The Nostradamus Prophecy

by Theresa Breslin

  IT WAS CLEAR that we were in a Huguenot town. Most of the inhabitants were dressed in cloth of dark hues relieved by white ruffs or headscarves.

  ‘We are so travel-stained and covered with dust,’ observed Giorgio, ‘that even the prim Protestants will not find our dress too gaudy.’ He looked at me critically. ‘I think it’s better to be clean if we are to present ourselves for employment anywhere.’

  He left me sitting by a fountain for an hour and returned with an almost-new pair of dark breeches and a tunic in my size. He had also bought a jacket in blue cloth with a very plain white collar and cuffs and a blue cap with dark red corded trim which matched the russet of my travelling cloak. From his own knapsack he unfolded his black physician’s coat with matching square hat and put it on.

  ‘It will be difficult for me to make money in a Protestant town if they do not approve of music or other forms of entertainment,’ I said when I had changed my clothes.

  ‘That is a falsehood put about by their enemies,’ said Giorgio. ‘The Queen of Navarre, Jeanne d’Albret, is herself an accomplished musician and loves concerts and musical celebrations. What she objected to at the French court was its frivolous ways and scandalous actions.’

  ‘Do you know someone at the court of Navarre who might give us employment?’ I asked him.

  ‘There was a magistrate in this town who came to Salon four years ago and asked me to prepare a potion to help his wife conceive a child. He was desperate, as they had been married a dozen years and she had failed to give him an heir.’

  ‘And was your medicine successful?’

  Giorgio grinned. ‘So much so that when his third set of twins was born last year he returned and requested me to make him an antidote. I’m hoping that he remembers the skilled physician who helped him have four strong sons and two beautiful daughters.’

  We found the house of the magistrate who had sought Giorgio’s help. When Giorgio declared who he was to the servant at the door the man’s wife herself came to greet him.

  ‘My husband is away on business at La Rochelle, but I know he will be pleased to see you when he gets back. Meanwhile I’m happy to be able to thank you in person, my good Doctor Giorgio. Before I took your remedy I was becoming afraid that my husband might have our marriage annulled as I was barren.’

  ‘I am pleased that all is well with you and your family,’ Giorgio said. ‘I will come straight to the point. You may have already heard that Master Nostradamus has died. His wife has taken to running his business so I decided to move on. I hoped that your husband might make a suitable recommendation for me. And’ – he indicated me – ‘my young nephew here, who is my assistant, and has also some talent as a musician.’

  ‘You have come at the right time,’ said the magistrate’s wife. ‘If you are prepared to travel then there are many appointments being made by the master of the royal household for the excursion to Paris.’

  ‘The court of Navarre is going to Paris?’ Giorgio said in astonishment. He glanced at me. The last news we’d heard in Salon was that Queen Jeanne of Navarre had declared that she and her son would not enter French soil again. ‘I thought that the wars of religion would have meant it was safer for the Huguenots of Navarre to remain within the boundaries of their country.’

  ‘It probably still is,’ said the magistrate’s wife, folding her arms and settling herself against the doorway as she realized that we were not aware of the latest doings and she could be the one to tell us. ‘But there’s been a Pact declared by the King of France, most probably engineered,’ she added, ‘by that Italian maggot who is his mother.’

  In saying this, it didn’t seem to occur to her that Giorgio, being Italian, might be offended by this remark.

  ‘The queen regent, Catherine, is a true Medici,’ Giorgio replied silkily.

  As the magistrate’s wife took this as an affirmation of her own opinion and gossiped on, I saw now how Giorgio was very effective at garnering information.

  ‘This Pact, the Treaty of Saint Germain, is to bring peace to both sides. And to seal it properly . . .’ The magistrate’s wife held her breath to savour the moment of imparting her most exciting piece of news, then she burst out, ‘We are to have a royal wedding!’

  ‘A wedding?’ Giorgio made his eyes huge in anticipation. ‘Who is to be married?’

  ‘Our Prince Henri of Navarre will marry the Princess Margot, sister of King Charles of France!’

