And suddenly my own breath was unsteady.
I blinked my eyes wide.
He turned to me. His eyes were shut.
His face was so close. Sweetness flooded my senses. Around us Time hung motionless, awaiting our signal to continue.
The leopard shifted position and laid its head upon its paws.
Melchior moved his own head at the sound. He opened his eyes and I sat up straight.
With shaking hands I replaced the lid and held out the dish of healing salve. ‘Here,’ I said, ‘take it in payment for the lyrics of my song. It is a good remedy,’ I added. ‘You must be careful against infection. There are rats in the tunnels and they carry disease.’
Melchior laughed softly. ‘Where my leopard is, there are never rats close by.’
I laughed too.
He took the dish from my hands, made a small formal bow of his head and said, ‘I thank you. This is perhaps the one act of kindness that I have received since I entered the employ of your king. I fear he will not be as civil a master as the Prince of Navarre.’
‘How did that come about?’ I asked curiously. ‘That you and Paladin serve Prince Henri?’
‘I had the leopard as a cub when I was only a young boy. My father found it where we lived in the great forest of the Pyrenees, lying beside its mother, who was dead. He brought it home and it grew with me and we taught each other to hunt. The fame of it spread and men came to buy the leopard but my father would not sell it. So they killed my father, but they kept me alive as they knew they needed me to control the animal. We hunt well together, Paladin and I. The man named Gaspard Coligny heard of our skills. He brought a large sum of money to the men who held me and thus they sold me and Paladin to him. And now Gaspard Coligny has used us as chattels to win the good graces of your king.’
‘I am sorry about your father’s death and that you are held against your will.’
Melchior smiled. ‘We will wait,’ he said, ‘Paladin and I. One day we will be in the mountains again. When our moment comes, then we will be free.’
The sound of the dinner bell pealed through the palace.
I started up. ‘I must go. My presence will be required to entertain.’
Melchior got to his feet and held open the half-door that I might pass through. I was conscious of his eyes watching me as I ran along the tunnel towards the kitchen and the spiral staircase leading to my own chamber.
Chapter Ten
WHEN I RETURNED to our room my father was there with my sister.
‘Where have you been?’ he asked me sharply. ‘I – I went to the kitchens,’ I answered him.
‘Ah, Mélisande, you always were a hungry child,’ he said. ‘But you know it’s not a wise thing for a young maiden to wander the corridors of any palace by herself.’
‘Yes, sir,’ I said, and bent my head, conscious of my lie of omission in not revealing that it wasn’t in quest of food that I had gone down to the cellars.
‘The king is a little fevered,’ my father began.
‘The prophecy!’ I cried out. ‘It’s coming true!’
My father held up his hand. ‘Mélisande!’ he said severely. ‘Curb your tongue!’
My face flushed and again I hung my head.
‘To continue,’ said my father. ‘His majesty, King Charles, is suffering a weakness after the exertions of the hunt and will dine in his own bedchamber this evening with a few guests. We are to go there and play soft music discreetly in the background at his pleasure.’ He turned to Chantelle. ‘Beautiful as you are in that dress, my dear, I would ask that you both wear’ – he cleared his throat – ‘less revealing clothes for this evening’s entertainment.’
As he left us to prepare, it occurred to me then that perhaps my father had not missed seeing the looks that Armand’s master, the Count de Ferignay, had earlier bestowed upon my sister.
It is a great honour to be commanded to play in the private bedroom of any monarch and Chantelle and I dressed with care. My sister had more regret than I at not being allowed to wear her most becoming dress. Usually I gave scant thought to such things, but Chantelle impressed upon me the importance of the occasion. She made me pay attention to arranging the skirts of my sage-coloured dress and smoothing the trim of gold lace at my neck. My hair was a more unruly challenge for her, but she succeeded in securing it in a snood of pale green gauze latticed with thread of gold.
