Daughter of Silk (33 page)
“There is no one here.” “Wait, mon prince — ”
But Charles did not wait and passed through into a large chamber bringing Andelot with him.
Andelot found himself inside a stately suite of rooms with large mul- lioned windows that reached from f loor to ceiling and overlooked the garden, terrace, and Loire River.
Charles quietly inched the heavy door shut. “Come, this way,” Charles whispered.
Folding doors opened into a gallery wainscoted with richly gilded oak, the high vaulted ceiling was emblazoned with coats of arms. The walls were covered with crimson brocade set in heavy frames of carved gold; chandeliers of glittering pendants hung from open rafters formed of various colored woods arranged in mosaic patterns.
He looked upon marble statues and busts displayed on sculptured ivory pedestals, inlaid cabinets, and carved tables. In one corner there was a large bed of polished walnut with heavy hangings of royal purple. The material was gathered into a diadem with the gold embossed initials
C.M.
—
Andelot turned on his heel to face Charles.
“But this is the royal chambers of the Queen Mother!” “Oui!”
“Thunder, Monseigneur! Do you wish to have me quartered? You have deceived me.”
“Silence, peasant. She will not be here until tonight. She is in a meet- ing now with the Guises. I brought you here in good faith — come!”
Andelot followed with uneasy steps. Marquis Fabien had conveyed chilling tales of the Queen Mother’s reliance on “soothsayers,” as Fabien had called them. Wherever she chose to reside, either in Paris or in Touraine, an observatory for the stars was always at hand, and Cosmo Ruggiero, who had attended her from Florence, never left her except for short periods of time. Cosmo was an astrologer, alchemist, and philoso- pher. He fed the glowing furnaces with gold and silver, sometimes with dead men’s bones; concocted essences, powders, and perfumes; drew horoscopes; and modeled wax figures in the likeness of those who had incurred the queen’s enmity. These were supposed to suffer pangs from each stab inflicted on their images and to waste away as their wax simili- tudes melted into the f lames. Cosmo was also a purveyor of poisons to her majesty and dealt largely in herbs and roots fatal to life. His apparte- ments and the observatory were always near those of the queen and con- nected to them by a secret stair.
Charles led him into a small writing closet built into a turret. “Behold a secret stairway,” Charles told him boastfully. He opened a
small, narrow door built into the stone and pointed upward.
Andelot peered past him and saw a f light of narrow steps going up to some secretive portion of the upper story. Charles lit the lamp on the tall table and gestured.
“Quickly, peasant! We have work to do while there is time.”
Andelot was both repelled and intrigued. He followed the prince up the steps. The sighing of the wind as it swept along the corners of
the castle roof was broken by their footsteps and heavy breathing. The lamplight wavered in the windowless stairwell. Andelot looked over his shoulder expecting to see trailing ghosts.
Charles stopped before a door at the top. He removed a golden key and entered, Andelot behind him. He found himself in a narrow labora- tory under the roof. The small room contained a bed, a desk, and some chairs, thick rugs on the stone f loor, several antechambers, and one small window.
Charles went to the desk, set his lamp down, and lit the larger lamp on the crowded desk. Andelot came up beside him and saw an ancient manuscript. Always interested in old writings, he all but itched to read it. He looked at the writing and saw that it was Latin and had something to do with astrology.
“Star charts,” Charles said. “Horoscopes, mon prince.”
“What say the stars, peasant? Can you read them?” He drew a bundle of papers over to Andelot. Look, here are the celestial signs within the House of Valois, all my brothers, myself, even Margo . . . Look, Cosmo traced them with the magic pen from the dates Maman gave him.”
“Monseigneur, do not believe this. There is no magic pen, only his interpretations, and I assure you he cannot know your future.”
“Nenni, peasant, do not be a dull dog. Oui, here is our future, mine and Francis’s. Look! Can you read what Cosmo has written?”
“I will not read it, Monsieur.”
“You will read it to me or I will have you beaten!”
“You would listen to lies, to chance guesses, to half-truths?”
Charles snatched the chart to himself. “A cloud now rests on the star of Francis — What could it mean? And look — he says Margo’s marriage to Henry de Guise is glowing and favorable. Ha! What will the King of Portugal think of that?”
