Doctor Who: The Massacre (14 page)

‘If I knew I would not have asked,’ the Doctor retorted.

‘It has failed, my Lord. I saw him helped away to his house by Henri of Navarre, Lerans and Muss,’ Duval replied, his eyes still fixed on Steven.

‘Why do you stare at him?’ the Doctor’s voice was suspicious. ‘Do you not know him?’ Steven winked at Duval.

‘My Lord, why am I kept in this quandry?’ Duval cried.

‘One minute you acknowledge him and the next you don’t.

You sign his release and then deny it. I am here to serve you and the Catholic cause. ‘My Lord’– his voice was shrill

– ‘but what would you have me believe?’

‘In God’s work, my son, there are secrets with which few are entrusted,’ the Doctor intoned pompously as Steven suppressed a guffaw. ‘Now, place the Huguenot family in the custody of my agent and see that his orders are obeyed without question.’

Duval led Steven down to the cellars and left him instructing Colbert to return Anne and her family home where they were to remain under guard until further notice. Duval returned to the Abbot’s office where the Doctor had duly stolen the piece of parchment, stamped it and tucked it under his habit.

‘My Lord Abbot, I told you that I witnessed the attempt on Admiral de Coligny’s life,’ Duval began nervously.

‘Yes,’ the Doctor agreed from behind the Abbot’s desk.

‘And earlier in the library you suggested that I might be suffering from delusions,’ Duval continued.

The Doctor realised that the inconsistencies had seriously begun to show but all he said was ‘hmm – hmm’, anticipating the next remark.

‘Yet I swear I saw someone who should never have been there,’ Duval’s voice quavered.

‘Whom did you see?’ the Doctor asked blandly.

‘You, my Lord Abbot.’

The Doctor laughed. ‘But Duval, I was at the Bastille where I met my agent.’ The Doctor shook his head: ‘No, my son, whomsoever you saw, it was not me.’

At that instant the door opened and the Abbot of Amboise – the real Abbot – came into the office. He stopped in his tracks, thunderstruck. Duval stared dumbfounded from one to the other. The Doctor was surprised but recovered quickly as he had always known he ran the risk of such an encounter. So he remained seated at the desk and pointed at the Abbot.

‘Him, perhaps?’ he asked. Duval drew his sword.

‘Who is this imposter who usurps my office?’ the Abbot shouted.

The Doctor stood up, his eyes glacial. ‘I was about to ask the same question,’ he said sharply. Duval swung the tip of his sword between them both.

‘One of you lies,’ he almost choked on the words.

‘That is obvious,’ the Doctor replied. ‘but which of us is the liar? Am I? Or is he?’

‘
I
am the Abbot of Amboise,’ the Abbot protested at the top of his voice.

‘So you say,’ the Doctor answered. ‘Perhaps others should decide.’

‘There is nothing to decide!
I
am the Abbot of Amboise!’ the Abbot screamed. ‘Kill him!’

The Doctor did not flinch as Duval turned his sword on him.

‘Kill him, I order you, kill him!’ the Abbot screamed again.

‘There speaks a man of God,’ the Doctor said calmly, ‘or is it the Devil himself?’ The doubt in Duval’s eyes turned suddenly to resolve and he spun around.

‘Begone Satan!’ It was a war cry as he ran the Abbot of Amboise through, killing him instantly.

The Doctor leant on the desk and reflected that if one of them had to die, he preferred fate this way; and, besides, fanatics of any kind were always very dangerous.

There was a knock on the door and Duval looked nervously at the Doctor.

‘What is it?’ the Doctor called out.

‘My Lord Abbot, you are summoned immediately to His Majesty, the King,’ a voice replied.

The Doctor was annoyed but it was not the moment to let Duval discover his blunder. ‘Call my carriage, we shall be there,’ he ordered and looked at Duval. ‘You’d better attend me, Duval, but no word of this, not yet. It has many ramifications.’

‘I understand, my Lord,’ Duval’s hands were shaking as he replaced his sword in its scabbard. The Doctor gave him a goblet of water.

‘Drink this,’ he said and Duval gulped it down before they left for the Louvre.

Steven had given his orders to Colbert, with a wink for Anne, and was watching the small detachment march away when he saw the Abbot’s carriage with Duval and the Doctor drive off towards the Louvre. He wondered which one it was as he walked back to the Abbot’s office where he found the body.

