The Nostradamus Prophecy

by Theresa Breslin

  ‘The boy has great command of this animal,’ he said. ‘The leopard must view him as an equal, if not its master.’

  Then I related how Melchior had put together the disguise that had transformed me into a minstrel boy. There was a look of satisfaction on Lord Thierry’s face when I related this part of my life story to him. He nodded his head once or twice and murmured something to himself.

  Eventually he had heard all of it. It took the space of several weeks, because at certain points I was overcome and could not continue. But it was also because Lord Thierry wanted to know everything. He would ask me to repeat conversations I’d had or explain how such an event had come about and what I had been doing before and afterwards. He was curious about my father’s life, of how he had met my mother and been captivated by her. Of how her parents’ disapproval had given way under the constancy and intensity of their love for each other.

  The Isle of Bressay was about a week’s ride from here, Lord Thierry told me, and yes, he said, he knew enough about it to see why any man might covet it for his own property.

  ‘It’s a sizeable house with pretty gardens all around. It sits on an island in a lake well stocked with fish. The land is very fertile so the yearly yield for the landowner would be good enough to live a comfortable life.’

  He went on to quiz me on any detail I could dredge up from my past. He was very interested in the countries I had travelled through. He had never been to England but he had been in Spain. He too had watched the result of the courts of the Inquisition: condemned men and women walking to their deaths by burning or hanging.

  ‘If only the two Christian faiths could live in harmony,’ I said.

  ‘There are more than two now, Mélisande,’ he pointed out. ‘And soon, where now there are three or four, there will be a dozen or more. It’s the nature of things. All will seek their own interpretation, with the accompanying discord. It would fit us better to think of ways of addressing how we might accommodate, rather than destroy, each other.’

  ‘Each thinks the other worships God in a false way and will not yield their own belief.’

  ‘They do not have to. But the fighting that is tearing France into pieces is not about Faith. It’s about greed and power and the acquisition of wealth and man’s wish to control another and have him work to save himself the labour of doing so. It is what drives this strife. The Duke of Marcy no more cares about his God or Holy Church than does the kitchen cat. That was evidenced in how he slaughtered the priest who tried to prevent him molesting you.’

  ‘So there is no solution?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ He shrugged. ‘Not now, perhaps never. The person who truly rules France, the queen regent, Catherine de’ Medici, is convinced that what she does is for the greater good. She is deluded with what she believes to be her divine power.’

  ‘At least she tries,’ I protested. ‘Here in France to be Catholic or Protestant does not necessarily make your life forfeit.’

  ‘Yes, but what drives her is self-interest. She holds her family’s right to rule as paramount. Watch her tolerance dissipate if she thinks her children’s sovereignty is threatened. If necessary, our so-called accommodating queen would fight like a she-wolf to defend her young and their right to sit on the throne of France.’

  And so it was.

  A senior member of the House of Guise was murdered. In retaliation a leading Huguenot lord was attacked and summarily executed. The royal family were threatened with abduction and came close to being captured. The Constable of Paris was killed when the city was besieged by a Huguenot army. Spain sent Catholic troops to the Netherlands to quell rebellion there. Catherine de’ Medici was outraged that they tried to pass through French territory without her permission. Elizabeth of England responded by sending soldiers to aid the Protestant cause. Reports came to us of atrocity and counter-atrocity. Violence escalated as the economy deteriorated. France was being driven to the brink of ruin, watched by two predatory neighbouring nations of opposing beliefs.

  Lord Thierry reported these things to me and we discussed religion and politics. He was fascinating company, part instructor, part friend. He shared with me his thoughts and experiences, and I told him everything about me.

  Except for one thing.

  Of the papers that I carried containing the prophecies of Nostradamus, I said nothing at all.

  Chapter Fifty

  IN THE YEAR of my fifteenth birthday Lord Thierry informed us that he was undertaking a long journey and might be away for many months.

