Marquis Fabien must be warned of this evil plan against his kinsman! There was little time to waste. He caught up his cloak and turned toward the door.
Outside, the courtyard was bleak and mostly dark with only a few flaring torches. Now and then the moon showed itself but was soon covered with racing clouds.
He hurried to Oncle Sebastien’s old appartement.
Murder?
NEAR THE CRACKLING HEARTH IN THE APPARTEMENT, RACHELLE WAS LYING on the chaise beside Fabien.
“Are you sure the Queen Mother does not have a listening tube in Sebastien’s appartement?” she whispered sleepily.
“Must you mention her just before we go to sleep? She incites you to nightmares, chérie. You shall awaken as you did last night with a high-pitched scream and startle me into a frenzy. I actually had the rapier in hand before I realized you were hallucinating. Unless it truly was our cardinal you envisioned,” he jested wryly. “He may have crawled through the window with a pitchfork.”
“Hush.” She looked around at the walls with priceless tapestries and gilded ornamentation. “He might hear you mocking him.”
“It is ironic that the Queen Mother would put us here in Sebastien’s old appartement, but it is like her. In her vindictive mind, I have replaced Sebastien as one of her counselors on state matters.”
“You are wise enough, and you know state affairs well.”
“It is a trap. One I hope to avoid. Like a prisoner occupying the cell of a previous victim.”
“Now it is you who are giving me nightmares.” She looked around again at the figures in the various weavings, imagining the Queen Mother peering at her through the faces in the tapestries.
“I have plans for our escape,” he said quietly. “I am working on one now with Gallaudet. Julot and Nappier are also involved. But it will take time. It may not be arranged until the colloquy when so many will be coming and going out of Geneva.”
“I could write Père Arnaut and Madame Clair not to come to Poissy, but I fear nothing would change their plans. Père and Cousin Bertrand are coming in cooperation with Geneva.”
“I doubt that anything is likely to keep them in London except a civil war between Catholics and Huguenots.”
She turned her head to see his expression and found it calm.
“Do you still think there will be a war?”
“If the colloquy fails as the Guises wish it to and the persecution continues, yes.”
She lapsed into silence. Would a religious civil war convince him to remain in France? Fabien’s main reason for wishing to depart for England was centered in concern for her safety. So far there had been no further response from the Queen Mother. If she were safe, would Fabien then feel an obligation to fight in a war on the side of the Huguenots? He held great feelings of responsibility for his serfs in Vendôme. She was pleased when she learned his delay in coming to her after being released from the dungeon was because of his concern for the families of his men-at-arms. The idea of a religious civil war and what it would mean for the Huguenots was so weighty that she pushed the possibility from her. There was so much to be concerned about now that she did not wish to consider the outcome.
She laughed suddenly.
“What amuses you now?”
“Did my scream last night truly frighten you?”
“Oh no, I am quite used to being awakened from a sound sleep by a high-pitched shriek.”
She snuggled against him. “I thought I saw a dark figure rushing toward the bed. It was very tall with a long black gown.”
“Most certainly the cardinal in his finest night robe.”
“Or Père Jaymin.”
“Another comforting figure. With such monsieurs as these, no wonder the chapel is empty.”
“Let us not talk of them.”
“Agreed.” He turned her face toward his and kissed her. “This is much more interesting — ” he kissed her again — “and more fun.”
There came a tap on the door. A quiet voice ventured: “Monsieur le Marquis? Madame?”
Rachelle freed herself from his embrace and stood, smoothing her loose hair into place.
“Yes, Nenette? What is it?”
Nenette entered, casting a glance toward Fabien, who remained lounging on the chaise by the fire. He lifted his goblet.
“Go ahead, Nenette,” Rachelle said.
“It is Monsieur Andelot. He says it is most urgent he speak with the marquis.”
Fabien set the goblet down. “Andelot? Send him in at once.” He stood and reached over to turn up the lamplight.
Rachelle rushed into the bedchamber to put on a high-collared chemise and pin her hair up from her back. Now why would Andelot come at this hour?
