“Farewell.” Andelot lifted a hand and slipped through the gate into the dark night. The golden bay had been quietly brought from the stables and was tied in the trees, waiting.
Andelot mounted Marquis Fabien’s horse and rode off into the night, alert to avoid notice by guards and soldiers on patrol.
ANDELOT RODE THE GOLDEN BAY beneath the canopy of silvery light from the full moon that sat like a pearl gracing the dark sky. He rode deeper into the woods around Fontainebleau, following the duchesse’s instructions. After a short time he came upon a small log cottage. There, he dismounted and went to the door and knocked with the rapping code the duchesse had given him.
A moment later the door opened, and he was ushered in by a dignified gray-haired man wearing dark, somber clothing. Andelot handed him the lettre from the duchesse. The elderly monsieur read it in silence before his hearth. Andelot recognized a look of pleasure, and even amusement, as the man’s mouth turned up at the corners and he raised his eyes to look more keenly at Andelot. He nodded to himself and beckoned Andelot to follow him into the small cooking room.
He was given food to last him the journey and a change of clothes. Andelot put on the rough peasant’s clothing, and the student of the famous Thauvet became Andelot the serf. The elder smiled at him. “I am the pasteur you rescued that day when the Dominican caught us in the woods near here. Duchesse Dushane tells me you have embraced the redemptive work of Jesus Christ, the Son of God.”
Andelot, surprised, remained speechless for a moment, then broke into a smile. “Monsieur, it is you! And to think I expected to leave here and replace the Bible where you hid it under the old log. The Lord has many pleasant surprises for us. Ah, Pasteur, I owe you much — for being able to read the Scriptures in my native French.”
“And I owe you much, Andelot. Your courage that day with the angry cleric has spared my earthly life that I may continue to serve God. I assure you, young messire, that whenever you wish to come to read this Book you will be most welcome. There is much we can discuss concerning the Word of God. We must, as the apostle Paul has written, “rightly divide the Word of truth.”
“Merci, mon pasteur. I will surely call upon you when I return. But I ask how you knew about me?”
“Duchesse Dushane spoke of you in this lettre. She has sent messages before. I always burn them, for one never knows if the messenger has been followed.”
“Indeed, Pasteur.”
Followed . . . Andelot glanced uneasily toward the cottage door. The wind rattled the windows. He could imagine the broad face of Père Jaymin suddenly appearing.
“I know Madame well, though from afar,” the pasteur said. “She is a firm Huguenot, even as we. She has granted us much assistance and also sends warnings when we may be in more than usual danger.”
Andelot nodded. “The duchesse, oui — but how did she know I had your Bible? I told no one except mon oncle, and I would not have told him except he came upon me reading it.” Andelot told him of the time when he’d nearly been caught reading the Bible and how Sebastien had come to his aid at the precise moment to save him from discovery.
“Madame mentioned that Comte Sebastien had told her of your experience with the Bible. He was concerned for your safety, you see. She mentions that he has escaped with his family. May the Lord grant them a successful voyage to England.”
After they had discussed Sebastien’s escape for a few minutes, Andelot went on to tell him about the upcoming religious colloquy to be held at the Monastery of Poissy, near Saint-Germain-en-Laye.
“Perhaps I can slip away and come here to give you the news of what is occurring,” said Andelot.
“The debates over Scripture and the decisions made there will be of utmost concern, I assure you. Any news you can bring and share will be received gladly. I am told Monsieur Beza himself will speak for the way of grace alone, proving it from the Word.”
Theodore Beza was the primary Huguenot theologian for France and was a close associate of Monsieur John Calvin.
“Yes, and Monsieur Calvin will also send twelve theologians from the school in Geneva. They will bring many writings from the early church fathers and copies of the originals to debate doctrine.”
“We will surely pray that the minds and hearts of those in authority will be opened by the Spirit to receive God’s unchanging truth. How wondrous it would be if our beloved France were shaken to its foundations with the light of God’s timeless Word. Oh, to cast aside the mere outward display of religion that leaves our hearts unchanged!”
Andelot set aside his reservation and threw an arm of brotherly affection around the older man.
“My prayers will follow you wherever you go,” the pasteur said.
