‘I did not, I did not,’ the man protested. ‘We were bargaining, that’s all.’
‘Then let me bargain on her behalf,’ said Giorgio tersely. ‘I will give you one penny, and one penny only for that chicken piece. And if you do not hand it over immediately I will raise my voice so that the Lord Thierry may hear. We’ll let him be the judge if you have given this innocent girl a fair price, shall we?’
The man thrust the chicken at me. ‘Here take it for nothing and go away from here.’
I took the chicken and picked up my pennies. When I turned to thank Giorgio he had disappeared among the passers-by. What would he think of me now? It was clear to any observer that I was no country girl as I did not know the price to pay for ordinary farm produce. With the life I’d led in my youth I might have been able to spy a bargain in a ribbon or a piece of cloth, but I had no idea when it came to purchasing livestock or kitchen goods.
But now Lord Thierry and his sergeant were approaching the row of stalls where I stood. I slipped into a doorway. He passed near to me and, without thinking, I leaned out to watch him. Even from the back he was a handsome man with an air of superiority. His golden hair shone out among the dark southerners. He glanced over his shoulder and I hurriedly drew back.
I returned to the house. As I was unwrapping the chicken piece Mistress Anne came into the kitchen. ‘I will prepare this meal for my husband myself,’ she said. ‘Come upstairs with me now. Master Nostradamus was asking as to your whereabouts. He said that on your return he would speak with you.’
Chapter Thirty
NOSTRADAMUS SAT IN a high-backed chair in the inner room of his apartments.
His face was still gaunt but there was more colour in his cheeks and his eyes within their hooded eyelids were less fevered than before. On a small table at his side were his astrolabe and the uncompleted horoscope he had been working on when he had first been taken ill.
‘I hear that you have been very industrious during the last weeks,’ he said as I approached him. ‘Mistress Anne tells me that you have been working hard in the pharmacy, and have been taking special care of my rooms, trimming the candles and replenishing the lamps each morning and evening. I want to thank you, Mélisande.’
‘Lisette.’ His wife glanced towards the door and placed her finger on her lips. ‘You must remember to call this girl Lisette and also the story we have decided upon. We know that Berthe loves to gossip about everything that happens in this house.’
‘But Berthe is not allowed to come onto this top floor,’ Nostradamus pointed out.
‘My dear, she hovers on the stairs and listens outside doors.’
Nostradamus smiled at me. ‘My wife is very protective of my person. She thinks all the time that there are those who seek to destroy me even though I intend harm to no one.’
‘My sister was innocent and good,’ I replied. ‘It did not prevent her life being taken from her.’
‘Ah, I recall, that was the reason you said led you to my door. Your sister. She was . . . ?’
‘Chantelle,’ I said. ‘I think you foretold her death.’
‘Yes.’ He passed his hand across his brow. The movement required effort on his part and I saw how very tired he was. ‘Chantelle. She was petite while you are tall. Her face more rounded and—’ He broke off.
‘And what?’
‘Nothing. It is hard for me to recall the exact details of some occasions. It depends on many factors. And now . . . the visions are coming more often and they are more confusing than ever. I see things in my sleep and then in my waking moments, and I can no longer distinguish between them. They seize my mind and I have no control.’
‘That night,’ I persisted. ‘In the palace of Cherboucy. What did you see?’
‘Cherboucy . . . Cherboucy. That was before Easter, was it not?’
I nodded.
‘My prophecy was about the king.’ He paused. ‘The true King of France.’ His face tensed. ‘More and more the visions I have are about the rulers of France’ – he hesitated – ‘and about the rulers of the world. This world, the old . . . and the other. There are ones who seize power, and ones who have it thrust upon them. I see that those who rule walk with death. Always. It stalks them in the street, in their palaces, in the carriages they ride. Those who would be rulers, beware!’
‘My sister,’ I said, to try to bring his mind to what I wished to know.
‘Husband’ – his wife leaned over him – ‘perhaps you might want to talk more another day when you are recovered in your health.’
