Queen Jezebel Read online

  ‘And . . . have they caught the assassin?’

  ‘I do not know, Madame.’

  ‘Then go and see what you can discover. Go into the streets and hear what people are saying.’

  Catherine was ready to meet the King when he came into the palace. His eyes were wild and she noted the familiar twitching of the lips, the foam on the mouth.

  ‘Have you heard? Have you heard?’ he shouted to his mother. ‘They have tried to kill my dear friend, the Admiral. They have tried to kill the great Gaspard de Coligny.’

  ‘If they have tried and failed, my son, let us be thankful. If he is not dead we must save him.’

  ‘We must save him. Paré! Paré! Where is Paré? Do not stand staring at me, dwarf. Go . . . go and bring Paré to me. Let all go . . . All go and find Paré. There may not be a moment to lose. When you have found him send him to the house of the Admiral. Tell him to lose no time . . . or he shall answer to me. Mother, I must go there at once. I must tell him to live . . . to live. . .’

  ‘My son, you must calm yourself. You cannot leave in this state, my darling. You must be guided by me. Wait . . . wait until there is more news. Send Paré by all means, but do not yet go yourself. You do not know how ill he is. Wait awhile, I beg of you. You cannot suffer more shocks this day.’

  He was tearing at his coat; he was sobbing wildly. ‘He was my father. I trusted him. They have killed him. He must have suffered cruelly. Oh my God, how he suffers. There will be blood . . . his blood . . .

  ‘And you must not see it,’ soothed Catherine. ‘Wait, my son. Ah, here is Paré. Paré, the King’s orders are that you go immediately to the house of the Admiral and . . . save his life. Go . . . go at once.’

  ‘Yes, Paré, go . . . go! Do not delay, but go now.’

  Catherine said to her dwarf: ‘Call Madeleine and Mademoiselle Touchet. Tell them to come to the King’s apartments at once:

  Between them they did their best to soothe the tortured King.

  All the chief Huguenots were assembled at the house in the Rue Béthisy. Téligny, Henry of Navarre, the Prince of Condé, the Duke de la Rochefoucauld waited in an outer chamber. Nicholas Muss, Gaspard’s oldest and most faithful servant, and Merlin, his minister, remained in the sick-room. A message had been sent to Montgomery at Saint-Germain. Outside the house a crowd of Huguenots were gathered; there were angry murmurings in that crowd and the name of Guise was repeated again and again.

  A cheer of hope went up when Ambroise Paré, the greatest surgeon in Paris and a Huguenot, was seen hurrying to the house. The crowd parted to make a way for him

  ‘The good God aid you, Monsieur Paré. May you snatch the life of our great leader from these wicked men who would murder him.’

  Paré said he would do his best and hurried into the house.

  He found the Admiral very weak. The wound in itself did not appear to be a mortal one, but Coligny had lost a good deal of blood and there was a possibility that the bullet, which was lodged in his shoulder, might be poisoned.

  Navarre and Condé, Téligny and Rochefoucauld followed Paré into the room.

  ‘Messieurs,’ said Paré, ‘it may be necessary to take off the arm. If that could satisfactorily be done, the danger would be considerably lessened.’

  Coligny had heard. ‘If that is your opinion,’ he said resignedly, ‘then let it be done.°

  Paré examined the arm more thoroughly, washing the stains away and prodding the tissue. He smiled. ‘Not so bad as I at first thought,’ he said. ‘The arm is sound enough. If I remove what is left of the finger and extract the bullet, that may be all that is necessary.’

  It was going to be an excruciating ordeal, for there was no opium available, and Coligny must look on while Paré performed the operation with a pair of scissors. Muss and Téligny held the Admiral who, with his pale face and bloodless lips already had the appearance of a corpse; yet it was Téligny who groaned; it was Muss who sobbed.

  ‘Have courage, my friends,’ said the Admiral. ‘The pain is not yet such as cannot be borne, and it will soon be over. All that comes to us is through the will of God.’

  Merlin whispered: ‘Yes, my friends. Let us thank God for sparing the Admiral’s life, for sparing his head and his understanding, rather than reproach Him for what has happened.’

