Walsingham shrugged. "She's known since childhood that she would not be allowed to choose her own husband. There is a price to pay for the obscenely extravagant life led by French royalty."
Ned thought of Margery's arranged marriage. "I sympathize with Margot," he said.
"If the rumors about her are true, she won't let her marriage vows constrain her behavior."
Behind the king came his brothers, all wearing the same yellow satin. They were making sure the crowd got the point: from today on the Valois men and the Bourbons were going to be brothers. The bride was followed by at least a hundred noblewomen. Ned had never seen so many diamonds and rubies in one place. Every woman was wearing more jewels than Queen Elizabeth owned.
Still no one cheered.
The procession moved slowly along the raised walkway to the amphitheater, and there the bride took her place beside the groom. This was the first time a Catholic had married a Protestant in a royal wedding, and a complex ceremony had been devised to avoid offending either side.
In accordance with custom, the wedding was performed outside the church. The cardinal of Bourbon administered the vows. As the seconds ticked by and the words were spoken, Ned felt the solemnity of the moment: a great country was moving, inch by painful inch, toward the ideal of religious freedom. Ned longed for that. It was what Queen Elizabeth wanted, and it was what Sylvie Palot needed.
At last the cardinal asked Margot if she would accept the king of Navarre as her husband.
She stared back at him, expressionless and tight-lipped.
Surely, Ned thought, she would not sabotage the whole wedding at this point? But people said she was willful.
The groom shifted from one foot to the other impatiently.
The princess and the cardinal stared at one another for a long moment.
Then King Charles, standing behind his sister, reached forward, put his hand on the back of her head, and pushed.
Princess Margot appeared to nod.
This clearly was not consent, Ned thought. God knew that, and so did the watching crowd. But it was good enough for the cardinal, who hastily pronounced them man and wife.
They were married--but if something went wrong now, before the marriage was consummated, it could yet be annulled.
The bridal party went into the cathedral for the wedding mass. The groom did not stay for the Catholic service, but emerged again almost immediately.
Outside the church he spoke to Gaspard de Coligny, the Huguenot general. They may have intended no offense, but their casual manner gave the impression that they were disdaining the service going on inside. That was certainly what the crowd felt, and they began to shout protests. Then they started their victory chant:
Hangest!
Ha! Ha! Ha!
Hangest!
Ha! Ha! Ha!
This was infuriating to the Huguenots, whose leaders were being tortured in the dungeons of the duke of Alba.
The notables in the stand were milling around, chatting, but as the chanting grew their conversations tailed off and they looked around anxiously.
A group of Huguenots on the roof of a nearby house retaliated by singing a psalm, and other voices joined in. In the crowd on the ground, a few young toughs began to move toward the house.
The scene had all the makings of a riot. If that happened, the pacific effect of the marriage could be reversed.
Ned spotted Walsingham's friend the marquess of Lagny, in his jeweled cap, and spoke to him urgently. "Can't you stop those Huguenots singing?" he said. "It enrages the crowd. We'll lose all we've gained if there's a riot."
Lagny said: "I could stop the singing if the Catholics would stop chanting."
Ned looked around for a friendly Catholic and saw Aphrodite Beaulieu. He buttonholed her and said: "Can you get a priest or someone to stop the crowd doing the Hangest chant? We're heading for a nasty disturbance."
She was a sensible girl and saw the danger. "I'll go into the church and speak to my father," she said.
Ned's eye lit on Henri of Bourbon and Gaspard de Coligny and realized they were the root of the problem. He went back to Lagny. "Could you tell those two to make themselves scarce?" he said. "I'm sure they don't mean it but they're provoking the crowd."
Lagny nodded. "I'll speak to them. Neither of them wants trouble."
A couple of minutes later, Henri and Gaspard disappeared into the archbishop's palace. A priest came out of the cathedral and told the crowd they were disturbing the mass, and the chanting subsided. The Huguenots on the rooftops ceased their singing. The square became quiet.
The crisis was over, Ned thought--for now.
The wedding was followed by three days of lavish celebrations, but no riots. Pierre was bitterly disappointed.
