Threads of Silk (43 page)

Catherine saw her swallow as if her throat were dry.

“Marriage to Antoine de Bourbon, Madame.”

“Marriage! How celebratory. And do you have no qualms that your Antoine might not take a mistress from my escadron volant?”

Louise drew her heavy maternity cloak about her as she knelt there on the carpet before Catherine’s black skirts.

“I shall become his queen.”

“You shall become his — ” Her jesting voice caught and tightened as the words startled her.

Catherine stood rigid.
Queen!
Then she relaxed.

“Of Sardinia?” She laughed.

Louise licked her lips. “Non, Madame, of France.”

Catherine’s hands trembled with rage. Her breath came quickly as her heart thudded.

And the Valoises? What did Spain have in mind for the Valoises? What
would become of Charles? And Anjou? And if Louise were fool enough to
believe that they would make her queen of France, what would that make
Antoine?

She leaned toward Louise, her skirt rustling, and the woman looked up with a white face and eyes that widened with alarm.

Catherine took a step toward her, but the woman, large with child, was unable to rise. She fell on her side and let out a shriek like a cat.

“Hush, you fool.”

Catherine seized her own spiraling emotions back under control. She clenched her hand to keep from striking the woman’s bent head.

Louise grew silent. A moment passed as the sound of their breathing closed around them.

Catherine leaned down toward her again, her voice a whisper.

“If you even hint to them that you have mentioned this to me, you will regret you have a tongue. Do you comprehend?”

“O-oui, Madame
.
”

“Now go.”

Louise tried to get up but could not. Catherine impatiently called for her ladies to help her up and take her away to her bed.

A coldness settled over her. It would not be long before Antoine would need to explain to Jeanne of Navarre about the illegitimate child that had somehow emerged during his
most loyal
absence.

It was likely, however, that Jeanne already knew about Antoine and Louise through the Huguenot women here at court who had tried to keep Antoine from slipping into the adulterous pit.

What Jeanne does not know is the plot to have her arrested. Ah, the
sly cardinal and papal legate have put her in a position of weakness and
great danger.

Later in the afternoon, Catherine was able to sneak away unseen to keep her clandestine meeting with the Duc of Alva in the forest. No one, not even the Guise faction, knew that Alva had returned to France briefly and was here to meet with her. He had departed for the Netherlands a year ago, after Marquis de Vendôme was put in the Amboise dungeon, but he was back again with an urgent message from King Philip, who was furious with her for the colloquy.

No wonder my indigestion is upsetting me again
.
I live among
scorpions
.

THE QUEEN MOTHER WAITED
in the trees far enough from the château not to be seen easily by anyone out strolling. She had covered herself from head to toe in black gown and head scarf.

The Duc of Alva arrived alone, also in austere black with a touch of red silk ribbon. The duc was a man of solemn countenance with a thin face and a short, well-groomed pointed beard. Behind those shrewd dark eyes lay a fanatical allegiance to his country and his generation’s concept of the religion he served with a ruthless sword. She could admire his strength if he were not her opponent in statecraft. She would need to be shrewd to appease Philip of Spain by convincing Alva of her genuine faith. She was, of course, neither Catholic nor Protestant at heart. The occult, Nostradamus, and the Florence astrologers who made her zodiac charts stimulated her primary spiritual interests.

“Madame,” he stated with a bow.

“My lord Duc.” She tipped her head, feeling her dark coif sway gently with the hem of her long black gown.

“It is imperative we meet alone like this to touch upon certain religious matters of which my king, His Most Christian Majesty, is deeply burdened.”

“That he is burdened troubles me, I promise you.”

His bleak smile was in place on his lean, sallow face. “It is well that we meet here, Madame, not in the palais. The walls, I believe, have ears.”

She ignored what she thought was an allusion to her spying and kept a serious face.

“Ah, but you would know about that better than I, my lord Duc.”

He managed a semblance of a chuckle. “Perhaps, Madame.”

The air was cool and crisp as they walked, the fallen leaves crunching beneath their feet.

“How unfortunate for us that you will depart so soon for your own country,” she said with a friendly smile.
She could hardly wait for his
entourage to make their exit
.

“My deepest regret, Madame,” he said, matching her slippery tongue. “But my king is anxious to know your reply to his solemn concerns. So much so, Madame, that he wishes my immediate return.

Much that is important in the ways of war and peace depends upon your cooperation.”

The warning in his voice gave her a chill.

“Ah, so profound, monsieur. You bring worry to my already overburdened heart.”

There was a cool warning in his eyes that alarmed her. Not even she could thwart Philip of Spain. He was in league with Rome and could not be easily turned aside from the wishes of the Holy See. Like the first Crusaders who went to war in the Holy Land against the invading Moslem Turks, Philip, too, believed Spain was blessed of the pope to use sword against another threat to Christendom: the spreading Reformation throughout Europe. The enemy now was Protestantism and certain realms in Europe breaking away from the pope’s authority.

Catherine knew that France lacked a well-equipped army to withstand a large invasion force from Spain. She understood what the Duc of Alva was doing in Holland, and what he and King Philip were hoping to do to Protestant England and its heretical queen if she did not return to Rome.

