Giorgio calmly wiped the sputum from his face. ‘Can you blame them?’ he said. ‘It’s not so long since they were starving when the Huguenot army besieged Paris and killed the constable of the city.’
Giorgio and I had been given accommodation in the house of the Viscount Lebrand where Queen Jeanne was residing. We were allocated space on a basement level with a sink and a bench for the preparation of remedies, and prior to our arrival, Giorgio had sent orders to various Parisian suppliers for special ingredients. Our rooms had an outside door from which stairs led up to the street, which meant we could come and go from the house as we pleased.
Almost immediately Giorgio was summoned to the apartments upstairs to examine an ulcer on the leg of Viscount Lebrand. He left me with the job of unpacking our boxes while he went off to attend to this. I had just hung up my travelling cloak and mandolin on a hook on the wall when the door from the street opened and a man of ill features walked in.
‘Where is Doctor Giorgio?’
‘Not here,’ I answered him in alarm, annoyed at my own foolishness in leaving the door unlocked. ‘Who are you?’
‘Tell him Rodrigo sent this.’ He handed me a small package. ‘It must be used immediately.’
‘Does it contain fresh ingredients?’ I asked him. ‘Will it spoil?’
‘Oh yes,’ he laughed, ‘a lot will be spoiled if it is not used right away.’ He gave me a toothless smile and left.
I knew that Giorgio had been searching through his books for a remedy for the ulcerated leg of the viscount. But I did not know what this ingredient that he’d sent for might be, that it would spoil if not used at once. I decided I had better unwrap it.
I opened the package. It contained a vial with white powder. When I removed the stopper a familiar fruity smell lingered in the air. The powder did not seem to have the density to be useful for a salve and I was curious as to what it contained. I wet my finger, dipped it in and was about to place it into my mouth when Giorgio entered the room via the inside door which led from the house.
‘What have you there?’ he asked me sharply.
‘A man delivered this package for you, for immediate use or it would spoil,’ I told him. ‘I supposed it to be the powder for the salve but I was about to taste it to be sure.’
Giorgio rushed forward and jerked my hand away from my mouth so violently that I fell against the table. I stared at him in amazement. ‘What’s the matter?’
‘That is – that is,’ he stuttered, ‘for a special mixture. I had – I had it prepared – for the purposes of disinfection.’ He lifted a cloth and wiped my finger clean. Then he gave me a little push. ‘Go and find a pumice stone and scrub your fingertip until it’s raw,’ he instructed me.
As I went to the sink to do as he’d ordered I saw him meticulously fold over the packet and tuck it into the inside of his tunic.
‘How is Queen Jeanne?’
‘What?’ he said. ‘Why do you ask that?’
‘Because Prince Henri hoped you would make his mother well enough to enjoy his wedding,’ I reminded him.
‘Of course,’ said Giorgio, ‘yes, I am aware of that. I’ll consult with Queen Jeanne tomorrow, then I will know what to do.’ He looked around in a distracted manner. ‘Now I must go out. There are things I have to deal with.’
I didn’t bother myself much about Giorgio’s errand that evening. In Salon and in Navarre he was always able to source the scarcest ingredients for his recipes. I assumed that already he had established a similar network in Paris. But I was concerned as to his safety. As the date of the royal wedding drew near the city was becoming crowded and dangerous.
As well as the highborn travelling here to view the ceremonies and processions, a vast number of every low type of person was pouring through the gates every day. The wars that had scoured the land had caused famine, and Paris was full of peasants seeking free handouts from the wedding feasts promised for the public to enjoy. All the inns and taverns and monasteries were overflowing with travellers. By day they thronged the streets, at night those without lodging houses lay huddled in the doorways and alleys.
It was past midnight before Giorgio came back. I’d returned to the small room where I’d made a bed for myself, but I awoke when I heard his key turn in the lock of the outside door. He was not alone. There was a murmur of voices and then, to my complete shock, someone very quietly opened the door of my room. I remained still. Giorgio had never before intruded on my privacy in any way. I kept my breathing even, but my body tensed to run or strike out if attacked. I heard Giorgio speak reassuringly.
