Threads of Silk

by Linda Lee Chaikin

  “Messieurs,” said another, “I beg you not to be too hasty in this matter. We all know how the Word warns against various whisperings that often murder a brother’s reputation. We must stand firm with the prince. Surely he will come to see his transgression? As the first prince of the blood he can, by working with the Queen Mother, secure the Huguenot cause.”

  There was a pause, as though they all contemplated their consciences.

  “I often worry,” Pasteur Bertrand said at last, “that we do ourselves harm by looking to men for our betterment in France. We must not place our hope in the weakness of flesh. Although cloaked in the garb of princes and lords, the feet of all men are lame.”

  “It is true,” Père Arnaut said. “Our final hope of deliverance in the land can only be established in our Lord, but we must have seigneurs, Cousin Bertrand. We must have our king.”

  “Must we, Arnaut? I wonder,” Bertrand said in a thoughtful voice. “Oh, I agree we must have leaders. But it is one thing to have our Moses lead us through this wilderness with the staff of God — but quite another matter to be led by one whose very salvation we are uncertain of.”

  “But let us not rush to gather stones,” said another. “Let us first and foremost pray for him.”

  There came a murmur of assent.

  “Marquis Fabien told me a short while ago that he’s learned how the Guises, supported by the Spanish Ambassador, are laboring to convince Antoine to join their three-man holy league and so break with the Bourbon-Huguenot alliance,” Pasteur Bertrand said. “The marquis is looking into the irksome news this very moment.”

  “If that is so,” Père Arnaut said, “Antoine’s moral fall poses a greater threat to the Reformation in France than we had thought.”

  There was a groan around the chamber.

  “He is no match for such serpentine intriguers. Irresolute, he knows not with which side to align himself.”

  “With truth!” Pasteur Bertrand said. “I believe Marquis Fabien was right when he said the Guises knew Prince Antoine could be compromised if isolated from his strong allies. And his strongest support was his own wife, Queen Jeanne. So they attack when he is most vulnerable. How like Satan who prowls about seeking out the weakness of men, to trap and destroy.”

  “Be vigilant,” Père Arnaut said with a thoughtful nod, “because your adversary the devil, as a roaring lion, walketh about seeking whom he may devour.”

  Then perhaps it is bonne news that Queen Jeanne is arriving, Rachelle thought. She was always one of Antoine’s strong resources, so Fabien had said.

  I want to be that manner of wife and woman — to do Fabien good and not evil all the days of our journey together.

  Oh, Antoine, choose righteous ness, choose your family, and make your royal stand for truth!

  “Let us attend the colloquy with humble spirits, making our private petition to our Lord that we may find grace in the sight of the French throne. Messieurs, shall we end our discussion with prayer for God’s intervention?”

  They readily responded to Pasteur Bertrand’s plea for prayer and humility.

  As one by one they prayed, pleading for the Reformation to take root in the dry soil of their beloved France, Rachelle added her own petitions for a spiritual stirring throughout her country. What of me? If there is to be revival, it can begin with me. Am I faithful, honest, and pure? Am I dedicated? Do I love the Savior with all my heart?

  “Jesus must be honored and glorified if blessing is to come to the people of France,” Pasteur Bertrand had said on several occasions.

  Make me in my daily doings what I am in Christ, O Father. Amen.

  LATE THAT EVENING WHEN FABIEN RETURNED, Rachelle was in the bedchamber preparing to retire. Her parents had departed to stay with the duchesse at the Dushane château where they would remain during the colloquy, and Cousin Bertrand had retired.

  She noted at once his somber mood, though his calm remained.

  He removed his handsome jacket with gold embroidery and armorial bearings in jewels and tossed it on a chair, then loosened the white shirt with Alençon lace.

  “My apologies, chérie, for leaving earlier this evening. I will explain to your father why I had to leave when I did. Andelot brought disturbing news. We had to discuss something unusual about Sardinia.”

  “Sardines?” She wrinkled her nose.

  He laughed. “Sardinia. There is a meeting in the morning between the Guises and the Spanish ambassador. It’s likely to have far-reaching consequences.” He walked up to her, and taking her into his arms, kissed her.

