Twilight of a Queen (42 page)

Jane lit a candle and knelt down before the side altar that honored a statue of the Blessed Virgin.

“Holy Mother, please intercede for Louis Xavier. I am
sure you must know he is a good man at heart. He—he may not always choose the most honest way to go about things, but his intentions are pure and oh, please, protect him from the queen and send him safely back to me. If you do, I promise—”

But Jane had no chance to complete her vow. She heard the sound of boots thundering down the aisle toward her. She glanced around, at first overjoyed to see Xavier rushing toward her, but then alarmed by his aspect.

His hair was sweat-soaked and disheveled, his forehead bruised—and was that dried blood on his shirt? She blessed herself hastily and rose to her feet.

Xavier stumbled toward her. “Jane, there you are. Jambe told me this is where he thought you went. I should have guessed as much, but this is no time to be at your prayers. Come on.”

He seized hold of her hand and began hurrying her back down the aisle.

“But what is the matter? What’s wrong?” She frowned at the object she saw attached to his hand. “Is that a rope tied around your wrist?”

“Yes, I managed to free myself, but I couldn’t get the blasted thing entirely off. The queen’s guard ties a wicked knot.”

“The queen’s guard?” she cried. Remembering she was still in church, she lowered her voice to a hushed whisper. “You were arrested?”

He nodded grimly. “It all went wrong, just as you feared. You can clout my ears and damn me for a fool later. But right now Catherine might be the least of our worries.”

She couldn’t imagine what he was talking about until
he shoved open the church door and hauled her outside just as the church bell started to toll. Jane blinked in the bright sunlight. After the cool and quiet of the nave, the commotion taking place in the streets assaulted her senses in a great wave of heat and noise. The clamor of the bells, the pounding of running feet, the excited shouts.

Jane gazed about her, bewildered by the sudden flux of people pouring out of shops and houses, like a gush of water from a broken cistern. Jane had never seen such a swell of humanity. There had to be hundreds and hundreds of Parisians amassing in the street, their faces lit with an almost frenzied ecstasy.

“On second thought,” Xavier muttered, “this might be a very good time to pray.”

“What is it? What’s happening?” she asked.

“The duc de Guise. He’s come to Paris and I fear there is going to be hell to pay”

Xavier tried to lead her down the street, but they had not gone far from the church when they were caught up in the stampede. Jane fought down a sensation of panic as the crowd surged around them. Jostled on all sides, Jane was nearly torn from Xavier’s grasp.

Xavier seized her about the waist and guided her to a place of relative safety in the doorway of a barber’s establishment. The roar that went up all but deafened her. “De Guise. De Guise.”

In the distance Jane made out the approach of a tall, dark-haired man mounted upon a white horse. He doffed his feathered cap, acknowledging the shouts of the crowds.

She was just able to make out a litter as well, bearing a grim-faced woman garbed all in black. Jane stood on tiptoe
so she could make herself heard above the crowd, speaking into Xavier’s ear.

“Is that the queen?”

Xavier nodded.

The litter lurched alongside the duke’s horse almost as though the queen was his captive. Although the crowd jeered and taunted Catherine from all sides, the queen stared ahead of her with a look of stony indifference.

“By God,” Xavier said. “No matter what else you might say about that old devil, she does not want for courage.”

“Is she de Guise’s prisoner?” Jane asked. “The sheer size of this crowd is alarming, but everyone seems to be rejoicing.”

“For the moment. But I’ll wager the king will not greet the duke with cheers. If His Majesty sends for the Swiss Guard, this will take an ugly turn very fast.”

As the duke and his entourage lumbered by, Xavier turned to Jane. “Pietro and Jambe will be waiting for us back at the inn. We have to get out of the city before someone decides to close the gates.”

“Xavier, I can’t leave. Not without Abigail.”

He swore. “Jane, the woman would likely abandon you in a trice.”

“No, she wouldn’t. And even if that were true, it makes no difference what she would do. I cannot behave that way.”

“All right, all right,” Xavier groaned. “Let’s go fetch her. But we have got to hurry.”

She drew in a deep breath as they left the safety of the shop doorway. With everyone bent upon following after the duke, it was like trying to swim upstream. But Xavier
led the way with Jane clinging to him as they plunged into the crowd, fighting for every inch.

“
LONG LIVE THE DUC DE GUISE
!”

The shouts hammered at Catherine as she braced herself against the sway of her litter, her progress through the city impeded by the mobs of the duke’s followers. The fragile wooden barrier of her litter and the goodwill of the nobleman who rode at her side were all that stood between Catherine and the crowd.

As much as they all adored de Guise, the Parisians despised her. Being thrust into their midst was like being dangerously close to the jaws of a hungry beast, leashed at the moment. De Guise had but to relax his hold on the tether for Catherine to be devoured.

The crowd’s suppressed hatred felt like a palpable thing, threatening to cut off her air. Catherine stifled a gasp as she tried to keep her features cold and impassive so that none might guess the depth of her terror.

Her mind threatened to spiral her back into her past when she had quaked before another threatening mob.

“Give us the girl. We will hang her from the city walls.”

Catherine gritted her teeth, fighting to keep herself in the present and shake off the echoes of her worst childhood memory. She could not afford to let them reduce her to the state of a quivering little girl.

Her life and that of her son depended entirely upon her ability to keep calm. She knew she would never be able to rely upon Henry to keep his wits during this crisis.

Catherine drew in a deep breath, forcing herself to relax even as her ears were assaulted by the roar of the crowd, the perpetual shouts pounding in her head until she thought her skull would split.

“De Guise! God bless de Guise!”

