The Huguenot: 1572 - 1588

By Garvin Fitzroy Pollock

A story of love and adventure set in the turbulent reign of Elizabeth the First. The Comte Gerrard de Gault, a Huguenot, is sent to warn his fellow Protestants to leave France, before the Catholics burn them at the stake. The Spanish Inquisition imprisons him; where he swears an oath to avenge all those deaths before escaping to become the Secretary of the Commander-in-chief of the Spanish Armada; helps Sir Francis Drake capture the Treasure Ship at the sack of Cadiz; assist in the execution of Mary Queen of Scots; is responsible for the defeat of the Armada.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse UK
• Release date: Jul 24, 2013
• ISBN: 9781481799850

Garvin Fitzroy Pollock

Garvin Fitroy Pollock. Born 1927 Grandson of the late Col. Arthur Fitzroy Gault Educated at Wycliffe College. Suffered from Dyslexia. R.A.F. 1945-1948 Far & Middle East. Managing Director, Engineering Company Hobbies: Inland & Sea Sailing, Bowls, Astronomy, Flying (P.P.L) Artist. Musician. Author.Raconteur.

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© 2003, 2013 by GARVIN FITZROY POLLOCK. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 06/21/2013

ISBN: 978-1-4817-9983-6 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4817-9984-3 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4817-9985-0 (e)

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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Contents

Chapter 1       The Plot

Chapter 2       The Massacre

Chapter 3       The Rape

Chapter 4       The Cage

Chapter 5       The Jail

Chapter 6       The Escape

Chapter 7       The Plan

Chapter 8       Cutting—Out

Chapter 9       Cadiz

Chapter 10       Devastation

Chapter 11       England

Chapter 12       The Ball

Chapter 13       No. 1 London Bridge

Chapter 14       Hung Drawn & Quartered

Chapter 15       The Execution

Chapter 16       The Reunion

Chapter 17       The Bowls Match

Chapter 18       The Courtship

Chapter 19       The Wedding

Chapter 20       Duke de Medina

Chapter 21       The Duel

Chapter 22       The Armada

Chapter 23       The Homecoming

My family, the Gaults who were originally French Huguenots, (protestants) escaped to England from France on the night of the Saint Bartholomew’s Massacre in Paris in 1572, when the Catholic’s rose up and butchered 20,000 French Huguenots. They moved onto Canada in the 1700’s, where they helped to open up the West. One founded Canada Life Insurance Co. another became Bishop of Montreal; and another was a Cabinet Minister in the first Canadian Parliament and it is no exaggeration to say, Colonel Hamilton Gault my uncle was a legend in his own lifetime. At his own expense in 1914 he raised 2000 men for the Princess Patricia’s Light Infantry, which later became part of the Canada’s permanent army. They say in Canada There are the rich, there are the poor and there are the Gaults Gerard de Gault in this novel is fictitious, but I have at all times tried to set the story amongst the people and events, that actually happened in the XV1 Century

Coinage in 1580`s, Equivalent buying power £1=£110

Gold Crown £25 Half Crown £12.50 Shilling £5.

Six pence £2.50.

Doubloon £50 Ducat £12.50 Piece-of-eight £5

Price of goods in a Gentleman’s household in 1580`s

New Doublet. £2.17s. Purse 8d Shoes 1s 9d Saddle12s Pistols 2s Hen 3d 12 eggs 1s Bordeaux Wine 6d per gal Sugar 11d/lb Salt £2/lb Pepper 2s 10d /lb Butter 3d/lb Soap 3d/lb Candle 3d Broom 3d Frying Pan 1s Kettle 6s Knife. 1s Horse £7.11.6d

