He refers to Guise, of course. Henri lacked his usual self-control. When he saw me enter with my cousin, he looked personally wounded. When the grant of clemency was made, his disappointment was palpable.
We walk in the direction of my apartment—our sanctuary and prison, waking or sleeping. I am afraid to let my cousin live in his apartment alone, and neither of us desire to participate in Court events. We have been ordered to some, and those the most horrible of all. Two days ago we were compelled to take part in a procession to Mountfaucon, where the remains of Coligny were displayed. My cousin was forced to look at the poor tortured body, and so was the admiral’s seventeen-year-old son. The young man cried. My husband did not. But in his sleep that night he called out for Coligny, and I, retreating to the next room after soothing him, cried for both men, and for myself too.
As we come in sight of my door, my cousin sighs. Glancing at him from the corner of my eye, I see a man being eaten alive by captivity, as Mother predicted. This frightens me. If my cousin can be lured into doing something stupid, even the council’s pardon may not be enough to keep him from being consigned to a grave like his fellows.
“Thank God, the Cardinal de Bourbon does not come today. I do not believe I could sit through his catechism though my life depends on it.” My cousin paces to the window. “Two weeks, Madame,” he says with his back to me. “Two weeks from today I must embarrass myself with a false conversion. And before that I must find a way to choke down my pride and write a letter beseeching the forgiveness of the Holy Father.” He turns to me, his face animated. “Why should I apologize to him when it is said he organizes a great Te Deum at Rome to celebrate the deaths of those I held most dear?”
“It is not a matter of should.”
“You are right.” His shoulders fall and he appears older than his years.
“Sir, you must find a weapon—a shield to protect yourself—or you will be broken by the aftermath of a horror which failed to kill you.”
“I have never felt more impotent.”
“I have felt impotent all my life.” The admission surprises him, but me more.
“How have you survived?”
I am not sure that I have. My life at the moment is no life at all. I have no consequence; I am alienated from the man whose love I thought would sustain me always; I have not even the facile distractions of Court entertainments.
“By subterfuge. You would do well to clothe yourself in that bravado which used to mark your speech and actions. The more my family can determine what hurts you, the more accurate their blows become.”
He nods. “All the roles I played in the pageants surrounding our wedding were given me. You urge me to create my next role myself. I would be the King of Navarre, free and far from here. I must find a way to escape south and raise an army.”
“Yes, but such a flight will take time. Do it precipitously and you will be displayed at Mountfaucon for the crows to desecrate. Until your chances of escape improve, while you may live for revenge, you must find some other occupation.”
Looking at my cousin, I ask myself what I miss most in my own life. The answer is immediate: love. That is something I cannot give him. But I know who can. Charlotte has made several attempts to see my cousin these last days, but he has been unwilling to receive her. It is time for him to start.
“Sir, why not pass an afternoon with the Baronne de Sauve? Surely that would be better than sitting here with me, contemplating my family’s sins.”
He colors. “It seems wrong, Madame, to repay your kindnesses with infidelity.”
“Political allies do not demand that sort of faithfulness,” I reply. “If they did, then no man would ever have one.” He ought to laugh but he does not. “Come, Sir, you know the nature of our agreement and by its terms your dalliance has my blessing.”
He looks at me incredulously. “I feel as though our bargain has been overtaken by events.”
“Everything has been overtaken by events. If we are to have control of our lives once more, we must wrest it back.”
“All right,” he says. “I will take comfort in another, if only so you may have your rooms to yourself again for a few hours.” He smiles and even manages a touch of insouciance.