  He instructed Marianne to pack up for him an assortment of formal and elegant clothes. This was very unusual, for normally he wore the plainest of dress. Then he set off with an armed escort of six of his best and most trusted men-at-arms. I knew that he’d not gone to any of the nearby towns, for the messages he sent to Robert in Valbonnes contained instructions for dispersal to other garrison commanders. In this way he was seeking not to make it known that he was absent from his domain.

  Over the first six to nine months these messengers came at frequent intervals, but then there was no word from him at all. The weeks passed. Marianne and I fed on each other’s anxiety. We imagined him set upon by highway robbers, or the victim of an accident. Perhaps his horse had thrown him and he was lying in a gulley with a broken leg, dying for want of attention? Only Robert remained calm. He’d been with his master for more than fifteen years and his faith in Lord Thierry’s return was unswerving. But as time elapsed he too started to worry at his absence and silence. And then, on a late spring afternoon of the first year of the new decade, Lord Thierry came riding in from the north, both horse and rider covered in dust. He spoke briefly to Robert before going to the library, where he asked me to join him as soon as I was able.

  He was standing by his desk when I entered the room.

  ‘I am glad you are returned safely, my lord,’ I said. And I was surprised at how very happy I was to see him again. Only as Marianne had rushed to find me to say that the sentry had recognized his horse on the approach road to the castle had I realized how much I’d missed him.

  Lord Thierry acknowledged this by inclining his head. Then he said, ‘I have some news for you.’

  Something in the tone of his voice made me wary. ‘News that I will be glad to hear?’ I asked him.

  ‘Perhaps not all of it,’ he said. ‘Some of it is worrisome, but part of it is the best news you might want to know.’

  ‘The best news?’

  ‘Your father is alive.’

  I flung out my arms and Lord Thierry caught me and held me. It was he who stepped back first. ‘Now,’ he said. ‘The rest is not so joyous.’

  ‘My father is in prison?’ I cried out. ‘He is ill? He has been tortured! They have beaten and maimed him. Oh no!’ I put my hands to my face. ‘Have they broken his fingers so that he cannot ever play again?’

  ‘Hush! Hush, hush.’ He took my hands away from my face and held them lightly. ‘I will tell you what I know. But you must not allow your mind these wild imaginings.’ He led me to sit by the fire and sat opposite me. ‘Firstly I went to Paris, for you’d told me that your father was taken as a royal prisoner and I reckoned that’s where he would be sent. I made enquiries there but no one knew much of him. A few people had heard of a talented minstrel who was in the employ of the king. So I thought that I must seek out the place where the court was in residence.’

  ‘Are they in hiding as everyone says they are?’

  ‘Not quite, but the political situation is very bad. Much worse than I thought. We think it is tense here with constant outbreaks of quarrelling; in the north it is far more volatile. These grasping nobles will rend each other like mad dogs and take all of the land and populace of France with them. There are towns under siege. The roads are horrifically dangerous. Where the rule of law is disregarded then every murderer and brigand roves the highways looking for easy prey. I located the court at Finderre, but it proved hard to gain access to the château there. Only by dint o
f claiming kinship with an old friend of my father’s was I able to get close enough to find out what I wanted to know.’

  ‘You went all that way and took such risks to find out this for me?’

  ‘I did,’ he replied.

  ‘I thank you,’ I said. ‘I—’

  ‘No matter,’ he interrupted me, and went on quickly. ‘The security was strict but finally I was able to stand in the hall while the king held audience for the local clergy on the feast of the birth of Our Lady.’ He raised his head and smiled at me. ‘Beside the king’s chair stood a minstrel.’

  ‘Ahhh.’ I clasped my hands to my heart.

  ‘Even though I was some distance away and have never met your father I would have recognized him immediately.’

  ‘How so?’ I asked, for I was not said to be very like my father at all.

  Lord Thierry smiled. ‘The manner in which he played. It was obvious to me that your love and skill in music is inherited from this man. He is an exceptional and gifted musician.’