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Chapter 1

The Plot

On a late summer’s evening in August 1572 the Dowager Queen of France, Catherine de Medici, stood by a window in her Palace at Fontainebleau. She watched the summer lightning playing off the waters of the lake, and listened to the low growl of thunder reverberating around the surrounding hills. A tall imposing woman with snow-white hair, pulled back from her dark aquiline features, she wondered if this could be a portent of the future. Having just finished one war, were these omens of more to come? Letting out a sigh, she returned to her throne-like chair at the head of a long table on which were placed four solid silver candelabras. She was waiting for her son Charles, the King, his younger brother, the Duke of Anjou, and the other members of her Privy Council. She had called this special meeting to discuss with them the problems they were having with the Huguenots, and in particular Admiral Coligny, their leader. She had always loved this room. Its oak beamed ceiling was blackened with the soot from the many fires, which had burnt on its great stone hearth over the centuries. The Royal Coat of Arms of France was carved above. On either side were hung the portraits of the Kings and Queens in their golden frames, each catching the flickering light from the burning torches in the wall brackets between them. Draped above the portraits were the battle flags alongside the heraldic shields of the great families of France. At the opposite end of the room were four casement windows, with their velvet burgundy curtains hanging from the beamed ceiling to the straw covered stone flagged floor below. She remembered embroidering each with twelve gold Fleur de lis. It was during the time her husband Henry, the King, had been busy with his mistress, Diane de Poitiers, and the sewing had helped to pass the time. She looked up at his portrait remembering the day she arrived from Italy aged fourteen, and falling in love with him at their first meeting, in this very room, nearly forty years ago. Then Henry had died from his wounds whilst jousting. How many children did she bear him in the end? There was Francis, the eldest, who was King for only a year before he also had a fatal accident in the jousting arena, when the button on the end of the Duke de Guise’s lance came off, and the point went into Francis’s eye. There was a rumor at the time that it wasn’t an accident, and that her Uncle Paul, the Pope, was behind it. She just couldn’t believe he would have had her son killed, just because he sympathized with the Huguenot cause, and was contemplating granting them some of their demands. She thought how funny that painting of Francis had a squint in that eye. It was almost as if it was a premonition. Then there was Elizabeth who married the King of Spain, Charles and two years later Anjou, followed by those two little mites, the twins, who only lived a few days. As Charles was only twelve when his brother Francis died, she had been appointed Regent, and ever since had been fighting a civil war against the Huguenots. Now she had been forced to sign a Peace Treaty with their leader, Admiral de Coligny, who had been Grand Admiral of France and a close and dear friend to all her family before all this had started.

There was a knock at the door, which brought her back to the present with a start. Come, she called. A servant entered, bowing low. His majesty says he has been detained and will be a little late your Royal Highness. The Queen nodded. Bring some more torches, half of these have gone out, and this room is as dark as a tomb and nearly as cold, adding as he was about to leave, also bring some wood, and close the curtains. The damp air from the lake is getting into my bones.

The servant drew the curtains and left the room closing the door quietly behind him. Catherine sat gazing into the dying embers. Oh to be at home in her sunny Italy where the skies are always blue she thought. A few minutes’ later two servants returned, one with fresh torches, and the other with a large basket of cut logs which he put down on the hearth and soon had the fire roaring again. The Queen went over to stand with her back to it. I think we will have the candles on the table lit as well.

There was a knock, and Charles entered with his brother Anjou close behind. Bowing, they took their seats at the table. Well, Mother, why have you called this meeting? Charles asked.

Catherine studied Charles who sat there with the candlelight striking his blond hair; she thought how like he was to his dear Father, while Anjou took after her with his black hair and dark brown eyes; both in their different ways two handsome young men. Come closer, we have many things to discuss. The boys moved to sit next to their mother’s chair, while she remained standing with her back to the fire.

We have a problem. Admiral de Coligny, the head of the Huguenots, has signed the Peace Treaty, but I have a feeling it will not last. There is still too much unrest amongst our people after so many years of civil war. We have got to stamp out this new religion once and for all, or we could have another war on our hands. Charles looked up at his mother. How did all this start and why have we been fighting them for all these years? She allowed a flicker of a frown to cross her face. I suppose it really began about fifty years ago when your great uncle, Giovanni de Medici, became Pope. He tried to help your grandfather put down this new religion that was beginning to take hold in our country. But when the two of them began burning Huguenots at the stake, that really united them, and that was when they started leaving the country. John Calvin, their leader, wrote from Switzerland to your grandfather, saying that he would bring them back if he would guarantee them freedom of worship. Your grandfather’s reply was to pass a special law for the suppression of all Protestants. That was a great mistake. It made them more determined to follow their own faith. They grew so strong that they threatened to take over the State. We ended up having a civil war.