‘You have a fine high forehead, Mélisande,’ Chantelle commented as she was doing this. ‘It’s a very fashionable attribute. You should show it off to best advantage. When your hair is clasped back like this one can see your eyes and how blue they are, so like in colour to our mother’s.’
I liked it when Chantelle said things like this to me. Our mother had died when I was six or seven, and as the years passed I was beginning to forget her more. It wasn’t a thing I wished to do. It was just that as our life changed and we travelled I seemed to drift further away from her. I think our father realized this. It was one of the reasons he’d wanted to join the French court at this time. As soon as he’d heard that a royal tour was planned to encompass the whole kingdom he talked to us of his idea of travelling with the royal party. He knew their itinerary included the Languedoc and that after Carcassonne they would come near to our mother’s land of the Isle of Bressay. When this happened my father intended that we should take time to make a detour to visit there. Chantelle and I would be able to reacquaint ourselves with our birth home, and he would catch up with the business of the estate.
Carrying our song sheets and musical instruments, the three of us waited in the outer rooms of the king’s apartments for our summons to enter his chambers. People went constantly to and from these rooms: lackeys bearing messages, servants of the king’s household and of other lords and ladies, equerries on state business. All were screened and dealt with by the king’s personal attendants. Although many nobles asked to speak to the king or at least be allowed a glimpse of his majesty, none were permitted to do so. The Cardinal of Lorraine, uncle of the Duke of Guise, arrived and made a similar request. He looked dumbfounded when he was refused admittance by the king’s chamberlain.
‘Stand aside!’ he ordered the quaking man. ‘I have heard that the king is sick and I have come to bestow upon him a blessing of Holy Mother Church.’
‘No one is to enter, sir,’ the chamberlain stammered. ‘It is his majesty’s express orders. No one.’
‘You would deny the king, his most Catholic majesty, the comfort of his religion at a time when he is unwell?’ roared the cardinal.
‘Your eminence, I have a list here of persons who are to be admitted and your name is not upon it.’
‘Let me see that document!’ The cardinal snatched the paper from the chamberlain’s fingers. He had scarcely brought it near his face to scan it, when there was a rustle of taffeta and the paper was, in turn, taken from his hands. ‘How dare you presume to—?’ The cardinal whirled round and faltered. He was facing the queen regent, Catherine de’ Medici. ‘Your majesty,’ he began.
In one seamless movement Catherine de’ Medici returned the paper to the king’s chamberlain. ‘You may now destroy this list,’ she ordered him. Then she grasped the cardinal firmly by the hand and kissed his ring. ‘It pleases us greatly that you are so concerned for the welfare of our son, the king. Be assured that you are the first person I personally would call upon if I thought King Charles needed spiritual solace at this time.’ The queen lowered her voice in a confidential tone. ‘Let me go in now and speak with his majesty,’ she said. ‘Allow me to inform him of your good wishes and desire to comfort him. I’m sure he will be gratified to know that you, above others, have rushed to his side to attend to him. I will beg him to make an exception in your case and that you be permitted inside.’
At that moment the king’s chief surgeon, Ambroise Paré, came from the king’s rooms. He spoke out loudly. ‘The king has asked me to make an announcement. His majesty is suffering from fatigue, nothing more. By
the grace of God he will be recovered, and strong enough to attend worship at Mass in the chapel tomorrow.’
The courtiers turned to one another and the news spread rapidly through the rooms. The Cardinal of Lorraine went to speak with his nephew, the Duke of Guise, who had just entered the chambers in the company of the Count de Ferignay. Their frowns made me think that this information had not so much cheered them as cast them down.
Catherine de’ Medici beckoned to my father and we went forward. ‘Permit these musicians to enter after me,’ she told the chamberlain. As he conducted us inside she drew him to one side and added, ‘But on no account admit anyone else. That includes all members of the house of Guise, and in particular the Cardinal of Lorraine.’
