Threads of Silk (40 page)

She was convinced that he had agonized over this. Did it take more faith to believe in great victories, or to stand firm when it seemed the battle was being lost?

“Yes, we nobles can sink galleons,” he was saying. “We can send mercenaries to aid the Dutch, but we cannot thwart a civil war here in our own France.” He looked at her. “For the Reformation to win in France it must seize the hearts of the French people. We nobles have little to do with that. French serfs must be won a man at a time. France is at a crossroads. The question hounds me. What if a love for the truth does not take root?”

Perhaps for the first time, she could feel his anguish over the France he loved — and might lose. She went to him and threw her arms around him, her eyes wet with tears.

Fabien embraced her, holding her close.

THE NEXT MORNING AT
FONTAINEBLEAU
, Andelot was called to the Cardinal de Lorraine’s receiving chamber. He entered, rolled map in hand, not knowing what to expect. The cardinal, in his red and white robes, stood with polished sophistication beside the Duc de Guise. The duc looked to be in good spirits and was smiling, his hands folded behind him.

“Bonjour, mon petit Andelot. You have located the map we wanted from the library. We knew we could depend upon you,” the cardinal said.

The prick to his conscience hurt.
I should not have made this, but
what else could I do?

Andelot held out the rolled parchment. “The map, Monseigneur.”

“Come forward, Andelot,” Duc de Guise said cheerfully. “Stretch it out on the desk here.” He turned, saying, “Chantonnay, this is a young kinsman of ours, Andelot Dangeau.”

“And a kinsman of Marquis de Vendôme, I hear.”

“But a Guise,” the cardinal said with emphasis. “Andelot has proven a great help to us. He will be going to our country estate in Lorraine after the colloquy.”

Was the cardinal convincing Chantonnay that he was trustworthy?

“The marquis is also my kinsman,” a pleasant voice spoke from behind Andelot.

“Ah, sire, come and behold the map,” the cardinal said.

Sire? A
king
! Andelot turned quickly on his heel to face the pleasant voice and saw Prince Antoine de Bourbon, the King of Navarre. So, this ruse concerned Antoine?

Standing with Antoine, as though they were close comrades, was the shrewd Spanish Ambassador Chantonnay. A smile lighted Chantonnay’s swarthy face. Andelot covered his surprise.

“Come, sire,” Chantonnay again urged Prince Antoine. “You will not be disappointed at what you see. All that we told you is here before your eyes. Sardinia — the magic isle! I could wish to go there myself. But when you are king there, I am sure my master, the King of Spain, will visit you to enjoy the tropical air.”

Andelot tightened his lips.
That serpent-toothed deceiver!
He stood near the wall trying to avoid attention now, hoping they would not dismiss him. The four gathered around the desk, murmuring in low voices, as they pointed out various amenities on the map. From the way they smiled, it would appear they were the finest of comrades with Prince Antoine. How this change had come about recently Andelot could not guess, but the Guises and Chantonnay were champion deceivers. What amazed him most was that Prince Antoine would trust them enough to gather alone with them. He knew they had tried to assassinate him only months ago. And yet, here they were discussing a phony map that he was accepting without question.

Was Chantonnay behind this trickery? Andelot had heard Chanton-nay had been trained in the art of diplomacy since a small boy and was an expert in the ways of intrigue. Père Jaymin said that Chantonnay constantly spied on the Queen Mother and reported even what she had for her evening dinner to the King of Spain.

“Ah, sire, we all agree that a grand future awaits you, for we in Spain know how you are the Bourbon prince to best deal with the differences between my country and yours. The Queen Mother?” He pursed his lips and shook his head. “You should have been made Regent of France. My king believes she cannot be trusted. She is, if you will pardon me for saying so, too close to the Huguenot leaders she has brought to court.”

“Sire,” the duc said, “you have always been the level-headed prince. Come, Chantonnay, explain the majestic plan King Philip is offering him.”

Prince Antoine looked from Duc de Guise back to Chantonnay. “What plan, Monsieur?”

Chantonnay began to talk of King Philip’s wondrous plans for Antoine de Bourbon, if Antoine would cooperate with Spain. King Philip was prepared to sacrifice a rare and precious jewel in his far-flung empire to Prince Antoine for peace and friendship. This glittering jewel? The island of Sardinia. And what did he ask for? Little Navarre. Surely Prince Antoine understood that a section of that province in the south already belonged to Spain, won from the King of Navarre in war many years earlier. Why should such a small province be divided when Prince Antoine could rule the far greater kingdom of Sardinia? And Sardinia was merely the beginning of all that would become Antoine’s with his cooperation with Spain.

“Monseigneur, look at the map. You will see an important and astonishing island! Look at its great cities, its excellent coastline, its fine natural harbor for ships to anchor from all the trading lanes of the world. And you alone, sire, will become its king. My sovereign fears to surrender such an important island to anyone else, except to you. Of course, it will prove necessary to become a Catholic, for King Philip can have no dealings with heretics.”

“It is so, sire,” Cardinal de Lorraine added. “The King of Spain has told me this in correspondence. He is concerned for your soul, as am I. Ah, sire, give up being leader of the serpent-headed Huguenot alliance at court. Give up the new opinions and receive so much more in return.”

“A triple crown awaits you, sire,” Duc de Guise said. “How can a wise man turn such a treasure trove down?”

“A triple crown?” Antoine asked. “Are you saying I could gain other crowns?”

“Indeed so, sire,” Chantonnay said in a lowered tone. “If you become a Catholic. But you could not remain married to a heretic.”

