Coligny himself urged restraint, but it was the weak voice of a man wounded and supine.
Walsingham made an effort to hold them back. "I have some information which may be important," he said. He was the representative of the only major country in the world that was Protestant, and the Huguenot nobility listened to him attentively. "The ultra-Catholics are prepared for your rebellion. The duke of Guise has a plan to put down any show of force by Protestants following the wedding. Each person in this room . . ." He looked around significantly. "Each person in this room has been assigned his own personal assassin from among the more fanatical Catholic aristocracy."
This was shocking news, and there was a buzz of horror and indignation.
The marquess of Lagny removed his jeweled cap and scratched his bald head. "Forgive me, Ambassador Walsingham," he said skeptically, "but how could you know a thing like that?"
Ned tensed. He was almost completely sure that Walsingham would not reveal the name of Jeronima Ruiz. She might come up with further information.
Fortunately Walsingham did not give away Ned's source. "I have a spy in the Guise house, of course," he lied.
Lagny was normally a peacemaker, but now he said defiantly: "Then we must all be prepared to defend ourselves."
Someone else said: "The best defense is attack!"
They all agreed with that.
Ned was a junior here, but he had something worth saying, so he spoke up. "The duke of Guise is hoping for a Protestant insurrection to force the king to breach the Peace of St. Germain. You would be playing into his hands."
Nothing worked. Their blood was up.
Then King Charles arrived.
It was a shock. No one was expecting him. He came without advance notice. His mother, Queen Caterina, was with him, and Ned guessed that this visit was her idea. They were followed in by a crowd of leading courtiers, including most of the Catholic noblemen who hated Coligny. But the duke of Guise was not with them, Ned noticed.
Charles had been king for eleven years, but he was still only twenty-one, and Ned thought he looked particularly young and vulnerable today. There was genuine distress and anxiety on his pale face with its wispy moustache and barely visible beard.
Ned's hopes rose a little. For the king to come like this was an extraordinary act of sympathy, and could hardly be ignored by the Huguenots.
Charles's words reinforced Ned's optimism. Addressing Coligny, the king said: "The pain is yours, but the outrage is mine."
It was obviously a rehearsed remark, intended to be repeated all over Paris; but it was none the worse for that.
A chair was hastily brought, and the king sat down facing the bed. "I swear to you that I will find out who was responsible--"
Someone muttered: "Henri de Guise."
"--whoever he may be," the king went on. "I have already appointed a commission of inquiry, and even now investigators are questioning the servants in the house where the assassin lay in wait."
This was cosmetic, Ned judged. A formal inquiry was never a genuine attempt to learn the truth. No sensible king would allow independent men to control an investigation whose result could be so inflammatory. The commission was a delaying tactic, intended not to discover the facts but to lower the temperature--which was good.
"I beg you," the king went on, "to come to the Louvre Palace, and be close to our royal presence, where you will be completely safe from any further harm."
That was not such a good idea, Ned thought. Coligny was not safe anywhere, but he was better off here, among friends, than he would be under the dubious protection of King Charles.
Coligny's face betrayed similar misgivings, but he could not say so for fear of offending the king.
Ambroise Pare saved Coligny's face by saying: "He must stay here, Your Majesty. Any movement could reopen the wounds, and he cannot afford to lose any more blood."
The king accepted the doctor's ruling with a nod, then said: "In that case I will send you the lord of Cosseins with a company of fifty pikemen and arquebusiers to reinforce your own small bodyguard."
Ned frowned. Cosseins was the king's man. Guards who owed loyalty to someone else were of highly doubtful value. Was Charles simply being naively generous, desperate to make a gesture of reconciliation? He was young and innocent enough not to realize that his offer was unwelcome.
However, one conciliatory gesture by the king had already been rejected, and etiquette forced Coligny to say: "That is most kind of Your Majesty."
Charles stood up to go. "I shall revenge this affront," he said forcefully.
