Excerpt: The Poignard

William Cecil, Lord Burghley is having a very busy day. He has to wait to see Queen Elizabeth and get this mission signed off. The sooner they can get approval, the sooner the recon team can get out to France and start investigating the plot.
“You wished to speak to her Majesty?” her servant says.

“Yes, if you please. Tell her it’s urgent.”
Elizabeth is sat at her desk, quill dangling precariously from her inkbottle. She looks up at the approach of her trusted minister.
“Spirit, I didn’t expect to see you until next week. What can I help you with?”
Since they are alone, he takes the first opportunity to take a seat. The use of their private affectionate nickname bodes well.
“It must be serious if you were prepared to interrupt your holiday, Lord Cecil. Have I ever told you that you work too hard?”
“Constantly, your Majesty. But traitors do not rest because we do.”
“I understand you’ve just neutralised a plot against my life. I was just reading your report.” She indicates the pile of papers on her desk.
“Lord Colbert and his team dealt with it admirably.”
“So it seems-” she says. Lord Burghley looks down at the file and sees red ink underlines all over the document. She’s been hard at work again. “Tell me, Lord Burghley if Lord Colbert and his team have stopped the threat as you claim, why are you requesting funding and permission for a mission to the French court? A very expensive mission , may I add?”
Lord Burghley is about to launch into his well-rehearsed spiel when she interrupts. “-It’s funny I got the same request from Sir Francis. It seems your reconnaissance men are quite in demand.”
“Of course , Your Majesty. They are the best at what they do, which is devoting themselves to keeping you safe. Right now we are convinced that the source of the threat is from France-”
“They are Sir Francis’s men, aren’t they?” she remarks. Burghley recognises the steel behind her voice.
“They are, your Majesty.”
“Many monarchs would not look kindly on a minister taking in upon himself to collect a group of men, training them for his own ends-” she muses.
“Completely loyal to you, Ma’am, I assure you. Sir Francis wishes to convince you of the benefits of this secret force. Ready and willing to act in the most dangerous situations.” He can’t quite believe it. Everyone else in the council would probably laugh themselves sick for weeks. The day that he, William Cecil spent his time defending Lord Walsingham and Lord Ferrando.
“They did serve me well in the Netherlands.” she notes, finger travelling down the file. “Lord Hasser was commended for bravery at Breda, I see. Took down that dam and stopped the Spanish advance.”
“He’s young but worthy. A man of some promise, my lady.”
“And of course, Lord Colbert-” she muses. “Quite the military prodigy I see. Several years in my service.”
“He is extremely loyal to your majesty. The council believe he has great promise. In a couple of years, with your approval and God willing perhaps we could introduce him to the council.”
“The Council? At his age? He’s still quite a young man. You think he’s that good? Why Spirit, you must think a lot of this man.” She says with a playful smile. Lord Burghley looks at his mistress with relief. Perhaps for all her posturing and playing hardball, she isn’t so averse to the idea.
“I do. I trust people very rarely, but he has never let me down. Never.”
“I really do hope your trust in him is justified.” She hands over a scroll, and Lord Burghley has to hide a flash of elation. Despite her ball-busting she signed the order, they can start the mission straightaway.
“Just try and remind Sir Francis to keep the costs down, will you? My coffers are not inexhaustable.”

