Doctor Who: The Massacre (6 page)

He was still struggling with the problem when at five o’clock the ex-Captain of the Guard reported that Anne Chaplet’s only family – and this from hearsay among the kitchen staff – was a brother, Raoul, and an aunt, name unknown, both of whom lived in Paris.

‘Find them and arrest them,’ Duval ordered, ‘and the sooner the better.’ The former Captain of the Guard saluted him and left hurriedly.

Duval buckled on his sword and put on his plumed hat to attend Vespers at Notre Dame where he would meet the Abbot of Amboise. At least, he tried to convince himself, he was going with something favourable, however slight, to report.

Steven had passed away the afternoon visiting the Louvre but his pleasure had been marred by a nagging concern for the Doctor. It wasn’t anything he could put his finger on and he had tried to push it out of his mind but it was still there as he made his way back across
le Grand Pont
amongst the crowd, pushing and jostling its way towards the Cathedral. A carriage squeezed Steven with a lot of others to one side and inside it he recognised Simon Duval.

The Vespers Bell began to clang out its call to prayer and Steven found himself being swept past the auberge towards Notre Dame. He tried to fight against the human tide but it was impossible and he was carried along with it to the square in front of the Cathedral. Soldiers armed with pikes held back the crowd to leave a path along which the carriages of dignitaries attending the service could approach the Cathedral steps.

Trumpeters and heralds stood on either side of the doors and as each carriage drew up at the foot of the steps, the occupant would be greeted with a fanfare befitting his rank. Several drew shouts from the crowd. ‘Tavannes,’ they cried to one who waved his plumed hat in recognition.

‘Guise,’ to another, a name which Steven already knew, and then ‘Anne, Anne,’ to a middle-aged woman whose two handmaidens daintily lifted the front of her full, embroidered skirt so that she would not trip as she mounted the steps.

Steven spotted Duval standing by the doorway with two of the three clergymen he had seen in the Cathedral earlier

– the rotund priest with the booming voice and the cadaverous one, still clutching his cross, as they inclined their heads to the dignitaries entering the Cathedral.

Then the crowd fell silent as the last carriage rumbled into view. It was a four-wheeled open wagon drawn by four grey horses hand-led by liveried lackeys. On either side walked six acolytes swinging thuribles filled with smoking, perfumed incense. An ermine-trimmed, silken canopy, laced with golden thread sheltered the ornate throne that sat on the lavishly carpeted floor of the wagon.

On the throne sat the Abbot of Amboise in his black and white robes with the cowl thrown back off his head.

He was looking from side to side, making discreet signs of the cross to the crowd who stood silently in awe.

But Steven and Duval gawped at the Abbot in incredulity, scarcely able to believe the evidence of their eyes.

There was no mistaking the Abbot’s features. Simon Duval was staring at the white-haired old man whose glass he had taken in the auberge, while Steven’s attention was riveted on the Doctor.

5

During the Vesper’s service Steven stood on the Cathedral square in a state of shock. What was the Doctor playing at?

he asked himself. So absorbed was he in his search for an answer that he was unaware of the soldiers pushing back him and the crowd to clear a path to the Cardinal’s palace where the Abbot would be taken when he came out of Notre Dame.

The service ended and the Abbot stood on the steps in front of the Cathedral to bless the crowd before being helped up to the throne on the wagon. As the liveried lackeys led the horses past Steven, he tried to catch the Doctor’s eye but to no avail and the procession passed him by.

On the other hand, Simon Duval was stunned with admiration by the Abbot’s audacity to seek out, in disguise, Lerans and Muss, the right-hand men of the two most influential Huguenots in France, King Henri of Navarre and the Admiral de Coligny. When Lerans and Muss saw the Abbot again, Duval decided, they would laugh on the other side of their faces at their jests against the Princess.

But more important to him, hadn’t the Abbot observed how he had defended Princess Marguerite’s honour at the auberge and had he not refilled the Abbot’s glass courteously afterwards? The failures of the afternoon, the apothecaries and the wench, were not of his making, others had failed him and so, with a sigh of relief, he realised he had nothing to fear from his first official encounter with the Abbot of Amboise.