Rachelle heard Fabien and Andelot’s voices as she slipped into a pair of satin shoes. She joined them by the fire in the salle as Fabien gestured Andelot to the table of various refreshments, fruits, and cheeses.
Rachelle noted Andelot’s tension, and her light mood of a short while ago fled. Something was wrong. What was it this time?
Andelot stood by the fire, so preoccupied with whatever he had come to see Fabien about that he had forgotten to remove his wide-rimmed hat. She went over and plucked it from his curly dark head. He grinned suddenly.
“Merci, Madame Rachelle, I had forgotten.”
“Do cease calling me madame,” she scolded affectionately. “It has always been Rachelle, your amie, and so it is now.”
“Oui, madame — ” he cleared his throat — “I mean Rachelle.”
“Sit down, mon ami,” Fabien said gently, a faint look of sympathy in his gaze. Could Fabien still think Andelot cared for her? But that was silly. A lettre had arrived for him recently from her sister Idelette, safely arrived at London with Madeleine, bébé Joan, and Sebastien.
“What ails you?” Fabien asked Andelot. He drew Rachelle into a white-and-gold chair, then seated himself, studying Andelot. Fabien wore a sober expression now, as though he knew Andelot well enough to realize when trouble threatened.
Andelot drew a hand across his brow in a restless movement. Rachelle saw him glance at her, then back to Fabien. From the corner of her eye she saw Fabien give a slight nod. Rachelle sat a little straighter. Fabien’s inclusion of her in whatever trouble was at hand made her feel mature and trusted.
“Did anyone see you come here?” Fabien asked.
“I was most wary, Marquis.”
Fabien gave a slight nod. “Then?”
“I am here, Marquis, to prevent a murder, and only you can help me.”
The mood plunged into icy silence. Fabien stood, hands on hips, frowning down at him. “Who is the intended victim this time?”
Andelot plunged his fingers through his curly brown hair, which again covered his head. He moved to the hearth, then turned around quickly, scowling. “Your kinsman, Prince Antoine de Bourbon.”
Rachelle drew in a sharp breath. She darted a glance from Andelot to Fabien. Now both of his Bourbon kinsmen were in danger of losing their lives.
“But why Antoine?” she whispered.
Andelot cast a cautious glance toward the tapestries as though they had ears. “They planned the death of Prince Louis — and now Prince Antoine, and both are of royal blood. I fear you too, Marquis, could be in danger.”
Rachelle stood, heart thudding. “Fabien!”
“Who are they?” Fabien’s voice was hard. “You mean the Guises, do you not?”
“You speak the truth. Duc de Guise, Cardinal de Lorraine, and another monsieur I have not met before who is often at court, the Maréchal de Saint Andre. It is he who will be close at hand.”
“Then the diabolical plans are already made?”
“I heard them spoken, Marquis. There was no shame in stating their plans. I was called into the very chamber of the king where the duc and cardinal waited for me.”
Fabien scowled. “Are you saying Francis knows of this murderous plot?”
“He does. They have convinced him th
at Prince Antoine means him ill and is waiting to usurp the throne for the Bourbons. The king is to call Antoine to his chamber as though to ask him something in particular, but it is a ploy. Francis is to then provoke Antoine by calling him a traitor and most vehemently insulting him so that Antoine becomes angry. Antoine will think they are alone and is expected to lash out at the young king. Then Francis is to slash at him with his dagger and call out for help. The duc, cardinal, and Maréchal de Saint Andre will be just out of view behind a curtain and will rush in. All three will then plunge their daggers into Antoine at the same time, as though they were protecting the king. No single monsieur will be to blame for Antoine’s death. They will say Antoine was furious over his detention, over the looming execution of his brother Louis, and that he lost his senses, stole into the king’s chamber, and tried to put a dagger in his heart.”
Rachelle sat down weakly.
“I knew they would stop at nothing to keep control of the throne, but outright murder by their own hands surprises me,” Fabien said. “What role did they so graciously assign you in all this?”
