Threads of Silk (14 page)

She looked about her at the wondrous furnishing and tapestries, sickened. “Burned . . .”

He cupped her chin. “Maybe the order will not be given. But I will take no chances. I shall meet you at the foot of the stairs in five minutes.”

“Five minutes?”

“Very well, then — ten minutes.”

She looked at him, stunned. Ten minutes to dress for her wedding to the Marquis de Vendôme? Oh, come, most surely he jested?

“I will need an hour at least!”
Oh, if ma mère were only here.

“An hour! You are charmante as you are.”

“Very well, half an hour. And Fabien, what if Andelot is wrong? What if he misunderstood Madame’s mind on the matter?”

He appeared to consider, his smile tilting. “I trust him, but if he is wrong, I shall ever be indebted to him. Our marriage will soon be a fait accompli, ma chérie. Let us agree that the duchesse has given us her bountiful blessing.”

She smiled and hurried from the salle down the passage to her chamber. Half an hour!

To Bury a Treasure

FABIEN
GATHERED THE MOST CHERISHED FAMILY TREASURES AND STRODE
off to find Gallaudet. After sending him to locate a Huguenot minister, Fabien went to meet with Andelot in the bedchamber where the chamberlain had taken him.

Andelot was scrubbing himself in a round tub of hot water when he entered. The chamberlain had brought in handsome articles of clothing and displayed them upon the wide bed.

“Merci, a thousand thanks, Marquis.”

“How do you manage to ride into these situations, mon ami?” Fabien said in a light tone. “I begin to think you hunger for battle.” He came up and inspected Andelot’s shorn head, asking the chamberlain to find some ointment to rub on the nicks and grazes Maurice’s men had made as they hastily removed his hair.

“On the contrary, Maurice finds
me
. I am an offense because I’m privileged to be your ami.”

“It is I who am privileged to have such a loyal ami, Andelot. Maurice will pay for this treatment, I assure you. Was it he who did this to you?”

“Well, one of his bodyguards. A giant of a fellow of an otherwise mellow mood. At one time, I had rather liked him. Now I should like to put a sword in his portly belly.”

“It is not for you to talk like that.”

“I find no dishonor in following your steps, Marquis.”

Fabien frowned. The notion unsettled him. Though he believed he acted in honor and valor, he did not wish for someone like Andelot, whom he saw as sensitive and gentle, to mold his life after his own.

“My steps do not always lead wisely. Follow Pasteur Bertrand or Calvin. I could wish for you to go to Geneva for the rest of your learning, even though you are a Roman Catholic.”

An abashed expression came over Andelot’s face and Fabien wondered why. What had he said that brought Andelot such a look of guilt?

“I have something to say about my Christian faith, Marquis, but not yet.” He touched his cropped head. “I shall be well enough. It will grow out again soon.”

“You are being most courageous,” Fabien said dryly. He looked about at the items of clothing the chamberlain had brought up. “Let’s see, what can we do until your hair fills in? Ah!” He turned to the chamberlain. “Hats and scarves — or a large kerchief — made of cotton. You will find a few in the trunk I brought back from the
Reprisal
.”

The chamberlain left and returned with some cotton kerchiefs and several hats.

Fabien went through them, rejecting most, as Andelot looked on, curious but smiling. “There has never been an ami like you, Marquis.”

“This one will work.” Fabien took a black beret style hat and a dark forest green scarf. “Until your hair grows, or you get hold of a periwig, you will cast the shadow of being a buccaneer. You will look most dashing. This is how the pirates do it: take the scarf like so — ” he folded it and placed it around Andelot’s head — “and tie it in back with a seaman’s knot — there! The beret goes on like this, tipped to the side, and —
voilà
! Capitaine Andelot Dangeau!”

Andelot looked at himself in the mirror and grinned. He thrust out his chest. “Bon!” he rubbed his hands together and cocked his head, turning about and looking at himself. “Ah, Marquis, I like it much! Oui! Now — my scabbard and sword — ”

Fabien laughed. “Wearing a sword will tempt brigands to have a go at you,” he said quickly. “Wiser to stay to your studies, I beg of you.”