There were others in the crowd who watched the proceedings with cold, curious eyes recording the names and rank of those who, as a mark of obeisance to the Abbot, attended the service. It was information which would be passed on swiftly to their masters in the English, Dutch and Spanish Courts.

As the crowd dispersed Steven made his way back to the auberge and waited for the Doctor until Antoine-Marc came over to his table and whispered that it was time to leave.

‘But I’m waiting for my friend,’ Steven protested, ‘we agreed to meet here.’

‘Can’t help that,’ Antoine-Marc murmured. ‘I’m about to shut so you must go.’

Steven thought for a moment. ‘This
is
an auberge?’ he asked.

‘It is,’ Antoine-Marc muttered.

‘Then I’ll take a room for the night,’ Steven replied.

Antoine-Marc hesitated and then smiled, ‘I’ll need your papers,’ he confided, ‘it’s the law.’

Instinctively Steven felt his pockets. ‘I don’t have any with me,’ he admitted, adding that where he came from people weren’t obliged to carry them.

‘Things are different here,’ Antoine-Marc’s whisper had a note of menace, ‘and no papers, no room.’

‘But I’m sure my friend will arrive soon,’ Steven said, trying to convince himself as much as Antoine-Marc.

‘In which case you’ll meet him on the street,’ Antoine-Marc muttered with finality.

Steven shrugged, stood up and went outside to wait.

The door shut behind him and he heard the bolts being slid into place. He watched as the window shutters were closed and then, with a sigh, he leant against the wall. He could go back to the TARDIS but he hadn’t a key and he certainly didn’t fancy spending the night waiting for the Doctor on a rubbish dump.

The heat of the day had gone, it was still light and the evening air was balmy so Steven decided to walk to the riverside. As he did, the bells from the Cathedral clanged out again which made him curious about the service as no one was on the streets.

Suddenly he realised he was alone. Where he and the Doctor had been jostled and shoved during the day, not a solitary soul was in sight. And the bell still rang out. Then the truth struck. The bell must be a tocsin, a warning, and the empty streets told him there must be a curfew. As he had no shelter he decided to wait under one of the archways near the bridge which gave him cover and a view of the auberge in case the Doctor should arrive.

It grew dusk and Steven, leaning against the side of the archway, rapidly became bored. He had given up trying to figure out the Doctor’s game and why he should choose to impersonate the Abbot of Amboise but he knew he would not see him before morning and the night stretched endlessly ahead of him. Then the point of a pike pricked the small of his back.

‘What are you doing here?’ he was asked gruffly.

‘Holding up the arch,’ Steven replied nonchalantly as he braced himself.

‘Don’t be funny with me,’ the voice replied as the pike prodded Steven’s back. The soldier’s arms are extended, Steven thought, and he swung one arm in a downwards and sideways stroke to knock the halberd away from his back a split second before he spun around to grab the shaft and pivot it upwards to hit the soldier on the side of his head.

Caught off balance by the blow, the soldier hit the other side of his head against the wall and, releasing the pike, slumped to the ground. Steven snatched the pike and held it like a staff in front of him as two other soldiers ran at him from the shadows. He fended off their initial attack with seesaw blows of the staff, disarming one of them. The other soldier came back to the attack as Steven switched his grip on the pike to hold it by one end and swung it violently like a pendulum which sent the soldier’s pike flying from his hands.

Steven heard applause behind him and he turned around to face four more pikemen with a young officer, his sword cradled in his elbow as he clapped his hands.

‘Prettily done, sir,’ the officer said, taking his sword by the hilt. ‘I admire your mettle but I think you’d find us too many.’ Steven heard the soldier behind him picking up his pike so he threw down the one he held which was quickly grabbed by the other soldier scrambling to his knees.

‘Now, tell me what you are doing here?’ the officer asked.

‘I was sheltering,’ Steven replied and explained about being refused a room at the auberge.

‘And you have no papers?’

Steven shook his head and the officer turned to the soldiers.

‘Take him to the prison at the Cardinal’s palace,’ he ordered and smiled at Steven. ‘You’ll find a room there.’

The Doctor had sat fuming for too long. He was sick to death of being stared at and being the butt of some secret joke as every protest he made was received with hoots of derisory laughter. Then to his astonishment a small carriage with a driver and drawn by two Alsation dogs came into the room.

