Daughter of Silk

by Linda Lee Chaikin

  “Mary?” Francis turned toward him, showing concern for the first time. “Why would the Huguenots wish to harm the queen?”

  “Huguenots are sworn enemies of the throne, Sire,” the duc said impatiently as if speaking to a child. “You do not think in abducting you for ransom they would spare our niece, do you?”

  “Your niece, Duc, but my wife and the Queen of France,” the king said, showing strength for the first time.

  “It is no secret they wish to see you dead so they can put Prince de Condé on the throne. We must protect you, Sire, and the rest of the royal family.”

  Andelot decided they had forgotten him, for even the cardinal turned his attention to Francis. Andelot wondered if the council meeting with the Bourbons had been called off. But had not Gallaudet told him early this morning that Fabien had ridden toward Blois to meet the Bourbon entourage coming from Moulins to attend the meeting? Andelot decided he was either confused, or that events were skewed for some purpose favoring the Guises and the Queen Mother. And why was the Queen Mother not here for this important meeting with the king?

  Andelot stood very still, hoping they would forget his presence and continue their discussion. The cardinal walked over to a crimson velvet curtain and pulled it aside, peering about inside. Andelot saw a couch and two chairs, a table and some candles on gold urns.

  “We can listen from here,” he told his brother the duc. Then the car- dinal smiled at Francis, who moved uneasily. “That way, Sire, if you know your oncles are behind this drape, you will not be uneasy in the presence of the spies.”

  Francis looked at him and then reached for his goblet and sipped.

  Why, the cardinal is cunningly threatening the king! Andelot was shocked. What spies? Did they think Marquis Fabien was a spy? Or was there something else going on that was more insidious?

  “Andelot, my boy,” the cardinal said, smiling again. “You are a friend of the Huguenots, are you not?”

  He lifted his head high. “I am a Catholic, Monseigneur le Cardinal.

  A good Catholic —”

  “Yes, yes, no one is accusing you otherwise. Only we may need your help. Are you willing to assist your king?”

  Andelot looked over at Francis who still looked uneasy and ill. He was feeling more sympathy for him by the moment.

  “I will do whatever the king wishes of me.” He bowed.

  “Yes, I thought we could trust you to aid us in a certain matter. You are friendly with certain of the Huguenots from Lyon. Mademoiselle

  Macquinet, for instance. Non, do not look alarmed — this has nothing to do with the belle with the auburn hair . . . but other Huguenots, who are friendly with the pestilent Bourbons, enemies of our good king. These spies, we fear, are loyal to the Lyon nobles, including one Comte Arnaut Macquinet.”

  Andelot’s stomach f lopped.

  “We have reason to believe this Macquinet makes forbidden trips into Geneva for heretic Bibles and brings them back into France for distribu- tion to the Huguenots. These writings, as you know — ” he smiled — “as a good Catholic, are forbidden. Those who possess such writing or dis- tribute them receive a death sentence. For the good of all the Church, the leaven must be purged out. This, to protect the whole lump of God’s dough. So you have been chosen to help your king in this matter.”

  Andelot’s heart jumped to his throat. His lips would not move.

  “Ah, then.” The cardinal looked across at le Duc de Guise. “Andelot will prove useful to us. He learns well.”

  Useful? Andelot looked from the cardinal to the duc. The two men

  exchanged questioning glances. At last the duc gave a brief reluctant nod, then continued his pacing.

  “There are enemies in the woods,” le Duc de Guise told Francis Valois. “They must be destroyed, Sire.”

  “We caught several of them,” the cardinal joined in. “Spies. They will talk to no one, Sire, but you.”

  Andelot’s mind hastened to keep one step ahead. This must be part of the plot Maître Avenelle told the Queen Mother about at Chambord.

  “Mary and I feel like prisoners here,” Francis complained. “She wishes to go for rides in the woods.”

  “Everything has changed since the masque, Sire,” the duc said. “These spies behave most suspiciously. Your life and Mary’s are heavily on my mind as your Marshal of France. Remember, the queen regent, your mother, also agrees with what we are doing.”

  “Yes, Oncle. I am grateful for your loyal commitment to keeping us all safe from the rebels.”