“Bradley ?”
Brad’s day is completely going to shit. It’s bad enough he had to deal with Tom and his thoughtlessness, but Letty as well? With Ray hanging round, practically quivering at the prospect of conflict, this is not what he needs, at all.
“Do you not know me?’ she says with a flirtatious air. ‘It’s Letty Glenister.”
“My lady Laetitia-” Brad says, with a bow. There’s no need for him not to be polite. Even though she tore out his heart and stomped it into the ground the day she told him she was leaving him for Tom.
“So formal? What are you doing at Court anyway? I thought you hated Court with a passion.”
“As I said to Tom, Business.”
“You saw Tom?” She says, a tell-tale flush of embarrassment creeping up her neck. He remembered of old how she would blush in embarrassment if caught out in a lie.
“Yes. He’s writing some poetry for you. You should be prepared.”
She looks inordinately pleased with herself.
Brad knows he shouldn’t allow himself to get sucked in by her wiles, but he can’t help it. ‘Tell me honestly, Letty. Is that what you really want in a man? Poetry and fine words?’
She cocks her head to one side. ‘It was sweet between us, but honestly did you think we could ever make a union of it?’
“Yes, that’s why I asked you to marry me, Letty. Why I courted you since the age of seventeen-”
“Oh , Bradley-” she sighs. She almost sounds sorry for him. Not quite. “I have to be at court. I have to advance myself and my family. I could have never done that as your wife. You weren’t prepared to play the courtly game, like Tom is.”
“I’m so sorry I disappointed you.” Brad remarks, but the irony’s lost on her, as he knew it would be.
“Tom is a gentleman, born and bred for centuries. I know we’ve been friends for ever, and a long time ago I cared for you, Brad-”. For a moment she looks almost wistful.
“-But in truth, no one knows who your true family is. You were adopted by the Colbert’s as a babe. You are a foundling. You could be anybody.”
Brad looks at her as if he never knew her. As if she’s just revealed herself for the shallow social climbing flirt that she is. She was never like this when we were young, and I fell in love with her. This place has changed her, corrupted her beyond redemption.
“I’m sorry you see fit to reproach me for my birth, since I cannot do anything to change it.” He says with dignity.
Letty’s face falls, the barb striking home. “Brad, don’t be like that, I didn’t mean-”
“Forget it, Letty. I’m going on a mission very soon. I don’t need this right now.”
“You’re not angry with me, are you, Brad?”
“I never said I was.” He says shortly, shaking off her hand on his arm.
“It’s just that Tom wanted me to ask you; Would you mind being our best man when we marry in October?”. She looks up at him, making her eyes big and appealing.
“Your best man?”
“It’s just that everyone knows that you are his best friend and mine from childhood. It’d look strange if you weren’t involved in some way.” She says hurriedly, a furious flush on her cheeks. “Won’t you consider it, Brad? For me?”
Brad always knew Letty was a bit thoughtless, but he cannot believe the bare-faced cheek she has asking such a thing of him. Has she completely forgotten they were courting for years before she discarded him for Tom? He thought she understood. He was a soldier. It was his duty to work in the service of the crown. A long time ago, when he first started he thought he had been doing it for them, to secure their future but now he knew that wasn’t true. He loved his work. He was damned good at it. And he would apologise to no one for it.
“I don’t know if I’ll be here.” He says evenly. “Lord Burghley expects the team and I to move out to France in a couple of days. I have no idea when I’ll be back.”
“You’re not angry with us? Tom’s worried that he might have lost your friendship.”
Brad thanks God that Ray isn’t here to hear her say that. He dreads to think what his response would be.
“I hope you and Tom will be very happy together.” He says as sincerely as he can. “Now if you’ll excuse me, Mistress Glenister."

-0-

Instructions From Home

Walsingham closes the door and indicates for Walt to sit.
“Sir Walt, we must talk. Confidentially, of course.” He sees a momentary flinch, but Walt is good at his job and doesn’t give things away easily, like a good recon operative should.
“Sir?”
“You really have a made an impression at court here. Come to the notice of quite a few important people. You’ve done very well, Sir Walt. Well done.”
“Important people?” Walt pricks up his ears.
“The king, his redoubtable mother and Princess Margot all seem to adore you.”
Right now, Walt doesn’t know whether this is a good or bad thing.
“I think you should encourage this flirtation, this thing you have with Margot. It would be good for the team, for the moment. The perfect way in .”
Walt hadn’t expected this from his boss, not at all. “Sir Francis?”
“She seems to like you very much.” He muses. “There’s great chemistry there. “What I find intriguing is that you engaged her emotions as well as her body. I say you capitalise on this, and encourage her attentions. That night where you danced the Volta together. Sheer physical dynamite. It was good between you, wasn’t it? That night in the tavern? You swived her most thoroughly?”
Walt blushes.
“Lord Hasser?” Walsingham prompts.
“Yes, it was good.” he mutters, utterly mortified.
“Considering her youth, she’s quite experienced in the bedroom by all accounts. I don’t want her to get bored after a couple of weeks of sleeping with you. I suggest that you study these, cover to cover-“. He hands Walt a couple of leather bound books, and as he leafs through one, the flush deepens on his face.
“Sir!”
“Is there a problem , Sir Walt?” Sir Francis enquires.
“Aretino , Sir? Really?”
“I don’t want her to get bored.” He insists.
“Are you going to be testing me, my Lord Walsingham?”
For a moment, Walt believes Sir Francis is actually considering it.“I don’t doubt your own amorous skills, but it’s vitally important she doesn’t get bored and drift back to de Guise, at least until the wedding. We’ve got to break his hold over her, and you are the key.”
“But, sir-“
“At least until the wedding takes place. Divert her away from de Guise. Queen Catherine thinks it’s a marvellous idea and so does the King.” He cracks a grim smile. “In fact, it was they who suggested this plot to me.”
Walt definitely doesn’t like the sound of this. Catherine de Medici gives him the creeps. Those dark hooded eyes staring at a man, as if trying to probe his secrets.
Walsingham frowns at him. “I sense a certain amount of reluctance on your part, Sir Walt.”
“I don’t like the idea of it, to be honest, Sir.”
“I want you to put aside your personal inclinations, and I want you to take one for the team, Lord Hasser. Do you understand me?”
Meeting his eyes, Walt knows this is a battle he cannot win. Sir Francis Walsingham is a ruthless man. He is perfectly capable of sacrificing anyone, even a member of his team for ’the greater good’.
-0-
When Brad and Walt drop by Nate is with the tailor, so they prepare to wait. Margot is reclined on the bed, watching proceedings with a keen eye.
‘Sorry, we had no idea you were busy . We’ll wait in one of the other rooms, Nate.’ Walt says hastily.
‘We won’t be long, I assure you.’ Margot remarks casually from the bed. Brad rankles at the nonchalant air of dismissal in her voice.
‘My Lady-‘ They both greet her.

