The Devil's Queen: A Novel of Catherine De Medici (53 page)

His first act was impressive: Ignoring the growling dog in Edouard’s lap and the King’s threatening glare, Coligny walked up to Charles, sank to his knees, cap in hand, and bowed his head, revealing a balding, sunburned crown.

“Your Majesty,” he said, “there are no words to express my gratitude at your invitation. Your generosity, forgiveness, and trust overwhelm me. Thank you for the opportunity to show you that I, and those who share my faith, revere you as our sovereign lord.”

Coligny delivered his pretty speech with such apparent genuineness and humility that Charles was mollified: His scowl was replaced by an expression of hesitant curiosity.

“Welcome to Blois,” he muttered and gestured impatiently. “Get up, get up.”

Graceful and strong, Coligny rose without using his hands to steady himself. His blond eyelashes were barely visible, giving the impression of a naked, guileless gaze. I shared a surreptitious glance with Edouard that relayed our favorable impressions and our skepticism.

The Admiral’s attention was so thoroughly fixed on Charles that Edouard and I might as well have been absent. “I firmly believe, Your Majesty, that God directed you to send for me, so that peace could be restored to France. As your former enemy, let me congratulate you on your military acumen. You have proven, time and again, which of us is the better commander.”

Charles’s lip curled faintly. “Don’t patronize me, Monsieur. You know very well that my brother won the battles.”

“Yes,” Coligny allowed, “but it is a wise king who surrounds himself with talented men. Ultimately, you are responsible for every victory.”

At this, the muscles in Charles’s face and body softened. “Admiral,” he said, gesturing, “this is my brother, the Duke of Anjou.”

For the first time, Coligny’s gaze acknowledged Anjou. The little dog on Edouard’s lap bared its teeth, but the Admiral seemed not to see it. He bowed very low, and when he straightened, he said, “
Monsieur le Duc
. His Majesty was indeed wise to appoint you Lieutenant General. What a pleasure to meet the worthy adversary who made my life so miserable for so very long.”

Despite Coligny’s flattery, a subtle ripple of disapproval emanated from him as he—so strong, square, and plain—stared down at my bejeweled son in lavender velvet, with his glittering little dog.

If Edouard realized he was being judged, he did not show it; he laughed easily. “I could well say the same to you, Admiral. I’m glad to finally have you on our side.”

“And this,” the King announced, “is our beloved mother.”

Coligny stepped to my bedside and kissed my hand. His beard was soft against my skin.

“Madame la Reine,”
he said solemnly. “Only a great mother could raise such great men. May God grant you and the Duke a swift return to health.”

“Admiral,” I said, smiling despite my feverishness. “I’m pleased to call you friend. I look forward to discussing how we might strengthen the Treaty of Amboise.”

Coligny faced my elder son. “Your Majesty, I would like nothing better, but such negotiations are best limited to two people. I look forward to discussing it with you man to man.”

Smoothly, Edouard interjected, “Being the wise sovereign, my brother relies heavily upon our mother’s advice. She was pivotal in negotiating the treaty.”

Again, Coligny turned to Charles. “Should you wish to appoint your mother as your emissary, I shall speak to her. Only give me direction, Your Majesty.”

Charles bloomed. “Tonight we shall dine privately and will speak of the Treaty.” He patted the seat beside him. “Come, sit and take some refreshment.” He snapped his fingers at a chambermaid, who hurried to fill a goblet with wine.

“I am honored, Your Majesty,” the Admiral replied. “But I drink no wine, lest it interfere with my ability to serve my God and my king.”

I marked the pious pride in that announcement. Coligny’s words were calculated to give the impression of humble honesty, which made me trust him not at all. He sat down beside Charles, who seized his arm and quipped: “We have you now,
mon père,
and we shall not let you go so easily!” He laughed at his own wit.

Coligny laughed, too, without a shadow of the unease such words might have inspired in a less confident man. We chatted about his journey, the loveliness of the Loire Valley, and his new young wife.