Consternation showed in Charlie’s voice as he spoke. Well, I hope the peace will last this time. I’m sure it broke Father’s heart to see his people fighting amongst themselves over God. Ignoring his comments, Catherine stretched out her hands towards the fire. I never seem to be able to keep warm these days.

There was a knock and a servant entered, announcing, His Grace, The Duke de Guise. A tall, dark haired man, with silver-shot curls, piercing blue eyes and a beard streaked with grey, carrying himself like a soldier, strode into the room. He bowed low to Charles and even lower to his Mother. The Queen greeted him with a warm smile. My Lord, will you sit next to my son? De Guise took the seat indicated and placed his sword on the table. There was a loud knock, the door burst open, and the Grand Marshal of France, de Tavannus, strode into the room. Bowing curtly to the King, and the rest of the room in general, he took the seat next to de Guise, giving him a brief nod, and turned towards the Queen.

Catherine looked at him, and thought, the old fool is putting on more weight. Well Marshal, we nearly lost the war. If it hadn’t been for the arrival of the Spanish soldiers I had hired for 3000 Ducats from that old miser, Philip, we would have.

Your Majesty, it was the rains; we couldn’t move our guns because of the mud.

De Guise slapped the Marshal on the back. Maybe you should offer to pay Her Majesty back. You could easily afford it by selling some of your lands in the Americas.

The Marshal, with a look of thunder on his face, was about to rise from his chair when the door opened and the Duke of Nevers and his friend, Count Rene de Birague, The Keeper of the Seals, came in conversing together. They saw the dark look on the Queen’s face, and quickly slid into their seats.

Marshal, said the Queen, maybe we can talk about the 3,000 Ducats after this meeting. The old Marshal blushed, and gave de Guise another scathing look.

The Queen took her seat at the head of the table and held up her hand to command silence. Gentlemen, I have called you together so we can discuss what we are going to do about these Huguenots. We nearly lost the war, and if we let them become any stronger we might not be so lucky next time. I think, if we can eliminate their leader, we should be able to control the rest of them.

Charles began nervously pacing up and down. I have always liked the Admiral. When we were children, you remember Anjou, he taught us to use a bow and arrow. Why don’t we banish him and his followers, and let someone else have our problem?

With growing impatience, the Queen answered Charles. Because, my son, they will take their skills and money with them, and we will be left a poorer nation. I have to admit they are the cream of our people, and wherever they go, they will be welcomed.

What do you suggest we do then? he asked, as he unhooked his sword and placed it on the table.

Catherine cleared her throat. My Lords, I have managed to place one of our agents inside their Movement. I have been informed he is even trusted to carry messages between their churches. He has reported that the Admiral has called a special meeting here in Paris for all their leaders. This could be our last chance, for some time to come, to chop the head off the Cockerel.

De Guise examined Catherine’s face. My God, he thought, she is still a striking woman. Forcing himself to bring his thoughts back to the matter in hand, do we know where this meeting is going to take place, Your Majesty?

Not as yet, but I expect to hear at any time. In any case, we should have a plan to put into operation as soon as we do.

De Guise thoughtfully walked over to the window, opened one of the curtains, and stood looking out at the rain beating down on the lake. Charles went over and stood beside him. It looks as if we are in for a storm, Your Grace. De Guise nodded and returned to his seat. Your Majesty, it has to be done so the blame cannot be traced back to us; otherwise, next time we could lose our lives as well as our lands. The Queen spoke with an edge to her voice. We could also lose the Kingdom, Your Grace. Charles closed the curtain and rejoined the others around the table. Mother, maybe we could blow them up, and in one instant they would all be sent to their maker.