Ned looked around the assembled Huguenot leaders and saw, by stance and by facial expressions, that many of them were inclined to believe in the king's sincerity, and at least give him a chance to prevent bloodshed.
The king swept out of the room. As Queen Caterina followed him, she caught Ned's eye. He gave the tiniest of nods, to thank her for keeping the peace by bringing the king here, and for an instant the corners of her mouth twitched in an almost imperceptible smile of acknowledgment.
Ned spent much of Saturday encoding a long letter from Walsingham to Queen Elizabeth, detailing the events of a worrying week and Queen Caterina's struggle to keep the peace. He finished late on Saturday afternoon, then left the embassy and headed for the rue de la Serpente.
It was a warm evening, and crowds of young men were drinking outside the taverns, jeering at passing beggars, whistling at girls, no different from boisterous lads in Kingsbridge with money in their pockets and energy to spare. There would be fights later: there always were on Saturday night. But Ned saw no conspicuous Huguenots. They were sensibly staying off the streets, it seemed, probably having supper at home behind locked doors. With luck, a riot would be avoided tonight. And tomorrow was Sunday.
Ned sat in the back of the shop with Sylvie and Isabelle. They told him that Pierre Aumande had visited them. "We thought he had forgotten about us," Isabelle said anxiously. "We don't know how he found us."
"I do," Ned said, feeling guilty. "One of his men has been following me. I must have led him here when I came for dinner last week. I'm so sorry. I didn't know I was being watched, but I found out after I left here."
Sylvie said: "How do you know the man following you worked for Pierre?"
"I knocked him down and put my knife to his neck and said I'd cut his throat unless he told me."
"Oh."
The two women were silent for a minute, and Ned realized that until now they had not pictured him involved in violent action. Eventually he broke the silence by saying: "What do you think Pierre will do?"
"I don't know," Sylvie said. "I'll have to be extra careful for a while."
Ned described the scene when the king visited the wounded Coligny. Sylvie immediately focused on the notion of a list of Protestants with their assigned killers. "If the duke of Guise has such a list, it must have been made by Pierre," she said.
"I don't know, but it seems likely," said Ned. "He's obviously the duke's chief spy."
"In that case," said Sylvie, "I know where the list is."
Ned sat up. "Do you?" he said. "Where?"
"He has a notebook he keeps at his house. He thinks it's safer there than at the Guise palace."
"Have you seen it?"
Sylvie nodded. "Many times. It's how I know which Protestants are in danger."
Ned was intrigued. So that was where she got her information.
Sylvie added: "But it has never included a list of murderers."
"Could I see it?"
"Perhaps."
"Now?"
"I can't be sure, but Saturday evening is usually a good time. Let's try." Sylvie stood up.
Isabelle protested: "It's not safe on the streets. The city is full of angry men, and they're all drinking. Stay home."
"Mother, our friends may be murdered. We have to warn them."
"Then for God's sake be careful."
It was not yet dark when Ned and Sylvie left the shop and crossed
the Ile de la Cite. The dark mass of the cathedral brooded over the troubled city in the evening light. Reaching the Right Bank, Sylvie led Ned through the close-packed houses of Les Halles to a tavern next to the church of St. Etienne.
She ordered a tankard of ale to be sent to the back door of a house in the next street--a signal, Ned gathered. The place was busy, and there was nowhere to sit, so they stood in a corner. Ned was full of nervous anticipation. Was he really about to get a look at Pierre Aumande's secret list?
A few minutes later they were joined by a plain, thin woman in her twenties. Sylvie introduced her as Nath, Pierre's housemaid. "She belongs to our congregation," she said.
Ned understood. Sylvie had subverted Pierre's servant and thereby gained access to his papers. Clever Sylvie.
"This is Ned," Sylvie said to Nath. "We can trust him."
Nath grinned. "Are you going to marry him?" she blurted.
Ned smothered a smile.
Sylvie looked mortified, but passed it off with a joke. "Not tonight," she said. She hastily changed the subject. "What's happening at home?"
