Threads of Silk

by Linda Lee Chaikin

  He turned back to his own chamber, shut the door softly, and lifted the mattress to remove the French Bible. He must be wary. He could not prove that he was under Père Jaymin’s surveillance, but on more than one occasion he’d come within a breadth of getting caught with the forbidden Bible in his possession. Several times Andelot had noticed Jaymin’s inquisitive eyes probing about the chamber.

  He wrapped the treasured Bible in his cloak and carried it into the study-chamber where he removed several narrower volumes from a bookshelf at the far end. Placing the Bible at the back of the shelf, he replaced the books in front of it. They protruded slightly from the shelf edge but not enough to be noticeable. This concealment would do for now —

  “I have caught you at last!”

  He turned sharply at the footstep behind him.

  A young monsieur stood there with jaw-length hair the color of amber, smoothly waved and turned under at the ends. His nose came to a peak and his chin was angular. He wore green satin with silver fripperies, but he’d had the wits to pocket his tinkling silver bells before sneaking up on him.

  Andelot formed fists to keep from grasping Romier by the collar of his silver and green satin uniform and shaking him.

  “Saintes! I should thump you until you rattle!”

  “Still your tongue. Will you that someone hear us?” He looked toward the door to the outer corridor.

  “At the moment? I do not care!”

  “Tut, tut.”

  Though at first glance Romier appeared foppish, the duchesse kept him as her chief page because he was a swordsman, a marksman with a dagger, and he took pride in serving her.

  “Madame wishes to speak to you in her chambers.” Romier looked over to the bookshelf, hand on his sword hilt. “So, ami, you yet have it! You are certain it will go undiscovered?”

  Andelot remained irritated. His heart was still pounding in his chest. He’d been convinced the voice was Jaymin’s. He glared and snatched the olive green cloak he’d wrapped the Bible in.

  “I shall return it — perhaps tonight.”

  “You should have disposed of it weeks ago as Comte Sebastien warned.”

  Andelot was well aware, but he had not wanted to part with it. “Never mind about that. If Madame wishes to see me I will go now. Most of the courtiers are at dinner.”

  “It is about the marquis and the comte — did you know Sebastien had made plans to escape?”

  “Non, and there is no certainty he will make it to London. He is in danger at this very minute.”

  “So true. He took Mademoiselle Idelette with his family.”

  Romier threw him a questioning glance, but Andelot refused to catch it. He had never mentioned holding a muted interest in Mademoiselle Idelette to anyone, not even to himself until recently. There was a reason for his reluctance; at times she intimidated him with her maturity. She was theologically knowledgeable as well, and he was but a learner. Her superiority in these matters kept him at a distance. Secretly, he’d been attracted to her golden fairness and her calm, reserved demeanor.

  Andelot opened the door to the outer corridor and glanced out. It was deserted. He stepped out, and Romier followed with the pompoms on his slippers bobbing — and one practiced hand on his sword hilt.

  PÈRE JAYMIN STOOD IN THE SHADOWS at the other end of the corridor watching Andelot Dangeau leave the scholar’s chambers with Duchesse Dushane’s page. Andelot was a young monsieur of bon character, but Jaymin did not trust his loyalties to the Church. He was most sure that Andelot wavered on the cliff’s edge of heresy.

  When Andelot was out of sight, Jaymin left the shadows and walked in long, soundless strides to Thauvet’s chamber, opened the door, and stepped in.

  He crossed the study and entered Andelot’s chamber, going straight to the bed. He turned his mouth grimly. He bent down and lifted the straw mattress, holding a candle to look underneath. Nothing.

  He must have hidden the forbidden book, the one I’m sure he was reading that night when Sebastien intervened, snatching the book away and asking questions about Erasmus. Andelot speaks ideas that sound like a Calvinist. He must have a heretical French Bible — not a true Latin translation. Ah, the devil was ubiquitous.

  Jaymin dropped the mattress into place. He straightened, frowning.