‘No!’ he said, and his voice had new strength. ‘There is not much time left and this girl must have her answers.’ He took his wife’s hand. ‘Leave us alone. Please,’ he added, as she wavered. ‘It is for your own safety, and that of our children.’
She did not hesitate then, but went away out of the apartments and descended the stairs.
Nostradamus indicated for me to sit beside him. ‘I felt the presence of death in the palace of Cherboucy,’ he began, ‘the shade of everlasting night creeping across the hall. It fell upon those of the house of Guise. It fell upon the seed of the Medici. It fell upon the throne itself.
‘That night, the night of which we speak, the shadow was very distinct. I saw, spread out across the great hall, the wings of the Angel of Death.’
And quite suddenly, sitting there on a stool by his feet, I saw what Nostradamus saw.
He stopped speaking as I gasped and covered my mouth with my hand. Now I was with Melchior again on the beam. I could smell the acrid smoke, see the flames of the torches, the upturned benches on the floor of the hall.
‘Do not look down,’ Melchior commanded me, his voice once again in my ear. ‘Thou must not look down.’
Melchior’s hand clasped my hand. His arm along mine, giving me support.
But I had looked down.
The great hall below me. We were high up among the roof beams, positioned above the enormous central chandelier.
A hundred candles or more burned in their sockets. I saw again the pattern they made as they cast their light. The two outspread wings of a huge angel.
Nostradamus’s hand gripped mine. ‘You see it too?’ he cried. ‘Don’t you? You see it too!’
I nodded. ‘Yes,’ I said, ‘but—’
‘And at the outer edge,’ Nostradamus continued, ‘on the very tip of the angel’s wing, that was where your sister was standing on the day I made my prophecy to the king.’
It was true. We had been standing behind the pillar and Chantelle had taken a step back as the prophet had passed. By doing that she had placed herself where the shadow fell.
‘As I left the hall,’ said Nostradamus, ‘I brushed past her and a chill entered my soul.’ He passed his hand across his face. ‘I felt that her shade was disconnecting from her body. That her soul was preparing to leave.’ He slumped in his chair, exhausted.
There were many things I wanted to know now. How could he prophesy a specific thing from his feelings and from his perceptions? This would need discussion and I saw that he required rest. But there was one thing more than any other that I wished to know.
‘My sister Chantelle was in love,’ I said. ‘She loved Armand Vescault with a passion, and he loved her too.’
‘I believe you,’ Nostradamus said.
‘So they are together now?’ I asked him. ‘Please tell me that they are together.’
‘I cannot tell you that which I do not know.’
‘They must be together.’ I was becoming distraught.
‘If it pleases you to so believe,’ he said.
‘I do believe it.’
‘Then believe it.’
‘Why couldn’t you prevent her death?’ I asked him.
‘There is very little that I can prevent,’ Nostradamus replied. ‘It may be that things are set in their course and I only have the gift to see what will be, what must be. And yet, even if these happenings could be altered, how could that be effected? You might give
a warning. But people do not listen. They choose not to. They would have to change their lives, and’ – he paused – ‘the lives of others.’ He looked at me then, most intensely. ‘It takes an exceptional person to change the course of an event.’
His eyes held my own fast in his gaze. It was as though he was searching for something in my soul. An answer? But he had not asked a question. Perhaps he himself did not know the question to ask.
‘An exceptional person,’ he repeated. He closed his eyes. The room filled up with silence. The sputtering wick of the candle became louder.
A voice, unlike his even though it came from his mouth, said clearly, ‘And if such a person does exist, then that person must choose to be the one. They cannot be forced or coerced. For sometimes in order to save a life, a person must sacrifice their own.’
‘I would have given up my life to save my sister!’ I cried.
Nostradamus replied, ‘It was not arranged thus. Perhaps you have been spared for a greater deed.’ He seemed to muse on this and fell into a kind of reverie. After a few minutes he spoke without opening his eyes. ‘It would be best if you left me now for a space of time, for I must think on—’
He did not complete the sentence.