  “About Andelot, what sort of disturbing message did he bring?”

  He sobered and released her.

  “You may read it yourself. He thought first to send it to me, but then brought it himself.”

  He took her arm and walked her toward the candlelight.

  Rachelle took the message and read, pondering the odd words of Andelot’s brief message.

  “Marquis Fabien, I am now in a chamber between the cardinal and his secretary, Père Jaymin. It is most intimidating at times. I cannot come and go without being watched.”

  Rachelle’s frown deepened. She read on.

  “A bizarre incident is in progress. They told me to make a false map of Sardinia. My instructions were to turn this rocky, desolate island that is like the Rock of Gibraltar into a mythical tropicalparadise with great cities, farmlands, and fruit trees according to a list written by Ambassador Chantonnay. Tomorrow morning there will be a meeting between the three messieurs, the duc, cardinal, and ambassador, and my map must be ready for them. What think you of this?

  I shall send another message after the meeting in the morning. I shall get little sleep this night.”

  Rachelle looked at Fabien, lifting her brow. “Sardinia? Whatever is Sardinia?”

  “Not ‘what’ is it, chérie, but ‘why’ is it? Just what do the Guise brothers and that wily Spanish spy have in mind? Scholar Thauvet has suggested that Spain is involved in this, since Sardinia is under their flag. I am inclined to agree that it was Chantonnay who made the list of what Andelot was to include on the map.”

  She could see Fabien was apprehensive.

  “A mythical map . . . but why?”

  “I have an idea, but I will wait until Andelot sends me a report on the meeting with Antoine in the morning. Whatever they plan, it is likely to mean danger for someone.”

  “Do you think Andelot will be safe staying so near the cardinal’s watchful eye?”

  “They need him. At least until they send him to Lorraine. That is not likely to happen until late November, after the colloquy. At the moment, he could not be better situated to spy.”

  “As long as he is not caught.”

  He scowled. “Yes, as long as Jaymin does not discover his spying, or that he’s a Huguenot at heart. But Andelot is more astute than I think even you understand. He is no longer the amenable ami, but he has matured. If I thought he was gullible I’d never ask him to spy. Something dark is afoot, and we need to know what they are planning.”

  She watched as he burned the message with the candle flame.

  “I too have some news about Andelot. Madame Clair says he and Idelette have been corresponding. Eventually there may be a marriage. I could not be more enthusiastic.”

  “I suspected it could be so. He mentioned that he wished to go to London for a time before going on to Geneva to study under Calvin.”

  “I am most sure Idelette would say yes if he asked her for her hand in marriage. She will be so supportive of his decision about Geneva.”

  He cocked a brow. “But first, we must escape France. That will be a feat in and of itself. What did Arnaut and Bertrand discuss with the Huguenot leaders tonight?”

  She put a hand to her forehead. “Prince Antoine.” She sighed. “And that which concerns his mistress, Mademoiselle Rouet. Is it true the Guises intend to use her to woo him into becoming a Catholic?”

  “Be assured they will if they can, thereby enda
ngering the BourbonHuguenot alliance at Court. If the colloquy fails to bring an end to persecution, there will be a civil war. As general of France, Antoine controls the army. His support is crucial.”

  She noted the sobriety in his violet-blue eyes.

  “You would like to believe in his honneur, chérie, as would I. But in this situation, do not place your confidence in Antoine to work for the betterment of the Huguenots. That may have been his goal at first. But I fear he’s lost his way. Greater horizons fill his vision. I know him too well.”

  That he would speak so bluntly about his kinsman surprised her. “But despite his fall, he is one of us, a Huguenot. Surely he will see his error and forsake it.”

  “He is not known for his steadfastness. I tell you, Rachelle my sweet, there is so much intrigue at work presently that one walks through a pal-ais of vipers. They lie in wait at every turn, in every shadowy crevice, ready to sink their fangs into the gullible. Unfortunately, Antoine has never been a messire of discernment.”

  “If only there were something to be done to win the day!” She gazed longingly at the candle flame.

