Daughter of Silk (40 page)

When the priest left, Andelot heard a key turn in the lock. Andelot paced with a copy of the writings of Sadoleto in hand.

Marquis Fabien would surely seek him after enough time had passed, as would his Oncle Sebastien, who was also somewhere in the castle.

It was some time in the afternoon when the door unlocked and Prince Charles Valois, gloating, stood garbed in satin and gold. His pointed nose and small mouth fit his haughty nature well, and he shut the door behind him and held up a gold key.

“So, peasant, they brought you here. They could have put you in the dungeons with the heretic spies, but the Huguenots are no longer in the dungeons below. Remember how I told you of the dungeons? Now they are not only packed with hungry rats, but also many Huguenot heretics. The spies were put there when they left the castle meeting with the king, my brother, but they are not there now.”

Andelot expected the worst. “They are not there now, mon prince?” “Their heads decorate the ramparts. I will show them to you.” “Non, Your Highness . . . but can you lead me out of here to find

Marquis Fabien?”

“Fabien has returned. There was a meeting with the Bourbon princes this morning, but they have ridden away toward Moulins.” Charles looked at him slyly. “There are more Huguenots in the dungeons below, now awaiting their just due.”

More Huguenots in the dungeons? More? Was he telling the truth?

Where had they come from?

“They are in the dark cells, dark as night.”

But then a wicked little gleam came to his eyes. “So you do not wish to see the spies’ heads?”

“I wish, mon prince, to be brought to Marquis de Vendôme. Can you help me?”

Charles considered, folding his arms across his chest. “Remember the soothsayer’s laboratory?”

“How could I forget, Monsieur Prince?”

“Now I will show you something even more shocking.” “Monsieur — ”

Charles shook his head. He closed his lips tightly. “Do you wish to be taken to Fabien or non?”

“Merci, Monsieur Prince. I shall be most grateful.”

Charles opened the door and glanced down the corridor. He lowered his voice. “Come, then, I shall even show you how it works.”

It?

“There is a garden. You can see the river and the trees. The steps on the terrace will take us down into the garden.”

Andelot took heart. If he could get into the garden, he could escape to the barracks to Cousine Julot.

“Our walk will be worthy of the effort. Wait until you see it.”

“It,” again. What was it?

Charles took him down a little used passage at the back of the castle and out through a door onto a terrace that overlooked both sides of a garden. Here, the Loire River ran alongside the castle and into the wider reservoir.

Andelot felt better now that the fresh wind blew against him and he tasted freedom.
But surely the cardinal had meant him no harm shutting him up in the chamber two days ago? Not if he would send him to Paris to attend the Corps des Pages? What then had been the reason for it? Would harm have otherwise come to him?

“Ah! Look, peasant!”

Andelot jerked toward Charles whose f lushed face was impudent, his eyes bulged.

“Behold!” Charles cried out and ran to the terrace rail, looking delir- iously excited. “Did I not tell you I would reveal something magnifique? Look, mon ami, have you ever seen such a sight?”

Andelot joined Charles at the terrace rail. An involuntary gasp escaped from Andelot. “Saints preserve us!”

“Non, ami, they will not.” Charles boasted.

Andelot curled his fingers around the terrace railing. So this was what had been going on since yesterday while he was closed up in a chamber. Troops, troops, everywhere! Every gate was watched, every entrance into the castle, the gardens, the walled plateau, the galleries. His gaze shifted to a tuft of trees inside one of the bastions. There, on the pin- nacles of the fretted roof belonging to a little votive chapel were more of the king’s archers. The walls of the castle bristled with guns and archers. But that was not all. The heads of the Huguenot men from Geneva were

posted on sticks on the ramparts. Already the vultures were greedily at work. Andelot, sickened, turned away.

“There were even more soldiers yesterday after the Bourbon princes and nobles rode from Amboise,” Charles said, folding his arms. “I heard le Duc de Guise and le cardinal talking to the Queen Mother. They told her the open country toward Loches was full of soldiers. Guards now watch the double bridge across the Loire.”

He looked at Andelot to see his response, as though he recalled Andelot’s comments of a week ago that le Duc de Guise was unjust toward the Huguenots.

