“Madame, you would know better than I. Other enemies have been removed, have they not?”
The audacity of this man!
“You speak as if France is responsible for the Reformation,” she snapped. “I assure you that Luther the German was neither born at our courts nor bred by our royal line. This matter of disagreement between Catholics and Protestants over the interpretation of Scripture did not spring up from French soil.”
“Madame, John Calvin and Geneva are the fruits of France.”
“Messire John Calvin was chastened out of France by the king’s grandfather, Francis I. It is in neutral Geneva that Calvin now abides.”
“Geneva, the horned beast of heresy, yes. And this same Calvin is invited to your court to discuss his differences at the Poissy colloquy. My king is as grieved and outraged by this folly as is Rome.”
“Poissy,” she said with a wave of her hand, quickening her sturdy step along the wooded path beside him. “It is next to nothing, my lord Duc, a mere carnival, as it were, to appease the heretics in my kingdom so that their nobility might better serve my son the king. We are all true Catholics, I promise you.”
“If you are loyal to Rome, Madame, then you must put a stop to this ‘carnival,’ as you call it. For neither Rome nor Spain is amused by such a profane entertainment. It is an offense.”
Her anger leaped like a flame. “What offense is it for Frenchmen on both sides of this religious controversy to meet, to discuss, to come to an understanding that will save my country from a civil war? Perhaps it is we who should find offense, my lord Duc, with Spain’s meddling.”
“Then you will not call an end to this offensive religious carnival?”
“It is not for me to call an end to it. It is the king and the people who wish for peace,” she said, knowing indeed that it was she who had promised Admiral Coligny that he could have the colloquy in order to gain Huguenot support for her regency. She could not admit this now, for Alva would wish to have her over a bonfire, but by the time he learned the truth he would be back in Spain.
“That, Madame, is not what Ambassador Chantonnay tells my lord the king in his correspondences.”
Chantonnay, that vile spy!
“Ah, but our galant Ambassador Chantonnay has misunderstood matters as they truly are. On your return to Spain you must assure His most noble Majesty that I am a true Catholic and a loyal friend. Is not my daughter Elisabeth Queen of Spain?”
She looked at him evenly, using her daughter’s marriage to Philip to set him back on his heels.
For the first time his eyelids fluttered. Ah you viper! You would be the next to go the way of all flesh if I only dared!
“Truly, Madame, your daughter is indeed the glorious Queen of Spain. But even she worries about her brother, the king of France, not ridding the land of her birth of its infestation of heretics.”
“Does she? Well then, I shall write her at once and soothe her nerves.
Perhaps I shall send her a box of my special herbs to ease her mind. My son is indeed the king. The Huguenots shall not undermine his rule.”
“Let us pray not, Madame. But my king fears your friendship with those same Huguenots will be to your harm in the end.”
Her harm? A veiled threat?
They had stopped beneath a cluster of fir trees with the clouds gathering overhead. He looked at her. “You are friends with Prince de Condé and the Huguenot Admiral Coligny, are you not?”
“Did I not imprison the Bourbon Prince Condé in the Amboise dungeon?” she asked coldly. “And this action was taken by me despite the pleas of his wife, Princesse Eleonore, that madame of leading Huguenot causes. And despite her sister-in-law, the Queen of Navarre!”
“Ah, the Queen of Navarre . . . that you have brought her up is conducive to our discussion. She must be arrested and held prisoner before she returns to Navarre. She must become a Catholic like her husband Antoine or lose her kingdom. If she is allowed to persist, she will continue to embolden and support the heretics and turn France to the ways of Calvin. The admiral of France, Coligny, must also be removed. This, Madame, is not pleasant, to be sure, but it is the message of Rome. It is the message of Spain. If not, Spain will declare war.”
“My lord Duc! And how am I to rid the land of such eminent nobility and royalty?”
His brittle smile infuriated her. “Madame, King Philip is confident you have both the authority and ability to do so. Now you must also have the will. For the good of France, for the longevity of the Valois throne, I am told to inform you that it must be done.”
