Doctor Who: The Massacre (8 page)

Once outside and walking slowly along the corridor towards his own office Duval was curious about the Abbot’s refusal to acknowledge Steven but was satisfied that he had done the right thing to throw him back in a cell.

It was not until later in the day he learned the Abbot had personally signed a document ordering Steven’s immediate release.

7

As soon as he was released Steven made his way to the auberge to wait for the Doctor. The landlord, Antoine-Marc, although not pleased to see him, was curious to know how Steven had spent the night.

‘Asleep,’ was the only reply he received and Steven toyed with his goblet of red wine whilst watching the door.

But the first familiar face he saw was Nicholas Muss who came over and greeted him.

‘No sign of your friend?’ Muss asked and, while Antoine-Marc tried to eavesdrop, Steven told him everything that had happened since they last met.

‘The so-called Abbot was the Doctor,’ he concluded, ‘or, if not, the spitting image of him and in that case why would I have been released?’

‘Did you see him sign the document?’ Muss asked.

‘No, a guard came into the cell and told me I was free to go,’ Steven replied.

‘So you’re waiting here for him,’ Muss said, ‘to have something similar happen again tonight if he doesn’t show up?’

‘I honestly don’t know, I’m completely at a loss because I haven’t the faintest idea of what’s going on,’ Steven admitted.

‘Then come with me to Admiral de Coligny’s house,’

Muss replied, ‘at least, there you’ll have a roof over your head.’

‘But the Doctor?’ Steven protested as Muss laid a hand on his shoulder.

‘In one guise or another, I’m sure he’ll turn up eventually,’ Muss remarked enigmatically and paid for Steven’s glass of wine as they left, leaving Antoine-Marc some more information for Simon Duval.

‘There were no difficulties,’ the Doctor told Lerans back in the cave, ‘as the Abbot walked out of one door, I walked in by another, put his seal on Steven’s release and gave it to a nervous, fat young man named Roger Colbert.’

Lerans laughed. ‘You’ve made a good start, Doctor.’

‘But where is Steven?’ the Doctor asked.

‘Safely tucked away at Admiral de Coligny’s house,’

Lerans replied, ‘and it’s better that he knows nothing of your activities.’

‘Why?’ The Doctor was indignant.

‘Because the fewer who know, the better.’

‘These people know.’ The Doctor gestured to the apothecaries and their families.

‘And they will remain here until you are gone.’

‘Then bring in Steven as well.’

‘No, Doctor, we can’t. Nicholas and I have discussed it.’

Lerans shrugged his regrets. ‘Steven thinks you are the Abbot, and Duval believes the Abbot has been playing you.’ He crossed his arms in front of him with his forefingers pointing in opposite directions, ‘and that’s a useful confusion to maintain.’

‘Why?’ the Doctor repeated irritably.

‘Duval will soon learn where Steven is and will have him watched,’ Lerans replied, ‘but if Steven were to disappear completely, Duval’s suspicions would be aroused.’

‘And how long must this charade continue?’ the Doctor snapped.

‘Until the Abbot and Duval are toppled from power,’

Leran’s tone was matter-of-fact.

‘And when will that be?’ the Doctor asked dryly.

‘It depends on you, Doctor,’ Lerans smiled, ‘so shall we say, a week at the outside?’

The Doctor remembered the date. It was 20 August and in less than four days a massacre would begin, one he knew he could not stop. He had extricated Steven from one prison only to have him put neatly into another, ensuring that he, the Doctor, would do as he was told. Wryly he conceded that Lerans and Muss were nobody’s fools.

At first Duval was mystified when Roger told him about Steven’s release. It seemed illogical that the Abbot would change his mind because he must have foreseen that the Huguenots would react as they had. And then he saw the master stroke. Both the wretched girl and the Abbot’s faithful agent were now in the same house, de Coligny’s. It was nothing short of genius. He would have liked to know how the Abbot had learned about the scullery maid but it didn’t matter. He was proud to be in the service of the most subtle and devious Catholic politician in France so he allowed himself the luxury of a few idle thoughts on the eventual fate of Gaston, Viscount de Lerans who he knew was no match for the Abbot of Amboise. His reverie was broken by the summons to the Abbot’s office.

‘We are to attend upon Her Majesty and the King,’ the Abbot announced after Duval had paid his respects. The Abbot insisted they took the Cardinal’s carriage to the Louvre.