‘Doctor!’ he cried out, momentarily rooted to the spot in horror. Then, recovering slightly and hoping against hope that it was not the Doctor, he closed and locked the door, knelt down beside it and felt for a pulse. There was none.

He ripped open the habit and put his ear to its chest, straining to hear a heartbeat, however faint. Again, there was none.

He sat back on his heels and stared at the face in a desperate attempt to find a distinguishing mark, a scar, anything to reveal that the cadaver was not the Doctor. But the resemblance was uncanny. He searched the corpse thoroughly, seeking something that would enable him to identify it one way or the other, even if it were the TARDIS key to confirm his worst fear.

But there was nothing and staring at the mortal remains in front of him he began to realise the magnitude of his own dilemma. If this carcass, for that was what it was, was once the Doctor then where was the key? In the Doctor’s everyday clothes at the cave with Preslin and the apothecaries? He could only assume so, but even if he were to find it, had he the knowledge and the skill to operate the TARDIS alone? Or was he doomed to spend the rest of his days trapped in Paris during the second half of the sixteenth century? As he slowly stood up he knew that finally he must go back through the tunnels to the cave and wait in the desperate hope that the Doctor would come charging along in a dog cart.

The King had been playing tennis when he was informed of the attempt on de Coligny’s life and he immediately ordered the Council to be convened. ‘And that includes our mother,’ he added as he stomped off the lawn, waving his tennis racquet at the courtier.

At the assembly, the King listened attentively as Muss and Lerans recounted the events. The Queen Mother sat tight-lipped whilst the Dukes of Anjou and Guise, as well as Tavannes, seemed mildly bored with the proceedings.

‘What made our dear Admiral so fortuitously turn away as the shot was fired?’ the King asked when they were done.

Lerans and Muss glanced at one another and the Doctor before replying.

‘Some chance disturbance on the street, sire,’ Muss said.

‘Of what nature?’ the King enquired.

‘Someone shouted and, praise be to God, your Majesty, the Admiral turned to see who it was,’ Lerans replied.

‘And who was it?’ the King persisted.

‘A stranger, my Liege, wishing the Admiral long life,’

Henri of Navarre lied as Duval looked from one to the next knowing that all three were lying. Yet his Abbot stayed silent.

‘And, in your opinion, where was this shot fired from?’

The King leant forward on his throne and the Catholics ceased to be bored. But Lerans took the question in his stride.

‘From his attic, sire,’ he said nonchalantly, pointing at de Guise, ‘it was the only possible place.’

‘You’ll pay for that,’ de Guise drew his sword.

‘Where and when you will,’ Lerans threw back, sword in hand.

‘Put up your swords, gentlemen,’ the King commanded and both men bowed and sheathed them. ‘Has this would-be assassin been apprehended?’

‘No, Your Majesty,’ Muss answered, his eyes fixed on Tavannes. ‘In the confusion Maurevert, alias Bondot, fled.’

‘You know the assassin’s name?’ the King was amazed.

Then Lerans made a fatal mistake. ‘We know all about the conspiracy against the Admiral, sire,’ he said.

16

There was a stunned silence after Lerans’s laconic remark.

The Queen Mother glanced anxiously at Tavannes and the Duke of Anjou swallowed whilst de Guise stared with open hatred at Lerans. The Doctor stood quietly as Duval squirmed uncomfortably at his side.

‘We would hear of this conspiracy,’ the King said eventually.

‘No one conspired against the Admiral,’ your Majesty,’

Tavannes protested.

‘Then what did we witness, a hunting accident?’ Henri of Navarre did not spare his sarcasm.

‘A mad assassin’s bullet does not make a conspiracy,’ the Duke of Anjou retorted.

‘If that shot had been mortal, my Liege, as it was intended to be, all France would be embroiled in yet another religious war,’ Muss observed.

‘God be praised for well-wishers, eh, My Lord Abbot?’

the King said earnestly as Lerans looked at the Doctor and tried to discern which one he was. ‘And now pray give us your thoughts on this distressing affair.’

‘Your Majesty does me great honour to consider that my humble opinions are of merit in front of the Queen Mother and these noble lords,’ the Doctor replied inclining his head to the King. ‘I have already addressed this Council on the question of war with Spain and I said then that Catholic must not fight Catholic. Now, sire, permit me to develop that theme. Huguenot must not take up arms against another of his own faith, nor,’ the Doctor extended one arm in emphasis, pointed at the two groups of men who stood on either side of the thrones, and then spoke with firmness and authority, ‘nor Catholic against Huguenot nor Huguenot against Catholic.’