And she knew what could befall her and France should the Duc of Alva hurl his seasoned army of soldiers and German mercenaries into France to bring down the Valois throne. She would then be replaced by the house of Guise. Any army that she and Charles could call together would not be sufficient. To attempt to stand against them, she would need the Bourbons, Admiral Coligny, Prince Condé, and others.

Catherine and the Duc of Alva made a twosome as bleak as the fall day. As they walked along, the wind moved in clouds that were masking the sun and making a low moan through the fir trees.

She resented the way in which he began at once to bring up the religious conflict in France. She tried to ignore this affront and instead carried the theme of conversation to her inquiry into the marriage of Marguerite to Philip’s son, Don Carlos.

The Duc of Alva’s chill smile refused to oblige her, nor was he intimidated by her as others were.

“Madame, I am here as spokesman for my lord, the great King of Spain. I was ordered by his direct command to set aside any discussion of marriage between the two royal families until he rests assured that you and your son, the young king, come to terms with the enemy, the Huguenot nobility.”

“Ah, my lord Duc, is it so easy then to murder so many?” she asked coldly.

“Madame, you would know better than I. Other enemies have been removed, have they not?”

The audacity of this man!

“You speak as if France is responsible for the Reformation,” she snapped. “I assure you that Luther the German was neither born at our courts nor bred by our royal line. This matter of disagreement between Catholics and Protestants over the interpretation of Scripture did not spring up from French soil.”

“Madame, John Calvin and Geneva are the fruits of France.”

“Messire John Calvin was chastened out of France by the king’s grandfather, Francis I. It is in neutral Geneva that Calvin now abides.”

“Geneva, the horned beast of heresy, yes. And this same Calvin is invited to your court to discuss his differences at the Poissy colloquy. My king is as grieved and outraged by this folly as is Rome.”

“Poissy,” she said with a wave of her hand, quickening her sturdy step along the wooded path beside him. “It is next to nothing, my lord Duc, a mere carnival, as it were, to appease the heretics in my kingdom so that their nobility might better serve my son the king. We are all true Catholics, I promise you.”

“If you are loyal to Rome, Madame, then you must put a stop to this ‘carnival,’ as you call it. For neither Rome nor Spain is amused by such a profane entertainment. It is an offense.”

Her anger leaped like a flame. “What offense is it for Frenchmen on both sides of this religious controversy to meet, to discuss, to come to an understanding that will save my country from a civil war? Perhaps it is we who should find offense, my lord Duc, with Spain’s meddling.”

“Then you will not call an end to this offensive religious carnival?”

“It is not for me to call an end to it. It is the king and the people who wish for peace,” she said, knowing indeed that it was she who had promised Admiral Coligny that he could have the colloquy in order to gain Huguenot support for her regency. She could not admit this now, for Alva would wish to have her over a bonfire, but by the time he learned the truth he would be back in Spain.

“That, Madame, is not what Ambassador Chantonnay tells my lord the king in his correspondences.”

Chantonnay, that vile spy!

“Ah, but our galant Ambassador Chantonnay has misunderstood matters as they truly are. On your return to Spain you must assure His most noble Majesty that I am a true Catholic and a loyal friend. Is not my daughter Elisabeth Queen of Spain?”

She looked at him evenly, using her daughter’s marriage to Philip to set him back on his heels.

For the first time his eyelids fluttered.
Ah you viper! You would be the
next to go the way of all flesh if I only dared!

“Truly, Madame, your daughter is indeed the glorious Queen of Spain. But even she worries about her brother, the king of France, not ridding the land of her birth of its infestation of heretics.”

“Does she? Well then, I shall write her at once and soothe her nerves.

Perhaps I shall send her a box of my special herbs to ease her mind. My son is indeed the king. The Huguenots shall not undermine his rule.”

“Let us pray not, Madame. But my king fears your friendship with those same Huguenots will be to your harm in the end.”

Her harm? A veiled threat?

They had stopped beneath a cluster of fir trees with the clouds gathering overhead. He looked at her. “You are friends with Prince de Condé and the Huguenot Admiral Coligny, are you not?”

“Did I not imprison the Bourbon Prince Condé in the Amboise dungeon?” she asked coldly. “And this action was taken by me despite the pleas of his wife, Princesse Eleonore, that madame of leading Huguenot causes. And despite her sister-in-law, the Queen of Navarre!”

“Ah, the Queen of Navarre . . . that you have brought her up is conducive to our discussion. She must be arrested and held prisoner before she returns to Navarre. She must become a Catholic like her husband Antoine or lose her kingdom. If she is allowed to persist, she will continue to embolden and support the heretics and turn France to the ways of Calvin. The admiral of France, Coligny, must also be removed. This, Madame, is not pleasant, to be sure, but it is the message of Rome. It is the message of Spain. If not, Spain will declare war.”

“My lord Duc! And how am I to rid the land of such eminent nobility and royalty?”

His brittle smile infuriated her. “Madame, King Philip is confident you have both the authority and ability to do so. Now you must also have the will. For the good of France, for the longevity of the Valois throne, I am told to inform you that it must be done.”

“Their followers number in the many thousands. They could raise an army of fifty thousand, I have no doubt of it.”