Soon afterward Mary Stuart came in.
Ned had seen her once before, but he was startled all over again by how tall she was, and how strikingly beautiful. She had dramatically pale skin and red hair. She was only eighteen, yet she had tremendous poise, and moved like a ship on a calm sea, her head held high on a long, graceful neck. Her official mourning period was over, but she was still wearing white, the symbol of grief.
Alison McKay and Pierre Aumande de Guise walked in behind her.
James bowed deeply, but Mary immediately went to him and kissed him. "You are clever, James," she said. "How did you know I was at St. Dizier?"
"It's taken me a while to catch up with you," he said with a smile.
Mary took a seat and told them all to sit also. She said: "I have been told that I should return to Scotland like a newly risen sun, to scatter the clouds of religious tumult from the land."
James said: "You've been talking to John Leslie, I suppose." This was what Ned had feared. Leslie had got to her first, and what he had said had clearly enthralled her.
"You know everything!" Mary said. Evidently she admired her half brother. "He says that if I sail to Aberdeen he will have an army of twenty thousand men waiting to march with me to Edinburgh and overthrow the Protestant parliament in a blaze of Christian glory."
James said: "You don't believe it, do you?"
Ned very much feared that she did believe it. He was rapidly getting the impression that Mary was impressionable. Her physical poise and grace were queenly, but so far there was no sign that she had the skeptical wisdom so essential to much-flattered monarchs.
Mary gaily ignored James's question. "If I do return to Scotland," she said, "I'm going to make you an archbishop."
Everyone in the room was surprised. As queen of Scotland she would not appoint bishops--unlike the monarch of France, who had that power. But James mentioned a different snag. "I'm not a Catholic," he said.
"But you must become one," Mary said brightly.
James resisted her breezy manner. Somberly he said: "I came here to ask you to become a Protestant."
Ned frowned. This was not the mission.
Mary's answer was firm. "I'm Catholic and my family is Catholic. I cannot change."
Ned saw Pierre nodding. No doubt the idea of a Guise becoming Protestant would fill him with horror.
James said: "If you won't become Protestant, will you at least become tolerant? The Protestants would give you their loyalty if you left them alone to worship as they wish."
Ned did not like this line of argument. Their mission was to persuade Mary to stay in France.
Pierre, too, looked uneasy, but surely for a different reason: the notion of tolerance was abhorrent to ultra-Catholics.
Mary said to James: "And would the Protestants treat Catholics with the same tolerance?"
Ned spoke for the first time. "Absolutely not," he said. "It is now a crime to celebrate the mass in Scotland."
Pierre contradicted him. "You're wrong, Monsieur Willard," he said. "The mass is not a crime."
"The Scottish parliament has passed an act!"
"The self-constituted parliament may have passed a bill," Pierre argued, "but only the monarch can turn a bill into law, and Her Majesty Queen Mary has not given her royal assent."
"Technically you're right," Ned conceded. "I just don't want Her Majesty to be misled about the extent to which tolerance prevails in Scotland."
"And for whom do you speak when you say that, Monsieur Willard?"
Pierre seemed to have guessed that Ned was more than a secretary. Ned did not answer his question. He spoke directly to Mary. "Your Majesty, here in France you are a duchess, you have lands, money, and the support of wealthy and powerful relatives. In Scotland all that awaits you is conflict."
Mary said: "In France I am the widow of the king. In Scotland I am queen."
Ned saw that he was failing to persuade her.
Pierre said: "What would Queen Elizabeth think, Monsieur Willard, if Her Majesty Queen Mary were to return to Scotland?"
It was a trick question. If Ned answered it knowledgeably he would reveal himself as Elizabeth's envoy. He pretended ignorance. "We Scots know only what we hear. Bear in mind that in Reims you are nearer to London than we are in Edinburgh."
Pierre was not to be diverted by mileages. "So what do you Scots hear?"
