‘I tell you plainly, sir,’ King Henri said to Nostradamus, ‘that I rate science over magic.’
Nostradamus bowed and replied, ‘As I do, sire. And yet there are liars and naysayers who would deny a king’s God-given power to lay his hands on those afflicted by scrofula and so effect a cure.’
‘Clever words,’ Sir Duncan Alexander said as murmurs of agreement echoed around the hall.
The gift of curing scrofula, an inflammation of the neck glands, was one that kings were supposed to have been blessed with. On a royal progress Henri would occasionally stop when someone by the roadside reached out and cried in supplication, ‘Seigneur, if you could but touch me, then I would be made well again.’
‘Proceed,’ King Henri directed Nostradamus. ‘It will amuse us for a while this evening.’
‘Sire, with respect, I do not perform like a jester or juggler for the sport and pleasure of an audience. My predictions are based on visions.’
‘Then tell us a prediction that might warrant our attention.’ The king yawned.
‘Concerning the throne,’ Queen Catherine suggested at once. She glanced at Mary Stuart. ‘I would hear of the royal succession.’
‘Madam, wife,’ the king spoke quietly to her, ‘have a care as to what you ask for.’
‘Husband . . .’ Catherine said meekly. She chewed on her lip in vexation but bowed her head. ‘Perhaps the prophet could be allowed to speak about our male children?’ she wheedled.
The king nodded at Nostradamus.
‘France will have a great king,’ said Nostradamus quietly. ‘Henri, by name.’
‘You see?’ the king grumbled. ‘This is what I mean. Anyone of my courtiers could do this.’ He beckoned to a young servant. ‘Come here, boy. Give me a prophecy.’
‘What?’ Overcome by fear, the boy fell to his knees.
Everyone laughed.
‘Go now,’ the king ordered him. ‘Stand in the centre of the room and foretell my future and that of my sons.’
The boy scuttled into the middle of the hall. ‘The King of France is a mighty king,’ he squeaked, ‘and will reign for many days over many people, and so will his sons. Long live the king!’
‘Excellent.’ King Henri threw a coin to the boy, who scooped it up and ran out.
Throughout this charade, face impassive, Nostradamus stood without moving. Then he spoke: ‘I will make a prediction. A vision comes to me. The vision of the one subject that people do not want to hear.’
‘A death,’ someone in the hall whispered. ‘He is preparing to foretell a death.’
‘Death! Death! Death!’ Nostradamus intoned. ‘Three deaths!’ He threw back his head and stared at the ceiling. ‘Royal and brave to meet their end.’
‘Do you speak of those present here tonight?’ Catherine de’ Medici craned her neck towards him.
‘Death comes to all. Our life ends. The sparrow in the tree, the mighty lion in his den. The lion who will fight and not be gainsaid. Death cannot be turned aside.’ Nostradamus’s head sank upon his chest and he hunched down to crumple onto the floor like a heap of old sacks. ‘It cannot, cannot be stayed. Not for one minute, not for one second. I see only what I see. The truth, the terrible truth.’
Without realizing what I was doing, I gripped the arm of Duncan Alexander as the prophet got to his feet once more. Candles flickered to elongate his shadow so that it appeared enormous. Nostradamus raised his hands high and his cape fell in folds from his arms like the two wings of a monstrous mythical beast. In a thunderous voice he proclaimed:
‘The lion in his cage!
The rise of the poison!
The fall of the axe!’
He beat his breast with his fist. ‘Combat should not take place. The lion’s cage will be ruptured. I cannot prevent it. I predict yet I am ignored. Why should I expect to be heard when even royal pleas are not heeded? Like Christ upon the Cross, days of agony endured. Death not deflected.’
Silence swept over the gathering like dark clouds across the sun. Even Diane de Poitiers, usually outwardly unemotional, shifted uncomfortably in her seat.
‘I would have him be more precise on this,’ King Henri said, almost wearily. ‘Why do these foretellings have to be so mysterious? Can they not be couched so that any common man, far less a king, can understand?’
‘There is a veil of shadows upon our world,’ Catherine de’ Medici explained. ‘Even the greatest prophet cannot perfectly discern what the future holds.’
