Written on Silk (40 page)

“This summons from the king cannot be ignored,” Louis said. “All would declare us guilty if we refrained from going to Court now. The Guises would assuredly claim to the young king that we are plotting a new rebellion and should be apprehended, by an army if necessary.”

“As the messieurs, the duc and the cardinal, know very well. They have planned this, I assure you.”

“Yes, but there was small choice,” Condé said. “To not take heed to a royal summons is an act of rebellion.”

If the princes had been under any impression that they would be treated
as “royal cousins” when they arrived, they must see now how they erred in
coming alone.

Sebastien now rode quickly ahead of the princes to prepare their way.

When he returned to the audience chamber, all were waiting, their faces alert.

Sebastien bowed his head. “The Bourbon princes have arrived. They will be here within minutes.”

Those assembled took positions either along the walls or behind and to the side of the seated Queen Mother and King Francis.

Sebastien, in self-preservation, kept his feelings masked.

C
ATHERINE SAT ON HER
throne beside her son Francis.
The mock king
, she thought with both scorn and pity.
The duc has him wrapped in his fingers,
and the cardinal smirks at him. Ah, that would never have occurred in the
days when my husband was King of France! And the Bourbons! What fools
to pay heed to the suggestion that they come peacefully without armed men.
Were it not that she needed them to counter the Guises she would be rid of them for their idiocy. But alas, they would both be useful.

The double doors of carved wood opened, and Antoine de Bourbon, King of Navarre and first prince of the royal Bourbon blood, walked forward toward her and Francis. He was King of Navarre only through his marriage to Queen Jeanne d’Albret. It was their son, Henry of Navarre, that Catherine was considering for her daughter Marguerite.

Antoine knelt on one knee to King Francis, but Francis, as planned by the Guises, did not move or make one conciliatory step toward him. Instead, he silently indicated that Antoine’s first obeisance should have been to Catherine.

Her scorn matched her secret amusement. One bow was not enough for Antoine, he would bow twice, and contrary to custom knelt on one knee to Francis.
Yes, Monsieur Antoine would do well for her plans to
thwart the duc’s power.
Antoine, the popinjay, was so submissive he would never claim his superior rights to the throne. The Guises should be bowing to Antoine! He was a far cry from the character-driven Marquis Fabien! Fabien was out dueling Spaniards while Antoine was bowing when he should be indignant over the offensive way he was being treated by the Guises.

Francis, close beside her, had one eye on the duc and the other on the cardinal to see what they expected of him.

Ah, my son Francis, your weakness is a danger to me and to the Valois
name.

Next Prince Condé came forward. Catherine knew well enough what the Guises thought of him. They feared Condé. Condé was aware that he was a royal prince. He was cool and arrogant and did not look at the Guises or their niece, Mary, who, like Francis, obeyed their every call. Nor would he trouble to speak to them first, though he smiled at Catherine.
Louis has a comely smile
, she thought.

Ah yes, this is the clever one
. Her mind raced, ever awake.
Too clever
for me to permit the Guises to kill him. If Condé is dead, I will be left alone
to oppose the sneering cardinal and the scowling fanatical duc. Ah yes, I
know. But I too have a plan.

Catherine, keeping her face emotionless, slid her unblinking gaze over to the Guises. They were lounging against the high stone window behind their niece, Mary.
Ah yes, the family spy! I have not forgotten
you. You will be going back to Scotland posthaste when the hour comes.
Wherever her oncles were, there was petite Mary, always ready to do their bidding, to woo her husband, Francis, into complying with their every whim.

Duc de Guise caught Catherine’s gaze, the arranged signal. She went along as planned, allowing him to believe she was cooperating. She stood and looked pleasantly at Prince Louis de Condé, which she found was not difficult to do.

“Monsieur le Prince, step this way, as I wish to speak with you alone for a moment on an important matter.”

Condé showed slight surprise, but he bowed elegantly and followed, his dark eyes suggesting he found her the only interesting person at Court.
Ah, that was like him.

Catherine walked toward her private chamber, Condé followed. She smiled briefly to herself and raised a hand to signal the guards hiding in the antechamber. They were ready as planned. After a brief moment she bid Condé to enter her chamber. His expression was curious, his eyes showing a flicker of wariness. Yes, this one was clever. She turned her back toward him. There came a start of surprise from behind her as quick steps sounded. The guards had surrounded him.

“Your Majesty — ” Prince de Condé said in injured outrage.

Catherine kept still. She was surprised that the moment of victory brought her no personal pleasure. She rather liked the romantic figure of the Bourbon prince. She even allowed herself a few romantic fantasies where he was concerned. She was no womanly fool though; she would not put herself in a position of subservience to a man again. She had known humiliation enough while enduring the pain of watching her husband, King Henry, with that old piece of baggage, Diane de Poitiers.

The guards under Duc de Guise arrested Condé, taking his private sword and dagger. He was led away under dignified protest to the prison dungeons.

