Authors: Ken Follett
Sylvie’s face showed fear. ‘God help us,’ she said.
‘You have to warn people.’
‘They must get out of Paris – if they can.’
‘If they can’t, tell them to come to the English embassy.’
‘There must be hundreds, including all the visitors who came for the wedding. You can’t get them all into the embassy.’
‘No. But in any event you can’t warn hundreds of people; it would take you days.’
‘What can we do?’
‘We must do what’s possible, and save as many as we can.’
20
By Saturday evening, Duke Henri was in a tantrum, possessed by the rage of a young man who finds that the world does not work in the way he confidently expected. ‘Get out of my sight!’ he yelled at Pierre. ‘You’re dismissed. I never want to see you again.’
For the first time ever, Pierre was as scared of Henri as he had been of Henri’s father, Duke Scarface. He had a pain in his guts like a wound. ‘I understand your anger,’ he said desperately. He knew his career would be over unless he could somehow talk his way out of this.
‘You predicted riots,’ Henri roared. ‘And they didn’t happen.’
Pierre spread his arms in a helpless gesture. ‘The queen mother kept the peace.’
They were at the Guise palace in the Vieille rue du Temple, in the luxurious room where Pierre had first met Duke Scarface and Cardinal Charles. Pierre felt as humiliated today as he had in this room fourteen years ago, when he was a mere student accused of dishonestly using the Guise name. He was on the brink of losing everything he had gained since then. He pictured the looks of pleasure and scorn on the faces of his enemies, and he fought back tears.
He wished Cardinal Charles were here now. The family needed his ruthless political cunning. But Charles was in Rome on Church business. Pierre was on his own.
‘You tried to assassinate Coligny and failed!’ Henri raved. ‘You’re incompetent.’
Pierre squirmed. ‘I told Biron to give Louviers a musket, but he said it would be too big.’
‘You said the Huguenots would rise up anyway, even though Coligny was only wounded.’
‘The king’s visit to Coligny’s sickbed calmed them.’
‘Nothing you do works! Soon all the visiting Huguenot noblemen will leave Paris and go home in triumph, and the opportunity will have been lost because I listened to you. Which I will never do again.’
Pierre scrambled to think clearly under the onslaught of Henri’s fury. He knew what had to be done, but in this mood would Henri listen? ‘I have been asking myself what your Uncle Charles would advise,’ he said.
Henri was struck by that notion. His wrathful expression moderated a little, and he looked interested. ‘Well, what would he say?’
‘I think he might suggest that we simply act as if the Protestant rebellion has, in fact, started.’
Henri was not quick on the uptake. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Let’s ring the bell of Saint-Germain l’Auxerrois.’ Pierre held up the black leather-bound notebook in which he had written the names of the paired assassins and victims. ‘The loyalist noblemen will believe that the Huguenots are in revolt, and they will slaughter the leaders to save the life of the king.’
Henri was taken aback by the audacity of this plan, but he did not immediately reject it, and Pierre’s hopes rose. Henri said: ‘The Huguenots will retaliate.’
‘Arm the militia.’
‘That can only be done by the Provost of Merchants.’ The title meant the same as mayor. ‘And he won’t do it on my say-so.’
‘Leave him to me.’ Pierre had only a vague notion of how he would manage this, but he was on a roll now, carrying Henri with him, and he could not allow himself to stumble over details.
Henri said: ‘Can we be sure the militia will defeat the Huguenots? There are thousands more staying in the suburbs. What if they all ride into town to defend their brethren? It could be a close-fought battle.’
‘We’ll close the city gates.’ Paris was surrounded by a wall and, for most of its circumference, a canal. Each gate in the wall led to a bridge over the water. With the gates locked it was difficult to enter or leave the city.
‘Again, only the Provost can do that.’
‘Again, leave him to me.’ At this point Pierre was ready to promise anything to win back Henri’s favour. ‘All you need to do is have your men ready to ride to Coligny’s house and kill him as soon as I tell you that all is ready.’
‘Coligny is guarded by the lord of Cosseins and fifty men of the king’s guard, as well as his own people.’
‘Cosseins is the king’s man.’
‘Will the king call him off?’