Despairing of receiving any helpful advice, she snapped back at her son, we have tried that already. Everybody knows the soldiers are the only ones who have access to the powder, and I control the soldiers. The tense silence that followed was broken by a knock at the door, and a servant entered. Approaching the Queen, he bowed and handed her a sealed document. Taking it, she broke the seal, read it, and passed it to de Guise who read it and gave it to Charles, who slowly read it and asked, as he handed it onto the other members around the table, anybody know where St Bartholomew’s Church is?

Hesitantly the old Marshall spoke. If I remember correctly, Your Majesty, it is a small wooden church in the North of Paris.

The Queen sat there drumming her fingers on the table. We do not have much time. According to this note they are meeting tomorrow night. This could be our last chance to catch them all together in one place.

Is there no other way?

The Queen looked at Charles thinking how weak he was, and thanked God she would still have another two years before he came of age.

My son, I will take all the necessary action. You can leave if you wish, so later you can say you knew nothing about it. Charles turned abruptly to his brother. Let’s go. Anjou followed him to the door. As Charles was about to close it, he turned and looked at his mother. The firelight was playing on her dark features making her look like an evil old crone. If it has to be done, make it quick. The door shut behind them.

The Queen contemplated the remaining members. Well gentleman, has anybody got any suggestions? The old Marshal, who had taken off his wig and was scratching his baldhead, scanned the remaining faces around the table. Your Majesty, I only passed that way a few days ago and noticed they were repairing the roof. We could start a fire with a candle and some wood shavings.

Do you mind, Catherine said, It is not a pretty sight.

I’m sorry your Majesty, this is a new wig and I usually get one of my servants to break it in, hurriedly placing it back on his head. De Guise went over to the fireplace where he stood warming his hands. They must be using pitch to repair the roof, which would be stored in the crypt, considering de Tavannus’s suggestion. They would have to use candles and everybody would say what a terrible accident. The Duke de Nevers gave a nervous cough. If I may say so, Your Majesty, how do we stop them from escaping from the church? De Guise looked at de Nevers. A good point, Your Grace. I think I could arrange an accident in front of the church doors, thereby sealing them inside. If you can get your man to light the candle, Your Majesty, I will organise the accident.

The other members of the Cabinet all sat back with satisfied smiles on their faces. Perfect, said the Queen looking at the old Marshal. That was a brilliant idea of yours about the candle and wood shavings. The old man beamed.

Count Rene de Birague glanced up from where he had been drawing the outline of a barrel on the table by dipping his finger into his wineglass. Your Majesty, I am sorry to be a Jonah, but what will happen if they go down into the crypt and see the lighted candle? An air of gloom descended over the room. They started discussing various options amongst themselves to overcome the problem, when the Comte St Germain suddenly spoke up. Your Majesty, there is sure to be an empty barrel in the crypt. Our man could place it over the candle. The Queen smiled. That’s it gentleman. You are all dismissed. They hastened to collect their swords before the Queen changed her mind, and bowed themselves out of the room.

Marshal, the Queen called out, as he was about to leave. I thought we had a small matter of 3000 Ducats to discuss?

9781481799850.pdf

Chapter 2

The Massacre

Admiral Gaspard de Coligny sat in his wood panelled study gazing into the dying embers of the fire over which was hung the portrait of his late wife. He was waiting for the senior members of the Huguenot movement to arrive to discuss the agenda for their meeting at Saint Bartholomew’s Church the following night. Looking up at his wife’s portrait, he remembered the many happy years he and his family had spent together in this old house built over two hundred years ago of timber, with pony dung and flint between the beams, keeping it warm in winter, and cool in summer. It was located in the north of Paris, next to Saint Antoine’s Gate, the oldest one in the city’s fortifications. Originally the gate had been flanked by two towers, but had been enlarged by the addition of six more towers to form a square; these had been joined together by a thick brick wall and surrounded by a twenty-foot ditch. It was now known as the Bastille and was used by the King as his private prison, with many a poor wretch held in its cells without trial. The sound of a log falling onto the hearth brought him back with a start, at the same time the curtains at the open windows stirred from a heavier gust of wind. Picking up the burning ember with a pair of tongs he threw it back on the fire, and then went over to the window and looked out. A flash of lightning lit up the old fortress opposite. He gave a shudder thinking of all the poor wretches incarcerated within its walls. He closed the windows, and drew the curtains thinking how much the old Queen would love to see him in there."

