Daughter of Silk (26 page)
“We will not fail,” Louis said. “I will ask Capitaine d’Empernon to get through to Nantes. He can leave as soon as it is dark.”
Fabien thought they should send a man dressed as a peasant, not a known captain in Louis’s army, but he hesitated to again suggest amend- ing the prince’s decision.
Louis smiled affectionately as he turned to Fabien. “You have done well by coming to warn us, Cousine Fabien. But now there is no cause to further risk yourself in association with us at Amboise. Far wiser for you to ride to your chateau at Vendôme.”
“Yes,” Sebastien urged. “Avoid getting caught in whatever intrigues may be planned by Catherine and the Guises.”
Fabien was standing near the terrace. The breeze blowing in had turned colder. The sun was beginning to set with a sullen yellow stain spreading behind the trees and mountains. Thunderheads were begin- ning to gather, threatening to veil the last of the sun’s rays. Darkness would soon settle.
Fabien had no intention of withdrawing to Vendôme. Andelot Dangeau would be at Amboise to meet the cardinal. Fabien did not know why, but he had always held a sense of responsibility and con- cern for him, though Andelot was but a few years younger than himself. And now, the Macquinets of Lyon were involved. If there was trouble, he could not imagine himself riding away from it and leaving Rachelle and Andelot in its midst while he sought refuge at his chateau.
Louis grinned, his dark eyes adventurous. “I see you are offended at the thought. You are a true Bourbon, mon cousine. The courageous blood of Jean-Louis is also yours.”
Fabien bowed. “But with your leave, mon prince, I would not wait here with you and the others for the admiral’s arrival from Châtillon. I will leave for Amboise as soon as our men and horses have rested and eaten. It may be we can overtake the king’s retinue, as they are journey- ing slowly.”
Montmorency came to him, throwing an arm around his shoulders. “Will you at least stay for the afternoon feasting?”
“May our good God agree our plans are just in his sight and sanction our lives in this matter,” Cardinal Odet said.
“We daughters of God will be on our knees for each of you, mes- sieurs,” Princesse Eleonore said, “and God be with you, Marquis Fabien.” She had come up to him with a reassuring smile. He bent over her hand.
“Merci, Mademoiselle Princesse.”
Louis took her hand and laid it against his heart, his dark eyes speak- ing deepest respect for her earnest faith. The look between them went deeper than physical amour, and again Fabien took note. He bid them adieu and left to find Gallaudet and his men.
T
The royal procession, making its slow journey toward the fortress of Amboise, had stopped for the midday meal, and to permit the ailing young king to rest and walk among the trees with Mary.
Rachelle knew that Andelot Dangeau, who had spent his first four- teen years in Lyon at the Chateau de Silk and was an ami to both her and Idelette, rode among the king’s soldiers. She had on occasion seen him around Chambord and had wished to visit with him, but her demanding agenda had left her days filled.
She walked as near to where the soldiers were resting under the trees as was fitting for proper conduct and hoped that Andelot would notice and recognize her. It was not long until she heard the sound of horse hooves and he rode up, smiling. She thought him comely with his brown wavy hair and eyes.
“Mademoiselle Rachelle!” He swung down from his horse. “Bonjour, but what bonne chance to meet you on the journey.”
She laughed. “It was not by chance, I assure you, Andelot. I was hop- ing you would notice I was here and have some time to spare. I have wanted to visit with you since you arrived at Chambord with the mar- quis. I thought we could visit during our déjeuner.”
“How fair it is to see you again, Mademoiselle. I too had wished to see you at Chambord but your time belonged to the princesse. I hear your work with the silk has so pleased royalty that you have become one of her court ladies. You are pleased?”
“I am honored, yes, but it is all so new and strange. There are so many in the nobility to meet and whose names I should remember. But
tell me of yourself! The last I saw you, Sebastien placed you at a monas- tery school in Paris.”
“That was three years ago. New changes have befallen me and you will hardly believe my good fortune.”
They sat together on an old log beneath an alder tree lunching on the food that Rachelle had brought along and pouring tea from a jug into two cups, as Andelot stunned her with news of his kinsman relationship to the House of Guise.
