“ “But what must be done?”
“You must denounce the criminal who has committed this heinous act,” I said, glad to have Huguenot witnesses, “and make it clear that the Crown will not rest until he is brought to justice. There must be a full investigation.”
Edouard sidled closer to us. “Coligny’s surroundings must be secured,” he said briskly. “I will clear all Catholics from the neighborhood surrounding the rue de Béthizy, to reduce the risk to the Admiral and his men. And I will send fifty of my best arquebusiers to surround the Admiral’s hotel.”
“Yes,” Charles said, with a gusting sigh of relief, though his eyes were still wild. “Yes, see that it is done.”
“Is there anything else, Sire?” I asked gently.
“Yes.” Charles put his heels on the edge of the chair, knees bent, arms wrapped about his shins, and slowly rocked. “Doctor Paré…” The surgeon who had tried, and failed, to save my husband’s life now served as the King’s personal physician. “Send Paré to the Hôtel de Béthizy.”
“It is done,” I said.
Charles suddenly stilled and looked up at me. “I must see the Admiral, and beg his forgiveness for failing to protect him. I must let him know that I have not deserted him. Let us go now, Maman.”
“I would ask only one thing, Your Majesty,” I said.
He scowled up at me.
“Permit the Duke of Anjou and me to accompany you.”
It was of course too soon to hurry to Coligny’s side; Doctor Paré had yet to perform surgery on the wound. But by midafternoon, a party-Navarre, Condé, ten bodyguards, Anjou, the King, and I-had assembled near the Louvre’s northern gate. I also invited old Tavannes, who had heartily approved the assassination plot, yet possessed the nerve to accompany me and feign sympathy for Coligny in the midst of a crowd of Huguenots. Navarre was politely distant, Condé still too angry to say a word to us.
I had suggested that we make the short walk to Coligny’s surroundings, as it would be good for the people to see our concern for the Admiral. In addition to Navarre’s guards, our group was accompanied by a dozen Swiss soldiers to protect the King.
After two guards lifted the thick iron bar from the latch, a trio of grooms swung open the heavy gate. The soldiers surrounding the palace parted for us as we headed into the street.
We soon left the Louvre behind and passed on to the overheated cobblestones of the rue de Béthizy, where scattered flocks of black-clad pedestrians caught sight of us and coalesced into a single wave, which surged toward us. Tavannes and Edouard instinctively flanked me, while Condé and Navarre did the same for the King.
“There goes the Italian woman!” a man shouted, no more than five paces away. “She greets her friends in Florentine fashion: with a smile on her face and a dagger in her hand!”
The mob roared in affirmation. A jumble of black linen and pale flesh loomed abruptly. On my left, old Marshal Tavannes staggered; his shoulder struck mine and threw me off balance, against Edouard. The Swiss troops seized their halberds and leveled the shining blades at the onrush of angry spectators.
“Do not harm them! Let them be!” I shouted; a fatal incident could easily provoke a full-scale riot.
The King, Navarre, and Condé paused to look over their shoulders at us: The crowd had not touched them.
“Let them pass!” Navarre shouted, and the black swarm receded.
We began to move again, at a quickened pace, and arrived at the Hôtel de Béthizy without further trouble, though the crowd dogged us the entire way, their murmured curses forming a single ominous rumble.
The outer perimeter of the hotel was patrolled by more than fifty restless men in black-some of them hard-bitten troops with unshaven faces, others well-groomed nobles. All of them greeted Navarre with courteous bows but had only sullen, stony glances for the Duke of Anjou and me. Ambassador Zuñiga had been right: They were all armed for war, some with long swords, others with arquebuses. The four men standing watch on the front steps sweated beneath heavy chest armor. Navarre ascended the steps alone and spoke to them; they moved aside to let us pass.
Inside, a score of guards and noblemen choked a sunny, stuffy vestibule, some weeping, others ranting, all outraged. At the overpowering smell of unwashed flesh and of sausage scorched upon a nearby cookstove, I pressed my scented kerchief to my nose. The Huguenots reacted to Navarre with expressions of hope, gratitude, and respect; at the sight of Anjou and me, their faces turned away, lips twisted with disgust, as if they had just looked on something vomitous.
