My Brother's Crown (45 page)

When she reached the first houses, she asked a woman herding a small flock of sheep if there was an inn in town.

The woman was taken aback. “You are not traveling by yourself, Mademoiselle, are you?”

“I am following my brother,” Catherine answered, which was true. “I'm hoping he's lodging in this village.” It was improbable, but she could hope.

The woman said there was an inn near the cathedral.

“
Merci
,” Catherine said. “Are there any Huguenots in Saint-Étienne?”

The woman hesitated and then said, her voice low, “They have all left. Most have gone to the Plateau. Others have fled France altogether.”

“
Merci
,” Catherine said again and kept riding. By the time she reached the inn, it was nearly dark. She tied her horse to the hitching post and started up the stairs, but when she reached the door she heard a woman say, “I told you we are full. Now be on your way.”

Two dragoons appeared in the doorway. Catherine stepped back toward her horse, adjusting her headpiece. As the soldiers staggered down the stairs, she turned as if she were looking for someone to arrive. The dragoons kept going.

Catherine sank against her horse. She was too tired and sore to climb on again. Her mare needed a rest and she had nowhere to go anyway. Even if she were foolish enough to sleep under the stars, the temperature was falling fast, and lighting a fire would bring attention to herself. She had no choice but to petition the innkeeper. Straightening her satchel on her shoulder, she started up the steps. A woman holding a broom met her at the door. “No rooms are left,” she barked.

“
Oui
, I heard, but I was wondering if you would be so kind as to allow me to sit at the table for the night. I will still pay.”

The woman squinted in the dim light. “Surely you are not traveling by yourself!”

“I became separated from my brother. I believe he is not far from here, though.”

The woman shook her head slightly. “It is not safe.”

“I know,” Catherine said, holding her head high.

The woman glanced toward a long plank table and benches behind her. A half dozen men sat at the far end. “I cannot protect you.”

“Still, it's safer than sleeping outside,” Catherine answered, her knees weakening. She would have to sit by the fire all night, awake.

The woman nodded toward the table and named her price. Catherine took the coins from her purse. “
Merci.
”

The woman slipped the money into the pocket at her ample waist. “I will have the stable boy take care of your horse. You may wash in the back room.”

When she was done, Catherine made her way to the other end of the table, closest to the fire, hoping the men would assume someone would soon join her.

The woman brought her a bowl of soup and a piece of bread. Catherine forced herself to eat slowly. Two of the men left, going out the front door. Another headed to the second floor of the inn. The other three asked for more ale, which the woman delivered.

Then she took Catherine's empty bowl, built up the fire, and settled it with the poker. The woman turned toward Catherine, the poker still in her hand and made eye contact. Then she buried the tip of the poker in the embers of the fire. She left the room without saying anything.

Another of the men went upstairs. The remaining two men's voices grew louder. Catherine sensed them looking her way from time to time. She stood, her back to the fire so she could see them, but she soon tired.

All she wanted to do was put her head down on the table and sleep. She sat back down on the bench and took some paper from her satchel. Perhaps writing would keep her awake. She took out her quill, sharpened the point with the dagger she pulled from her stocking, and then dipped it in the ink, trying to remember everything that had happened since the last time she had written. Grand-Mère had gone to the Bergers…

She was so lost in her journal that she didn't notice that only one man remained until he stood and walked toward her. He swayed a little. Catherine reached for the dagger just as a log fell in the fire, causing
sparks to fly. Wrapping the baby blanket around her hand, she stood and stepped to the fire, grabbing the poker and turning slowly around toward the man. His white shirt was stained and his jacket was torn. His breeches hung loosely on his hips.

“Mademoiselle.” He took a step backward, bumping against the bench, his hands up. “I have no ill intentions.”

She did not believe him and stood her ground, wondering what she would do if he stayed until the poker cooled.

He ran his hand through his greasy hair and then without saying any more turned toward the stairs. Catherine held the poker until she heard a door close above and then, after returning the poker to the fire, collapsed at the table.

All she could do was return to her writing. When she finished, she paced up and down the room, struggling to stay on her feet. Every muscle of her body ached. How could she possibly stay awake? Finally, she took off the headpiece and wriggled her Bible from her bun, slipping it into her satchel.

By the middle of the night, she dozed, her dagger in her hand and her head on the table, but at the faint first light through the high dirty window, she placed her Bible back in her bun, put on the headpiece, and gathered her things.

Noise from the kitchen meant someone was up. As Catherine made her way around the table a mouse scurried across the floor and then another. She stopped at the kitchen door.

The woman was kneading dough on the table. “Looks as if you survived.”

Catherine nodded. “
Merci
,” she said. “For placing the poker where you did.”