Andelot frowned at himself in the mirror and sighed. “At this moment I would give much, Marquis, to be Capitaine Nappier! If only I knew the sword as well as you. I’d hunt Maurice down and see him humbled.”

Fabien kept his anger toward Maurice masked, lest it heighten Andelot’s.

“Maybe, Marquis, you could teach me. You started to do so once, but all of the trouble that has come upon us since Amboise has intervened.”

“What I wish for you, cousin, is an education par excellence. That is the path for you, among books and monsieurs of greater learning. You are too fine for violence and intrigue.”

“Me?” Andelot questioned in mock self-deprecation.

“You.”

Andelot appeared to reconsider as he rearranged his beret a trifle more to the left eyebrow. “Geneva would be most interesting, I admit. I have my Latin down and wish to learn even more Greek. As for the Reformers, I have something to tell you of utmost importance.” He cleared his throat. “It all began when I came across some Huguenots in the woods around Fontainebleau. The old pasteur hid a — ”

Fabien hastened to speak. “I will look forward to hearing all about it, but we have not the time now. Come with me. I must conceal some Bourbon treasures and I want you, at least, to know where I bury them. Who knows, Andelot? Anything might happen. It is a long way from my family estate to my ship at Dieppe.”

Andelot showed surprise. “You are leaving, Marquis? But — ”

“I must.” He had delayed telling Andelot, knowing it would sadden him. They had, in the last two years, grown as close as brothers. “Leaving France is my only option. Rachelle must be brought to safety and I will remain with her.” He glanced at Andelot to see how he was taking the idea of their marriage. Andelot showed no ill feelings, and Fabien was relieved. “How long our stay in England will last, I cannot say. My possessions here in Vendôme may be confiscated by the throne. Some generations ago, all this region of France was Bourbon.

“My ancestor, Duc Charles de Bourbon was perhaps only a step from the throne, but Francis I decided all of France should become one kingdom with himself at the head. He began incorporating territories that belonged to the ducs. The Bourbon duchy was one of the most powerful, and Francis seized it. The Bourbons fought, but in the end my kinsman had to flee — to Spain of all places! He joined them and fought against France. As you can imagine, it took his ancestors some bon effort to make peace with Francis. We have ruled over smaller territories to this day. It may be, Andelot, that I too will not return to rule even my marquisat.”

“Do not even say it!”

Fabien threw an arm around his shoulder. “We shall always be bon amis. Now come, there is no time to lose.”

The sun had just set behind the forest trees and the horizon blazed vermillion. They walked from the palais toward a distant copse to a stone court surrounded by hickory trees.

Fabien discussed the darkening political news of Europe and the events in the Spanish Netherlands, and wondered if Capitaine Nappier and the crew of the
Reprisal
would be able to sail safely to Dieppe.

Andelot offered what information he had gleaned from the duchesse, who evidently knew much of what was transpiring across Europe. He mentioned the surprising news of how their Oncle Sebastien had taken his wife Madeleine, bébé Joan, and Rachelle’s sister Idelette, and escaped the court.

“I had no inkling he was planning to flee,” Andelot went on.

Fabien noted a faint disappointment in Andelot’s voice. “He was wise not to inform you for your own sake. You did not want to go with him?”

Andelot shrugged. “My emotions remain divided. I would not mind England — and yet . . .”

Was he considering Idelette’s dilemma? Fabien doubted Rachelle’s belief that Andelot was in love with Idelette. If he were, would he not go to her now in her time of despair? Perhaps he was unsure of his reception.

“You have heard what happened to Mademoiselle Idelette in Lyon?”

“Madame told me. That dog is one I should like to put to the sword.”

“You need not concern yourself about him. He and I crossed blades, and he is now deep down below.”

The silence lasted only a moment. “You are certain he was the one?”