Mistress Anne came hurrying up the stairs in a state of agitation. ‘The Lord Thierry is at the door,’ she said. ‘I told him you were not fully recovered from your illness but he insists on seeing you!’
Chapter Thirty-one
I JUMPED TO my feet in fright.
‘What ails you, child?’ Nostradamus asked me.
‘I have encountered this man before and I don’t want to meet him again.’
‘At court? Are you sure? The Lord Thierry spends no time there. He loathes the royal household with all its falseness and decadence. And he’s not long returned from travelling for many years in the east. You must be mistaken.’
‘No, not at court,’ Mistress Anne explained quickly to her husband. ‘The first day Mélisande came here, on spring market day, Lord Thierry rescued her from a bunch of drunken men.’
I nodded. ‘He bade me wait for he wished to make me minstrel in his own castle, but I ran off.’
‘You were dressed as a boy then,’ said Nostradamus. ‘He’ll not know you now.’
The words Nostradamus spoke made sense, yet I was uneasy. I remembered the way Lord Thierry had examined my clothes, how he had shown up the innkeeper to be selling watered wine. As Mistress Anne had said, this was a man who was more astute than others.
‘You cannot go now,’ said Mistress Anne. ‘I left my daughter to take his cloak and gloves and then guide him here. I am only a minute or so in front of them. If you went away now you would meet him on the stairs and that would mean passing close to him. Stand in the corner and, as soon as I can, I’ll send you out on some errand.’
She was right. Already we heard the firm tread of boots on the staircase. I took my place in a corner of the room as the Lord Thierry appeared in the doorway.
Mistress Anne went to meet him. ‘Forgive my husband not rising to greet you, my lord,’ she said. ‘He has been in ill health these past weeks.’
‘Such formality is of small consequence.’ Lord Thierry nodded to Nostradamus. ‘I am pleased finally to make your acquaintance.’
I heard him say this and thought how stark the contrast was between him and the Count de Ferignay, who had insisted on servility from others he considered his inferiors, and made my father wait until he chose to speak to him.
‘How may I serve you, my lord?’ asked Nostradamus.
‘You know who I am?’
‘Your name is well respected in this town.’
Lord Thierry snorted. ‘By some. By others, well reviled.’
From my place in the corner I had a chance to study this man more clearly. He was perhaps not as old as I’d first judged. His face was sun-browned and wrinkled about the eyes, not so much with age but rather as one used to spending time out of doors.
‘As is my own,’ said Nostradamus.
‘A fair comment,’ agreed Lord Thierry.
‘Have you come to consult with me?’
Lord Thierry shook his head. ‘I have no need of divinations.’
‘You do not believe in such matters?’
‘On the contrary,’ Lord Thierry said seriously as his eyes ranged over the room, taking note of the multitude of books and charts. ‘I would not scoff at any prophecy made with good intent. I have journeyed through many lands and seen sights that if I told of them here my listeners would think me mad or bewitched. No, it is not that I would not give credence to your foresight. It’s only that I prefer to remain in ignorance of my fate.’
‘Then how can I help you?’ Nostradamus asked him.
‘Ah.’ His eyes rested on me where I stood, head meekly bent, then moved on. ‘I thought you might have a text here that I am interested in, De viribus quantitatis by Luca Pacioli.’
‘Lisette’ – Nostradamus indicated to me – ‘you will find that book somewhere on the third shelf to the right of the window.’
I searched through the titles until I found the book. Then I carried it across the room and, keeping my gaze on my own hands, I gave Lord Thierry the book.
‘A servant girl who can read?’ he said with interest in his voice.
‘She is a relative of my wife,’ Nostradamus explained. ‘More of an assistant to me and Giorgio in the apothecary shop than a house servant. You may borrow that volume if you so wish,’ he added.
‘I am honoured that you trust me with your precious manuscripts. I assure you that I will return it safely.’