‘I told you, the boy sleeps deeply. He will hear nothing and suspect nothing, for although useful, he is slow-witted.’
I realized instinctively that Giorgio was saying this to protect me, but even so I felt offended. My impulse was to rise up and declare, ‘I have wit enough to know that there is something wrong with a person who chooses darkness to consult a doctor.’ But the years had passed and I was no longer the reckless young girl I’d once been. So I lay without moving and did not speak.
My room door closed and I heard nothing more. And I was too frightened to rise from my bed to try to eavesdrop on the conversation in the other room.
Chapter Sixty-two
IN THE WEEKS leading up to the wedding the heat in the city grew oppressive.
And as the heat increased, so did the discord between the citizens of Paris and the peasantry from the countryside, between the native French and the visitors from Navarre, between Catholic and Protestant.
Thieves and street girls stole openly from the visitors, innkeepers charged inflated prices, shopkeepers cheated and fleeced anyone and everyone. Beggars formed themselves into gangs and became belligerent if refused alms. The rule of law crumbled under the onslaught.
The main target of discontent became the Huguenots. They were easily identified by their dress and manner. They found themselves ostracized, denied food and lodging, jostled and insulted whenever the opportunity arose.
Clergy from either side preached openly against the marriage. The words of the preachers inflamed the senses of the congregations. As the days went on the mood of the people rose through irritation to annoyance and boiled over into outright anger.
The situation in the city was mirrored within the house of Queen Jeanne d’Albret. While we awaited the arrival of Prince Henri, his mother was subjected to an endless stream of messages from the French court, containing instructions, suggestions and in some cases demands. When she was informed as to the format of the ceremony Queen Jeanne stated that her son’s Protestant faith meant that he could not enter the cathedral of Notre Dame to be married. A compromise was suggested by Gaspard Coligny. It was arranged that a platform would be erected in the square in front of the cathedral where Prince Henri and Princess Margot could be married. The queen regent, Catherine de’ Medici, insisted that a ceremony must be held within a Catholic church. So it was agreed that a proxy would take Prince Henri’s place for this.
In return Queen Jeanne sent messages to King Charles, who had taken up residence in the Louvre, asking to speak to him directly and not through his mother. But the young king had been completely captivated by another adviser, Gaspard Coligny. King Charles now called the Huguenot leader ‘Father’ and allowed him greater and greater influence over decisions of state and defence.
Giorgio and I were in constant attendance on Queen Jeanne of Navarre as her health varied with the stresses upon her. Recently Giorgio had become waspish and short-tempered. He’d had at least two more visits in the middle of the night from people unknown to me. When I’d awoken again to hear voices in the outer rooms I’d kept my eyes and my door firmly closed. But on one of these occasions I’d heard Giorgio raise his voice and say, ‘It is not necessary to do this. Time will bring the same conclusion.’
The conversation continued at a level I could not hear.
His manner with Queen Jeanne was sympathetic and caring but he did not discuss her treatment
with me as he would normally have done with any other patient.
She meanwhile complained less about her health and more and more about the French royal family and their imperious ways.
‘I am of royal birth and an heir in my own right,’ she protested on one occasion, ‘a grandchild of a king of France. My son, Henri, is of the blood royal, from my ancestry and from his father’s Bourbon family.’
To which Catherine de’ Medici was said to have replied, ‘It is by my permission that the Bourbons hold any title and I am minded to withdraw that licence.’
One day as Giorgio was removing leeches from Queen Jeanne’s arm, Gaspard Coligny arrived for an audience.
‘You are better today, madame?’ He kissed her fingers.
‘I have the attention of a good doctor here,’ said Queen Jeanne, ‘sent to me by my son.’
Gaspard Coligny’s hair had become more grey and sparse since I last saw him. He nodded briefly to Giorgio.
‘And how do you fare, my friend, Admiral Coligny?’ Queen Jeanne enquired in turn. ‘Do you manage to keep your patience with that foolish and self-indulged boy they revere as king?’