“Monsieur! Jeanne is my wife.”

Andelot gave him a sharp glance.
It is good you finally remember that,
sire
.

Chantonnay sighed with the suggestion of grief. He shook his head. “Ah, Monseigneur, the pope has said — sadly so — that you cannot have the triple crown while bound to a rebel. He has written my master, Philip, that if you would cooperate, he will authorize your divorce.”

Prince Antoine frowned. “But — Jeanne — she would not want a divorce and neither do I.”

“Sire,” Cardinal de Lorraine added with a grave smile, “there will be no difficulty in divorcing the woman who has become a rebel and a heretic.”

“If I were in your shoes, sire,” Duc de Guise said, “I would not hesitate to seize my responsibilities to France. Claim the triple crown and save France from this onslaught of heretical slander that comes from Geneva’s mouthpiece.”

Antoine rubbed his chin, looking down at the map. “But I received the title of king only through marriage to Jeanne.”

Chantonnay moved his hand as if cutting through mist. “It is nothing to worry us, nor should it worry you, sire. All can be handled. Jeanne will lose all her possessions anyway, including her kingdom. All heretics must surrender their possessions, so you would have the crown of the jewel island of Sardinia — and in addition, the crown of Scotland and the crown of England. The triple crown.”

Andelot’s head lifted. He glanced from the shrewd eyes of Chantonnay to Duc de Guise, who was smiling a tight little smile. Cardinal de Lorraine ran his long white fingers along his crimson robe and also smiled at Prince Antoine.

“Monsieurs
,
England — Scotland — I do not understand.”

“It is simple,” Chantonnay said in a whisper. “I will share a secret because my king has confidence in you. The heretic usurper of the English throne, Elizabeth Tudor, will not remain queen. Soon, she will be deposed through war with Spain. When she is removed, who should be the new queen?”

Prince Antoine’s eyes began to show excitement.

Duc de Guise said, “It is our blood niece who will be Queen of England and Scotland, our belle Mary Stuart.”

“Sire, now do you see what wondrous opportunities my sovereign offers for your future?” Chantonnay nodded. “If you divorce the heretical Jeanne, marriage with the Guise niece, Mary, Queen of Scots, is possible.”

Antoine raised a hand to his forehead. “Yes . . . yes, I understand now.”

“How Mary continues to grieve for the loss of France,” the cardinal said. “How she pleads with us to arrange for some marriage in order to return to the land she cares about. All of this, sire, is possible for you —and our Mary.”

“How true. And all you need do is take this beautiful island of Sardinia, become a Catholic, and divorce Jeanne,” Chantonnay explained.

“Bonne fortune smiles upon you,” Cardinal de Lorraine said with a smile.

“I should say it does,” the duc said.

“The triple crown is held out to you on a silver platter,” Chantonnay persisted.

“And do not forget France,” the cardinal said. “Glorious France. As a Bourbon of the royal blood, you are but small steps from assuming the throne. You and our belle niece, Mary,”

One look at Antoine, and the flush of excitement in his face told Andelot they had him nearly convinced. Pity filled his heart. And it angered him to see these three serpentine liars luring him slowly, methodically, and heartlessly to the edge of the pit.

Cardinal de Lorraine laid a hand on Antoine’s shoulder. “Do not think about it for too long, sire. We would not wish to see this glorious offer slip from your fingers.”

“This is a great honneur you offer me, but it is such an important decision — I must discuss it with Jeanne.”

Andelot’s hopes revived. Prince Antoine was drawing back. Then he heard the words from the three men, coming like the thrust from a dagger.

“But, sire, you certainly will not be able to discuss it with Jeanne. She will wish to divorce you when she hears the news that you took la belle Rouet to be your mistress.”

“Your wife will arrive here for the colloquy in just days,” the duc said. “And your mistress will be unable to conceal the fact that she is carrying your child.”

The Growing Menace

PRINCESSE
MARGUERITE HAD CHANGED HER MIND ABOUT HATING THE
style and colors, for once the gowns were nearly completed, she could see how belle they were. She had clapped her palms together, and in her teasing way pretended to swoon into the lap of Nenette. “Oh they are beautiful, so delicate, like summer butterflies. I adore them, Rachelle. I will wear the pink gown first. I no longer loathe the color. I am told to meet Navarre on the Saturday after the colloquy begins.”

Rachelle saw an opportunity and leapt to take advantage. “Oh, if only I could see you in the gown meeting Prince Henry of Navarre.”

“Then you shall, ma chère,” she said, holding the gown against her and admiring the soft drape of the folds.

“But the Queen Mother does not permit me to leave the palais.”

Marguerite gave her a sly glance. “So you wish for me to arrange your escape from the palais, do you?”

Rachelle snatched the moment. “Oh, could you?”

“How do you think I slip away to meet Henry de Guise? I can slip you out to go with me to the divertissement. You will need to look most élégante.”

Rachelle held down her excitement. She could hardly wait to tell Fabien that an opportunity of escape could soon come. This would be her first night away from captivity in almost a year!

“I have the most perfect gown to wear, my princesse. Wait until you see. The gown is all lace netted over powder blue satin, with velvet cuffs.”

“Wear it, mignon, but make certain you do not look more belle than I.”

When Rachelle left the atelier late that afternoon, she anticipated Fabien’s response to her news, but when she arrived she found a short note from him:

Chérie, an important meeting has come up. I will be late.

She was already aware of the upcoming meeting with Andelot about the map of Sardinia and anxiously awaited Fabien’s return to hear what was discovered.