"Pierre's in a bad mood--something went wrong yesterday."
Ned said: "Coligny didn't die, that's what went wrong for Pierre."
"Anyway, he's gone to the Guise palace this evening."
Sylvie said: "Is Odette at home?"
"She's gone to see her mother and taken Alain with her."
Sylvie explained to Ned: "Odette is Pierre's wife, and Alain is his stepson."
Ned was intrigued by this glimpse into the private life of such a famous villain. "I didn't know about the stepson."
"It's a long story. I'll tell you another day." Sylvie turned back to Nath. "Ned needs to look at the notebook."
Nath stood up. "Come on, then. This is the perfect time."
They walked around the block. It was a poor neighborhood, and Pierre's home was a small house in a row. Ned was surprised by its modesty: Pierre was conspicuously affluent, with costly clothing and jewelry. But noblemen such as the duke of Guise sometimes liked to keep their advisers in humble quarters, to discourage them from getting above their station. And a place such as this might be useful for clandestine meetings.
Nath discreetly took them in through the back door. There were just two rooms on the ground floor, the living room and the kitchen. Ned could hardly believe that he was inside the private home of the dreaded Pierre Aumande. He felt like Jonah in the belly of the whale.
On the floor of the living room was a document chest. Nath picked up a sewing bag and took from it a pin that had been carefully bent into a hook shape. With the pin she unlocked the chest.
Amazing, Ned thought. Just like that. So easy.
Nath opened the lid of the chest.
It was empty.
"Oh!" she said. "The book has gone!"
There was a moment of stunned silence.
Then Sylvie spoke. "Pierre has taken it with him to the Guise palace," she said thoughtfully. "But why?"
Ned said: "Because he's going to use it, presumably. Which means he's about to implement his plan of murdering every Protestant nobleman in Paris--probably tonight."
Sylvie's face showed fear. "God help us," she said.
"You have to warn people."
"They must get out of Paris--if they can."
"If they can't, tell them to come to the English embassy."
"There must be hundreds, including all the visitors who came for the wedding. You can't get them all into the embassy."
"No. But in any event you can't warn hundreds of people--it would take you days."
"What can we do?"
"We must do what's possible, and save as many as we can."
20
By Saturday evening Duke Henri was in a tantrum, possessed by the rage of a young man who finds that the world does not work in the way he confidently expected. "Get out of my sight!" he yelled at Pierre. "You're dismissed. I never want to see you again."
For the first time ever, Pierre was as scared of Henri as he had been of Henri's father, Duke Scarface. He had a pain in his guts like a wound. "I understand your anger," he said desperately. He knew his career would be over unless he could somehow talk his way out of this.
"You predicted riots," Henri roared. "And they didn't happen."
Pierre spread his arms in a helpless gesture. "The queen mother kept the peace."
They were at the Guise palace in the Vieille rue du Temple, in the luxurious room where Pierre had first met Duke Scarface and Cardinal Charles. Pierre felt as humiliated today as he had in this room fourteen years ago, when he was a mere student accused of dishonestly using the Guise name. He was on the brink of losing everything he had gained since then. He pictured the looks of pleasure and scorn on the faces of his enemies, and he fought back tears.
He wished Cardinal Charles were here now. The family needed his ruthless political cunning. But Charles was in Rome on church business. Pierre was on his own.
"You tried to assassinate Coligny--and failed!" Henri raved. "You're incompetent."
Pierre squirmed. "I told Biron to give Louviers a musket, but he said it would be too big."
"You said the Huguenots would rise up anyway, even though Coligny was only wounded."
"The king's visit to Coligny's sickbed calmed them."
"Nothing you do works! Soon all the visiting Huguenot noblemen will leave Paris and go home in triumph, and the opportunity will have been lost--because I listened to you. Which I will never do again."
Pierre scrambled to think clearly under the onslaught of Henri's fury. He knew what had to be done--but in this mood would Henri listen? "I have been asking myself what your uncle Charles would advise," he said.
