Threads of Silk (33 page)

“Was it His young Majesty King Charles who wished to show mercy to Prince Louis, Madame?” And with an abrupt bow, Guise turned on his heel and strode from the council chamber.

Catherine laughed and made as though the scene were nothing, but Fabien could see the cold venom in her eyes over Guise’s affront in public.

Later, he received her summons to come to her chamber. The Queen Mother was alone when he entered, her arms folded across the bosom of her severe gown.

“The effrontery of the man,” she spat. “I had hopes he would pick up the gauntlet you tossed to his feet. Ah that was clever, my lord Marquis.

Most clever, but he is too cunning for that.”

In truth, Fabien had not planned for the moment with Guise, but he permitted the Queen Mother to think so. In retrospect he considered the rash moment of anger detrimental to his true purpose, which was safeguarding Rachelle. It would have been wiser had he not drawn attention to his resentments over his father’s death. He owed the smooth intervention of the duchesse for slipping out of his own trap.

The Queen Mother, of course, knew nothing of his true feelings. She turned and faced him.

“A duel may yet work, but keep in mind his son may also challenge you. Young Henry de Guise worships his father.”

He wondered if she may not want the duc’s son to turn on him since all blame for his death would be taken away from her.

Fabien continued to feed her fears of Spain so as to muzzle her raging appetite for the duc’s quick death.

“Madame, my loathing of the man who murdered my father does not waver. Even so, with Louis released from the dungeon and the Guises embittered, I may have been unwise to alert the duc this night. They are more watchful than ever. I found one of the Spanish ambassador’s spies loitering near my appartement.”

She watched with her unblinking serpentine stare. “What do you mean to suggest?”

“You know better than I the many secret correspondences the ambassador sends to the escorial,” he said of King Philip’s court.

He saw her emotionally withdraw her claws. Caution now scribbled its fears across her face. He stepped closer, pressing in with his words.

“I would suggest, Madame, that until the gossip settles down, we keep a cautious distance from the Guises.”

She drew her fingers tighter about the black lace at her throat. “Gossip? What gossip! Parisians are fools for Duc de Guise and his son.”

Fabien lowered his voice. “Pardon my saying this, but I would keep nothing back that concerns Your Majesty.”

“Yes?” she breathed, her skin pale and moist in the candlelight that flickered and weaved.

He continued to stir up her fears of Spain. “Suspicions run rampant in Catholic Paris, no doubt begun by Guise followers themselves, that the late king’s death was not as it seems. If Spain hears of this — well, Madame, you can imagine the response.”

He lifted a brow. He waited for what, he did not know. Her square jaw flexed, and he saw the muscle in her throat move as she swallowed.

“Gibberish. Forever my enemies hiss and snarl about poison! Lies, lies, and more lies.”

Fabien pressed home the final attack. “The Parisians are already whispering that the ‘Italian Woman’ cannot be trusted with France.”

She grimaced her anger.

“Ask yourself, Madame, is this the wisest hour for Guise’s death?”

She drew her head back, her eyes studying him from beneath heavy lids.

“If Paris is led to believe by the duc’s son and the cardinal, or the Spanish ambassador, that the throne had anything to do with an assassination of the duc, it could, coming so soon after the king’s death, ignite a civil war against you and the young king.”

He watched the look of anger turn into alarm and was satisfied with his tactic.

“Be assured, Marquis, of my caution when dealing with the enemies of the house of Valois.”

“I am indeed aware of your vigilance in matters of state, Madame. And with the Guises now licking their wounds, a reprieve may be granted us for a time.”

“And as you yourself know, they will regroup and do all they can to regain power. In my allowing the religious colloquy to be held at Poissy, I will be plagued with denunciations from Rome. Remember, I am depending on the Bourbon-Huguenot alliance to stand with me.”

She took a sudden step toward him, surprising him, her finger tapping his chest for bold emphasis.

“They are in a weakened state. This is your opportunity to at long last avenge the murder of Duc Jean-Louis, just as you have dreamed and planned.”

How crafty of her to throw the assassination of Guise back into my
realm, as though it were my solitary ambition to avenge my father’s
murder.

Suddenly, it was not she who wanted the removal of Guise, but he alone. Whether intentional or not, this alerted him that if he failed to cover his tracks completely, he would find no quarter with her once he had accomplished the task — she would abandon him to the mob. Perhaps that had been her ambition all along.

At Court

RACHELLE
FOUND HER NEW LIFE AT
FONTAINEBLEAU
WITH
FABIEN
both exciting and dangerous. She was constantly under watch by spies, so that whether she was walking in the garden with Nenette or in the corridors of Fontainebleau, she sensed the eyes of Madalenna watching her from the shadows, or perhaps a dwarf among the trees, or a guard outside the appartement.

Despite this fear, Fabien came home to her in the afternoon, and once again within his embrace, she felt secure. At last bride and groom were together and love was fulfilling, the unity of spirit and mind could be as wondrous as the physical passion of marriage.

They had not been living in the Fontainebleau appartement for many weeks when Fabien left a meeting with the king earlier than usual and came to inform her that the Queen Mother was sending him to Paris for a few days on court business.

“I’ll take servants with me to retrieve your bolts of silk and sewing equipage from the Louvre. That will make you happy.”

It did. She had gone so far as to write a lettre to the Queen Mother asking that her sewing equipage be sent to her here at Fontainebleau. Rachelle was surprised by the freedom the Queen Mother was granting Fabien.

“The Queen Mother is not concerned with my coming and going as long as you remain at court under the watchful eye of spies. She knows I will always come back to you. You, ma belle, are my greatest treasure.

