Written on Silk (28 page)

“It is so, Marquis Fabien. It is most diabolical. The cardinal called me to his chamber at Amboise and informed me. He was most calm.

Then he entrusted his own missive to me to deliver to the duchesse.”

Fabien opened the cabin door again to allow the breeze to circulate.

The cramped space of the cabin and the low ceiling were tiresome and gave him a feeling of being caged.

It will be better when I am at sea
, he repeated to himself.

“The news of Sebastien is a double-edged sword,” he told Andelot.

“Everyone is hoping and praying, Marquis, that your bonhomie with the king will influence him to show grace to Sebastien.”

“With the duc and the cardinal’s control over Francis through their niece, Mary?” Fabien shook his head. “I should have better success invading a dragon’s lair than altering the young king’s mind to oppose the will of the Guise brothers. Even so, I will do all in my power to see Sebastien free of the Bastille.”

He would also write to his own kinsmen, the Bourbons, but with Prince Condé also having been secretly involved in the Amboise plot, there was no assurance that even Condé’s position as a prince of the blood would prevail for Sebastien. Even now the Guises would be plotting to strengthen their influence over King Francis, and were not above getting him to move against any Bourbon prince in line for the throne.

“I am sent by Duchesse Dushane to receive your lettre and deliver it to her. She will take it to the king if she can get past Cardinal de Lorraine whom they say is never far from him.”

“The cardinal fears that those of a different mind other than he and the duc may gain the king’s ear.”

This cast a shadow upon his plans. If it had not been for the Spanish galleons that were even now on their way toward the Netherlands . . .

Fabien leaned against his desk and folded his arms against his chest. He stared intently out the open door where he could see the gray waters of the Calais port and hear the cry of gulls. Sebastien’s imprisonment was not the only unsettling news to arrive while the
Reprisal
was on the verge of departing. Andelot had told him of the death of Rachelle’s grandmère, the beloved grande dame of Dushane-Macquinet silk. The strange circumstances surrounding her death convinced him of cunning mischief instigated by the Queen Mother.

He rebuked himself for having risked Rachelle and her family, permitting her to get the key to the listening closet at Chambord before the Huguenot rebellion. If the Queen Mother had given poisoned gloves, it could only be because she discovered Rachelle had dared to enter her royal bedchamber to take the key.

But then, why was Rachelle spared? He frowned. He could think of but one reason: Catherine planned on using her in the future.

Fabien turned his gaze on Andelot who stood near the door.

“Did le docteur suggest Grandmère was poisoned?”

“Non, but would he dare if he suspected the Queen Mother?”

“A fair question . . . A perilous thing to do, even with undeniable proof. Ambrose Paré is the best of physicians, a Huguenot. Would he say anything? But then, to whom would he report it? To the young King Francis? Hardly.”

“Duchesse Dushane has requested an autopsy. Le docteur will tell her what he finds privately.”

“And the gloves?”

“They are missing. Does it not appear suspicious that neither pair were found?”

“If the Queen Mother’s spy, Madalenna, had not been away at Fontainebleau, I would have suspected her of slipping into Madeleine’s chambers and removing them,” Fabien said flatly. “However, Catherine has some equally devious spies, including several dwarves. Were inquiries made of her ladies-in-waiting?”

“Mademoiselle Rachelle did so, but no one appears to know anything.”

Fabien had Andelot explain once more what he had seen that day with Prince Charles in the astrologer’s chamber at Amboise. Fabien had known even as a boy about the Queen Mother’s involvement in the occult. There had also been many whispers about Catherine in her younger years when she was married to Henry before he became king. It was said that she had poisoned the dauphin, Henry’s older brother who held the birthright to the throne, to bring kingship to Henry.

“I was in the chamber with Grandmère and Rachelle during the last minutes of her life, Marquis. We both heard her try to say the word
gloves
.”

“And that was to the question of whether she had been poisoned?”

“Yes, at first we thought it was the apples — or at least I did.”