“Their followers number in the many thousands. They could raise an army of fifty thousand, I have no doubt of it.”
“And Spain can offer you a hundred thousand soldiers to cleanse France of its heretics.”
She paced beneath a tree, the newly fallen autumn leaves beneath her sturdy stride. She turned and met his eyes. “I cannot agree to plunge my country into civil war. Nor will my son, the king.”
“War cannot be dismissed from our discussions, Madame. I was given one message from my king. If all else failed in our discussions and France refuses to destroy her heretics, then Spain will do it for her.
Instead of fifty thousand Huguenots, you will see thrice that of Spanish soldiers — followed by a new king.”
She knew Philip would invade if he thought it necessary and remove the Valois from the throne. Then, with Rome’s blessing, Duc de Guise would be placed on the throne.
She must have gone pale, for his expression changed, and he removed his black coat and threw it on top of a tree stump.
“Madame, if you please, I assure you I am but the servant of King Philip, I take no pleasure in this.”
Lies. He would rejoice to see Duc de Guise as king of France — or now, Antoine the new puppet. She made use of what he judged to be feminine weakness and sat down on the stump, pretending a headache and rubbing her forehead. The wind stirred the dying leaves.
“This is for our ears only. No one else need know — no one, you understand?” She smiled. “Not even King Philip.”
He paced, his steps quickening.
“The goal of destroying the Huguenot leaders must be foremost in your actions, Madame. For I must bring a word of fruitful promise to my king that you and your son the king will join with Spain in ridding the human plague of heretics from France.”
She stood, shoulders back, the wind blowing her black skirt. It was beginning to sprinkle, making a pattering noise on the crisp leaves.
“You may assure King Philip I am his friend and have no love for the Huguenots. I will cooperate to remove our shared enemies even as Rome also wishes. This must be done slowly and cautiously, however. We both know such a thing as we have in mind cannot be done in a hasty manner but must be well planned, my lord Duc. If the attempt should fail, or if suspicion is aroused . . .”
He nodded, walking beside her, for they had started back for the château.
“On one condition.”
“And what is that?”
“Queen Jeanne of Navarre is not to return to Navarre. She will be arrested and incarcerated. Then turned over to the inquisitors.”
“Queen Jeanne of Navarre and I are not allies.” And yet, her son must become Marguerite’s husband; she must not be arrested until after the marriage contract has been signed.
“Then Rome will take notice of you as a friend if you do not intervene to protect her when the hour of her capture strikes, Madame.”
“You may carry the message of my cooperation to your king.”
“He will rejoice that you at last have come to see the urgency facing France and all Europe.”
“One thing more, my lord Duc, if you will. I should feel more confident in our game of statecraft if we keep our little secret about Admiral Coligny and the rest of the Huguenot leadership from my son the king, the cardinal, and Duc de Guise.”
“This is our secret alone, Madame. You need have no fear.”
Catherine felt relie
ved. She had connived her way out of a dilemma.
Her ploy would demand a careful balance, like if she were standing upon two wild horses she must not turn loose of the reins. She was not ready to be rid of her Huguenots. She needed them to oppose the house of Guise, Spanish Ambassador Chantonnay, and the conniving papal legate.
“Our secret,” she repeated in a hushed voice as they neared the château.
They stopped, for he would return by way of the same secret route that had brought him to the place.
Cold drops continued to fall from the gray sky.
“The results will benefit your beloved Spain — and my France.”
The Duc of Alva smiled thinly. He bowed. “So be it, Madame. I now return to my king with your fair words of promise.”
“Au revoir, my lord Duc. All we need is patience. Neither you nor King Philip will be disappointed in the end.”
Truth War
Ye should earnestly contend for the faith which was once delivered unto the saints.
JUDE 3
ON THE NINTH OF SEPTEMBER, THE OFFICIAL OPENING OF THE COLLOQUY held at the Poissy monastery dawned with a mixture of anticipation and doubt.