There were street fights and tavern brawls, as exultant Protestants clashed with furious Catholics, but none of the affrays turned into the citywide battle he was hoping for.
Queen Caterina did not have the stomach for a violent confrontation. Coligny, like all the more cunning Huguenots, believed his best strategy was to avoid bloodshed. Together, milk-and-water moderates on both sides kept the peace.
The Guise family were desperate. They saw power and prestige slipping away from them permanently. Then Pierre came up with a plan.
They were going to assassinate Gaspard de Coligny.
On Thursday, as the nobility attended the tournament that was the climax of the festivities, Pierre stood with Georges Biron in one of the medieval rooms in the old part of the Louvre Palace. The floors were dirt and the walls were rough stone.
Biron moved a table to a window for better light. He was carrying a canvas bag, and now he took from it a long-barreled firearm.
"It's an arquebus," said Pierre. "But with two barrels, one below the other."
"So if he misses Coligny with the first ball, he has a second chance."
"Very good."
Biron pointed to the trigger mechanism. "It has a wheel-lock firing action."
"Self-igniting, then. But will it kill him?"
"At anything up to a hundred yards, yes."
"A Spanish musket would be better." Muskets were bigger and heavier, and a shot from one of them was more likely to be fatal.
Biron shook his head. "Too difficult to conceal. Everyone would know what the man was up to. And Louviers is not young. I'm not sure he can handle a musket." It took strength to lift one: that was why musketeers were famously big.
Pierre had brought Charles de Louviers to Paris. Louviers had kept a cool head in Orleans: the assassination of Antoine de Bourbon had failed through the dithering of King Francis II, not by any fault of Louviers's. Some years later, Louviers had assassinated a Huguenot leader called Captain Luze and won a reward of two thousand ecus. And Louviers was a nobleman, which--Pierre thought--meant he would keep his word, whereas a common street thug would change sides for the price of a bottle of wine. Pierre hoped he had made the right decisions.
"All right," he said. "Let's have a look at the route."
Biron put the gun back in the bag and they stepped out into the courtyard. Two sides of the square were medieval castle walls, the other two modern Italian-style palaces. Biron said: "When Gaspard de Coligny walks from his lodging to here, and from here back to his lodging, he is accompanied by a bodyguard of about twenty armed men."
"That's going to be a problem."
Pierre walked the way Coligny would have to go, out through the medieval gateway to the rue des Poulies. The Bourbon family had a palace immediately opposite the Louvre. Next to it was the mansion of the king's brother Hercule-Francis. Pierre looked along the street. "Where does Coligny lodge?"
"Around the corner, in the rue de Bethisy. It's just a few steps."
"Let's look."
They walked north, away from the river.
The tension in the streets was still high. Even now Pierre could see Huguenots in their somber but costly outfits of black and gray, strolling along as if they owned the ci
ty. If they had any sense they would not look so triumphant. But then, Pierre thought, if they had any sense they would not be Protestants.
The ultra-Catholic people of Paris hated these visitors. Their tolerance was fragile, a bridge of straw holding up an iron-wheeled wagon.
Given a really good pretext, either side would run amok. Then, if enough people were killed, the civil war would start again, and the Peace of St. Germain would be torn up, regardless of the marriage.
Pierre was going to provide that pretext.
He scanned the street for a vantage point from which a gunman might fire at someone walking along: a tower, a big tree, an attic window. The trouble was, the killer would need an escape route, for the bodyguards would surely go after him.
He stopped outside a house he recognized. It belonged to Henri de Guise's mother, Anna d'Este. She had remarried, and was now duchess of Nemours, but she still hated Coligny, believing him to have been responsible for the death of her first husband. Indeed, she had done as much as Pierre to keep alive young Duke Henri's yearning for revenge. She would undoubtedly cooperate.
He scrutinized the facade. The upstairs windows were overhung by wooden trellises bearing climbing plants, a pretty touch that surely came from the duchess. But today the trellises were draped with drying laundry, which suggested the duchess was not in residence. Even better, Pierre thought.
