Threads of Silk (39 page)

Madame Clair shook her head with grief. “I feel deeply for Queen Jeanne. She will be arriving from Navarre within days, I am told.”

Père Arnaut’s voice drew them back to the discussion.

“I would not be surprised to discover the house of Guise is behind Antoine’s fall. We know, do we not, that the duc is our worst foe? He is enraged against us with the contempt of Satan.”

Pasteur Bertrand stood and walked to the hearth, his piercing eyes looking from one to the other. “Messieurs, regardless of Antoine, we cannot allow ourselves to be intimidated. We must be prepared to lay down our lives if called upon to do so. Let us go forward boldly, but not foolishly. We are the torchbearers for this generation, so that the generations to follow may recover the Scriptures. It is our duty, our honor, and our privilege to be about our true King’s business. If the Reformation fails in France — then I fear all is lost for us as a great nation in Europe.”

Rachelle was stirred.
For what is our life? It’s duration is like the fading
memory of a June morn. What we do for Jesus, we must do now, while
it is yet day.

Rachelle watched her father standing grimly, hands folded behind his back.

“For the Huguenots of France, for each of us here, so much depends on the outcome of this coming religious debate. In fairness to Prince Antoine, he believes that in compromising with the duc and cardinal, he is working for peace and tolerance.”

Pasteur Bertrand shook his silver head. “But peace at what price? And what will be tolerated? The weakening of truth?”

Silence prevailed.

“I suggest we send word to Navarre to ask Queen Jeanne not to come to the colloquy,” one of the Huguenot leaders said.

Pasteur Bertrand stroked his short, pointed beard. “There is not enough time. Word has come that she draws near the town.”

“Messieurs,” said another, “I beg you not to be too hasty in this matter. We all know how the Word warns against various whisperings that often murder a brother’s reputation. We must stand firm with the prince. Surely he will come to see his transgression? As the first prince of the blood he can, by working with the Queen Mother, secure the Huguenot cause.”

There was a pause, as though they all contemplated their consciences.

“I often worry,” Pasteur Bertrand said at last, “that we do ourselves harm by looking to men for our betterment in France. We must not place our hope in the weakness of flesh. Although cloaked in the garb of princes and lords, the feet of all men are lame.”

“It is true,” Père Arnaut said. “Our final hope of deliverance in the land can only be established in our Lord, but we must have seigneurs, Cousin Bertrand. We must have our king.”

“Must we, Arnaut? I wonder,” Bertrand said in a thoughtful voice. “Oh, I agree we must have leaders. But it is one thing to have our Moses lead us through this wilderness with the staff of God — but quite another matter to be led by one whose very salvation we are uncertain of.”

“But let us not rush to gather stones,” said another. “Let us first and foremost pray for him.”

There came a murmur of assent.

“Marquis Fabien told me a short while ago that he’s learned how the Guises, supported by the Spanish Ambassador, are laboring to convince Antoine to join their three-man holy league and so break with the Bourbon-Huguenot alliance,” Pasteur Bertrand said. “The marquis is looking into the irksome news this very moment.”

“If that is so,” Père Arnaut said, “Antoine’s moral fall poses a greater threat to the Reformation in France than we had thought.”

There was a groan around the chamber.

“He is no match for such serpentine intriguers. Irresolute, he knows not with which side to align himself.”

“With truth!” Pasteur Bertrand said. “I believe Marquis Fabien was right when he said the Guises knew Prince Antoine could be compromised if isolated from his strong allies. And his strongest support was his own wife, Queen Jeanne. So they attack when he is most vulnerable. How like Satan who prowls about seeking out the weakness of men, to trap and destroy.”

“Be vigilant,” Père Arnaut said with a thoughtful nod, “because your adversary the devil, as a roaring lion, walketh about seeking whom he may devour.”

Then perhaps it is bonne news that Queen Jeanne is arriving
, Rachelle thought. She was always one of Antoine’s strong resources, so Fabien had said.

I want to be that manner of wife and woman — to do Fabien good and
not evil all the days of our journey together.

Oh, Antoine, choose righteous ness, choose your family, and make your
royal stand for truth!

“Let us attend the colloquy with humble spirits, making our private petition to our Lord that we may find grace in the sight of the French throne. Messieurs, shall we end our discussion with prayer for God’s intervention?”

They readily responded to Pasteur Bertrand’s plea for prayer and humility.

As one by one they prayed, pleading for the Reformation to take root in the dry soil of their beloved France, Rachelle added her own petitions for a spiritual stirring throughout her country.
What of me? If there is to
be revival, it can begin with me. Am I faithful, honest, and pure? Am I
dedicated? Do I love the Savior with all my heart?

“Jesus must be honored and glorified if blessing is to come to the people of France,” Pasteur Bertrand had said on several occasions.

Make me in my daily doings what I am in Christ, O Father
.
Amen.

LATE THAT EVENING WHEN
FABIEN
RETURNED
, Rachelle was in the bedchamber preparing to retire. Her parents had departed to stay with the duchesse at the Dushane château where they would remain during the colloquy, and Cousin Bertrand had retired.

She noted at once his somber mood, though his calm remained.

He removed his handsome jacket with gold embroidery and armorial bearings in jewels and tossed it on a chair, then loosened the white shirt with Alençon lace.

“My apologies, chérie, for leaving earlier this evening. I will explain to your father why I had to leave when I did. Andelot brought disturbing news. We had to discuss something unusual about Sardinia.”