  “It is important to find out their plans, but as the cardinal has said, they will not talk to anyone but you.”

  “We want you to receive these heretics, Sire,” the cardinal added. “We will tell you just what to say, so it should not be difficult . . . We know you are not feeling strong today.”

  The door opened and the Queen Mother walked in. There was a cool look in her prominent eyes. Andelot marveled at her composure, at how she kept her face seemingly devoid of thought. It was an art he wished he had at the moment. They expected something from him, but what? They needed him, else he would not be permitted to witness such inner intrigue as was now in play.

  She walked over to Francis.

  “My son, you do not look well today. Did the banquet and masque wear you out? Let us hope you are strong enough to receive these spies.”

  “Yes, Mother. I am able, but is it necessary to deceive them?”

  The awkward silence that followed was soon broken by Catherine’s smile.

  “Ah, my clever son, sometimes it is most necessary to keep hidden certain matters so as to learn the truth of your enemies. I assure you, the knife they would gladly plunge into your heart is concealed. You cannot trust anyone but those of us nearest you, who love and protect you and Mary.”

  Andelot watched Francis. Did he believe her honey-coated lies? Maybe not, for a glimmer showed in his eyes, but there was a look of fear in his tense face. Andelot felt a surge of disgust toward those who bullied him.

  “If — if they wish to see me and swear their fealty, then they wish me no harm, so why should I lie to them?”

  “Ah, Francis, my poor sick boy. You have a fever, yes, your forehead is burning . . . Where is the quinine water I ordered for him?” She turned to an attendant hovering in the background. “Go and find it,” she com- manded. The guard hastened away.

  Andelot knew a moment of alarm. His mind f lashed back to Prince Charles and the laboratory of the Queen Mother’s astrologer and poi- soner, Cosmo. Non, not Francis. Not her own son. Not even Catherine de Medici would go that far.

  Their diatribe continued as they rehearsed with Francis what he was expected to say and do. The young king was to give each one of them a crown apiece and pretend to be pleased they had come to rescue him from enemies near his throne. This was to convince them he was on their side. Whereupon he would ask veiled questions of them to discover who it was who had sent them to Amboise.

  “If the Bourbons are on their way here now,” the duc said, “it seems conceivable that it was Prince Condé. We have the word of Maître Avenelle that Condé and his retainer de la Renaudie were behind the plot.”

  Andelot soon found himself the focus of attention. His neck grew hot under the studious dissection of the Queen Mother.

  “Andelot is now in my service,” the cardinal told her. “He will enter the Corps des Pages in Paris when we return. He knows the leaders of the Huguenots in Lyon. He will identify these men. I thought it wise if he stayed with the king during his interview with them. He may help put them at ease. And if they are from Lyon we will soon know it, Your Majesty.”

  Catherine did not comment on whether this pleased or displeased her. She turned to Francis.

  “Remember, my son, I will be attentive to every word spoken by way of a listening tube in the wall. Your oncles, the duc and the cardinal, will be located behind that curtain should you need them.”

  Andelot began to sweat. What if these spies were f
riends of the Macquinets? What if the cardinal already knew who they were and was testing his loyalty? He surmised this was a warning to him as well, for her eyes swerved to his before she walked from the chamber. The Guise brothers slipped behind the velvet drape. Andelot looked at the king, now pale with small beads of sweat on his forehead.

  I should never want to be a king.

  Francis nodded that he was ready. Andelot went to the door and ges- tured to the Swiss guards in their bright red plumes and gilded armor to bring in the prisoners.

  A short time later the Huguenot messires were brought into the king’s chamber. They were humble Frenchmen, strong of face and wearing peasant clothing. Andelot felt a sickening dread. He recognized the older

  man from the village near the Chateau de Silk. He remembered that he sold duck eggs on a corner near some rustling mulberry trees. He was loyal to Comte Arnaut Macquinet and no doubt helped smuggle Bibles in the French language to other areas of Lyon in his egg cart.

  The man looked at Andelot now and blinked as if trying to remember where he had seen him before. He must have recalled, for a smile started to split his weathered cheeks. When Andelot quickly looked away, the man did not proceed. Now and then he glanced at him, but Andelot avoided his eyes.