She knows I would not seek freedom without you.”

Until Fabien assassinates Duc de Guise?

She could see his thoughts working as he tapped his chin, looking out the window to the courtyard below.

On more than one occasion since his release from the dungeon, they had quietly discussed the Queen Mother’s unmentionable secret plan to rid herself of the Duc de Guise. Each time Fabien went away on business for the Queen Mother, Rachelle felt her concern quicken. Whenever she brought up the matter, Fabien managed to slip around the subject, lightly evading her questions.

“This journey has nothing to do with Duc de Guise?” she whispered. She spoke with caution even though he had already searched every corner of the appartement for listening tubes.

“Guise is not in Paris. He is here at Fontainebleau,” he said, sidestepping the issue once more. “He is with the cardinal and an associate in the chapel forming a three-man holy league. They are taking Communion together and vowing to do all in their power to destroy the Reformation in France.”

Rachelle shuddered. “You saw them in the chapel?”

“I came in through a curtain behind them,” he said, no suggestion of apology for spying in his voice.

Rachelle sat down on the rose colored settee.

“That is why war is inevitable at this point,” he said, frowning. “No matter the laws of toleration passed by King Charles and Catherine, the Guises and their following will ignore the laws and continue the persecution.” He paced. “You may not have heard, but the cardinal has increased burnings all over France.”

“Are they deliberately provoking?”

“So it would seem at times. Duc de Guise has the promise of soldiers and gold from Spain. If the Huguenot nobility decides to move to defend their serfdoms, they will need to financially sponsor the war and pay for added mercenaries. Guise can outnumber the soldiers with men from the Duc of Alva, and he will have plenty of gold from the treasure ships coming to Spain from the Americas.”

Now she understood his silent frowns as he oft mused in silence. And how would this affect them and their longed-for escape? When would it come, if ever?

She thought of the coming arrival of her parents and Pasteur Bertrand.

She looked up at him quickly.

“I wonder if it is wise for my parents and Pasteur Bertrand to come to the colloquy?”

“I doubt you could keep them away, chérie. They are so dedicated to the truth war. But you speak rightly. Even with permission from the king for French Bibles and debate, there may be those who will wish physical harm.”

He ceased pacing and turned about to face her.

“What is it?” she asked, standing.

“Do you realize how many of the chief Huguenot Reformers will be gathered together in one place, coming from far and near, including Geneva and Navarre? Queen Jeanne and Prince Henry are attending as well,” he said of his kinswoman and her son, the heir to the throne of Navarre.

Her eyes met his, searching to confirm the strange shiver that inched along her back. The church burning that took the life of her petite sister Avril flashed before her. She could hear the doors and windows being nailed shut by the enemy, hear the crackle of the fire as it spread.

“Do you think there could be some sort of attack planned by Duc de Guise and his soldiers?”

“It is possible. I’ll speak of it to Prince Louis and Admiral Coligny.”

He took hold of her. “The truth is we must always be alert.”

She bit back the words,
I could almost wish the duc were
assassinated!

What if Fabien thought she wanted him to do such a murderous deed, knowing she counted Guise responsible for the death of Avril and the violation of Idelette?

But would his lone death solve the persecution of the Huguenots throughout France? As the Reformation was stronger than one man or even a group of men like Calvin and Luther, so was the CounterReformation enacted by the Vatican. Ultimately the enemy was Satan himself, for we wrestle not against flesh and blood but principalities and powers.

“Oh, Fabien, if only we could escape now. I fear the Queen Mother will never release you. If we do not escape soon, it will be too late.”

He drew her close, fingering her hair, stroking her back, and speaking confidently.

“We will gain our freedom. I do not have the answer yet as to how and when it will be managed, but I will not give up. There is not a day that goes by that my thoughts are not upon it. May the Lord open a door that only He can unlock.”

These were Rachelle’s thoughts and prayers as well. God could do anything. She knew that. But it seemed to her at times that the enemy was so strong and purposeful that they would be swallowed up. Aside from Duc de Guise, there were other enemies of concern at court. Nor was she the only one being watched. Fabien had many powerful enemies, including the Spanish Ambassador Chantonnay, who had not forgiven him for sinking the Duc of Alva’s galleon.

“I do not like the ambassador,” she said.

“Chantonnay,” Fabien said dryly, “must spend most of his time before keyholes.”

“Nor do I like the way he looks at me.”

Fabien turned his gaze on her, alert. “I can see why he would look at you, ma belle, but what do you mean?”

She shook her head. “He does not look at me with masculine appreciation, but as though I were a heretic he might like to turn over to the inquisitors. I think he would abduct us both and send us to his master if he thought he might prevail.”

Fabien’s jaw set. “If he makes one step toward you, I shall use a few inquisitional tactics of my own. I will hang his gizzard out to dry and send it in a belle package to the morose Philip.”

His remark made her smile. “A tactic you learned from Capitaine Nappier, no doubt?”

“No, a Hollander who hates papists, as he calls them.”

“It sounds as if he has learned a few odious techniques himself.”

“Oh, he has. He always leaves one or two of them alive to go back and tell the others what they saw.”

She smoothed the already neat and spotless dark blue velvet of his jacket. She looked up at him and traced the line of his jaw with her finger.

“I think you caught buccaneering fever, and it is incurable. It will flare up now and then with great allurement to take you from me,” she teased.

“Think so? I did come back to you. It was you alone who captured my heart from the lure of the sea.”

She sighed. “The
Reprisal
. . . how fair it sounds now, even to me; and to think the ship waited within reach at Dieppe to take us to England.”