The woman smiled. “It's just one of many tricks of mine. I hope you didn't burn your hand.”

Catherine held up the blanket and returned the woman's smile.

“How about some food for the road?”

“
Merci
,” Catherine said again as the woman handed her an end of a baguette, a hunk of cheese, and wrinkled apple.

The innkeeper dug her hands back into the dough. “God be with you, child.”

“And with you.”

Before she reached the edge of the village, a voice called out to her to halt. For a moment she considered trying to outrun whoever it was, but when she glanced over her shoulder she saw it was the two dragoons from the night before.

She pulled her horse to a stop.

“It's you,” one of the dragoons said as he dismounted.

“
Bonjour
.”

“Where are you headed?”

“Le Chambon-sur-Lignon.”

“Alone?” he asked, dumbfounded.

Catherine shook her head. “My brother is ahead. I should catch him soon. He has business there.”

“What kind?”

“He is buying a paper mill.”

The other dragoon dismounted. “Huguenots own the mill there.”

Catherine nodded. “That is true.”

The first dragoon smiled and laughed. “No doubt he is getting a good price then.” He nodded at her satchel. “Just let me have a look at what you are carrying and then you can be on your way.”

Catherine handed it to him.

As he pawed through it, the other pointed at her headpiece. “What kind of hat is that?”

“A gift from a friend in Versailles. The Duchesse de Navailles. Have you heard of her? She was a lady of honor to the Queen Mother.” Catherine touched the lace of the headpiece.

“It is not exactly riding attire,” the dragoon said.

Catherine smiled. “You're right about that. I would not be surprised if it ends up alongside the road soon.”

The other dragoon handed back the satchel. She took it, making sure the letter of protection was still inside. It was.

“We have had Protestants smuggling all sorts of things through here. People, for one, but also Bibles.”

“Oh,” Catherine said, resisting the urge to touch her top-knot again. “Where are you headed?”

“We are going as far as Firminy.”

“May I ride with you?” she asked, taking two coins from her purse, careful they could not glimpse her cross as she did. “And pay you for the protection.”

The dragoon smiled. “Of course.”

“
Merci.
” Catherine remembered Firminy from her trip with Papa and Uncle.

The dragoons kept up a fast pace, but Catherine stayed with them. It was midmorning by the time they reached the village. She stopped at the fountain to water her horse, calling out a thanks as they rode on to the largest of the churches.

Back on the road, the terrain grew steeper and steeper. She reached Pont-Salomon by noon but only stopped for water and to eat some of the cheese and bread. Her body ached and she was saddle sore. Months of not riding were taking a toll now. She forced herself to mount her horse and go on.

As the road climbed in altitude the broadleaf trees gave way to more evergreen. Her mare slowed until she was merely plodding along. She was tired too. Catherine pulled her to a stop beside a creek and dismounted. A short rest would do them both good.

Tired of the headpiece, Catherine took it off. Then she took out the Bible too and placed it in the satchel, and shook down her hair, running her hands through it and then repinning her bun as her horse drank. She wrapped the baby's blanket around her head like a scarf.

When she finished drinking, the mare stepped away from the creek, limping. Catherine's heart sank as she examined the horse's swollen ankle and then pulled up her skirts and led the mare back into the creek, hoping the cool water would help.

There was nothing to do now but rest. She could not ride the horse. Her weight would be too much.

God had turned His back on her, she was sure. Perhaps because she longed for the finer things in life. Or because she wanted the easy way out—a quick trip to London to resume a life close to what she had always had, cared for by her family's money and with no sacrifice on her part.

Now she had lost everything. Her family. Her home. Her betrothed. Her security. Her church. Her people.

After she led the horse out of the water, Catherine sank to her knees. She was a young woman, alone. With no protection and no options.

Then she remembered when Basile lit the temple on fire and she had said all was lost.
Au contraire,
Grand-Mère had said.
Nothing is lost. We are the Lord's temple.

Catherine knew that did not mean she would be spared or kept safe. Huguenots—men, women, and children—had been tortured and killed.

As girls, Grand-Mère had required Catherine and Amelie to memorize what God had said to Moses before the Israelites crossed the Jordan River.
Be strong and of a good courage, fear not, nor be afraid of them: for the Lord thy God, he it is that doth go with thee; he will not fail thee, nor forsake thee.

Even in the face of death, Grand-Mère said that God did not forsake His people. Catherine reached into her satchel and retrieved the Bible, flipping to the book of Deuteronomy. She reread the verse and then thought back to her childhood again. Grand-Mère made the two girls recite their catechism, from John Calvin's Church of Geneva, over and over too, starting with,
What is the chief end of human life?