As we followed the queen regent into the king’s private rooms my father whispered to Chantelle and me, ‘Do not speak unless spoken to. Do not listen to the royals’ talk. Do not make any comment or display an opinion, by movement of your body or expression on your face – no matter what conversation you might hear this night.’
Chapter Eleven
IT WAS AS well our father gave us his warning about self-control, for the king was not alone as his surgeon had indicated.
The first person I saw when I entered the room was Melchior.
My heart tightened in my chest. Melchior stood with his leopard, Paladin, at the end of a long table that had been set up in the king’s bedroom to accommodate his dinner guests. Although I came into the room to one side of them and out of their sight, upon my entry, both leopard and boy turned their heads to look at me. Neither acknowledged my presence, but I saw a subtle change in their stance. I kept my face composed and walked with Chantelle and my father to our appointed place by the window.
King Charles was very tired. He sat, half supported by cushions, on an enormous chair at the head of the table. Three of the places were occupied by the king’s two younger brothers and his twelve-year-old sister, Princess Margot. The king’s brothers were, like him, spindly and thin-chested, but Margot, with her bright complexion and shiny dark curls, displayed vibrant good health. In the remaining seats sat the prophet Nostradamus and, closer to the king, the Huguenots, Henri, Prince of Navarre, and Admiral Gaspard Coligny. No wonder the queen had given orders to the door keeper to refuse entry to any member of the Guise family!
Queen Catherine embraced her son and took her place by his right hand. ‘The royal surgeon, Ambroise Paré, made the announcement as to your health,’ she told him. ‘It gladdens me that you are not seriously incommoded.’
‘How was the news received?’ King Charles asked his mother. ‘Were my people happy that I am not ill?’
‘They become concerned when they do not see you, my son,’ Catherine de’ Medici answered obliquely, ‘although some are always eager to pursue their own ends. That arrogant Cardinal of Lorraine, uncle of the Duke of Guise, tried to bluster his way through, but I defeated him in his intentions.’
‘One day we will need to deal with the insubordinate house of Guise at the point of a sword,’ the king said angrily.
‘It may be that the day will come when you do have to deal with them, but it is not this day,’ his mother replied soothingly.
‘Ah, the minstrel.’ The king noticed us. ‘His music always eases my mind.’
King Charles waved for us to begin playing and for the food to be served. The royal family and guests chatted as they ate, much as any other family might do. I was surprised at the warmth and familiarity that was accorded the young Prince Henri of Navarre. By following their conversation, although my father had forbidden me to, I learned that Prince Henri had lived some of his boyhood with Catherine de’ Medici’s children. His mother, Jeanne d’Albret, Queen of Navarre, had then adopted the new reformed religion. Thus there had been a parting, with some suspicion on both sides. Prince Henri’s country of Navarre lay north-west of Languedoc, situated on the border between France and Spain. More and more French Huguenots, aware of a sympathetic reception, sought refuge in that area. They were not only congregating in Navarre itself, but also filling up towns in the west of France, like La Rochelle and Jarnac. This was displeasing to the queen regent, Catherine de’ Medici, and she said as much:
‘We do not wish parts of the kingdom of France to become a protectorate of Navarre,’ she stated.
Admiral Gaspard Coligny replied on behalf of Prince Henri, who was sharing a joke with Princess Margot at this point.
‘Queen Jeanne d’Albret of Navarre has no wish to encroach upon French territory, your highness. She seeks the way of reconciliation.’
‘From your position on the State Council of France you will be aware that the French crown does too, most strenuously,’ Catherine de’ Medici replied tartly. ‘His majesty has already conceded many liberties to the Huguenots in their religious practices. Do remember that in France, unlike some other countries in Europe, a citizen may, under law, hold to either religion. In his wisdom and goodness the king has steered his country on this hazardous course to achieve harmony among both sides.’