  This did seem to nonplus Giorgio. ‘What!’ he exclaimed.

  The magistrate’s wife was well satisfied with his reaction.

  ‘You cannot tell me that Prince Henri and his mother, the Queen of Navarre, have agreed to travel to Paris for the ceremony?’ said Giorgio.

  ‘Not yet. But the most eminent Huguenot in France, Admiral Gaspard Coligny who sits on the French State Council, is to negotiate terms. My husband says he is a resourceful man and will succeed in his aims. Both sides know that without some kind of resolution England and Spain will begin to encroach on the lands of Navarre and France as we destroy ourselves from within. He says it is the one truth that both Protestant and Catholic accept.’

  ‘It must also be to strengthen Navarre’s own claim to the throne of France.’ Giorgio mulled over this momentous development as we returned to the rooms we had rented.

  ‘Prince Henri can never be the king of France,’ I said. ‘King Charles will marry and have children and in any case he has two other brothers.’

  ‘When royal marriages are made, the game is a long one and is for life,’ Giorgio said enigmatically.

  The proposed wedding was the main conversation in the inn where we ate our dinner that evening.

  ‘Coligny must be mad to stay among that nest of vipers,’ said Giorgio.

  My own impression of Gaspard Coligny was of a man with courteous manners and skilled diplomacy which he’d used to good effect. ‘Perhaps he seeks a way to stop the wars of religion?’

  ‘He should know that being a Medici, Catherine, the Queen Regent of France, will concede little. It must already be a thorn in her flesh that the Huguenots effectively rule La Rochelle and other towns inside French territory.’

  Like the magistrate’s wife, the innkeeper was keen to share his information with anyone who would listen. He told us that the recent agreement meant that the Huguenots were to be allowed the same access as Catholics to hospitals and schools and universities. ‘They give us this as if it were a privilege, when it is our right,’ he complained.

  ‘And there you have it,’ observed Giorgio as the innkeeper went away after setting down our dinner plates. ‘Catherine de’ Medici tries to placate each side and annoys both. Another man has told me that the family of Guise are once again fomenting rebellion, being bitterly opposed to paying recompense as ordered by the king for lands and goods seized during the last war.’ He picked up his spoon to begin to eat. ‘Surely the Prince of Navarre would not be so foolhardy as to accept this proposal.’

  I remembered my impression of young Prince Henri. His prowess in the hunt, his rough but engaging ways, and how the Princess Margot had run to hug him when they were parting. She had been a child then. Now she was a woman. Did she retain an affection for him? Or was she being bartered against her will to bring reconciliation between opposing sides?

  Chapter Fifty-eight

  BY CHRISTMAS GIORGIO and I were attached to the royal court of Navarre.

  The gratitude of the magistrate at achieving a healthy family so quickly prompted him to use all his connections to secure us both a place. Giorgio was appointed an apothecary physician, with myself to assist him and play occasionally in the minstrels’ gallery. We were given separate but adjoining small rooms, two of many boxed-off units in a long dormitory-type accommodation, which was rapidly filling up as the court of Navarre began preparations for the impending journey to France.

  And in the midst of this, news came from Provence that the castle of Valbonnes had fallen, that the Lord Thierry had died defending his domain.
And I knew then that it had indeed been his spirit that I had seen in the cairn of the standing stones on the hill overlooking the Isle of Bressay. But I grieved when Giorgio brought me the news and so did the Huguenots, for they had judged Lord Thierry to be a fair ruler of his domain. Now there would be unrest in that region until the king appointed a new overlord, for the Duke of Marcy had also been killed in the battle.

  Giorgio urged me to take comfort that I need no longer fear being pursued by Marcy. And I did have a sense of relief, but it was tempered by the sadness I felt for the death of a man who had loved me faithfully and given his life that I might live – and had made it possible that I might reach Paris to see my father and fulfil the prophecy of Nostradamus.