Ned replied carefully. "No monarch likes to be told that someone else claims the throne, and apparently Queen Elizabeth was distressed when King Francis and Queen Mary called themselves the monarchs of England and Ireland as well as France and Scotland. Nevertheless, we understand that Elizabeth believes firmly in Mary's right to rule Scotland, and would not stand in her way."
That was not really true. Elizabeth was torn. Her ideological belief in the primacy of royal inheritance was in conflict with her fear of Mary as a rival to her own throne. That was why she wanted Mary to remain quietly in France.
Pierre probably knew that, but he pretended to take Ned seriously. "That's good to know," he said, "because the Scots love their queen." He turned to Mary. "They will welcome her with cheers and bonfires."
Mary smiled. "Yes," she said. "I believe they will."
Ned thought: You poor fool.
James began to speak, no doubt intending to say tactfully what Ned had thought bluntly, but Mary interrupted him. "It's midday," she said. "Let's have dinner. We can continue our discussion." She stood up, and they all did the same.
Ned knew he had lost, but he made one last try. "Your Majesty," he said, "I believe it would be most unwise of you to return to Scotland."
"Do you?" Mary said regally. "All the same, I think I shall go."
Pierre remained in Champagne for most of the following year. He hated it. He was powerless in the countryside. The Guises had lost all influence at court, and Queen Caterina was keeping the peace--just--between Catholics and Protestants; and he could do nothing about that while he was a hundred miles away from Paris. Besides, he did not like being so near the place of his birth, where people knew all about his humble origins.
In late February of 1562, when Duke Scarface set off from his country seat of Joinville and headed for the capital, Pierre eagerly joined him. This was Pierre's chance to get back into the game.
The journey began on narrow dirt roads winding between newly plowed fields and leafless winter vineyards. It was a cold, sunny day. Scarface was escorted by two hundred armed men led by Gaston Le Pin. Some of the men-at-arms carried the newly fashionable long swords called rapiers. They had no uniform as such, but many wore the duke's bright colors of red and yellow. They looked like the host of an invading army.
Scarface spent the last night of February at the village of Dommartin. He was joined there by a younger brother, Cardinal Louis, nicknamed Cardinal Bottles for his love of wine. The armed force was enlarged by Louis's body of gunmen with arquebuses. These were long-barreled firearms, sometimes called hookbutts because they were J-shaped. They were light enough to be fired from the shoulder, unlike muskets, which had to be supported by a forked rest stuck in the ground.
The next day, March 1, was a Sunday, and they started early. They were due to pick up a squadron of heavy cavalry at the town of Wassy. By the time Scarface arrived in Paris he would have enough soldiers to discourage his enemies from making a move against him.
Wassy was a small town on the Blaise River, with forges in the suburbs and watermills along the riverbank. As the Guise army approached the south gate, they heard bells. The sound of church bells rung at the wrong time was often a sign of trouble, and Scarface asked a passerby what was going on. "It'll be the Protestants, summoning their folk to the service," the man said.
The duke flushed with anger, his facial scars darkening. "Protestant bells?" he said. "How did they get bells?"
The passerby looked scared. "I don't know, lord."
This was the kind of Protestant provocation that started riots. Pierre began to feel hopeful. It could le
ad to an inflammatory incident.
Scarface said: "Even if the edict of tolerance becomes law--which may never happen--they are supposed to perform their blasphemous rites discreetly! What's discreet about this?"
The man said nothing, but Scarface was no longer addressing him, just expressing outrage. Pierre knew why he was so mad. The town of Wassy was the property of Mary Stuart, and now that she had gone back to Scotland, Scarface as her senior uncle was in charge of her estates. This was therefore his territory.
Pierre rubbed it in. "The Protestants, like everyone in town, must know that Your Grace is due here this morning," he said. "This looks very much like a deliberate personal insult."
Gaston Le Pin was listening. He was a soldier who believed in avoiding violence if possible--which may have been why he was still alive at thirty-three. Now he said: "We could bypass the town, duke. We don't want to risk losing men before we even get to Paris. We need a good show of strength there."