When he concluded his tale of how his oncle had visited him at the Paris school with the information that had emerged from the cardinal, she hardly knew how to fathom the change it would make in Andelot’s future.
“Sebastien must have been profoundly shocked by this, as well as yourself. How is it you are related to the House of Guise without his knowing? And why did it take so long for the matter to be discovered? So many questions! You
are
a blood nephew of Sebastien, are you not?”
“Yes, one wonders, to be sure, and I am not at all pleased, because in truth, few answers have been given to me. I yet await my first intro- duction and interview with the cardinal. I only know what mon Oncle Sebastien told me recently, that mon père, Louis Dangeau, was not his blood brother as we always thought, but only related. When Louis’s parents died, he was brought into the Dangeau family, and as it were, adopted.”
The explanation was unsatisfactory to Rachelle, and she could see by the thoughtfulness in his eyes that it was to him as well, but it was not her place to cast doubt upon Sebastien’s explanation. Perhaps even Sebastien did not know the true facts.
“So your père was related to the House of Lorraine?”
Andelot’s brows tucked together beneath the lock of brown hair that fell across his tanned forehead. He stared at his roast venison and bread loaf. “One wonders,” he repeated. “I believe Marquis Fabien may know something, but he changes the subject when I bring it up.” He shook his bread with deliberation. “Oui, I suppose that is how it happened. Sebastien has told me that it is the duchesse who would not receive Louis.”
Rachelle frowned. “The duchesse?”
He looked at her. “Le Duc de Guise’s maman, the unsmiling dowager of Catholic orthodoxy — did not accept Louis because my mother was
. . . a woman of ill repute.” He took a big bite of meat, avoiding her eyes. “That is no shame to you. Do you know who your maman is?” “Non.”
“Perhaps the shame is equally the House of Guise who refused to accept you until most recently.
“I am told le cardinal only recently discovered who I was. It was then he sent Sebastien to take me from the monastery school. You remember when I left Lyon?”
“Idelette had sulked for weeks afterward,” she confessed casually. “She did?” came his surprised voice. “Ho! Who would ever have
guessed?”
“What will you do now? Have they told you what they are planning for your future?”
He frowned. “I suppose I shall discover it when I meet the cardinal at Amboise. Sebastien believes I shall be chosen for the privilege of enter- ing the
corps des pages
.”
She could see that he watched her eagerly for her response. She was, indeed, proud for him, but dare not give him any suggestion that she was pleased romantically. Though they were near the same age, Andelot seemed yet a boy to her after meeting the marquis.
“Doubtless that would be an honor for you.” She added gentle mean- ing: “Would you then be serving the cardinal?” The idea made her uncomfortable, but even so, she did not wish to foil any sense of pride he might have over his recent status.
“I will not know that until I meet with him.” He then frowned. “I am unsure what becoming his page would mean. That is, I am aware of my duties, but . . .”
He did not finish, and Rachelle politely kept silent. They were both thinking along the same paths, she was sure. Would the time come in the future when Andelot was expected to carry out the cardinal’s policy of persecution against heretics?
They finished their meal. He helped her gather a bowl and a few dishes together into a bag for one of the lackeys to carry away, then he
offered to walk her back to where the royal coaches were gathered in the shade of the trees, the f lags of Valois rippling in the breeze.
“I suppose I shall see you again at Amboise,” he said, his tone hopeful.
Rachelle smiled absently, for her attention was focused back along the road. “Look, there are riders coming. They are halting beneath those alder trees near the stream.” Was the main rider who she anticipated? The golden horse had a jeweled harness and the rider wore a cloak and hat that even from where she stood showed par excellence.
“It is Marquis Fabien and Gallaudet. They will join the king’s cara- van once we are back on the road to Amboise.”
“He arrived only in time. It appears as though the king is ready to ride on again.”
“I was uncertain if Marquis Fabien would return from —” He shot her a glance, as if he had misspoken.
She hastened to put him at ease, to let him know that she was aware of Fabien’s secret journey to his Bourbon kinsmen.
“It is a mercy of God that Marquis Fabien has returned safely from meeting with Prince Condé. I wonder if the Bourbon chieftains will decide not to heed the king’s summons to come to Amboise?”
“Then he told you? The marquis has shown confidence in your trust, but who would not?”
