Written on Silk (39 page)

What if Jaymin came back tonight with guards and insisted the chamber be searched? Non, Jaymin would not act that boldly, that brutally. He suspected, yes, but he would not rip the mask from another’s face. He would wait and watch. Jaymin was a strange one. Although loyal to the cardinal, yes, even his closest ami and ally, Jaymin had sympathy for heretics. He would not find joy in discovering Andelot’s forbidden Bible and hauling him before the cardinal. He would do so because he believed strongly in Rome’s teaching; but he would not enjoy his task.

Sebastien lifted from the desk the official paper Jaymin had left for him to present to the Queen Mother and read the royal summons that the Guises had arranged for the young king to sign.

You doubtless will remember the lettres which I wrote you touching
the rising which happened of late at Amboise, and also concerning
mon other oncle, Prince de Condé, your brother, whom many
prisoners vehemently accuse of involvement; a belief which I could not
at first entertain against one of my blood.

I have decided to investigate the matter, having resolved not
to pass my life in trouble through the mad ambition of any of my
subjects. I charge you, mon oncle, to bring your brother to Orléans
whether he should be willing or not, and should the said prince refuse
obedience, I assure you, mon oncle, that I shall soon make it clear that
I am your king.

Sebastien chewed his lip. They would be fools to leave the safety of the Huguenot kingdom of Navarre and enter this cockatrice den! This was surely the Guises’ work.

He began to pace. And now, what will you do for the Bourbon princes? How could he face Marquis Fabien when he returned if he should fail to at least warn his kinsmen that they were being invited into a trap?

What could he do?
He limped on, hardly noticing the growing pain in his knee, so deep were his thoughts.

So here he was at Court, counselor to the Queen Mother, who kept a poison closet for political opponents, who trusted astrologers more than she trusted Scripture — did she even know what was in the Book? Which of them did? Sebastien recalled what the Huguenot leader Coligny once told him, how shocked he had been when reading the Scriptures for the first time in his own tongue to discover that many of the teachings of the Roman Church were not taught in the Bible.

Thus far, Sebastien had managed to walk the thin gray line of compromise. No simple task, as he had assured Madeleine, forcing her to keep her French Bible back home at the Château de Silk. He was thankful, however, that with the raging tide of persecution sweeping across France, they had survived thus far. He had staunchly held to his task of avoiding mention of certain convictions, though he now avoided the word
convictions
, and spoke instead of “understanding,” since it left room for accommodation. He had learned to keep his thoughts of John Calvin and Martin Luther behind a bolted door. He would not open that door, for reason argued that should he open it again, he may need to answer for it.

His plans to escape to England with his family must not be discovered. Not even Madeleine knew of his decision, but he knew she would be joyful at the prospect. Her worry was great over raising Joan in safety as a Huguenot.

The pine smoldering on the hearth sent off a pleasant scent and a comfortable warm glow. Even so, Sebastien’s shoulders sagged from the long day’s ordeal, and he wished for little more than a chair beside the burning coals.

His thoughts remained upon the trap set for Prince Louis de Condé and Antoine. He dare not send a message to Navarre, not now. It would be safer to send word indirectly through Duchesse Dushane. Yes, he would contact her tonight. That was as far as he would go to risk himself.

Then there was the Marquis Fabien . . . If only it were possible to warn him about the danger to his Bourbon kinsmen, but Fabien remained at sea. Just today, Spanish Ambassador Chantonnay had angrily registered a complaint of an attack upon a Spanish vessel. There was no proof to incriminate the marquis, but if Fabien did not cease his warring and return, he might find himself an object of the Queen Mother’s wrath. Though Sebastien noticed she appeared to be looking the other way of recent days. He wondered why.