  The stump of forefinger was at length amputated, and after several very painful attempts, Paré extracted the bullet. The Admiral lay back fainting in the arms of Muss and Téligny. He longed for unconsciousness to escape the pain, but he had disciplined himself for so long, and the needs of his body had always been sacrificed for the good of the cause. He was afraid—not so much of his own sufferings, but of what this attempted assassination meant to all his friends and followers now assembled in Paris.

  He murmured: ‘I have now . . . no real enemies . . . but the Guises. But remember, my friends, it may not have been they who struck this blow. We must be sure before making accusations.

  He heard a murmur about him. Someone said: ‘We will go and kill the Guises. Shall they escape punishment for what they have done to the Admiral?’

  Coligny tried to lift a hand and groaned. ‘Nay . I beg of you. No bloodshed . . . now. That would indeed be the ruin of France.’

  Paré whispered: ‘Leave him now. He must rest.’

  All left but Téligny, Muss, Paré and Merlin.

  There were moments during that pain-racked morning when Coligny could not remember where he was. At one time he thought he was at Châtillon with his, first wife, and that Andelot had just been born. Then the child seemed to be François, not Andelot. Now he was hearing of the death of that other Andelot. Then he was with Jacqueline and Jeanne of Navarre in his rose gardens.

  ‘Rest, rest!’ begged Paré. ‘That is what you must do. You are strong, Monsieur l’Amiral, but you need rest for you have lost much blood.’

  But the Admiral could not rest; and when those staunch Huguenots, and Maréchal de Cossé with Damville and Villars, called to see him, he remembered what had been worrying him.

  ‘I am afraid, my friends, afraid, but not of death.’ And then it seemed to him that his dazed consciousness was granted clarity. In his mind’s eye he saw the young King, the bewildered madness in his eyes, and holding him by the hand was the woman in black with the smiling, evil face.

  He must warn the King. That was what he had to do. He must free the King from her whom he knew to be his evil influence.

  ‘I am not afraid to die,’ he said, ‘if die I must. But before doing so I must see the King. It may be that some will try to keep him from me. But my greatest wish is that I may see the King before I die . . . and see him alone.’

  Charles waited in gloomy apprehension for something to happen. His mother refused to leave him; he knew that she was determined that he should do nothing without her consent.

  His first visitors were the King of Navarre and the Prince of Condé, who had come to the Louvre direct from the Admiral’s bedside.

  ‘What news? What news?’ demanded Charles.

  ‘Bad news, Sire.’

  ‘He is . . . dead?’

  ‘No, Sire, but badly wounded. Monsieur Paré thinks that there may be a faint hope that he will pull through. But he has lost much blood.’

  ‘Thank God he is not dead,’ said Catherine,

  The King wept. ‘It is I who am wounded,’ he moaned.

  ‘It is the whole of France,’ said Catherine. ‘Ah, Messieurs, who is safe? They will come and attack the King in his own bed soon.’

  Her eyes were on her shuddering son. Leave this to me, said those eyes. You are in danger, but all will be well if you leave this to me.

  ‘Sire,’ said the Prince of Condé, ‘we found the gun in that empty house. It was still smoking. And it belonged to one of the guards of the Duke of Anjou.’

  Catherine gasped. ‘It must have been stolen,’ she said. ‘And to whom does this house belong?’

  ‘I do not know, Madame, but what we have discovered is th
at it was next door to that of the Chanoine de Villemur.’ ‘And how did the assassin get away?’

  ‘The doors of the Canon’s stables were open; a horse must have been ready saddled and waiting for him ‘

  The King cried out: ‘The. Canon is the servant of the Guises. I’ll have their heads. They shall not escape my vengeance. Go now. Bring the Canon to me. Bring the Duke and his uncles and his brothers. They are the leaders. The people of Paris shall see what happens to those who harm my friends.’

  ‘The people of Paris,’ said Catherine ironically, ‘would not stand by and see Your Majesty harm their friends. Your Majesty is overwrought by this terrible tragedy. Let us be calm. Let us wait and see what happens, and meanwhile we will pray for the Admiral’s recovery.’

  ‘Madame,’ said, Henry of Navarre, ‘my cousin Condé and I feel that trouble might be avoided if we left Paris for a while.’

