The Nostradamus Prophecy

by Theresa Breslin

  No one made any comment so he began to speak again.

  ‘A person who has no reason to lie says they saw the minstrel boy knock on this door.’ He turned quickly and stared at me. ‘Perhaps your cousin’s child saw or heard of this boy.’

  ‘Lisette,’ said Mistress Anne. ‘Lisette!’ she said again. I looked up then. ‘The Lord Thierry is asking if you know anything of a minstrel boy.’

  ‘I do not,’ I said. My voice trembled as I spoke but I reassured myself that this would be the natural reaction of any country girl in the presence of a noble lord.

  ‘Very good,’ said Mistress Anne. ‘Now I do believe I hear the child crying, and her older sister has been nursing her all day. Would you be good enough to go and help?’

  ‘Certainly, Aunt Anne,’ I said and bent my head and made to leave the room.

  To do this I had to cross the floor near to where Lord Thierry stood. As I passed him he stretched out and touched my arm. A current went between us as if he had fingered a nerve. It startled him as much as it did me.

  ‘Sir?’ I faltered.

  ‘I saw you in the main square this morning, yes?’

  ‘Lisette often runs errands for the household,’ Mistress Anne said quickly.

  ‘So you go out and about, Lisette?’

  I nodded, keeping my eyes on the floor.

  ‘If, when you were on these errands . . .’ He paused. ‘If this minstrel boy appeared, I would be grateful if you would send word to me.’

  ‘Sir.’ I nodded.

  ‘You may tell him that I am looking for him.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  I kept my head well down. I would not risk our eyes meeting again.

  ‘You may tell this boy,’ he said courteously, ‘that I wish him no harm. I’m very fond of music and he played very well. He had a distinctive gift.’

  He waited, but I said nothing.

  ‘If he came into my employ he would not be ill treated,’ Lord Thierry went on. ‘If there was anything he was afraid of, something he had done, a theft perhaps, then let him know that I am the law in these parts and I would not pursue some petty thief.’ Once again Lord Thierry stopped. But again I said nothing.

  ‘You will tell him that if you see him?’

  ‘I do not know the person of whom you speak,’ I replied unsteadily.

  ‘No, of course not.’ A curious tone had come into his voice and I was very aware of how close he was to me and the smell of him, the smell of the sweat of a man, and of the fact that his hands, which I could see with my lowered gaze, had fine tapered fingers. I bunched my own fingers into fists and hoped that he would not notice, as Giorgio had done, that I did not have sun-reddened skin.

  ‘You may go now,’ he said at last.

  ‘Thank you, sir.’ I forced myself not to run from the room.

  I had been in these apartments often enough now to know where the mirrors were situated. I knew how each one was placed and what images they captured. I could not help but glance into the large oval one that stood by the door leading to the staircase. It threw out my reflection. But it also gave me a view into the room I had just left.

  Lord Thierry was watching me.

  Why? Had I aroused some suspicion in him? Was it simply that this man watched everyone? Or was it something else? Had he been compelled to study my retreating form just as I felt compelled to look back at him?

  Like the lodestone that Giorgio had shown me; the stone called magnetite that has the property to attract iron. These elements cannot help this happening. It is in their very nature. The stone cannot be prevented from attracting the iron.

  And the iron cannot resist.

  Chapter Thirty-two

  I FLED TO the safety of the apothecary shop.

  If Giorgio saw that my face was flushed he made no comment. He gave me a tray of pills he’d been making as a treatment for stomach worm and asked me to package and label them. I stood at the counter and did this task while he went on compacting his powders in the moulds to make up another tray. We worked together until we heard the front door of the house bang closed and the sound of a horse trotting away.

  ‘So our illustrious visitor, the noble Lord Thierry, has left,’ Giorgio said, glancing towards the door that led through to the house.

  ‘How did you know who had come to call?’ I asked him. ‘The shop windows only look out onto the lane at this side of the house.’

