Daughter of Silk (12 page)
Madame Henriette turned in her chair, alert. “Ah, Marquis, but the meeting has not yet taken place. Madame Dushane informs us they will meet this afternoon in the state council chambers. Le Duc de Guise and le Cardinal de Lorraine will be there as well as Maître Avenelle.”
Fabien turned sharply, fixing his gaze upon her. “Madame, you are certain of this?”
“The duchesse was adamant, Monseigneur.”
He heard Rachelle’s breath catch lightly. Her eyes brightened, but tension also showed on her lovely face. She started, as if to suggest some- thing, then seemed to restrain herself.
“Yes, Mademoiselle?” he encouraged.
She walked toward him. “Monsieur Fabien — pardon, Marquis de Vendôme —”
“Fabien
will be sufficient.” He bowed.
“Ah, Monsieur, I would address you by what your noble title deserves.” She curtsied with such grace as to render her a princess.
“We shall see,” he said with a smile. Then, aware of her Grandmère looking on, he glanced to see her reaction, but she wisely appeared not to notice. A master stroke on her part. She could not help but be aware of the interest that had f lamed between them.
“But you were going to tell me . . .” He lifted a brow and waited for Rachelle to proceed.
“Marquis, there is a secret closet . . . a secret step, a listening hole, into the state council chamber.”
Grandmère stood. “Rachelle!”
“It is true, I promise you, Grandmère.”
“
Bien entendu
!” Fabien said. “I, myself, should have remembered this. I know of it — but the precise location escapes me. Catherine has such closets in most of the chateaus.”
“Ah, Monsieur Marquis, I know where it is located.” “You know?” he asked, raising a brow.
“It was told to me by a kinswoman when she was here at court, Comtesse Claudine Boisseau.”
He knew of Claudine. She had indeed returned to Orléans.
“I can take you to the listening closet,” Rachelle said. “There you may hear all.”
Fabien fixed her with a judicious gaze. “If you indeed know of this lis- tening step, then it is one of many such devices the Queen Mother avails herself of in all the castles, though few know where they are located. May I ask how Claudine discovered it?”
“From the Queen Mother’s Italian servant girl.” “Madalenna?”
“Oui, Madalenna. A child to be pitied, used as a slave by the Queen Mother. She became frightened and told Claudine.”
“An error indeed, and if Catherine knew, it would mean the maid’s swift demise, to be sure.”
He saw Madame Henriette throw a worried glance toward Rachelle, who appeared not to notice. Idelette too drew nearer as if to protect her younger sister.
“Will Mademoiselle explain?” he asked.
Rachelle looked at her Grandmère and then back at him.
“Claudine was in the queen’s royal chambers bringing fresh f lowers as expected when she caught the demoiselle in the queen’s chest. She questioned her sternly, thinking she had done some mischief, but now we know that was not the situation. Madalenna must have been so anx- ious to secure her lack of guilt she showed Claudine the very key she had been sent by the Queen Mother to retrieve.”
“Here is a piece of fortune to be sure. Where is this listening closet you speak of?”
“I can bring you there now,” Rachelle said boldly.
Fabien turned and looked at Madame Henriette. “You will allow this, Madame?”
“The answer, in this situation, is yes, Marquis. The matter of Maître Avenelle and Sebastien may be dire, so we must all take our risks and leave the harvest to the care of our kind Savior.”
“You speak well, Madame.”
“It will bring far less attention for my granddaughter to walk with you there than for me to escort you.”
“My exact sentiments, Madame.” He smiled.
Fabien turned to Rachelle. “Then take me at once. If Guise is to see Catherine about Avenelle, it will be after the déjeuner. We have but a short time.”
Fabien reminded Madame Henriette to keep all of their words close to her heart. She assured him their secrets were secure. A moment later, after bidding Madame and Mademoiselle adieu, he and Rachelle left the Macquinet chamber together.
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Rachelle Macquinet walked beside Marquis Fabien de Vendôme along a section of stone promenade shaded on one side with a row of lime trees. The trees were in blossom as spring had come early this year, and the air was heavy with a sweetness that drew bees.
“It is so wondrous here at Chambord.” She wished this moment in his presence among the blossoms would never end. Her feelings, how- ever, warned her of unrealistic dreams concerning the marquis. “And even though there is beauty here, yet great woe may be in the planning behind these walls and gardens.” She gestured toward the lime trees and myriads of blossoms that had fallen to the path after only a few days of bloom.
“Like the garden of Eden, Madame le Serpent is about, but hardly a topic suited to your company, which is most charmante, Mademoiselle. As for the beauty you mention, Francis had an appetite for building. He insisted on turning Chambord, which was merely a gloomy hunting lodge, into a palais amid the f lat and dusty plains of Sologne. Here the Renaissance was to achieve its purpose.”
“I believe he accomplished it, Monsieur.”
“It is no surprise. He amassed every device, decoration, and eccen- tricity of his favorite style, as you can see.”
The royal fortress chateau was one of several near Blois, and one of many throughout France to which members of royalty took their lei- surely pleasure; this chateau was marked by numerous towers, turrets, broad f lat roofs, painted windows, and ample courts.
Rachelle could well understand why Monsieur
le docteur
had recom- mended the boy-king come here for health reasons. From the moment she arrived she was impressed with the sunny little town of Blois that sloped sweetly downward toward the river Loire.
“And yet this king, who appreciated art, killed ma oncle,” she said. “It took place before I was born at Lyon. Maman has told me of it. Oncle was one of the Reformers burnt in the Lyon square.”
His mouth turned with some bitterness. “I am not surprised. I do not wish to sound hard, but kings —
and
queens — have a penchant for eliminating vexatious Huguenots.”
She kept silent. “This way, Monsieur.”
“Ah, the stairway. Catherine would have wanted some listening clos- ets near at hand. I recall a time years ago when her Italians, the Ruggerio brothers, visited here. Now I can imagine the reason for their visit —” His steps slowed to a stroll. “Do not hurry so, Mademoiselle. We are being watched. That unshackled fop near the fountain is the Spanish ambassador.”
Light pressure of his fingers on her arm told her to pause. The Spaniard removed his sombrero with gold fringes and rubies and bowed in their direction. Fabien returned the acknowledgment and Rachelle offered a curtsy. Fabien drew her away, and she smothered a laugh.
“What would Monsieur Ambassadeur do if he knew you called him a fop?”
“I might also have called him a
spy
, which would not have endeared
him to us.”
“I doubt not that you are right, Marquis.”
“As for what the fellow would do, I have not a clue, though I have heard he is a laudable swordsman.”
She threw him a glance. “I have heard you are also, Marquis, a swordsman
par excellence.”
“With much credit due my master swordsman, Chevalier Nappier.” “But I doubt the day will come when you will have reason to use your
skills against the Spaniard.”
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.