‘Where are you going?’ asks Walt. ‘I thought we were waiting for Nate to be done in there.’
Brad looks determined. ‘I’m going to see exactly what is going on. I want some answers. Coming?’

Brad and Walt peek through the door which is slightly ajar.
Nate is having a doublet fitted on him. As the tailor works on him perfecting the fit of the garment, Margot observes proceedings and makes comments.
‘I love the fit of that across his shoulders. That’s perfect. Accentuates the breadth of them without looking too exaggerated.’ she says decisively, taking up the tailor’s rule.
‘A woman who knows what she wants-‘ mutters Walt. He remembers how she touched his body the night they first slept with each other. The way she praised the athleticism of his body, describing him as a present just for her. There’s sheer desire in her voice as she touches Nate’s body.
‘Make sure you keep the waist fitted and slender here-‘ she says, tracing the tailor’s rule along the line of his body.
‘You don’t want the peascod design, My lady? ‘Tis the very latest thing-‘
She makes a face. ‘No, I want to see the long slender line of his body, the line of his chest.’ Her hand wanders down his chest, tracing a slow lascivious path downwards. ‘The slope of the small of his back…the endless length of his legs in the hose-’
Walt doesn’t know whether he really should be watching this. It seems like some strange kind of foreplay. Nate seems as turned on as she is, his face flushed, the tremble of his limbs, the unconscious bite of his full lip as she touches him in front of the tailor. Heaven knows what Brad thinks of all this. He sneaks a look at his team leader. His face is as stony and as passive as he expected it to be.
Does she know that he and Brad are watching from the door? There’s something almost possessive in her delineation of Nate’s features. An unspoken declaration that he is mine. It reminds Walt all too clearly of Anjou’s gesture that night when he played the lute.
‘Anything to please, my lady-‘ the tailor says.
-0-
Catherine is still sitting at her desk scribbling her cryptic notes when there is a knock on the door.
‘Enter!’ she calls out, knowing that the only people who would dare to come to see her without an appointment during working hours are Maddalena or one of her children.
Margot stands in the doorway, a defiant tilt to her chin, the gleam of battle in her dark blue eyes.
‘Mother, we need to talk-‘
‘Not now, Margot. I’m busy.’
The stubborn girl refuses to be fobbed off. ‘When? This is important.’
She looks up, unwelcoming and impatient. ‘Do we have to do this now? Why don’t you run along and amuse yourself? Go and find your friends.’
‘I’m to be married in a matter of weeks, Mother.’
She relents. ‘Come in and shut the door if you’re so insistent.’
Margot sits in the chair opposite, poised for battle, back straight like a queen.
‘What is so important that you had to interrupt me?’ her mother says.
“I beg you and my brother to reconsider offering me to Henri de Navarre in marriage.”
‘It is your brother’s will and mine that you marry him. You would not disobey your brother, would you Margot?’
‘It is not he who will have to marry Henri de Navarre.’ She says defiantly.
‘Margot-‘
She’s too angry to heed the warning in her mother’s cold voice. ‘Why can you not listen to what I say? Why must you run roughshod over my feelings? My objections? Henri de Guise is a honourable man, of good enough family. Why can I not marry him? It’s not as if I’m throwing myself away on a penniless man. I am not dishonouring my position. Claude married a de Guise- ’
‘He’s not good enough for Charles-‘ Catherine says rather crushingly.
‘He’s Prince de Joinville, for Christ’s sake! How is that not good enough?’
‘Don’t you dare raise your voice at me, young lady!’
‘I raise my voice, because you’re not listening! You never listen!’ Her voice cracks with sheer frustration.
“Since the king wants you to marry Henri de Navarre, for the sake of peace, you will do your duty and do as we command.”
“I am a woman too! Does that mean you can use me as a pawn in your games? I’m your daughter. Do you not care about letting me have some happiness in my life?”
“You are a Princess of the blood, a Valois. It is your duty to marry where your king sees fit. Now I don’t want to hear any more about it. You will marry Henri de Navarre without complaint. After all, what are you now? Nineteen years old? Not getting any younger, are you dear daughter? You should count yourself fortunate your brother cares enough about you to arrange a marriage of some prestige. The time was, when we feared that if anyone knew the truth about you, you’d never be married.” Her voice lowers to a bitchy drawl. “-No man would have you. Not even your darling Nate. Princess or not. You’re tainted goods.”
Margot’s face is drained unhealthily pale.
“You promised that you’d never speak of it.” She whispers, cut to the quick.
“Truth hurts, does it?”
“How can you say such things? To me, your daughter? You delight to hurt me again and again. You are an unnatural woman, a heartless mother. You love no one but your Anjou. Well I am your child too! Do I not deserve your love?”
Catherine twists the knife, delighted to expose Margot’s weakness.
“What have you ever done to deserve my love? All you have ever done is be a trouble to me.”
-0-

