in the act of raising her spoon to her lips.
The courtier who stood behind the queen’s chair leaned forward and said in a low voice, ‘It is the minstrel’s younger daughter. The older girl died this morning by casting herself from a tower in the palace due to a broken marriage promise.’
‘Ah, yes.’ The queen looked at me not unsympathetically. ‘My ladies-in-waiting have talked of nothing else today. How men do deceive us. A most unfortunate death.’
‘It was not an unfortunate death,’ I said through my tears for I had begun to cry at the mention of Chantelle. ‘My sister’s death and that of her lover were caused by the Count de Ferignay.’
Upon my saying this, the Duke of Guise and the Cardinal of Lorraine, who were seated not far from the queen regent, exchanged looks. The duke called his servant and spoke to him and the man hurried off.
‘Are you saying that your sister did not cast herself down from the tower in order to kill herself?’ Catherine de’ Medici asked me.
‘She did, your majesty, but it was the Count de Ferignay who compelled her to do this.’ My voice shook, but having got this far I was determined to continue. ‘She killed herself because her lover, Armand Vescault, was murdered before her eyes by the Count de Ferignay.’
Catherine de’ Medici regarded me sternly. ‘That is a grievous charge.’
‘I know this. Yet still I make it.’
‘Mélisande!’ There was a stir among the groups of people at the side of the hall. It was my father. He tried to reach me but was prevented by some men in the livery of the house of Guise who had come into the hall and now stood about in clusters.
Queen Catherine glanced around. ‘Where is the Count de Ferignay? Let him stand forward.’
‘Am I being accused of stabbing my own bondsman, Armand Vescault?’ Feigning astonishment, the Count de Ferignay walked to the centre of the room. ‘This girl has been rendered hysterical by the shock of the death of her sister. Armand was my cousin’s child whom I’d taken into my personal service. He was a young man, orphaned and without fortune, and I treated him as my own son.’
‘You did not strike the blow personally but you shouted to your bodyguard to kill him as he tried to defend his bride, my sister, from your unworthy attentions,’ I said.
‘This is nonsense,’ replied the count. ‘Armand Vescault left the palace this morning. I saw him go.’
‘How came you then, count de Ferignay,’ asked Catherine de’ Medici, ‘by that scratch to your face?’
‘Ah.’ The count put his hand to where there was a weal of red where I had scratched him.
And now we have him, I thought in triumph, for it was obvious what kind of action had caused that wound. I blessed the queen regent for her sharp eyes and mind.
‘I am ashamed to say, your majesty.’ The count bowed his head.
‘I do insist,’ the queen replied.
‘I had an assignation with a lady of the court. This lady has a singular way of expressing her passion for me.’
Such a liar this man was! Had he thought of this in the short time that had elapsed since I’d injured him or did falsehoods come readily from his lying tongue?
There was a titter among the onlookers. ‘The Duchess Marie-Christine is wont to mark her conquests in this way,’ some wag quipped.
‘You had this tryst while your wife lies dying?’ Catherine de’ Medici observed dryly.
‘In such circumstances a man needs comfort,’ replied the Count de Ferignay.
‘Perhaps it is your wife who should have comfort from you in her last hours,’ the queen said acidly.
‘I am deservedly rebuked, your majesty.’ The count bowed his head.
‘His story is not true.’ I raised my voice. ‘The count lies. His face is marked because—’
The Count de Ferignay interrupted me in a bolder and more confident tone of voice. ‘Yes, there are lies being told here, your majesty. And we must wonder why. Before he ran off Armand confided in me. He told me that he was becoming disinclined to marry this girl’s sister. Since they joined our court he had been party to some of the conversations within this family. He was becoming suspicious as to the true intent of these musicians in the presence of our king. It is known that they have recently come from the court of Elizabeth of England, where they entertained that false queen who has sworn enmity with France. And now they have insinuated themselves into the good graces of his majesty, gaining close access to his person. Who knows what harm they intend?’
‘Bring me the minstrel!’ Catherine de’ Medici called out.
My father walked forward. My spirits faltered as I saw that he was escorted by two of the Guise men-at-arms. What had I led him to in my reckless foolishness?
‘Explain yourself,’ the queen commanded.
‘Your majesty,’ said my father. ‘I first came to your court in Paris, where my elder daughter Chantelle fell in love with Arm
and Vescault, and he with her. I took my daughter away, so that she might consider whether she wished to marry this man. I reasoned that it would be a test if their love was true. I did not want her to marry and later regret it, she being so young.’
The queen said nothing. Perhaps Catherine de’ Medici would not be in sympathy with this novel idea of a woman having a choice in whom she married. Her own marriage to the previous King of France had been arranged for her at a very early age.
‘We were invited to the court of Queen Elizabeth of England to play at the occasion of the baptism of the son of the Earl of Henley,’ my father continued.
‘This baptism,’ interrupted the Cardinal of Lorraine, ‘would it have been a true sacrament of the Church or some false ceremony of a spurious reformed faith?’
Now Ferignay’s side had scored a hit. For, although the queen regent was sympathetic to the Protestants, she was under public pressure from the house of Guise to maintain only the Catholic faith as the one religion of France.
My father, never confident in speech, allowed himself to be distracted and hesitated in his explanation.
‘Your eminence, I do not know. My daughters and I did not attend the service. It was afterwards at the celebrations that we were required to play music.’
‘Ah yes, let us examine the circumstances of the performance of your music,’ said the Duke of Guise. ‘You played to the king in his private rooms the other night, and now he is taken ill. Were you near the food that was served to his majesty that evening?’
Catherine de’ Medici was at once alert. ‘You and your daughters were permitted at the sideboard dishes,’ she said. ‘I recall you being there. And’ – she paused – ‘you made comment on the greatness of the majesty of Elizabeth of England, did you not?’
Now I began to see why my father had tried to warn me of the snares of court life. He could not publicly state that he had only been agreeing with the queen when she said that Elizabeth of England might be a worthy match for her son. If he did then he would betray something that she obviously would not want the Guise faction to know.
The Nostradamus Prophecy Page 8