  The king smiled at them. “Fear not, messires,” he told them in a weak voice.

  Be afraid! Andelot wanted to shout.

  The boy-king held out his hand, and they bent over it dutifully. “The Lord bless thee, O King.”

  “The Lord grant you peace,” said the other. “The Lord is your Defender,” said the third.

  Francis looked pained. He glanced toward the door, the curtain —

  He fumbled, handing them each a crown. He asked stiff questions that sounded as rehearsed as they indeed were.

  “Did you come into the king’s forest to glean a glimpse of the diver- tissement on yester’s eve?” he asked hopefully.

  “Non, Sire, we do not agree with the carnal display of the f lesh that leads to corruption.”

  Andelot gritted his teeth. Non, mon ami, you waste your opportunity

  to confess to only lesser offenses. This was your excuse!

  Francis cleared his throat as if embarrassed. “Then what were you doing in the forest, messieurs? Hunting perhaps?”

  “Oh non, Sire. We would not hunt the king’s meat. It is against the law. God’s Word tells us to obey our magistrates.”

  “Do you also obey and seek my right to rule as your king?” “We do, Sire.” They placed fists to their hearts. “Vive le Roi!”

  Andelot was feeling better. He smiled and looked confidently at King Francis. See? They are not your enemies, Your Majesty, he wanted to say. But from the corner of his eye he saw the curtain move a little. Francis must have noticed too. For he said sternly: “Why were you in my forest, messieurs? You are spies.”

  Andelot was dumbfounded when the men smiled, and trusting the young king at face value they began to tell him everything the Guises wanted to know.

  Andelot’s head ached from the pounding of his heart. Quiet! Quiet!

  You are too trusting!

  Yes, they had come from Geneva. Soon now, their leaders would join them in the forest.

  “Sire, we are your servants and your loyal subjects. You have naught to fear from us or our leaders. Au contraire, Your Majesty, but we have come to rescue you from the domination of the House of Guise, of Spain, and of Rome. There are over forty thousand of us on the way to save you — and France.”

  Andelot’s spirit groaned. He longed to tell them that the Queen Mother, le Duc de Guise, and le Cardinal de Lorraine had just heard every word.

  Francis was pale and his hands were shaking as he bid them adieu. The men bowed, again promised their allegiance, and departed under the watchful eyes, and swords, of the guards.

  The curtain opened and the Guise brothers stepped out. Andelot turned and faced the tall, handsome Cardinal de Guise. “Did you recognize them, Andelot?”

  Andelot bowed. “Non, Monseigneur. I have never seen these men before.”

  There was a moment of silence.

  “Are they not allies of Comte Arnaut Macquinet who is even now in Geneva?”

  “I do not think so, non.” Another moment of silence. “You are certain?”

  “Oui, Monseigneur le Cardinal.” “Then you may go for now, Andelot.”

  Andelot bowed, kissed the ring, and made haste to leave the king’s chamber. Guards stood in the corridor.

  Andelot was thinking, If I can escape, I can warn Fabien. If not him,

  then Sebastien, or even Comte Maurice Beauvilliers to ride to Fabien, or Chevalier Julot Cazalet. Andelot looked up, startled. He had hardly

  taken a step when three guards stood shoulder to shoulder blocking his way.

  “Monsieur, we are under orders to take you to your new chamber.” He studied their immobile faces. Their eyes were unreadable.

  “New chamber? Ah, honored sirs, it is not necessary, I promise you.

  I like my bed in the chamber of Marquis Fabien de Vendôme!”

  “Come with us, Monsieur. Orders from le Cardinal de Lorraine. You are to be locked in a chamber for safekeeping for a few days.”

  Andelot let out a long breath. Foiled. He walked away surrounded by the guards.

  This page is intentionally left blank

  Chapter Twenty-One

  ‌

  M

  Marquis Fabien and Comte Sebastien went into the Amboise council chamber with the Bourbon princes and nobles, all representing the Huguenots and their cause before the King and Queen of France. The chamber itself set a somber mood, Comte Sebastien thought. There were no windows, and lamps glimmered on the dark oak-paneled walls with rafters crossing the high ceiling. It was a chamber with much history, remaining untouched by decoration since the early years of Louis XI.