Within the first quarter hour, Coligny became the King’s fast friend. The two left together, as Charles was eager to show the Admiral the palace. Edouard and I stared after them.

“There goes trouble,” Edouard murmured, once they were well out of earshot.

“I believe I have made a terrible mistake,” I answered softly, “by asking him to come.”

Once Edouard and I had recovered, we held a formal reception in Coligny’s honor, inviting three hundred dukes, cardinals, and ambassadors. Charles was pleased by the fuss.

The festivities began shortly before dusk. The massive outdoor spiral staircase overlooking the courtyard was festooned with silver brocade and gilded leaves. As our guests watched from the steps, a bevy of young women, scantily draped in gossamer, waved tall plumed fans in the air, then gathered in a circle to touch the tips of the plumes together. These were lowered dramatically to reveal the newborn Venus, standing upon a large “shell” of painted wood.

The nymphets spun away. Venus performed a short dance, after which Mars—Edouard’s Lignerolles, in a white toga and scarlet mantle—appeared, brandishing a sword. After a threatening display, Mars pursued the frightened Venus. When he captured her, she kissed him, rendering him a docile creature. The pair promenaded happily, to much applause.

The reception moved inside, where swaths of sheer silk hung from the
ceiling; from time to time, the nymphets stirred the fabric to recall the undulating sea. Amid this oceanic backdrop, the King and his family were formally announced, followed by the guest of honor.

As he walked into the hall, Coligny’s composure was formidable, his appearance less so: He wore a new doublet of black silk but no ruff, as fashion required, only a plain white collar. It was a brilliant strategy: Against the satins, velvets, and gems, drab Coligny stood out dramatically. He knelt at Charles’s throne and, eschewing His Majesty’s proffered hand, instead kissed his slippered foot.

Not only was the hostile Catholic crowd impressed, but Charles was giddy at such a show of loyalty. Grinning, he drew Coligny to his feet and kissed his cheeks.

“We are convinced of Admiral Coligny’s fealty and goodwill,” the King announced, his arm around the Huguenot’s shoulder. “We love him as a faithful subject and a friend; whosoever lifts a hand against him, lifts it against us.”

Coligny bowed to the Duke of Anjou. For the Admiral’s reception, Edouard wore rose damask studded with pearls and a huge ruffed collar of pink lace; his white lapdog wore a matching pink ruff. To my amusement, sly Edouard took the Admiral’s hands and kissed him on the mouth like a blood relative; only someone paying careful attention would have noticed how eagerly Coligny disengaged from the embrace.

At a nod from Charles, the lutists and violists began to play. The King was as cheerful and garrulous as I had ever seen him; he took Coligny’s arm and marched off to display his new prize.

Margot, Edouard, and I also left our thrones. I hurried over to the Guises—the young Duke, Henri, and his uncle the Cardinal of Lorraine, who had the most cause to be offended by the honors heaped upon the Admiral, because Coligny’s spy had murdered Henri’s father, the elder Duke of Guise.

The Cardinal took my proffered hand; his own was cool and weightless, and his lips kissed the air just above my cheek.

His nephew the Duke of Guise wore a white ruff collar larger than his head; the stiff lace scraped my skin as he kissed my hand. He smiled, but the gesture was far from genuine; his posture was coiled and tense.

“Gentlemen,” I said warmly, “I am so grateful to you both; the circumstances are not easy for either of you, but you put the good of France ahead of any personal considerations. I will remember your graciousness.”

“You are too kind,” the young Guise said, but his tone was distracted; he was watching Charles’s and Coligny’s gradual approach.

I opened my mouth to say something further, but the King’s loud, jovial voice interrupted.

“Ah, the Messieurs Guise! Here he is, gentlemen: your worst enemy in all the world, Admiral Gaspard de Coligny!”

I turned. There was grinning Charles, arm in arm with the Admiral, oblivious to the others’ discomfort.

The Cardinal and the Duke froze. Coligny stood a full head shorter than the young Guise, who stared down his aristocratic nose at the Admiral.

“I must tell you,” Charles announced, “that the Admiral swears he had nothing to do with François of Guise’s death. His spy was not acting under his orders when he murdered François.”