The Wiles of the Enemy

D
UC
DE
GUISE’S
FORCES TOOK ELABORATE PRECAUTIONS THROUGHOUT
Fontainebleau and Orléans for the arrival of the Bourbon princes: Louis de Condé and Antoine de Bourbon, Marquis Fabien’s nearest kinsmen. Sebastien had heard that not so much as a table knife remained to the town’s people-at-arms. Guise, a shrewd military commander, made certain no men-at-arms loyal to the Bourbons were concealed in any of the houses or on the streets masquerading as peasants.

Warnings were delivered to Antoine de Bourbon at the small Huguenot kingdom of Navarre from several Huguenot nobles, including the duchesse:
Caution. Do not venture forth from your kingdom of
Navarre
.

Sebastien worried, but was helpless to affect the course of action. From the Queen Mother’s council chamber he could look out and see the pikemen, their metal glimmering. The duc’s soldiers were stationed all along the route and out of sight in the woods.

Noontide came with the expected prominent arrival of the Bourbon princes to meet the king and defend themselves against questions of treason. Sebastien brought Andelot to stand with the chief pages from the various noble houses while he, as a chief counselor to the Queen Mother, took his position near the royal dais. He wore a collared cloak of black over a white satin waistcoat and dark hose. He must remain as cautious as a fox in such serpentine company. They believed him loyal; they must continue to think so — the very reason he had not risked sending a message directly to Louis as he had done before the debacle at Amboise. There were spies watching him, of that he was certain. Duchesse Dushane was also under suspicion, but she managed to stay aloof of anything that would connect her to Guise’s enemies. She did not come today, but pleaded “skeleton pain.”

There was a shuffle near the royal entrance and every eye turned toward a double door carved with the arching vine of the royal
fleur-de-
lis
, overlaid in gold. The door swung open and four plumed guards in red and white formed a promenade through which King Francis, the Queen Mother, and Reinette Mary Stuart-Valois entered the audience hall. Sebastien and the courtiers bowed as the royal threesome took their elevated chairs.

Sebastien could smell a rat, could sense the restrained atmosphere of malicious glee emanating from Duc de Guise and those surrounding him.

He had the boy-king Francis under his control, so the decisions being issued under the royal seal were, for all practical purposes, put forth by the duc and the cardinal. But the Queen Mother caused Sebastien’s curiosity to bristle. Why was she permitting the two Bourbons to be arrested when she needed them to oppose the Guises? Sebastien did not doubt for a minute that Catherine de Medici also had some scheme loitering in the shadows of her mind. Though Sebastien knew most of her endeavors at Court, he had not been able to discover this one. She seemed to be cooperating with the duc.

The duc strode up and down the royal carpet, his short gold-trimmed cape fluttering. There was the energy of self-assured victory in his every step as he smoothed his short pointed beard with one jeweled finger. The cardinal entered through a thick Genoan velvet curtain embroidered with the oriflamme. His lustrous crimson-and-white robe rustled softly, and as he neared the duc, the fragrance of perfume came to Sebastien’s nostrils. The jeweled cross hanging across his chest reflected a beam that streaked across the side of his face.

“The Bourbons are on their way,” he told the king and Queen Mother. “They have sent chamberlains ahead to announce their approach.”

“They have come alone?” the Queen Mother asked.

It was as he thought. The princes were to be arrested. The written admonition to not fear coming alone was given to mislead them.

Duc de Guise leaned toward King Francis and spoke in a low voice, but Sebastien overheard.

“Remember, sire, when they arrive, we are all to remain silent.”

“Monsieur Comte,” said the Queen Mother. Sebastien stepped toward her with a small bow.

“Madame?”

“The Prince de Condé and the King of Navarre are aware that you are related by marriage to another Bourbon kinsman, le Marquis de Vendôme. They will think the better of our meeting should you greet them in the name of the marquis and escort them through the gates with peace.”

In the name of the marquis! Sebastien felt the stinging lash. Betrayal!

She smiled at him, her prominent eyes amused as she read his dilemma. She knew he retained a certain loyalty to Prince Condé despite his words to the contrary. She knew that back in March he had slipped away from Amboise castle to warn Condé that Catherine knew about the Renaudie plot. It now gave her pleasure to have him betraying Condé rather than warning him.