Returning to his chair he threw a few more logs onto the fire, and then settled back to wait for his colleagues to arrive. He was a large man, well over six-foot, and broad across the chest, and wore his grey hair down to his shoulders. He had a full beard, bright blue eyes that looked right through you, and a smile that always seemed to hover around the corners of his full mouth, as if he was about to share a joke with you.

Sitting there thinking back over the many years he had served France, he remembered when he was only twenty-two being presented at Court, and meeting the young Duke de Guise for the first time. They had become great friends when they had served together in the Italian campaign; de Guise had saved his life when the two of them were on the ladders storming the castle of Montmedy. And later de Guise had stood beside him when he was knighted by the King and made Admiral of France. Now they were on opposite sides. He supposed it had all begun when he was taken captive at the battle of St Quentin and imprisoned in the stronghold at L’Ecluse. For the first time in sixteen years of war, he had the time to sit and think of all the killings for which he had been responsible in the name of Christ.

It was his two brothers who had raised the 1,000 Ducats to buy his freedom, and it was his younger brother, Francis, a Monsignor in the Catholic Church, who first told him about this new Reform religion that was sweeping Europe. How they still believed in God, and the Holy Ghost, but did not recognise the Pope as the Supreme Being on earth. How the King of England had overthrown the power of Rome, made himself Head of their new Protestant movement in his own country, and how many Frenchmen had followed and joined a similar movement in France, known as the Huguenots. It was at that time he, too, had decided to join. On the death of King Henry, and his son Francis a year later, he became the leader of the movement, and had asked Queen Catherine if she would grant them freedom of worship. She had denied them out of hand. Eventually they had been forced to take up arms and fight a Civil war. It was only after the battle at Arnay-le-Duc that they compelled her to sign a peace treaty. Yet, still, she tried to have him assassinated; knowing her, she would never give up. There was the sound of voices in the hall, followed by a knock at his study door, which brought him back to the present. Come in.

His servant, Renard, came into the room and the old Admiral wondered why de Guise had insisted he should employ him as his Body Servant. At the time he didn’t want to insult his old friend by saying ‘No’, but knew he would have to watch what he said, as it was sure to be reported back to his true master. Renard bowed, The Comte Gerard de Gault awaits you outside Sir.

Show him in. Renard stepped back, and a young man just under six foot, dressed in the height of fashion, with black wavy hair, a small pointed beard over a curled up moustache, and eyes the colour of aquamarine, entered the room. The Admiral stood up with a frown on his face.

What has happened to the Ambassador?

Gerard bowed and sweeping off his hat said, I am sorry to have to tell you, Sir. My Father, who has not been well lately, had a heart attack last night and passed away,

Oh, I’m sorry to hear of this. The Admiral was visibly shaken by this news. Your Father and I have been old friends for many years, and he had agreed to do me a small favour.

I hope, Sir, you will accept me in his place. I believe in what you are doing for our people, and I have seen what the Inquisition can do.

The Admiral sat down again. I am afraid they are still burning them, poor souls. But aren’t you a bit young to be taking your father’s place?

Sir, I am seventeen years old, and I travelled with my Father when he was Ambassador to England in the time of their King Henry. It was then my Mother and Father secretly joined the Reform church. We stayed there for nearly five years, where I went to school and made many friends at their Court; and in some ways I feel I would be more at home there than in France these days.

The old Admiral looking at Gerard thought that God moved in mysterious ways. Maybe it was his will to take the Ambassador at this time. He had been an old man, and the journey he had wanted him to undertake would not only have been long, but arduous too.

We need someone to warn our people, and your Father volunteered to contact all our members in Western France. If he had been caught they would have burnt him at the stake.

