Threads of Silk (42 page)

“Précisément. And as insane as matters have been recently, who can say what my kinsman Antoine will do? I must talk to him — and the Queen Mother. I cannot think this plan to arrest Jeanne could take place without her knowing of it; she has too many spies crawling about.”

“But what of the meetings between her daughter, the princesse, and Queen Jeanne’s son? Does that not seem to lessen of the Queen Mother’s chance of involvement?”

“It would seem so, Andelot, but the gowns and the arranged meetings may be a ruse to throw us off guard as to the real intentions. That is the way she maneuvers.”

What Fabien did not want to discuss was the possible consequences of Jeanne being arrested and turned over to the inquisitors. The clouds of civil war were even now gathering in the sullen sky over France. Winds of persecution whipped feverishly. But burning Jeanne of Navarre at the stake would turn France into an open battlefield between Huguenots and Catholics.

Duc de Guise and Cardinal de Lorraine were likely to welcome such a war. The duc would receive Spanish troops and money from the pope, but the Queen Mother wished to avoid civil war, for it would weaken the Valois reign.

Presently, Catherine was siding with the Huguenots against the house of Guise, but Fabien knew she would not be guided by principles but by her desire to hold on to the throne and preserve it for her favorite son, Anjou. She would wait and watch. Fabien hoped she did not get impatient to see Guise dead, for it would put pressure on him to act sooner.

“The least I can do is warn Jeanne. The quandary facing us is that she has already left Navarre with Henry. Her retinue would be well on its journey by now; the colloquy begins in days.”

“I think, Marquis, I should go back to Fontainebleau.”

“Non, you will respect our friendship, Andelot, and ride out at dawn.

Believe me, there is nothing you can do to help me in this matter of my kinswoman.”

“Then — as you wish, I will go. If Gallaudet can pack my personal things and take them with him, I shall be very much grateful.”

Fabien felt a well of relief. “Where will you go first?”

Andelot hesitated. “London, to see Idelette . . . and request her hand in marriage. Then, if she accepts me and is willing, to Geneva.”

Fabien grinned. “We will attend your wedding at London — God willing, mon ami.”

“God willing, Marquis Fabien.”

LATER THAT NIGHT, AFTER
FABIEN
RETURNED
from his meeting with Andelot in Chaplain Mornay’s cottage, he entered the Fontainebleau appartement by the back side entrance where royal guards greeted him. Fabien had spent long months trying to earn their loyalty, and with the aid of Gallaudet, was confident that he had done so. This camaraderie had been helped along with a few jewels and a promise of fine horses from Vendôme one day when they were in the region. Fabien now understood better what Sebastien must have suffered all those years as a reluctant member in the Queen Mother’s council. One day in London he would sit down with his oncle by marriage and ask him how he had endured those turbulent years that included his arrest and incarceration in the torture chambers of the Bastille where the cardinal insisted he renounce his faith or lose Madeleine and his daughter. All this was a part of Sebastien’s legacy.

Fabien was pleased to learn, through the Macquinets, that Sebastien and Madeleine were adjusting well. Sebastien was already beginning to move in some political circles in the London court of Queen Elizabeth due to a past friendship with Elizabeth’s brilliant Protestant secretary of state, Sir William Cecil, her counselor and loyal friend.

Fabien had carefully made friendships in the royal guards and it would assist him during the important moment of getting Rachelle, Nenette, Bertrand, and Chaplain Mornay out the side door to waiting horses.

He went to the appartement and entered quietly to avoid awakening Rachelle, and though weary, he found that restful sleep evaded his troubled mind. He stepped out on the balustrade and leaned against the rail. A silent landscape greeted him with stars and planets in place above forested hills. The lake reflected the starlight like a mirror. So many thoughts raced through his mind: civil war, treachery, love, his future as a Bourbon noble, and soon now, if war did come, what it would mean for his kinsman Prince Louis de Condé and Admiral Coligny.

What would his own followers do without him? What of his marqui-sat? Though he had thought of these things before, the events at hand reopened old regrets and brought them anew to his mind and his heart. Departing France was something he had once told himself he would never do, for the sake of the honor of Duc Jean-Louis de Vendôme and of his mother, Duchesse Marie-Louise de Bourbon. Regardless of the necessity of leaving, doing so would be traumatic. He could not see himself living in England for the rest of his life when he was a Frenchman. Though he could communicate well in English, he spoke more fluently in Dutch.

War was coming, surely. Under normal circumstances, it would be his duty and honneur to gather an army of followers from Vendôme and lead them to join the head Bourbon, now Condé, since Antoine no doubt would side with Duc de Guise and the Catholic alliance.

Ah! If Duc de Guise
were
dead . . .

What would it mean for him? For Rachelle?

The Queen Mother would be satisfied. Her grip upon him would be broken.

But unfortunately, Guise looked healthy. Fabien knew he could be removed from the French scene by a quiet but firm thrust of a dagger. One clean thrust would bring him to his eternal destiny.

But I am no murderer
.
Nor will I be, not for all of France!
He pushed the idea away and ceased to toy with it.

He deliberately turned his thoughts to the colloquy. As yet, though he had his personal family chaplain who was a Huguenot, he had not publicly taken Communion with the Protestant leaders from Geneva. When the colloquy began, he would do so, declaring himself with Minister Beza, the twelve theologians, and those with Condé and Coligny.