Pierre said the first thing that came into his head. ‘Cosseins will
think
the king has called him off.’
Henri looked hard at Pierre for a long moment. ‘You feel sure that you can achieve all this?’
‘Yes,’ Pierre lied. He just had to take the chance. ‘But there is no risk to you,’ he said earnestly. ‘If I should fail, you will have mustered your men to no purpose, but nothing worse.’
That convinced the young duke. ‘How long do you need?’
Pierre stood up. ‘I’ll be back before midnight,’ he said.
That was one more promise he was not confident of keeping.
He left the room, taking his black notebook with him.
Georges Biron was waiting outside. ‘Saddle two horses,’ Pierre said. ‘We’ve got a lot to do.’
They could not leave by the main gate, because there was a crowd of shouting Huguenots outside. The mob believed Henri was responsible for the assassination attempt, as did just about everyone, and they were baying for his blood – though not, as yet, doing anything bad enough to justify Henri’s men opening fire. Fortunately, the house was huge, occupying an entire city block, and there were alternative ways in and out. Pierre and Biron left by a side gate.
They headed for the place de Grève, the central square where the provost lived. The narrow, winding streets of Paris were as convoluted as the design firming up in Pierre’s mind. He had long plotted this moment, but it had come about in unexpected ways, and he had to improvise. He breathed deeply, calming himself. This was the riskiest gamble of his life. Too many things could go wrong. If just one part of his scheme miscarried, all was lost. He would not be able to talk himself out of another disaster. His life of wealth and power as advisor to the Guise family would come to a shameful end.
He tried not to think about it.
The provost was a wealthy printer-bookseller called Jean Le Charron. Pierre interrupted him at supper with his family and told him the king wanted to see him.
This was not true, of course. Would Le Charron believe it?
Le Charron had been provost for only a week, as it happened, and he was awestruck to be visited by the famous Pierre Aumande de Guise. He was thrilled to be summoned to the king, too much so to question the authenticity of the message, and he immediately agreed to go. The first hurdle had been surmounted.
Le Charron saddled his horse and the three of them rode through the twilight to the Louvre palace.
Biron remained in the square courtyard while Pierre took Le Charron inside. Pierre’s status was high enough for him to get into the wardrobe, the waiting room next to the audience chamber, but no farther.
This was another dangerous moment. King Charles had not asked to see either Pierre or Le Charron. Pierre was not sufficiently high-born – by a long way – to have automatic access to the king.
Leaving Le Charron to one side of the room, he spoke to the doorkeeper in a confident, unhurried voice that suggested there was no question of disobedience. ‘Be so good as to tell his majesty that I bring a message from Henri, duke of Guise.’
King Charles had not spoken to Henri, or indeed seen him, since the failed assassination. Pierre was betting that Charles would be curious to know what Henri might have to say for himself.
There was a long wait, then Pierre was called inside.
He told Le Charron to stay in the wardrobe until summoned, then he entered the audience chamber.
King Charles and Queen Caterina were at a table, finishing supper. Pierre was sorry Caterina was there. He could have fooled Charles easily, but the mother was smarter and more suspicious.
Pierre began: ‘My noble master, the duke of Guise, humbly begs your majesty’s pardon for not coming to court himself.’
Charles nodded acknowledgement of the apology but Caterina, sitting opposite him, was not so easily satisfied. ‘What is his reason?’ she asked sharply. ‘Could it be a guilty conscience?’
Pierre was expecting this question and had his answer ready. ‘The duke fears for his life, your majesty. There is a crowd of armed Huguenots outside his gates day and night. He cannot leave his house without risking death. The Huguenots are plotting their revenge. There are thousands of them in the city and suburbs, armed and bloodthirsty—’
‘You’re wrong,’ the queen mother interrupted. ‘His majesty the king has calmed their fears. He has ordered an inquiry into the shooting, and he has promised retribution. He has visited Coligny on his sickbed. There may be a few hotheads in the rue Vieille du Temple, but their leaders are satisfied.’
‘That is exactly what I told Duke Henri,’ Pierre said. ‘But he believes the Huguenots are on the point of rising up, and fears that his only hope may be to mount a pre-emptive attack, and destroy their ability to threaten him.’