But Andelot was looking at something else that set his heartbeat drumming in his ears. A cabinet stood against the wall and it was open. He saw many vials and sealed packets, dried herbs and powders, and on one of the sealed packets was written:
For Her Majesty. White pow- der. Very strong. Sprinkle on flowers, book pages, and inside gloves. Death within days.
“Look over here,” Charles said. Andelot joined him. There were ashes in a small hearth and what looked like small bones.
“I have seen enough,” Andelot whispered. “We must leave at once, Monsieur, before we are caught.”
And if we are,
he thought grimly,
we will not live to tell of it.
“I shall soon be king,” Charles told him proudly. “The star chart casts a shadow on the king, my brother.”
“Too convenient, Prince, is it not? Almost as if . . . as if it allows for decisions to be made that are already planned?”
Charles looked at him long and hard, then his eyes widened. “Someone is coming. Downstairs, I heard footsteps.”
Andelot froze. “Is there another way out of here?”
Charles gestured across the chamber to a door. They bolted for it and darted down the outer steps that wound around the side of the castle to the second-story terrace. The wind blew against them and splashes of rain whipped into their faces. There followed a streak of dazzling light- ning over the gray rushing waters of the Loire beneath them. The forest trees swayed in a wind that howled like wolves around the outer crevices and crannies of the gray stone castle.
Catherine de Medici stood still, listening to the wind and the rain striking against the panes in her writing closet. The sudden spread of clouds made the day appear as twilight. She went into her closet and lit the lamp. She was turning away to her desk when she noticed the secret door was slightly ajar. She narrowed her eyes.
She pushed it aside and entered, holding her lamp high toward the narrow steps. Had Cosmo returned sooner than expected? She climbed the steps and found the door to his laboratory also ajar. She set her teeth and stood without moving. Cosmo was not fool enough to leave secret doors ajar.
Catherine entered the astrologer’s chamber and her dark eyes sur- veyed the cloister. Her gaze halted at the desk. A lamp was lit, the lamp was familiar. She recognized it as the one kept below at the bottom of the steps. Had Madalenna been lax?
No, Madalenna would not dare be lax in her service; this was not the intrusion of Madalenna or Cosmo, but of a clumsy fool. Even the door across the laboratory to the outside steps stood open, creaking in the wind. She went there and pushed it open, stepping out into the wind and rain.
She stood there, staring, her eyes seeking a glimpse of whoever had dared intrude into her observatory.
Andelot did not move. He was below crouching with Charles behind some bushes. The rain soaked through their clothing, and he heard Charles’s teeth chatter.
“Do not move, Monsieur Prince, only moments more and she will go inside.”
Catherine stood above them shrouded in black, the wind blowing her skirts and veil. Andelot knew a sickening feeling in his chest.
This is a woman who will stop at nothing to secure her rule, not even murder
.
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O
On the day of the masque the weather was clear, sunny, and pleasant. Rachelle rushed to finish Marguerite’s mask while the other ladies at court added f lourishing touches to their own.
“Ah, tonight I shall see Henry,” Marguerite said boldly. She stood and did a twirling pirouette on the f loor, causing her ladies to smile and share in her happiness.
“The King of Portugal arrived this morning,” Rachelle told her qui- etly. “Is not Mademoiselle Princesse expected to entertain him at the banquet in the water gallery?”
They all knew this, but the delicate reminder from Rachelle went unheeded by Marguerite.
“I shall marry no one except Monsieur Henry de Guise,” Marguerite repeated with firm resolve.
Charlotte spoke up from the other side of the room as she worked on her own mask. “If you are not at the banquet, Your Highness, the Queen Mother will take notice of your absence.”
Marguerite leaned over and whispered in Rachelle’s ear: “You will help me keep the rendezvous with Monsieur Guise.”
Rachelle, sewingaburgundybandofribbononto Marguerite’sgolden mask, looked up with dismay. How could the Queen Mother expect her to keep the princesse away from Guise? How unfair royalty was! In one breath they give impossible orders, in the next, they accuse of insubor- dination. The task of thwarting Marguerite from seeing Henry de Guise was quickly becoming impossible.
