As Rachelle beheld the artist’s masterpiece of the king, she did not remember Francis Valois the man of kingly elegance or civilized kind- ness, but saw him for quite another legacy: a selfish, ravenous character who had thrust the tortuous f lame to the faggots of persecution against French Protestants, burning them at the stake in order to pacify intoler- ant Spain. Rachelle remembered from her childhood the stories Maman had told her and Idelette of how Francis I had vented his wrath against Jacques Lefèvre d’Étaples, who had first translated the Bible into French, and who was hunted as a heretic until he escaped with naught but his life to Strasbourg. This beau Renaissance king with his smiling little eyes,
his long nose, and his passion for art, beauty, and literature, had also made it necessary for John Calvin to f lee France for his life.
Rachelle raised her head and continued climbing the stairs, lifting her skirts as she went, meeting the painted laughing eyes with her own calm and quiet confidence.
Here I am, sire, in one of your many chateaus— the niece of one of the
lovers of Scripture whom you killed. You are gone too— you await the day when you must come before the Judge of all men to answer for your rule over the French people. What will you tell him? That you blessed France with great paintings but murdered the true Sovereign’s children?
Rachelle thought of the quiet trips to the Lyon square with her par- ents and Grandmère to remember the day of the burnings. Even John Calvin had written from Geneva to the five martyrs encouraging them for the ordeal that awaited them.
Now, fresh sparks of persecution were about to reignite the com- mencement of the demonic dance once again throughout France.
Duchesse Xenia Dushane was a secret ally of the Huguenots and an amie of the Bourbon leaders, Prince Louis de Condé and Admiral Coligny. Rachelle knew her to be a woman of esteem within the inner echelons of court life and one of those privileged few of high title who belonged to the Queen Mother’s afternoon cercle. Accordingly, la duch- esse possessed much knowledge of the happenings at court. On a number of occasions she had warned Huguenot nobles of the dangers hatched at court to destroy them.
Rachelle and Idelette arrived with Grandmère at la duchesse’s cham- bers where tea was waiting. Grandmère entered first, introduced by the page Romier. Rachelle and Idelette followed, each curtsying in turn to the distant kinswoman from the Dushane family of La Rochelle, a Huguenot bastion and the town for which Rachelle had been named.
Of recent days la duchesse had been obliged to use a cane as some malady had weakened her, for which she was being treated by the king’s own physician. She was several years younger than Grandmère, and both Dushane women wore a crown of silver hair, but their likeness ceased there. Madame Dushane was large boned and tall, and her f lesh was firm, for until her illness she was fond of riding, hunting with the king’s royal party, and walking in the woods with her retinue.
She pushed herself up from her chaise longue, favoring her weight on the black cane sprinkled with red gems. Her white cat, Pandy, leaped away from where it had been lying on a red settee and escaped the nui- sance of guests by slipping behind the gold satin draperies.
“Ah, Henriette, ma petite cousine, bonjour.”
“Bonjour, and may it please Madame Duchesse to soon find herself in fine fettle again.”
Madame’s eyes were brown and lashless, her angular nose pleasantly aristocratic, and Rachelle noted that she had marvelously retained her teeth, which were white and polished. When she smiled, her nose inevi- tably crinkled in a most bon vivant way that never failed to pull a smile from Rachelle no matter her mood.
La duchesse, after greeting Grandmère and dismissing her atten- dants, turned full scrutiny upon Idelette and Rachelle. Rachelle was never certain whether she passed Madame’s inspection. It was Comtesse Claudine Boisseau whom she favored these years, for Claudine was of closer blood and in line to inherit. Rachelle was pleased when, on this occasion, her great-aunt took special notice of her.
“Ça alors! But you have matured into a woman in your own rights
now, Rachelle. I am pleased to have been reminded of it, seeing you again. Not to say how Comtesse Claudine oft reminds me of it and says you are of no silly mind and worthy of serious camaraderie.”
“Merci bien, Madame Duchesse.”