Steven was fretting about the Doctor so he went to Lerans’

office in the Admiral’s house.

‘Nicholas informs me that you are comfortably installed,’ Lerans said, waving Steven towards a chair.

‘I’d rather stand,’ Steven replied and expressed his confusion and concern for the Doctor.

‘Stop worrying, Steven, I can assure you the Abbot is not your friend,’ Lerans replied.

‘Then where is the Doctor?’ Steven insisted.

‘With the apothecary he went to see,’ Lerans said.

‘For twenty-four hours,’ Steven replied in disbelief.

Lerans laughed. ‘I know apothecaries and once you get them together, there’s no stopping them,’ he said. ‘One of them raises a point and another one says we need Joseph’s opinion on that and off someone goes to find him. They can go on for days.’

Steven knew that the Doctor’s concept of time was different to anyone else’s but the fact that he hadn’t reappeared (or had he?) still troubled him.

‘And an apothecary’s wife is a special kind of lady,’

Lerans continued. ‘They understand these gatherings and know when to offer them some refreshment or even a bed, if need be.’

‘Hhmmm,’ Steven said half-dubiously. There was a tap on the door.

‘Come in,’ Lerans said and Anne came into the room with a tray, a jug of wine and a goblet. ‘We need another, Anne.’

She smiled at Steven, made a small curtsey, set the tray on the desk and left.

‘You still take what she said seriously?’ Steven asked.

‘They’ve even been here to ask us to let them take her back,’ Lerans replied. ‘That much fuss over a kitchen maid? Yes, we take her seriously.’

‘Then what do you suspect?’

‘An assassination attempt on the life of my master, King Henri of Navarre,’ Lerans replied, ‘engineered by the Abbot of Amboise.’

‘Oh,’ Steven said reflectively.

‘Now do you understand?’ Lerans asked as Anne came back into the room with the second goblet.

‘I think, perhaps, I’m beginning to,’ Steven replied as Lerans poured some wine.

The Abbot of Amboise and Simon Duval entered the vast Council Chamber of the Louvre with its friezes, paintings, tapestries and brocaded curtains. At the far end of the room was a dais with two steps and covered by a superbly patterned carpet on which were two thrones and above them a silken canopy in scarlet and gold over. Her Majesty, Catherine, the Queen Mother, sat on one throne and His Majesty, King Charles IX, on the other. On the marble floor around the foot of the dais stood the Councillors and Duval’s eyes quickly noted that both camps, Catholic and Huguenot were represented.

The Catholics were led by the King’s younger brother, Duke Henri of Anjou, with Francois, Duke of Guise, the Duke of Nevers and Marshall Tavannes in attendance. For the Huguenots were King Henri of Navarre, the Admiral Gaspard de Coligny, Nicholas Muss and Viscount Gaston Lerans.

‘My Lord Abbot.’ Both the Queen Mother and the King murmured as he bowed over their outstretched hands.

‘Your Majesties,’ he replied and smiled thinly at both camps.

‘Let us to business,’ the King said and promptly had a fit of coughing which lasted for at least a minute, after which he wiped the flecks of blood from the corners of his mouth with a lace handkerchief. ‘Wine, give us wine,’ he croaked. A golden chalice was handed to him by a servant and he sipped from it. Then he leant back on his throne and closed his eyes.

‘Rest, my son, rest,’ the Queen Mother said and patted his hand. ‘We shall deal with the affairs of state.’ She paused and looked down at the faces around her. ‘We shall hear first from our loyal Admiral of France.’

Gaspard de Coligny was a well-built man in his early fifties, a devoted servant of the crown and a fervent believer in a united France, regardless of religious inclinations. Although a Huguenot and lacking in a sense of humour, his genuine humility had kept him close to the royal family since. Charles became King at the age of ten and his influence over the Queen Mother was unequalled.

‘Your Majesty, My Liege,’ he began, glancing from Catherine to the open-mouthed young man who was still gasping for air. ‘May I come back upon our allegiance to the Dutch, the Sea Beggars as they are called.’

‘You always do, Admiral,’ Marshall Tavannes interjected.

‘Their war with the Spanish Low Countries is a just one and merits our aid,’ de Coligny continued, ignoring the remark.

‘My dear Admiral, didn’t our brother-in-law, King Henri of Navarre, who stands beside you, raise an English army to aid the Sea Beggars?’ the Duke of Anjou asked sarcastically. ‘And wasn’t it thrashed by the Spanish last month at Mons?’

