Queen's Own Fool (13 page)

Then I crept out of my room and down the unfamiliar corridor, alert for signs that anyone else was awake.

Pausing at each window, I peered out through the gloom to get my bearings. At last I saw trees and flower beds below me, though they were little more than dark shapes in the early dawn.

There was a small door nearby, and when I pushed through it, I found the stairs that ran down into the walled garden.

A thin ribbon of pale crimson was visible between the eastern hills, and slowly the garden began to come into focus, filled with early spring flowers. I remembered my mother's small plot where onions, turnips, and beans had grown in intimate connection, one with the others.

Flowers were a luxury only a king could afford.

Or God.

This garden, with its tidy borders and careful plantings, was certainly not the unkempt garden of my dream.

Standing on tiptoes, I looked over one of the stone walls. Below, the terraces descended to a weedier place. There I saw Saint Hubert's chapel in its grey solitude, shrouded by an early morning mist.

Carefully, I stepped into one of the beds of flowers to get to the wall. I checked over my shoulder and saw no one around. Fitting my right slipper into a chink, and my fingers into others, I started to climb. For a moment—only a moment—I gave a care to my dress. Then I scrambled up to the top and over.

It was a long drop to the terrace below, and it had been a while since I had done any acrobatics. But my training stood me in good stead. Without planning, I landed with knees bent, did a forward roll through a small bush, and stood up again only slightly out of breath.

Brushing my dress off as best I could, I made my way around to the entrance and stared up at the carvings on the lintel.

 

There Saint Hubert, his hands clasped in prayer, gazed at the crucifix between the stag's great antlers. It was a meeting the saint had not expected but it had changed his life forever. I knew nothing else about him, but I knew we had that much in common, for hadn't I been changed by a meeting in a garden as well?

Is that all the dream wants me to know?
It had certainly not been worth the ruin of my dress.

It was then that I heard a cry of alarm from somewhere below. I squinted down at the orchard that stretched between me and the town.

Suddenly I felt terribly alone and foolish. I was unarmed and exposed. Shaking, I pulled back into the shadow of the chapel. Where was everyone? What had become of all the king's soldiers? Could I get back to the castle before being seen?

Then there came the crack of pistols and the blast of muskets followed by an uproar of voices—screams and shouts and cheers, all intermixed. I heard orders being bellowed and the beating of hooves, as though a battle were taking place.

What a fool I am indeed
, I thought, looking back at the high wall I had just leaped from. Climbing down was certainly easier than getting back up. I might have to go by the road.

The road was where the horses and riders and soldiers would be. I could not go there.

I turned back to stare at the trees below. Were those shadowy movements coming towards me?

And then there came the odd flash and puff of smoke.

Was I to die, then, for a dream?

14

LA RENAUDIE

I
do not know how much time passed by as I stood in the shadow of the chapel, unable to make a decision. I moved as if through water, as if in a waking dream.

Just as I had that thought, I was startled by the sound of running feet. I pulled back behind a corner of the building when an enormous bearded man, with neither hat nor helm, came rushing through the orchard. He held a bloodied sword in one hand.

Halting by the chapel, he gasped for breath. Blood trickled from a wound in his thigh, staining his cream-colored breeches. His hair looked clammy with sweat in spite of the early morning chill, and his jerkin was smeared with mud and grass, as if he had been crawling across the ground.

I thought:
Clearly he is not one of the king's soldiers.

And then I thought:
Is he a Huguenot?

Eyes darting about, he came forward again, and I shrank back, hoping my black dress would make me invisible in the shadows. But the grass was slick with dew and I slipped, falling against the wall.

A bit of the wall crumbled and the pebbles struck the ground with a sound that was no louder than a whisper, but loud enough.

The stranger rounded on me, his sword raised to strike. When he saw who I was, he laughed.

“Jesu—just a girl,” he breathed, lowering his sword. Then he added in a hoarse whisper, “Come to me, child. What are you doing here? This is no place for children.”

I took a stuttering step forward. “I ... wanted to walk in the garden. I had a ... a dream.”

He threw a quick glance over his shoulder before speaking again, his voice still low. “From your clothes, you are from the château.”

I nodded, too frightened to speak again.

Then the man said something surprising. “Can you take me to the king?” His voice was almost imploring, “I
must
get to the king, before we are all taken or killed.”

I backed away from him and he followed until I was pressed right against the chapel wall.

“King Francis
must
understand,” the man continued, his voice rushed and heated. “We are not His Majesty's enemies. I swear to you, child, we are his loyal subjects, as loyal as any in his court. All we want is an end to the persecution the de Guises have inflicted upon us.”

“Are you ... a ... a ...” I stammered at last, “a Huguenot?”

He nodded and opened his arms. “Yes, child, but I am not your enemy. ”

“But what of your
pernicious
doctrines?” I asked, drawing back. Then added, “Are you not imps of Satan with hairy hides and tails?”

He shook his head irritably, his gaze darting about for signs of pursuit. “Girl, you repeat nursery stories. We are as human as you.” His right arm moved as if to grab me, and then he must have thought better of it, for he placed his hand—filthy and bloody—to his breast. “The king, child, where is he? I swear all I want to do is plead our cause. Quickly. I have but little time.”

“That much is certain,” interrupted a voice from behind him.

It was the Duke de Guise, dressed in a steel breastplate and helmet, a very large and bloody sword in his hand. He was mounted on a huge black warhorse and he reminded me of nothing so much as the black knight from the chess game.

A dozen foot soldiers, their armor much muddied, charged up behind him and quickly surrounded the Huguenot.

For a moment, I thought the big man was going to fight. But then, as if assessing the odds, he tossed aside his sword and allowed the soldiers to seize him. There was something wonderfully heroic in the gesture.