The Huguenots were amassing in full force at Paris, Saint-Germain-en-Laye, and Poissy. Rachelle heard it said of those who assembled in support of the new opinions that they were equal in number to those who strongly opposed them. This greatly encouraged the HuguenotBourbon alliance and showed the king and the Queen Mother how many of their subjects were Huguenots and why freedom of worship should be permitted in France.
The news spread that Fabien’s kinswoman, Jeanne of Navarre, had arrived and was staying in Paris. It was alarming, coming as it did on the sober heels of the quiet entry of the papal legate, Cardinal Ferrara.
“The Queen Mother has invited Jeanne to stay at the Louvre,” Fabien told Rachelle, frowning and looking out the window to the busy courtyard below.
Rachelle, too, was gazing below uneasily, her hand on his arm.
Already a queue of coaches, smaller carriages, and saddled horses were lined up for the procession to Poissy.
“Jeanne is at the Louvre?”
“Non. She wisely preferred to stay with Louis and Eleonore at the Hotel-de-Condé,” he said of Prince de Condé and his wife. “Jeanne has never fully trusted the Queen Mother, and surely not the house of Guise.”
“Does she know about her husband?” Rachelle felt sympathy but certainly not pity. There was no reason to pity Queen Jeanne. Such an emotion might be reserved for Prince Antoine if she could look beyond his folly to what she believed was the true enemy.
“The news about Antoine has passed to Jeanne through her allies at Court,” Fabien said. “La Duchesse Montpensier wrote Jeanne before she left Navarre.”
“And Queen Jeanne knows the risk of her being arrested?”
He placed his hand on her back, but his attention was directed toward the courtyard. There was sobriety in his violet-blue gaze.
What was he watching or who was he waiting for to appear? She scanned the courtyard as well but could see nothing of interest.
“Louis was told of the grave danger that surrounds her,” he said quietly. “I spoke with him in secret two nights ago. He will be straightforward with Jeanne. I only wish I could have stopped her from coming at all.”
Fabien had secretly requested the duchesse to send Page Romier racing toward Navarre to warn Jeanne not to come to Paris, though the word was out that she was even then on her way. Romier had come upon Jeanne’s entourage on the road as it journeyed toward Paris and the lettre from Fabien passed on to her, but she would not return to her palais at Nérac.
It was like Jeanne, he had told Rachelle later. Jeanne’s personality was the opposite of Antoine. Where he vacillated, she was resolved. Early in their marriage, they had laughed about their differences.
If only they had been left alone at Navarre, Rachelle thought again, becoming angry with the Queen Mother. And now Catherine meddled in Rachelle’s marriage, using her to keep a tether on Fabien.
Fabien must have sensed a change in her, for he turned his head and looked down at her.
“Is the Queen Mother attending the opening today?” she asked.
“Yes, King Charles is to give the opening address,” he murmured absently.
“Who were you expecting in the courtyard?”
His jaw tensed. “The papal legate, Cardinal Ferrara. He was sent here from Rome with a plan to win over Jeanne of Navarre. If she does not recant and publicly attend Mass with Antoine, then the papal legate will resort to other means — and we know what that is.”
She shuddered, taking hold of his arm. “How did you find out?”
“Do not forget the admiral’s brother, Cardinal Odet, is a Huguenot at heart. He is well aware of what is going on.
“I am thinking, chérie, that Cardinal Ferrara may have plans to ‘woo’ me as well.”
Her heart felt as if it sank to her stomach.
“You?” she repeated in a small whisper, connecting his fearful words with their plans for Queen Jeanne.
“But — why?”
He took her face between his palms. “Because it is not in their purpose to lose another noble to the Reformation. Word has reached him of one more heretic in the ranks of the Bourbons. Until recently, I was considered a Catholic. He is also interested in the belle Marquise Rachelle de Vendôme, whom he believes was used by the enemy to turn my head from Rome.”
“But — me?” she said with a little squeak that brought a slight turn of his lips, in spite of the sobriety of the subject.