The pasteur then bowed his head, speaking Andelot’s name in prayer, and committed him to Christ. The experience of hearing a pasteur pray for him personally in an audible voice was altogether new, and his heart was stirred.
A few minutes later, with the pasteur accompanying him, he walked back to his horse and mounted in silence. I will come back for a longer visit. He lifted his hand in salute, and rode on toward Vendôme.
IN A BUNGALOW NEAR VENDÔME, Comte Maurice Beauvilliers fixed a withering stare on his page.
“You are most certain of this news?”
“Monseigneur, the spy discovered it from one of the duchesse’s own servants. He has ridden through the night to arrive ahead of Andelot Dangeau.”
“Send me this spy. I would hear it from him.”
“He is unconscious, my lord Comte, deep in sleep — ”
Maurice set his goblet down with a snap. “Tell me the news again.”
“Andelot was summoned to visit Duchesse Dushane. What was discussed could not be overheard, but it was about your oncle, Comte Sebastien, and Marquis Fabien. Andelot was sent with a lettre from Madame for the marquis.”
Maurice raised a lean, tanned hand and smoothed his ebony mustache; the long folds of crème lace at his wrist fell leisurely over the burgundy sleeve.
“No doubt the titled fox has protested my engagement to Rachelle. I’ll wager she has sent a reply saying she knows nothing of our upcoming marriage.”
“It would seem so, my lord Comte.”
Maurice’s heart began to pound like a battle drum. “Andelot must not deliver that lettre.”
“Men are stationed along the road to watch for him.”
I must have that lettre. In the hands of the Queen Mother it will become a millstone around Fabien’s neck. And Andelot! That serf that deigns to call me cousin. The intolerable impudence — and after spilling wine on my silk doublet in Oncle Sebastien’s appartement! I warned Andelot I would not forget, and I keep my word. Now he will pay for my insulted honor and ruined silk shirt.
“Saddle the horses. We will ride forth to meet him. I will deal with Andelot myself.”
“By now he should be nearing Vendôme. As soon as he is in sight, word will be sent.”
“I will be waiting.”
News from a Far Country
MARQUIS FABIEN, RESTIVE, MOVED ABOUT THE LARGE SALLE THAT connected to his sleeping chamber. He stepped onto the balustrade and swept a glance about the courtyard. A lavender haze settled gently across the horizon of the forest, and evening shadows lengthened.
He looked toward the tower turret. One of his watchmen stood gazing toward the road and bridge. Farther down the road, settled out of sight within the thick forest trees, he knew there would be another sentry keeping vigil, followed by more guards on patrol ready to send their signal back to the castle should enemies approach.
Mille diables, but matters are progressing slowly!
He drummed his fingers on the rail and narrowed his gaze, looking toward the ominous road to Fontainebleau. Shadows crept forward. The trees rustled. With each passing hour spent waiting for the lettre from Madame, more opportunity was granted his opponents.
His ventures as a privateer for England would pursue his steps, but the danger stewing in the politi
cal and religious cauldron of France was due to far more than his escapades for Holland. Persecution of the Huguenot middle class would result in their seigneurs calling for war to protect them. Noblesse oblige! He too had an obligation to the citizens of Vendôme. Leaving France for England when a civil war was about to break did not rest easy on his conscience, but he could not relinquish Rachelle.
Below, he saw Gallaudet coming across the courtyard from the direction of the gate. Earlier, Fabien had sent him to check on the men-at-arms watching the road. He was waiting for the report when Gallaudet arrived, solemn-faced.
“You have news?”
“Dark news, Marquis. Until an hour ago only serfs and a few monks had traversed the road.”
“And now? Is there sight of that jackal, Maurice?”
“Non, but the dwarves of the Queen Mother are coming.”
OUTSIDE IN THE PASSAGE, Rachelle knocked on the door to Fabien’s chambers.
She heard footsteps. A moment later Gallaudet opened, as fair of countenance and hair as the paintings of angels she remembered from the Louvre. “Mademoiselle,” he acknowledged with a small bow, opening the door wider. “One moment, sil vous plaît.” Gallaudet turned his head and spoke. “Mademoiselle Macquinet wishes to see you, Marquis.”