  ‘No,’ cried the King. ‘You will stay.’

  Catherine smiled. ‘My lords, we could not let the new bridegroom leave us. Why, the marriage is only a few days old. You must stay with us for a little while yet.’

  She heard the sound of voices in an outer chamber and sent an attendant to see who had come and what fresh news had been brought.

  Damville and Téligny were ushered in.

  ‘The Admiral?’ cried Charles.

  ‘He is resting peacefully, Sire,’ said Téligny, ‘and he has asked if you would do him the great honour of calling on him, since he is unable to come to you.’

  ‘That I will!’ cried the King; and Catherine knew that she could do nothing to stop him. ‘I will come this instant.’

  Téligny said: ‘Sire, he has asked that you shall come alone.’

  Catherine put in quickly: ‘We shall accompany the King—his brothers and I, for we are as anxious as he is to tender our best wishes to the admiral in person.’

  Charles wanted to protest, but Catherine had already ordered that Anjou and Alençon should be sent to her; and when the party set out she arranged that it should be followed by a group of noblemen, all of whom had worked against Coligny; and so the Maréchal de Tavannes, the Duke of Montpensier, the Count of Retz and the Duke of Nevers, with certain gentlemen of their suites, followed the King’s party to the house in the Rue Béthisy.

  Catherine was uneasy. She was aware of the murderous looks which were thrown at her train by the groups of people in the streets, and she knew that their anger was directed against herself more than any other; she caught those words which she had heard so many times during her life in France—Italian Woman—and she was well aware of the suspicion which they were meant to convey. She heard the name Guise again and again. If the Admiral died, the Huguenots, she was sure, would rise against the Catholics. She heard the jeers directed against her beloved son. Pervert! they called him. Murderer! Italian! She was glad that a strong Catholic party followed close behind.

  As they came nearer to the Rue Béthisy they found that the crowd was more dense. It had formed outside the Admiral’s house as though to protect him from further attempts on his life. These were the Huguenots who had come to Paris for the wedding. Who would have thought there could be so many? The royal House of Valois and, above all, the King and the Queen Mother were in danger.

  As Catherine and their followers passed through the lower rooms of the house the Protestants who were assembled there showed them little respect.

  ‘My friends,’ said Catherine, ‘we pray with you for the recovery of this great good man. Let us pass, for our beloved Admiral himself has asked us to come.’

  They made way suspiciously, and the King went straight to the Admiral’s bed, where, kneeling, he wept bitterly.

  ‘Sire,’ said Gaspard, ‘you are kind indeed to come to me.’

  ‘Oh, my Father,’ sobbed Charles, ‘you have the wound but I have the perpetual pain. Do not call me Sire. Call me Son, and I will call you Father. I swear by God and all the saints that I will renounce salvation if I do not take such vengeance on those who have brought you to this pass . . . such vengeance, my Father, that the memory of it shall never fade.’

  ‘Speak not of vengeance, my dear Son,’ said the Admiral with tears in his eyes. ‘My regret is that my wounds should deprive me of the great happiness which working for you can give me.’

  Catherine was now standing by the bed and Gaspard was aware of her. She seemed to him like a black vulture who waited eagerly for his death.

  ‘Oh, my Son,’ he said, ‘people have tried to tell you that I am a disturber of the peace, but I swear before God that all my life long I have been Your Majesty’s faithful servant. God will decide between me and my enemies.’

  ‘My Father, you shall not die. I will not allow it. I am the King . . . remember that.’

  ‘There is a greater King than you, Sire, and it is He who ‘decides such matters. But I must speak to you.’ He looked imploringly at Catherine, who smiled gently, refusing to see the plea in his eyes.

  ‘I was always faithful to your father,’ said Gaspard to Charles, ‘and I will be to you. And now I feel it my duty—it may be my last duty—to implore you not to lose the great opportunity which will mean the salvation of France. The war in Flanders has already begun. You must not disown it; if you do you forfeit peace in your kingdom. You expose France to great dangers. Purge your council of the servants of Spain, Sire.’

  ‘Dear Admiral,’ said Catherine, ‘you excite yourself. You must not, for Monsieur Paré’s orders are that you should rest.’