It was a mercenary force, sire, privately raised because of your reluctance to see justice done.’ Navarre was unperturbed. ‘Their hearts were not in the fight.’

‘God’s right and God’s might will always be with the one truth faith,’ the Abbot intervened.

‘We talk of unjust territorial claims by the Spanish against the Dutch.’ De Coligny shook his head sadly. ‘All you can see is Protestant against Catholic, a continuing religious war.’

‘I hate Spaniards as much as I love tennis,’ the King spluttered from the throne.

‘Then, my Liege, lend our force of arms to the Dutch, to the Sea Beggars,’ de Coligny cried.

‘Your Majesty, the Treasury could not support a French intervention,’ Tavannes protested to the Queen Mother.

‘I need some fresh air,’ the King said.

‘My Lords, your opinions will be taken carefully into consideration.’ With that Catherine, the Queen Mother, ended the audience.

Henri, Duke of Anjou, speculated on how much longer his elder brother had to live and how best he could diminish the Huguenot influence over his mother. The Abbot of Amboise now knew the lie of the land and the three devoted secretaries, Duval, Lerans and Muss, had not missed a word.

Within an hour the dog cart with Lerans was racing through the tunnels towards the cave and an impatient, anxious Doctor.

8

Despite Lerans’s assurances, Steven was worried about the Doctor. If he were not pretending to be the Abbot, then where was he? He had been gone for a day and although Steven thought that it was possible for the Doctor to be still with Preslin he didn’t think it probable. He decided that there was only one solution – to go to Preslin’s home and find out for himself. But when he tried to leave the Admiral’s house he was politely restrained and told that he required the signed permission of either Lerans or Muss.

Angrily he demanded to see one or the other but was told that Muss was with the Admiral and could not be disturbed and Lerans had gone to the King of Navarre’s residence.

As he stormed back to his room he met Anne in a corridor beside the pantry. He drew her to one side and discreetly asked if she knew a way out of the house without being observed.

‘I haven’t been here long enough to know anything like that, sir,’ she replied.

‘Isn’t there some way through the kitchens?’ Steven persisted.

Anne thought for a moment before replying. ‘Not really, sir,’ she said, ‘unless you talk about putting out the rubbish.’

‘How do you do that?’ Steven asked.

‘By the tunnel from the scullery. It leads to the other side of the wall but it’s ever so scary,’ she replied.

Steven smiled. ‘Will you show it to me?’ he asked.

Being mid-afternoon, the kitchens were deserted while everyone took a siesta so Steven and Anne reached the scullery without being seen. She pointed to a small door in the wall.

‘That’s it, through there,’ she said.

‘Thank you, Anne, and not a word to anyone.’ Steven smiled and put his forefinger to his lips.

‘Make sure you leave the outside door open because you can’t get back if you don’t,’ Anne advised as she lit a taper and handed it to Steven.

‘Bye bye,’ he said and touched her cheek with his hand.

‘Where are you going?’ she asked suddenly.

‘Montparnasse, to find a friend,’ Steven replied.

Anne let out a little squeal. ‘Oh, my aunt and my brother live near there. Take me with you, sir.’

‘How can I, Anne, when you’re here for safekeeping?’

Steven asked.

Anne looked at Steven for a moment before replying.

‘I’ll tell them where you’ve gone,’ she said.

Steven was astounded. ‘There’s a name for people who do that, young lady.’

Anne smiled. ‘Yes, I know,’ she admitted.

‘It’ll be dangerous,’ Steven reminded her.

‘I’ll be safe with you,’ she replied beguilingly.

Steven sighed. ‘This is against my better judgement but come along if you must,’ he said and opened the door to the tunnel which was about thirty metres long.

‘They say there are lots of these but much bigger under Paris,’ Anne announced as they bent down to make their way along it. Halfway along a tunnel led off to the right.

‘Where does that one go?’ Steven asked as they passed it.

‘I don’t know and I don’t want to,’ Anne’s reply was a frightened whisper which made Steven chuckle. They came to the door at the far end which opened inwards. He extinguished the taper before peering outside. It was a small three-sided enclosure, like a stable with a wicker gate closing off the fourth side. He stepped out and Anne followed him, shutting the door behind them. Steven opened the wicker gate and looked up and down the street at the back of the house. There were no sentinels in sight and they hurried away in search of a carriage to take them to Montparnasse.