Fabien came to the doorway, his violet-blue gaze taking her in with his disarming smile. She had not seen him since last evening’s dinner, and his expression at seeing her brought her happiness. He wore a white Holland shirt open at the neck and dark breeches.
“Come inside, ma chère. Your presence invigorates my chamber like the fragrance of a jasmine garden on a warm day.”
Gallaudet cleared his throat as though the marquis had forgotten he was there, but Fabien seemed to enjoy his reaction.
She smiled and brushed inside with a rustle of green skirt and found herself in his private sitting chamber. It was handsomely furnished in masculine shades of earthy browns and forest greens. A calm mood pervaded the chamber, but even so she gathered that he and all his men were aware of the increasing peril of delay.
He took her hand and pressed a warm kiss on her wrist. “What do you think, Gallaudet? Will she not make the most belle marquise?”
“Assuredly, Monseigneur, though Maurice is convinced she will be the most belle comtesse.”
“Maurice will feel the thrust of my rapier through his gizzard if he tries.”
A horn sounded in the distance, and Rachelle turned swiftly and faced Fabien.
“No cause to be alarmed yet, ma chère. That is the caution signal. Visitors approach with the knowledge of the guards,” he said calmly. “If it were a contingent of soldiers, they would have sounded a warning.”
Fabien turned to shoulder, into a splendid jacket that matched the color of his eyes as Gallaudet held it for him. The hounds were barking below in the courtyard. Rachelle rushed to the balustrade and looked below, but saw nothing of visitors, only lackeys and guards running toward the gate. Another horn sounded. She glanced at Fabien over her shoulder to see his reaction. She caught an exchange of glances between him and his page that did not bring her comfort. A galloping horse on the short ascent from the road was soon heard approaching the inner yard.
Fabien moved quickly onto the balustrade beside her, Gallaudet with him.
“There are two visitors,” Rachelle said. Her heart pounded when she caught sight of them. One black horse with two riders as small as children. “The Queen Mother’s dwarves,” she whispered. The sight sent a shudder along her nerves.
The twosome left the horse with the hostlers and marched resolutely in quick, short steps toward the court entrance, with their black capes over crimson waistcoats fluttering like bat wings in the wind.
“Romulus and Remus, the twins,” Fabien said wearily.
The dwarves raised their heads in unison and looked up toward the balustrade.
“Go down to meet them. Find out what treachery they bring,” Fabien said to Gallaudet.
When he’d gone, Rachelle flung her hand to her forehead and paced.
Fabien snatched up his scabbard. “I should never have remained here waiting for the lettre from Madame. I knew I should have ridden out this morning! Even my men-at-arms are restless. I am playing right into her trap.”
Rachelle rushed to him, gripping him desperately. “Non, you did the honorable thing to write to Madame.” Even so, she felt a dart of guilt.
She was the cause of their delay. Had it not been for her, they would be on their way to Dieppe to rendezvous with Capitaine Nappier.
His arms tightened around her. “Honorable? Perhaps, but she’s had time to arrange her traps. If nothing more, I should have sent you ahead with Gallaudet until I knew what the duchesse would say.”
“Non, I would not go without you.”
He smiled, but there was a flash of steel in the blue gaze. “You will, and must, do what I tell you.”
“Perhaps I should return with the dwarves. I will face her and convince her that I cannot marry Maurice. You go on to Dieppe with your men. Perhaps I will soon be able to slip away.”
His mouth tipped with a cynically amused smile. “That would be nearly impossible, ma belle. I would kill if need be before allowing you to be taken captive.”
She stared at him. The hard glitter in his intense gaze convinced her.
“Fabien, mon amour, do not even say it.”
“Rachelle, you do not understand. The Duc of Alva is at Fontaineb-leau, his blood boiling to take me in chains to Spain for sinking his galleon. The Queen Mother has her plans, and Maurice his. And my plans oppose all three of them.”
“You should not have come for me,” she cried. “Your life is in danger now because of me!”
His eyes narrowed. “I came for what I wanted, and I expect to have you in marriage.” He loosened his hold on her. “The dwarves have seen you, so we will bluff them with our boldness and portray cooperation. It will confuse them, and give us more time.”