  Perhaps he has hidden it elsewhere. He may know I am suspicious.I shall find it. If not tonight, then sometime when he is lulled into overconfidence. Andelot must be saved from himself. Like Sebastien, he must come to see the dangers of playing with heresy. In the end, the cleansing fire will burn away the dross of false beliefs and save him from Satan’s stronghold, from that wicked city, Geneva, and its antichrist, John Calvin.

  Jaymin took another look around, finding nothing to confirm his suspicions. He knew that Andelot attended all the religious ceremonies daily, as required, and behaved as piously as the rest — perhaps even more so.

  Still, he makes me uncomfortable as only heretics do. It is as though I can smell them out.

  Jaymin slipped out the door into the corridor and walked away in silence. I will keep watching him. Eventually, he will give proof of his heresy.

  ANDELOT WAS USHERED into the duchesse’s chamber by Page Romier. She gestured with her jeweled walking stick toward a small chamber. Romier led them across the floral rug. Inside, there were brocade chairs in her colors of green and silver and some white stone tables. Andelot entered behind the duchesse, and Romier departed, drawing heavy emerald draperies closed.

  The duchesse sat and motioned for him to sit opposite her. She held a lettre in hand. He noticed pronounced lines of concern around her eyes. Andelot felt a flash of anger. The cardinal and Queen Mother had upset and wearied her with their badgering questions about Sebastien’s escape.

  “I have unsettling news, Andelot.”

  “Yes, Madame. Cardinal de Lorraine has already spoken to me about Comte Sebastien.”

  There was a flicker of sympathy in her eyes. “I am aware that Sebastien’s departure must sadden you.”

  “Indeed, Madame. Even so, I am not altogether disappointed after his suffering in the Bastille.”

  She nodded understanding. “And as a member of the Queen Mother’s inner council, Sebastien was subject to her daily scrutiny. Now I am con cerned because the roads are under watch, and traveling with two young women and a bébé makes him vulnerable.”

  “Unless they are in disguise.”

  “Even so, Andelot, if they went to Calais to catch a ship, spies will be abundant.” She looked at him with thoughtful concern and lifted a lettre. “Marquis Fabien has returned to France and docked his ship in Calais.”

  Andelot felt a surge of enthusiasm. “Marquis Fabien in France?”

  “He is. At Vendôme. And Mademoiselle Rachelle is with him.”

  Confused, he glanced at the lettre. “But I had been told, Madame, that from England he’d voyage on to Fort Caroline in Florida. He was most adamant in pursuing his plans to strike a blow to Spain.”

  “I had more in mind than Sebastien when I mentioned unsettling news. I am concerned about Marquis Fabien. The Duc of Alva is soon to arrive. It was his galleon, I believe, that the marquis sank. My own spies at court report that the Queen Mother has lured the marquis back to France with a plan involving Rachelle.”

  Andelot’s dismay grew as the duchesse explained the Queen Mother’s threat to marry Rachelle to Comte Maurice.

  So that was why Fabien had not sailed to Florida. “But surely it will do the Queen Mother little good to turn the marquis over to Spain.”

  “She has another plan in mind. But while the Queen Mother may have had no wish in the beginning to relinquish him to Spain, the Duc of Alva will have other ideas. The marquis must be warned of this new danger.”

  “By all means, Madame! And the marquis and the mademoiselle are even now at his estate in Vendôme?”

  “Yes. I received this a short time ago.”

  He took the lettre she handed to him and read.


  Madame, with the Queen Mother’s threat to marry Rachelle to my cousin Comte Maurice, it is wise that Rachelle find refuge in England. I have made plans to take her there, but the roads to Calais will be watched because of Sebastien’s escape. Also, by now I have no doubt Catherine knows I am here at Vendôme with Rachelle. Our time is limited and any delays place Rachelle’s future, and mine, indanger of ruin. Therefore, Madame, we have decided our love for one another is great enough to risk all in marriage. This is an urgent necessity to safeguard her from royal plots and to foil the comte in his selfish endeavors. Can you agree to this, and will you send your permission by lettre tout de suite?

  Au revoir,

  Marquis Jean-Louis Fabien

  de Vendôme of the house of

  Bourbon

  It took Andelot a minute to look up from the correspondence to meet her gaze.