‘Speak exactly what you see!’ the king commanded Nostradamus.
‘Nay, nay. I cannot. For my tongue cleaves to the roof of my mouth and I am unable to utter more. Yet I have written of that which all men fear, be they king, courtier or kitchen maid.’
There was a hush within the hall. If the king chose to take this amiss, Nostradamus could be executed. In an instant his life could be forfeit.
‘I have written what I have written.’ Nostradamus moaned and pulled at his beard. His shoulders twisted this way and that and he struggled as if to slide out from under a great weight. Then the fit seemed to pass from him and he became calm again.
‘Majesties.’ He bent low before the king and queen. ‘Forgive an old man if he has been intemperate. I am weary of the burden that these visions place upon me. I will make a prophecy, yes. I will tell you of something I have seen. Your children will be proclaimed kings of France, and kings of other countries too. This I do know.’
‘Very good.’ Far from being annoyed, King Henri was bored. He ordered a sum of money to be given to Nostradamus. As this was being done he took the chance to murmur to Diane de Poitiers, ‘I would have been as well to pay the servant boy this money, for that is the very thing he foretold in faster time and with less theatre.’
‘And Mary Stuart . . .’ One of the Scots lords spoke up. ‘She is now also considered a child of the king. What of Mary Stuart? What great things can we expect from such a blessed and fortunate marriage?’
‘I have already spoken on this.’ The soothsayer closed his eyes.
The man shrugged and raised his goblet to his lips. But my heart leaped; I loosened my grasp on Sir Duncan and leaned forward. What part of Nostradamus’s prediction applied to Mary?
‘And yet I sense you had even more to say.’ Queen Catherine, realizing that the performance would soon be over, wanted as much information as possible.
‘I speak of what I see . . .’ Nostradamus paused and then words – disjointed phrases – jerked from his mouth as though he had no control over them: ‘Henri. A great king. Not now, but years from now. Henri, King of France, will be a great king. Honoured through the ages. One of the greatest kings of France.’
Nostradamus suddenly bowed and left the room – a breach of etiquette as he had not been dismissed.
‘There! We have it!’ King Henri cried out loudly in exasperated amusement. ‘I am a great king now, and many years from now.’
‘That is not what Nostradamus said,’ his wife whispered. ‘No, that is not what the prophet said at all.’
But the onlookers had drifted away, and those at dinner, including Mary, had returned to their food and gossip. Only Duncan and I were silent with our thoughts. King Henri was restless and obviously desired to spend time with Diane de Poitiers. He smiled at her, and she acknowledged him with a wave of her hand. He glanced at the queen, hesitating to insult her quite so openly, but she knew her place, and said, ‘If your majesty so pleases . . .’ She beckoned to her ladies. ‘I am tired and would be excused.’
With relief King Henri rose and escorted his wife from the table. Someone else had engaged Duncan in conversation, and on an impulse I rose up and followed Queen Catherine’s entourage. As we reached the door, I heard Diane de Poitiers laugh. The queen faltered and I saw her clench her hands so tightly that the nails might draw blood as they dug into her palms. It wasn’t true that she was at peace with the arrangement allowing her husband to consort openly with his mistress.
‘I have need of o
nly one attendant to walk with me to my apartments,’ she dismissed her ladies. Speaking to Ruggieri, she said, ‘Bring a lighted taper – you will accompany me. I want some explanation of tonight’s revelations.’
I too wanted to know more about what had been said. When the Scots lord had enquired as to Mary’s future, Nostradamus said that he’d already spoken of Mary Stuart – but which part of his prophecies referred to her? I stepped into the corridor. The queen and her astrologer were not walking in the direction of her apartments. They were going towards the tower where her observatory was situated.
Nostradamus had foretold three deaths, royal and brave to meet their end.
I took that to mean that the prophet had a vision of three royal deaths. Was one of them Mary’s? He’d also spoken of poison. I thought of the Count de Cluny’s meeting in Catherine’s private study when poison was mentioned. She didn’t like her son’s deep attachment to Mary, especially with her daughter-in-law so closely allied to the Guise family, whose power she feared. Would she go so far as to poison her? Was this what Nostradamus had seen?