‘Do you think the family planned the entire thing?’
‘Who?’
‘Margot and de Guise marrying after the disaster of the Navarre wedding. And once de Guise is in a position of power, he is free to strike at our Queen and help his kinswoman Mary Stuart to the throne. A marvellous coup, considering we thought his family were on the wane.’
‘What did Henri tell you? I know he said something to you which you found useful.’
‘We were discussing Henri’s unfortunate fling with Charlotte de Sauve.’
‘What did you say to him? I can’t imagine he listened to you. That woman has got her claws well and truly stuck into that boy. Thank God you were at least warned about the Esquadron Volant. Ray’s infatuation with Henriette de Nevers did yield some useful fruit.’
‘He let slip that Pope Gregory has not issued a dispensation for the marriage.’
‘If he hasn’t by now, he is unlikely to. And Catherine and the king are lying about it to force the wedding through.’ Sir Francis sighs. ‘No wonder Sir Henry Norreys left, unable to take any more of their duplicity. How can you deal in good faith with these people, when they are determined to deceive every step of the way?’
‘Where does that leave us?’ Brad asks. He’s not sure that he wants to know.
‘Stuck in the middle of two warring factions, trying to negotiate peace so we can smooth the way for an alliance between Alençon and Elizabeth.’
Brad is appalled by the prospect of Alençon marrying his queen. Elizabeth entering into any sort of marriage agreement with the spoilt young prince. In fact the thought of Elizabeth anywhere near the Valois family, who are as dysfunctional a royal bunch as he’s ever had the dubious pleasure to meet. Charles was pleasant enough that day at the hunt but he has obvious emotional and psychological problems. Anjou and Alençon are possibly two of the most unpleasant specimens he’s come across in a long time, and as for Margot, volatile, charming, manipulative Margot…
‘Sir Francis!’
‘You sound horrified, Brad.’
‘May I speak candidly, Sir? Between ourselves?’
‘Of course you can, you know I value your judgement.’
‘Her Majesty cannot be seriously considering marriage with him?’
‘It’s politically expedient for the alliance to go ahead. As to whether Elizabeth actually goes through with it, well, that’s a different matter.’
‘The people will never accept a man like that as their king. A Catholic! His personality is entirely wrong for a prospective husband for Elizabeth. Not to mention a potential king of England.’
‘It could have been a lot worse-‘ Sir Francis says with a grim little smile. ‘Originally, Catherine wanted the alliance to be between Elizabeth and Anjou. It took quite a bit of tricky negotiation to persuade Catherine otherwise. Added to the fact that he protested he would not marry a ‘putain publique’ as he dared call her among other insulting things. ’
He looks at Brad’s disgusted face. ‘I do believe I have you lost for words. That’s not something that happens every day.’
‘I don’t see why she needs a husband. She’s ruled alone for several years and done a sterling job with the guidance of Lord Burleigh and yourself.’
‘It’s not been an easy job. It’s a testament to her strength as a monarch that England hasn’t been plunged into civil war or worse. But it could all fall to pieces if she doesn’t bear a legitimate heir to shore up the throne. Mary Stuart waits for her chance at the throne and she is not averse to using underhand methods to gain it. It would suit the De Guise family very well to have three kingdoms under their grasp: Scotland, France, and England. Did you know that they also have a claim to the French throne as well?’
‘No. You think that’s the ploy instead.’ Brad is writing notes, furiously, making links, sketching out theories.
‘De Guise is the people’s hero. Do you know what the populace call him informally? The ’King of Paris’. Catherine hates and fears De Guise. He is a credible rival for the throne.’
‘The thought that her daughter Margot wanted to marry him, well, it caused quite an uproar within the family. Now do you see why Catherine was so keen to distract Margot by allowing her fling with Walt?’
‘It seems that girl is nothing but trouble. Maybe it’s just as well she is being married off to Henri.’
‘Brad, are you sure you not saying this because you don’t like her?’ Sir Francis asks.
‘I didn’t say I didn’t like her. I don’t trust her, or Henriette. It’s not the same thing.’
‘There’s only one way to find out whether they have that kind of relationship. Get Nate to find out. I’ll include it under the remit of the investigation.’
Brad knows for a fact this is a bad idea too far. Nate will never betray Margot if she is an accomplice to the poison plot, not even for them. He doesn’t even want to admit it, but the knowledge is there. Nate cares for her. As much as he protests that he knows his role, in a straight conflict between their interests and hers, he knows Nate will choose Margot every time.
‘Sir Francis, you know he won’t do it.’
‘What do you mean he won’t do it?’
‘Nate is devoted to her. He will not betray her even if she is guilty. He can’t-‘
‘Why not?’
‘Because he’s in love with her. She’s probably got her claws into him as well, knowing her.’ He doesn’t care if he sounds jealous.
‘Brad, if I didn’t know better, I would say you sound rather jealous.’
Brad cannot believe Sir Francis can be so calm about this. ‘I’ve just told you our agent has an important conflict of interests and you don’t even seem to care? Or did you know about this already?’
‘Of course I did. Nate is acting very successfully under orders.’
It takes a lot to shock Brad, but he is actually surprised for the first time in a while.
‘You know that they are lovers? That they have probably been sleeping with each other for a while. And you’re happy with that? Did you instruct him to seduce her?’
‘No. But I cannot deny, it’s worked out very well for us. She trusts him completely and her protection is priceless. Nate knows this. You know his instincts are spot on with this. I barely have to instruct him. He is the best agent I’ve ever worked with, hands down.’
‘How can he bear to sell himself?’ Brad asks himself, appalled.

