Written on Silk (37 page)

Just one look, and now I know . . .

You will never let me go . . . Your words have told me so!”

A
T DAWN THE NEXT
day, the morning being soggy after all the rain, and as mist floated below a still-darkened sky, Andelot rode to the monastery located far from houses and farms. He carried a small bag of coins and wondered what the cleric might say if he knew some of the money he would bring for the indulgence had come from Marquis Fabien. And Romier had pitched in some coins after Andelot had complained, “If you had not so charitably told him I should pay for an indulgence, and even twice, I might not have this irksome debt at all.”

“Saints! See how you make excuses for your blundering? It was you, mon ami, who transgressed into the Huguenot gathering. Did I not warn you against it?”

“You did, but since you are serving the dedicated Huguenot duch-esse, you should realize that it was not a transgression. Listen, Romier, one day soon I will trust you with a secret that will change your entire life.”

“Ha! That, I must see. And what is this merveilleux secret?”

“You must wait for the appropriate time, then I will show you.”

Romier tipped his golden head and looked at him askance. “You bluff, but I shall wait, and see. Here — some more coins. I shall make amends for tolerating you — you are reaping what you well deserve.”

When Andelot arrived at Saint Catherine’s, the Dominican cleric was working behind his desk, a candle burning. The rain had started again, beating gently against the window. Andelot noted how weary he looked, as though he had been up all night in a vigil of sorts. There were dark circles beneath his eyes and his brow was furrowed. Andelot felt a wave of compassion for him.

The cash box sat on the desk before him with a list of standard fees for indulgences.

Why is it a transgression to help the Huguenots escape, when the words
they had met to read are but Scripture?

Andelot laid the bag of coins on the desk.

The cleric raised the bag from the desk. “It is sufficient; you may go in peace.”

Andelot looked at him for a puzzling moment, remembering something he had heard once about the Reformer Luther from Germany. Was it not this, paying of money for transgressions, that had troubled him to search the Scriptures? Go in peace. Was acceptance with a holy God obtained through paying money?

Andelot wrinkled his brow. He was about to question the cleric, then thought better of it. If he wished to rouse more suspicion, this was the way to go about it. He bowed and quickly departed.

For days afterward he thought about the Dominican and felt sympathy for him as he recalled the dark circles beneath his eyes and his worried brow. Could the Dominican, so religious, ever obtain the peace he claimed he could give to other transgressors?

T
HE ROYAL
PALAIS
OF
Fontainebleau had long been a favorite residence of French kings. The older Fontainebleau had been a hunting seat from the twelfth to the sixteenth centuries when King Francis I assembled the finest Italian artists and sculptors of the Renaissance to restore the palais. Now it was one of the most treasured of royal châteaus.

Though Andelot’s days were mainly spent in long hours studying Greek, Latin, and the works of Erasmus, he still felt privileged to be here at Court with Comte Sebastien. Andelot relished the beauty of the palais-château and the large evergreen forest, for Fontainebleau was situated in the heart of the forest.

The wind was fresh and clean, and he was pleased to be away from the stench of Paris that sometimes grew unbearable. He mentioned this to Comte Sebastien on their arrival, and Sebastien agreed, but then grew most sober.

“With the palais situated in the forest, flourishing with game, there is grand prospect for the court to indulge in all their favorite pursuits:hunting, riding, shooting, eating, and drinking too sumptuously, and of course — ” his voice dripped with disgust — “intriguing one against another. Do not set your heart on vain pursuits, Andelot. Pasteur Bertrand would tell you the same. And favor with the king is like a mist on a hot summer morn. So soon it vanishes and none remember.”

Andelot thought this a strange admonition from Sebastien; he had recanted all that he claimed he had once held to be solemn truth to save his life and return to Court. All he had lost had been again showered upon him: power and glory amid luxury, sprinkled with religion — but it was now accompanied by Sebastien’s apparent scorn. It was not lost on Andelot that his oncle now went to Mass each day and sat in the conclave near the royal family while Cardinal de Lorraine officiated. Andelot also went, and though he had a growing understanding of Protestantism, for him the Mass had never been a problem as it was to the Huguenots. Even so, Andelot had to admit that since Sebastien’s release from the Bastille, the things he had once esteemed now appeared to weigh on him like chains around his ankle. Andelot loved his oncle, and his worries for him grew. He sometimes acted suspiciously. Andelot had seen him with a map of England, going over every inch of it with a strong eyeglass. Was he thinking of Marquis Fabien and his travels, or something else?

One night after Andelot had been at Fontainebleau for two weeks, a blustery wind brought an unseasonably strong storm crooning eerily about the château cornices on the side of the palais where Sebastien had his chambers. Andelot was seated in the outer antechamber used by the pages. The large candles on his desk burned with clear, unwavering light as he read.

Scholar Thauvet had assigned Andelot’s reading and thesis before returning to Paris for some weeks to lecture at the Paris university.

