Виктория Холт - Madame Serpent

Henry shivered.

‘They are lighting his faggots now,’ said Catherine. ‘Soon he will take his arguments to the Judgment Seat, I wonder how he will fare there.’

‘Methinks he sees us.’

Catherine drew back. From where he was placed, that he might be seen from the palace windows, the tailor could command as good a view of the King as the King could of him.

The tailor’s eyes found those of the King, and would not let them go. They stared at one another― the King in jewel-encrusted velvet, the tailor in his rough shirt.

Catherine watched the red flame as it crackled about the martyr’s feet; she saw the cruel fire run like a wild thing up the coarse shirt. She waited for the cry of agony but none broke from the tailor’s lips. Others groaned in their misery, but not the tailor.

The man’s lips were moving; he was praying to God; and all the time he prayed, his eyes never left those of the King.

‘Catherine!’ said Henry in a hoarse whisper; and hand groping for hers; his palms were clammy and he was trembling. ‘He will not take his eyes from me, Catherine.’

‘Look away, Henry.’

‘Catherine― I cannot.’

Nor could he.

Catherine crossed herself. It was as though the tailor had put a spell on the King, for Henry wanted to run from the window, to shut out the sight of the tailor’s agony, but he could not; and he knew that, for the rest of his life, he would never forget the dying tailor.

But Catherine had almost forgotten the tailor, for Henry had turned to her for comfort; and it was her hand that he held. She was thinking, Out of small victories, large ones grow; a small miracle can be the forerunner of a great one. Henry was praying silently for the protection of the saints; and all the time, he stood there staring, until with sudden crackling and roaring the faggots at the tailor’s feet collapsed, and the flames roared up and the martyr’s face was hidden by a wall of fire.

CATHERINE LAY at Saint-Germain. Another boy had just been born. This was Charles Maximilian; and she had now three sons― Francis, Louis, who was more sickly than his elder brother, and Charles.

She should have been a happy woman, since that fertility for which she had once fervently prayed was hers; but her miserable jealousy persisted.

Only this morning, she had heard women talking beneath her window, and getting up from her bed, she had gone to the window and crouched there listening.

‘The King has gone to Anet.’

‘To Anet! At such a time! His place is here with his wife and new-born son.’

Catherine had imagined the lift of the shoulders, the sly smiles.

‘Oh yes, my friend, it is the custom, is it not, to be with his Queen at such a time? In all things deeply sensible to what is right and what is wrong. But when Madame de Valentinois beckons― ah then, it is another matter.’

‘Poor Queen Catherine! How sad she must be to find herself and her new son so neglected!’

‘The Queen?―’ The voice dropped so low that Catherine could not hear.

And then: ‘Something― strange about the Queen. I do not think she cares.’

Catherine laughed grimly. Not care indeed! And something strange? Perhaps they were right there. But what a cruel thing when a Queen must be pitied by her women!

Deliberately, then, the woman of Anet had lured Henry from Saint-Germain at such a time.

Catherine rose from her bed. Useless to remove the desk and rug and look into the room below. Instead she prayed; she; she wept; she cried out bitterly; and the subject of her prayers was: ‘Holy Mother of God, show me a miracle!’

* * *

Was this the miracle?

It was Madalenna who brought the news to her. ‘I have news, Gracious Majesty. The Duchesse de Valentinois lies sick at Anet.’

Sick at Anet! Catherine’s heart began to beat more quickly. This was it. Her prayers were answered.

‘The King is at Anet, Madalenna.’

‘Yes, the King is with Madame la Duchesse, but it is said that she is very sick indeed.’

Catherine could not wait to summon the Ruggieri brothers to her. It was dusk, and, putting on her cloak, she went to see them. She was as active as ever after the birth of five children all following close upon one another. She hurried to the house by the river.

She knew, as soon as she entered the house, that Cosmo and Lorenzo had heard the news. There was that stubborn look in their faces, that suspicion, as though they believed that in some way, although she had not long left her bed, she had contrived, in spite of their warnings and their care, to administer poison to the Duchess of Valentinois.

She was impatient with them, as they immediately closed all doors, drew the shutters and sent out their two servants, although they were Italians. They were afraid of the Queen’s obsession.

