He lifted a brow. “This Spaniard? You are right. Ah, my disappoint- ments are many.”
She widened her eyes. “Marquis!”
“Why so shocked? Spain is the mortal enemy of every Huguenot. I would think you might look with favor upon certain Frenchmen decid- ing to take a few Spanish heads. I myself would not object unduly to harrying a few now and then. They are most annoying in insisting upon their divine right to light faggots and chain heretics to galley oars.”
Rachelle sobered at the thought of the terrible religious wars led by le Duc de Guise and sanctioned by his brother the cardinal. In response to this divine right granted by Rome to rid France of its Huguenots, many had at first gone to their deaths meekly, singing hymns from the Geneva Psalter while being readied for burning at the stake. But when these burnings increased, women and children were added, followed by an entire Huguenot village; they rose up and appealed to their Bourbon princes and nobles ruling the districts where they lived. The Huguenots appealed to the Bourbons, who were themselves mostly Protestant, to come to their beleaguered cause and defend them from the wrack, the f lames, the hangman’s noose, the hatchet, and the molten lead poured down their throats. All because the Huguenots would not recant of jus- tification by faith alone in the righteousness of Christ apart from any religious laws, rules, and traditions of the state church.
The Huguenots pleaded for their rights to be represented before the King of France by Prince Louis de Condé, Admiral Gaspard de Coligny, and the other Bourbon nobles. The Bourbon princes, sympathetic to the Reformation, honorably picked up the gauntlet of responsibility saying that noblesse oblige.
Civil war threatened if King Francis and the Queen Mother con- tinued to allow the relentless attacks by Guise and his mercenary army financed by Spain’s treasure ships.
“Rome has agreed that the wealth of the New World belongs to the King of Spain, who calls himself the Sword of the Lord,” Fabien said. “The King of Spain was blessed by Rome to rid France and Europe of its heretics.”
“You sound as though you may know something of this wealth of the New World, so freely bestowed by Rome to Spain.”
“I assure you I am learning quickly enough. It is all so fascinating, is it not? This question of the divine rights of kings to become a sword in
the mighty fist of religious Rome? Allowing no authority but their own, granting the holy right to torture?”
She hid a shudder. Much blood had been shed in the last decade, many short-lived truces, many edicts signed, but the Guises cared not for truces, and Rome encouraged the breaking of them to rid France of its heretics.
“As you say, Marquis, the sweetness of the lime blossoms beg a far different discussion.” She smiled.
“Pardon! But the sharp weapon of Rome interests me, this Sword that sits in Spain. Spain’s galleons, her wanton treasure ships, return yearly to Madrid bringing great chests of gold, emeralds, and pearls.” His violet blue eyes hardened like jewels. “Do you know what Philip does with most of this bounty?”
Rachelle looked at him dubiously. “I suspect he gathers it together with his other bounty, and showers it upon his numerous wives. I have heard he has had many, besides our own Princesse Elisabeth Valois.”
“Now called Isabel, Mademoiselle. But no, that is not his purpose . . .
though he no doubt tosses them baubles now and then. Philip uses the wealth of the Main to fund his wars of religion. Le Duc de Guise’s army is mainly financed by Philip through his treasure galleons. Philip collects the treasure of the Americas to feed and arm his soldiers and to pay his mercenaries to wage battle in the Netherlands, and yes, here in France.” “I have heard of men from England who attack these treasure ships
and take the gold to the English queen.”
His hand waved an airy dismissal. “Have you not heard of the Frenchmen who command their own ships?”
“Corsairs, yes?”
“Corsairs indeed! And they are not all English, many are French.
They are galantes, Mademoiselle.”
“My père would agree with you, Marquis. He has spoken of such Frenchmen.”
“Do you know what would happen in Europe if Spain did not take gold from the Americas and from what some in England now call the ‘Caribbean’? Spain’s ability to buy mercenary soldiers and pay kings and queens to wage war against its Protestant subjects would shrivel and die. Without its treasure galleons, Mademoiselle Rachelle, Spain would
come to naught. Yet, I am amazed our royal and princely families who fear Spain do not consider this and take action.”