Duchesse Xenia then made kind remarks about Idelette and how she reminded her of her mother, Madame Clair. She lowered herself into a chair and signed them to be seated opposite her with a marble table between, holding sweetmeats and hot and cold refreshments of tea and honeyed lemon water.
Rachelle grew tense, wondering what would be said. The duchesse, she noticed, had weary marks of faintest violet beneath her eyes and her cheeks sagged.
“I could but wish your daughter, Clair, were here now, Henriette. I could always depend on her cool head when action was needed. And where is she now, Geneva, is she not? And with Arnaut?”
Grandmère lowered her voice. “Arnaut will soon return to Lyon with Bibles in the forbidden French language and copies of Calvin’s Institutio Christianae Religionis. Clair wished to attend him this time.”
“A worthy endeavor. My prayers are with them. The Huguenot households in France need doctrine, for they are like restless children tossed to and fro, weighed down with religious traditions that do pre- cious little to break the binding chains. Even so, the danger Clair and Arnaut place upon themselves on these secret journeys terrifies me. And petite Avril?” she asked of Grandmère.
“My youngest granddaughter remains at the Chateau de Silk under care of our family governess.”
La duchesse nodded her approval. “It is a grave time in the history of Christ’s body, his true church. One wonders what will become of us all here in France.”
“Madame Duchesse, our Lord has encouraged us to fear none of those things that shall come upon us. With his strength girding our minds, and his assured amour warming our quavering hearts, we shall yet be his overcomers,” Idelette said. “If God is for us, who can prevail against us?”
A tender smile spread across the older woman’s face. “Fitly spoken, ma cherie, yes, fitly spoken.” She lifted a white hand sparkling with jew- els in Idelette’s direction.
Rachelle watched her sister respond as was the custom, by standing and approaching to offer a brief kiss.
“You bring me bonne cheer, Idelette. With young Huguenots such as yourself and Rachelle to lead the Reformation on its continuing way, we shall indeed overcome our national trial.”
Idelette lowered her head. Grandmère, too, looked tenderly pleased. Rachelle knew her sister had meant every word. A prick in her own heart made Rachelle uneasy. She was not as knowledgeable as Idelette who studied the French Bible every morning and evening before bed. Even here at court, in the very nest of serpents, Idelette read the Scriptures, which if it were known, could mean imprisonment in the Bastille or even death, especially now with the arrival of Cardinal de
Lorraine. Yet her sister persisted, and none could quell her.
“Here, mignon,” la duchesse said to Idelette, suddenly removing a pearl ring set in gold from her little finger. She placed it on Idelette’s palm.
“Oh, but Madame Duchesse, I could not —”
“A mere token of my affection.”
Idelette dropped a curtsy and murmured her delight.
Rachelle looked on. Such actions as la duchesse had just taken were oft done at court by members of the highest nobility, who sometimes were extravagantly generous with those who pleased them in some way which they deemed should be publicly rewarded. Since Duchesse Dushane was a great-aunt through marriage, her presentation was all the more venerable, so Rachelle believed.
Idelette took her place again. Rachelle noticed that she avoided look- ing her way. Idelette embarrassed easily when praised.
“You hinted coming adversity, Madame Duchesse. A scourge upon Christ’s own sheep here in France,” Grandmère said in a quiet voice, her fingers intertwining tightl
y on the lap of her black moiré skirt. “What convinces you it is so?”
Duchesse Dushane’s broad face tightened, and she glanced about the salle de sejour as if making certain they were alone, though she had dis- missed all of her retinue. She leaned forward in her velvet chair, hand clasping the head of her cane, and whispered: “Henriette, I saw who was behind the mask. This messire’s cooperation with le Duc de Guise brings danger and possible death for Huguenots here at court.”
Tension dried Rachelle’s throat. She leaned forward to catch every word.
“Ah!” Grandmère breathed. “I see, yes, I see . . . a Huguenot then?” A Huguenot! Rachelle opened her mouth to protest and ceased when she saw la duchesse nod her head affirmatively and shut her eyes against
obvious disappointment.
