I expect him to say something dismissive, to call me a goose. That is his way. But he merely mutters, “Accursed Protestants.”
Charles and Mother emerge, causing a stir. We move to them, arriving as the captain of the guard does. In silence we move through the courtyard gate and find a line of mounted soldiers waiting. They are not very many and I shudder at the thought of what quick work fifteen hundred heretics might make of them. When we clear the city gates a much larger party awaits, thank God. We are placed at its center. Being surrounded by a forest of pikes, their metal tips gleaming in the torchlight, ought to reassure me, but the idea that such fearsome precautions are necessary only lends credence to my rising fear. I reach out and take Anjou’s hand.
The captain of the Swiss gives a command and we begin to move.
“Do we not wait for the rest of the Court?” I ask, stunned. The party around us includes only my family and a small number of the highest-ranking gentlemen.
“We wait for no one,” Mother replies.
The pikemen quick march, but we must still restrain our horses. As we stumble along at a stultifying rate my mind races. How dare the men who pursue us threaten the King? They are his subjects and he was chosen by God almighty to sit upon his throne above them. Perhaps, though, I ought not to be surprised: these are heretics, with no respect for God or his Holy Church. Why, then, should I expect them to respect God’s anointed ruler?
After hours in the saddle, my nerves and ears continue to strain—alert for any sound of danger, and only briefly reassured when they perceive nothing but the marching of scores of feet and the thud of horses’ hooves upon damp ground. Dawn breaks, but we do not. My legs ache from being so long in the same position.
Finally, we halt outside of the village of Le Pin. Turning my horse in place, I can see a party of courtiers riding behind our fortress of pikemen. Their number is small. I examine faces, but I cannot spot Gillone, Henriette, or Charlotte. I wonder what has happened to the balance of our entourage. Did they remain at Meaux? Are they captured already?
My stomach growls, and as I climb down from my saddle, I am glad to hear riders ordered to secure something for us to eat. I wish to stretch my legs, but I have no desire to exit the safety of our living citadel. So I content myself with stamping my feet beside my mount. As I do, the Duc de Guise threads his way between riders to join me.
“How are you?” he asks.
“Wishing Paris were in sight on the horizon.”
“We will see it before the sun sets.”
“You do not think we will break our journey?” This possibility never occurred to me. The trip from Meaux to Paris must be in excess of fifteen leagues! While the horses might stretch to this, it is an extraordinary—nay, nearly impossible—journey in a single day with soldiers on foot.
“I know we will not.”
“But the pikemen?”
“Those who cannot keep up will be left behind.”
“We have not so many soldiers, I think, that we can spare any.”
“Perhaps not. But we certainly do not have enough to be sure of winning should we give the Protestants time to catch us.”
“Do not be an old woman, Guise.” Anjou steps around my horse. “You will alarm my sister. We do not need equal numbers to achieve a victory when stout Catholics face rabble.”
“Apologies, Your Highness,” the Duc says to me. “It was not my intention to frighten you, merely to explain our actions.” Then, turning to Anjou, he says, “I am as eager as you to fight in the next war—a war which must come, thanks to the heretic plot. We can both look forward to killing many Protestants, but I would rather begin with good odds and once His Majesty’s person is secured.” With a parting bow, the Duc makes his way back to his horse.
Anjou laughs. “I hope the Duc’s dire predictions have not ruined your appetite. There is bread and cheese.”
Bread and cheese? After nearly eight hours in the saddle …
Henri leads me to where Mother, Charles, and Marie stand. Mother is handing out our poor provisions. Chilled and hungry, I crowd in beside Charles so that I can feel the comforting warmth of his body. There is something sad about the noble house of Valois gobbling such fare in a huddled mass. Sad and frightening. Henri can be as cocky as he likes, but no one else seems sanguine about confronting Protestant troops on our road home.
Shortly after Mother urges us back into our saddles, the sun disappears.
“Are we to have no luck at all?” Charles says with disgust. “Will it rain too?”
Mother shifts in her saddle. “Your Majesty, I would say we have been very lucky. We make good time and we have not seen a single Protestant soldier.”
“Madame, you amaze me! The Protestants have us on the run whether we see them or not. It is undignified. It is maddening. They make me feel and look a fool. And I tell you, they shall pay!”