“Merci. But what do you think, Andelot? Will Prince Condé and the others come?”
“How can they not? It is the king’s demand.”
“Yes, but not a light thing when you are uncertain of your reception, though the Queen Mother speaks of an edict of peace.” Remembering her foray into Catherine’s bedchamber and the sinister interview follow- ing, Rachelle again felt her nerves curl.
Andelot looked off toward the royal caravan preparing for its jour- ney. “If only there could be peace between Catholics and Huguenots.”
Not as long as the House of Guise are legates of Philip II of Spain and
control the throne
.
She became aware of Andelot’s scrutiny and busied herself by taking notice of the clouds drifting in from the hills.
“It looks as if it will soon rain. Au revoir, Andelot, I must make haste to la Valois before she misses me.”
“Au revoir, Rachelle.” He bowed.
Rachelle tossed him a smile of affection, then walked back toward the royal calèche where she noticed a f lurry of activity. When would she again talk with Marquis Fabien?
As she neared, Charlotte de Presney approached her from the trees. “Where have you been?” she asked crossly. “The princesse has
been inquiring.” Charlotte turned her head and looked off toward the soldier’s camp. “You must not wander off. Your reputation will soon be questioned, I assure you.” She turned and walked in the direction of the coach.
The minx!
Rachelle hurried up to the royal coach, expecting a sharp rebuke from Princesse Marguerite, and instead found her
bon vivant
, her dark eyes feisty.
Now what has she planned?
“I shall ride horseback the rest of the journey to Amboise, and you shall come with me. You and Madame de Presney.”
Rachelle was certain the Queen Mother would not approve of Marguerite riding off without her guard. She was equally certain that Marguerite had some plan to meet Henry de Guise along the way in the woods.
Rachelle was relieved when Charlotte saved her from the necessity of trying to reign in the princesse’s enthusiasm for indulging her whims.
“Princesse, it will rain soon, and you know you are of weak dispo- sition in the cold, wet months. May it please you to remain dry in the comfortable coach.”
Marguerite was surely in no mood for hindrance. “It is you who fear a trif le of rain. We will ride.”
As Marguerite turned gaily to the rest of her ladies, Louise de Fontaine leaned toward Rachelle and whispered, “There is only one thing that could be so feverishly upon Marguerite’s mind: Monsieur Henry. He is no longer among the courtiers invited to Amboise.”
“Why so?”
“The Queen Mother has most sternly forbidden her to be alone with Monsieur Guise. Marguerite will meet the King of Portugal at Amboise
and it is hoped by the Queen Mother that a marriage could be in the future.”
“With the King of Portugal? But what of Prince Henry of Navarre, the Huguenot?” Rachelle whispered.
Louise held her fan near her lips, glancing about as she spoke to make certain they were not being watched.
“I have heard it said the Queen Mother has several important princes in mind for marriage to her youngest daughter, and that she is wooing all of them to gain but one. The one monseigneur she truly wishes for Marguerite is the son of King Philip of Spain, but the king is displeased with Catherine.”
“Displeased, but why?”
“Spain insists that the king destroy all heretics in France. There is some discussion that the Queen Mother may even go to Spain with Marguerite in a year or two to convince him of the marriage with his son. If they do visit Spain, Marguerite’s chief ladies will travel with her.”
Louise looked at her thoughtfully. “I am sure Philip will have a mes- sage for the Queen Mother as well. If she wishes peace with Philip, and for Marguerite to marry his son Don Carlos, then Catherine will need to cooperate with the Guises in destroying the Huguenots.”
A dart of both fear and excitement tingled Rachelle’s skin. Spain! Would she be among the ladies-in-waiting for such a grand excursion? But what of Spain’s demands upon the Queen Mother to rid her land of Huguenots?
“The rest of you will proceed by coach,” Marguerite was saying to her ladies.
It was very like Marguerite to behave with abandon and do some- thing of this daring nature by sneaking off into the woods for a rendez- vous with Henry de Guise. Why it was that Marguerite had decided to trust her and Charlotte with her plans was anyone’s guess. Rachelle was uncomfortable with any situation that might bring her to Catherine’s attention. That unblinking gaze had already fixed upon her, reminding her that she walked and moved in slippery places.