The duke kept a firm hand on the reins of his horse as he acknowledged the shouts with nods of his head, his face wreathed in smiles. No doubt the man fancied himself quite the conquering hero, completely invincible.

Catherine silently cursed the man’s insufferable pride and blind ambition. He believed that all he had to do was stride into the palace and the king would be cowed.

But Catherine knew her son far better than that. Weak and vacillating Henry might be, and often lacking in courage. But the duke had no idea what Henry might be capable of if he fell into one of his mad rages, something that Catherine must prevent at all costs until she found a way to gain the upper hand in this situation.

The journey to the Louvre normally would have been a short one. By the time they arrived in the courtyard, Catherine felt as though she had been jostled and barraged for days on end.

When she was helped down from her litter, she already felt exhausted by the strain of subduing her terror. She would have welcomed a brief respite, but she was given none.

De Guise in his impatience charged ahead of her up the stairs that led to the king’s private apartments, ignoring Catherine’s pleas to wait for her. She had no choice but to hurry after him. But even during her best days, she could never have kept pace with the duke’s long strides.

Catherine paused midway up the stairs, wheezing for breath, her legs weak beneath her, threatening to give way. She groped for her vial of elixir. So few precious drops left. She took a small sip, waiting for the familiar rush of warmth and renewed strength. Her heart raced to a degree that was almost painful.

But she forced herself onward. She staggered into the king’s antechamber, pausing once more to catch her breath and assess the situation. What she saw filled her with apprehension.

Henry had retreated to the far end of the room like some desperate cornered animal even though he was surrounded by his private guard, an edgy group of men. They were little better than mercenaries. For a mere handful of coin thrown down, any one of these men would have no qualms about cutting down de Guise.

Why did de Guise have to be such a fool, Catherine thought, torn between fear and contempt. The duke’s head was stuffed full of aristocratic notions of honor and the protection he felt accorded him by virtue of his noble blood. The idiot seemed to have no notion of his own danger.

As Catherine entered, the duke was arguing his case. Fearfully, she studied the king’s face. Henry’s color was high, his expression hard and impassive. But Catherine knew that stillness in her son all too well, the calm that presaged a storm.

“I have not come here to threaten Your Majesty. I am ever your loyal subject,” the duke declared. “My only wish is to make peace, to dispel the falsehoods that all of my enemies have been pouring into your ears.”

“I care not for your wishes, monsieur, only your defiance. You chose to come to Paris, knowing that I have expressly forbidden you to do so. How dare you flout my commands.”

Henry turned away from de Guise. Catherine caught the look exchanged between her son and the head of his guard. The commander reached for the hilt of his sword.

Desperately, Catherine rushed forward. “Your Grace, I beg you. Do not be displeased with the duke. Monsieur de Guise only dared come to Paris because—because I invited him to do so.”

The words she blurted out seemed to ring through the chamber with the force of a pistol shot. Even de Guise regarded her with astonishment. There was a moment of thunderstruck silence before the king rounded upon her, his eyes blazing.

Catherine retreated as the king advanced upon her. For a heartbeat, she was actually afraid of her own son.

“You invited de Guise?” the king raged. “So you have turned traitor to me as well.”

“Henry! You know better than that. I have always striven to serve your best interests.”

“Your own, you mean.”

“Are they not one and the same?” Catherine moistened her lips and declared loudly for de Guise’s benefit. “I have been much grieved over the discord between you and the good duke. There can be no prosperity for France while this quarrel continues. You must allow me to put forward a proposal for peace.”

Catherine risked drawing closer to the king so that she could mutter in his ear. “For the love of God, Henry! I realize
the duke’s behavior is an outrageous affront to your authority. But pause to reflect before you do something we will both regret. Have you not seen what is happening outside your very gates?”

Somehow she managed to drag Henry to the window, all the while directing a placating look at de Guise. The duke’s expression was so insolent and confident, Catherine would have liked to run the man through herself.

But she forced herself to focus on Henry. As he stared out the window, the king went white as he took in the growing crowds outside the Louvre.

Catherine addressed him in a low terse voice. “I know you want to arrest de Guise—”

“Arrest him? I want him dead.”

“Think, Henry! If the duke does not leave here, unharmed, what do you imagine will happen to us?”

Her son’s lips thinned in an ugly line. “I don’t care. We are already undone. If I give way to this man one more time, I will no longer be king.”

“You will no longer be
alive
if you don’t. That mob you see at the gate is but a fraction of the people pouring into the streets to support the duke. There are hundreds more, nay, very likely thousands.”

“Then I will send for my Swiss Guard, move my troops into the city, and slaughter them all.”

Catherine closed her eyes briefly, praying for patience. “If you do that, you will spark a confrontation for certain. You will have open warfare, the streets stained with blood, a massacre to rival the one of St. Bartholomew’s Eve.”

“Paris has become a nest of traitors. It needs another cleansing, starting with de Guise.” The king regarded her
contemptuously. “You never used to be so squeamish, Maman. It was you and your scheming that incited that massacre to rid us of our Huguenot enemies.”

“And look how that turned out. The violence spun out of all control, the mobs rampaging for days. Is that what you want, my son, to be hailed as a second Nero?” Catherine hunched her shoulders. “Then fine. Destroy de Guise. Destroy Paris and destroy us as well.”

The king fretted his lip, a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. “And what would you have me do, Maman?”

“Be patient awhile longer, negotiate with the duke.” When Henry sucked in his breath with a furious hiss, Catherine captured her son’s hand.

“I have been steadily regaining my strength and laying plans that will restore our power.”

“What plans?”

“I will reveal them to you when they are closer to fruition. For now, you must trust me.”