Checkmate - Dorothy Dunnett [70]
Jerott, on his feet, said, ‘You advised the Prévôt at supper to make his troops unobtrusive, or they would stir up the whole quarter?’
‘Yes,’ said Lymond. As he spoke, he was writing. ‘Either they thought better of it, or they found the quarter thoroughly stirred up already when they got there. The latter, I suspect. There’s been an Evangelical Church in Paris for two years under this man le Maçon, with psalms and hymns and exhortations and prayers and Bible-readings. They were to administer the Lord’s Supper tonight, but they’ve done that before too, without interference. While both Henri and Philip are fighting their wars with Lutheran mercenaries, neither monarch is going to come down very hard on the sect.’
‘So what happened tonight?’ Jerott asked.
‘A body from the Collège du Plessis reported them for the first time officially. Someone wants trouble,’ said Lymond. He had finished the three notes and was sealing them with a wafer of wax and his signet ring. ‘In times of national danger, nothing simpler. The devout ladies and gentlemen insist on meeting at night, with their families. Night gatherings are associated with orgies, and the presence of children with hideous sacrifices. A few ominous hints in the right quarters, and all the neighbours are ready to believe that unless they clean God’s house, he will transfer his favours to the Imperialists. Martine will have to take these people into protective custody when they begin to emerge from their meeting, and he won’t do it with five hundred gens d’armes.’
‘You mean,’ said Jerott, ‘the people will kill them?’
‘Like the Knights of St John slaughter Osmanlis.’ Three members of his staff arrived, breathing quickly, and received one by one their commissions. The last, departing, collided sharply with someone approaching. The door opened and Catherine d’Albon plunged into the chamber.
The pen was still in Lymond’s hand. He laid it down and stood, looking at her. The black hair, once so carefully brushed, was now loose and rough as it had lain on the pillow, and under her open robe she wore her night-rail. Her feet were bare, as they had not been in the Sainte Chapelle on a famous occasion. She said, looking at Lymond, ‘Mr Abernethy has told me. He says you want to protect the Calvinists.’
She looked magnificent. His fatigue forgotten, Jerott stared at her. She has a lover, he thought. A lover or an admirer, trapped in the Hôtel Bétourné.
Lymond said calmly, ‘This is a matter for the Church and civil authorities. I can’t protect anybody. I have a commission under the Crown, and the Crown cannot support Calvinism publicly.’
‘But you have sent out orders?’ said Catherine d’Albon.
‘I have proffered advice,’ Lymond said. ‘Which the city will listen to. They will need more men to safeguard the congregation when they come out at the end of the service. Neither the Swiss Cantons nor the German princes will be gratified if there is overmuch bloodshed—why are you asking?’
Mademoiselle d’Albon looked at him without speaking. Jerott, studying her, forgotten in his corner, saw her tongue run over her lips, wetting them.
Lymond waited. Then he said, his voice not unkind, ‘I think you may trust me. I am not paid to steady the rocking bark of Peter; only to defend Catholics from other Catholics with bigger artillery. Who are you anxious about?’
‘My mother. My mother is there,’ said the daughter of the Maréchale de St André abruptly. ‘In the Hôtel Bétourné with the Calvinists.’
No one spoke. Then Lymond said briefly, ‘Alone?’
‘With the comtesse de Laval, M. d’Andelot’s wife. They have a valet de chambre with them. My mother said … that quite a number of the Queen’s household were also going.’
‘We can’t save them all,’ Lymond said. ‘If God wasn’t won over by muddy Catholic feet, he’s going to be propitiated next by a quantity of Protestant martyrs. All right. I’ll do what I can, but not as an officer. You and your staff must be willing to swear that no one left