Fabien’s anger blazed. “How did Mademoiselle Rachelle accept the death of Grandmère?”

“Bravely, Marquis. Oui, most courageously. It is her way. But I have noticed a new firmness in her, a new determination I do not recall from the past. She believes the Queen Mother took her grandmère’s life, and if she could, Marquis, I swear she would seek revenge.”

Fabien stood with hands on hips scowling at his desk. Revenge was not like Rachelle. She had recently been hurt deeply by circumstances that shocked her innocence and left her unsettled and anxious. But now that her father was here, Fabien believed she would receive the support she needed.

He also thought back to her willingness to enter the Queen Mother’s bedchamber for the key to the listening closet, and agreed with Andelot. She had been through so much recently that it was unfair to hold her to account for her recent behavior.

Gallaudet leaned in the doorway. “Monseigneur, pardone, but a visitor wishes to see you posthaste. Monsieur Bertrand is here.”

As Gallaudet spoke, an unexpected shadow fell across the doorway.

The tall figure in the dark scholarly robe with a white coif and a very wide-brimmed black hat used by the Geneva ministers stood outside the door. “Bonjour, Capitaine.”

“Welcome, Pasteur Bertrand. But Nappier, who is an ami, and the finest swordsman I have had the privilege of training under, is presently the capitaine of the
Reprisal
.”

“Ah, then, most interesting. So you are a swordsman, are you?”

Now why is he here, and what does he want?
If it had anything to do with the French Bibles and a voyage to England, he would have to disappoint him, even as he had to disappoint Monsieur Arnaut earlier that day at Languet’s lace shop when telling him he could not take him to England. Surely Arnaut would have told this to his cousin Bertrand.

Fabien trusted that after his order to Julot, the spy would no longer be prowling about Languet’s shop.

Bertrand entered and Andelot quickly pulled out a chair.

“Merci. I shall get straight to the point, Marquis de Vendôme. Arnaut is taking Rachelle at once to Paris in order to be with his eldest daughter, Madeleine. The news that Sebastien lives brings glad tidings, but Madeleine will need to be encouraged over his imprisonment. The attack on our own Huguenot assembly resulting in the death of his little one, Avril, is weighty. He is strong in the Lord, however. Arnaut will come through this trial, for we are not so unwise as to think suffering and tribulation will circumvent Christ’s own. This world was no friend to our Savior, and He has forewarned us that it will treat us as it did Him.

“Andelot assures me, Marquis de Vendôme, that you are most sympathetic to the Reformation cause. As such, I will need your confidential help to bring my cargo to Spitalfields. Your assistance in this matter is of great import.”

“Pasteur Bertrand, I wish I could help you, but as I already made clear to Mademoiselle Rachelle at the Château de Silk when we discussed this matter, as well as to Monsieur Arnaut this afternoon, my time will not permit. The
Reprisal
sails tomorrow.”

“Ah yes, you favored me at the château by telling me about these notorious Spanish galleons.”

Fabien still wondered why he had told Bertrand and not Arnaut.

“What I did not explain, Pasteur Bertrand, is how your fellow Protestants, including William of Orange, are counting on us to eliminate those crucial Spanish supplies. There is only one possible way I can see the dilemma of delivering the Bibles can work.” Fabien leaned back against his desk gravely: “Since I fully understand the importance of your mission, I am willing to take you and your smuggled Bibles to England, but only on the condition that it will not impede our attack on the galleons — which unfortunately, would require your presence during fierce battles, endangering your very life and limb. Afterward — assuming we survive intact, I would then be willing to take you and your cargo to England.”

Fabien waited for the full impact of his words to hit Bertrand. He was confident Bertrand would decline, probably with a frown over Fabien’s brutal mission, and then seek to obtain other passage.

“We are making for the Netherlands’ coast tomorrow,” Fabien continued. “While the wind is in our favor. You understand.”