  ‘He is very talented,’ I agreed.

  ‘His daughter doth surpass him if she but knew it,’ Lord Thierry murmured in reply.

  I felt myself blush. ‘How is he?’ I asked.

  ‘My impression, and from enquiries I made, is he seems thinner than he was some years ago when tragedy befell him. Apart from that he is well, but troubled in his mind about the disappearance of his daughter, Mélisande.’

  ‘Did you not speak to him?’

  ‘I was unable to do that.’

  ‘But you got word to him to tell him that I was alive and enjoying your protection?’

  Lord Thierry shook his head. ‘He is watched at all times and sleeps in a locked room. I could not get to see him without arousing suspicion. Already it was noted that I was at court. This caused comment for it’s known that I never attend functions unless commanded to do so by royal summons.’

  ‘You could have sent my father a secret message!’ I wailed in disappointment.

  ‘Mélisande, I could not. It would have endangered both your lives. Who could I trust to do this for me? The court is full of liars, thieves, charlatans and cheats.’

  ‘You might have written an anonymous note!’

  ‘Think of the number of informers and spies that cluster round King Charles,’ said Lord Thierry. ‘I would have been arrested within the hour. And supposing I had done so? I believe your father would not have been able to conceal his happiness. His change of manner would have been remarked upon. And in this way he would have betrayed you. You know he would not have wished this.’

  Despite my agitation I saw the wisdom of his words.

  ‘Although his freedom is curtailed he is not suffering serious deprivation. He has the favour of the king. It seems his music eases the frequent headaches from which King Charles suffers.’

  I slumped in my chair. Lord Thierry sat back in his. I saw the weariness in his face and I recalled that he’d only just ridden into the courtyard on his horse, caked in sweat and dust. I was ashamed of my ungraciousness. ‘I am sorry if I sound ungrateful,’ I said. ‘You have brought me good news. My father is alive and not languishing in a dark prison cell. I am happy about that. And despite your protest,’ I went on, ‘I will thank you for travelling halfway across France to catch up with the court just to find out about my father.’

  ‘Don’t thank me yet. You may not welcome the rest of the news I learned.’

  I raised my head and looked at him anxiously.

  ‘The Count de Ferignay has laid claim to the Isle of Bressay.’

  ‘What!’

  ‘The count claims this on behalf of his kinsman, Armand Vescault, who is his vassal, and therefore all of Armand’s goods are his.’

  ‘He killed Armand!’ I cried out.

  ‘No body has been found. Armand is missing, and—’

  ‘Tell me,’ I said as he broke off.

  ‘And so are you,’ he continued. ‘The Count de Ferignay is a perfidious man. He is moving to have all of the Isle of Bressay signed over to him. He has put it about that perhaps you pushed your sister, Chantelle, from the window of the tower on her wedding morning so that you and Armand could run off and marry.’

  ‘Eeeeee!’ I screamed.

  Lord Thierry started up in fright. ‘Mélisande! Control yourself. You will scare the wits from Marianne, who will run to Robert and he will arrive here with a dozen armed soldiers.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I sobbed, ‘but that is the most base accusation I have ever heard.’

  ‘Your father has refuted all of it. Because of his high standing with King Charles it has been decided there has to be a proper hearing of the matter. This will take place when the country is more settled and there has been time to gather evidence to place before the king.’

  ‘Armand was never married to Chantelle,’ I pointed out.

  ‘An engagement can be equally binding. Contracts were exchanged and signed.’

  In my head now I heard the Count de Ferignay’s reply when my father had first told him of Chantelle’s inheritance. Interest had resonated in the count’s voice when told that she would inherit in her own right.

  ‘That man is wicked. Is there no end to his perfidy?’

  ‘The Count de Ferignay owes money to many important people. As his debts grow he becomes more desperate.’