  Since my vision at midsummer among the standing stones I was now even more convinced of the truth of Nostradamus’s portents and my place in them. I had no understanding of what it was I had to do, but my life’s path had led me to Navarre and I was now part of the court that would accompany Prince Henri to Paris for his marriage to Princess Margot.

  For although during the whole of the following year Gaspard Coligny sent missives from France telling of the constant stalling of the matrimonial contracts, the wrangling over the type of religious service acceptable to all parties, the disagreement of the contents of the bride’s dowry, the lack of concessions granted on both sides, no one really doubted that the marriage would take place.

  Princess Margot was said to be unhappy as she had hoped for a more refined bridegroom. There were rumours that she had fallen in love with the young Duke of Guise and begun a liaison with him and that her mother, on hearing of this, had gone into a paroxysm of fury. Catherine de’ Medici had run to Margot’s bedchamber and, stripping her nightdress from her, had struck and pummelled her daughter repeatedly, pulling handfuls of hair from her head. I recalled Princess Margot’s miserable little face as she sat that evening in the king’s apartments in Cherboucy Palace as the queen regent, Catherine, berated her children. The Princess Margot might protest, but what choice did she have?

  Another memory came to me of that night: of the mirror above the sideboard, the pattern on the frame, the fluidity of the surface and how it had rippled and become still. And then a vivid reflection was before my eyes – the boy and the leopard.

  Melchior and Paladin.

  Had they ever been returned by King Charles to the Prince of Navarre?

  In our first six months at court we did not see the young Prince Henri of Navarre. He spent time with his mother as she taught him statecraft and tried to instil some finesse into her somewhat uncouth boy. Queen Jeanne was attempting to do this before they went to France so that Henri’s manners would not disgrace him among the French courtiers.

  But this man’s passion was hunting and at any opportunity he was off to one of his many hunting lodges. His quest of the moment was to capture a huge bear that had killed several hill shepherds and was becoming a scourge to the mountain villages. Henri used this as an excuse to his mother, saying that he needed to hunt the beast down as it was his princely duty to safeguard his people. When the bear was at last sighted he ordered his chief huntsman to call the royal hunt to muster. So once again I looked down from a palace window and watched the men and horses and dogs assemble.

  And a boy bring a leopard into a courtyard.

  But Melchior was no longer a boy. He was a man. He stood below me and my heart beat faster as I saw his dark tousled hair, his chest filled out broadly under his leather jerkin, his legs sturdy in black breeches and long boots. His arms hung down by his sides. One held the looped chain attached to the collar of his leopard.

  Paladin was fuller, muscular, more dangerous.

  I looked to the distant mountains where they planned to hunt. These were where Melchior had been born, and where he’d vowed that one day he would return so that he and Paladin might run free.

  The hunt was assembled, the weapons sharpened and ready, the animals exercised and stabled in the surrounding buildings. It only required the presence of Prince Henri himself to lead it. He was delayed: he had gone to Eaux-Chaudes to bid farewell to his mother, who was setting out early for Paris as she would travel more slowly.

  While we waited for the prince I mostly helped Giorgio with his work. He was in competition for custom, for there were other doctors and apothecaries at court. Giorgio had brought with him from Salon a bag of instruments and dishes and now used some of Lord Thierry’s dwindling money to buy herbs and powders. I helped him mix and prepare his most popular remedies. Soon word spread, helped by the gossiping magistrate’s wife, and we began to make enough for us to live on.

  I had also presented myself and my mandolin to the master of the queen’s music. To begin with he was disinclined to let an unknown lad be any part of his band of players. But I proved myself by dutifully strumming chords in accompaniment to their daily psalm singing. By the time Prince Henri arrived to lead the hunt I’d been allowed a place in the minstrels’ gallery, which was positioned halfway up the wall on one side of the main hall.

  Prince Henri’s dinner was not the sedate formal meal that usually took place when his mother was present. The young prince was less strict with his religious duties and more lax in every way.