Henri was struck by that notion. His wrathful expression moderated a little, and he looked interested. "Well, what would he say?"
"I think he might suggest we simply act as if the Protestant rebellion has in fact started."
Henri was not quick on the uptake. "What do you mean?"
"Let's ring the bell of St. Germain l'Auxerrois." Pierre held up the black leather-bound notebook in which he had written the names of the paired assassins and victims. "The loyalist noblemen will believe that the Huguenots are in revolt, and they will slaughter the leaders to save the life of the king."
Henri was taken aback by the audacity of this plan, but he did not immediately reject it, and Pierre's hopes rose. Henri said: "The Huguenots will retaliate."
"Arm the militia."
"That can only be done by the provost of merchants." The title meant the same as mayor. "And he won't do it on my say-so."
"Leave him to me." Pierre had only a vague notion of how he would manage this, but he was on a roll now, carrying Henri with him, and he could not allow himself to stumble over details.
Henri said: "Can we be sure the militia will defeat the Huguenots? There are thousands more staying in the suburbs. What if they all ride into town to defend their brethren? It could be a close-fought battle."
"We'll close the city gates." Paris was surrounded by a wall and, for most of its circumference, a canal. Each gate in the wall led to a bridge over the water. With the gates locked it was difficult to enter or leave the city.
"Again, only the provost can do that."
"Again, leave him to me." At this point Pierre was ready to promise anything to win back Henri's favor. "All you need to do is have your men ready to ride to Coligny's house and kill him as soon as I tell you that all is ready."
"Coligny is guarded by the lord of Cosseins and fifty men of the king's guard, as well as his own people."
"Cosseins is the king's man."
"Will the king call him off?"
Pierre said the first thing that came into his head. "Cosseins will think the king has called him off."
Henri looked hard at Pierre for a long moment. "You feel sure that you can achieve all this?"
"Yes," Pierre lied. He just had to take the chance. "But there is no risk to you," he s
aid earnestly. "If I should fail, you will have mustered your men to no purpose, but nothing worse."
That convinced the young duke. "How long do you need?"
Pierre stood up. "I'll be back before midnight," he said.
That was one more promise he was not confident of keeping.
He left the room, taking his black notebook with him.
Georges Biron was waiting outside. "Saddle two horses," Pierre said. "We've got a lot to do."
They could not leave by the main gate, because there was a crowd of shouting Huguenots outside. The mob believed Henri was responsible for the assassination attempt, as did just about everyone, and they were baying for his blood--though not, as yet, doing anything bad enough to justify Henri's men opening fire. Fortunately the house was huge, occupying an entire city block, and there were alternative ways in and out. Pierre and Biron left by a side gate.
They headed for the Place de Greve, the central square where the provost lived. The narrow, winding streets of Paris were as convoluted as the design firming up in Pierre's mind. He had long plotted this moment, but it had come about in unexpected ways, and he had to improvise. He breathed deeply, calming himself. This was the riskiest gamble of his life. Too many things could go wrong. If just one part of his scheme miscarried, all was lost. He would not be able to talk himself out of another disaster. His life of wealth and power as adviser to the Guise family would come to a shameful end.
He tried not to think about it.
The provost was a wealthy printer-bookseller called Jean Le Charron. Pierre interrupted him at supper with his family and told him the king wanted to see him.
This was not true, of course. Would Le Charron believe it?
Le Charron had been provost for only a week, as it happened, and he was awestruck to be visited by the famous Pierre Aumande de Guise. He was thrilled to be summoned to the king, too much so to question the authenticity of the message, and he immediately agreed to go. The first hurdle had been surmounted.
Le Charron saddled his horse and the three of them rode through the twilight to the Louvre Palace.
Biron remained in the square courtyard while Pierre took Le Charron inside. Pierre's status was high enough for him to get into the wardrobe, the waiting room next to the audience chamber, but no farther.