Pierre did not like that line of argument. "You can't overlook this affront, Your Grace," he murmured. "It would appear weak."
"I don't intend to appear weak," Scarface said hotly, and he kicked his horse on.
Le Pin gave Pierre a black look, but his soldiers followed Scarface eagerly, their spirits lifting at the prospect of action. Pierre decided to encourage them tactfully. He dropped back and spoke to a group. "I smell loot," he said, and they laughed. He was reminding them that when there was violence, there was usually pillage too.
As they entered the town, the bells stopped. "Send for the parish priest," the duke ordered.
The host moved slowly along the street to the town center. Within a walled precinct stood a royal law court, a castle, and a church. In the market square to the west of the church they found, waiting for them, the squadron of heavy cavalry they had come here to pick up: fifty men, each with two warhorses and a pack animal loaded with armor. The big horses whinnied and shifted as they smelled the newcomers.
Gaston Le Pin ordered the duke's men-at-arms to dismount in the partly roofed market, and parked Cardinal Louis's gunmen in the cemetery on the south side of the church. Some of the men went into the Swan tavern, on the square, to breakfast on ham and beer.
The parish priest came hurrying with crumbs of bread on his surplice. The provost of the castle was close behind him. Scarface said: "Now, tell me, are Protestants holding a blasphemous service here in Wassy this morning?"
"Yes," said the priest.
"I can't stop them," said the provost. "They won't listen."
Scarface said: "The edict of tolerance--which has not been ratified--would permit such services only outside the town."
The provost said: "Strictly speaking, they aren't in the town."
"Where are they, then?"
"Within the precincts of the castle, which is not considered part of the town, legally speaking. At least, that's what they argue."
Pierre commented: "A contentious legal quibble."
Impatiently, Scarface said: "But where are they, exactly?"
The provost pointed across the graveyard to a large, dilapidated barn with holes in its roof, standing up against the castle wall. "There. That barn is within the grounds of the castle."
"Which means it's my barn!" said Scarface angrily. "This is intolerable."
Pierre saw a way to escalate the situation. "The edict of tolerance gives royal officials the right to oversee Protestant assemblies, duke. You would be within your rights to inspect the service going on over there."
Again Le Pin tried to avoid conflict. "That would be sure to cause unnecessary trouble."
But the provost liked the idea. "If you were to speak to them today, duke, with your men-at-arms behind you, perhaps it would scare them into obeying the law in the future."
"Yes," said Pierre. "You have a duty, duke."
Le Pin rubbed his mutilated ear as if it itched. "Better to let sleeping dogs lie," he said.
Scarface looked thoughtful, weighing up the conflicting advice, and Pierre feared he might be calming down and leaning toward Le Pin's cautious approach; then the Protestants started to sing.
Communal singing was not part of normal Catholic services, but the Protestants loved it, and they sang psalms loudly and enthusiastically--and in French. The sound of hundreds of voices raised in song carried clearly across the cemetery to the market square. Scarface's indignation boiled up. "They think they're all priests!" he said.
Pierre said: "Their insolence is insufferable."
"It certainly is," said Scarface. "And I shall tell them so."
Le Pin said: "In that case, let me go ahead with just a couple of men to forewarn them of your arrival. If they understand that you have the right to speak to them, and they are prepared to listen to you in peace, perhaps bloodshed can be avoided."
"Very well," said Scarface.
Le Pin pointed to two men armed with rapiers. "Rasteau and Brocard, follow me."
Pierre recognized them as the pair who had marched him through the streets of Paris from the tavern of St. Etienne to the Guise family palace. That had been four years ago, but he would never forget the humiliation. He smiled to think how far above these thugs he stood now. How his life had changed!
They headed across the graveyard, and Pierre went with them.
"I didn't ask you to accompany me," Le Pin muttered.
"I didn't ask what you wanted," Pierre replied.
The barn was a ramshackle building. Some of the timbers of the walls were missing, the door hung askew, and there was a large pile of broken masonry outside. As they approached, he was aware that they were being watched intently by the men-at-arms outside the church and the gunmen in the graveyard.