  “It was always the marquis,” he said. “I knew that. Mademoiselle Rachelle looked upon me as an ami, a cousin, Madame.”

  She nodded in silence.

  “I have naught but respect for Marquis Fabien,” she said. “But I should have more peace in this matter of marriage if Pasteur Bertrand were here. He knows the marquis, as you do, Andelot. What is your opinion of his faith in the crucial doctrines of Christianity?”

  Andelot hesitated, realizing his answer could influence the outcome of Fabien’s marriage.

  “Madame, I met Marquis Fabien for the first time at the Louvre when he was sixteen. He came to my aid then and always has. As you know, it is he who privately arranged for my schooling with Scholar Thauvet. I owe him my loyalty — ”

  “Ah, yes, of course, it is unfair of me to ask such a question now.”

  “But, Madame, what I will say now is based not on loyalty, nor even my affection for him, but the truth as I see it. My perception is, and always has been, that he is a secret Huguenot.”

  She drew back, her brows lifting. “A Huguenot? The marquis?”

  “I have no doubts about his honor, or his belief in Christ. Even at Amboise, before I ever read the Bible, Marquis Fabien spoke in depth about the doctrines that prompted the Reformation. My perception was that he had a good understanding of them and of the need for revival in the church and a debate over doctrines accepted as divine, which are not in the Scriptures. He fully supports the need for the upcoming colloquy between Catholics and Protestants at Poissy.”

  “Monsieur Arnaut and Madame Clair have serious concerns about his faith, but I am pleased you feel otherwise, Andelot. You know Marquis Fabien better than any of us. I too feel confident he is a firm Christian, as I have known him at court since he was a young boy attending school with the royal children.”

  She frowned thoughtfully, drumming her fingers on her knee. “In these circumstances I am granting my permission for their marriage in the absence of Monsieur Arnaut and Madame Clair.”

  “That is well, Madame.” And even if you did not give your permission, Fabien would marry her anyway. He held back a wry smile.

  It was late when Duchesse Dushane sat at her table to write a message to Scholar Thauvet, explaining how she must borrow Andelot for a few days and requesting that he make an excuse to Père Jaymin for Andelot’s absence. Andelot was impressed that she had confidence in Thauvet, which added weight to his belief that he could be a secret reformer.

  “I told him I will explain all when he comes to have dinner with me tomorrow,” she said. There was another lettre on the desk, and she drew it toward her and signed her name. “And this one is to be delivered to Marquis Fabien.”

  The duchesse pushed her chair back and stood. “Can you slip away without being noticed?”

  “I shall manage, Madame. I must go back to my chamber first. There is something I need to return on my way to Marquis Fabien.”

  “How seasoned a horseman are you?”

  “I count myself better than most. I — er, won a race on Marquis Fabien’s golden bay.”

  “Then my confidence is well placed.”

  She handed Andelot the sealed envelope for delivery to Fabien and the folded message for Scholar Thauvet.

  “I need not tell you to let no one know what you are about, Andelot.”

  “God willing, Madame, I shall accomplish this task.”

  “Bon. Here are your instructions. Follow them and you will come to a certain cottage, deliver this message to the elder monsieur who lives there.”

  Andelot took the message from her hand, along with the lettre to Marquis Fabien, and put them inside his tunic.

  “One thing more, Madame, if I may. Mademoiselle Rachelle’s sister also went with Comte Sebastien to England . . .”

  “Mademoiselle Idelette? Yes, she went with them.”

  “I cannot imagine any reason that would prompt her to give up her life’s work in silk at Lyon to live in Spitalfields,” Andelot said. “She gave me her reasons in a lettre, but I admit they did not satisfy me. I thought you, Madame, might know.”

  She heaved a burdened sigh. “So Idelette wrote you, did she?”

  “We had begun to exchange lettres a few months ago when she was at the Château de Silk.”

  “I see . . . I was not aware. Ah, then, that adds to the present tragedy.”

  Andelot looked at her, wondering. “Tragedy?”

