Daughter of Silk

by Linda Lee Chaikin

  “I will pray for you, ma amour,” Grandmère said.

  “And I you, Grandmère. Always.” She kissed the pale wrinkled cheek. She turned to her sister. They embraced but Idelette looked less tranquil than Rachelle had ever seen her.

  Somehow . . . after the Queen Mother saw me with Marquis in the gal-

  lery, I suspected something like this might happen. The question is, why? Why does Catherine want me with Princesse Marguerite; why at Amboise? Why does she want Grandmère in Paris with Madeleine?

  Rachelle looked at the gilded red boxes.

  Chapter Ten

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  The Queen Mother dismissed Madalenna from her small bed at the foot of her own, then proceeded to dress herself in her usual black dress with lace ruff collar that opened like a tulip. Her head coif was in place, forming a V shape over her broad forehead. Her round chin was set, and her eyes, appearing light and obscure in her Venetian mirror, gazed back, revealing nothing. She must mask her true plans.

  She had agreed to meet with le Duc de Guise and le Cardinal de Lorraine just after dawn this morning to discuss further plans. The cardi- nal preferred to keep her son, her petit King Francis, totally uninformed.

  Catherine despised the Guise brothers . . . Little did they know how she wished to drop poison into their wine goblets or send gloves —

  But no. Gloves must not be used again at court for a length of time. Her enemies were already whispering that she had sent her Italian cup- bearer with water to her husband’s older brother, the dauphin, when he was sick. The dauphin died soon afterward, and Catherine’s husband, Henry, had become king in place of his brother.

  Catherine shuddered. Even Henry had once all but suggested she had eliminated his brother so they two might rule France.

  She poured herself tea. She was a hearty eater and usually enjoyed her large meals, but not this morning. There was too much to do, to plan, and to seal those plans in her mind for the future. As long as she knew her humiliation under the Guises would not endure forever, she could accept their arrogance. Their combined power over her could not last long because her petit Francis was sickly; everyone knew he suffered from poison of the blood.

  She stared at the two wax tapers as if hypnotized by the weaving flames.

  As long as Francis is king, the Guises will hold the key to power in

  France through Mary. Mary!

  She both loathed and feared the Guises, for they were as shrewd and sly as she. Had she not tried to placate them, to assure them she was loyal to Philip of Spain and the pope in Rome?

  But they accuse me of secretly reaching out to the Huguenot Coligny

  and Bourbon princes.

  She did not agree with the Huguenots anymore than she agreed with the Catholics; she used one against the other to maintain her own con- trol. But when the Guises learned of her secret meetings with Coligny and Condé to thwart their power, the duc had confronted her.

  As if I do not know that the authority of the duc and cardinal will grow

  as Francis matures and draws further from my influence. And Mary, already clever, will mature in her ability to exercise authority as Queen of France. All the while, her oncles would grow bolder as the months pass, until—

  Catherine banged her fist down on the table.

  Her son Charles was still a boy and would be for many more years. My hold over his mind is almost complete. Charles will do everything I tell him, though there are times when he shows his independence and rebels. When that happened she had to frighten him into submission by telling him details of the Inquisitors.

  “Ah, you do not want to be sent to the Bastille do you, mon petit? The Huguenots will have their revenge on you. They will pour molten lead down your throat. You must trust me, you must do as I say, for only I, your maman, can protect you from them.”

  Catherine stood tall and straight. She walked to her window and drew aside the heavy drapery to look into the garden below.

  The early dawn sky was beginning to show pink. As she scanned the garden she noticed two people creeping back toward the palais. She clamped her mouth. It was Marguerite, looking disheveled. Her black hair was partly loose and she was clinging to Monsieur Henry de Guise’s arm and looking up into his comely face with those sick, adoring dark

  eyes of hers. “Ah, the harlot. I must marry her to a prince soon or none will have her.”

  Catherine could not think about Marguerite now. She would handle her wanton daughter at Amboise.

  Catherine laughed coarsely. Petite Margo will be dismayed when she

  learns of the plans I have to marry her to another Henry— Prince Henry of Navarre.