Excerpts from 'Sun and Moon'

Sun and Moon

A Generation Kill/ La Reine Margot fanfiction

Seraph7

Being a tale of Nathaniel’s Fick’s adventures at the court of the Valois. A prequel to ‘The Poignard’

SUN AND MOON

Fontainebleu, 1554
Looking back one of Nate Fick’s first memories is his lovely sunny mother, Jenny dressing him for Court. Her hands shake as they do up his stiff heavy robes, fastening his cap over the red gold of his curls.
“Maman?”
She kisses his cheek. Nate can sense she is uneasy, her thoughts troubled, even though she tries to hide it for his sake.
“Jenny, you look worried.” Aunt Sorcha says from her window seat. She’s reading some dusty tome in the sunlight, even though Seamus has nagged her a thousand times over not to strain her eyesight.
“I know I’m being silly, but I can’t help it. I just want everything to go well today. It’s been a long time-“ her voice trails off.
“You fret too much. You and the little man should just be yourselves.”
Jenny straightens her dress, with one last look in the mirror. “I never thought I’d come back here to France, back to Court. It seems almost a world away. We’ve been so happy down at Ballykirlan-”
“Don’t let’s think of that now, achusla-“ there’s an edge to Aunt Sorcha’s voice. “-not when Seamus is coming to collect us. It’s time that good things happen. A brand new start in a new country. For all of us.”