‘What happened?’ Charles, the bearded, red-haired man demanded as the driver stepped out of the carriage and glanced nervously at the Doctor.

‘He – he – was there,’ the driver stuttered.

‘How could that be when he’s here?’ David roared, pointing at the Doctor.

‘I saw him with my own eyes,’ the driver, a small middle-aged man, protested. ‘He went into Notre Dame for Vespers.’

All eyes turned to the Doctor as he jumped to his feet.

‘
Who
went into the Cathedral for Vespers?’ he demanded in his most authoritative voice.

‘You did, but apparently you didn’t, Doctor,’ Preslin replied lamely.

‘I have insisted throughout this ordeal,’ the Doctor paused for dramatic effect, ‘that I am not the person you presume me to be.’

Preslin looked embarrassed and then began to chuckle.

‘Forgive us, Doctor,’ he said, ‘but it would seem that you bear an uncanny resemblance to our mortal enemy, the Abbot of Amboise.’

‘I was convinced you were he, sir,’ admitted Charles.

‘Forgive me.’

‘And I also knew I’d seen your face before,’ David conceded.

The Doctor looked around the silent room and his eyes began to twinkle. ‘No harm’s been done, gentlemen, other than the fact that I am a little late for my rendezvous. But if someone would kindly escort me up to the streets and fetch me a carriage, I’ll take my leave of you.’

‘That’s impossible, Doctor,’ Preslin said.

‘Why so, Preslin?’ The Doctor was indignant once again.

‘There is a curfew until dawn,’ Preslin replied, ‘and no one may go abroad.’

‘Not even your Abbot of Amboise’s apparent double?’

the Doctor snapped.

Preslin shook his head and explained that the Catholic militia roamed the streets by night and he would not want to place the Doctor’s safety in jeopardy. ‘You may continue your journey tomorrow morning,’ he added and then smiled. ‘My colleagues and I will spend the night discussing our work with you, if you wish.’

‘Hmm,’ the Doctor replied and, deciding that Steven could take care of himself, agreed. Preslin called for food and wine and the apothecaries sat down around the table with the Doctor.

But the Doctor failed to notice the bearded, red-headed man named Charles draw the driver to one side and whisper in his ear. The driver nodded, clambered into the dog cart and drove off into the tunnels.

After Vespers Simon Duval had returned to his quarters in the Cardinal’s palace and changed into his best finery for the banquet at the Louvre in the Abbot’s honour.

Catherine de Medici, the Queen Mother and the young King Charles IX were to preside and everyone of importance in France, both Catholic and Huguenot, would be in attendance, as well as the Ambassadors from England, Spain, Holland, Germany, Italy and the Holy See. Duval knew that with all the Court intrigues being played out and alliances being sought there would be no opportunity for him to speak to the Abbot. That must wait until the morning. This evening it would be enough for him to be presented and recognised.

Then as he reviewed his appearance in a mirror and drew on his gloves, he anticipated with relish the encounter he would manoeuvre at some point between himself and Lerans. He took a final glance at the mirror, slightly adjusted the tilt of his plumed hat, and left.

At least three hundred people were in the Receiving Room at the Louvre and with the silks, laces, cockades, wigs and pommades it was difficult to decide who were the more beautifully attired, the women or the men. The 22-year-old King sat enthroned on a dais to one side with his mother, Catherine, watching as one by one the dignitaries were announced and received by the Abbot of Amboise with a slight inclination of the head. To a few he gave a faint smile and to others a small gesture with his hand.

The presentations were made by order of rank with preference shown, naturally, to the Catholics. But the Huguenots were not ill-received and Admiral Gaspard de Coligny was accorded a warm smile by the Queen Mother after he had been presented.

Duval, for his part, overdid his bow with an extravagant sweep of his hat which caused the Abbot to smile thinly at him, a gesture Duval completely misinterpreted. Both Lerans and Muss bowed curtly and formally before being swallowed up by the crowd again.

‘I have the feeling I’ve seen him before,’ Muss remarked,

‘quite recently, too.’

‘When clerics sit on thrones, they all look alike to me,’

Lerans answered dismissively as Duval pushed his way through the crowd to his side.

‘Well, Viscount Lerans, what is your impression of our good Lord Abbot?’ His voice had an edge to it.