  Catherine sobered. But first she would need to convince Jeanne d’Albret, Queen of Navarre, that her Huguenot son should marry the Catholic princesse. The clever Jeanne was a delicate problem. Catherine did not feel comfortable around her and had not since the first time they met when both were in their teens. Jeanne, the Protestant, was too much like Princesse Eleonore, the pious Huguenot wife of Prince Condé. Clever women, both. But not as clever as she.

  Catherine rang her gong. Madalenna appeared silently and bowed. “Send for Charlotte de Presney.”

  “Oui, Madame.”

  Charlotte de Presney knelt before the Queen Mother. She had been rushed out of her bedchamber, hurriedly gowned, and her hair arranged. Charlotte was always nervous when Catherine called for her. As a mem- ber of the escadron volant, she was, for all practical purposes, owned body and soul by the Queen Mother. In return, she received a pampered life and jewels, and moved among the courtiers freely. She was not liked by the women, but that did not trouble her; there were few of them that she wished to be friendly with.

  “Ah, Charlotte, you are looking winsome this morning.” “Merci, Madame.”

  “How are you coming on your wooing of the most beau young man at court?” She smiled slyly.

  Charlotte was still kneeling for the Queen Mother had not yet lifted her hand to allow her to rise.

  Charlotte tried to shield her surprise and her shiver at the mention of Marquis Fabien. It was one thing for the Queen Mother to order Charlotte to spy on others, but that Catherine also was watching her was ominous.

  “Oh, come, come, it is no trif ling matter to me whom you seek for your newest lover. So you are attracted to Marquis Fabien de Vendôme? That is well. He is just the man I want you to turn your charms upon. You are to find out from the marquis just what his plans are toward someone most important, le Duc de Guise.

  “Ah, you are surprised, as I expected. You need not be. You should understand what constrains the man you wish to influence your way, Madame de Presney. Marquis Fabien believes the duc is responsible for having his father, Duc Jean-Louis de Vendôme, assassinated at Calais in the last war with Spain. I see by your shock you did not know this. Marquis de Vendôme has been suspicious of the duc for years, since but a boy. What could he do about his loathing but set aside his plans until manhood? Ah, but now he has arrived, as you have surely noted,” her lip curled, “and I want to know of his plans for revenge.”

  “But — what can I possibly do, Madame?”

  “It is most simple. You will plant little seeds in his mind. You need merely make suggestions that you have the evidence he is seeking.”

  Charlotte saw how this might work to gain his attention. And once she had that . . .

  Catherine smiled broadly. “He will be most indebted to you, I assure you.”

  Charlotte smiled in return. “Yes, Madame, merci. But how can I con- vince him of such things when I know nothing?”

  “Do not be a fool. I intend to give you the proof you need at the proper time. But only when I say it is time. Understood?”

  “May I ask, Madame, why you wish to help Marquis de Vendôme in his suspicion of le Duc de Guise?”

  “I would think that would have dawned upon such a sly mind as yours.” She motioned for her to rise. “First, sow your seeds. I need not tell you how.
You have your ways. He will take the bait, I assure you. He has no liking or trust for the Guises. Then learn his plans for revenge on

  Guise. When you have them, come to me. We will proceed one step at a time.”

  “Madame, if I may ask a favor of Your Majesty?”

  Catherine looked at her impatiently. “Be quick, I soon have a meeting.”

  “Yes, Madame, that — you would have your Florence perfumer, Monsieur Rene, make me a vial of amoureux potion? I believe it will help me convince Marquis de Vendôme of his desire for me.”

  Catherine did not laugh, and Charlotte had not expected her to do so. Rene and Cosmo were the Queen Mother’s chief parfumer and poisoner.

  Catherine stood abruptly. “Be in the garden, waiting. I will send Rene’s assistant to bring you a small vial before the king rides out of the gate this morning.”

