Tannhauser 02: The Twelve Children of Paris (6 page)

‘If Guise wanted revenge for his father,’ said Tannhauser, ‘he has greater patience than I.’

‘Unrequited revenge is a potent elixir. Sip it every day and life has a meaning, a purpose.’

‘The true identity of the plotters is immaterial. The Huguenots will convince themselves that the scheme was hatched long ago – by the Queen, the King, the Guises, the Pope, and anyone else whose name they want to blacken.’

‘Would you suspect Catherine of the plot?’

‘It runs against the grain of her policy.’

The satisfaction with which Retz received this made Tannhauser wonder if he, and most others, had not been gulled precisely as the Queen intended.

‘Suppose we yield to the King’s sensitivities,’ said Retz. ‘What next?’

‘That depends on Coligny.’

‘Coligny will carry himself like Christ Resurrected and garner more power. That’s why he’s stayed in the city, instead of leaving, as his comrades have urged. Which brings us to the heart of the problem. Coligny has been pressing the King to go to war with Spain, in the Low Countries. He believes it will unite French Catholics and Protestants under a single banner.’

‘That is hard to credit in a man of sound mind.’

‘He claims such a war was the price agreed for his consent to the marriage.’

‘The wedding required Coligny’s consent? And he’s allowed to say so?’

Retz did not respond to this critique of the Crown’s diplomacy.

‘A month ago a Huguenot army crossed into Flanders. Alva crushed them at Mons. A letter from the King was found on Genlis, the leader of the disaster, promising His Majesty’s support for the Dutch rebels.’

Tannhauser grunted and left it at that.

‘The Crown is massively in debt and dependent on Italian bankers,’ continued Retz. ‘Another conflict with Spain would be a catastrophe, yet His Majesty wavers, at least when Coligny has his ear.’

‘Why is an habitual warmonger like Coligny allowed anywhere near the King’s ear?’

‘The King is only twenty-two years old.’

‘By that age Alexander was sizing up the walls of Persepolis.’

‘You are right, up to a point.’ Retz paused. ‘On the night that His Majesty first slept with a woman, I was present throughout the occasion, to help make sure that all went well. And all did go well, for to make things go well for His Majesty is my calling. So you see, beyond that point, you are wrong, for, whatever his abilities, the King is the king.’

Tannhauser gritted his teeth.

‘Tannhauser, I am surrounded by sycophants and liars. Your bluntness is gold, unaccustomed to it though I am. Now. Two days ago Coligny made an explicit threat: that the King must choose between a foreign war or a civil war.’

‘Does threatening a king no longer pass for treason?’

‘His Majesty loves Coligny, almost as the father he hardly knew.’

‘Coligny loves only war. Without war he’s just another provincial grandee. He is nothing. Hence he has nothing to lose and I’d take him at his word: the next war has already begun.’

‘A Huguenot army of four thousand men is bivouacked a day’s march from Paris. They have no intention of attacking and have no need to do so. Coligny claims they are loyal subjects, but they are not commanded by the King, and therefore their very presence is a challenge to royal authority. They are also a source of terror to the common populace.’

‘Why do you tell me all this?’

‘I would like to know what you would do in this circumstance.’

‘If I were you?’

‘If you were the King.’

Tannhauser felt a pressure in his skull. The months he had spent in the wilderness, at sea and in the desert, had cleansed him of such concerns. He had melted into the power of being alive in the world as God had made it. He had forgotten the world that humans had fashioned in its stead.

‘Please, speak freely,’ said Retz.

‘Coligny is a strongman. He knows, as does any beggar, that the King is – or is seen to be – weak. It galls strong men to take their orders from a weakling. Or worse, a weakling’s mother.’

‘Then you don’t approve of the Edict of Toleration.’

‘One tolerates an attack of the piles, not warlords like Gaspard Coligny.’

Tannhauser had so far escaped the former affliction but was familiar enough with the latter. He wished he were back in the Land of God, with the travellers of Timbuctoo.

‘Are the Huguenots not entitled to freedom of conscience?’

‘Coligny’s captains don’t sit in the taverns debating the Real Presence of Christ in the Mass. They talk of women and horses, not the nature of the Divine. They’ve no more a clue what they fight for than the Catholics. This is a war between believers who don’t understand what they believe in. It’s a question of power, not religion. Does power reside in the state, as embodied by the King? Or is power to be dispersed among the warlords and their mercenaries? But you don’t need me to tell you that.’