The rise of the poison.
No one else seemed to sense that Mary might be in danger. It was up to me to find out what I could. And so I made my decision then – to become a spy for Mary, Queen of Scots.
Chapter 8
NOT DARING TO follow too closely, I delayed until Queen Catherine and her astrologer reached the foot of the tower and disappeared into the stairwell. I debated the best thing to do. I desperately wanted to know if there was a real threat to Mary, not only out of personal love and regard for her welfare, but because I really believed that she was crucial to the greater good of Scotland and France. I’d not noticed the Count of Cluny among the guests tonight, but I knew that he had leave to come and go as he pleased and could be skulking anywhere. But I didn’t expect to be caught. Queen Catherine had a hearty appetite and, having borne the king nine children, walked with a cumbersome gait. If she turned to come back downstairs, I could surely escape unseen.
I waited until I thought they had ascended a flight or two, then entered the tower and began to mount the staircase. Ruggieri must have lit the wall sconces with his taper and they flared above my head, making my shadow and my heart leap as I climbed. Frequently I had to pause to listen, for there were rooms off the landings and I needed to make sure they’d not gone into one of those. I was practically at the top before I heard the queen speaking to Ruggieri:
‘The proclamations of the soothsayer have disturbed me. There was much left unsaid.’
‘Perhaps, majesty, it would be appropriate to question him further?’ Ruggieri replied.
‘That would be useless. I’ve dealt with Nostradamus before. His visions, when they come, are in broken pieces. They exhaust him completely. It can be weeks before he recovers so there is no point in pursuing him just now.’
The queen and her astrologer had reached the top of the tower, an open space with a glass roof and a balcony where one could observe the night sky. I peeked round the corner. Ruggieri was lighting an oil lamp on a table spread with star charts and signs of the zodiac.
‘I will do what I can, your majesty, but it’s hard for me to interpret the visions of another.’
‘Is that so?’ Queen Catherine said testily. ‘Then maybe you could let the spirit move you to acquire some of your own?’
‘I do have a way of seeing into the future . . .’ Ruggieri hesitated and then went on, ‘Allow me to make some preparations, and while I do so, please take something to refresh yourself. There is wine and some sweetmeats here.’ He offered her a plate.
Catherine de’ Medici had a fondness for cakes and biscuits. She helped herself to several of the dainties, pushing them rapidly into her mouth one after the other and washing them down with gulps of wine.
Meanwhile Ruggieri lit an incense burner and then blew out the lamp. ‘This requires the rays of celestial light.’ With a flourish he flung aside the curtain of an alcove to reveal a long mirror.
Catherine took a pace towards it.
‘Have a care!’ Ruggieri cried out. ‘There are forces at work here that neither you nor I understand.’
She nodded and retreated at once while the astrologer lifted the incense burner and removed the lid. The heavy scent of frankincense and myrrh filled the room. Charcoal smouldered, the red glow bouncing off the mirror, sending out myriad images. My own nerves were jangling, but curiosity drove me on. I crept closer. This was no ordinary flat looking-glass but one whose surface had been constructed in an unusual way, with different facets and angles. Reflections seemed to double and redouble. I caught a flicker of movement and realized it might be me. I shrank in against the wall.
When I ventured another look, Ruggieri had gone behind the mirror and tilted it towards the glass roof. ‘Tell me what you wish to know and the light of the heavens will reveal all it can.’
‘I would know the fate of my sons.’ The queen’s voice was hoarse.
‘Then summon up the power of your deepest affection, for a mother’s love is stronger than the ties that bind us to this mortal realm.’
‘Yes!’ she said. ‘I agree! The love a mother bears her children is the most powerful bond in Heaven and earth.’
‘Speak their names and they must obey your command to appear.’
The moon shone brightly, making the queen’s face pale as a waxen model.
‘Louis . . .’ she whispered. This was her fourth child, a son who’d died less than a year after his birth. ‘Louis, my dearest dead boy.’