The king said: ‘Tell him that I, King Charles IX, guarantee his safety.’
‘Thank you, your majesty. I will certainly give him that powerful reassurance.’ In fact, the assurance was more or less worthless. A strong king, feared by his barons, might have been able to protect Coligny, but Charles was physically and psychologically weak. Caterina would understand that, even if Charles did not, so Pierre directed his next sentence to her. ‘But Duke Henri asks if he may suggest something further?’ He held his breath. He was being bold: the king might hear advice from noblemen, but not normally in a message carried by an underling.
There was a silence. Pierre feared he was about to be thrown out for insolence.
Caterina looked at him through narrowed eyes. She knew that this would be the real reason for Pierre’s visit. But she did not reprimand him. In itself that was a measure of how tenuous was her grip on control and how close the city was to chaos.
At last the king said: ‘What do you want?’
‘Some simple security precautions that would guard against violence by either side.’
Caterina looked suspicious. ‘Such as?’
‘Lock the city gates, so that no one can come in from outside the walls – neither the Huguenots in the suburbs, nor Catholic reinforcements.’ Pierre paused. The Catholic reinforcements were imaginary. It was the Huguenots he wanted to keep out. But would Caterina see that?
King Charles said: ‘Actually, that’s quite a good idea.’
Caterina said nothing.
Pierre went on as if he had received consent. ‘Then shackle the boats on the waterfront, and pull the iron chains across the river that prevent hostile ships approaching the city. That way troublemakers can’t get into Paris by water.’ And Huguenots would not be able to get out.
‘Also a sensible safeguard,’ said the king.
Pierre felt he was winning, and ploughed on. ‘Order the provost to arm the militia and place guards at every major crossroads in the city, with orders to turn back any large group of armed men, regardless of what religion they claim.’
Caterina saw immediately that this was not a neutral move. ‘The militia are all Catholics, of course,’ she said.
‘Of course,’ Pierre conceded. ‘But they constitute our only means of keeping order.’ He said no more. He preferred not to enter into a discussion about even-handedness, for in truth nothing about his plan was neutral. But keeping order was Caterina’s main concern.
Charles said to his mother: ‘I see no harm in such plainly defensive measures.’
‘Perhaps not,’ Caterina replied. She mistrusted the entire Guise family, but what Pierre suggested made sense.
‘The duke has one more suggestion,’ said Pierre. Duke Henri had not suggested any of this, but etiquette demanded that Pierre pretend the ideas came from his aristocratic master. ‘Deploy the city artillery. If we line up the guns in the place de Grève, they will be ready to defend the city hall – or to be positioned elsewhere, if necessary.’ Or to mow down a Protestant crowd, he thought.
The king nodded. ‘We should do all these things. The duke of Guise is a sound military planner. Please give him my thanks.’
Pierre bowed.
Caterina said to Charles: ‘You’ll have to summon the provost.’ No doubt she thought the delay would give her time to mull over Pierre’s suggestions and look for snags.
But Pierre was not going to allow her that chance. He said: ‘Your majesty, I took the liberty of bringing the provost with me, and, in fact, he is outside the door, waiting for your orders.’
‘Well done,’ said Charles. ‘Have him come in.’
Le Charron came in bowing deeply, excited and intimidated to be in the royal presence.
Pierre took it upon himself to speak for the king, and instructed Le Charron to carry out all the measures he had proposed. During this recital Pierre feared that Charles or – more likely – Caterina might have second thoughts, but they only nodded assent. Caterina looked as if she could not quite believe that Duke Henri wanted only to protect himself and prevent rioting; but clearly she could not figure out what ulterior motive Pierre might have, and she did not dissent.
Le Charron thanked the king volubly for the honour of his instructions and vowed to carry them out meticulously, and then they were dismissed. Backing out, bowing, Pierre could hardly believe that he had got away with it, and every second he expected that Caterina would call him back. Then he was outside and the door was closed and he was another step closer to victory.
With Le Charron he walked through the wardrobe and the guardroom, then down the stairs.
Darkness had fallen by the time they stepped out into the square courtyard where Biron waited with their horses.
Before parting company with Le Charron, Pierre had one more deception to perpetrate. ‘Something the king forgot to mention,’ he said.