Antoine must have heard the disturbance, for he appeared, wearing a twisted look of shock. She kept her cool distance.

“Your Majesty, I beg to be Louis’ guard,” Antoine cried. “There is no need for the dungeon. We have come freely, and freely we will stay until our reputations are cleared of this wicked lie of treason hurled against us.”

She need not reply, for she was not ready to move on her private plans as yet. Duc de Guise and the cardinal, who had also entered her private chamber, looked triumphant.

They think matters have gone as they have planned, and they are very
smug
.

King Francis mustered a stern royal expression while he stood beside the cardinal. But even then it was the duc who spoke for him.

“Your brother, Louis, is under arrest,” the duc told Antoine coldly. “He is thoroughly implicated in the rebellion at Amboise against the king. He will stand trial, and if found guilty, will be condemned to die.”

Ah yes, you are most anxious for his death, are you not? His removal
puts you closer to the throne.

Antoine too was under arrest but was at liberty to wander the corridors and gardens. Catherine had her reasons for leaving him here at Fontainebleau where, on secret occasions away from Duc de Guise, she might walk with Antoine alone. Sometimes a serpent did not wish to kill its victim, but keep it alive as needed.

A
SHORT TIME AFTER
Prince Condé was arrested for treason, Catherine quietly made the decision to have him taken from the Orléans prison at Fontainebleau and moved by night to the more secure dungeons of Amboise. Her reason for doing so was due to a whisper that reached her by way of Madalenna that the Guise faction was plotting to have Condé assassinated in the dungeon before the trial, rather than risk his being declared innocent and set free. This proved their true goal: to remove the Bourbons in order to strengthen their own rights to the throne. This would put her position at risk. Francis was getting older, and Mary would come into maturity and reign as Queen of France. Where would that leave her as the Queen Mother? Mary did not like her. She never had, even when Mary was a spoiled schoolgirl under tutorage in the palais when Catherine’s husband was alive as king. And Mary would still be dominated by the cardinal.
And my son, Francis, is moving from
me, trusting me less by the day as Mary and her oncles fill his mind with
treachery against me . . . Ah yes, I know.

No, the petit galant Prince Louis Condé must be kept sealed within the dungeon away from assassin’s plots.

If anyone shall devise an assassin’s plot, it will be my sovereign right
for the
gloire de la France
!

Catherine made many visits to see him, oftentimes ordering a stool brought in for her to sit and converse with him pleasantly for an hour or so. She took pleasure in whispering promises to him that he would live.

On a certain afternoon not long after one such visit with Condé, Catherine sat in her royal bedchamber at Fontainebleau looking over the correspondence brought to her on a gold laver by her chamberlain. While she enjoyed melons from the garden, one of her favorite foods, she leafed through the envelopes from far and near, and came upon a lettre sent to her by Sebastien’s inane sister,
Comtesse
Francoise Dangeau- Beauvilliers, the doting mère of the conniving Maurice Beauvilliers.

Now what could this fluttering woman want from her?

Catherine read the lettre with contempt. Once again the comtesse was flattering Catherine and begging help for her son.

How many pleas for favors of one kind or another had there been through the years? The woman was wearisome with all her schemes to promote Maurice to a high position at Court. Catherine mused that she might arrange to promote Maurice if she thought she could use him. He was easily bought, and she would have little trouble training him as her petit monkey on a chain. Would Maurice be a bon assassin?

No. Maurice was undisciplined and would easily talk under threat of torture and incriminate her. She best remain committed to her plan of using Marquis Fabien to rid her of the Duc de Guise. If only she could lure him back to Court. Fie! He had slipped out of France before she could snag him to her cause. And where was he now? Sinking Spanish galleons! Ah yes, she knew.
And perhaps I could offer him “protection”
from the wrath of Spain in return for his cooperation in the elimination
of the Guise plague.

In the lettre, Francoise wept over her poor petit Maurice who was stricken in amour over the belle Mademoiselle Rachelle Macquinet. He had even taken to his sick bed, pining for her presence. Ah, but her son would not eat, nor could all the chère mademoiselles in or out of Court console his woeful heart. She feared her son might waste away to nothing, so aggrieved was he. Therefore it was her prayer that Her Majesty, the bonne Queen Mother, would aid her in solving her dilemma.

The comtesse had first appealed to Princesse Marguerite to recall Mademoiselle Rachelle to Court, but while the princesse had been sympathetic, she affirmed that Rachelle was home with her family at the Château de Silk in mourning over the death of her grandmère and her petite sister. But now, Comtesse Francoise affirmed, Princesse Marguerite was concerned about her wardrobe for the upcoming journey to Spain and was anxious for Rachelle’s return. So would the Queen Mother appoint Comte Maurice to escort Mademoiselle Rachelle to Paris?

Catherine hardened her lips. What effrontery this woman had! She sneered and tossed the lettre aside.