“A Huguenot,” la duchesse repeated, “one of our own. A messire who knows the names of those among us who are under-shepherds of Christ. How much else he may know — who can say?”
“But is he a betrayer or a prisoner?” Rachelle inquired.
“One wonders . . . but even if he is not a betrayer, the cardinal will gain the information he wants at the salle de la question, the place of inquisition.”
Grandmère groaned. A small intake of breath came from Idelette.
“I confess, Madame Duchesse,” Idelette said, “I was of a mind to think the mask was but a humorous ruse for the ladies of court, stirring up their festive spirit for the upcoming masque.”
“A jester, you thought? If only that were so, ah, but no. The divert- essement, it has been canceled. Messire’s arrival with the duc and the cardinal is not at all benign. No such comfort can be taken.”
“And what messire is this, Madame?” Grandmère asked, pale and worried of countenance.
“Maître Avenelle. A trusted messire among the Huguenots in Paris. His arrival is a harbinger of sinister treachery. Would God I knew pre- cisely what it is that he has told the duc and the cardinal.”
“But why would they bring him here to Chambord?” Idelette whispered.
La duchesse widened her eyes. “They brought him to Catherine de Medici for some dark reason, bien sûr! What that is?” She shook her head. “Ah, that is what we do not know, mignon Idelette. We must find out.” She looked evenly at each one of them in turn. “Yes. We must dis- cover what is being planned.”
Rachelle struggled to keep her own fears from surging forward like a pack of foxes.
Grandmère sat with her back erect, her frail hands still clasped together. “We know the House of Guise is our enemy; Arnaut believes they are legates of Spain.”
“And they are,” Duchesse Dushane said. “The Guise brothers are two of the most powerful men in France.”
Rachelle recalled that both her père and his cousine Bernard had oft spoken of the House of Guise and their misplaced religious zeal in wish- ing to kill “heretics.”
“Since the death of King Henry, with his son Francis on the throne, and Mary a blood niece of the Guises, they grow more powerful. I have sat in the Queen Mother’s cercle and seen her eyes turn cold when either monsieur walks into the chamber. She knows they are using Mary to influence Francis in ways she cannot. Already, the duc has appointed himself head of the military.
“Appointed himself, Madame?” Grandmère cried. “It is unthink-
able. The gall!”
“And that is the beginning. The cardinal has appointed himself head of the treasury of France.”
Rachelle lifted her brows. “The treasury? But — ”
“But! That too is fitting.” La duchesse’s lips curled. “He will doubtless profit from his action — again, for he is already one of the wealthiest men in all of France. The state church is rich, and he sits in control over it.”
“And the Queen Mother?” Grandmère asked gravely.
“Catherine plots her Machiavellian intrigues, waiting in silence for her day of dark revenge. That is my perception.”
Rachelle believed her, for the duchesse was exceedingly well situated to know this.
“All of this, and Maître Avenelle, what does it mean?” Grandmère furrowed her brow.
“There is a balance of power presently at court between Catherine and the Guises. Catherine fears them because Philip of Spain supports them in all they do, as does Rome. Both have given a command to Catherine to rid France of her heretics, else they will do it for her. That would mean her removal as regent, but far worse, the removal of her sons from inheriting the throne of France in favor of le Duc de Guise. If Maître Avenelle knows of some cause for which the Guises can move against the Huguenots and their political defenders, the House of Bourbon — then Guise may have brought Avenelle here to reveal the matter to Catherine.”
Rachelle’s heart was thumping in her ears. “Then Her Majesty would be forced to move against us.”
“Such is my belief — and it is the belief of the Bourbon princes and nobles.”
Rachelle, who had heard details of the tortures inflicted upon the Protestants in the Netherlands through the visiting theology students from Geneva, found the thought of Spain ruling France horrifying. She saw the same thoughts ref lected in the attentive face of Idelette.
“You see, mes amies, do you not, where this brings us as Huguenots?” la duchesse said.