“Sardines?” She wrinkled her nose.

He laughed. “Sardinia. There is a meeting in the morning between the Guises and the Spanish ambassador. It’s likely to have far-reaching consequences.” He walked up to her, and taking her into his arms, kissed her.

“About Andelot, what sort of disturbing message did he bring?”

He sobered and released her.

“You may read it yourself. He thought first to send it to me, but then brought it himself.”

He took her arm and walked her toward the candlelight.

Rachelle took the message and read, pondering the odd words of Andelot’s brief message.

“Marquis Fabien, I am now in a chamber between the cardinal
and his secretary, Père Jaymin. It is most intimidating at times. I
cannot come and go without being watched.”

Rachelle’s frown deepened. She read on.

“A bizarre incident is in progress. They told me to make a false
map of Sardinia. My instructions were to turn this rocky, desolate
island that is like the Rock of Gibraltar into a mythical tropical
paradise with great cities, farmlands, and fruit trees according to a
list written by Ambassador Chantonnay. Tomorrow morning there
will be a meeting between the three messieurs, the duc, cardinal, and
ambassador, and my map must be ready for them. What think you of
this?

I shall send another message after the meeting in the morning. I
shall get little sleep this night.”

Rachelle looked at Fabien, lifting her brow. “
Sardinia?
Whatever is Sardinia?”

“Not ‘what’ is it, chérie
,
but ‘why’ is it? Just what do the Guise brothers and that wily Spanish spy have in mind? Scholar Thauvet has suggested that Spain is involved in this, since Sardinia is under their flag. I am inclined to agree that it was Chantonnay who made the list of what Andelot was to include on the map.”

She could see Fabien was apprehensive.

“A mythical map . . . but why?”

“I have an idea, but I will wait until Andelot sends me a report on the meeting with Antoine in the morning. Whatever they plan, it is likely to mean danger for someone.”

“Do you think Andelot will be safe staying so near the cardinal’s watchful eye?”

“They need him. At least until they send him to Lorraine. That is not likely to happen until late November, after the colloquy. At the moment, he could not be better situated to spy.”

“As long as he is not caught.”

He scowled. “Yes, as long as Jaymin does not discover his spying, or that he’s a Huguenot at heart. But Andelot is more astute than I think even you understand. He is no longer the amenable ami, but he has matured. If I thought he was gullible I’d never ask him to spy. Something dark is afoot, and we need to know what they are planning.”

She watched as he burned the message with the candle flame.

“I too have some news about Andelot. Madame Clair says he and Idelette have been corresponding. Eventually there may be a marriage. I could not be more enthusiastic.”

“I suspected it could be so. He mentioned that he wished to go to London for a time before going on to Geneva to study under Calvin.”

“I am most sure Idelette would say yes if he asked her for her hand in marriage. She will be so supportive of his decision about Geneva.”

He cocked a brow. “But first, we must escape France. That will be a feat in and of itself. What did Arnaut and Bertrand discuss with the Huguenot leaders tonight?”

She put a hand to her forehead. “Prince Antoine.” She sighed. “And that which concerns his mistress, Mademoiselle Rouet. Is it true the Guises intend to use her to woo him into becoming a Catholic?”

“Be assured they will if they can, thereby endangering the BourbonHuguenot alliance at Court. If the colloquy fails to bring an end to persecution, there will be a civil war. As general of France, Antoine controls the army. His support is crucial.”

She noted the sobriety in his violet-blue eyes.

“You would like to believe in his honneur, chérie, as would I. But in this situation, do not place your confidence in Antoine to work for the betterment of the Huguenots. That may have been his goal at first. But I fear he’s lost his way. Greater horizons fill his vision. I know him too well.”

That he would speak so bluntly about his kinsman surprised her. “But despite his fall, he is one of us, a Huguenot. Surely he will see his error and forsake it.”

“He is not known for his steadfastness. I tell you, Rachelle my sweet, there is so much intrigue at work presently that one walks through a pal-ais of vipers. They lie in wait at every turn, in every shadowy crevice, ready to sink their fangs into the gullible. Unfortunately, Antoine has never been a messire of discernment.”

“If only there were something to be done to win the day!” She gazed longingly at the candle flame.

He stood, hands on hips, looking at her with a tender smile. “Chérie
,
you want so much for the golden trumpets of God to sound at this very moment and for angels to intervene. I too wish for it. However, this may be that hour when, like the Church of Smyrna, it is with much tribulation that we enter the kingdom of God.”

He leaned over and blew out one of the candles. “It may be that we will never see what we long for: a wise sovereign on the throne. We may never see France embrace the truths of the Reformation as has Holland, England, and Germany.”

There was a quiet thoughtfulness to his voice that frightened her.

“Fabien,” she whispered, aghast, “how can you speak so? Why, it is what we are all praying and struggling to bring about. The colloquy begins next week!”

“It does. The truth will be taught, a victory in itself. Even so, the response depends upon the hearts of those who will hear. Arnaut, Bertrand, the Huguenot leaders — they should realize there will be a continued struggle in France, a long one. I have brooded over my conclusion for weeks now. I’ve decided we nobles have put too much hope in our ability to bring about the kind of change that only a love for the truth can establish in a nation. If the church, or a nation, loses that love, how great becomes the darkness. When that happens, stalwart men with swords can accomplish only so much.”