  He stood, hands on hips, looking at her with a tender smile. “Chérie, you want so much for the golden trumpets of God to sound at this very moment and for angels to intervene. I too wish for it. However, this may be that hour when, like the Church of Smyrna, it is with much tribulation that we enter the kingdom of God.”

  He leaned over and blew out one of the candles. “It may be that we will never see what we long for: a wise sovereign on the throne. We may never see France embrace the truths of the Reformation as has Holland, England, and Germany.”

  There was a quiet thoughtfulness to his voice that frightened her.

  “Fabien,” she whispered, aghast, “how can you speak so? Why, it is what we are all praying and struggling to bring about. The colloquy begins next week!”

  “It does. The truth will be taught, a victory in itself. Even so, the response depends upon the hearts of those who will hear. Arnaut, Bertrand, the Huguenot leaders — they should realize there will be a continued struggle in France, a long one. I have brooded over my conclusion for weeks now. I’ve decided we nobles have put too much hope in our ability to bring about the kind of change that only a love for the truth can establish in a nation. If the church, or a nation, loses that love, how great becomes the darkness. When that happens, stalwart men with swords can accomplish only so much.”

  She was convinced that he had agonized over this. Did it take more faith to believe in great victories, or to stand firm when it seemed the battle was being lost?

  “Yes, we nobles can sink galleons,” he was saying. “We can send mercenaries to aid the Dutch, but we cannot thwart a civil war here in our own France.” He looked at her. “For the Reformation to win in France it must seize the hearts of the French people. We nobles have little to do with that. French serfs must be won a man at a time. France is at a crossroads. The question hounds me. What if a love for the truth does not take root?”

  Perhaps for the first time, she could feel his anguish over the France he loved — and might lose. She went to him and threw her arms around him, her eyes wet with tears.

  Fabien embraced her, holding her close.

  THE NEXT MORNING AT FONTAINEBLEAU, Andelot was called to the Cardinal de Lorraine’s receiving chamber. He entered, rolled map in hand, not knowing what to expect. The cardinal, in his red and white robes, stood with polished sophistication beside the Duc de Guise. The duc looked to be in good spirits and was smiling, his hands folded behind him.

  “Bonjour, mon petit Andelot. You have located the map we wanted from the library. We knew we could depend upon you,” the cardinal said.

  The prick to his conscience hurt. I should not have made this, but what else could I do?

  Andelot held out the rolled parchment. “The map, Monseigneur.”

  “Come forward, Andelot,” Duc de Guise said cheerfully. “Stretch it out on the desk here.” He turned, saying, “Chantonnay, this is a young kinsman of ours, Andelot Dangeau.”

  “And a kinsman of Marquis de Vendôme, I hear.”

  “But a Guise,” the cardinal said with emphasis. “Andelot has proven a great help to us. He will be going to our country estate in Lorraine after the colloquy.”

  Was the cardinal convincing Chantonnay that he was trustworthy?

  “The marquis is also my kinsman,” a pleasant voice spoke from behind Andelot.

  “Ah, sire, come and behold the map,” the cardinal said.

  Sire? A king! Andelot turned quickly on his heel to face the pleasant voice and saw Prince Antoine de Bourbon, the King of Navarre. So, this ruse concerned Antoine?

  Standing with Antoine, as though they were close comrades, was the shrewd Spanish Ambassador Chantonnay. A smile lighted Chantonnay’s swarthy face. Andelot covered his surprise.

  “Come, sire,” Chantonnay again urged Prince Antoine. “You will not be disappointed at what you see. All that we told you is here before your eyes. Sardinia — the magic isle! I could wish to go there myself. But when you are king there, I am sure my master, the King of Spain, will visit you to enjoy the tropical air.”

  Andelot tightened his lips. That serpent-toothed deceiver! He stood near the wall trying to avoid attention now, hoping they would not dismiss him. The four gathered around the desk, murmuring in low voices, as they pointed out various amenities on the map. From the way they smiled, it would appear they were the finest of comrades with Prince Antoine. How this change had come about recently Andelot could not guess, but the Guises and Chantonnay were champion deceivers. What amazed him most was that Prince Antoine would trust them enough to gather alone with them. He knew they had tried to assassinate him only months ago. And yet, here they were discussing a phony map that he was accepting without question.