‘You have heard the news, I see,’ she said, not without a touch of scorn.

‘It is grave news,’ said Cosmo.

‘Grave news indeed! It is the best news I have heard for many years.’

‘Beloved and Most Gracious Majesty,’ begged Cosmo, ‘we implore you to be calm. The Duchess is ill and none knows the illness. Rumour spreads like fire on windy nights in this city.’

Catherine drummed her fingers on the table. ‘Oh yes, yes. There will be some to say that I have had something slipped into her wine, sprinkled on her food, spread over the pages of a book― I know. They will accuse me of poisoning her.’

‘It will be well for us all if the Duchess recovers.’

‘It will not be well for me.’ She stared first at one brother then at the other.

‘Lorenzo, Cosmo,’ she said piteously, ‘I would give all my worldly goods to hear that she was dead.’

‘Madame, in the streets they talk,’ said Cosmo.

‘Talk! Talk! I know they talk. They will always talk. They accused me of having the Dauphin poisoned. I tell you I had no intention of having the Dauphin poisoned. Yet they accused me.’

‘It is well that those whose death will bring advantage to us should not die,’

said Lorenzo.

‘Lorenzo, she will have to die one day. Why should it not be now?’ She stood up and faced them. ‘You have the means here. You have poisons― subtle poisons. Give me the key of your cabinet, Lorenzo.’

‘Beloved Majesty, my brother and I will serve you every way you wish― but we cannot let you destroy yourself.’

When she was with these men, she felt she had no need to hide her feelings; and now she was hysterical with― unsatisfied desire, with humiliation and frustration ‘You mean you would destroy yourselves!’ she cried angrily. ‘That is it, Lorenzo! That is it, Cosmo! You fear the Boot and the Water Torture― and horrible death! You are not afraid for me― but for yourselves. What could I lose by her death? Nothing! I have everything to gain. I cannot be displaced. I am the mother of the future King of France. I command you to give me the key of your cabinet.’

The two brothers looked fearfully at each other.

‘Madame,’ began Lorenzo desperately, ‘I implore you―’

‘And I command you!’

Imperiously, Catherine held out her hand.

Cosmo nodded, and Lorenzo drew out the silver chain from under his doublet, on which hung the key.

Catherine snatched it, and strode towards the cabinet. The astrologers watched her, without moving.

She stood, looking at the array of bottles; each contained a substance which she knew could produce death. These brothers had taught her a little concerning their secrets; she had insisted on their doing so; therefore she was by no means ignorant on this matter of poisons.

‘Give me something, Lorenzo.’ She swung round and faced them.

‘Something tasteless.’

The brothers did not move; they could only watch her with horrified eyes.

Their thoughts flitted from this room to the sickening horror of the salle de la question in the Conciergerie.

Catherine stamped her foot. ‘This!’ she said, and laid her hand on a bottle.

Lorenzo took a step forward. ‘Majesty, you could not do it. It would be necessary to take others into your confidence.’

‘I have my friends.’

‘The Boot makes a havoc of the strongest ties of friendship, Madame.’

‘You think of nothing but torture. Have I not suffered uneasy torture in my apartments at Saint-Germain?’

‘Madame, allow us to have that hole filled in. It was a mistake that it should ever have been made.’

She felt tears in her eyes, and, looking from Lorenzo to Cosmo, she thought of them as two little boys whom she had known and who had been her friends in the Medici Palace when Alessandro was her enemy. They were her friends, true friends; and although they feared disaster for themselves, they also feared it for her. They were wise men.

They saw her hesitation and she was aware of their relief. Perhaps she herself was also relieved. She felt that storm of passion passing. She was preparing to be calm Catherine who had learned the art of patience, the wisdom of waiting, the benefits of working in the dark.

‘There is a ring the Duchess always wears,’ said Cosmo. ‘It is said that ring has strange properties.’

‘I know the ring,’ said Catherine. ‘A large ruby. The King gave it to Madame de Valentinois in the early days of their friendship.’

‘Why is it that whatever else she wears, the Duchess is never without it?’

said Lorenzo. ‘The spell may well be in that ring. It is not natural for a man of the King’s youth to remain faithful to an ageing woman. Only magic could do it.