Bertrand wore a challenging smile. “Ah, I accept your offer, Marquis Fabien. I too wish for the defeat of Spain’s cruel conquests, whose wealth from the Americas allows them the luxury of great armies to crush the Reformation in the regions they control. The tender shoots of the Reformation are seemingly defenseless against the boots of the Inquisition, or as Rome calls it, the Counter-Reformation.”

Startled, Fabien regarded the minister, wondering at his boldness. “Let me get this clear, Pasteur Bertrand. You would join forces with privateers, some of whom, shall we say, may not have legal articles from their respective kings or queens to attack Spanish shipping?”

Bertrand stroked his short, pointed beard. “Précisément. Let us say also, that ministers do not have legal articles from the same kings and queens to bring Bibles printed in French, German, or Dutch into their realms. There is no freedom to own Bibles, nor to preach from them, nor to build Huguenot churches.” Bertrand offered his grim smile. “So then, Marquis, it is settled? I ask for no special treatment aboard your ship, except that I should like to take my loyal servant Siffre with me. I yet need his aid in working my shoulder bandages.”

Fabien tried one last ploy.

“You will need to have your cargo hauled across England to Spitalfields — no easy task, Monsieur.”

“Also true, but I have done so before. The Lord has not failed me in any of these past difficulties, and I think His sufficiency will once again provide for my particular need.”

“Monsieur Bertrand, you do fully understand, do you not, that of necessity, I shall become for a time a buccaneer giving no quarter to the Spaniards?”

“It is fully understood, Marquis. Let us hope the kings of Spain and France do not fully understand,” he said wryly. “While I do not agree with such actions unless war is sanctioned by just cause of provocation — I shall not weary you with my reasons now.”

“And you are willing to go on this venture, knowing I cannot take you to your destination until this issue with Alva is met, and bested?”

“Précisément.”

There was silence.

“Bien! It is settled.” Bertrand pushed himself up from the chair. He smiled at Andelot who had listened with keen interest.

“Adieu, Andelot. I plan to return to France from England in the fall to attend the upcoming colloquy. I shall see you again.”

“I shall very much hope so. Adieu, Monsieur.”

Bertrand walked to the door, replacing his black hat and straightening the bit of stiff white ruff around his collar. Fabien was struck again at how much he resembled Monsieur John Calvin.

“Siffre waits on deck,” Bertrand said. “Duchesse Dushane has sent Romier, her trusty page, and several guards to aid in the loading of my prized cargo. We shall proceed with the matter at once, Marquis. Merci.”

The skirmish was lost. Fabien had relented. He now worried that this man of character, whom he had a strange liking for, would meet the face of trouble, for the wharves were a hotbed of spies. The last thing he wanted was for the godly Bertrand to be caught and arrested on heresy charges to join Sebastien in the Bastille.

“One moment, s’il vous plaît, Pasteur Bertrand. Just where is the warehouse that keeps your treasure?”

“On the southern end of the wharf. Warehouse twenty-three. I have the key. You need not trouble yourself. I realize you and your capitaine are busy loading your own supplies.”

“Anything can go awry. I would not risk your going there. I think it far wiser to wait until dark, whereupon I will speak with Romier about working with Gallaudet and my men-at-arms to take care of the matter.”

Fabien thought Bertrand looked relieved, or perhaps he was merely exhausted. Fabien’s conscience awoke and smote him.
Bertrand was in
his sixties, recovering from the great trauma of only a few weeks earlier.

“While we wait for nightfall, I will have you and your serving man — Siffre, is it? — shown to a cabin so you may settle in. I am afraid your space will be very cramped, Monsieur.”

“I have slept in far less desirable places. Merci, Marquis Fabien.”

By agreeing to Bertrand’s presence aboard the
Reprisal
, Fabien had just opened a door that allowed him to become even more entangled with the Macquinets, and for the Geneva pastor to become more involved with him.

Fabien stood with arms folded across his chest, head tilted, watching as Bertrand walked down the gangplank with Gallaudet, and an older monsieur that must have been his servant, Siffre.