He banged on the door and a servant opened it. The man recognized Pierre and spoke in a tone of deference laced with fear. "Good day to you, Monsieur de Guise, I hope I may be of assistance to you." Pierre liked obsequiousness, but he always pretended not to notice it. Now he pushed past the man without replying.
He went up the stairs, and Biron followed, still carrying the long bag with the arquebus.
There was a large drawing room at the front on the upstairs floor. Pierre opened the window. Despite the laundry flapping in the breeze, he had a clear view of both sides of the street in the direction of the Louvre. "Hand me that gun," he said.
Biron took the weapon out of its bag. Pierre rested it on the windowsill and sighted along the barrel. He saw a well-dressed couple approaching arm-in-arm. He aimed the gun at the man. To his surprise he recognized the elderly marquess of Nimes. Pierre moved the gun sight sideways and studied the woman, who was wearing a bright yellow dress. Yes, it was Marchioness Louise, who had twice caused him to suffer humiliation: once long ago, when she had snubbed him at the Protestant service in the old hunting lodge; and again just a week ago, at the shop in the rue de la Serpente, when Sylvie had taunted him with secrets Louise had told her. He could get his revenge now, just by squeezing the trigger of the wheel lock. He targeted her bust. She was in her middle thirties, but still voluptuous, and her breasts were if anything larger than before. Pierre yearned to stain that yellow dress with her bright blood. He could almost hear her screams.
One day, he thought; just not yet.
He shook his head and stood up. "This is good," he said to Biron, handing back the gun.
He stepped outside the room. The manservant was on the landing, waiting for orders. "There must be a back door," Pierre said to him.
"Yes, sir. May I show you?"
They went downstairs and through the kitchen and the washhouse to a yard with a gate. Pierre opened the gate and found himself in the grounds of the church of St. Germain l'Auxerrois. "This is perfect," he said to Biron in a low voice. "You can have a horse waiting here, saddled ready, and Louviers can be gone a minute after firing the fatal shot."
Biron nodded agreement. "That'll work."
They walked back through the house. Pierre gave the manservant a gold ecu. "I wasn't here today," he said. "No one was. You saw nothing."
"Thank you, sir," said the man.
Pierre thought for another moment and realized that money was not enough. He said: "I don't need to tell you how the Guise family punish disloyalty."
The servant looked terrified. "I understand, sir, I really do."
Pierre nodded and walked away. It was better to be feared than to be loved.
He went farther along the street until he came to a small graveyard behind a low wall fringed with trees. He crossed the street and looked back. He had a clear view of the Nemours house.
"Perfect," he said again.
On Friday morning Gaspard de Coligny had to go to a meeting of the royal council at the Louvre Palace. Attendance was not optional, and absence was regarded as an act of disobedience offensive to the king. If a man were too sick to rise from his bed, and sent an abject apology, the king might sniff and say that if the illness was so bad, why had the man not died of it?
If Coligny followed his usual routine, he would walk past the Nemours house on his way back from the Louvre.
By midmorning Charles de Louviers was installed at the upstairs window. Biron was at the back gate, holding a fast horse already saddled. Pierre was in the little graveyard, screened by trees, watching over the low wall.
All they had to do was wait.
Henri de Guise had given ready consent to Pierre's plan. Duke Henri's only regret was that he did not have the opportunity himself to fire the bullet that would kill the man responsible for his father's murder.
A group of fifteen or twenty men appeared at the far end of the street.
Pierre tensed.
Coligny was a handsome man in his fifties with a head of curly silver hair, neatly trimmed, and a beard to match. He walked with the upright bearing of a soldier, but right now he was reading as he went along, and in consequence moving slowly--which would be helpful to Louviers, Pierre thought with mounting excitement and apprehension. Coligny was surrounded by men-at-arms and other companions, but they did not seem notably vigilant. They were talking among themselves, glancing around only cursorily, appearing not to fear greatly for the safety of their leader. They had become slack.
