Ken Follett - A Column of Fire

Le Charron trotted away.

Biron mounted his horse.

Pierre paused a minute, looking back at the Italian-style palace he had just left. He could hardly believe he had fooled its royal occupants. But when rulers were this close to panic, they were desperate for action, and eager to agree to any plan that was halfway promising.

Anyway, it was not over yet. All his efforts in the past few days had failed, and there was still time for tonight’s even more complicated scheme to go awry.

He lifted himself into the saddle. ‘Rue de Béthisy,’ he said to Biron. ‘Let’s go.’

Coligny’s lodging was close. The king’s guards were outside the gate. Some were standing in line with arquebuses and lances; others, presumably resting, sat on the ground nearby, their weapons to hand. They made a formidable barrier.

Pierre reined in and said to a guard: ‘A message from his majesty the king for the lord of Cosseins.’

‘I will give him the message,’ said the guard.

‘No, you won’t. Go and fetch him.’

‘He’s sleeping.’

‘Do you want me to go back to the Louvre and say that your master would not get out of his bed to receive a message from the king?’

‘No, sir, of course not, pardon me.’ The man went off and returned a minute later with Cosseins, who had evidently been sleeping in his clothes.

‘There has been a change of plan,’ Pierre said to Cosseins. ‘The Huguenots have conspired to seize the king’s person and take control of the Government. The plot has been foiled by loyal men, but the king wants Coligny arrested.’

Cosseins was not as naïve as Le Charron. He looked sceptical, perhaps thinking that the duke of Guise’s advisor was an unlikely choice as the king’s messenger. ‘Is there some confirmation of this?’ he said worriedly.

‘You don’t have to arrest him yourself. The king will send someone.’

Cosseins shrugged. That did not require him to commit himself to anything. ‘Very well,’ he said.

‘Just be ready,’ said Pierre, and he rode off.

He had done everything he could. With a whole raft of plausible small deceptions, he had smoothed the way for Armageddon. Now all he could do was hope that the people he was trying to manipulate, from the king all the way down to the priest of Saint-Germain l’Auxerrois, would behave in accordance with his calculations.

The crowd in the Vieille rue du Temple had diminished with nightfall, but there were still enough angry Huguenots to cause Pierre and Biron to enter the palace by the side door.

The first question was whether Duke Henri would be prepared. The young duke was usually eager for action, but he had lost faith in Pierre, and it was possible that he had changed his mind and decided not to muster his men.

Pierre was relieved and thrilled to see fifty armed men assembled in the inner courtyard, grooms holding their saddled horses. He noticed Rasteau, the man with no nose, and his perennial companion Brocard. Blazing torches glinted off breastplates and helmets. This was a disciplined group of gentry and men-at-arms, and they remained quiet while they waited, in a scene of hushed menace.

Pierre pushed through the crowd to the centre, where Duke Henri stood. As soon as he saw Pierre he said: ‘Well?’

‘All is ready,’ Pierre said. ‘The king agreed to everything we wanted. The provost is arming the militia and deploying the city artillery as we speak.’ I hope, he thought.

‘And Cosseins?’

‘I told him that the king is sending someone to arrest Coligny. If he doesn’t believe me, you’ll have to fight your way in.’

‘So be it.’ Henri turned to his men and raised his voice. ‘We leave by the front gate,’ he said. ‘And death to anyone who gets in our way.’

They mounted up. A groom handed Pierre a sword belt with a sheathed weapon. He buckled on the belt and swung himself up into the saddle. He would try not to get personally involved in the fighting, if he could, but it was as well to be equipped.

He looked through the arch to the outer gateway and saw two servants swinging the great iron gates back. The mob outside was momentarily nonplussed. They had no plan for this situation: they were not expecting open doors. Then Duke Henri kicked his horse and the squadron pounded out with a sudden earthquake-rumble of hooves. The mob scattered in terror, but not all could get away. Amid screams, the big horses charged the crowd, the riders swinging their swords, and dozens fell wounded or dead.

The killing had begun.

They thundered through the streets at dangerous speed. Those few people out this late scurried out of the way for fear of their lives. Pierre was thrilled and apprehensive. This was the moment he had been working towards ever since King Charles had signed the disgraceful Peace of St Germain. Tonight’s action would show everyone that France would never tolerate heresy — and that the Guise family could not be ignored. Pierre was scared, but full of desperate eagerness.

He worried about Cosseins. Pierre wished he had been able to win a pledge of cooperation from him, but the man was no fool. If he resisted now, there would be a fierce skirmish — which might give Coligny time to escape. The whole scheme could founder on that detail.

The Guise palace was on the east side of town, and Coligny’s lodging was on the western edge, but the distance was small, and at that time of night there were few obstructions in the streets. In a few minutes the horsemen were in the rue de Béthisy.

Cosseins’s men must have heard the hoofbeats at a distance, and now, as Pierre picked out Coligny’s residence in the starlight, the guards presented a more orderly and formidable picture than they had half an hour ago, lining up in rows in front of the gate, lances and guns at the ready.

Duke Henri reined in and shouted: ‘I am here to arrest Gaspard de Coligny. Open the gate in the name of the king!’

Cosseins stepped forward, his face lit fiendishly by the torches of the Guise men. ‘I’ve had no such instructions,’ he said.

Henri said: ‘Cosseins, you are a good Catholic and a loyal servant of his majesty King Charles, but I will not take no for an answer. I have my orders from the king, and I shall carry them out, even if I have to kill you first.’

Cosseins hesitated. He was in a difficult position, as Pierre had calculated. Cosseins had been assigned to protect Coligny, yet it was perfectly plausible that the king had changed his mind and ordered the arrest. And if Cosseins now resisted Henri, and the two groups of armed men came to blows, much blood would be shed — probably including Cosseins’s own.

As Pierre had hoped, Cosseins decided to save his own life now, and take any consequences later. ‘Open up!’ he shouted.

The gates came open, and the Guise men charged jubilantly into the courtyard.

The main entrance to the house had a large double door of heavy timber with iron reinforcements, and as Pierre rode into the courtyard he saw it slam shut. Coligny’s personal bodyguards would be on the other side of it, he presumed. The Guise men began to attack the door with swords, and one shot out the lock. Pierre thought frustratedly how foolish they had been not to bring a couple of sledgehammers. Once again he fretted that the delay might allow Coligny to escape. No one had thought to check for a back entrance.

But the door yielded to force and burst open. There was fierce fighting up the stairs as half a dozen guards tried to keep the Guises back, but Coligny’s men were outnumbered and in minutes they all lay dead or dying.

Pierre leaped off his horse and ran up the stairs. The men-at-arms were throwing doors open. ‘In here!’ one of them yelled, and Pierre followed the voice into a grand bedroom.