  ‘Ah, now . . .’ He hesitated. ‘You have me there, Miss Lisette.’ He tilted his head to one side. ‘She who cannot assess the price of a chicken joint, yet whose quick mind asks right away how it is Giorgio knew who had entered the house to consult with Master Nostradamus. Come here and I will show you,’ he said before I could think of any reply to this.

  He shuffled to the door between the shop and the house and pointed at it. ‘What do you see?’ he demanded.

  I looked at the door with its panels of ornate carvings of flowers and leaves. ‘I see the keyhole,’ I said, ‘but you cannot peer through there for the key is always kept in the lock.’

  ‘Look more closely at the right-hand panel,’ he instructed me.

  I went nearer the door.

  ‘Run your hands over there about eye height.’

  I did as he bade me and soon discovered among the carvings the tiny rounded peephole he’d wanted me to find. I put my eye to the opening and saw clearly through to the other side. It gave me a view of the front door entrance, the staircase, and part of the hall going towards the kitchen.

  A person watching here would have knowledge of who came and went and also an insight into a lot of the family business, and I said as much to Giorgio.

  ‘Remember a peephole works both ways,’ he replied.

  ‘Of course!’ I exclaimed. ‘Berthe!’

  Spying from the house side of the door, the kitchen maid would be able to watch everything that transpired in the shop. She would know who came seeking help and for what ailment. In this way she could garner a lot of information about the people of the town. It did not occur to me at the time that the spyhole was too high for Berthe to reach. And if Berthe had constructed it, she would have no need to lean against the door to listen, as was her custom, to find out what was happening inside the shop.

  ‘Why did you feel the need to look though it?’ I asked Giorgio.

  ‘As I returned from buying the Secren seeds I saw Lord Thierry in the next street. When the door knocker sounded I looked to ascertain if he had decided to honour us with a visit. Given the type of business we run here and him being the inquisitive overlord that he is, it is advisable to know what he is about.’

  ‘But this shop is a very helpful one,’ I said. ‘We sell goods that cure ills and ease pain.’

  ‘We also sell those.’ Giorgio pointed to a quantity of printed books arranged on a shelf behind the counter.

  ‘The almanacs?’ I went over and opened one. I riffled through the pages. ‘There are hundreds of these sold throughout Europe. People buy them for guidance in all sorts of things.’

  ‘The almanacs prepared by Master Nostradamus have more information than the ones for sale elsewhere. You may take one to read and you will find that what I say is true.’

  I put one into my apron pocket to look at later.

  ‘Don’t you like Lord Thierry?’ I asked.

  Giorgio responded with a question of his own: ‘Did he get news of his minstrel boy?’

  I started. How did Giorgio know that Lord Thierry sought a minstrel boy?

  Seeing my look of surprise, Giorgio laid his finger alongside his nose. ‘The Lord Thierry may keep his own close counsel but his sergeant and his men-at-arms do not. The story in the town is that there was an upset at the spring market and a minstrel boy was involved. They say the boy took advantage of the rumpus to steal something from the Duke of Marcy. The duke has told Lord Thierry that it must be found or he will complain of his poor law-keeping to the king.’

  ‘What thing?’ I said, aghast. ‘What do they s
ay was stolen?’

  ‘A ring or a brooch, some piece of jewellery. Most likely the boy has sold it already to obtain money for drink. Myself, I find it hard to believe that anyone could steal anything from Marcy with that weasel henchman of his, Bertrand, draped around his neck. But the boy will be found. Thierry is both patient and thorough and does not give up easily.’

  ‘He said he sought the minstrel boy for his musical skills,’ I said, thinking again how wise Mistress Anne had been to make me hide the mandolin as well as my clothes.

  ‘Now, that I could believe,’ said Giorgio. ‘Lord Thierry is said to be very musical and literate. There is a vast library in his castle at Valbonnes where he has the collections of the famous troubadours and manuscripts from the time of the Knights Templar.’

  ‘Then he too should be careful,’ I said. ‘Aren’t the works of the Knights Templar banned by Church and king?’

