Page 199 of A Column of Fire

‘She’s a woman.’ Pierre was pleased that Rollo evidentlydidunderstand the need for violence.

‘And in Paris?’ Rollo said. ‘We in Douai have been worried by the news from here.’

‘The Peace of St Germain was a major defeat for us, there’s no denying that. The policy of Pope Pius V is quite clearly to exterminate all Protestants, but King Charles IX has rejected this in favour of peaceful coexistence.’

Rollo nodded. ‘To some extent the king was forced into that by military defeat.’

‘Yes. It’s most unfortunate that Gaspard de Coligny has proved to be such a disciplined and talented general of the Huguenot armies. And the queen mother, Caterina, is another force for tolerance of vile heresy.’ Sometimes Pierre felt as if every hand was against him. ‘But we have seen edicts of tolerance before, and they have never lasted,’ he added optimistically.

‘Will Princess Margot marry Henri of Bourbon?’

Rollo asked all the right questions. Henri was the son of the late Antoine of Bourbon, and as king of Navarre he was the highest-ranking member of the pro-tolerance Bourbon–Montmorency alliance. If he married into the royal Valois family he might be able to preserve the Peace of St Germain. And the combined families of Bourbon, Montmorency and Valois would be enough to crush the Guises. ‘We’ve done everything we can to delay the marriage,’ Pierre said. ‘But Coligny lurks in the background, a constant threat.’

‘It’s a pity someone doesn’t stick a knife in his heart.’

‘Many people would like to, believe me,’ said Pierre. That included Pierre himself. ‘But Coligny’s not stupid, and doesn’t give them much chance. He rarely comes to Paris.’ He heard the bell of St Étienne’s church strike ten. ‘I have to attend court,’ he said. ‘Where are you staying?’

Rollo looked around. Clearly he had been expecting to lodge at Pierre’s house, but now realized the place was too small. ‘I don’t know.’

‘The count of Beaulieu always welcomes English Catholics. You may meet people who could be useful to you at his house. But watch out for English Protestants, too.’

‘Are there many in Paris?’

‘Some, mainly at the embassy. Sir Francis Walsingham is the ambassador. He’s a curmudgeon, but as sharp as a nail.’

‘And a blaspheming Puritan.’

‘I’m keeping an eye on him. But his deputy is more dangerous, because he has charm as well as brains. He’s called Sir Ned Willard.’

Rollo reacted. ‘Really? Ned Willard is deputy ambassador?’

‘You obviously know the man.’

‘He comes from Kingsbridge. I didn’t realize he had become so important.’

‘Oh, yes.’ Pierre recalled the young man who had pretended to be a Scottish Protestant at St Dizier. Later Pierre had read, in a smuggled letter from Alison McKay, how Willard had gone to Carlisle Castle to tell Mary Stuart that she was a prisoner. And now the man had shown up in Paris. ‘Ned Willard is not to be underestimated.’

‘I used to flog him at school.’

‘Did you?’

‘I wish I’d beaten him to death.’

Pierre stood up. ‘The count of Beaulieu lives in the rue St Denis. I’ll point you in the right direction.’ He led Rollo downstairs and out into the street. ‘Come and see me again before you leave Paris. I may have letters for William Allen.’ He gave Rollo directions to the Beaulieu palace, and the two men shook hands.

As Rollo walked away, Pierre noticed the back of a woman going in the same direction. She seemed familiar, but she turned the corner and was out of sight before he could place her.

However, she had not been richly dressed, so could not have been anyone important, and he went back inside and forgot about her.

He found Alain in the kitchen. Using a kinder tone of voice than usual, he said: ‘Alain, I have something sad to tell you. There has been an accident. Your mother has been kicked by a horse. I’m afraid she is dead.’

Alain stared at him, wide-eyed, for a long moment, then his face crumpled in anguish and he began to wail. ‘Mammy!’ he cried. ‘Mammy, Mammy!’

‘There’s no point in calling her,’ Pierre said, reverting to the irritated tone he normally used with the boy. ‘She can’t hear you. She’s dead. She’s gone, and we’ll never see her again.’

Alain screamed in grief. Pierre’s deception was so effective that he almost regretted it.

A minute later Odette came rushing in with her fish basket. ‘What is it, what is it, Alain?’ she cried.