Threads of Silk (46 page)

The girl turned, her dark eyes wide. “Yes, Madame?”

“I may give you your bold request to go home to Florence to visit your relatives.”

Madalenna stared at her. She twisted her fingers together. She curtsied again.

“We shall see — perhaps after the colloquy,” Catherine said.

“Madame, I am most grateful.”

“Then run along.”

When she was gone, Catherine stood pondering.

So, the mighty holy league has become the “council of four.”
They were the scheming Guise brothers, Maréchal de Saint Andre, and the recent fourth — Prince Antoine de Bourbon. Once again they were meeting in secret.

Swiftly now, she took the key at her wrist and unlocked her door to her closet and entered, relocking it. She removed her end of the listening tube from concealment in the wall and held it to her ear. In the council chamber, the other end of the tube hung behind the arras where she’d had it installed years earlier by the Ruggerio brothers. It had served her well these years.

And what was she to learn now?

She listened intently. There were voices and the scraping of chairs across the floor as they settled themselves.

She came alert, all mockery disappearing as she listened. The Cardinal de Lorraine said in his laconic voice that somehow dripped with cynicism: “It is intolerable, messieurs. Her intervention in matters of religion threatens France. We must act. If we do not, Cardinal Ferrara informs me that Rome will have Spain act for us. If they cannot depend upon us, then they will find bolder, more dedicated leaders on whom they can depend. So what will it be?”

Duc de Guise’s voice came, short and ill-tempered: “It is my suggestion, as it has been for some time, that we get rid of her. I have told her that if she is not loyal to the true religion, then I will not serve her regency.”

Catherine’s breath came quickly as she tried to catch every word.

Surely they were not speaking of her?

“Then do so. Remove her from the regency,” Antoine said.

“Now, messieurs, listen to me,” Saint Andre said. “Why not rid ourselves of her by drowning her in the Seine? It could be easily accomplished without discovery, I assure you, for I believe there is no person in all of France who would take the trouble to investigate the Queen Mother’s disappearance.”

Catherine’s mouth slipped open. She stared at the wall as the one candle flickered like the eye of a serpent.

There came the scraping sound of a chair again as though someone had jumped to his feet.

“I will have no part in that!” Antoine cried.

“Then let us discuss the other woman who is equally as dangerous.

Monseigneur, it is your wife, Jeanne of Navarre,” the duc said.

“Yes, I have given you the orders from the papal legate and Spain,”the cardinal said. “This is most painful, Antoine. It grieves us as it does you. But she must be arrested as a state prisoner at the earliest possible moment.”

“She is staying here in Paris for that debacle of heretics at Poissy,” the duc said. “Now is the time we must move. She must not leave Paris.”

Catherine’s fingers tightened on the tube.
So, the Duc of Alva had told
her the facts as he knew them. Jeanne was to be caught and trapped for the
Inquisition
.

“It sometimes becomes compulsory, for the sake of true religion, to comport ourselves in a mode that is abhorrent to us,” the cardinal said.

Catherine could not hear Antoine’s answer, but the duc said: “Then every one of us consents to a warrant to be issued for the arrest of Jeanne of Navarre on a charge of heresy.”

A moment later the silence was broken as the cardinal said, “This, Monseigneur Antoine, is an act worthy of you! May God give you a good and long life.”

“So be it,” Duc de Guise said.

The council ended.

Catherine stood holding the listening tube in silence, hearing herself breathing.

So they wish to throw me in the Seine, do they? And they intend to turn
Jeanne over to the inquisitors — to suffer the rack and many other horrible
tortures — ah, but knowing that stalwart Huguenot as she knew Jeanne,
the Queen of Navarre would never recant.

Catherine concealed the listening tube and returned into her main chamber. She left only one candle burning as she paced slowly, methodically across the rug, her steps soundless. Outside her window Paris was dark, but the lamps burned in the courtyard and the torches sputtered in the wind.

She went over to her desk, sat down, and drew the golden inkwell toward her. She dipped the quill into the ink and addressed her message to Marquis Fabien de Vendôme at Saint-Germain-en-Laye.

Danger and Providence

THE BUSY SEPTEMBER DAYS SCURRIED BY. THE FROSTY NIGHTS AND SUNNY
days touched the leaves in the Laye Forest with the tints of flame and gold. On one such evening when Fabien did not return from Poissy as usual, Rachelle paced the salle de sejour, her green silk skirts swishing about her ankles.

Rachelle rubbed her forehead as if removing the unanswered questions that were lodged there. Could Fabien have been detained?

“Oh, Mademoiselle Rachelle, the last I saw of the marquis, he was walking with Gallaudet toward their horses,” Nenette said.

What if something has gone wrong? Just then the door opened and Fabien entered, handsome in the black velvet with gold. Rachelle hurried toward him, and Nenette gathered up the spool of lace she’d been winding and ducked out of the chamber.

“Is all well?” Rachelle asked quickly.

He held her close, kissing her thoroughly. “It is now,” he said with a smile.

She reached up with both hands and removed his hat, tossing it aside on the chair.

“You are learning my lazy habits,” he said, kissing her again tenderly.

“How do you feel, chérie?”

“The same answer, mon amour; now that you are here I feel better.”

“Seriously.”

“I feel as if I am, well — enceinte,” she said. “At least the sickness is as Madeleine always said it was, in the mornings. I feel stronger in the evenings.”

He frowned. “I do not argue with destiny, but this is the wrong time for you to feel unwell. Tell me the truth; can you journey a long distance?

It will of necessity be in haste and an ordeal.”

She forced a smile and kissed his chin. The thought of travel on the rough roads made her queasy again. “You worry about me too much. Surely thousands of women have endured a long journey while in my happy condition.”