  ‘Not here,’ Giorgio answered. ‘The south and west of France has always been more . . . rebellious than the north. But,’ he added, ‘he has many of the new printed books too, and they are certainly suspect.’ He looked at me more attentively. ‘What have you heard about him?’

  ‘That he favours the Protestants, that he might even be a Huguenot.’

  ‘A Huguenot! A Huguenot!’ This amused Giorgio highly. He cackled with laughter. ‘That is a rich joke!’ He shook his head. ‘The Huguenots think he is an agent of the Pope. The Catholics believe him to be a sympathizer of the Protestant cause. Perhaps the reality is that he’s a vigilant law maker and a fair judge, and strives to keep both warring factions subdued. But’ – Giorgio shuffled to his workbench – ‘even he will not be able to prevent them ripping each other apart.’

  Chapter Thirty-three

  IT WAS SEVERAL days before I was summoned to speak to the prophet again.

  The sky was darkening and Nostradamus stood by the window of his inner study, staring out at the rising moon.

  ‘I have thought about what we spoke of last,’ he said as I entered the room. ‘And I have told you all that I can recall of my premonition of the death of your sister, Chantelle, but clearly there is some other factor, some link from what happened then to what will come. Some of that past has a bearing on future events. It may be that your sister was the instrument to bring you here. Perhaps your destiny is also connected to the man who directly caused her death, the Count de Ferignay.’

  At the mention of the Count de Ferignay I felt faint. ‘You mean that I will meet him again? I have no wish for that to happen.’

  ‘This is one of the things that we must try to deduce. And also we have to determine’ – Nostradamus began to walk away from me at this point and the sound of his voice was obscure – ‘if you are truly the one.’

  The prophet went to the corner of his room and drew aside the curtain covering an alcove. He opened the door that was concealed there. Inside was a narrow staircase.

  ‘I have consulted all my manuscripts and sacred texts and the only thing that is revealed to me concerning you, Mélisande, is the repetition of certain numbers, all multiples of three. And try as I might I cannot deduce a meaning from them. Now I must seek enlightenment another way. We will go and stand under the stars.’ He beckoned for me to follow him. ‘Tonight the sky is clear and the moon is full, with no cloud to interrupt her light shining upon us.’

  The stairs led to a small platform on the roof. Here a telescope was set up and also a metal table on which stood a jug of water and a bowl.

  I stood beside Nostradamus and gazed up at the vast span of stars that speckled the night sky. The more common ones I recognized: Gemini, the twins, Betelgeuse and Bellatrix, and the mighty hunter, Orion, with belt and sword. My father had pointed them out to me. The names of the mythical heroes and heroines would be remembered for evermore; the ancient gods’ promise of immortality fulfilled to those they had favoured.

  ‘The table is iron,’ Nostradamus told me. ‘The jug and bowl are made of silver. I sent for fresh river water. It came from a certain stream unpolluted by any waste matter, clear from the core of the mountains.’

  He poured water from the jug into the silver bowl. ‘I have used the purest of substances that I am able. Thus we approach this divination with no base metal or material.’ He raised his voice. ‘And with no base wish but only to seek to do good.’

  From inside his coat he took a long thin stick and laid it upon the table.

  ‘Here is a wand made from the root of the rowan tree. The tree that bears the berries signifying the fire brought to man from Heaven.’

  Nostradamus removed his cap and his hair and beard shone white.

  ‘Take off your headscarf,’ he instructed me.

  I did as he bade me and my hair blew about my face.

  ‘Now regard my moonstone ring.’

  I looked intently at the translucent gemstone, and as I did so it appeared to expand to encompass and enfold me.

  Then Nostradamus flung his hands into the air high above his head. In doing this he seemed to grow in stature and force.

  ‘Raise your eyes to the lady moon and allow her brightness to flood your senses!’

  His voice, with such power and authority, brooked no argument. As I lifted my head, somewhere in my mind curled the thought of Giorgio telling me that if one stared at the moon long enough it would speak to you. But the circumstances and the light and the magical presence of the prophet overwhelmed me, and that doubt was gone and only the light remained . . .