  “The tragedy surrounding Mademoiselle Idelette has prompted her decision to risk going to England. Even I did not know about the situation. I wish she had confided in me. I might have sent her to Queen Jeanne of Navarre who has open arms for young women disowned by their families for becoming Calvinists, and though Idelette’s situation is very different, Queen Jeanne could have assisted her.”

  Andelot grew tenser by the moment. So much was happening of which he’d not been informed. “What has happened to Mademoiselle Idelette? You speak of a tragedy?”

  “It is well that you know. I realize now that you have strong feelings for both Rachelle and Idelette. The incident took place during the church burning in Lyon. Avril Macquinet, their petite sister, as you know, was killed, but what we did not know, was that Idelette — well, I shall be blunt — was violated. She is expecting a child.”

  Andelot stood in stunned silence. What! Idelette? The lovely, pious Idelette, whom he secretly felt was far above him on a pedestal, was now expecting a child. That she should endure such a thing kindled his rage.

  “Madame, if I knew who committed this outrage against her, I myself would hunt him down.”

  “Mon cher, sit down,” she said gently. “That you are outraged at the dishonor done to her pleases me, and I know it would please her if she knew, but the soldier who did this is most likely dead.”

  He looked at her in doubt, thinking she was appeasing him. “A soldier in Duc de Guise’s men-at-arms?”

  “Yes. There was an incident soon after the church burning that took place at an inn near the Château de Silk, in which the marquis and his chief page encountered two soldiers boasting of the church burning. I do not know the details, but the lettre from Rachelle tells me a swordfight ensued and the soldier was killed.”

  Expecting a child . . . Idelette. How alone she must feel in this, angry, afraid, helpless —He came aware that the duchesse watched him curiously. He pulled his emotions together and bowed.

  “Adieu, Madame.”

  “Yes, and godspeed, Andelot.”

  A SHORT TIME LATER, Andelot slipped back into the study-chamber, shutting the heavy wooden door in silence. He went straight to his sleeping chamber and stood still for a minute while mixed emotions filled his mind. That she would love the marquis and marry him was inevitable. I knew it would happen. He had not lost Rachelle. She was never his to lose, he told himself again firmly.

  And Idelette . . . He shook his head with anger and grief and sat down on his bunk, head lowered for some time thinking and praying for her. What would happen to Idelette?

  Some minutes later, after praying about his troubles and disappointments, he got up and went into the study-chamber again, glanci
ng about for Scholar Thauvet. He was still out.

  Andelot looked around the chamber until his gaze moved to the wall of books. He froze as he saw the volumes that protruded a little, hinting at his hiding place. He should have been more careful!

  He swiftly removed the volumes and reached behind to retrieve the Bible. His fingers closed about the leather binding. He drew it down, stuffing it under his tunic.

  He peered over his shoulder. The fire had burned low, with glowing embers on the grate projecting moving forms on the far walls where large comfortable reading chairs were grouped.

  Was he mistaken? Andelot squinted to see if he could make out Thauvet’s form, seated with graying beard, a book on his lap.

  He called out in the dimness, “Maître Thauvet? Is that you?”

  There was no answer.

  It must be these shadows — weaved by sinister forces. And Romier and his antics!

  He stepped back and went quickly to his sleeping chamber and packed his satchel. He took one last look about. He left the chamber as he had anticipated, unseen by probing eyes.

  IT MUST HAVE BEEN after midnight when Andelot departed from Fontainebleau with assistance from one of the duchesse’s friends in the royal guards and Page Romier.

  “So you will not have me come with you?” Romier whispered, scowling beneath his pointed hat, the tassel swinging in the breeze.

  “Non, mon ami, but I will have much to tell you when I return.”

  Romier’s scowl deepened. “And I, your loyal ami. Why do I not come with you? Madame will gladly release me if you request I ride with you.”

  “I must go alone. Madame needs you here. She too is at risk.”

  Romier did not look entirely appeased, but he nodded at the mention of caring for the duchesse. They walked with the guard through the dark courtyard to one of the tributary postern gates.