One soldier began to bind him roughly with a length of rope. The Huguenot winced at each twist of the rope but did not make a sound.

“Your rebellion is as slippery as a serpent, La Renaudie,” said the duke, “but I know how to stop such a creature. Cut off its head!” His voice was venomous and in the morning light the scar on his cheek shone blood red. If anyone looked like the serpent in this garden, it was he.

“Someone revealed our plans,” La Renaudie said through gritted teeth. “Or we would have trapped you at Blois instead of having to quick march here to Amboise. If we could have spoken to the king there ...”

I took a deep breath. So that was why we had moved so quickly! I pulled back into the shadow of the chapel.

“Is it such a surprise that traitors should find themselves betrayed?” The duke smiled. His horse began to paw the ground impatiently.

“I demand the chance to speak to the king,” said La Renaudie, his head unbowed. “As a nobleman I have that right.”

“You are in no position to demand anything,” the duke replied. “By your own admission you were trying to trap the king. That is not the way a nobleman acts. But you
shall
have an audience with the king.”

At that I breathed out again, relieved.

“His Majesty will watch you swinging from the gallows. And he will applaud your final dance,” the duke finished.

“Oh, no, Your Grace,” I said aloud and without thinking. “That is too cruel....”

“What about the girl, my lord?” asked one of the soldiers. Taking me roughly by the arm, he hauled me out of the shadows and dragged me over to the duke. “I found where she came over the wall.” He held something in his hand which he gave to the duke. “Is she a traitor? Is she one of the rebel band?”

I suddenly could not speak out, even in my own defense.

Despite the rope around his throat, pulled so tight that he was beginning to choke, La Renaudie bleated out, “Leave her, de Guise. She's ...” He gasped for breath. “None of mine.”

The duke took what the soldier gave him and held it between his fingers as he had held the chess piece. It glistened in the light of the sun and I saw it was one of the silver aglets from my dress. For a moment the duke looked at me with interest.

“Over the wall? My, you have put your tumbling skills to good use, little dancing girl. And
are
you a Huguenot?” he asked. “Or a good Catholic loyal to the king?” He smiled his serpent smile.

My tongue suddenly loosed and I answered him by reciting the catechism, first in French and then in passable Latin, for once never stumbling.

He threw his head back and laughed uproariously at my performance. Then he said dismissively, “She is only the queen's fool. Get her inside. See that she keeps out of the way.” He tossed me the aglet and I caught it in one hand with as much grace as Pierre caught his clubs, though my palm was slick with sweat.

 

By the time I was taken back into the castle the sounds of conflict from the town had roused everyone. Soldiers and servants scurried from place to place, and Madam Jacqueline was there to scowl at me as I was pushed into my room by the duke's man.

“Where have you been? Look at your dress! Your collar is torn, an aglet gone.” She did not pause for any answer.

I held out the missing aglet.

She shook her head and did not take it, saying, “You are an untrainable peasant, Nicola. What can the queen be thinking?”

Then she kept me at my studies till dinnertime in a small library at the rear of the castle, as far from the town as we could get.

“We must act as if this is an ordinary day,” she said in a deadened voice. There was a tic in the corner of her right eye which betrayed her nervousness. “The soldiers will do what they do best, and so must we. So must we.”

Her cane had disappeared, and without it she was less intimidating. But she was also distracted throughout the lessons, often halting in midsentence whenever the sound of hoofbeats or musket shots echoed below the castle walls.

I was distracted, too, remembering the dream, the courtly Huguenot, the duke. And remembering that the answer that had saved me was the rote taught me by Madam Jacqueline.

Finally madam slammed shut her book of grammar and stared at me. “Now do you see the importance of your catechism, the importance of keeping the faith strong against any attack?”

Little did she know!

“They are such devils, the Huguenots,” madam said. “They hate us all. We could have been murdered in our beds.”

“I met one of the Huguenots outside,” I told her. “La Renaudie. He is not an imp of Satan but a man. In fact a nobleman. He said he was loyal to the king.”

Madam's mouth opened and closed. She looked like a great perch out of water. “Of course ... he said that. They are all liars. Satan is the king of liars. No true nobleman would threaten the king.”

“He did not seem a liar, madam. At least I have no proof of it.” On the contrary, I had had proof of his honesty. La Renaudie had saved me by telling the duke I was not one of his.

“We have proof enough,” she countered, offering none.

“He seemed most sincere, madam, with a rope around his neck to guarantee ...”

“It is more than a peasant like you could possibly understand,” Madam Jacqueline broke in testily.

I began to shake with anger and I should have held my tongue, but I did not. “I have sense enough not to make enemies out of those who would be my friends, madam.”

Madam Jacqueline sniffed. “But not enough, it seems, to learn from those who would teach you.” She turned and walked out of the room, her skirts making a sound like muffled drums.

 

And there I was again, left alone. But this time I knew I must see the queen. I must tell her about the duke and La Renaudie.

And then I thought: No,
I must tell her more, I must relay the Huguenot's request to speak with the king.

So asking directions from several servants—for I did not know the way—I finally found one who could show me.

Soldiers stood guard at key points throughout the castle, and especially as I neared the queen's apartments. Those guards I could not avoid, I managed to charm. Luckily my velvet dress with its silver aglets and discreet white lawn at neck and wrists—while slightly the worse for my garden adventure-still proclaimed me as one of the court.

As I trod carefully down one dimly-lit gallery, I heard the sound of weeping ahead of me. A lone woman sat on a chair, all hunched over, her shoulders heaving with the force of her sobs.

To my astonishment, as I drew closer I realized that it was the queen. She was crying into cupped hands, unaware of anything except her own misery.