Gerard de Gault looked at the Admiral, and could see why his Father had admired this battle-scarred old man. There was an aura surrounding him that made you want to do your very best, no matter what he asked.

I know I am young, but could I take your message?

The Admiral continued scrutinising Gerard. He had known his family for many years and would have trusted his Father with his life. Maybe, a younger man would stand a better chance of passing through all the checkpoints being set up by the Queen to control the movements of their members. Making a decision he got up went over to his desk, where he reached into the back of one of the drawers, and a secret panel opened in the front. Taking out a sheet of parchment he returned to his chair and handed it to Gerard.

Thank you, young man. This is a list of over two hundred of our members. Guard it with your life. If it should fall into the wrong hands, many more will follow you into the flames. I had this signet ring made especially for your Father. There are only two in the world like it, and the other I wear night and day, it never leaves my body. Gerard took the ring, and saw it was made of solid gold, set with a green jade stone with little red flecks which when they caught the light, seemed to flash and sparkle, and engraved into the stone was a shield with a winged dragon in flight with the motto Deo Gratias underneath. Why, that’s my family crest; what is so special about this ring?

The Admiral took it back, and pressed the green stone which flipped over; on the reverse side was engraved a four sided cross with a Fleur de Lis between each cross and a small dove in flight at the bottom. This is the Cross of Languedoc known throughout the world as the Huguenot Cross. It will identify you to all our brethren, who will give you any help that you may require. The admiral handed the ring back to Gerard who pressed the green stone revealing his family crest once again. Gerard slid it onto his little finger.

I want you to leave tonight, as we are having a meeting at St Bartholomew’s tomorrow, and I would like to be able to tell the brethren you have started on your journey.

The Admiral got up and threw some more logs onto the dying embers and stood for a moment or two lost in thought, then turned to look at Gerard. I want you to tell our people that they must leave this country, now the Pope has passed an edict to allow their people to put us down by any means, even murder. I’m sure the Queen will turn a blind eye to any killings, as she has never forgiven us for making her sign the peace treaty.

The Admiral picked up a small bell off his desk and rang it; a few moments later Renard entered. You rang Sir?

Yes. Please show the Comte out. The Admiral took Gerard in his arms and kissed him on both checks.

You are about to set forth on a great journey. Go with God my son.

Gerard left the room passing two cloaked figures standing in the hall, who raised their hats as he passed. They then entered the room and he heard the Admiral greeting them as the door closed.

Gerard made his way home; where his younger brother wanted to know where he had been. Their dead Father still lay unburied upstairs.

Gerard gave orders to one of the servants. Bring us something to eat; then pack my saddle bags for a long journey, and prepare two horses. I will be leaving very shortly.

Andre who was two years younger then Gerard, but looked even younger, asked, Where are we going?

Gerard sat his brother down. I have many things to tell you, and I haven’t got a lot of time. First of all I saw the old Admiral, who has asked me to take our father’s place and warn all our brethren to leave the country if the killings start. He says he doesn’t trust the Queen to keep her word, and abide by the peace treaty.

Andre asked, When do we start?

Gerard took the seat opposite to his brother. I am going to have to move very quickly, and I need you to sell this house and go and join our uncle in Amsterdam, where many of our fellow Huguenots have sought shelter from persecution. He has a small money lending business.

Andre frowned in disappointment. Don’t worry, Gerard consoled him, I will join you the moment I have carried out my mission. If that proves impossible, I will make for England. But if anything happens to me, I will try and get this ring to you.

Andre went over to his brother and watched him flip the stone over revealing both crests.

If you ever receive a message with both seals on it, you will know that you can trust the messenger, with your life if necessary.

Will you stay and help me bury Father tomorrow?

Gerard could see tears welling up in Andre’s eyes; a lump came into his own throat. I should go, but I don’t think one more day will make that much difference. All right, I will leave tomorrow night. Let’s go to bed; we have much to do tomorrow.

They walked up the stairs, Gerard with his arm around his brother’s shoulder; they parted at the top.