  I got up and went to the window. Better perhaps that I was thought dead. Then my father could at least have my half of the Isle of Bressay. I leaned my forehead against the glass panel. ‘What’s to be done?’ I said in despair. ‘There is no way that I can see to solve this.’

  ‘There is one thing that you could do that would grant you safety’ – Lord Thierry paused before continuing – ‘and would guarantee you enough status that you might approach the king direct to make your case.’

  I turned from the window. ‘What is that?’ I asked him.

  Lord Thierry looked up from the chair in which he sat and said,

  ‘You might marry me.’

  Chapter Fifty-one

  HE TOOK ME completely by surprise.

  And, realizing that, he rose up from his chair and stood in front of me.

  ‘Forgive me,’ he said. ‘You are a young girl, you have read the romantic poems and the love ballads and I should have made this suggestion in a more gentle and courteous manner.’

  ‘I’m not a woman whose head is turned by flattery and compliment,’ I said unsteadily.

  ‘Nevertheless I would not like you to think that I only wish to marry you to help you fight for justice for your family.’ He took my face between his hands. ‘You captivated me from the first moment we met.’

  I smiled then, despite the turmoil of the emotion within me. ‘You mean when I was a minstrel boy, sir?’

  ‘Do not mock me, Mélisande. Yes, there was a stirring in my soul when I first heard you play. The way you bent your head as you cosseted the mandolin made me long to be near to the person who made such music. And in the house of Nostradamus, when I encountered you as the servant girl I felt my spirit move again. I was unsure, confused, as to what was happening to me. I have known women and this was different. Can it be that a soul has a twin, as the people of the east believe? That we are separated at creation and we have to search the world for our other half? And, in rare cases, a person might find the one who makes him or her complete?’

  He raised his hands and let them fall by his side. ‘I did not know. I thought that I would wait and see if my attraction for you faded, but it has become stronger.’

  I asked him to give me time to consider my future. I was just sixteen. He was at least twice my age. But it was not unusual for a girl to marry a man older than herself. He was kind and good, and I realized with some shock that I was deeply attracted to him. And how I longed for some constancy in my life.

  He had the good sense to leave me alone for a while. There was a lot of business for him to catch up with. Information had come to him that the Duke of Marcy had been stockpiling ammunit
ion and armaments and that his network of spies was active again. The duke was obviously plotting some uprising but what form it would take and when it would happen was unknown. Lord Thierry rode out to Salon to check personally on the prisoner Bertrand and to be seen about the town again.

  When he was gone I had a dream.

  Lord Thierry and I were riding in the forest and I dismounted in a clearing as he rode on. He asked me to wait for him there, but as I did the trees grew in around me. All the old tales came whispering into my head. Goblins and sprites, wood faeries and tree demons flitted around me and spied on me from the undergrowth. Then the lines scored on one tree trunk took life before my eyes: the grooves filled out and curled into hissing snakes which twined and intertwined with each other.

  I walked towards the tree. It was a mountain ash. The rowan, which carries the red berries to signify the fire stolen from Heaven, and is a sacred tree. The rowan, from whose root Nostradamus had fashioned his divining rod. The snakes became still and then re-formed into the shape of a man. The figure detached itself from the bark and stood apart. So bent over, so stooped and frail was this person that at first I took him to be Giorgio. But then I saw it was the prophet himself.

  Nostradamus.

  He wore his ring that shone with the milky white of the moonstone and he leaned upon his silver walking stick. He acknowledged me. Then he opened his mouth to speak. And his tongue was a tongue of fire, and flames came from his mouth. In the centre of the flame I saw the sun burn like a ball of white light.

  And I was afraid.

  His voice was in my head.

  Mélisande. Are you mindful of my vision for you?

  ‘I do not know what to do,’ I said and began to cry.

  To which Nostradamus replied, ‘Do not be upset. It is not given to everyone to undertake the task that may be allotted to them. The person has to accept the charge. They must believe that they are the one.’