The Medici Queen aka The Devil’s Queen

After supper, Edouard, Tavannes, and I went in search of Charles. Outside the guarded, half-ajar door of the King’s apartments, we stopped, and the Duke of Anjou handed Navarre’s incriminating letter to the Marshal. We had agreed that Tavannes would lead Charles to his office; after allowing time for the Marshal to break the news to the King, Edouard and I would present the list of those to be executed.

Tavannes went inside while Edouard and I drew back, carefully out of the King’s sight; I glimpsed Charles as he and Tavannes passed through the corridor. As the old Marshal held open the door to the cabinet, I heard him murmur something to Charles, who stopped on the threshold and let go a panicked cry.

“Dear God! Don’t tell me he is dead!”

Tavannes murmured reassurances; the King went inside, and the Marshal closed the door behind them. Edouard and I scurried inside the apartment and-ignoring the King’s bodyguard who stood watch-lingered just outside the door, like the guilty conspirators we were. I strained my ears but heard little save for the calm, steady rumble of Tavannes’s voice.

It was interrupted suddenly by a shrill howl, then an angry curse. Edouard abruptly dismissed the guard. As he did, something hard and heavy thudded loudly against the cabinet’s interior wall. Edouard moved to open the door, but I stayed his hand; I had thought that Charles would not dare strike old Tavannes, but I also knew the Marshal was rugged enough to handle the King’s physical outbursts.

I knew the precise passage in Navarre’s letter that had prompted the violent reaction:

Coligny’s injury complicates matters, but I, too, have earned the King’s trust and can guide him easily into our clutches and, once there, convince him to abdicate. Without his mother and brother, he will be quite helpless.

There followed wracking sobs, and coughing, and finally, gentle weeping. At the last, I nodded to Edouard, and we entered quietly.

Tavannes stood in front of the King’s desk, a dark, liquid slash across the breast and shoulder of his dull gold doublet. He was wiping his face with a handkerchief, and when he looked up at me, his blind, clouded eye roving wildly, he lowered the cloth to reveal a brown stain on his clean-shaven chin. Behind him, the far wall held a large, irregular splatter of the same dark brown liquid; on the floor just below, a silver inkwell lay on its side, bleeding onto the carpet.

Charles was nowhere to be seen, but soft whimpers emanated from behind the desk. I hurried round to find my son huddled beneath it, rocking; I pushed the chair aside and knelt beside him.

“Lies,” he moaned, his baleful gaze rolling up at me; tears coursed steadily down his cheeks. “You mean to break my heart with lies.”

“Your Majesty,” I began calmly-but at the sight of his suffering, and at the sheer horror of what I had to do, I broke, put my face in my hands, and wept myself. For several breaths, I failed to master my emotions; Edouard and Tavannes watched, hushed.

I caught my breath finally and looked up at poor Charles.

“It is awful, Your Majesty,” I admitted, with complete sincerity. “And it wounds me to bring such horrible news. But we could not spare you such ugliness; too much is at stake.”

“It isn’t true,” he countered fiercely, but his features crumpled at once and he cried with renewed fervor. “How could he betray me so? He loves me, Maman, as the son he never had. He told me so…”

I leaned forward to take his hand and was gratified when he did not pull away. “Charles, my darling, this is a hard truth, a terrible truth, but you must be brave now. You are our King; we look to you to save us.”

He cringed. “But what can I do? I cannot believe this, Maman! I don’t know whom to believe anymore! Coligny warned me-”

“He warned you,” I said smoothly, “that Edouard and I wished him ill-precisely because he knew that, if we uncovered his plot, this moment would come.”

He shuddered from another ragged sob. “But I don’t know what to do!”

“That is why we are here.” I reached into my sleeve and pulled out the fatal document, then glanced up at Tavannes. “Marshal, if you would be so kind…” I nodded in the direction of the overturned inkwell; the old man hurried off in search of a fresh one.

“There is a way to prevent this, and the war that would certainly follow,” I crooned, unscrolling the paper. “You can stop it with your signature. We must finish, Your Majesty, what Maurevert began.”

He blinked suspiciously at my own flawed, irregular scrawl on the white page and recoiled faintly.

“An order, Your Majesty,” I said, “striking at the Huguenots before they strike at us. The names of the conspirators are listed here. We must do more than cut off the Hydra’s head; we must remove all those who would bring war against us in Paris.”

He snatched the list from me and squinted down at it for a long moment. I feared he would quail at the stark reality it represented, but the skin beneath his eye began to twitch rapidly as he passed easily from tortured sorrow to incandescent rage.

“They would lock me in prison,” he muttered bitterly, “and steal my crown. They would murder my family…”

“Yes,” I whispered. “Do you remember now, Charles, what you said to me in the carriage on our dreadful escape from Meaux? They would have killed us all then. They have been waiting all this time for another opportunity… And I gave them one. I trusted them.” I paused. “What sort of man is Gaspard de Coligny-daring to threaten you if you do not yield to his will? Daring to violate an order forbidding the movement of troops to the Netherlands-an order signed by your own hand? He has never shown the proper respect to you, Your Majesty. He has laughed at you privately all this time.”

Charles grimaced with fury. “Then kill them all,” he whispered, his voice raw and ugly. “Why spare any of them, Maman?” His voice rose to an impassioned roar. “Kill the bastards! Kill them all! Kill them all!”

At that moment, Tavannes reappeared with the inkwell; I glimpsed the troubled face of the dismissed guard, who had also reappeared. He had heard the King’s cries but remained outside as the Marshal closed the door on him.

I motioned for Tavannes to set the inkwell on the floor beside me as Edouard handed me the quill.

“Let us show ourselves to be better than our enemies,” I told Charles. “We will not, as they would, kill the innocent.”

He calmed a bit to study the order. “When will it happen?”

“Tonight,” Edouard answered. “In the hours just before dawn. You would do well to keep to your bedchamber. I have arranged for extra security; we will not let you come to harm.”

Breathing heavily, Charles looked up at him, then back down at the list in his hand. “May they all die miserably,” he said, “and their souls go straight to Hell.”

Solemnly, I handed him the pen.

Forty-five

Edouard and I remained with Charles for a few hours to calm him, and to ensure that he did not leave his apartments. By eleven o’clock, my younger son and I went to our separate apartments; it would be best, we decided, to retire as usual to avoid stirring anyone’s suspicions. I struggled to hide my growing anxiety as my ladies dressed me for bed; I dismissed them before my nervousness grew too apparent.

I climbed into my bed but was not able to hold still, much less sleep; my window overlooked the Louvre’s courtyard, and I was terrified of what I might soon see. After two hours of fidgeting, I lit the lamp, slipped into my dressing gown, and made my way through my darkened apartments to my closet.

The windowless little room was hot and stale, but it offered a sense of security; in it, I could not see or be seen. I locked the door and resolutely began to leaf through a stack of correspondence-some letters from our