  His favourite dogs were allowed into the room as he ate, whereas his mother would have had them tied up at the door. As dinner progressed Prince Henri sprawled in his chair, chewing at a haunch of meat. One of his hounds nuzzled its head into his lap and tried to seize it from him. He grunted and cuffed it. The dog reared up and put its paws on his chest and slobbered its tongue on his face. Henri allowed the dog to gnaw the bone and pull off a piece of meat. He ate another mouthful himself before he threw it on the floor where the rest of the dogs leaped upon it, barking. I thought of the fastidiousness of the French, and in particular Princess Margot’s love of baths, and decided that this kind of behaviour by Prince Henri would repel her.

  I was not the only person thinking of the upcoming meeting with the French.

  The prince was a popular fellow with his men, his attendants and his friends. He had a broad sense of humour and a liking for practical jokes. This night he was in high humour and his laughter was constant because of the anticipation of a good day’s hunting tomorrow. It became obvious, however, that his companions were concerned for his welfare.

  When one commented that hunting a bear was more risky than stag or boar, Prince Henri’s close friend, Denis Durac, quipped, ‘Far safer for our prince to be in the Pyrenees than in Paris.’

  ‘Hush, Denis,’ Prince Henri scolded him. ‘The queen regent, Catherine de’ Medici, has given assurance to my mother that we will be under no threat. Gaspard Coligny wrote to me to say that King Charles now treats him as a revered father.’

  ‘The promise of a Medici does not fill me with confidence,’ replied Denis Durac. ‘I think you need more safeguards than the word of that duplicitous woman.’

  ‘I will be well protected.’ Prince Henri laughed. ‘I will take my leopard with me.’ He raised his hand in summons. ‘Bring him here to me.’

  From my station in the gallery overlooking the hall I could see both Melchior and Paladin enter the room and stand beside Prince Henri’s chair. I watched them from under the brim of my cap. The animal raised its head as if to sniff the wind. Did it recognize my scent even from so far away? Melchior bent and scratched Paladin behind the ear. Then he straightened up and looked around to see what had aroused the animal’s interest.

  The dogs slunk away to the far end of the hall. There were some birds of prey on perches there, two falcons and a hawk. On the appearance of the leopard they squawked and flurried their feathers, and would have flown off if they had not been tethered.

  I kept my face averted.

  We played on during dinner until we had almost exhausted our repertoire. The other musicians went in and out to relieve themselves or to find food or drink, or dally with the women. All at court took advantage of Queen Jeanne’s absence. The master o
f the queen’s music had drunk a lot of wine and was tired, but we had not been given permission to retire.

  ‘You then, my lad,’ he yawned as he rummaged in his box to find another piece of music. ‘If you can make a decent sound with that instrument, play a tune to take up some time.’

  I bent my head to my mandolin.

  I began to play.

  Proud prince of royal blood art thou,

  Paladin, so nobly named.

  Prisoner of others, yet

  Thy spirit, like the wind, untamed.

  I played but five notes. Melchior raised his head.

  The leopard stood up. A low growl came from its throat.

  Melchior placed his hand on Paladin’s collar. With slow, almost imperceptible movements Melchior’s eyes began to quarter the room. The leopard’s tail swished and it too looked around.

  Swift son of a mighty hunting race,

  Conquest falls to thee.

  I saw Melchior say something and the leopard sat back on its haunches. But its head remained high, its body tensed for action. As was Melchior’s.

  I had almost finished the song before he found me.

  Silent shadow, fleet among the chase,

  Chained now, yet thou shall be free.

  Melchior stared hard but without expression deep into the corner of the minstrels’ gallery where I stood. When I had finished playing he dipped his head in the faintest of nods.

  A warm glow enclosed my heart.

  Chapter Fifty-nine

  WITHIN A WEEK a hunting party set out to track down the bear.

  The animal had wreaked destruction through a group of villages on the outskirts of the forest of Navarre, therefore Prince Henri’s chief huntsman organized the hunt to be assembled in that area. As the royal party progressed to the assembly point the villagers declared that they were being terrorized by the biggest and wildest bear they had ever seen. It was said to be enormous, possessing huge jaws with fangs dripping blood.