“Do you intend to enliven the interest of our king?”
“With the House of Guise as Spain’s legates, I doubt the king will have opportunity to seriously consider it.” He looked at her. “Your leader, Coligny, knows the importance of France taking an interest in the Americas. He is sending men by ship to the Americas to begin a colony. They call it Florida. But we must keep our real intention from reaching the ears of the Guises.”
“We? You are then, Marquis, interested in this colony?”
“The voyage, Mademoiselle. As I say, it is intriguing. I will help sponsor the venture.”
She glanced at him, thinking it was Fabien who was intriguing. The diamonds on his blue velvet jacket sparkled in the sunlight, and she noticed the armorial emblem of the House of Bourbon on his gold bracelet. Here was a man of the blood royal, and she found it exciting to be engaged in discussion with him on a matter that obviously held his heart.
His gaze came to hers as though about to say something more on Spain. When he noticed her watching him, she f lushed and looked away quickly.
“The sculptured staircase, Monsieur,” she said.
She had brought him by a somewhat indirect route to a double stair- case under the central tower. The staircase appeared to be a giant f leur de lys in stone, where those who ascended were hidden to those who descended.
“Another glimpse into the artistic side of King Francis I,” he said. She noticed, as he pointed it out, how the same design was in con-
cealed doors, sliding panels behind the arras, and the many double walls and secret stairs.
They passed by into a wide salle that was open to the second f loor. Above them was a balustrade and a gallery displaying the masterpiece of the Labors of Hercules, which was placed there at the wishes of King Francis I. Fabien commented that it had captured his imagination since boyhood.
“Then you have come here often?”
He hesitated. She guessed that he debated how much he should explain.
“After my parents’ deaths I was taken to Paris. I was one of several who lived at court with the Valois children and Mary Stuart. Much of the year was spent journeying from one palais to another, including coming here to Chambord. It was a satisfaction to me when King Henry allowed me to return to my Bourbon kinsmen at Moulins and Châtillon, and recently, I gained possession of my marquisat at Vendôme.”
Rachelle withdrew into silence. He had been raised with the royal princes and princesses, a Bourbon by birth, with Vendôme and his fam- ily estates and lands under his own rule. With the reminder of his posi- tion — a jolt that brought her back to the reality of her own lack of blooded status — she did not pursue the reasons for his presence now at court. Perhaps she had been foolish to dare allow herself to imagine his inter- est, or that it could ever progress beyond a f lirtatious affaire d’amour. She had not thought of where her infatuation would lead. She had not seen beyond the next corner, wanting to trade the probable result, for the desires of the moment.
Although she had lapsed into thoughtful silence, he went on talking casually of the chateau’s history, explaining how Chambord was once a mere royal hunting lodge, a small one at that, lying low on the banks of the river Casson. Francis I began an ambitious building program and had hired renowned architects. “As all kings do,” he added dryly. “As you see, it is now a fair-sized palais.”
It amazed Rachelle when Fabien
pointed out how the king had his builders divert the path of the Loire River some fifteen miles away so it would f low by the walls of the chateau.
They entered the chateau salle from the garden walkway. All the win- dows were diamond shaped and set in painted arches. Rachelle led him to one of several stairways leading into the palais, and they climbed to an upper gallery. He seemed not the least surprised to be walking this direction. Her mouth turned. But of course he knew quite well where the state council chamber was located. Why then had he allowed her to lead him on this tour?
They went up leisurely, showing themselves to any who noticed them as enjoying one another’s company, a display which came naturel to him.
“Will you and your family follow the court to Amboise?” He looked down at her as they ascended the stairway side by side.
“Amboise? I did not know the king was leaving Chambord.” “Francis has sent a royal missive to all the nobles not more than an
hour ago to prepare for the journey. We leave in the morning. I find the matter mysterious, as he came here to Chambord for his health. I was at my own estates in Vendôme when I was summoned. We have been here for but how long? It seems like weeks.”