Giorgio handed me the basin of blood and began to remove the tourniquet from the queen’s arm. Suddenly there was a flurry of movement at the door. Giorgio looked round and dropped the cloth he was holding.
The queen regent, Catherine de’ Medici, accompanied by her son, had arrived unexpectedly to visit Queen Jeanne.
‘Father!’ King Charles cried out in joy, and hurried forward to embrace Gaspard Coligny.
Both older women in the room looked on in disapproval at Charles’s precipitate behaviour.
‘I do hope that you will recover sufficiently to attend the wedding of my daughter and your son,’ Catherine de’ Medici said smoothly.
‘It is my hope also that the wedding will take place, madame,’ replied Queen Jeanne.
There was a pause as Catherine de’ Medici digested the veiled threat that had just been made by Queen Jeanne d’Albret.
‘I came to thank you for the many gifts you have bestowed upon my daughter and myself.’ Catherine de’ Medici chose to ignore the implication that the wedding might be cancelled by the Navarre side. Her eyes roved around the room as she spoke. Her gaze alighted on me for a second then passed on.
‘As I thank you for yours,’ replied Queen Jeanne.
‘Yes . . .’ Catherine de’ Medici paused. ‘There was a most particular present sent to you earlier today.’ She smiled, and somehow this was more sinister than any of her severe looks. ‘I had a pair of white leather gloves of the softest kid-skin made especially for you.’
‘I received them with pleasure,’ said Queen Jeanne.
‘I am happy about that,’ said Catherine de’ Medici. And she smiled warmly at Queen Jeanne as if this small courtesy had pleased her enormously. ‘And I would be most grateful if you would at least try them for size very soon so that if there is any alteration needed then I can have it attended to immediately.’
As Queen Jeanne tried to rise from her day bed, Catherine leaned forward solicitously. ‘I hope your health will improve that you may see your son joined to the noble house of France.’
Queen Jeanne ignored the insinuation that her son Henri was not already part of the French nobility and said, ‘I have been unwell, but the attentions of the doctor my son sent to care for me means that I will be fit enough for whatever ceremonies I may have to attend over the next few weeks.’
Despite having his presence pointed out to her, Catherine de’ Medici did not glance in Giorgio’s direction.
And that did make me wonder, for my memory of this woman was very clear in that respect. When she entered a room her eyes searched out every corner. She noted who was there and what position they occupied. She weighed up an individual’s importance, their threat, their influence. Assessing each person as to how much use they might be, or what amount of harm they could do.
There was shouting from the street and the noise of horsemen passing. ‘No doubt another contingent of your countrymen entering Paris,’ Catherine de’ Medici commented haughtily.
Queen Jeanne returned Catherine de’ Medici’s look with an equally proud stare. ‘My son has many friends who wish to rejoice with him on his wedding day.’
Catherine glanced from the window. ‘But that body of soldiers are French!’ she exclaimed. ‘And they are marching away from the centre towards the gates. I gave no order for troop movement.’
Gaspard Coligny smiled towards King Charles as he replied smoothly, ‘You know of this, sire. The Protestants of the Netherlands need help from their brethren in France and Navarre. It’s a noble act to send arms to assist them else their Spanish overlords would execute them all for their beliefs.’
‘You have allowed a contingent of French troops to go to the Netherlands to fight against Spain?’ Catherine’s voice was incredulous.
Charles looked in confusion from his mother to the man whom he now called Father. ‘When Gaspard explained the foreign situation I deemed it the right thing to do.’
Catherine strove to keep her voice calm. ‘Spain could deem this an act of war and invade us.’
‘It seems a reasonable thing to me,’ King Charles pleaded with his mother.
Catherine controlled her anger and managed a grimace of a smile before saying, ‘What is reasonable is that I should always be kept informed before such a thing should happen.’
‘Your pardon, madame,’ said Gaspard Coligny. ‘But I did not think it necessary to explain the orders of the king himself to anyone.’
I heard an intake of breath from Giorgio.
‘Perhaps then you might explain this to me,’ said Catherine de’ Medici. ‘I note that many of the Huguenots walking about the streets of Paris carry weapons. When does it happen that guests at a wedding are armed?’
