“It seems Guise has, at last, avenged his father. Are you not happy for His Grace?”
She says this, of course, for the benefit of my cousin. He trembles slightly. I will not let her use Guise as a wedge between the King of Navarre and myself. Not at this moment. Whatever the justice of the Duc’s actions, I have no similarly defensible reason to abandon a husband bound to me before God, however little he suits me.
“If His Majesty gave the Duc his blessing to settle that long grudge, it can be nothing to me.”
“No! His Majesty would never do such a thing.” The outrage in my mother’s voice is wasted: I am not convinced. “Guise would not be governed,” she continues. “He is still in the streets—killing. Who knows what may become of him there?”
So she wants Henri too. A court without the admiral and with a weakened House of Lorraine would give her absolute power with the King. My stomach quivers. I do not want Henri dead. Then I remind myself that he is savvy enough not to trust Mother—whatever bargain was struck—and that wherever he is, he is armed and a marvelous fighter.
“Devil take Guise, I want to know what has become of my men,” my husband says. “I ask again: Where are the companions you separated from me after my arrest?”
Arrest! What appeared to me so serious a fate yesterday seems nearly laughable now. Never could I have imagined that.
Mother looks at him without pity. “They are dead.”
He staggers. Who would not? I reach out and take his arm but he shakes me off. “Pilles? Renel? Quellenec?…”
“Lavardin, Rochefoucauld, Pont…” Mother takes over the naming, cruelly raising a finger for each. “All. Or if they are not dead yet, they soon will be.”
“I do not believe you! They would have fought.” My cousin juts out his chin.
“They would have fought, yes, had they been given the chance. I will not discount the advantage given by surprise.”
I understand more clearly than ever the brutality of which Mother is capable. Not the killing, no—I knew her capable of that already, and which among the great houses do not keep assassins on their payroll? Her true viciousness lies in the ability to calculate men as if they were numbers and to report calumny as dispassionately as if it were the weather.
“You will never be free of this day,” I say.
“Why should I wish to be? These deaths will be celebrated and those who survive will fear the King too much to fight him.”
My cousin tenses. I know, or at least suspect, what he will say. Taking his arm once more, I squeeze it—tight. I hear his breath catch and see his jaw clench. Thank God.
“His Majesty the King of Navarre has no intention of fighting. He is Charles’ own brother and my husband, so I am thankful His Majesty thought to bring him here and kept him safe.”
“Ah, but the King of Navarre cannot remain here forever. And you have heard what your brother says. After this there will be no Protestants at Court and few in Paris. Even had His Majesty not set his mind thusly, the people of the city will not tolerate continued heresy.”
This time my squeeze has no effect.
“I will not convert,” my cousin says.
Mother sighs as if greatly disappointed.
“You cannot execute a sovereign king and First Prince of the Blood for showing obedience to his conscience,” I say. “Particularly where he also shows obedience to his king.”
“But he does not!” Mother stands. “His Majesty orders him to recant his heresies!”
“Charles, this man is your brother.”
“I have brothers to spare.”
I hope Mother realizes Charles thinks not only of my husband but doubtless of Anjou.
“You cannot have peace, Charles. I agree it is too late for that. But you can still have honor. Do you wish to be remembered as the king who lured his royal cousin to Paris by false promises, embraced him before all the world, gave him my hand, and then killed him before the leftovers from the wedding feasts had been cleared from the larders?”
Charles stops so close before us that I can feel his rapid breath. I cannot breathe myself. My cousin’s life hangs in this moment. “All right,” Charles says, “I will spare his life. But if he will not abjure, he will pass his remaining years imprisoned at Vincennes.”
“Can there be no other choice? Let our cousin go to the Navarre.”
“To raise an army and return?” Mother laughs. “No, indeed. If it is liberty the King of Navarre wants, then perhaps the King should turn him out into the streets. The citizens of Paris may persuade him to abjure where we have failed. We hear reports that many of his sect find it in their hearts to say the rosary when there is a blade at their throats.”
“Give me my sword and I will take my chances,” the King of Navarre replies.