She laughed. “No more than a week for you, Marquis de Vendôme. I can see you did not wish to leave Vendôme.”
“You are right. In my mind Vendôme is equal to anything here at Chambord.”
“Does time here then go too slowly for you?”
“I find that it is moving more quickly now that I have met you. Your company, Mademoiselle, captivates me.”
She fought against the f lush of pleasure overtaking her cheeks. “Monsieur, you f latter me.”
“I insist you address me in a less formal manner. When we two are
together alone, Fabien will do for a start.” Her heart raced.
His smile was devastating. “I shall soon enjoy calling you Rachelle. And, I do not find it necessary to f latter you as I do others. You are, as you should know, charmante.”
“I know nothing of the sort, I assure you.” “I insist you come and visit Vendôme.”
She smiled. “You have set aside your serious mood, Marquis.”
“I do not humor you? With proper chaperone, bien sûr,” he added with a tilt of his head. “Tell your Grandmère you will journey there with Mademoiselle Claudine. She is a cousine of yours, is that not so? You will both be my honored guests.”
Her head turned and she glanced at him. “You know Claudine?”
“I know her well,” he said smoothly. “She is ailing now I am told. I was pleased to see her called home from the position of maid-of-honor to the Queen Mother.”
Did she imagine the hardened altercation in his voice? She studied the masculine profile and decided he was far from underestimating the web of intrigue that Catherine de Medici wove in secret.
As for Claudine, who could inherit the title from her aunt, Duchesse Dushane, it was natural that he would know her. What titled family in all of France would not be looking in the direction of Marquis de Vendôme for their marriageable mademoiselles?
“As a fact, Marquis, I will be visiting near Vendôme. I have been requested to come for a visit at Duchesse Dushane’s estate at Orléans. Claudine Boisseau has asked I come for a month.”
“I shall remember, I promise you. When will you be there?”
She drew her hand along the polished banister and glanced sideways at him. “July. The exact dates I do not yet know.”
“I shall learn them from Claudine. And any other secrets she may tell me about you.”
“I have no secrets.”
“It is just as well. When I want to learn about someone who interests me I have my ways. We in the nobility can be relentless, so I warn you now, Mademoiselle. You have intrigued me.”
She laughed. “I am not so foolish, Monsieur, to believe everything a man of your appearance and stature may tell me. Once you leave here for Amboise, Grandmère and I will not follow the court. We will return to my home in Lyon, and after that you will forget you met me here. There will be so many belles about you, all clamoring for your slightest favor. I know, for I have seen them doing so here at Chambord. And many of them are highly titled and from powerful families.”
“In speaking so, I almost believe you are challenging me not to forget
you, Mademoiselle. Well, have no alarms about that,” he said lightly. “My memory is most excellent, and be assured I have no wish to forget. Therefore you may be certain I will come to Orléans in July.”
“Then I shall look for you.”
“How is it we have been here at Chambord this entire week and I have only now the opportunity to meet you? Why have you not come to any of the divertissements so I could have noticed you earlier?”
She smiled. “I can see I shall need to be on guard so as not to permit myself to be overwhelmed by your compliments.”
They had climbed the stairway to the second f loor landing. Rachelle paused, her excited mood changing to one of uneasiness. “This is the place,” she whispered. “Do you see that oval door engraved with the f leur de lys?”
“Yes, I know of it, but do not draw attention to it. Catherine has spies everywhere. We will need to convince her we have developed an affaire d’amour.”
As though to reinforce his decision he drew her toward the gallery rail. His touch awakened all her senses.
“Grandmère would disapprove of our standing so close — ” “Tell me about this door at the end of the hall.”
“The Queen Mother uses it,” she whispered. He must be aware of
that. He had more experience at Chambord than she had. She went along with his affected innocence, noticing that the violet blue of his eyes could be mesmerizing.
