The Medici Queen aka The Devil’s Queen

“Edouard,” I said softly. I rose and indicated that I wished Tavannes to accompany us.

As we walked sedately through the great reception hall, nobles parted to let us pass. I lifted my skirts and did not look down; I did not have to. This time, I could feel the blood.

Here is the story, pieced together from Marshal Tavannes’s report, as well as those of witnesses:

Immediately after the Council meeting, Admiral Coligny went in search of the King. To his chagrin, Charles was in the tennis gallery, playing a set with Coligny’s brother-in-law, Teligny and-as luck would have it-the young Duke of Guise. Charles was embarrassed; Coligny, put out, since the King had promised to hear Coligny out as soon as the wedding celebrations were over. The Admiral demanded a private audience on the spot; when the King refused, Coligny grew outraged and strode off.

He left by the Louvre’s guarded northern gate and made his way to the rue de Bethizy. Following him were four Huguenot captains and ten Scottish guards. As he neared the property owned by the Guises, he took from his pocket a pair of spectacles and a letter written by his young wife, who had recently given birth. He was reading it when he walked into the assassin’s sights. At that instant, he stopped in his tracks upon realizing that an inner binding in one of his shoes had come loose.

Unaware of the binding, Maurevert fired.

Simultaneously, the Admiral bent down to inspect his shoe.

The ball tore through Coligny’s left arm and very nearly severed his right index finger, which hung, dangling, from a flap of flesh. The Admiral promptly fainted.

His men closed ranks around him. All of them had heard the shot and agreed it came from the nearby property owned by the Guises. Three of them forced their way inside and discovered the smoking arquebus. By then, Maurevert had escaped.

I was prepared to deal with the outcry following Coligny’s assassination, but I had never considered the possibility that he might survive the attempt.

Edouard and I entered Charles’s antechamber to discover a dozen outraged Huguenots, clustered so tightly together that I could not at first see the King. At the sound of our step, the black-clad nobles turned and, upon seeing us, glared in disapproval even as they grudgingly made way to reveal Charles sitting at his desk, with Henri and Conde standing beside him.

At the sight of us, Conde recoiled; Navarre was so preoccupied with the King that he appeared not to notice our arrival. Charles huddled in the chair, clutching his skull. Tears of rage ran down his cheeks, flushed scarlet after his vigorous tennis game.

“Leave me!” he howled. “Leave me, I cannot think! Why does God torment me so?” He began to beat his forehead against the surface of his desk.

Navarre glanced up and caught my gaze. He had too much self-possession to recoil as Conde had, but I saw mistrust and veiled fury in his eyes.

“Madame la Reine,” he said, with distant formality. “Monsieur le Duc. You must help us. Admiral Coligny has been shot, and His Majesty has lost himself. But justice must be done! Now, before violence erupts!”

“I am lost,” Charles agreed with a groan. “Too much trouble…” He squeezed his eyes shut and began to rock slowly back and forth in the chair. “I can bear no more!”

“It is only the heat,” I said protectively. “The heat and the terrible shock.” I flicked open my fan and directed the breeze onto his face. “Dear Charles,” I said, “you must listen to me.”

His eyes snapped open; he looked up at me with utter desperation.

“Why do they torment me?” he moaned. “Please make them stop, Maman. Make them go away and die!”

“I can make it stop,” I soothed, “if you will help Admiral Coligny.”

“ “But what must be done?”

“You must denounce the criminal who has committed this heinous act,” I said, glad to have Huguenot witnesses, “and make it clear that the Crown will not rest until he is brought to justice. There must be a full investigation.”

Edouard sidled closer to us. “Coligny’s surroundings must be secured,” he said briskly. “I will clear all Catholics from the neighborhood surrounding the rue de Bethizy, to reduce the risk to the Admiral and his men. And I will send fifty of my best arquebusiers to surround the Admiral’s hotel.”

“Yes,” Charles said, with a gusting sigh of relief, though his eyes were still wild. “Yes, see that it is done.”

“Is there anything else, Sire?” I asked gently.

“Yes.” Charles put his heels on the edge of the chair, knees bent, arms wrapped about his shins, and slowly rocked. “Doctor Pare…” The surgeon who had tried, and failed, to save my husband’s life now served as the King’s personal physician. “Send Pare to the Hotel de Bethizy.”

“It is done,” I said.

Charles suddenly stilled and looked up at me. “I must see the Admiral, and beg his forgiveness for failing to protect him. I must let him know that I have not deserted him. Let us go now, Maman.”

“I would ask only one thing, Your Majesty,” I said.

He scowled up at me.

“Permit the Duke of Anjou and me to accompany you.”

It was of course too soon to hurry to Coligny’s side; Doctor Pare had yet to perform surgery on the wound. But by midafternoon, a party-Navarre, Conde, ten bodyguards, Anjou, the King, and I-had assembled near the Louvre’s northern gate. I also invited old Tavannes, who had heartily approved the assassination plot, yet possessed the nerve to accompany me and feign sympathy for Coligny in the midst of a crowd of Huguenots. Navarre was politely distant, Conde still too angry to say a word to us.

I had suggested that we make the short walk to Coligny’s surroundings, as it would be good for the people to see our concern for the Admiral. In addition to Navarre’s guards, our group was accompanied by a dozen Swiss soldiers to protect the King.

After two guards lifted the thick iron bar from the latch, a trio of grooms swung open the heavy gate. The soldiers surrounding the palace parted for us as we headed into the street.

We soon left the Louvre behind and passed on to the overheated cobblestones of the rue de Bethizy, where scattered flocks of black-clad pedestrians caught sight of us and coalesced into a single wave, which surged toward us. Tavannes and Edouard instinctively flanked me, while Conde and Navarre did the same for the King.

“There goes the Italian woman!” a man shouted, no more than five paces away. “She greets her friends in Florentine fashion: with a smile on her face and a dagger in her hand!”

The mob roared in affirmation. A jumble of black linen and pale flesh loomed abruptly. On my left, old Marshal Tavannes staggered; his shoulder struck mine and threw me off balance, against Edouard. The Swiss troops seized their halberds and leveled the shining blades at the onrush of angry spectators.

“Do not harm them! Let them be!” I shouted; a fatal incident could easily provoke a full-scale riot.

The King, Navarre, and Conde paused to look over their shoulders at us: The crowd had not touched them.

“Let them pass!” Navarre shouted, and the black swarm receded.

We began to move again, at a quickened pace, and arrived at the Hotel de Bethizy without further trouble, though the crowd dogged us the entire way, their murmured curses forming a single ominous rumble.

The outer perimeter of the hotel was patrolled by more than fifty restless men in black-some of them hard- bitten troops with unshaven faces, others well-groomed nobles. All of them greeted Navarre with courteous bows but had only sullen, stony glances for the Duke of Anjou and me. Ambassador Zuniga had been right: They were all armed for war, some with long swords, others with arquebuses. The four men standing watch on the front steps sweated beneath heavy chest armor. Navarre ascended the steps alone and spoke to them; they moved aside to let us pass.

Inside, a score of guards and noblemen choked a sunny, stuffy vestibule, some weeping, others ranting, all outraged. At the overpowering smell of unwashed flesh and of sausage scorched upon a nearby cookstove, I