Sebastien’s heart thudded with the indignity. He struggled with the tentacles of his hatred for her, gasping emotionally to not let his soul sink into the morass of darkness. He heard her soft chortle. She loved to watch those whose loyalty she doubted flounder. Did she know his ser vice to her was a ruse?

His rage must remain masked. If she knew, then what might she do to Madeleine and Joan? Ah yes, he knew she had tried to poison his beloved! He would not admit this to Madeleine or Andelot or the Macquinet family. He could not allow their suspicion and fear to put him at risk, for she might guess that he knew.

As though his crushed hand were molded to his heart’s emotions, he felt it throbbing.

Duc de Guise broke the trauma. He turned with a thrust of his shoulder to the Queen Mother. “The Marquis de Vendôme is now a common corsair, Madame, striking against Spain’s treasure galleons.” He turned to King Francis. “Sire, I well understand how you and the marquis shared bonhomie while being tutored at Court together when growing up, but this is no time for sentimentality. The marquis has brought the anger of Spain upon us. King Philip is enraged over the loss of his galleons.”

“Monsieur le Duc,” the Queen Mother said, “do let us keep our minds on the Bourbons we must deal with now.”

“Before you bring the Bourbons here to meet with the king, come and warn us,” Cardinal de Lorraine told Sebastien.

Warn them?
What need was there to warn them? What could two unarmed men accomplish when the palais was thick with armed guards?

It was the Bourbons who needed to be warned that they had fallen for an evil ruse. Louis and Antoine could have chosen the outcome to their dilemma by arriving with a hundred armed men to make the Duc de Guise consider well before moving against them — the princes of the royal blood!

He bowed and limped from the chamber, looking neither right nor left, though he felt that some of the glances he received were of pity.

So they knew already that Fabien was involved in the sinking of the Duc de Alva’s ships. This would be dangerous news upon his return to France. That Guise was aware showed his close workings with the Spanish envoy. Sebastien had seen the ambassador’s dark eyes flashing with indignation when Guise had mentioned the galleons set to fire.

The wind tossed the leaves on the trees in and around the palais-château of Fontainebleau. Sebastien rode out of the courtyard with the royal chamberlain toward the Bourbon princes.

The entire avenue through which the two princes would ride was lined shoulder to shoulder and pike to pike with royal soldiers; not to welcome, but to intimidate. Once the princes began to ride down the street between the pikemen, there would be no altering course. They could only go forward.

Sebastien sat astride his horse at the head of the line — the pikemen on one side of the avenue, while the chamberlain led the other pikemen. Sebastien heard the wind fluttering the uniforms, causing the tassels on the spears to tinkle ominously.

He watched in a spirit of sobriety as the princes rode their black horses slowly along the cobbled street. The two men’s faces were grim. Did they finally recognize their true predicament? Prince de Condé saw him, and their eyes met.

They were garbed in elegant finery with velvet cloaks, and their horses were robed with jeweled harnesses, but they were alone and vulnerable.

But now! The trap was unashamedly in the open. The Guises must believe they were in control and no one could stop them — not even the Queen Mother, who appeared to be one with them. This was often her deliberate way, to play one side and then the other, maintaining a precarious balance that preserved her power.

Antoine and Louis rode through the double line of pikes and through the gate to Fontainebleau, where Sebastien and the royal chamberlain fell in beside them.

“Did you not receive the duchesse’s message?” Sebastien hissed, looking straight ahead.

The horses’ hooves clopped smartly.

“Yes, mon ami, we received the warnings. But let no Frenchman ever say that I, Condé, am afraid to show my face at Court. I will go and proclaim my innocence. I have no cause to fear.”

“Ah, Monseigneur Louis! The most courageous among us have reason to beware when the shrewd ploys used by the Guises are hatched.”