His father rides up on his horse, and greets them all affectionately. It’s obvious to see that he loves his little family and will do anything for them.
Nate toddles into his arms as he sees the tall spare figure of Seamus Fick, arms held wide to greet his dear son. He cuddles the little lad as if he never wants to let him go.
“Nathaniel. My gift from God-“ he says softly.
He addresses the grooms, who have nearly finished preparing the carriage.
“I will accompany you all by horse to Fontainebleu.”
Jenny and Sorcha get into the carriage. Jenny holds Nate on her lap. He’s got his toy lute with him, which he rarely goes anywhere without.
Sorcha looks at her young nephew. Poor little innocent. He has absolutely no idea of what’s ahead of him. He’s just a child! Equally as certain, she knows what they are doing is completely necessary. The family have to make their fortune at the French court , and this boy with his musical gifts and angelic face is the key. If Catherine and François see him , and don’t like him; If he can’t perform-
Well, says Sorcha sternly to herself. There’s no sense in thinking like that. The boy is talented, prodigiously so. His sweet little face would melt the hardest heart. I have to think positively.

The carriage pulls into the long drive at the palace.
“Who’s this?” the major-domo asks with an imperious look down his nose.
“Monsieur Fick , his wife Genévieve de Tournelles, his sister Sorcha and their young son Nathaniel. We have an appointment to see his and her Majesties.”
“Very well, you’d best come with me. The royal family are in the garden.” He says.
The party follow the Major-Domo out to the garden.
Jenny clasps Seamus’s hand for reassurance. “We’ll be fine.” she mouths to him as the approach the Queen. “Have faith-”

The Queen sits in state, her maid in attendance. Their needlework lies neglected on their laps and by the sudden silence as the major-domo announces the family , they were conversing quite intently in Italian.
“Genévieve de Tournelles....It has been a long time.” She remarks. “I take it you have reunited with your family?”
Jenny sinks into a deep respectful curtsey. “Yes, your Grace. I have recently returned from my husband’s native land. I wished to pay my respects to you.”
“Come here, you silly girl.” Catherine says lightly. “Who’s this?”
Jenny presents Seamus to the Queen. She scrutinises him, no doubt working out how exactly he would fit in her plans. “This is my husband, your majesty. Lord Seamus Fick, Baron of Ballykirlan.”
Catherine raises her hand for him to kiss.
“Anything I can do for your Majesty.” He says sincerely.
“-And who’s the little man you have with you, Genévieve?”
Jenny’s smile is full of pride. “This is my son, Nathaniel.” She takes his hand and leads him forward.
Nate looks up at the forbidding dark woman, her fine white hands covered in jewels that flash in the morning sun. There’s something about her that scares him. That strange voice, those dark eyes staring at him as if she were a wolf and would devour him as soon as his mother’s back was turned. He clutches on to his mother’s hand for reassurance.
“How old is he?” Catherine asks.
Jenny gives Nate a reassuring pat on the head. She senses he’s scared of the Queen. “He’s going to be four in October. We’ll have him breeched next year, Madame and perhaps he can go into service.”
Catherine is still staring at the boy with such intensity, it’s starting to awake Jenny’s misgivings.
“He’s of an age as my own children. The same age as Charles-Maximillien I believe.” She muses. “Yes, that may work. Genevieve, I believe we will have much to discuss.”
Seamus and Jenny look unsurely at each other. At least that sounds hopeful, she hasn’t dismissed them out of hand.
“He doesn’t go anywhere without his lute, Your Grace. He’s quite the little musician, even at his age.” Seamus prompts. “It seems that Nate has inherited his mother’s gifts.”
“But he’s so young, barely out of his skirts.” Says Madalena, a mocking gleam in her dark eyes. Jenny takes an instant dislike to the insolent Italian maid. Catherine seems to afford her every liberty to denigrate and mock others. “Isn’t that just a toy?”
“Nate, darling do you want to play a tune for the Queen? I’ll sing with you, my darling.”
Nate’s little face lights up; He loves nothing better than to play and sing with his Maman. Music comes to the boy as natural as breathing.
“Yes, Maman.”
Jenny swiftly tunes his lute for him. Sorcha worries that the gamble won’t pay off, that Catherine won’t like him. Her fears are mitigated when Nate and Jenny open their mouths to sing.
-0-
St Germain, 1560

‘Go and get Paré. Francis is terribly sick. He needs the doctor right now.’ Mary says . Her face is pale with worry as she tends to the young king.
Francis is groaning in pain, clutching his ear. He can barely talk from the agony.