‘When it is that the hosts are also armed,’ Coligny replied without hesitation.
Catherine de’ Medici looked to her son, waiting for him to reprimand Coligny for speaking to her in this impudent manner. But Charles only nodded and said, ‘That is a fair comment.’
Queen Catherine bit her lip. With her skirts swirling she swept from the room.
Giorgio nudged my arm. ‘Take away this basin of blood,’ he ordered.
I hurried off with the basin to our rooms to empty it into the sink. A jumble of pots and trays were lying there, awaiting cleaning. I hesitated. Giorgio’s rule of good hygiene took precedence over everything else. Bad blood could contaminate, and must be kept apart from all other things. I recalled seeing a drain just outside our door. I went outside and knelt down to empty the contents of the bowl into the opening. Thus I was positioned out of sight directly under the stair arch of the main doorway of the house as the queen regent, Catherine de’ Medici, hurriedly left the villa.
As she ascended into her carriage I heard her speak. In a voice shaking with fury she gave an instruction to her equerry.
‘Send this message privately to the Duke of Guise. Tell him that the time has come.’
Chapter Sixty-three
THAT NIGHT I was once more roused from my sleep in darkness.
But this time it was not by the sound of lowered voices and someone creeping quietly near my room. The noise was loud and the person was crying in a high voice, ‘Doctor! Doctor Giorgio!’
I sat up in bed. The door to the inside corridor of the house shook under the pounding of fists. I scrambled for my clothes and cap and was opening the door before Giorgio was fully awake.
A dishevelled servant stood there. ‘The doctor must come at once! Queen Jeanne is sick unto death!’
Giorgio grabbed his doctor’s bag and hurried upstairs in his nightgown with me running after him. It was clear immediately on entering the queen’s bedroom that there was nothing he could do. There was nothing anyone could do. The corpse of Queen Jeanne sat propped up on pillows with eyes fixed and staring straight ahead. Her face was as white as her hands lying on the bed c
overlet.
‘I need everyone to go away.’ Giorgio spoke out firmly.
The servants of the bedchamber did as he asked. Giorgio opened up the bag he’d snatched up on his way out of our rooms. ‘You too,’ he said to me in a low voice. ‘I will verify that the queen is dead and make the announcement. You must attend to any of her ladies who may become hysterical.’
I did as he requested. Giorgio loosened the bed drape so that it fell across his back as he leaned over the body of the dead Queen. A small collection of people began to gather at the door. The Viscount Lebrand appeared and pushed his way through.
‘What is amiss?’ he demanded. He strode towards the bed and pulled the drapes aside. ‘Has the queen suffered another attack of her illness?’
Giorgio straightened up. He closed his medicine bag, turned to the viscount and said, ‘I am sorry to have to tell you that Queen Jeanne has passed on from this earth. She has been dead at least an hour.’
At Giorgio’s words wailing broke out among those round the door. Just as he’d predicted, one of the ladies began to shriek and moan and rend her garments.
Giorgio glanced in her direction. ‘Let me go now and bring some smelling salts and soothing medicines to calm these ladies’ nerves.’
The viscount nodded at him gratefully while the queen’s attendants clutched each other, weeping.
As Giorgio lifted his bag and hurried off, one of the ladies ran to the bed and, grasping the queen’s hand, began to sob plaintively. I put my arms around her shoulders and tried to draw her away. But she resisted, and held on more tightly, kissing the back of the queen’s hand with its yellowed and age-mottled skin. The Viscount Lebrand intervened, and coaxed this lady out of the room to be with the others. Soon the whole house was filled with lamenting. Like her son the Queen of Navarre was loved by her subjects.
Despite the death of Queen Jeanne it was agreed that the wedding of her son, Henri, was still to take place. It was not to be delayed, though Henri did grieve for his mother. She had been serious-minded while he was light-hearted. She was refined while he was more casual in his manners and speech. But they had cared for each other. Out of respect for what he believed were her wishes Prince Henri declared himself content to go ahead with his marriage on the eighteenth day of August.
The Nostradamus Prophecy Page 28