We proceeded up the creaking wooden stairs to the second floor, the whole of which served as the Admiral’s vast, open bedchamber. Although the room was larger than my own bedchamber in the old, crumbling Louvre, its low ceiling gave the impression of more cramped quarters; the effect was enhanced by some fifty men who had congregated around their wounded leader’s bedside.
Navarre led the way. His fellows parted willingly for him, with murmurs of gratitude, yet were it not for Navarre’s warning gaze, they would have hissed at me. We made our way to Coligny, in a bed of ornately carved cherrywood.
The Admiral was markedly pale as he lay propped up by pillows. His right hand, cradled carefully in his lap, was heavily swathed in bandages; Doctor Paré had been obliged to cut away the dangling index finger while the patient was fully conscious, and Coligny was exhausted from pain and blood loss. His blond hair, dark with sweat, clung to his scalp; his eyes, narrowed with misery, did not brighten as we approached. Paré stood at the head of the bed, white-haired and leonine, his yellowed gaze protective. The windows had been shut for fear a breeze might bring a chill and hasten infection; the room was stifling. I could smell the blood.
“Your Majesty,” the Admiral murmured at the sight of Navarre; when Charles stepped forward, Coligny repeated the phrase.
“My father,” Navarre said softly and bent down to kiss the top of the Admiral’s head. “I have not ceased praying since I heard the news. Is the pain bearable? Is there anything the doctors can do to ease it?”
“It is not so bad,” Coligny whispered, but his grey lips trembled. I had wanted only to kill him; I had not meant for him to suffer.
“I have sent fifty bodyguards to you,” Navarre said, “so that you will be safe and can spare your own men to find and punish whoever has done this.”
“Mon père!” Charles exclaimed. “May God himself strike me dead if I do not find the bastard who has done this to you, and see him drawn and quartered! Forgive me! If I had only listened to you this morning, this would not have happened…” He began to sob.
Coligny held out his left hand, the fingers spread and trembling; Charles clasped it.
“There is nothing to forgive,” the Admiral whispered. “It is God’s will.” Relishing his role as martyr, he directed a feeble, beatific smile at my son.
“I swear to you, mon père,” the King gasped, “I will not rest until you are avenged.”
We have lost him, I thought as I stared at Charles; it had all turned upside down. Had Coligny been killed, the King would have grieved but ultimately accepted the death. Wounded, Coligny could play upon the King’s sympathy; the situation had grown more dangerous than ever.
“My heart breaks to see you suffer, Admiral,” I said loudly as I stepped closer to the bedside. “His Majesty is right-a full investigation will be launched and the perpetrator brought to justice. I, too, have been praying all morning for your protection and recovery.”
Coligny’s face lolled toward mine. “Have you?” he whispered.
Though dulled by pain, his gaze bore through me. He knew, I realized. He knew and was determined to exact revenge, but I kept my head high and did not flinch beneath his scrutiny.
Edouard sidled closer to the bed. “The perpetrator will be found quickly,” he said. “I, too, have sent men to help you-fifty of my finest arquebusiers. The street has been cleared of Catholics; you are surrounded by friends. Already we have launched our inquiry: As you know
, the shot was fired from a property owned by the Guise family. We are attempting to locate the Duke for questioning.”
Charles unclenched the Admiral’s hand. “Guise? Impossible! I was playing tennis with him this morning.”
“We must not rush to conclusions,” Edouard replied calmly, “but we must examine all the possibilities.”
“Admiral,” I asked, “what of your hand?”
“Ah,” he said. “The finger… I wish the doctor’s scissors had been sharper. It took three attempts, but the finger is gone.” He paused as Charles, Edouard, and I groaned at the thought. “Forgive me, but I must request permission to speak to His Majesty in private.”
Coligny, damn him, knew that we had no choice. I turned to Charles, floundering about for the right words to make him refuse the Admiral without revealing my guilt. There were none.
Charles waved dismissively at Edouard, at me. “I’ll call for you when we are done.”
I could do nothing save take Tavannes’s proffered arm and, with Edouard flanking me on the other side, turn my back to Coligny.