“Assuredly. I have yet to make it clear to Rachelle, but I will. She may tell her sister as she pleases, or no.”

Andelot nodded. They came to the copse as the vermillion sky was deepening to pewter. After a moment Andelot went on. “About Oncle Sebastien, I did notice his recent interest in maps, including one of England. I might have guessed then, but I thought it was due to Monsieur Macquinet’s wish to start a silk plantation there.”

Fabien left unsaid what worried him most about Sebastien’s escape —the road to Calais was usually well traveled by the king’s soldiers. His kinsmen, the two Bourbon princes, were another concern that would have consumed his waking hours if it had not been for the dangers surrounding Rachelle. Louis was held in the Amboise dungeons, and Antoine was under palais arrest at Fontainebleau.

“Was there any suggestion from the duchesse that Prince Louis might be released from the dungeon?”

Andelot winced. “Then you have not heard — ah, Marquis, he is to be executed for treason in early December.”

Fabien gritted his rage and clasped the hilt of his sword.
If only
. . .

“A curious factor, Marquis, is that the Queen Mother leaves Fontainebleau often to visit him.”

Fabien turned his head sharply. “Catherine speaks with him in the Amboise dungeon?”

“They say her visits to his cell are frequent and secretive. At best, her motives are conspiratorial, so the duchesse believes.”

If only I did not need to depart at once —

“The bonne news, if any, is that the duchesse and Admiral Coligny are working feverishly with other respected nobles of Huguenot and Catholic persuasion to convince the king to stay the prince’s execution.”

Fabien quickened his step on the pathway. He shook his head. “My hands are in chains, Andelot. There is naught I can do to save my kinsmen if I wish to save Rachelle. We marry and leave tonight.” He clamped his jaw. “It is settled.”

Andelot nodded in grim silence. “Once she is safe in England with Madame Clair . . . Perhaps then?” He glanced at the marquis, but Fabien behaved as if he’d not heard the tempting suggestion to return.

They walked on and came to a courtyard where there stood a white stone pavilion with Corinthian pillars.

Inside, Fabien lit a lantern and carried it past stone benches and statuary.

Andelot followed him to the back of the pavilion. “Here,” Fabien said. “Under these squares.” He lifted two heavy marble floor tiles, unveiling steps leading to a small cellar lined with stone. Fabien placed the family treasure chest at the bottom of the short flight of stairs. He replaced the marble tiles.

“Will the box last in there, Marquis?”

“It should stay dry, so it will last a long time if this pavilion remains.

We Bourbons have a penchant for garden pavilions and Grecian statuary, and there is no reason for anyone to tear it down. Besides, ami, precious jewels do not rust and decay, and no moth can destroy them.”

“Most interesting you would say that now.”

“Why so?”

“I was reading about laying up treasure in heaven. Our works will be tested by fire. Did you know that? Gold, silver, and precious stones will endure the searing flames of the Lord’s searching gaze; but works done for purposes that do not glorify Him will burn like wood, hay, and stubble. I suppose, Marquis, many of us will have big bonfires.”

“Assuredly so. How did you come to read these words?”

Andelot smiled and Fabien noticed a difference in his countenance. “That is the tale I wish to explain when there is time.”

Fabien looked toward the entrance. “We have time until Gallaudet returns with the Geneva minister.”

Darkness was now creeping up the steps into the pavilion. The breeze had come up with the first sign of the moon, sending dried hickory leaves tumbling across the floor.

“I am interested. Say on. This may be our last opportunity for camaraderie for who knows how long.” Fabien leaned against a statue and Andelot sat on the stone bench.

“It all began when the duchesse’s page, Romier, wagered me he would win a race in the woods against the golden bay.”

“Folly. The horse rides like the wind.”

“Exactement.”

“By the way, Andelot, I want you to keep him. I know you will favor him well.”

“Merci, Marquis! He is a great gift. I have grown most attached to him.”

Fabien smiled, amused. “And so I have no doubt you won the race.”