It surprised her to think the powerful papal legate even knew of her, let alone compared her to the conniving women of the escadron volant used to draw men away.
“They think I am responsible for your Protestant leanings?”
“Mind you, Rome is not yet sure what to believe about me. I have not yet come out publicly as a Huguenot. Perhaps I shall be offered something of value, or maybe they will take certain titles and lands and add them to what I have, granting me my father’s title of duc, similar to Antoine — who, after all, will be given the triple crown, with France thrown in for flavor,” he said dryly.
Fabien’s mood altered quickly. “They know about you, ma chérie, and the Huguenot chaplain I took for our household. All of this is laid at your feet.”
Her heart thudded.
He pulled her to him. “That is why the plan of escape is being employed earlier than I first intended. If they imagine they can arrest Jeanne as a heretic, they may as easily add others. We will take no chances.
And believe me, Cardinal Ferrara will try to woo me back because I plan to publicly meet with Minister Beza and other Huguenots.”
She was startled, feeling delight as well as fear. If anything happened to Fabien, it would mean her end as well. Without his protection, she would be swiftly arrested. Her only hope would be to try to escape the castle here at Saint-Germain-en-Laye to reach her parents at nearby Poissy with the duchesse.
“If you waited to take Communion until England . . . ?”
He gently lifted her chin until their eyes met.
“I could, but this hour, at the opening of the colloquy, is meaningful to me. It is an honneur to associate myself with the courageous Huguenots, and with monsieurs like Beza who have risked so much to come from Geneva to stand for Christ and the Scriptures. These men stir me, Rachelle. I cannot but admire their courage, and I want to at least make my public stand for Christ here in France before I leave the land I love.”
She looked at him, feeling gratitude to God for such a husband. She threw her arms around him, closing her eyes and holding him tightly.
RACHELLE STOOD WITH COUSIN BERTRAND on the balustrade watching wagon after wagon roll down the road past fir trees of the Laye Forest carrying Bibles and Scripture portions in the forbidden tongue, all printed in Geneva, to be passed out freely to all in attendance and to any on the street who wanted them.
“We c
ould give out many thousands more if we had them,” Bertrand said, pleased. “Everyone wants one — even some of the priests come back alone to ask for a copy, but they do not want the bishops and cardinals to know. And remember, Rachelle, it was money from the silk and the Château de Silk that helped pay the expenses of some of these wagon-loads of Bibles. This is a day for you and Arnaut and Clair to experience joy.”
She did experience joy and only wished that Idelette were here to see the scriptures handed out freely, for she had given money she had saved in a beaded jar.
We will tell her all about the success when we arrive in London.
Besides Bibles and Scripture portions there were crates of special writings.
“By the learned pasteurs and teachers in Geneva,” Bertrand told her.
“I am still amazed the Queen Mother would allow this,” she said, her eyes following the wagons. “Books written by Calvin?”
“She is desperate to stop a civil war. For this I highly commend her. From what Fabien tells me, she is daily harassed by the infuriated Spanish ambassador, and Duc de Guise is livid.”
She’d heard that Calvin’s writings would also be smuggled into the University of Paris to the curious students.
Fabien, after attending public Communion with the Huguenot assembly on the first day of the colloquy, received a special Bible printed in Geneva from Minister Beza.
Rachelle was thrilled with it. She ran her palm along the burgundy leather with his family name in gold.
“I anticipate writing the name of our firstborn child on the family birth page,” she told him. But she blinked back a tear. She did not want Fabien to know she was saddened at not having been able to witness him publicly taking Communion for the first time as a Huguenot.
In special ceremony Bibles, the words, “with love from the Geneva church,” were bestowed on King Charles de Valois IX and the Queen Mother.
“No doubt they were all wrapped in prayers,” she said.
Rachelle was excited to hear how the Huguenot leadership was invited to stay in the châteaus of the nobles, while fine dinners and discourses by Minister Beza on doctrinal issues were open for all to attend if they could find a place to sit, stand, or climb up on.
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