Fleurie shakes her head in disbelief.
“You think no one can blame your brother?” Henriette asks. “Well, while you were sleeping late, a handful of your husband’s gentlemen had a tussle with the royal guards.”
“It is said they were trying to force their way into His Majesty’s presence,” Charlotte adds.
I nearly curse under my breath. “And where is my husband?” When I woke he was gone and I did not bother to look for him.
“The King of Navarre, the Prince de Condé, and a legion of their friends went to the admiral’s at dawn. Or so I heard.” Charlotte gives me an accusatory look.
Henriette shifts closer. “The talk that Protestants will rise in the streets is not confined to the Louvre. And rumors of a plot to kill not only the King but all your family—”
“And to put your husband on the throne,” Charlotte interjects.
“—travel through the city like a contagious fever,” Henriette finishes.
I am gripped by fear. Not that my cousin and his coreligionists are coming to murder my family—I simply cannot credit that—but that things have so swiftly run out of control.
“Charles ought to take the Court to Fontainebleau at once,” I say. “It is too hot here for people to be sensible. If we go and stay away a month, the people of Paris will see there is nothing in these hysterical reports and calm down.”
“You are too much the optimist, Margot,” Henriette admonishes. “The King has ordered an inquiry into the wounding of the admiral, and Parisians will follow those proceedings—”
“Like dogs track a wounded animal,” I say, finishing my friend’s thought.
“They will be whipped into a frenzy by them.” Henriette nods.
God’s blood! “And yet, what could Charles do but seek justice for Coligny, lest he appear a weak king?”
“I would not like to be His Majesty at this moment,” my friend replies softly. “Trapped between the Protestants and Catholics he has pulled together. To placate the former, he must punish the guilty. But”—she lowers her voice further still—“this same action will enrage the latter: the people of Paris do not want Guise punished.”
I do not want him punished either.
“The Duc is barricaded in his h?tel.” Fleurie clasps and unclasps her hands as she speaks. “And he is a man who ordinarily fears nothing. Is that not a sign?”
Henri is still en ville!
Renée de Rieux bursts into the room. “They come in force! A huge number of Protestants are in the courtyard!”
Her pronouncement leads to cacophony. Being near the door, I am one of the first to fly from the room. Arriving at a window offering a view down onto the courtyard, I am nearly crushed by other ladies as I work to open it. Very quickly the windows on either side of the one I have claimed fill with dames de la cour leaning out and looking down at a sea of gentlemen clothed in black. I recognize the Seigneur de Pilles at their head. I do not see the King of Navarre.
“Idiots! What can they be thinking, coming in such numbers?” Henriette asks over my shoulder. “They will raise the fears of all Paris even higher.”
Below, Charles emerges onto the broad steps with Anjou, Mother, and the whole of his council.
Pilles springs from his horse, advances, and bows. “Your Majesty.” His voice rings off the walls. “We come, four hundred of your loyal subjects—”
Four hundred.
“—begging, nay demanding, justice for the admiral. We cannot wait. It must be swift. Those who planned Coligny’s death must die upon the Gibbet of Montfaucon if you would have us believe you truly love us as you do your Catholic subjects.”
I feel dizzy at the audacity of this statement. Mother is plainly incensed. Her eyes burn, her nostrils flare. She looks a full decade younger.
“Seigneur, gentlemen, we shall act swiftly,” Charles says. His voice lacks the power and confidence of Pilles’. “Two servants working in the house from which the shots were fired have been arrested. They are being questioned. The man who provided a horse that the assassin might flee has been taken.”
“From whose stable came the horse?” someone in the crowd calls.
Charles holds up his hand. “We cannot say at this moment.”
“Will not say,” Henriette murmurs. I half turn and she gives me a look.
“Be satisfied that when we can say, we will,” Charles continues. “In the meantime, return to the admiral’s side and watch him as I would myself were I not engaged in seeking those who tried to fell him.” Behind the King, Guast whispers something in Anjou’s ear and I see my brother give his favorite an unusually dark look.
“We will, Your Majesty.” Pilles bows. As he turns to remount, Henriette taps my shoulder. Grabbing Charlotte’s hand, I squeeze between the surrounding ladies.
“The horse is Guise’s,” Henriette says when we are clear of the crowd.
Oh, God.
“Lovers’ quarrel or no, you must urge him to quit the city.”