  Nostradamus stretched his hands over the bowl and uttered words in a language I did not understand. The moonlight reflected on the water. I looked at the night sky and then to the dish, to the surface, glassy and unruffled, and back again to the sky.

  Nostradamus dropped his fingers into the water and, lacing them together, he scooped up some of the liquid. He continued muttering as he sprinkled water on his left shoulder and his right foot. Then he stretched his hands out to me and allowed the remaining drops to fall upon my head, and I heard him then distinctly say my name:

  ‘Mélisande.’

  He took the wand of rowan root in both hands and, grasping it tightly, he stirred the water in the bowl.

  Three times to the left.

  Three times to the right.

  A thousand pinpricks of light burst across my vision.

  Now I was unsure what was in front of me and what was in my mind. I heard the prophet’s voice sound out again and then the mutter of a repeated phrase. Repeated and repeated and repeated until it became part of me, at one with the rhythm of my breathing, thudding in time with my heartbeat.

  The slow pound of blood in my brain.

  Darkness came down, and once again I was in the palace of Cherboucy.

  High above the great hall I stood. In the pocket of the roof. Below me swung the vast chandelier. Tiered with candles, each individual flame giving out its own red glow, yet creating one vast blaze of light.

  The outer edges of the hall were in darkness. The darkling shadows made by the light from the chandelier became the shape of the outstretched wings of an avenging angel.

  The court was assembled. Two thrones. One for King Charles, the other slightly behind and to the side, for the queen regent, Catherine de’ Medici, placed so that she could whisper advice in the ear of her son. I could hear whispering now, murmuring inside my head. Rustling louder, the black taffeta dress of the royal widow beating ever louder, like monstrous wings.

  The courtiers pressed around, eager to see and hear what was happening. In a cleared space before the king stood Nostradamus. A scatter of gold coins at his feet.

  There!

  I saw it very clearly.

  The pillar where Chantelle and I stood. And she was there, peering round. And I beside her, the light falling on our faces.

  But no!

  She steps back. My dearest, dearest sister, do not do this! I reach out my hand but I cannot prevent her. She moves away into the shade.

  And Chantelle is lost to me.
A sob escapes my lips. For now I know I will never see her again. She is gone for ever.

  Then I see something else.

  In the shadow.

  A moan escapes my lips.

  Nostradamus is gazing intently at my face.

  The shadow moves.

  It is the prophet. The second that he brushes against Chantelle, I feel the blood leave my head. Giddiness.

  Nostradamus reaches out his hand to me.

  ‘You see it?’

  I tried to turn my head away.

  He moved his own to face me.

  ‘You see it.’ And this time it was not a question.

  I nodded. ‘I saw it.’

  The shadow that had encompassed my sister had reached to enfold another.

  A gust of wind from an open door in the great hall caused Nostradamus to shiver. It made the chandelier sway. And the shadow moved across the hall and enveloped the prophet in its grasp.

  The outspread wings of the Angel of Death had fallen upon Nostradamus.

  Chapter Thirty-four

  HAD NOSTRADAMUS NOT supported me I would have fallen to the ground.

  ‘Come,’ he said. ‘Sit here.’

  He helped me to where a wooden bench stood against the chimney stack of the house. Then he poured some water onto my headscarf and brought it to me. My hands shook as I wiped my face.

  ‘You already knew,’ I said.

  ‘Yes,’ Nostradamus replied. ‘Nine months ago when I was preparing this year’s almanac there was a configuration for the month of June that would not resolve itself. To begin with I could not calculate its meaning. It was not connected to a crop failure, a tragic event, or a royal birth. As I could not resolve this conundrum I put it to one side and continued to work on my almanac of predictions for the last six months of this year. The usual happenings presented themselves and in addition a few of prophetic import. However, there was one significant difference.’ Nostradamus sat down wearily beside me. ‘In the past I have always seen myself in the visions I have of these present times. Yet, for the ones in the second half of this year, 1566, I am not there.’