“If you follow the steps to the top, you will come to an observatory for stargazing, Monsieur . . .”
“She is a firm believer in the zodiac and the dark arts. She consults Nostradamus. He has made a chart for her, foretelling her sons’ future reigns on the throne of France.”
Rachelle searched his face. “You do not believe such things, Marquis, surely not?”
A brow lifted. “Mademoiselle, do you think I would?”
“Non . . . Monsieur John Calvin speaks hotly against the idolatry of stargazing and fortune-tellers.”
“It appears as if Monsieur Calvin and I are in some agreement, Mademoiselle. But is it Calvin who speaks against the potions and mut- terings of soothsayers, or is it the Bible that does so?”
Her heart lightened. “Ah, you are wise to ask that, Marquis. If it were but Calvin it would not matter so, would it? I take it that is your point? Though Monsieur Calvin, like Monsieur Luther are firebrands for God. Non, it is the Bible that forbids looking to the zodiac for wisdom.” She gave him a cautious glance from beneath her lashes. “There is a Bible in our French language now, do you know of it?”
He appeared to take the charming bait. He smiled, lifting a brow, and leaned against the balustrade beside her.
“There is, Mademoiselle?” he asked innocently. “In French, you say? You do not mean it!”
“It is so, translated first by Lefevre d’Étaples.”
“Lefevre d’Étaples, oui. I faintly remember the name . . .” “Why do I suspect you know well his name?”
“I cannot guess.” A smile loitered around his mouth. “Lefevre d’Étaples was protected by another Marguerite Valois, this one the sister of King Francis I. Had it not been for her they would have burnt him. He escaped eventually and went to Strasbourg. That is where your John Calvin met him.”
“Then you know more than you pretend, Marquis.”
“Pretend? Perhaps. Do you have one of these forbidden Bibles in French?”
She smiled nervously. “Non, I do not — but we have one at the Chateau de Silk. My Cousine Bertrand works with Calvin in the free city of Geneva.”
Fabien regarded her soberly. “Fortunately you were wise enough to leave your forbidden Bible back in Lyon, hidden I hop
e.”
“I would let you see this Bible if you like sometime, if you wish to read it. I could bring it with me to Orléans.”
“Merci, Mademoiselle — but I doubt I will have the time for such read- ing. And you, do you read this forbidden Book in our mother tongue?”
“Yes, and not as often as I should, unlike Idelette.”
“I reproach myself to even speak the horrors that will come your way, and your sister’s, if this becomes known.”
She was sober, and he saw her shoulders straighten perceptibly, as though reinforcing some decision in her mind.
“Yes, I am aware, Marquis. I shall be most careful, I assure you.” “You should not be so trusting. You have told me you have hereti-
cal writings.” He looked at her, but when her eyes widened, he smiled disarmingly. “Not that I would sit in judgment on Calvin’s writings, or of the Bible in French, but others would.” His smile faded. “Learn to be cautious in sharing such secrets.” He frowned and warned himself that
he as well must be careful. A relationship with her, however attractive, would broaden his circle of enemies.
“I mentioned my beliefs only because you are a kinsman of the Huguenot Prince Condé. You yourself are from the House of Bourbon.” “Come,” he said, and they strolled down the gallery until she whispered: “Over there, Marquis. There is a hidden stair within that
wall — concealed by that tapestry, the one of King Francis I.” “Do not look there. You are certain it is the tapestry?”
“Mais certainement. It is the one Claudine mentioned. Behind the
tapestry there is a small door built into the wall, one you must stoop to enter . . . Claudine saw the Queen Mother do so. She is tall, but she was able to enter. The tapestry simply falls back into place.”
“The door would be locked — ”
“Yes, but — I know where the key is kept. I can locate and bring it to you, I am sure of it.”
Dangerous.
He regarded her, frowning. “Non.”
“Monsieur Fabien, it must be. Others are at risk.” “Why should I risk you?”
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