We took three steps away from the bed and were obliged to stop. A giant with an arquebus slung by a strap over his shoulder stepped into my path and stared down at me, his tiny eyes full of loathing.
“Make way for Her Majesty,” Tavannes snapped.
When the giant did not yield, the old Marshal shoved him. Edouard immediately filled the gap, and we managed to push our way forward a few more steps-men in wrinkled black linen encircled us and began to close in. They did not genuflect to us royals; their glares revealed hatred, and their hands rested upon the hilts of their swords.
One of them-a haggard man of thirty-approached us. He, too, had his hand upon the hilt of his long sword, and as he neared, Edouard tensed beside me. I touched the Dauphin’s arm in warning, lest he draw out a hidden dagger: We were outmanned and would quickly lose any fight.
The Huguenot’s face was thin and sharp as a hatchet; when he spoke, his red chin beard wagged.
“There will be Hell to pay for what you have done,” he hissed. His breath was so fetid, I turned from it.
Someone behind him added, “God punishes murders.”
A different man, with a goiter the size of a tennis ball on his neck, stepped forward to stand beside the red-bearded soldier. “We don’t need God.” His eyes were blue, like Coligny’s, and just as mad. “We will strike them down.”
He swung an arquebus from his shoulder and nestled the stock against his chest. He took a step closer and touched the elbow of my sleeve with the barrel.
Now they will kill us, I thought. I was furious with myself for not realizing how dangerous the situation had become.
“Mannerless bastard!” Edouard shouted. “Touch the Queen’s person again, and I will kill you!”
“Do you want war?” the red-bearded soldier hissed. “We will give you war!”
The owner of the arquebus cried out, “You lure us to your Catholic city, so you can slaughter us like swine! But we will kill you first!”
“I married my daughter to one of your own,” I countered haughtily. “How dare you suggest that we would harm the Admiral! The King loves him as a father!”
My voice must have carried. I heard Navarre’s shout; the men dropped their hostile gazes to the floor and withdrew as he hurried to my side.
“Madame la Reine,” he asked, with disturbing formality, “did they harm you?”
Edouard pointed. “He touched her with the barrel of his arquebus!”
Navarre turned to the implicated man and drew his arm back to slap him; I caught his upraised arm.
“Don’t punish him,” I said. “Feelings are running high enough.” I looked back in Coligny’s direction. “Please,” I said to Navarre, “will you escort me back to the Admiral?”
When I arrived, Charles was sitting on the edge of the bed, his jaw set, his brows knit in a formidable frown. He looked up at me, his eyes narrowed with mistrust.
“Your Majesty,” I said softly, “Admiral Coligny is surely exhausted. We must let him rest.”
Charles was ready to contradict me, but Doctor Paré, who had been standing at the head of the bed, spoke up suddenly.
“Yes,” he said. He caught my gaze and immediately looked away, as if afraid his own might be too revealing. “It is difficult enough for him, with all his men here. It would be best, Your Majesty, if he were able to be quiet for a time.”
“Very well,” Charles said, with sullen reluctance, then turned to Coligny. “But I shall return soon, mon père. God keep you in the interim. You have all my prayers and my love.”
“As you have mine,” I said to the Admiral.
Coligny gazed up at me. He was trembling, his brow beaded with sweat, but I saw triumph in his eyes.
Given the hostility in the streets, Edouard sent one of our guards to fetch a carriage. Navarre and Condé remained at the Hôtel de Béthizy, while the King, Anjou, Tavannes, and I rode back to the Louvre at a slow pace, our carriage surrounded by the guards who had accompanied us on our walk to Coligny’s lodgings.
Charles remained darkly silent, refusing to look at his brother or me, though we tried several times to draw him into our conversation.
Exasperated, I finally demanded, “What, precisely, did Admiral Coligny say to you that has upset you so?”
He lowered his face, taut with rage. “Only that I cannot trust either of you. Only that you wish to subvert my will, to use me as it suits your purposes.”
Edouard flared. “Have you considered, my brother, that he says such things because he cannot be trusted? Because he means to subvert your will, by using you to further his insane war? He speaks ill of us because he knows we want to protect you from his cold-blooded manipulation.”
