The Confessions of Catherine de Medici (36 page)

Blood rushed to my head. I couldn’t hear or see anything. This couldn’t be happening. I wasn’t ready. I’d known this day must come, but I wanted to orchestrate it at my convenience, after I’d set in motion my plan to wed Margot to Navarre. I didn’t have the players in place yet. Queen Jeanne still eluded me; I’d invited her to court to celebrate Charles’s marriage, but she’d sent her regrets, saying that she was ill. I’d assumed Coligny would also stay away, as I had not lifted my restriction on him. He would not risk his safety. Henri must be mistaken.

I braved a glance over my shoulder, past the bored courtiers eager for the ceremony to conclude and festivities to begin, past the whispering ladies and matrons fanning themselves despite the chill, onward to the darkened recesses, where a collection of figures was standing.

There in the shadows he stood, his eyes gleaming like arctic fire in his careworn face.

“See?” said Henri.

“I told you so. The dead are with us.”

“How could you?” I remonstrated as Charles changed for the banquet.

“He hasn’t been officially pardoned! How could you invite him here?”

My son whirled to me, knocking aside the kneeling page who’d removed his gem-encrusted slippers. “You said our settlement pardoned
all
the Huguenot leaders!”

“That’s different. They acted under his command; the leaders followed his direction.”

“I don’t see a difference. A pardon is a pardon. I’ll not go back on my word as king. I invited him because it’s my wedding and I want him to know we bear him no ill will.”

I stood open-mouthed, so taken aback I had no idea what to do. It was like that day in Blois: whenever Coligny appeared, my son transformed into someone else. I saw my own weakness in him, the trusting person I had once been. I knew Coligny’s lure, how he could attract and convince others, for I’d felt his power. I could still feel it. Only now, I knew better.

“Did he write to you?” I asked, and Charles gave me a startled look. Then he spat, “Yes, he wrote to me. What of it? And I wrote back. I removed the price on his head and assured him he had my protection. I mean it too. The war is over. I want peace and I
will
have it.”

“If you want peace, then you must be the one to send him away. Your bride is a Catholic princess, cousin to Philip of Spain. She cannot receive him.”

“She’ll receive him if I say she will.” The page scrambled out of his way. “I’m sick to death of this enmity between the religions. Coligny is a peer of France; he deserves to be at court. It’s the perfect time for us to make a lasting peace.” He paused, looking at me through narrowed eyes that reminded me of his father. “You told me not to mention the marriage
with Navarre and I agreed. Have you changed your mind? Would you rather we kept killing each other?”

“Of course not,” I replied, and I couldn’t keep the anger from my voice. “But you know Coligny waged war against us. He refused all compromise until he had no other choice.”

“He didn’t wage war against me. I didn’t make agreements with Spain.”

I resisted the urge to grab him by his collar and shake some sense into him. I had no authority over him anymore; at twenty years of age, he was firmly our king. I’d kept him under my care as long as I could. I now saw that in doing so I’d inadvertently sowed his resentment.

I softened my tone.
“Mon fils
, I agree with the sentiment, but this is neither the time nor the place. You must send him away for his protection. The Guises are here. You risk his life.”

“If Guise or anyone else touches a hair on his head, they’ll answer to me.” He yanked his cap from the cowering page. “Coligny stays. In fact, I’ll reinstate him in Council. He can serve as a Huguenot adviser, as he used to before the damn war.”

He stalked past me to the door. “I’ll see you in the hall.”

Charles disappeared right after the feast, leaving Isabel and me to preside over the nuptial festivities. I reasoned he’d gone off to change his clothes, as he detested finery. Left on the dais with Isabel, I watched Margot, flushed by wine and the fawning compliments of the gentlemen. She seemed oblivious of Guise, who sat with Henri. If he in turn took notice of her, he had an expert facility for disguising it, smiling and nodding as Henri whispered in his ear and a court strumpet refilled their goblets every chance she got. Indeed, Guise appeared engrossed in whatever Henri was saying, unaware he was being watched by the handsome Spaniard Antonio de Guast, who’d served under Henri’s command during the war and now acted as his bodyguard.

The Spaniard’s dark stare gave me pause. I’d seen that look before, countless times among the women at court who assessed each other like combatants in the arena: it was covetous and jealous, and it made me wonder at the depth of his relationship with my son.