“That of witness, Marquis. I was to say that Prince Antoine lost his senses and jumped on King Francis to kill him.”
“I have got to warn Antoine,” Fabien mused, pacing. “This could be the incident Catherine has arranged against Guise, an opportunity for the duc’s death, and yet . . .” He frowned. “I do not think she is privy to this.”
Rachelle looked at him, doubting. “Why do you think so? I put nothing beyond her.”
“True, and I happen to know she carries a secret dagger for her personal protection. But when it comes to her enemies? She prefers a more ‘quiet’ departure.” He turned to Andelot, who warmed himself at the fire, looking glum. “What do you think? Is the Queen Mother involved with them in this treachery?”
“Non, Marquis, I think not.”
“And if I had to guess, I would wager she does not want Louis executed either. It will only strengthen the grip of the Guises on the throne. She has been most friendly with Antoine recently . . .” He tapped his chin. “One wonders if she might not be secretly working with him to secure the regency.”
Rachelle was frightened. What if some suggestion had reached the duc that the Queen Mother hoped to use Fabien to assassinate him? Even if Fabien had no intention of fulfilling her plans, the duc would believe him capable, knowing that Fabien blamed him for the death of his father.
“Andelot is right to be concerned about you. If two Bourbons can be murdered, why not a third?” She went to Fabien. “We must stop them, but how?”
“When it comes to weaving intrigue, Catherine is equal to the Guises,” Fabien said. “I will seek an occasion to speak with her.”
“But you are at risk even now. What if the Guises learn you were the one who informed the Queen Mother? And what about Andelot — they will know he told you.”
“They will not know, Mademoiselle,” Andelot said hastily.
“Catherine is too subtle for open confrontation with the Guises,” Fabien said dryly. “Of one thing you may be sure. She will keep her true face behind a masque.” He turned to Andelot. “Did the Guises offer you anything?”
Andelot frowned and ran a hand through his hair. “Well, yes.”
Rachelle frowned upon hearing how he would be sent to the university the cardinal himself had attended.
Andelot smiled uneasily. “He said it was in the realm of possibility for me to take his position one day as the greatest cardinal in France.”
“He was generous with his words,” Fabien said with sarcasm. “Sending you to the Guise château at Lorraine is all but legal adoption.”
“They hope to ensnare you with grandiose promises,” Rachelle said. “Do not do it, Andelot.”
Fabien put a hand on her back and gently tugged at a curl behind her neck. “Andelot is wiser than that, chérie.”
“I would rather be an orphan and without family than be embraced by such bloody men.
“The wisdom of the Proverbs is a light unto my path to warn me. ‘These six things doth the Lord hate: yea, seven are an abomination unto him: A proud look, a lying tongue, and hands that shed innocent blood, an heart that deviseth wicked imaginations, feet that be swift in running to mischief, a false witness that speaketh lies, and he that soweth discord among brethren.’ ”
“Well said. You should study at Geneva to be a pasteur. The calling, mon ami, is in your heart.”
GARBED IN BLACK VELVET AND SILVER, Fabien entered the royal chambers of the Queen Mother and removed his hat with a bow.
She sat in pitiless silence while he gave account of what the Guises planned against his kinsman.
“You have proved an asset at court, Monsieur Marquis, if what you say is true. And I in no way doubt you, or the cunning schemes of the house of Guise. If the hunting accident had occurred . . .”
He remained silent.
She took this as assent. “What else have you planned?”
He expected this and was prepared, speaking with strong passion. “When Duc de Guise may be aware? Madame, it is folly. If I blunder in haste, the King of Spain will suspect you. The Spanish ambassador will be the first to write him. You have kept me from his chains for the very purpose of eliminating Guise, he will say. The King of Spain is looking for an excuse to turn on you, Madame. You know this well. My hasty move against the duc could provoke the king to order the Duc of Alva to withdraw some of his soldiers from the Netherlands and invade Calais, or they could cross the border through the duchy of Lorraine, at the cardinal’s secret order.”