  ‘She is right,’ said the King. ‘You must not disturb yourself, dearest friend.’

  ‘Sire, Sire, you must not break your promises. Every day your promises to bring peace to our provinces are broken.’

  ‘Dear Admiral, my mother and I will put that right. We have already sent our Commissioners into the provinces to keep the peace.’

  ‘That is so, Monsieur l’Amiral,’ said Catherine. ‘You know it is true.’

  ‘Madame,’ said Gaspard, ‘I know it is true that you have sent Commissioners into the provinces who are offering rewards for my head.’

  ‘Do not be distressed,’ said Catherine as the King looked at her with horror. ‘Others who are above suspicion shall be sent.’

  ‘You are so hot,’ said Charles, touching the Admiral’s brow. ‘This talk does you no good. I will do all you ask and, in return, you must do what I ask, which is that you should rest. You must get well.’ He called to Paré to bring the bullet which had wounded the Admiral. ‘I would like to see that villainous object,’ he said.

  It was brought and the King stared at it, his lips twitching. Catherine took it and weighed it in her white hand.

  ‘Such a little thing to do so much harm,’ she said. ‘How glad I am that it was extracted. Do you remember, Monsieur l’Amiral, when Monsieur de Guise was shot near Orléans? Of course you do. Who does not remember the death—some call it murder—of that great man? The doctors told me at the time that, even though the bullet was poisoned, if it had been removed there might have been a chance of saving the life of Monsieur de Guise.’

  The King kept staring at the bullet. He demanded to see the Admiral’s coat.

  ‘Do not look at it, my son,’ warned Catherine.

  But he stubbornly demanded that it should be brought, and when he saw the bloodstains on the sleeve be began to sob.

  ‘Let us return,’ said Catherine. ‘No good can come of such weeping.’

  ‘My Father,’ cried the King, ‘you must come with us. You shall have the apartments next to mine own. I will look after you. My sister of Lorraine shall give her apartments to you. Please! I insist.’

  But Gaspard refused. He must cling to life. He must fight death with all his might, for his work was not finished. Should he go to the Louvre to walk into a trap? Should he expose himself to the woman in black—the Italian woman—who was now eagerly urging him to accept the King’s invitation?

  Paré came hastily forward and said that the Admiral could not possib
ly be moved.

  ‘Very well,’ cried the King. ‘I will have this house surrounded by followers—your followers, my Father. You shall rest in peace and safety while I find those who sought to murder you, and do to them what they would have done to you.’

  He rose, but Gaspard whispered: ‘Sire, stay awhile. I greatly wish . . . I greatly desire .

  ‘Speak, dear Father. Any wish of yours shall be immediately granted.’

  ‘It is that I may speak with you alone.’

  Charles looked at his mother. She smiled, bowing her head, but she was furious. The very thing which she had determined to avoid had happened.

  ‘Come, Monsieur Paré,’ she said. ‘You and I will wait outside.’

  When they were alone the King knelt by the bed.

  ‘Speak to me, my Father. Tell me what it is that you wish to say to me.’

  ‘Sire, I love you . . . not only as a King, but as my son in very truth.’

  Tears poured down Charles’ cheeks. He kissed the coverlet. He was beside himself; he could not stop thinking of the torn sleeve of the Admiral’s coat and the stains of blood on it.

  ‘Oh, my Father, what a terrible world it is we live in. You must not die. You must not leave me . . . for I am afraid.’

  ‘You must not be afraid, my beloved son. You are the King of this realm and it is in your hands to save it from disaster. You must be strong. You must be brave. Calm yourself, dear Sire. Listen to me, for we may not have long together alone. Reign by yourself. Use your own judgement. There is one above all others whom you must not trust. This is hard for me to say, but I must say it.’ He lowered his voice and whispered: ‘Beware of your mother. Do not trust her. Reign without her. Many of the ills which have come to our poor suffering country have come through her work. She is your evil genius, my son. You must escape from her. You are a man. You are of an age to govern. Be strong. Be brave. And pray God that you may receive His guidance in the difficult tasks ahead of you.’

  ‘You are right,’ whispered the King. ‘I must rule alone. I must rule alone.’