Andelot placed the book to one side of the desk, which was piled with other leather-bound manuscripts and papers. He glanced over his shoulder into the sitting chamber to make certain unfriendly eyes were not watching. He found the chamber empty; all was quiet except the wind.

Though this alcove was private, used by Sebastien’s chief page, there were two other doors leading from the alcove into other chambers. One of these was Sebastien’s private bedchamber and writing closet; the other was a sitting chamber with a hearth, where a fire of pine crackled.

Andelot remained cautious. Many were the times when some high-placed official serving one of the noble families would enter the sitting chamber from the outside corridor without knocking and commence to order Andelot about as though he were naught but a common lackey. He found these interruptions most annoying.

Cautiously, he pushed aside the works on Erasmus that Thauvet had given to him to study and slipped the French Bible out from under the stack before him. He could keep the Bible with his books, for no one paid attention to what he was reading except his tutor who was still in Paris. Andelot had removed the outer covering from one of his worn, private books and placed it over the French Bible to conceal it.

It was not that he intended to keep the old pasteur’s Bible. Andelot had tried on several occasions to make contact with him in the forest by leaving a carefully worded message in the logs where the man had concealed the forbidden Book, but he must have suspected a trap for there had been no reply.

The wind blew noisily with a whine. Andelot found the place in the Bible where he had stopped the night before and continued the epistle of Paul, the apostle to the church at Rome. This lettre to the Romans seemed an excellent place to start since the Vatican was at Rome.

“Therefore we conclude that a man is justified by faith without the
deeds of the law.”

As Andelot considered the text, he was startled by footsteps swiftly crossing the outer chamber floor. The wind had muffled the sound of the front door opening. Before he realized it, the Cardinal de Lorraine’s secretary stood beside his reading table looking down at him. Andelot looked up at the towering shadow that bent over the desk. His heart shuddered within like a tower on a crumbling cliff. The gaze he met belonged to Monseigneur Jaymin, a cleric who was close to the cardinal.

Help, Lord!

“Ah, Andelot, Andelot . . . and where is your seigneur, Comte Sebastien?”

Andelot noticed that Jaymin carried an official paper in his large hand. The man’s knotty knuckles were the first thing Andelot had noticed when they had met.

Andelot closed the cover on the Bible to give the impression he had been studying Erasmus and stood quickly. “Comte Sebastien has gone out, Monseigneur. Shall I give him your message?”

“On such an evening as this? It will soon be raining. I would think he might wish to be sitting by his fire reading. Sebastien and his nightly promenades,” he said with a friendly laugh. ”And he with his troublesome knee.”

Andelot smiled, trying to calm his thudding heart and hoping he did not sound breathless. “He does like his strolls, Monseigneur.”

Jaymin was of an angular body, with a shiny scalp and large doleful brown eyes over a hawk nose. Andelot, who was a little shorter than Marquis Fabien, and by no means small, only reached Jaymin’s chest.

Jaymin’s height was somewhat of a jest among the pages, for they said that while the Queen Mother kept dwarves, Cardinal de Lorraine kept giants.

“I am surprised you did not attend your seigneur on this promenade.”

“He excused me. I had my studies.”

“Ah yes, ah yes.” His gaze dropped to the book on the desk with Andelot’s hand resting casually over it.

“A wise man, Scholar Thauvet. You are most blessed to have him as your tutor. He will join us soon I understand. The cardinal is most interested in how his ser vices to instruct you were incurred.” He smiled.

Andelot tensed. He dare not mention Marquis Fabien. He delayed and then said, “Incurred, Monseigneur?”

“Scholar Thauvet is sought after by the most noble of families. He is paid handsomely. And therefore, le cardinal merely wondered how it is that Sebastien incurred his ser vices for you, considering.”

Considering that Andelot, though said to be related to the Guises, was
no longer of any interest to the cardinal — why would Thauvet agree to
become his tutor?

It was wise not to mention Sebastien either
.

“Grace has indeed been thrown over my shoulders as an undeserved mantle, Monseigneur. It was not Comte Sebastien who arranged for Scholar Thauvet, but Duchesse Dushane. She did so, I believe, because I was raised on the estate in Lyon of which she is an owner . . . And she had taken a kindly interest in me. She knew how disappointed I was when I offended the cardinal who had first thought to send me to the university.”

I am doing well. I can see the change in his eyes. He no longer looks so
suspicious.

“The cardinal will be pleased. He has rethought his discipline of you, Andelot. You are a kinsman we must not forget, and though the cardinal has been most taken up with other affairs of state, he tells me to assure you he has not forgotten you.” He smiled, showing strong, even teeth.

“Merci.” He bowed his head.
I wish he would forget me altogether
.

“The cardinal wishes to know what Scholar Thauvet is having you study here at Fontainebleau?”

Andelot kept his palm on the book. “Oh. So many subjects, Monseigneur. All most interesting. I am studying and preparing to write a paper on Erasmus.”

“Ah! The English Oxford scholar. A borderline Reformer, is he not?”