There ‘s a knock on the door of Catherine’s office.
‘Who is it?’ she calls.
‘Maman, it’s Henri. ‘
She hurries to open the door to her young son, always pleased to hear from her favourite. Though she knows it’s wrong to have favourites between her children she has always loved this one, Henri more than any of the others.
‘My dear boy, what are you doing up so late at night?’
Anjou bows to his mother. ‘Francis is hurt badly. He clutches his ear and cries he is dying. Mary wanted me to go and fetch Paré at once.’
She gives her young son an appraising glance. ‘But you did not? You came straight to me?’
He draws himself up proudly. ‘Of course Maman. Just as you asked me to, remember?’
She ruffles his dark hair. ‘I did. Good boy. You always do exactly as Mother tells you.’
‘What about Marie-Dauphin, and Paré?’ asks Anjou. ‘Marie-Dauphin told me to get the doctor straight away.’
‘I will deal with Paré, never fear.’ Catherine says, with a grim little smile.

Mary is waiting by the door for the doctor, her nerves shredded to rags with worry for her young husband. Her mother, the formidable Marie de Guise waits outside , pacing up and down. There is a lot more at stake, especially for the Guise clan tonight. Francis must live.
‘Is he coming?’ frets Mary. ‘It’s so unlike him to be late. Paré is always so dutiful and professional. Where could he be?’
‘Did the message get passed on? Who did you send?’
Mary wrung her hands. ‘I sent one of the children. They wouldn’t have delayed upon the way. I impressed on them the importance of their errand-‘
‘Who did you send?’ asked Marie urgently.
Mary looks at her with huge eyes full of dread. ‘I sent Anjou. What’s the matter-‘
Marie cannot suppress a groan. ‘You sent him? That boy?’
‘He was the only child around at the time. I didn’t have time to wait for anyone else. I was worried about Francis-’
Marie de Guise wrings her hands. ‘All may not be lost. Even a child would understand that this isn’t a game.’
Not this child. There’s something unpleasant and scheming about that child as young as he is. That boy is Catherine’s pupil in all things. It’s very likely that he went straight to her, despite the fact that his brother’s life depended on swift action. It gives Marie the creeps.
As she goes to leave , her path is blocked by Catherine. ‘Madame de Guise.’ She says politely, a strange gleam in her eye.
Marie doesn’t trust the woman as far as she could throw her into the Tiber, but she has no choice right now.
‘Thank the lord you’re here, your Majesty.’ she says, sinking into a curtsey. ‘Francis is getting worse. Mary sent for the doctor, but he’s not here yet.’
‘Let me see my son-‘
‘Of course.’
Catherine sweeps into the room, accompanied by her Italian maid, Maddalena.
Francis looks pale and grey as he lies on the bed clutching at his head. He groans at the approach of the new visitors.
‘The infection is worse, Madame. I’m so worried about him. Where on earth is Paré?’
‘We are still searching for him.’ Catherine says evenly. Marie knows then that the Queen Mother is lying through her teeth.
“He must come quickly. The king’s life depends on swift action. There’s only so much that we can do.”
Marie de Guise has her suspicions about the illness, though she dare not voice them out loud. It would be positively dangerous to do so. She suspects that Monsieur René, the Florentine is at the heart of this illness. There’s something unnatural about the onset of it. The way that it’s spreading through the poor young king. All their efforts to alleviate his pain seems to come to nothing.
Would someone be so wicked to have poisoned the boy? She would put nothing past these duplicitous Valois, and Catherine is the worst of them all.
-0-
Nate knocks on the door of Catherine’s office. For the first time in a while, he is actually afraid of what might happen. Catherine has probably thought over the events of last week, influenced by Anjou and his lies. She will sling him out on his ear, and where will he go then?
The thought of telling Godfather and Sir Francis that he failed in his mission doesn’t even bear thinking about. Nate has no illusions about either of them, as avuncular as Sir Francis appears to the outside world. Sir Francis is a ruthless man. There’s no way that he will allow Nate to live once he has outlived his usefulness. He knows far too much now to be allowed to live a peaceful life.
“Is that you, Nathaniel? Come in-”. Her voice comes from the depths of the office.
Maddalena opens the door, but Nate is rooted to the spot.
“Go on then. My lady doesn’t have time to waste.” Her grin broadens unpleasantly. “Don’t tell me you’re trembling, are you? Nathaniel the virtuous?”
Her mockery gives Nate to strength to defy her. ‘No. What have I got to be afraid of?’ He walks straight past her into the room.
“Shut the door behind us , Maddalena. I do not want to be disturbed by anyone right now.” Catherine remarks casually as the maid announces his arrival.
“Sit down, Nathaniel dear.” She says. “Please, there’s no need to stare at me with those big green eyes like I was an ogre ready to eat you-”
Nate says nothing, waiting for her to make the first move.
“I had a think about the disturbing things that you told me about what happened last week.”
“I will deal with Anjou. You should have no fear of that.” Nate knows she indulges the spoilt prince most disgracefully. There’s no way he’s going to be brought to any kind of justice.
“I understand that Anjou destroyed some of your property during the attack. Your room was wrecked and your instruments were destroyed.”
“Yes, your Majesty.” He replies, not sure of where she is going with this.
“As a token of his remorse and my unhappiness at what happened, I would be pleased if you would accept these as an apology-”. She indicates with a well-shaped hand a pile of items behind her. She picks up the first item , handing it to him.
Nate can’t quite believe his eyes. Catherine has just handed him a new lute, far better than his familiar instrument. He traces the mother of pearl inlays, beautifully set into an intricate pattern. He can’t resist plucking the strings, hearing the clear lovely resonance of a superior instrument.
“I thought you would appreciate a new instrument. I’m no expert, but I’m told that this lute has a wonderful tone and keeps it’s tuning far better than most instruments on the market. A musical talent like yours should have a quality instrument to reflect it, don’t you think?”
“That’s not all… come, Nate. Have a look. This is a new harpsichord to replace the one that Anjou smashed in his fury. Isn’t it elegant? I even asked them to decorate it with a sun and moon motif. I know how fond you and Margot are of the emblem-”. She gives him a sly look from under her lashes. “Try it out , Nate.”
“What do you want in return?” he asks evenly. He knows that Catherine must have some ulterior motive attached. What other reason would she have for lavishing him with presents?
“I’m hurt that you don’t seem to trust me, Nathaniel? Haven’t I always treated you like one of my own? I promised your father and your aunt that I would regard you as one of my own. That you would be the envy of every lad in France.”
Nate wonder whether she really does believe that , or is she so mired in her own hypocrisy she can’t see how laughable her own words are.
“Perhaps you will change your mind if I reveal my final gift to you, dear boy. I have found the money and worked all my Italian contacts to get you a scholarship.”
“A scholarship?”
“Yes! I have contacted some of the greatest teachers in Italy to agree to teach you for a couple of years. Lord knows I should have done it sooner, but Margot was so fond of you, I didn’t want to upset her.” Catherine says brightly. “You will be leaving in a week, so I’d better let you go, so you can start to pack. Isn’t it exciting, Nathaniel?” her smiles spreads unpleasantly.