A high-pitched squeal wrenched my attention to Hercule, already
bedraggled in his new clothes, snatching morsels from platters as a group of ladies—flown on wine—hastened after him, slapping his buttocks with their feathered fans. He was almost sixteen and a disaster. He’d shown no improvement in his studies or deportment, despite Margot’s pains, and I winced as I caught Isabel watching his antics with a rigid frown.

I couldn’t blame her. It was her nuptial feast, her introduction to our court, and all semblance of decency had degenerated the moment the tables were dismantled. Courtiers slipped into the shadows by the pilasters to nuzzle; the musicians’ kettledrums and pipes sounded in tandem to shrieks of drunken laughter as dancers swirled on the open floor. In my father-in-law’s time, such behavior was unheard of; as full of wit and hedonism as his court had been, the women never shoved their bodices past their shoulders to expose their nipples, nor had the men leered and cupped themselves as if in a brothel.

I reached for the decanter to refill her goblet. “The court,” I started to explain. “We haven’t celebrated in some time. We’ve been at war and they’re overly exuberant …” My explanation faded as the sparse color drained from her face, her eyes fixed forward.

I followed her stare. Around us, the court’s laughter sputtered and died.

Charles marched to the dais, his long hair falling to his shoulders, his billowing chemise sleeves rolled to his elbows, exposing sunburned forearms. At his side was Coligny.

In a ringing voice my son said, “Admiral de Coligny wishes to greet my queen.”

Coligny bowed. The last time we’d been this close was five years ago. To my surprise, he seemed smaller than I remembered, his chiseled features marked by deprivation. His eyes were still lucid, still penetrating, but he looked haunted by everything he’d seen and done in the name of his faith, a man compelled by doctrine to sacrifice his ideals.

He’s getting old, I thought. He’s a weak and aging man. There’s nothing for me to fear.

“Seigneur,” I said. “Welcome to court.”

“Thank you. Your Grace looks fit. I trust you are—”

“I’m fine. May I present my new daughter-in-law, Her Grace Queen Isabel?”

As he started to bow, Isabel stood with a rustle of skirts. She inclined her head, forcing him to step aside so she could leave the dais. With a perfunctory curtsy to Charles, she exited the hall. I could have applauded. Her nerve, it seemed, was tempered with steel.

“Her Majesty complained of a headache before you arrived,” I said, noting the embarrassed flush on Charles’s cheeks. “She’s had a long day and needs to rest.”

“Of course,” said Coligny. “I understand.”

“The admiral has agreed to serve at court,” Charles informed me, with a defiant lift of his chin. “He says he’ll be honored to regain his seat on the Council and assist us in forging peace.”

“Is that so?” I forced out a smile. “Well, let us first ensure there’s peace with your new bride, yes? This is your wedding night.” I braced myself for his retort; instead, Charles mumbled, “Yes, of course. I shouldn’t neglect her.” He clapped Coligny on the shoulder. “I’ve had your old apartments readied. You can worship freely there and receive your Huguenot friends.”

“Your Majesty is most gracious.” Coligny lowered his head.

“Good. And we’ll hunt together in the morning.” Charles started to follow Isabel; I snatched him by the hand. “Let me accompany you.” I glanced at Coligny. “We should speak more at length, Seigneur. Perhaps tomorrow, after the hunt?”

His reply was inscrutable. “If you wish.”

I turned away, moving with Charles through the courtiers. After seeing him to Isabel’s rooms, I returned to my own.

“Is it true?” Lucrezia asked. “Is he back?”

“Yes.” I went into my bedchamber and shut the door. By the light of a candle, I pried up the loose floorboard under my bed and removed Cosimo’s box. I didn’t open it.

But I thought about it. I thought about it for a very long time.

The following afternoon, I waited for him in my study, sitting at my large desk where hidden levers could be released to expose secret drawers, in which I stored important documents. On the desk itself I’d placed a portfolio and the royal seal—manifest symbol of my power.

He walked in, his unadorned black doublet fitted to his lean frame. He
had retained his figure and the sight of him caught at my breath. We had not been alone since Blois.

He spoke first. “I know you are angry with me.”

I regarded him coldly. “Do you fault me?”