He saw the flicker of alarm in her amber eyes. She gave a brief nod but paced restlessly, watching the burgundy rug beneath her.
“Yes . . . caution. Always caution.” She snapped her fingers. “Then there is no choice for me except to move to protect Antoine.”
“If, Madame, you were to find a way to also save Louis, you would have a strong soldier on your side. So also Admiral Coligny would rally to you,” he suggested silkily.
She focused her unblinking stare upon him. For a moment he expected her to accuse him of deliberately baiting her.
She did not respond, however, and merely said, “I believe I can guess why Duc de Guise wishes the swift demise of Antoine upon the execution of Louis. I have discussed the worsening health of Francis with Antoine. Young Prince Charles is next in line for the crown. If Charles comes to the throne, there will be a regent for some years, and only I can control Charles.”
So then it was the regency that propelled her forward in her actions. He became more convinced than ever of her secret plan to align herself with the Bourbon-Huguenot alliance against the house of Guise.
“And my kinsman Antoine?”
She smiled. “Antoine will become general of France in place of Duc de Guise.”
The position was one of great power. Catherine and Antoine would rule France in coregency. The Guises, of course, would lose as much power as the Bourbons gained.
“You understand the reason why the duc and cardinal wish for Antoine’s demise? My spies tell me they discovered my meeting with Antoine several weeks ago on this subject. And now they see the danger to their house.”
No wonder the Guises were afraid and planning desperate measures.
“Go to Antoine and warn him,” she said. “Under no circumstance should he enter the king’s chamber if he is called.”
Fabien bowed over her hand and left the chamber.
Did Rome encourage the assassination of the Bourbon princes because of their Huguenot leaning? Or did Spain?
He walked along the corridor and through a salle in the direction of Antoine’s chamber.
CATHERINE LEFT HER CHAMBER and entered the royal chamber of her son, King Francis, but she did not go alone. She made certain her excuse for being there would go undetected by the Guises and Mary, for Mary would be certain to be there, keeping Francis under watch, no doubt as the cardinal had told her.
Catherine stood at the foot
of the grand bed, her arms folded across the front of her black gown. She looked sympathetically at her son Francis.
Francis was resting as the docteur attended him, asking about his condition.
I must get Mary out of the chamber so I can speak to Francis alone.
When the docteur turned to leave, Catherine asked him to speak with Mary of the young king’s condition.
“While I bid my son adieu, you understand. Just a small mother and son talk. Ah, how I worry about my ailing son, my petit Francis, my young and brilliant king . . .” And she brought a lace kerchief up to her mouth and bent her head. “I worry so.”
“Of course, Madame,” the docteur said gently. “I shall speak to the queen in the next chamber.”
From the corner of her eye, she saw Mary watching her. She appeared about to protest when the docteur took her aside, but at last she went with him into the other chamber, leaving the door between ajar.
The spy!
Catherine sat down on the bed beside Francis, laying her palm on his forehead. She felt his body tense under the satin cover.
“Ah, my poor sick Francis, how tired and worried you look. Is there more that disturbs you than physical weariness?”
“Madame Mother, do not worry. I — I am well.”
She leaned toward him and whispered urgently, “Tell me, my son, keep nothing back from me. What have Duc de Guise and the cardinal planned for the poor little Bourbon prince, Antoine?”
His eyes swerved to hers, and she saw fear in their depths.
“Is there a diabolical plot to involve you in the murder of a prince of the royal blood?” she whispered. “Oh my son, do not do this deed. Do you not know that none can strike a prince of the blood and not suffer a curse?”
Francis bit his lip, and his thin, nervous hands plucked at the cover.
“Yes, I know. I do not want to do such a thing, but the Bourbons wish to destroy our house, Mother. We must fight back for the sake of the Valois heirs.”
“Is that what they told you? And you believed them! It is only for the power of the house of Guise that they will murder Antoine — and Louis! And what of your ami since childhood, the Bourbon Marquis Fabien?”
Threads of Silk Page 20