  “Merci, Madame.” Charlotte could hardly contain her excitement. Catherine looked at her coldly. “And remember, Madame de Presney,

  if even one word of what I mentioned about the duc is made known to anyone, you will curse the day of your birth.”

  “Yes, Madame, I will not disappoint your confidence in my loyalty.” “You may go now.”

  Charlotte bowed and left, now sure of her future success, yet ever afraid of Madame le Serpent. She doubted not that failure would bring her disfavor, and that she would be sent away from court.

  The sun was climbing over the Touraine hills when Andelot Dangeau swung himself into the saddle of his horse. He reminded himself the fine beast belonged to his cousine by marriage, Marquis Fabien. He rode slowly from the armory and barracks toward the front of the palais cha- teau for the journey to Amboise.

  “This malevolence is deliberate! The fates must be amused to frus- trate me, to bring me to woe,” he spoke aloud to the horse. He straight- ened his handsome cloak and hat, also borrowed from the marquis, and sidled into his lowly place in the long line of soldiers gathered outside the gate at Chambord. The royal retinue was soon to begin a twenty-

  odd mile journey to the fortress castle of Amboise, which he had learned about only this morning.

  He glanced about and saw the scurrying members of the nobility dutifully making preparations for the unexpected journey without yet knowing its purpose.

  Andelot struggled with disappointment. His one reason for coming to Chambord, for which Oncle Sebastien had called him, and for which Marquis Fabien, at his own expense, had brought him here, was for Andelot to meet some recently identified kinsmen. Kinsmen so impor- tant that the news coming from Sebastien had left Andelot dazed.

  “I am related by blood to le Duc de Guise and le Cardinal de Lorraine.”

  Andelot thought of little else. He was to meet the two most feared and powerful men in France, the Guise brothers; the beloved duc was Marshal of France and the cardinal was so powerful in the state church of France the pope had once called him the Transmonte Pope.

  “And if the cardinal approves of me after my interview, then he will grant me the high privilege to enter training as a court page, perhaps even to le Cardinal de Lorraine himself.”

  Failing that position, Andelot thought he could at least become an important courtier at the Louvre in Paris, perhaps to his Oncle Sebastien.

  Andelot shook his head. “I can still but scarcely believe it,” he mur- mured to the horse. The horse lifted its ruddy head and pawed the ground restlessly, as though unsure about his new master.

  Andelot straightened his forest green hat with plume. He squinted, frustrated. “And now my important meeting is delayed until Amboise. No one even knows why we go there. And where is mon Oncle Sebastien? My life is but full of thornbush and stumbling stones, on paths that wan- der uphill and down dale and lead to stagnant pools of green slime.”

  He jerked his hat still lower.

  He had thought to surprise Mademoiselle Rachelle at the revelation of his connection to the Guises while they were both here at Chambord and win her admiration. “And now, before I even get the chance to impress her with my grand prospects, she has met Marquis Fabien and I am still without notice or regard by Cardinal Charles Guise de Lorraine.”

  Andelot entertained some noble ambitions— of one day attending the university in Paris. All now surely seemed possible. Becoming a page to the cardinal should lead to gaining special privileges and further oppor- tunities, but then perhaps — now Andelot felt as though a thorn stuck in his throat — perhaps to dark infamy. He was aware of the reputation of the House of Guise for terror against heretics.

  Andelot shivered. He was a Catholic; he had nothing to fear; he dis- agreed with the Huguenots, with Calvin, and with that diable Monsieur Luther and his Reformation, but his heart pitied his fellow Frenchmen. He agreed with Duchesse Anne d’Este, wife of le Duc de Guise, when she implored him, “Please, at least spare the children and the women.”

  Andelot could no more stomach a burning than he could imagine going to Calvin’s Geneva and becoming a Protestant scholar.

  The pale sky showed blue in places between drifting white puffs. In the distance rain clouds loitered, threatening to drench the auspicious royal caravan soon to be on the road to Amboise. The breeze told a different story, of a fine spring full of gala events and amour. Andelot noticed that the lovely demoiselles of the nobles believed so anyway; they laughed behind bejeweled fans and paraded about in startling frocks with all manner of jewels. At first Andelot stared at the sight. “Fie. It is a miracle they are not robbed,” he had said, and Marquis Fabien had found the remark so amusing he had laughed aloud, whereupon, the marquis had given him lessons in savoir faire.