The Cardinal of Lorraine turned to stone. A muscle in young Guise’s jaw spasmed as he said, “Since you are such a good friend of the King, Admiral, I must welcome you to Court.”

“I fought beside your father on many occasions,” Coligny said softly. “There was never a finer man and soldier. When I heard of his death, I wept.”

Guise’s eyes flared. He lurched toward Coligny, but his uncle put a warning hand on his shoulder, and he stilled again. In the pregnant silence, Charles began to speak again, loudly, carelessly.

“So what is this I hear about our cousin the Queen of Scots? Mary has been scheming again, and gotten herself into trouble. . . . Is it true?”

“She is being held in England,” the Cardinal answered stiffly. “Elizabeth is convinced that Mary and the Duke of Norfolk were plotting to assassinate her.”

“But it’s true, isn’t it?” Charles demanded. “Mary always felt the English Crown belonged to her.”

“And well so, Your Majesty,” the young Guise countered darkly. “Elizabeth is a
heretic
”—he glanced at Coligny—“and a bastard, and therefore has no rights to any throne in Christendom.”

“Well, Mary certainly is pressing her luck, isn’t she?” Charles asked blithely. “Plot after plot . . . and all of them discovered. I tell you, she’ll wind up losing her head.”

With that, he walked off with the Admiral. I remained with the Guises for a few more minutes, trying vainly to undo the damage.

The affair lasted well into the night. At one point, I spied Coligny taking the air on the balcony overlooking the courtyard, and went to him.

The balcony was blessedly cool, quiet, and deserted. Coligny leaned against the railing, his expression faintly troubled as he stared out at the dark horizon. At the sound of my footsteps, he turned and forced a smile.

“So serious, Admiral,” I said cheerfully. “I had hoped that this evening would be a relaxing one for you.”

He laughed. “Old soldiers can never completely relax,
Madame la Reine
. It is one of the costs of battle.”

“A pity,” I said, “for you are truly safe among us here.”

His tone grew wry. “One would not think so, looking at the Duke of Guise.”

“He will learn to call you friend. I am determined to reconcile your followers and ours—so much so, that I have come to ask a favor.”

He lifted his golden brows, pleasantly expectant.

“Contact Jeanne of Navarre,” I said. “Tell her that I must see her here at Court to discuss the marriage of my daughter Margot to her son, Henri.”

His expression resolved into one of mild surprise. “Are you serious, Madame?”

“Quite.”

“You must understand,” he countered, “that my followers warned me against coming to Court. The Queen of Navarre has even more reason to be cautious. Were she killed, she would leave behind a country and a young son.”

I let go an honest sigh. “Jeanne has less reason to fear for her safety than you do. I wouldn’t marry Margot to her son in order to harm her.”

“An excellent point,” he allowed. “But do I,
Madame la Reine,
have reason to be concerned for myself?”

“No,” I answered emphatically. “The Duke of Anjou has arranged for fifty bodyguards to attend you and transferred a sizable sum to your bank accounts. I hope it reassures you that I am serious about peace.”

He tilted his head. “Does His Majesty know about the marriage plans?”

“Marital arrangements are women’s work. But nothing will be finalized without the King’s approval.”

“I see.” He looked back out at the night; when he turned to me, his expression was resolute. “If you wish to be a friend to us, consider this: the Spanish are murdering our fellow Protestants in the Netherlands. I need five thousand soldiers to show Philip that France will not permit the slaughter of innocents.”

If I sent French soldiers to the Netherlands, King Philip would consider it an act of war. His army was larger and stronger than ours; we would be quickly defeated. But I kept my features bland, my expression agreeable.

“I should like to discuss it more with you once Margot and Henri are married,” I said easily. “First, however, I need you to send a message to Jeanne.”

“Very well,
Madame la Reine,
” he said. “I am your servant.”

We returned to the reception, I resting my fingers lightly on his solid forearm. He had aged well, save for his balding crown. Although I didn’t trust him, I appreciated his intelligence and poise.