The psalm came to an end, and silence fell as they reached the door of the barn.
Le Pin motioned to the others to stand back, then opened the door.
Inside the barn were about five hundred men, women, and children, all standing--there were no pews. It was evident from their clothing that rich and poor were mixed promiscuously, unlike in a Catholic church, where the elite had special seats. At one end of the barn Pierre could see a makeshift pulpit, and as he looked, a pastor in a cassock began to preach.
A moment later, several men near the door spotted the newcomers and moved to bar their way.
Le Pin took several paces back, to avoid a nose-to-nose confrontation. Rasteau and Brocard did the same. Then Le Pin announced: "The duke of Guise is coming to speak to you. Prepare the congregation to receive him."
"Hush!" said a young man with a black beard. "Pastor Morel is preaching!"
"Take care," Le Pin warned. "The duke is already displeased that you're holding this service illegally in his barn. I advise you not to anger him further."
"Wait until the pastor has finished."
Pierre said loudly: "The duke does not wait for such people as you!"
More of the congregation looked toward the door.
Blackbeard said: "You can't come in!"
Le Pin stepped forward, slowly and purposefully, heading directly for him. "I will come in," he said deliberately.
The young man shoved Le Pin away with surprising force. Le Pin staggered back a pace.
Pierre heard shouts of indignation from the watching men-at-arms in the marketplace. Out of the corner of his eye he saw some of them begin to move into the graveyard.
"You shouldn't have done that," said Le Pin. With sudden speed he lashed out with his fist, hitting the young man squarely on the jaw. The beard provided negligible protection from such a powerful blow. The man fell down.
"Now," said Le Pin, "I'm coming in."
To Pierre's astonishment and delight the Protestants did not have the sense to let him in. Instead they all picked up stones, and Pierre realized he had been wrong to assume that the pile was merely debris from the tumbledown building. He watched in disbelief. Were they really going to start a fight with hundreds of armed men?
"Out of my way," said Le Pin, and he ste
pped forward.
The Protestants threw their stones.
Le Pin was hit by several. One struck his head and he fell.
Pierre, who did not carry a sword, stepped back out of the way.
Rasteau and Brocard roared with outrage at the assault on their captain. Both drew their rapiers and dashed forward.
The Protestants threw again. The two men-at-arms were hit by a hail of rocks. One gashed the cheek of Rasteau, the older of the two, the one with no nose. Another hit Brocard's knee, causing him to fall. More men came out of the church and picked up stones.
Rasteau ran forward, bleeding from the wound to his face, rapier held in front of him, and thrust the blade into the belly of the young man with the black beard. The man screamed horribly in pain. The slim blade went through his body and the bloody point came out the other side. In a flash of memory, Pierre recalled hearing Rasteau and Brocard discuss sword fighting, on that fateful day four years ago. Forget about the heart, Rasteau had said. A blade in the guts doesn't kill a man straightaway, but it paralyzes him. It hurts so much he can't think of anything else. Then he had giggled.
Rasteau pulled his blade out of the man's intestines with a sucking sound that made Pierre want to vomit. Then the Protestants were on Rasteau, six or seven of them, beating him with stones. Defending himself desperately, Rasteau retreated.
The duke's men-at-arms were now running at top speed across the graveyard, leaping over tombstones, unsheathing their weapons as they came, yelling for revenge on their fallen comrades. Cardinal Louis's gunmen were readying their arquebuses. More men came out of the barn and, suicidally fearless, picked up stones to throw at the advancing soldiers.
Pierre saw that Le Pin had recovered from the blow to his head and was getting to his feet. He dodged two flying stones in a way that told Pierre he was again in full possession of his faculties. Then he drew his rapier.
To Pierre's dismay, Le Pin made another attempt to prevent further bloodshed. Lifting his sword high he yelled: "Stop! Lay down your arms! Sheath your swords!"
No one took any notice. A huge stone was thrown at Le Pin. He dodged it, then charged.