  Would history be made here today? Sebastien wondered. His trou- bled mind jumped to Paris, to the Louvre, where Grandmère Dushane was staying with Madeleine. Soon now his child would be born . . . Was all well?

  A long council table stood in the center of the chamber surrounded by leather chairs with heavy wooden arms and backs carved by crafts- men. Fabien had not taken a seat at the table for he was not yet a member of the council, but Louis had suggested before the Guises that he remain. The Guises had made no objection, but the duc measured Fabien.

  Fabien stood across the chamber near a guard, looking as unread- able as did Louis de Condé. Both had, with debonair elegance, refused to surrender their swords. Comte Sebastien was pleased with Fabien. There was an air of authority about him that showed itself in every glance he cast around the chamber at those gathered. He is a man born to command.

  Comte Sebastien, because he was a member of Catherine’s privy council, sat at the table on the side of royalty. He fought his fatigue, his

  anxiety that matters could go awry, or worse, had already done so. The news from Gallaudet on the night of the masque continued to nag him. What if those in the woods were Huguenot spies? Would that not mean the message Louis had sent to Renaudie had not gotten through in time? Fabien also thought so. They had discussed it between them on the ride here from Blois.

  Sebastien studied the men in assembly across the table.

  Prince Louis de Condé sat at the highest place on the Huguenot- Bourbon side of the table, since he was a prince of the blood. His comely face and dark eyes appeared anything but deceived, even if he had cho- sen to come here. The news Fabien had brought to him on the road had been accepted gravely, but still he had ridden on toward Amboise with Admiral Gaspard Coligny, who had arrived from Chatillon with his entourage.

  As Fabien once commented about Coligny, “I fear such a pious and decent man to open his mouth in speech. For without guile, he is taken in by the Valois and Guise treachery.” Coligny was older than Prince Louis, a sturdier man. He sat in his chair with shoulders straight and a certain humility about him. His hair was gray, rather long, and he wa
s dressed in dark woolen Huguenot clothes, absent from all fanfare. His rough complexion showed a soldier who had lived a life of exposure and need, of courage and honor.

  The admiral’s brother, le Cardinal de Châtillon, of Calvinist persua- sion, had seated himself beside le Cardinal de Lorraine. Each Frenchman wore the same scarlet robe of a cardinal, over which fell a deep edging of open guipure lace. Their broad red hats with tasseled silken cords were in front of them on the table.

  Sebastien saw le Cardinal de Lorraine’s face, haughty, superior, and deliberately affronting his fellow cardinal of Protestant persuasion.

  But le Cardinal de Châtillon looked unworried about his affront. He was bland, but astute. A smile was upon his lips as his eyes wandered around the table.

  The door opened revealing a carved platform on which was a dais raised one step from the f loor of the council chamber. The boy-king Francis and Mary stood there fully garbed in royal attire.

  Sebastien stood with those at the council table and bowed in their honor. Francis and Mary then sat down under a purple velvet canopy, embroidered in gold with f leurs de lys and the Oriflamme.

  Next came Catherine as regent and le Duc de Guise, a sight that Sebastien knew angered Fabien, for Monsieur de Guise had less right to be at her side than did Louis and his brother, Antoine of Navarre.

  Sebastien, who was not watched as closely as were the Bourbons, noticed how le Duc de Guise’s sharp eyes gravitated to Louis, then to Fabien, which troubled Sebastien. He knows Fabien is a future leader, the man to contend with one day. Does he suspect Fabien of discovering that he had arranged the death of his father, Duc Jean-Louis de Bourbon?

  Sebastien had never told Fabien that he knew the facts of his father’s death, for he had feared that Fabien would seek revenge at his own ruin. Sebastien had recently heard disturbing news that there were spies at court who were contacting Fabien about having certain facts of proof against le Duc de Guise. This talk was, of course, dangerous to Fabien. If either of the Guise brothers believed Fabien posed them a threat, they would try to have him killed. Sebastien did not doubt that possibility. Le Duc de Guise, bold and unscrupulous, was ardently on a path of his own glory.