  Was Chantonnay behind this trickery? Andelot had heard Chanton-nay had been trained in the art of diplomacy since a small boy and was an expert in the ways of intrigue. Père Jaymin said that Chantonnay constantly spied on the Queen Mother and reported even what she had for her evening dinner to the King of Spain.

  “Ah, sire, we all agree that a grand future awaits you, for we in Spain know how you are the Bourbon prince to best deal with the differences between my country and yours. The Queen Mother?” He pursed his lips and shook his head. “You should have been made Regent of France. My king believes she cannot be trusted. She is, if you will pardon me for saying so, too close to the Huguenot leaders she has brought to court.”

  “Sire,” the duc said, “you have always been the level-headed prince. Come, Chantonnay, explain the majestic plan King Philip is offering him.”

  Prince Antoine looked from Duc de Guise back to Chantonnay. “What plan, Monsieur?”

  Chantonnay began to talk of King Philip’s wondrous plans for Antoine de Bourbon, if Antoine would cooperate with Spain. King Philip was prepared to sacrifice a rare and precious jewel in his far-flung empire to Prince Antoine for peace and friendship. This glittering jewel? The island of Sardinia. And what did he ask for? Little Navarre. Surely Prince Antoine understood that a section of that province in the south already belonged to Spain, won from the King of Navarre in war many years earlier. Why should such a small province be divided when Prince Antoine could rule the far greater kingdom of Sardinia? And Sardinia was merely the beginning of all that would become Antoine’s with his cooperation with Spain.

  “Monseigneur, look at the map. You will see an important and astonishing island! Look at its great cities, its excellent coastline, its fine natural harbor for ships to anchor from all the trading lanes of the world. And you alone, sire, will become its king. My sovereign fears to surrender such an important island to anyone else, except to you. Of course, it will prove necessary to become a Catholic, for King Philip can have no dealings with heretics.”

  “It is so, sire,” Cardinal de Lorraine added. “The King of Spain has told me this in correspondence. He is concerned for your soul, as a
m I. Ah, sire, give up being leader of the serpent-headed Huguenot alliance at court. Give up the new opinions and receive so much more in return.”

  “A triple crown awaits you, sire,” Duc de Guise said. “How can a wise man turn such a treasure trove down?”

  “A triple crown?” Antoine asked. “Are you saying I could gain other crowns?”

  “Indeed so, sire,” Chantonnay said in a lowered tone. “If you become a Catholic. But you could not remain married to a heretic.”

  “Monsieur! Jeanne is my wife.”

  Andelot gave him a sharp glance. It is good you finally remember that, sire.

  Chantonnay sighed with the suggestion of grief. He shook his head. “Ah, Monseigneur, the pope has said — sadly so — that you cannot have the triple crown while bound to a rebel. He has written my master, Philip, that if you would cooperate, he will authorize your divorce.”

  Prince Antoine frowned. “But — Jeanne — she would not want a divorce and neither do I.”

  “Sire,” Cardinal de Lorraine added with a grave smile, “there will be no difficulty in divorcing the woman who has become a rebel and a heretic.”

  “If I were in your shoes, sire,” Duc de Guise said, “I would not hesitate to seize my responsibilities to France. Claim the triple crown and save France from this onslaught of heretical slander that comes from Geneva’s mouthpiece.”

  Antoine rubbed his chin, looking down at the map. “But I received the title of king only through marriage to Jeanne.”

  Chantonnay moved his hand as if cutting through mist. “It is nothing to worry us, nor should it worry you, sire. All can be handled. Jeanne will lose all her possessions anyway, including her kingdom. All heretics must surrender their possessions, so you would have the crown of the jewel island of Sardinia — and in addition, the crown of Scotland and the crown of England. The triple crown.”

  Andelot’s head lifted. He glanced from the shrewd eyes of Chantonnay to Duc de Guise, who was smiling a tight little smile. Cardinal de Lorraine ran his long white fingers along his crimson robe and also smiled at Prince Antoine.