‘Is that all?’
Lord Thierry held the book loosely in his hand. ‘There is another matter,’ he said. ‘I am looking for a minstrel boy.’
There was a space of a heartbeat. Nostradamus repeated the words slowly. ‘A minstrel boy?’
‘My lord, I’m sure if you go around the town on market day there will be any number of troubadours for hire.’ Mistress Anne offered the information with a smile.
‘This is a particular one,’ said Lord Thierry. ‘On spring market day I interrupted a street brawl where he was an innocent onlooker. I bade him stay until I had dealt with the miscreants, but when I turned to look for him he was gone. Later he was seen knocking on your door.’
So the old pedlar woman who had given me directions and led me to this street had given up her information just as Mistress Anne had predicted she would.
‘Many people knock on our door, to beg or ask for consultations with my husband,’ Mistress Anne replied. ‘But I don’t recall a boy coming here on that day.’
‘I took ill just prior to Easter and my family had to attend to me.’ Nostradamus looked to his wife for support.
‘Yes,’ his wife agreed with him. ‘Palm Sunday was the day that both my husband and our youngest child were struck down with fever. They were both sick for weeks afterwards.’
‘Is this boy wanted for a crime?’ asked Nostradamus.
‘Not as far as I know.’ Lord Thierry kept looking at Mistress Anne, as he replied. ‘Although it’s strange that he should run from his rescuer, especially as I offered him employment and he did have the appearance of needing money and food.’
‘You are certain that you don’t seek to punish him for some wrongdoing?’ Nostradamus persisted.
‘I do not.’
‘Then why not find another minstrel? The summer market will take place soon and there’s bound to be one just like him.’
‘Not quite like him, I do not think.’
‘How so?’
‘He played a most exquisite mandolin. Even the bag he carried it in is of superior quality. I have it here.’ And from a pouch that hung from the belt at his waist Lord Thierry pulled out my chamois leather bag.
I was glad that for once I had sufficient self-control not to make any sound or strain forward to see.
Nostradamus took the bag into his hands and his wife came to admire it. ‘As you say, it
is fine leather,’ he said.
Lord Thierry nodded. ‘This person cares for their musical instrument and is also someone who, I think, loves music dearly.’
‘Indeed?’ Mistress Anne feigned an interest.
‘Indeed,’ said Lord Thierry. ‘His first song was a well-known folk tune, but then he played a ballad which was composed at the same time as the Song of Roland. It is a text that few have even heard of, and even less would have the ability to play. And he played it well. At some time in his life he must have had a singular teacher.’
Lord Thierry had been fooled by my disguise and thought me a boy, but in his assessment of the music he had guessed correctly. I’d had a singularly most talented teacher: my father. I felt tears beginning behind my eyes.
‘If the bag is expensive your minstrel would have no need to knock on my door,’ Mistress Anne pointed out.
Lord Thierry made a grimace.
‘I wonder, sir,’ said Nostradamus, ‘if you have more need of this minstrel than he does you.’
‘You are a shrewd man,’ Lord Thierry replied. He folded the chamois leather bag and replaced it in his pouch. ‘I love music. I find it lifts my spirits when I am fretful or melancholic. This lad played merry tunes and has at least one unique song in his repertoire. And that is a rare thing. I know this, for I have heard many songs from all the lands I’ve travelled.’
‘I hope you find what you are looking for,’ said Nostradamus. ‘But I can tell you plainly that no young man came knocking at our door.’
‘Master Nostradamus, I have not been to visit you before this,’ said Lord Thierry, ‘for I have been occupied with setting my domain to rights since I returned from my wanderings. But in this short acquaintance I would have warranted that you would tell the truth.’
‘It is the truth that I speak,’ said Nostradamus firmly.
‘It is the truth that you speak.’ Lord Thierry repeated the words of Nostradamus. He paused. ‘And yet . . .’ His voice tailed off.
The Nostradamus Prophecy Page 15