It was clear that King Charles had done none of these things. They were all machinations of his mother, as queen regent. The king was not even interested enough to keep up with the political discussion at his own table. During the meal King Charles chatted to his siblings and from time to time played with Paladin. He ordered that the leopard be brought to him and its muzzle removed that he might feed it morsels of meat from his plate. If Melchior objected to his animal being pampered in this way, he gave no sign. And even though throughout the evening he also made no further obvious glance in my direction, I knew that he listened to my music.
We made music and sang for an hour or more. Then King Charles gave us leave to rest, and to eat from the remains of the royal meal now lying in dishes on the sideboard. I desperately wanted to speak to Chantelle, to ask my sister her opinion on the things we’d heard. But I did not, for my father, once again, gave us both warning looks. Talking less made me concentrate my mind and I slowly came to see that my father’s countenance was more than one of a parent attempting to instil good manners in a child – the expression on my father’s face was one of apprehension. But what could he be frightened of? We were in the king’s good graces and would do nothing to offend him. I sat on a stool and rested and listened to the sounds of the palace, inside and outside the room, and felt again the quickening within me that presaged a song forming in my mind. I tried to analyse this sensation as it occurred. Did the words and the notes spring like a stream from the earth? What tributaries in the mind feed into the soul whence the muse is nourished? Words were tumbling in my head. I looked at the leopard and the amber of Paladin’s eyes reflected green grass. What story could this animal tell of the dark Pyrenees where it was once suckled by its mother? There was grass there, and stones, and a pattern . . .
‘Do you know the source of your inspiration?’
These words spoken in the room, so similar to the ones inside my head, brought me abruptly back to the present.
The question had been asked of Nostradamus by the king.
‘The Lord God is the source of all inspiration, sire,’ the prophet replied.
In some relief Catherine de’ Medici broke off from the intricacies of her sparring with Gaspard Coligny. ‘Ah, yes, Master Nostradamus. Would you be good enough to make some predictions for my family this evening?’
‘Your son the king will recover from this present weakness,’ Nostradamus said confidently. ‘He will live for years to come.’ The prophet paused. Then he added, ‘The reign of King Charles will be marked out in history.’
‘There!’ Catherine de’ Medici exclaimed in delight. ‘There, you see, my beloved Charles. The prophet says that your reign will be one of note. You will be famous for evermore!’
I wondered why no one asked the question: in what manner would King Charles’s reign be thus marked?
King Charles inclined his head to Nostradamus. ‘Your doom and gloom of yesterday is gone then?’
‘And what else do you see?’ Catherine de’ Medici pressed for more information. ‘Will my other sons reign too?’
Nostradamus nodded, but he seemed distracted. ‘You spoke of a way to bridge differences . . .’
‘Yes?’ Catherine de’ Medici asked eagerly. ‘Have you any observation to make on that subject? Any indication of a way forward?’
Gaspard Coligny moved his chair in annoyance. Clearly he thought it frivolous to be asking this question of a soothsayer. And I, recalling what Melchior had told me, saw why. At his own expense Coligny had engineered this meeting of the two young men. He’d heard that King Charles desired a leopard, had sought one out, and procured it for Prince Henri of Navarre. Then he’d arranged for it to be brought to the palace of Cherboucy, knowing the heavily armed ultra-Catholic men of Guise were attending court. At great personal risk he’d escorted Prince Henri and joined the hunt, anticipating that King Charles in gratitude would grant them a private audience. He wanted to ingratiate himself and gain favour for the Huguenot cause. Now the vague predictions of a soothsayer threatened to overshadow a serious discussion.
‘Surely the way forward is to—’ Coligny broke off as Nostradamus rose to his feet.
The prophet’s eyes had become fixed.
‘Five times three.’
He said this flatly, without emotion, as he stared into the distance.
‘Five and three,’ Catherine de’ Medici repeated. ‘Three is a magical number.’
All in the room looked at Nostradamus. But not I. Instead I followed his gaze and saw where his sight was fixed. Above the sideboard hung a long mirror. In it I could see his image.
And my own.
‘A great King of France is in this room.’
The prophet intoned the words.
The Nostradamus Prophecy Page 5