There were sharp intakes of breath from the Catholic camp and the horrendous truth of whom he had killed began to dawn on Duval. Both Muss and Lerans knew it was the Doctor who was speaking. ‘We are all God’s children, each and every one of us,’ the Doctor continued,

‘and it is not by acts of war nor bloody deeds that His Kingdom shall be attained, rather should we look to our own hearts and find therein those three blessed precepts of Love, Humility and Charity.’

No one moved in the ensuing silence until the Doctor bowed to the King. ‘With your Majesty’s permission, I shall retire to Notre Dame and pray for all our Immortal Souls.’

The King gestured to the Doctor with an open hand. ‘It behoves us all to dwell upon your words, Lord Abbot,’ he said, granting the Doctor’s request.

‘Stay here, Duval, and represent your Abbot,’ the Doctor said brusquely and left the Chamber.

As soon as he was outside the door, Tavannes asked the King to adjourn the Council.

‘Not yet, Marshall,’ the King replied. ‘We also have something to say concerning Catholic and Huguenot. You claim there was no conspiracy against our loyal de Coligny and, indeed, that may be true but, nonetheless, we have a special charge for you. As of this moment, we hold you responsible for the Admiral’s safety. Station your men around his house and, mark this well, Marshall, if anything further were to happen to him, you would pay dearly for it.’

Tavannes bowed as the King turned to de Guise.

‘As for you, de Guise, you also have a service to render your King,’ he said, ‘we declare our belief that the shot was fired from your residence, with or without your knowledge as may be, but we require you to bring to justice the would-be assassin, Maurevert. Do we make ourselves clear?’

‘Abundantly so, my Liege,’ de Guise replied acidly and bowed.

‘This Council is adjourned until – ’ The King hesitated:

‘No, not tomorrow, we shall play tennis all day, until the next day, the Feast of Saint Bartholomew.’

With the Queen Mother white with fury beside him the King left the Council Chamber.

Steven was still badly shocked when he reached the cave.

He had turned over the probabilities and the possibilities that the body he had left lying on the floor was the Doctor’s until rational thought was almost beyond him. He sat heavily at a table and put his head in his hands. Preslin came over to him.

‘Where’s the Doctor?’ he asked. ‘Is something wrong?’

Steven stared at him uncomprehendingly for several seconds, then a look of total astonishment came over his face as he jumped to his feet and hugged the bemused apothecary. ‘He’s alive!’ he shouted. ‘He’s got to be alive!

The body didn’t have the parchment on it.’

‘Steven, what on Earth are you talking about?’ Preslin asked, disengaging himself.

Steven tried to explain but the words wouldn’t come out of his mouth in the proper order. ‘It doesn’t matter!’ He was close to tears of relief. ‘It really doesn’t matter!’

But it did a little later when the Doctor arrived in a dog cart. ‘You wicked old man,’ Steven cried reproachfully,

‘letting me believe that the body might have been yours.’

‘My dear boy, how you could have thought that for one moment is quite beyond me,’ the Doctor replied in surprise. ‘You know my knack’– he clicked his fingers –

‘for dominating a given situation.’ Then he took the parchment out of his habit, called for a quill pen and some ink and sat down to work.

Two other encounters were taking place about the same time and neither was as pleasant as the Doctor’s reunion with Steven. The first was between King Charles and the Queen Mother in his chambers at the Louvre and any form of royal protocol was dismissed out-of-hand.

‘I gave orders to be left alone, rnother,’ he said angrily as she marched into his room.

‘It’s become your notion of late to give orders without consulting me,’ she snapped back.

‘I happen to be the King of France, madame, you’d do best to remember it,’ he retorted.

Catherine snorted with derision. ‘A pale shadow of a King you make,’ she taunted. ‘Your younger brother, Henri, would be ten times the King you are.’

‘Guard your tongue, mother, or you’ll end your days in a convent,’ he threatened.

‘Child,’ she sneered, ‘you haven’t the courage.’

He reached for the bell rope. ‘All I have to do is pull this.’

‘Do so, I beseech you. Summon your guards, have me arrested. But you will need a good reason for your Council and for the people of France who love me.’