Rachelle saw the smug smile on Charlotte’s mouth. Until days ago it had been Charlotte de Presney’s responsibility to answer to the Queen Mother for Marguerite’s willful antics. Charlotte’s placid pale face appeared content at being relieved of the task. However, it was clear she was not pleased over her demotion from maid-of-honor to lady-in-wait- ing. The bitterness that brooded in her eyes whenever Rachelle looked at her was apparent even to Marguerite. Marguerite, too, appeared to notice the sullen change in Charlotte.
“It was my maman who removed you, not I. Need I remind you, Madame, that neither did I first choose you as my maid-of-honor? I am pleased with Mademoiselle Macquinet whom I can trust to keep her hands off Monsieur Guise.”
Louise spoke up. “Madame de Presney has newer interests. Is that not true, Charlotte?”
Charlotte kept her blue eyes on her mask as she sewed the ribbons into place, but a petite smile turned the corners of her lips upward, as though she enjoyed a delightful secret. Rachelle felt her muscles tens- ing. She did not wish to hear any further chatter about Charlotte and Marquis de Vendôme. Rachelle was certain she saw Charlotte laugh over the impossible task now assigned her by the Queen Mother: keeping Marguerite from her bel ami.
Might as well try to shepherd the wind.
“Princesse,” Charlotte said, “I have not lifted a finger to complain over my removal as maid-of-honor, though I may wish to return to Tours, to my father’s estate, for the other ladies at court are whispering of my humiliation. It is hard to bear, I promise you.”
“You may go home sooner than you had planned,” Marguerite said with sarcasm. “I am sure I and my ladies will not object.”
Louise and Madame de Pomperant sniggered, but when Charlotte looked over at them, they went back to completing their masks.
None of this benefited Rachelle, who wondered how she could avoid answering to the Queen Mother should she learn Marguerite had slipped away.
“Your Highness, the King of Portugal will wish to spend every moment with the belle princesse, since he is hoped to sign a contract with the Queen Mother to marry you one day. To meet Monsieur Guise
at such a moment will surely enrage the queen. She will have spies watch- ing us, I am sure.”
“Non. I will not hear of it. My heart tells me to f ly to Henry and so I shall. The queen will be busy with the King of Portugal and his retinue. She has already warned me, as you know. She will not assume I shall be so bold as to slip away while the king is here.”
Rachelle, exasperated, fell into silence. Louise brought over the burgundy silk and cloth of gold gown and held it to the light so that it shimmered. Each time Rachelle looked at the gown her painful thoughts rushed back to the meeting with Fabien at Chambord, when he had wanted such a gown for her.
Do not think of him
.
You were stupide to ever think you could claim
and hold such a man true to you only. Every belle woman has cast her net for him. Few men in such a situation would be true except one like Joseph of ancient days— How can I do this and sin against God? Unless the marquis had deeper reasons for shunning the banquet of sin, he would have little conviction but to feast to the full.
She pricked her finger and winced.
Charlotte said, “Where is your thimble, Rachelle?”
“My weakness, Charlotte. I seem to misplace them. I have lost so many since I was eight and first began my training.”
“Ah, such a dress,” Louise was saying. “I am happy you decided to wear it tonight after all, Princesse.”
At first Marguerite insisted she would wear the blue satin. “My burgundy is too exquisite for the King of Portugal,” she had said. So Rachelle had worked twelve hours a day to finish the blue satin. Then came the secret message from Henry de Guise, delivered to Marguerite by Charlotte, in which he begged her to meet him on the south bank of the river the night of the masque. Marguerite changed her mind again, and announced with fanfare that oui, she
would
wear the burgundy silk.
“I will wear it only for Henry,” Marguerite now repeated to Louise. “Did I not promise such that day at Chambord? Ah, Monsieur Guise and I shall both wear royal purple. It is all planned. Henry will come as a Babylonian prince wearing a purple mask and turban. I must see him. I must hold him in my arms again and smother him with my kisses. If not, I shall pine away.”
Marguerite showed herself to her ladies so gay and excited by the romantic prospects before her that they all laughed at Rachelle’s dismay and bade her to accept the intrigues of court life. Danger, they claimed, was all a part of its elaborate charm, and that there were at least a thou- sand women in France who would change places with her to become the princesse’s maid-of-honor, if only they could.
