Виктория Холт - Queen Jezebel

Elboeuf, shrugging his shoulders in exasperation, eventually retired.

‘You are determined?’ asked Charlotte.

He nodded. ‘No more of death,’ he said. let it be life and love from now on.’

But when they were in bed, yet another messenger was brought to the bedchamber. He had a note for Guise which he had been ordered to hand to none other than the Duke himself, and that with all speed.

Guise read it and pushed it under the bolster.

‘Another warning?’ asked Charlotte fearfully.

He kissed her, but refused to answer.

The morning was dark and the rain beat against the windows of the Château of Blois. Catherine, racked with pain, lay in her bed. The King had risen early; he had urgent matters which demanded his attention. Guise did not awaken until eight o’clock. Then he raised himself and looked down on his Fleep-ing mistress.

Today there would be more warnings; today he would be asked to leave for Paris. All his friends would beg him to go, and Charlotte would join her appeals to theirs.

He shrugged his shoulders and got out of bed.

He put on a new grey satin suit in which he would attend the meeting of the council that morning. Charlotte, watching him, tried to chase away her fears. She found this easier by day, even on such a dark and gloomy day as this one was.

‘You like it?’ he asked, posing before her, speaking lightly, trying to cheer her.

‘Charming! But it is a little light for such a dark day, you will agree?’

He kissed her. ‘Charlotte, I am going to ask you to do something for me.’

‘Anything I can do for you I will gladly do.’

‘Then do not ask me today to leave Blois.’

‘But you said you would leave today.’

‘To ride through the rain, to spend the night at some gloomy chateau when I might spend it with you?’

She put her arms about him and laughed, because it was easy to laugh in the light of day; and when she looked at him, so much taller than all others, so much more distinguished than any man she had ever seen, she believed him to be invulnerable.

He was late for the meeting. As he walked through the corridors he seemed to sense the doom which lurked there. He felt a little cold, but he would not admit that was due to apprehension. It is a chilly morning, he thought.

He turned to one of the gentlemen who stood in the hall. ‘Go to the staircase door,’ he said, ‘and there you will see one of my pages. Ask him to bring me a handkerchief.’

He could not help but be aware of the strangeness about him, of the fear in the faces of his friends. It seemed that a long time elapsed before one of his valets brought the handkerchief to him.

‘How cold it is!’ he said. ‘Light the fire. I feel quite faint with the cold. Is there some trifle in the cupboard which might revive me?’

One of the men opened the King’s cupboard and found in it four Brignolles plums.

Guise ate one of these. ‘Would anyone care to eat some?’ he asked.

One of the King’s men appeared at the door of the chamber; the man looked pale and his hands were trembling.

‘Monsieur,’ he said, bowing to Guise, ‘the King requests your presence; he is in his old cabinet.’

The man did not wait for a reply, but rushed away unceremoniously. Guise’s friends looked at him; their glances warned him, but he would not see the warning.

He threw his cloak over his arm, and, picking up his gloves, walked to the door which led to the King’s apartments.

The King was aroused early that morning. He had many preparations to make, and he had asked to be called at four o’clock.

The Queen, who was with him, looked at him in bewilderment for the candlelight showed how pale he was and yet how purposeful; he took no pains with his appearance that morning.

He went into his privy closet, where forty-five men were waiting for him, as he had instructed they should. Inspecting them all closely, he ordered them to show him their daggers. There was a long time to wait, for he had risen too early. There would have been enough time to make his preparations had he been called at six. Standing there, speaking now and then in whispers, he was reminded of the Eve of St Bartholomew. He thought of his priests and pastors who Were already praying to Heaven for forgiveness for the crime which he had not yet committed.

He had had the corridors cleared so that none of the Duke’s supporters might be near him, for he was terrified that his plan might miscarry, and of what might happen if it did. One of them had to die—the King of France or the King of Paris—and, as he saw it, the one who survived would be the one who struck first.

One of his men came hurrying in with great agitation. He told the King that the Duke was in the council chamber, but that he had sent one of his gentlemen for a handkerchief, and this gentleman would discover that the corridors and staircases, on the King’s orders, had been cleared of the Duke’s followers, and would guess the reason. If he carried this story to Guise, the latter would know at once that his assassination was to take place this morning.

The King gave hurried orders. ‘When the valet approaches with the handkerchief, seize him, make him prisoner and bring the handkerchief to me.’

This was done. The King’s hand trembled as he held it out to take the handkerchief. It was neatly folded and, inside it was a hastily scrawled note:

‘Sauvez-vous, ou vous êtes mort.’

The King felt elated. His prompt action had been a wise one. He took the note and handed the handkerchief to one of his serving men—a humble man who would not be known to the Guisards in the chamber.

‘Take this,’ said the King. ‘Knock on the door of the council chamber and hand it to the nearest gentleman. Keep yourself hidden as much as possible and murmur that it is the handkerchief for which the Duke asked; then hurry away.’

It was done as the King ordered, and the gentleman who received the handkerchief did not realize that he who had given it had been one of the King’s men.

The time was at hand. The King looked at his men. Were they ready? he asked them; and their answer was to lay their hands on their daggers.

‘Révol,’ said the King to one of his secretaries, ‘go to the council chamber, knock on the door and tell the Duke of Guise that I wish to see him in my old cabinet. What is the matter, man? Do not look like that. You are the colour of parchment and you shake like a leaf in the wind. Pull yourself together. You will betray us all.’

Révol departed.

The King retired to his bedchamber, and in the old cabinet, the assassins, their daggers unsheathed, awaited the coming of the Duke of Guise.

Guise walked through the little doorway into. the King’s apart- ments. One of King’s guards shut the door behind him. As the Duke entered the old cabinet, a man who was standing by the door lurched forward suddenly and trod on Guise’s foot. Guise looked into the man’s face, immediately recognizing the look of warning there, and he knew that this was a last appeal to save himself. He was certain now that he was in acute danger, and with this knowledge came agreat desire to preserve his life. Perhaps when he had contemplated death so light-heartedly he had not seriously thought that the King would dare attempt to take his life; but as he stood in the gloomy cabinet he realized that men like Henry the Third will suddenly and recklessly throw off their hesitancy and act rashly.

He heard a movement behind him and turned; but he was too late. They had already plunged their daggers into his back.

He said on a faint note of surprise: ‘My friends . . . my friends . . .’