The group walked along the middle of the street. Not yet, Pierre thought; don't fire yet. At a distance, Louviers would have difficulty hitting Coligny, for the others were in the way; but as the group approached the house his vantage point on the upstairs floor gave him a better angle down.
Coligny came closer. In a few seconds the angle would be perfect, Pierre thought. Louviers would surely have Coligny in his sights by now.
About now, Pierre thought; don't leave it too late . . .
Coligny suddenly stopped in his tracks and turned to speak to a companion. At that moment a shot rang out. Pierre stopped breathing. Coligny's group froze in their positions. In the instant of shocked silence, Coligny roared a curse and grabbed his left arm with his right hand. He had been wounded.
Pierre's frustration was intense. That sudden unexpected stop had saved Coligny's life.
But Louviers's arquebus had two barrels, and a second shot came immediately afterward. This time Coligny fell. Pierre could not see him. Was he dead?
The companions closed around him. All was confusion. Pierre was desperate to know what was happening but could not tell. The silver head of Coligny appeared in the middle of the throng. Had they lifted up his corpse? Then Pierre saw that Coligny's eyes were open and he was speaking. He was standing up. He was alive!
Reload, Louviers, and fire again, quickly, Pierre thought. But some of Coligny's bodyguard at last came to their senses and started to look about them. One pointed to the upstairs story of the Nemours house, where a white curtain flapped at an open window; and four of them ran toward the house. Was Louviers even now coolheadedly loading his gun? The men ran into the house. Pierre stood looking over the graveyard wall, frozen to the spot, waiting for another bang; but none came. If Louviers was still there they must have overpowered him by now.
Pierre returned his attention to Coligny. He was upright, but perhaps his men were supporting him. Though only wounded he might yet die. However, after a minute he seemed to shake them off and demand some room, and they stopped crowding him. This enabled Pierre to get a better look, and he saw that Coligny was standing unaided. He had both arm
s clutched to his body, and blood on his sleeves and doublet, but to Pierre's dismay the wounds seemed superficial. Indeed, as soon as his men gave him space he began to walk, clearly intending to get home under his own power before submitting to the attentions of a doctor.
The men who had gone into the Nemours house now reemerged, one of them carrying the double-barreled arquebus. Pierre could not hear what they were saying, but he could read their gestures: head-shaking negation, shrugs of helplessness, arms waving in signs indicating rapid flight. Louviers had escaped.
The group came nearer to Pierre's hiding place. He turned around, hurried out of the graveyard by the far gate, and walked away, bitterly disappointed.
Ned and Walsingham knew, as soon as they heard the news, that this could be the end of all they and Queen Elizabeth hoped for.
They immediately rushed to the rue de Bethisy. They found Coligny lying on a bed, surrounded by some of the leading Huguenots, including the marquess of Lagny. Several doctors were in attendance, notably Ambroise Pare, the royal surgeon, a man in his sixties with a receding hairline and a long dark beard that gave him a thoughtful look.
The usual technique for disinfecting wounds, Ned knew, was to cauterize them with either boiling oil or a red-hot iron. This was so painful that the patient sometimes died of shock. Pare preferred to apply an ointment containing turpentine to prevent infection. He had written a book, The Method of Curing Wounds Caused by Arquebus and Arrows. Despite his success, his methods had not caught on: the medical profession was conservative.
Coligny was pale, and evidently in pain, but he seemed to have all his faculties. One bullet had taken off the top of his right index finger, Pare explained. The other had lodged in his left elbow. Pare had got it out--an agonizing procedure that probably accounted for how pale Coligny looked--and he showed it to them, a lead sphere half an inch across.
However, Pare said that Coligny was going to live, which was a huge relief. Nevertheless the Huguenots would be outraged by the attempt on the life of their hero, and it would be a challenge to prevent them running riot.
There were several around the bed itching for a fight. Coligny's friends were thirsty for revenge. They were all sure that the duke of Guise was behind the assassination attempt. They wanted to go to the Louvre right away and confront the king. They were going to demand the immediate arrest of Henri de Guise, and threaten a national Huguenot uprising otherwise. There was even foolish talk of taking the king prisoner.