“They turn me cold. I am sure one of them entered Grandmère Dushane’s bedchamber when she lay dying and removed the poisonous gloves.”
“Yes, the gloves . . . another of Catherine’s distinctive ploys.”
“Then you, at least, believe as I, that she did it?”
“I know what her royal ambition is capable of, and that sort of poisoning is typical of her past tactics.”
“After Grandmère’s death I sought for the gloves in the Louvre appartement and could not find them, yet the ladies-in-waiting said she’d left them on her bureau after returning from shopping. Only later did one of them tell me she saw “a small ghost” coming out of Grandmère’s bedchamber late one night after her illness deepened. It must have been one of the dwarves; she described him perfectly.”
“I am not surprised, chérie. The Queen Mother must have instructed one of them to remove the evidence. They rival only Madalenna in doing her bidding. The motive for your grandmère’s death remains a mystery, but I suspect the Queen Mother discovered that you had entered her private chamber, taken the key to the listening closet, and passed it to me. While she spies on others, she cannot endure the thought of someone spying on her. I think your grandmère and Madeleine were simply part of her long, vengeful reach.”
“And yet the red gift box she gave me was the only one that did not contain poisoned gloves.”
“So Andelot told me. It held a pearl pendant. You wore it several times and it did not affect you. You may have received a straightforward gift because some different plan formed in her mind, convincing her that she would have need of you. Now that I’ve guessed her desire to use me to rid her of Duc de Guise, I think we may settle upon why she wanted you alive. Why she at this moment continues to take an interest in you.”
She clutched at his sleeve. “This is my opportunity to ask the dwarves about the gloves.”
“It is not wise. Nor will it serve your purpose. They will report every word you speak back to the Queen Mother. It is enough Madalenna saw you foll
ow Catherine to the Ruggerio Brothers’ shop on the quay.”
“But surely the Queen Mother must already suspect I know about Grandmère.”
“Précisément. And if she suspects your motive for following her to the quay, questioning her dwarves about the gloves will reinforce her resentment. For your own sake it is best you say nothing.”
“Why doesn’t she realize I have no power to harm her, while she can do anything she wishes?”
“Catherine cannot do anything she wishes, chérie. You must understand. It is true that she sits as Queen Mother and you cannot harm her. She has power, but she is no longer the queen of France. Her son Francis is king, but Duc de Guise has great influence over Francis, and is also more powerful than she.”
“Duc de Guise!”
“Yes, the house of Guise. The duc has Rome and Spain behind him, as well as an army of mercenaries should he need to fight a religious civil war. The silver and gold Spain takes from the Americas on her treasure galleons pays for Spain’s armies. Both the pope and King Philip would like to have Catherine put aside entirely in order to place a Guise on the throne. A Guise could then move against the heretics once and for all.”
“But she is no amie of the Huguenots! Remember Amboise? Two thousand men and nobles beheaded at her order — ”
“And the Cardinal de Lorraine’s order. She did so because she was threatened. The Huguenots wished to place her under palais arrest along with the Guises, and make my kinsman the prince become regent of young King Francis. Of course she is no amie of the Huguenots or the house of Bourbon. Catherine is on the side of the strongest force in France who will support her while avoiding civil war. Presently she needs the Huguenot nobles to oppose the house of Guise and keep some power. But she is one faux pas away from slipping — and she knows it, so she maintains a grasp on power through secret manipulations, schemes, and murder.”
Rachelle shivered. “You seem to know her well.”
“I have watched her at court for years. I was there when the dauphin died, some say of poison, allowing her husband, Henry, to come to the throne. From what I remember of her while growing up, she tries to spin her webs in the shadows, unnoticed. She trusts few and is wary of anyone disclosing her Machiavellian schemes. She lives for the day when her precious Anjou becomes king, yet she knows she is disliked by the people of France. The Guises control her son King Francis, and that likely keeps her awake at night, worrying and planning as she fears losing power. That is why she wants Guise dead. He is the one leader in France who could rally the people against her. She also fears that if word begins to circulate that she has used poison again and the Ruggerio brothers are named as accomplices, they could go to the Bastille, and under torture, they would implicate her.”
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