A most disturbing thing then happened. Echoing clearly through the tower came the sound of a baby’s cry.
‘Santa Madre di Dio!’ The queen staggered as if to fall. She grasped the edge of the table and held on as if her life depended on it. I put my fist to my mouth to stifle my own exclamation.
The mirror trembled. Ruggieri spoke confidently. ‘Indeed, Louis is with the Mother of God. The little one plays at the foot of the Virgin’s throne in Heaven.’
A heartbreaking sob wrenched from Catherine’s lips and she asked, ‘Can you show me that scene?’
‘Watch the mirror!’ Ruggieri was strong and commanding. ‘The spirits of your living sons await your summons. Name them now and discern their presence!’
‘Francis.’ The queen called for her first born.
Was it my fancy that her tone was neutral when she spoke? According to the Maries Catherine was disappointed in Francis’s frailty and resented Mary’s apparent good health because it made her son look even weaker.
‘Charles.’ Again the queen’s voice was unemotional as she named her second son.
‘Edouard Henri . . .’ Her tone softened as she mentioned her favourite.
‘They appear!’ Ruggieri chanted. ‘Through the swirls of time they strive to answer their mother’s call!
‘And Hercule,’ she added.
I went forward as far as I dared. The heavy smoke of the incense all but obscured the glass. There were shapes, but quite what they were I did not know.
‘There,’ Ruggieri said in satisfaction. ‘All is well. Each son doth have a crown upon his head. Your heirs are called upon to rule in many lands.’
‘You are sure?’ Queen Catherine asked anxiously. ‘You did see that?’
‘Distinctly,’ he said, replacing the curtain over the alcove while the queen sank into a chair.
‘Yet one more thing,’ She drank more wine. ‘Nostradamus mentioned a prophecy he has written.’
Ruggieri sighed. ‘Nostradamus has written numerous things, almanacs, books, journals.’
‘I am referring to his quatrains, the four-line verses that contain his most famous predictions.’
Ruggieri went to a shelf and selected a book.
‘Find me the one that refers to my husband, the king.’
‘Ah yes,’ He hesitated. ‘I was so overcome by the force of Nostradamus’s presence that the essentials escaped me. Perhaps your majesty could remind me of the words?’
<
br /> ‘It was quite specific,’ she stated. ‘More than once Nostradamus mentioned a lion. Don’t you see? It is the symbol the king wears on his breastplate.’
‘But that was in connection with a foretelling of doom,’ Ruggieri said cautiously.
‘This I know!’ Catherine snapped.
‘I believed that to mean another person,’ Ruggieri told her, trying to allay her fears. ‘Nothing to do with his majesty. Indeed, he proclaimed that King Henri was a great king now, and would be a great king for many years.’
‘Do you take me for a fool?’ The queen was angry now. ‘That is not what Nostradamus said. He proclaimed Henri to be a great king; a Henri would be a great king many years from now. It is not the same as saying that the present King Henri will reign for years to come. It is not the same thing at all.’
There was silence in the room.
I could sense Ruggieri’s dilemma. He did not want to further anger the queen, yet he had to respond. I too was now on tenterhooks, poised for flight should she decide to cut short this session and leave in a temper.
Catherine passed her hand over her brow. ‘Nostradamus does not deal in platitudes. Don’t you see that the one thing a monarch needs is the truth? With a proper prediction then I can arm myself to protect my husband and children.’
I felt myself relaxing at the pathetic note in her voice. The queen was merely a small fat woman who adored her husband so much that, while he was consorting and amusing himself with his mistress, she was desperately seeking a way to avert any catastrophe that might befall him.
Ruggieri pointed to a page of text. ‘Nostradamus refers there to the court being in a troubled state because of a one-eyed king.’
‘There is a quatrain . . .’ Catherine de’ Medici insisted. ‘I know there is.’
He riffled through the books. ‘Here is one,’ he said slowly, ‘in Nostradamus’s first collection of quatrains, that refers to a lion . . . two lions, the young and the old.’
‘Read it to me!’
‘The young lion shall overcome the old,
On martial field in single combat.
Spy for the Queen of Scots Page 6