“Le Duc de Guise has absolute power these days,” Charles said. “There was a battle in the woods that lasted all night and most of this morning.”

A battle? Was that why he had been closeted away out of sight and perhaps trouble? Or had they guessed he had been on his way to warn Marquis Fabien?

“Then the council meeting with the Bourbon princes is over?” “Oui. An edict of pacification was signed by my brother, the king.” “Then what is all this?” Andelot cried, spreading his hand toward

the soldiers and battlements. “And what of the fighting last night in the woods?”

“It was le Duc de Guise who discovered the Huguenots moving in a great army in the woods. They were taken by surprise. Even Renaudie was captured,” Prince Charles boasted.

“Monsieur Renaudie taken prisoner?” Andelot felt sudden pity and regret. If only he could have been more clever and escaped before the guards took him to the chamber —

“It is not easy to deceive the Queen Mother.” Charles drew in his chin and gave a triumphant nod of his princely head. “We came to Amboise only because it is a fortress and easily defended from attack.”

And the edict was a deception. To throw them off guard while le Duc de

Guise put his army into order.

Andelot turned his gaze back to the archers and guns.

“But —” Charles shrugged his small shoulders with boredom —“the fighting, it is all over now. Le Balafré’s army killed many heretics, and they carried Renaudie back here and cut him into four pieces. His head is on the wall by the Loire River, where the water runs into the great lake.”

Andelot thought back to last night. He had not slept well. He had awakened several times in the night to hear voices and horses on the cobbles below his window, but when he had gone to look out he could see nothing but torchlight.

Andelot remembered with a rush about his Oncle Sebastien, about Cousine Julot, and the marquis. Oh, but they would not move against Fabien, would they?

Is this why he had not heard from them? He became aware that his palms were sweaty.
But they could not have been involved in treason against King Francis.

“There are many prisoners.” Charles’s smile was smug.

Andelot looked away from his taunting eyes. His own heart thudded. Not his oncle, not Cousine Julot—
I beg of you, mon cher God, please, non
. Andelot was now afraid to look Charles in the eye. Was this the evil reason he had brought him here? To boast that Sebastien and Julot were in the dungeons of torture?

“They were Huguenots, all pestilent rabble.”

Andelot’s fear burst into righteous indignation. He turned abruptly to Charles, hand at heart.

“Not so, Monsieur Prince. I do not believe the Huguenots tried to harm the king, your brother. They are loyal. Monsieur Prince, is it not so that the past commander of the French army served your grandfa- ther King Francis I during the Italian Wars? And Admiral Coligny, the Huguenot leader, is he not the nephew of that commander?”

Charles shrugged, looking moody now, as though he might not be as sure as he had thought. “But, come! You still have not seen what I brought you here for!”

“Have I not seen too much already? Let us go back at once, I beg of you — ”

“You have seen nothing yet, peasant.”

Charles smiled in triumph. “Now all the Huguenots are caught. Like little mice they will have their heads chopped off. Look here, peasant!” He ran along the terrace and beckoned for Andelot to follow.

Andelot glanced about for the steps leading to the garden so he could escape and find the barracks, but there were none in sight. He went after Charles.

“Behold, this is
it
! This is what I brought you to see.”

Andelot sucked in his breath. He stepped backward at the sight, bumping into Charles who had come up behind. Andelot felt the prince’s body trembling beneath his velvet and fur collar as they both stood hud- dled together, staring.

A scaffold stood like a giant warrior draped in black, scowling down upon them. A large chopping block and a massive hatchet waited omi- nously. The sharpened ax blade caught the rays of the sun that momen- tarily came out from behind the clouds and glistened. Andelot’s heart trembled and his stomach turned.

The prince tugged at his arm, beckoning him to follow him along the terrace. There was a madness about Charles, like a glutton facing a banquet table.

The rain stopped earlier that morning. The sky was a gray-blue; some birds, oblivious to the scene of horrors, continued to sing in the branches of the forest and in a giant tree nearby, which had been growing since before the early reign of the king’s grandfather, Francis I.