“Enough!” Charles shouted. “Enough lies, lies, lies!” He clapped his hands over his ears.
By then we were slowing on our approach to the palace. Suddenly, one of the horses shrieked; I heard the drivers’ curses, followed by a furious, deafening clatter of hail on the carriage walls and roof.
Outside the window, a hundred black-clad protesters stood at the northern gate, some pelting rocks at us, others waving swords and screaming at the Swiss soldiers who now stood, two men deep and armed with arquebuses, around the Louvre’s walls. A fresh contingent of Swiss had marched into the street to form a human barricade. Just beyond them, a few dozen peasants-ragged, starving men with pitchforks, shovels, stones-had gathered.
Death to heretics! the distant peasants screamed, while the Huguenots at the gate cried out:
Murderers! Assassins!
We are striking back, and will kill!
Another volley of rocks struck the carriage; one sailed in through the window like a shot and buried itself in the padded seat beside Charles, abruptly checking his anger.
“Jesus,” he whispered.
“So it begins,” I said, staring out at the raging crowds, remembering Ruggieri’s final words to me.
It may already be too late.
Forty-four
Under a hail of projectiles-stones, bricks, rotting garbage-our carriage dashed inside the palace gates, thanks to the guards who held back the onrush of angry Huguenots. We were met immediately by one of Edouard’s commanders, who reported that “disturbances” had erupted in several neighborhoods, provoked not only by outraged Huguenots but by fearful Catholics convinced that they must rid themselves of a growing threat. Edouard responded by deploying more troops to key locations throughout the city, ostensibly to keep peace.
I was shaking when I returned to my apartments but insisted on going down that evening for a public supper an hour after the sun had set. The Duke of Anjou was preoccupied with his commanders, and Charles so distraught he took to his bed; Margot had joined her husband at Coligny’s bedside. I went to dine alone.
It was a tense affair. In light of the Admiral’s misfortune, no entertainment was offered that evening; the dozen nobles who had gathered were intense, br
ooding, silent. In the absence of conversation, the clatter of the spoon and knife, the clink of the glass, echoed in the still chamber. I forced myself to chew, to swallow, to appear as though I enjoyed a meal grown bitter.
As I stared down hopelessly at a pair of freshly delivered roasted doves, a shout shattered the silence.
“Madame la Reine!”
A noble I had often seen at Court but whose name I could not recall-he was a baron, I believe, and a Huguenot-stood three arms’ lengths away from my table. My solitary guard had caught his elbow, but the baron-a giant, tall and broad as an oak, with a great long face framed by a streaming cloud of white hair-would not be moved. He did not genuflect; he did not bow. His large yellow teeth were bared, but not in a smile. He shouted my name as though it were an accusation.
“We will not rest, do you understand?” His face was very red against his white hair. “We will not rest until the murderers are brought to justice. We will not rest until they hang!”
My guard tried vainly to push him back. “Show the Queen respect, you cur!”
“I do not bow,” the baron announced, “to a bloodstained Crown! Enjoy your supper while you can, Madame!”
He shook off the guard’s grip at last and, turning his back rudely to me, stalked out of the dining chamber. No one followed him; no one rushed to my defense or offered apologies. The few nobles standing in attendance murmured among themselves, then turned their eyes to me.
I stared down at the little corpses on my plate and pushed them away. I rose and left the chamber slowly, regally, on unsteady legs.
Instinctively I went in search of Edouard. He was just leaving the war room, on the ground floor beneath the King’s apartments, after a meeting with Marshals Tavannes and Cossé, and the city’s Provost of Marchands. As my son crossed the threshold, our gazes met; his expression was as mine must have been-stricken-and I knew at that instant that we had finally arrived at the same conclusion.
He stopped in the doorway and, when I approached, took my hand and guided me inside the chamber, then closed the door softly behind us. The lamp had been snuffed; he gestured in the darkness for me to take a chair at the long conference table. I sat and watched as he struck the match and held it to the wick, which caught with a flare.
The Medici Queen aka The Devil’s Queen Page 45