“Thousands of women do not belong to me, but you do. You say you are happy about this pregnancy?”

“To carry your child?” she asked with arched brow. “Mon amour, how could I ask for anything more than to love and be loved by you and to have that love, with God’s blessing, give us a child?”

He drew her head against his chest, his fingers playing softly with her hair. “I think it will be a girl. I shall have the most belle daughter in all of France.”

She lifted her head and met his warm blue gaze.

He smiled. “I mean in England.”

“In France! France! At Vendôme! If only — oh, to give birth in the bedchamber where Duchesse Marie-Louise de Bourbon bore you.”

He hugged her tightly. “My sweet, any bed with you will be wondrous, even an English bed.”

She laughed. She took his hand and pulled him toward the sofa. “Tell me all the news. Is something wrong?”

“There is always a circumstance or two that is very wrong, my pet. But, on the other hand, I have bonne news as well. First — ” He glanced about as he loosened his shirt at the throat. “Is Bertrand here?”

“He has gone to the duchesse’s château to speak with Père Arnaut.”

“Then I must ride there later tonight.”

She became more tense. “What has happened?”

“A change of plans. Sit down . . . we will talk.” He looked toward the antechamber where Nenette was working, and as if on second thought asked: “And the gowns for Margo? They are done, she has them?”

“Yes, the third one was delivered before the opening of the Poissy ceremonies. Why?” She wondered why he would ask again. Had he forgotten? But then, so much was beating upon his mind and heart recently.

“The gown is necessary for Margo. Her meeting with Navarre is being arranged sooner than expected in Paris.” He lowered his voice.

“Sit down. The Queen Mother sent me a message. Antoine has agreed to turn Jeanne over to the inquisitors. It is unbelievable to me that he would — or could — do so, for I know he loved her once. He may still love her in his selfish way. I can only think his mind is dazed by the indoctrination of the Guises. And when I say indoctrination, I mean the feeding of the lust for power and glory. He is with them constantly. Jeanne must either attend Mass with him publicly in Paris, or they will issue a warrant for her arrest on heresy charges.”

Rachelle silenced her gasp before it escaped her lips. “It is horrible. From what I have heard of Queen Jeanne, she will never relent.”

“You have heard rightly. The Queen Mother may have also sent a secret warning to her. Not because she cares anything for Jeanne, but she wants the marriage between Navarre and Margo for reasons of her own. Nor do I fully trust her. An innermost spy at court tells me she met secretly with the Duc of Alva. There is some agreement between them to rid the court of Admiral Coligny and other chief Huguenots. The secret agreement to kill them all may have included Jeanne, but evidently this present warrant against her has come too soon for her plans. She must not have expected it. Her message was terse. My own secret agreement with her where Duc de Guise is concerned must happen soon. For some reason she was most urgent about Guise, but she did not explain why. Maybe she knows something of Guise’s plans that she has not shared with me. I am sure that is the case.”

Rachelle felt dazed. She shook her head. “I shall only be relieved when I am no longer serving her and that I have not spent much time in her presence here.”

“That was my doing, chérie. And the best days for us are ahead.”

“Oh, Fabien, may it be. But you have more news? Continue.”

“At least now we know why Guise left the colloquy in a temper yesterday and went to Paris. The cardinal must have ridden there last night after the meetings all ended, for he was there at the council chamber in the Louvre where the Queen Mother overheard their plans.”

“Is there nothing to be done to save your kinswoman? Oh, Fabien, we must if there is any chance at all!”

“Without a doubt I will do all in my power. But she knows of their treachery. She has some men-at-arms with her but not as many as I could wish. Louis was also informed and will do what he can. But Paris! Paris belongs to the house of Guise. Jeanne is in jeopardy, there is no question of it. But there is an opportunity for her escape and ours. That is what I wish to discuss. What we do in this matter, we must do within the next few days.”

A tide of desperation swept over Rachelle. It all appeared so monumental, so hopeless.

“Escape? But Fabien, how? I am not even permitted to walk the garden without the Queen Mother’s guards watching me.”

“Unexpectedly, a door of opportunity has opened to us, and without my prodding. I believe it is providential.”

Her heart beat faster with excitement. She squeezed his hand.

“You truly believe it. There is a strong opportunity?”

“Catherine approves of your companionship with Margo. She has promised to do all the Queen Mother wants where Navarre is concerned but has pleaded for you to attend her this Saturday evening in Paris. It is a divertissement arranged for her and Navarre, and the Queen Mother has agreed. It may be that the hour of our escape is dawning.”

The hour of escape is dawning
. The delightful words rang like the bells of freedom. Then she thought of the Louvre with all of its gates and guards. Would it be any easier to slip away from there than here at the castle of Saint-Germain-en-Laye?

“But Paris? The Louvre?”

“We will take whatever opportunity provides itself. You will not be under guard at every possible moment, chérie — that is the difference.

You are expected to be with Margo when she meets Navarre.”

“Expected? Do you mean I will not?”

“Not if my plan works as I expect. I have a daring idea, and if Gallaudet and I are able to bring it to pass, we should be riding out of Paris before Margo and Navarre ever meet again.”

Her heart began to pound.

“You remember, of course, the day Sebastien and Madeleine escaped from the Louvre, and how you saw the Queen Mother leave for the Ruggerio brothers shop on the quay?”

She stared at him. Slowly the truth of what he proposed to try made her draw in a breath. “Fabien, the secret passage!”

“Exactement. The secret passage Catherine uses to get in and out of the Louvre without being seen by guards. Well, ma chérie, I nearly grew up at the Louvre with the royal children. I spent much time exploring secret passageways.”