The carriage rattled to a halt and creaked as Guzman climbed down. A rap on the door.

‘The Louvre, your Excellency.’

Retz looked at Tannhauser. ‘How would you answer that question?’

‘The King doesn’t need my advice.’

‘To the contrary. A man of the world, untainted by the intrigues of the court? A cooler mind. A man who has no cards to play in this game.’

Tannhauser grimaced.

‘The Huguenot elites defy the King, in his own palace. They speak treason. They demand wars. They threaten his kingdom. They threaten his mother.’

Tannhauser paused. Retz worked his charms well. He did not much like it.

‘I’d kill them all,’ said Tannhauser.

‘The entire Protestant aristocracy?’

‘Just their grandees.’

‘A radical solution. Can you elaborate?’

‘I doubt I’m the first to suggest the stratagem.’

‘The particulars are of interest.’

‘Decapitate the high command and the next war will be a lesser war. If the game is resolved with a modicum of political skill – a treacherous conspiracy decisively crushed, taxes will be cut, apples of solid silver will fall from the trees, etcetera and so forth – there may be no war at all.’

‘You advocate the killing of, let us say forty nobles – and their guards and retainers – who are guests in the King’s palace and under his protection.’ Retz’s voice suggested the stratagem was indeed familiar. ‘Men from many of the oldest families in France.’

‘You want me to multiply the arguments in favour of this scheme.’

‘Do you have reason not to supply them?’ asked Retz.

‘The oldest families in France are no more than its oldest criminals.’

‘His Majesty counts some of them among his dearest friends.’

‘A king who cannot kill his dearest friends for the good of his people is no king at all,’ said Tannhauser. ‘Suleiman strangled his own sons to preserve the peace. He strangled the wrong ones, but that’s another matter.’

‘I can’t use an argument that compares His Majesty unfavourably to a Turk.’

Tannhauser wanted to get out of the carriage. He didn’t.

‘His Majesty must demonstrate raw power. At so late an hour as this, the only currency that buys such power is blood. Coligny’s alone is no longer enough, for his is now the blood of a martyr. But if such blood were diluted with that of his fellow conspirators while quelling a plot to seize the throne – which, in effect, is what Coligny is attempting to do – then the martyr would become the traitor that in truth he is. Be scrupulous to avoid any wider repression of the Protestant religion and the rest of the Huguenot nobility will come to heel. It worked for the English. The more dear friends he kills, the better. And he should seize the Protestant strongholds, in particular La Rochelle, preferably by riding up to the gates in person and demanding the keys. If he had the mettle to do that, I doubt they’d have the mettle to shoot him.’

Tannhauser did not expect this last advice to be taken seriously. It was not.

‘Dilute the blood of the martyr.’ Retz relished the phrase. ‘The King will say it is wrong.’

‘Has the King seen the state of his kingdom?’

Retz did not answer.

‘I’ve just ridden the length of this country from the dock at Marseilles. It should be the Garden of Eden. It’s a wasteland. It’s a disgrace to its keepers. But I’m not finished.’

Retz nodded at him to go on.

‘A strong king would go beyond a cull of the Protestant elite. He’d arrest Guise and a dozen more Catholic schemers and have their heads, too. He would cleanse his palace of the libertines and live like a man. With the fear and respect thus earned he could banish civil war. If at that point his subjects wanted to worship idols carved from mud, he could let them do so, for no one would dare break his peace.’

‘You would spill a lot of blood.’

‘Hundreds of thousands have died in these wars for the vanity of men like Coligny. The King wept no tears of grief and shame for them. He played tennis.’

Tannhauser sat back on the scented cushions. The carriage was too small for him. He felt that if he took the deep breath he needed, the walls would be rent apart.

‘I see it,’ said Retz. ‘Yes. I see it all.’

Tannhauser reflected on his advice. Some might consider it monstrous. Carla, for one. Perhaps it was. He couldn’t think of anything he had said that wasn’t true. It wasn’t his problem.

‘You have armed me with some powerful propositions,’ said Retz. ‘Now, what can I do for you?’

‘For me?’

