I left Jeanne and went straightaway to my chambers. Her accusations had shaken me deeply, but I had been shaken before and was determined to distract myself with pressing business. I sat at the desk in my antechamber and reviewed my correspondence-reports from diplomats, requests for the King’s favor.
But anxiety gnawed at me until I could no longer sit still. I was filled with dread, convinced that something terrible was about to pass. The letter in my hand began to quake; I closed my eyes and was abruptly transported to the Palazzo Medici in Florence, many years past. I heard the clatter of stones against glass, and a workman’s shout:
Troubled, I sent for an astrologer in my employ, Guillermo Perelli. I had assigned him the task of choosing an auspicious day for Margot’s wedding.
Perelli was a nervous young man, with bulging eyes and a neck so long that it extended far beyond his ruffed collar. He was not a genius, but he was capable enough, and quick.
“Tell me,” I asked him, “what evil alignment of the stars is coming? Is there an aspect that bodes ill for the royal family?”
“No time soon,” he said, then hesitated. “Perhaps… in August, I believe, Mars will enter Scorpio, enhancing the possibility for violence. I would be happy to prepare a charm for the King or for Your Majesty, which would offset any ill effects.”
“Please do so,” I said. “And look at our stars in light of the coming transit, to see what August holds. This must be done at once. I… had a dream that something awful is going to occur.”
It was no secret among the courtiers that I had foreseen my husband’s death and Edouard’s victory at Jarnac. At my words, Monsieur Perelli leaned forward, intrigued.
“You must help me, Monsieur,” I said. “Something terrible is coming, I know it…” I realized, to my embarrassment, that I was on the verge of tears.
Perelli sensed it. “I am completely at your service,
“Thank you,” I said. I sat at my desk and watched, without confidence, without hope, as the door closed behind him.
I lost myself in work. By late afternoon, I was calmer and asked one of the ladies to fetch my embroidery and invite Margot to join me in my antechamber. I waited for her by the fire, until a knock came at the door. It was Jeanne; her head was slightly bowed, her voice low and humble.
“May I speak to you privately, Catherine
“Of course.” I gestured at the chair beside mine.
“Thank you,” Jeanne said and sat; after an uncomfortable pause, she said, “I’ve come to beg your forgiveness.”
My cautious smile did not waver. “You mustn’t blame yourself,” I replied smoothly. “You’re tired from travel. I can see that you’ve been ill.”
“I
I laughed. “Jeanne, if anyone was corrupted by our decadent ways, it surely wasn’t you.”
She colored. “I was wicked. You cannot imagine, Catherine-you, who were always faithful to your husband, always honest with your friends… I think sometimes you’re too good-hearted to see the evil that surrounds you.”
“But I deal with sorcerers,” I said softly. “I read the stars.”
She looked down at her hands, folded primly in her lap. “I know that if you became entangled in such things, it was for good reason. That is why”-her voice broke-“that is why I must ask your forgiveness. It was wrong of me to judge you.”
She began to cry. She wanted to say more, and tried to wave me away, but I embraced her and let her sob in my arms.
She dined with us that night, and in the morning, the marriage negotiations began afresh. I could not call them cordial, but they were civil; the memory of them remains a small, bright spot of hope before the descent into madness.
Jeanne stayed with us at Blois well over a month and remained steadfast in her demands: Henri would not reconvert to Catholicism, nor would he be wed at Notre-Dame. Weeks passed without progress, and we grew irritable with each other.
One afternoon, the young astrologer, Perelli, came to inform me that Mars would move into the constellation of the Scorpion in the latter half of August, and form a square with Saturn on the twenty-third and twenty-fourth. This could lead to arguments with diplomats and foreign powers. He had cast four protective rings, one for me and one for each of my children.
I thanked him and directed Madame Gondi to pay him but had no faith in his feeble charms. Nevertheless, I gave the rings to my sons and daughter to wear; my own went into a drawer.
The first week of April passed without event. I remained determined that Margot should be married at Notre- Dame, while Jeanne was just as determined to see the couple wed in a Protestant ceremony. My nerves grew frayed, for with each passing night, my dreams of bloodshed grew more intense. I felt that the only way to avert war was to see Margot and Henri wed quickly.
After one particularly frustrating session with Jeanne, I visited Edouard, hoping for fresh insight to break the impasse. I went to his quarters, knowing that no one would search for me there, and settled into a chair. At Edouard’s invitation, I began to speak of my difficulties with the wedding negotiations, and Jeanne’s stubbornness.
As we were conversing in his bedchamber, a knock came on the door in the room beyond us. I heard Robert- Louis’s unctuous response and Madame Gondi’s muffled, anxious reply.
Shortly after, an apologetic Madame Gondi entered and curtsied. “
She handed me a small package wrapped in a letter. I excused myself and hurried to my bedchamber, where I sat down and removed the letter; beneath, wrapped in black silk, was an iron ring with a clouded yellow diamond. I set the ring in my lap and broke the letter’s seal.