Margot waits for him outside. She’s still pale and shaken but she tries to reassure him by giving him a smile.
“What did she say, Nate?” she asks, trying to keep the anxiety out of her voice.
“Come into the garden.” He says. He has no idea of how he’s going to tell her of Catherine’s decision. The thought that he’s going to have to leave his mistress is still difficult for him to grasp.
Her dark blue eyes look at him fearfully. Nate sees the pallor in her face and hopes she isn’t about to faint. She clings on to him. “It’s bad, isn’t it? She’s going to dismiss you because of what happened-“
They go out in the garden where at least they can get some privacy. Gillone and Henriette follow but they realise something is up and keep their distance.
“However bad it is , please tell me.” Margot pleads.
There’s no easy way to say this, not to her. “Margot, I have to leave. I’m sorry-”
She reels, as if struck to the heart. Nate catches hold of her, convinced that she’s going to faint. “Daisy, please don’t cry.” He strokes her face, trying to calm her.
“I knew she would do this. She knows I need you. Why do you have to go?”
“Catherine has given me a scholarship to Italy. To shut me up, so I will never say a word about it. She wants me to leave in a week.”
“A week? Why is she so keen to get rid of you? What have you done? All you did was try and defend me.”
“You should see the bounty that she has bestowed on me for my silence.”
“The bounty? I knew it! She’s going to shush it up. To cover her darling Anjou’s crimes. Because God forbid, he should ever be held to account for what he does!” she says bitterly.
“How long is she sending you for?”
“I don’t know.” he says honestly. So far she seems to taking this calmly despite her tears. No hysterics yet.
“Please don’t leave me, Nate. I can’t bear it. I need you.”
He strokes the dark silk of her hair, trying to soothe her.
“I’ll beg her to change her mind. You haven’t done anything wrong. How can she seperate us now, after what has happened?”
“My lady, I don’t have a choice. I am a servant, and must do your mother’s bidding. Since it pleases her to send me away, I cannot stay.”