‘No one gets as close to the throne as you now sit without asking for something. Preferment, a pension, a pardon, a grant of monopoly, a contract of supply. The very life of the court consists in a perpetual seeking of advancement and advantage by all who manage to gain access.’

At another time Tannhauser might have squeezed Retz, but he felt tainted. He had spoken the truth, but he knew he had been used. He did not want to be paid for it.

‘I appreciate your offer, but it sits ill with me to stand in any man’s debt. I want to be reunited with my wife, nothing more.’

‘I’m disappointed.’ Retz smiled. ‘Your answer makes me wish you were indeed in my debt. Instead, I am in yours. I salute you, sir.’

‘In looking for my wife I need to locate a palace functionary called Christian Picart. If a word from you would make that task easier, I’d be grateful.’

‘A simple courtesy is no reward, but yes, of course.’

They climbed from the carriage.

Across open ground to the east stood the Louvre: part fortress, part palace, fashioned by diverse kings in diverse times, and currently a composite of different architectural eras. To the west, the city walls loomed. A gateway pierced the wall just short of the river and this was where the carriage had stopped. Through this gate Tannhauser saw lavish gardens and the wing and pavilion, both incomplete, of another half-built structure of elaborate dimension and design. Building materials littered the area in massive stacks but workers were nowhere to be seen.

A section of Swiss Guard met the carriage. Their halberds and harness shone in the long yellow light. They avoided eye contact, as professionals will. Also present were three courtiers. Their self-esteem seemed injured by the sight of Tannhauser emerging from the carriage. He watched them wonder who he was and what entitled him to such fellowship with Retz. Most of all they wondered what threat he might pose. Retz chose the youngest, who happened to be the most corpulent.

‘Arnauld, escort the Comte de La Penautier into the palace. He will tell you what he needs, make sure he gets it.’

Arnauld grovelled to hide his chagrin at being expelled from distinguished company into that of a ruffian. He glanced at Tannhauser with unconcealed distaste.

‘They feed them well at the palace, then,’ said Tannhauser.

Retz laughed as if a laugh were what he needed.

In response to Retz, the courtiers tittered, the bloated youth included.

‘I regret our meeting was so short,’ said Retz. ‘God bless you and happy days.’

They exchanged bows. Retz headed towards the gardens with his entourage. Guzman winked in passing and Tannhauser nodded. He turned as Grégoire ran up. He was drenched in sweat. The cloth wrapper tied with ribbon that contained the christening robe was crumpled under one armpit. He appeared to have developed a limp.

‘Are the new shoes nipping you? If so, take them off.’

Grégoire, though in pain, was horrified. ‘The shoes are a marvel, sire.’

Arnauld’s horror was the greater. ‘That creature is coming with us?’

‘Grégoire, this kind young gentleman has volunteered to take us into the Louvre.’

‘Tannhauser!’ Retz had paused at the gate. ‘One last question.’

Tannhauser looked at him and waited.

‘Would you kill your dearest friends for the good of the people?’

‘My dearest friends are the only people I have. For their good, I’d kill anything that breathes.’

ARNAULD DE TORCY
led them through a sequence of corridors, salons and halls whose extravagance left Grégoire agape and filled Tannhauser with contempt. He was not immune to architectural beauty, but of late he’d seen too much scorched earth; and the Italians did it better.

Statuary inspired by the Romans abounded, along with ornamented masonry, delicate friezes, and allegories in relief that portrayed the fantasy of Valois genius. Each gallery and ceiling sang the praises of its patrons and recast historic acts of violence and greed as grand myths. All was newly built and on a scale so lavish that Tannhauser did not wonder that Italian cash, at excruciating interest, was paying the bills. He foresaw years of fresh taxes with every step he took. Household officials scuttled back and forth to assuage the whims of the lordly, who were as numerous as they were repellent. As Arnauld strutted towards each new room, footmen bowed and opened twin gilt doors.

‘Note that most courtiers merit the opening of only one door,’ explained Arnauld.

‘Did you hear that, Grégoire? For such as we, you must open both doors.’

‘Very amusing. But here, in the jewel box of civilisation, such distinctions are not inconsequential, nor are they empty ceremony. Each detail helps to define one’s rank in the court hierarchy. If such details are neglected or ignored, then how can we tell who – or indeed what – a given individual truly is?’