  Andelot shaded his eyes with his hand and peered toward the court- yard where the gates now stood open for the royal retinue to come riding through.

  He saw that the king’s attendants were waiting for the signal to emerge. Andelot marveled at such splendor. The nobles were well-fed, no skinny peasants, these. They wore sight-dazzling garments and were adorned with diamonds and rubies. They gathered either on horseback or in horse-drawn calèches, bearing armorial f lags. All had peasant lack- eys following on foot with the hunting dogs and house dogs, and wagons overf lowing with royal provisions.

  It yet remains a wonder to me we are not robbed by highwaymen. But

  then Marquis Fabien’s laughter may be realistic after all. I have seen what

  happens to a peasant who dares to hunt in the king’s forest for a coney. How much worse to hunt for jewels and furs?

  Andelot’s position on horseback was near the queue of common sol- diers, far behind the royal grenadiers in their blue and white uniforms, or the grand red, white, and blue of the House of Bourbon, of which Marquis Fabien’s retinue was a part.

  I might at least have been invited to ride in Fabien’s guard.

  Andelot waited with the archers on horseback. To his left, astride a fine specimen of a horse, was another of his blood cousines, but of humble birth like himself — that is, before he had learned he was part Guise. The chevalier, Julot Cazalet, was a skilled archer and an excel- lent swordsman — and in secret a Huguenot, though Andelot was not supposed to know. As if he would betray his own cousine! Andelot told himself he would not tell the Guises this for any amount of silver.

  Chevalier Julot Cazalet, also befriended by the generous Marquis Fabien, who was seeking to lure him into his own men-at-arms, so far without success, was old — fully twenty-eight. He had steely eyes, an angular chin, broad cheekbones, and hair a burnt ruddy color. It seemed to Andelot that Cousine Julot was always angry. He had been so ever since his brother was pulled apart limb from limb for carrying a heretic book in his saddlebag. The warning to Julot not to follow his brother’s ways included being tied to a post to watch his brother’s ordeal. It was whispered later that Julot had fainted before his brother, who had quoted words from the Psalter before he had gone into shock and died.

  Julot had a right to be angry. But Andelot was uneasy of that steely rage. Even so, Julot continued to serve th
e royal House of Valois. Why? Andelot cast a side glance toward the man with broad muscled shoulders and lean hips. The swell of muscle in his arms assured Andelot that Julot could send the king’s arrows far and with strategic power. His sword arm might lop off an arm or a hand. Andelot shuddered. He did not like the sword. He liked manuscripts and quiet chambers of learning.

  Andelot’s leather saddle creaked as he swiveled to crane his neck once again toward the gate searching for a hint of Marquis Fabien. Where was he?

  In the courtyard, Marquis Fabien walked up to where his golden bay waited with the groom. Fabien was about to swing into the saddle when Gallaudet came trotting toward him. Fabien paused. He had sent Gallaudet with his men-at-arms to safeguard the Macquinet calèche and wagons back to Lyon.

  “Monseigneur, I have news you will wish to hear now.” “Say on.”

  “Mademoiselle Rachelle will not be returning to the Chateau de Silk in Lyon. I have learned this but minutes ago from Mademoiselle Idelette Macquinet. She is the only one returning to the Chateau de Silk.”

  “The only one returning? Saintes! What is this?”

  Gallaudet explained how he had arrived at the Macquinet calèche with the marquis’s swordsmen when Madame Dushane told him of her journey to Paris with the Queen Mother’s blessing. “Mademoiselle Rachelle is now a lady-in-waiting to Princesse Marguerite Valois.”

  Fabien’s immediate anger f lared. “Lady-in-waiting!”

  “And your wish, Monsieur? Does it remain the same for your swords- men to ride with the Macquinet coterie to Lyon?”