“No. But you’ve nothing to fear. I would not undertake another war, even if I were in a position to do so. No man desires peace more than I do.”

“I’ve heard such words before.” I fixed him with my stare. “Yet you still chose to believe the worst of me. Why should I think that anything has changed?”

“I don’t expect you to. I only ask that you let me prove myself.”

“Prove yourself? I’ve given you more than one occasion, if I recall, and you did not think it worth your while. Were it not for my forbearance, you’d be a hunted man.”

A spark surfaced in his eyes. I’d forgotten how self-contained he could be, how unrevealing of his self. Now that he was before me I recognized that mastery he’d always had over his emotions, a talent I only now was beginning to grasp. With him, everything ran under the surface. Everything was hidden.

I sat forward in my chair. “I pardoned you once. I can do so again. Contrary to what you may think, I’ve no desire to persecute your faith. I never have. Indeed, I hope to soon arrange a marriage between a Huguenot and a Catholic. What say you to that?”

“My faith has never opposed such unions. I believe yours, however, does.”

“Yes, but this is no ordinary marriage. I wish to wed Margot to the prince of Navarre.”

To a less discerning eye he would have appeared unmoved. But I noticed the subtle tightening of his posture. “I don’t see how this matter concerns me.”

“I will tell you how it does. You carry influence with Jeanne of Navarre, do you not?” I paused. “And you say you wish to prove yourself. Very well: I want you to sign this letter to her, requesting that she come to court with the prince. It will show her that you believe the enmity between our faiths can be resolved and that you support my marriage suit for her son.”

This time, I saw it in his eyes. At last he revealed the suspicion lurking
under his impervious facade. “I fear Her Grace of Navarre has been quite ill. Traveling will be difficult for her.”

“She wasn’t too ill to travel to La Rochelle,” I rejoined, unable to conceal a flash of anger. Did he think me a fool? “I hardly see how a trip to Paris can be an inconvenience. Unless I’m mistaken, she would be only too happy to see you reinstated at court and, I assume, welcome the chance to end the discord between our faiths. After all,” I added, “her son is in our line of succession, but he could be removed. The pope has declared anathema on all Protestants and would excommunicate Jeanne of Navarre, thus opening her realm to invasion by a Catholic power. I could convince His Holiness to reconsider, should circumstances warrant it.”

The air thickened. I didn’t believe Navarre posed any real threat to the succession: I had other sons, should Charles, God forbid, die without an heir. Still, if Jeanne was excommunicated, her kingdom would be forfeit to its nearest Catholic neighbor: us or Spain. I had no intention of wasting my resources trying to overtake her realm, but Philip would, and Coligny knew that he himself had contributed to it by his wars. I wondered if he ever regretted his actions, if he ever looked back to that hour when he’d betrayed our alliance over Philip’s lies.

If so, he would never say it. And no matter what, this time he must submit. Promises were not enough. He had to prove he was capable of bowing to a higher authority than his own.

“Is that all?” he said at length. “This is what you offer me: a bribe?”

I let out a short laugh. “Come now, it’s a friendly arrangement. We were friends once, yes?”

He ignored my question. “Will you expect the prince of Navarre to convert?”

I paused.
How
did he know?

“His conscience is his own,” I said carefully. “Yet if we show our people that princes of different faiths can live together in harmony, perhaps they too will follow suit.”

He did not speak. I reached to the portfolio, retrieved the letter. “Just sign. After that, I’ll ask nothing more of you. If Jeanne refuses, so be it.”

I inked a quill, extended it to him. He hesitated for a moment, but he did not read the letter. Then he leaned forward and appended his signature, so close I might have touched him.

I sanded the letter. “We’ll celebrate our Christmas court in Paris this year; you’re welcome to stay. Our next Council session will be held after the New Year.”

“By your leave, I’ll spend Christmas at Châtillon with my wife and children.” His mouth shifted into what might have passed for a smile. “I wed again in La Rochelle. God has seen fit to bless me again at this late stage in my life.”

I could not look at him. “Congratulations,” I heard myself say. “I hope you’ll both be very happy. Good day, my lord.”

He bowed. As soon as he left, I pressed a trembling hand to my mouth. Birago slipped in.

“He signed,” I said. “But I want him watched. I … I don’t trust him.”