“These matters are debated and discussed fervently at the Chateau de Silk when Arnaut and Clair are home, I promise you,” Grandmère said. “I lost my son Louis to the f lames. He was one of the Lyon martyrs some years ago.”
“Ah — yes, yes . . .”
“Père’s cousine Bernard Macquinet was trained as a minister under John Calvin at the Geneva Theology school,” Idelette said, “so we know
of these things, Madame Duchesse, yet we never cease to marvel at the ways of the Evil One.”
Rachelle leaned forward, heedful, adding: “Students from Geneva oft come to us at the chateau on their way to edify the small house-churches throughout France. The brothers stay and rest with us a few days before going on their way. But we must not forget we have friends in France, the vassals of Prince Condé, our Huguenot army, who, at a moment’s call from the prince and Admiral Coligny, can form a strong defense.”
“Ah yes, and have done so in the past,” the duchesse said. “Yet, do also consider the even larger army available to le Duc de Guise. My spies tell me the Spanish ambassador has promised him several thousand experienced soldiers from their wars of inquisition in the Netherlands.” “I hardly fathom it, Madame.” Grandmère shook her head in obvious
dismay. “It is not pleasant to think of, but we must, I know.” “We live in trying times, Henriette.”
“Indeed, Madame, and may God grant us grace.”
Moments of silence followed in which Rachelle saw each of them locked in their own thoughts, perhaps wondering what the future might ask of them in the battle for truth.
Duchesse Dushane sighed at last, looking thoughtfully from one to the other. “I think, cher ladies that this generation of God’s people will not escape the fiery trial. We will follow the sanctified footsteps of the early Roman Christians. We must prepare our minds to accept suffering. If not . . .”
Rachelle glanced at Idelette, whose determination ref lected in her blue eyes. Grandmère looked tired. Rachelle longed to plant a kiss on her cheek and throw her arms protectively around her. Grandmère had already experienced too much suffering in her years. But who was Rachelle to say it was too much? How much was too much? Be thou faithful unto death, and I will give thee a crown of life . . .
Do I have the grace to lay down my life if it is required of me? Rachelle shuddered inside, but outwardly she kept her hands folded, partly to keep her trembling from being noticed.
“Madame, if the House of Guise has its way, then the wars of perse- cution ordered by Spain and Rome will prevail,” Grandmère said. “But perhaps Maître Avenelle is not our betrayer. There is a bonne chance
he will give forth no incriminating evidence against the Huguenot
shepherds.”
“We may hope, Henriette, but we dare not suppose. My concern is for Sebastien. If he is named to the duc or the cardinal, then the Bastille or even death may await him.”
Rachelle’s alarm leaped to the forefront. Sebastien! “Oh Madame, this is most distressing.”
“And with cher Madeleine soon expecting her first child.” Grandmère groaned.
“Ah! Ah! Most distressing to be sure,” la duchesse said.
“Apart from the good grace of our Defender, there is naught any of us can do to thwart the deeds of our great enemy. We must pray; we must take upon us the whole armor of God,” Grandmère said.
“How true, Henriette! Catherine will question Maître Avenelle this very afternoon in the council chambers. If one could hear what Avenelle said —”
“Then we must warn Sebastien immediately,” Idelette said.
“If I called for Sebastien to come here, the news would be known by the Guises and Catherine before sunset. Nor can I go to him. It would draw attention. All of my retinue are well-known and watched. I cannot but wonder if somehow my last letter to Prince Condé was discovered, in which I warned him he should not come to court if summoned, for his life is in danger. That is why I called the three of you here to tea. It is most naturel that I should receive kinswomen. It is you who must warn him of Maître Avenelle. He will know what to do to warn the others.”
“Précisément. We will do what we must,” Grandmère said. “We Macquinets go unnoticed. We have come to court from the Silk House for the one purpose only, of sewing for Reinette Mary and Princesse Marguerite.”
The duchesse lifted a sealed envelope from beneath her satin pil- low fringed with gold. “I had thought to send this to Sebastien naming Maître Avenelle, but it is too risky.”
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