The promise of the French summer with f lowers and sunshine leered in mockery at Andelot. There, in the courtyard, a gallery had been recently constructed with seats under a royal canopy of crimson trimmed with a golden tassel border. Royal f lags from the
architraves
snapped stiff ly in the windy gusts. The terrace, here in this spot, had been prepared, hung with a scarlet velvet canopy for more chairs.

Andelot whirled toward Charles who was f lushed with excitement. “To watch for the Huguenot prisoners?”

“Oui, but of course, mon ami.” Charles ran down the terrace steps into the courtyard and Andelot darted after him.

Andelot looked up at the tall scaffold with dread.

Prince Charles, animated now, climbed the steps with difficulty. At the plank he struggled to lift the ax, which must have weighed over half as much as he.

“Stop, mon prince —”

Charles lifted the great ax as high as he could, then let it come down to the cutting block with a heavy, sickening thud. “Die, heretic!” Losing his balance, Charles took a quick step backward, falling to his knees.

Andelot raced up the steps, breathing hard. “Come down.”

“Go ahead, peasant, try it.”

“I have no wish to touch it! Come down,” Andelot said again. Surprisingly, Charles did come down, Andelot close behind him.

At the bottom of the platform they looked at one another, the wind tossing their hair. Andelot could not refrain; tears filled his eyes. He thought the sight of his tears would bring malicious amusement to Charles, but instead Charles’s face became naught more than a boy’s. His features contorted, he whipped a shoulder toward him.

Andelot blinked hard.

Charles looked sullen, a pout on his lips. He seemed prepared to say something when there were footsteps up on the terrace walking in their direction . . . and voices. Charles’s eyes were wide and true horror showed on his face.

“It is the Queen Mother. I thought they would do nothing today.”

Footsteps, many of them, sounded like marching soldiers along the upper terrace. Andelot froze, then glanced wildly about. An escape route — where! But the courtyard was surrounded by a huge stone wall, and he saw no gate, no exit. Footsteps and voices grew nearer.

“Peasant! Hide!” Charles was shaking, obviously in dread of his mother. Before Andelot could respond, Charles was f leeing across the garden courtyard toward some bushes.

Andelot was about to follow, heart thudding in his chest. But sol- diers! They were coming now from every direction — marching across the courtyard — guards in black and crimson, toward the scaffold.

Andelot crouched in the courtyard, afraid to stand lest they should see him.

He noted the recently constructed gallery connected to the terrace. It was his only chance for concealment.
Hurry
, his mind told him. Andelot leaped his way like a hind on silent feet across the courtyard with all the agility of his youth. He slipped through rows of chairs over which a royal canopy hung.

Footsteps and voices were coming from the direction of the terrace now.

Andelot frantically searched for concealment.

A sturdy marble statue made in a wide circular adornment of cherubs with lofty faces stood on a large white pedestal. The cherubs held a thick trellis of green vine that swayed gently in the wind. Their faces seemed roused in sympathy over his dire predicament; their childlike marble eyes looked right at him; their pure hands invited him.

Footsteps from the guards and the voices of the entourage grew louder with each f leeting second, coming his way. Andelot crossed him- self and dove for cover beneath the pedestal. He scooted under the vines and arranged the thick tentacles around him in a protective covering. He hunched his body tightly together, drawing his arms around his knees, saying his prayers over and over again.

When courage beckoned, he opened his eyes and peered through the vines. They were arriving. The guards, meticulous in their gaudy uniforms, had fanned out. Then Andelot saw
her
. Madame le Serpent, that Italian woman, Catherine de Medici. Clever, shrewd in her politics, the Queen Mother of palace intrigue. Her face was set. She was garbed in black, with a ring of stiff white frill about her neck. A long veil covered the back of her head, falling down toward her heels. Her Italian eyes were prominent, her jowls heavy and soft, her wide mouth was slightly open.

Andelot shut his eyes again, fortifying his courage
. Be strong in the Lord, and in the power of his might
, he thought in Latin.

The rustle of Catherine’s garments came so close as she was escorted past the marble cherubs that Andelot could smell her
eau de parfume.
Revulsion overtook him as he recalled the laboratory of her astrologer and poisoner.