But many, like John Calvin, had been forced to leave, and why not him? And Andelot would ride away on the golden bay. That beloved horse! What would Andelot do with him? Maybe he could arrange to have him taken to the Château de Silk under the care of Messire Arnaut.

This is something! He laughed at himself. He could relinquish Vendôme but not a horse.
I cannot think of leaving France without worrying
about a horse — non, two horses.
For already, the beau chestnut stallion was upon his heart.

Soft footsteps came up beside him. He turned, and Rachelle was there, his comfort and amour, as always. She slipped her arm through his and leaned with him against the balustrade, looking off at the dark forest under the gleaming stars.

“I heard you come in. I was unable to sleep for thinking about Sardinia. Tell me what happened. You did meet with Andelot?”

This would not be easy for him, but he respected her too much to keep the unpleasant truth concealed. She too must know what was at risk. He quietly told her everything that had occurred with Antoine, the Guises, and the Spanish Ambassador Chantonnay. He went into detail of what he believed the plans were to arrest his kinswoman Jeanne and the scheme to marry Mary, Queen of Scots, to Antoine and what such a union would mean, not only for France but England and Scotland. He finished by telling her Andelot was going to England to ask Idelette to marry him, whereupon they would journey to Geneva where he would train as a Huguenot pasteur or a teaching theologian at Calvin’s school.

“So, ma chère, all is not dark. Happiness awaits your sister after all her grief, and Andelot will fulfill his spiritual gifts from God. He will be a tender shepherd for Christ, I am sure of it.”

“Happiness awaits us too, mon amour Fabien. I am already happy in your arms and always will be — and I have a wondrous secret to tell you.”

He studied her lovely face and wondered how he could have missed the sparkle of excitement showing in her eyes.

“A secret? It must have something to do with the belle gowns you have made Margo. What is it, chérie, perhaps you have been asked to create a gown for Queen Jeanne?”

Her smile deepened, and she slipped her arms around him and came closer, laying the side of her face against his chest. He held her close.

“All a reason for excitement, but not my cherished secret.” She looked up at him.

He lifted a brow. “Then you have me baffled and most curious.”

She drew in a breath. “I had feared being barren, but I now am enceinte with our first child. I could not be more excited and thankful to our God. I hope you will also find it so?”

For a moment he did not speak, and then he could not find the appropriate words.

His immediate response was to squeeze her tightly and bury his face in her fragrant hair. He kissed her earlobe, her throat, her lips, and tenderly communicated his delight and his abiding love.

The Dark Agreement

THE QUEEN MOTHER TOOK HER MORNING PETIT
DÉJEUNER
ALONE IN HER
chamber. She was vexed. She pondered again the message from one of her spies in the Guise camp. With the opening ceremonies of the colloquy to begin the following day, events were moving too quickly away from her control.

So the Guises, with their chief collaborator Chantonnay, were inducing Antoine de Bourbon into becoming a Catholic, using bribes and flattery. Losing Antoine would weaken her. She must either draw closer to the Huguenot alliance under Admiral Coligny and his brothers, or reverse the direction she was going and show the Guises and Spain that she was truly their friend and working on their side.

Months ago when she had met with Antoine in the garden and whispered her plan to make him her general of France, it was with the idea of joining forces against the Guises, but she had not reckoned on the machinations of Ambassador Chantonnay, Philip’s formidable spy.

She used her dagger to slice off a section of her sweet breakfast melon. She sealed her lips tightly and laid her knife and spoon down, mulling over Spain’s offer to Antoine to exchange Sardinia for the Kingdom of Navarre. And that swayable fool Antoine was impressed by the prospect. A tropical island! That slab of rocky wasteland? Ah, if Jeanne knew her husband was willing to negotiate away her father’s kingdom for Sardinia, how incensed she would be.

Catherine needed no spy at Navarre to tell her what Jeanne was thinking, for she had been reading the lettres sent between Antoine and Jeanne for the last year.

Antoine, so typical of him, held nothing back in his correspondence —except all of the truth. He was carrying on an illicit relationship with Louise de la Limaudière, la belle Rouet. Catherine was scornfully amused by one of Antoine’s exaggerated statements to Jeanne — “I promise that neither the ladies of the court nor any others can ever have the slightest power over me, unless it be the power to make me hate them.”

Catherine chuckled. He undoubtedly had convinced his conscience it was true, even so, such words were not likely to fool an intelligent woman like Jeanne for long. She would decide Antoine sounded too defensive. Jeanne understood how weak her husband’s fidelity was. So too was his signature. “Your very affectionate and
loyal
husband, Antoine,” might send an uneasy qualm through Jeanne. Was that promise of loyalty not a little overstated?

Catherine called for her woman in the escadron volant and demanded further news. Louise de la Limaudière reported that it was true, Antoine was wavering in his commitment to the Huguenot cause and showing a growing willingness to become a Catholic. He would then join Duc de Guise and Cardinal de Lorraine in their holy league, meant to thwart any movement at court that would tolerate the Huguenots in places of power.

Holy league
, she scoffed. Made up of murderers and adulterers to defend their faith! What was holy about it?
At least
, she thought with a tinge of self-righ teousness,
I do not pretend to act for God, but for my own
ambitions!

“And will you be given anything in return for turning the vacillating Bourbon prince into a dedicated Catholic?” she asked wryly.

Louise ducked her blonde head. “I have been promised rewards, Madame.”

“Have you now? Well, is that not festive and mirthful.” Catherine looked at her coldly. “What manner of rewards, Mademoiselle de la Limaudière?”