Next morning, they made all the arrangements for their Father’s burial. Two men came and placed the old man in his coffin, and the brothers, with a few servants walking behind the cart, made their way to the cemetery where they buried the Comte de Gault, Ambassador of France, in the family vault. That evening Gerard set out on his journey. He had two horses, one packed with his supplies, and the other he rode. Saying goodbye to his brother he rode towards the West Gate. Turning a corner into a square, he recognised the old wooden church of St Bartholomew where the Admiral had said they were going to have their meeting.

Dismounting he let the horses drink from a water trough.

It was then he heard people shouting, and could just make out in the gathering dusk a small crowd of people milling about in front of the church. Tying his horses to a ring beside the trough, he walked over to see what all the commotion was about. As he got nearer, he saw that a horse and cart with a load of barrels and timber had turned over in front of the church doors. One of the horses had broken its neck when it fell, which was giving them great difficulty in trying to move it, and in the middle of it all stood the Admiral giving orders to clear a path to the church doors. Coming up behind him, he helped to lift the bulk of timber he was struggling with. The Admiral looked up and seeing Gerard on the other end said in surprise, what are you doing here? I expected you to be well clear of Paris by now. Gerard helped him move one of the barrels. We had to bury my Father, Sir. It was the least I could do for him."

Gerard looked up at the church windows set under the eaves of the roof; they seemed to glow with an unnatural light. At the same time, the low moan he had sensed, had become a high-pitched scream; somebody inside was hammering on the wooden doors. Admiral, he called out urgently, I think the church is on fire.

The Admiral followed Gerard’s gaze and began to work even harder; tearing at the timber with his bare hands, until they were bleeding from the many splinters imbedded in them. They both looked up when they heard a roar, as the roof opened and large columns of flame and smoke shot up into the night sky; then the roof collapsed and the walls followed soon after. Gerard pulled the Admiral back from trying to enter the church. It’s no good Admiral; they must all be dead. Nothing could have lived through that.

The Admiral sat down on one of the barrels holding his head in his hands. He looked at Gerard through red-rimmed eyes, and slowly began to pull splinters out of his fingers. That horse and cart was too convenient, he muttered. I am certain the Queen is behind this, and if I find out she is, she will rue the day, because I will make her pay for everyone who died in there tonight. Gerard sat down next to the Admiral. Do you wish me to carry on after what has happened here tonight Sir?

The Admiral put an arm about Gerard’s shoulders. Even more so my boy; this proves I was right. We are not safe in this country anymore. I should have been in there myself. A messenger delayed me from Holland giving the number of new converts we have made in the last six months. I thought the brethren would be pleased to hear that over four hundred more have joined us, making a total of over five thousand in the last two years.

The men and women who had been helping them to clear the timbers from the doorway turned to the Admiral. Are you one of them? This was a Huguenot church.

The Admiral loosened his sword in its scabbard. Gerard, you had better get out of Paris tonight.

What about this lot? They look as if they want to throw us both into the burning embers.

One of the braver members of the crowd came towards the two of them with a pitchfork in his hand. I remember you; you’re that Huguenot bastard that has been stirring up the people. I saw you standing next to our Queen when she signed the peace treaty.

The Admiral started to draw his sword. Don’t worry about them. I have faced worse on the battlefields of France.

The Admiral put his arm around Gerard’s shoulder and began walking him towards his horses. The crowd followed. I’ll hold them back if they try anything. They have lit a fire this night which will burn in all our hearts until the end of time.

Someone in the crowd said, Leave them lads; let’s go and burn a few more of them.

The crowd set off towards the other end of the Square, where they knew some of the Huguenots had their homes. The first house went up a few minutes later. Gerard could see a young girl trying to climb out of a second floor window. The crowd also saw her, and started jeering and throwing stones at her; one of them must have hit her for she fell back into the burning room. The crowd let out a roar of pleasure, and then moved onto the next house.

Gerard retrieved his horses and led them out of the Square. Just as he was about to mount a grubby looking man grabbed his arm and tried to snatch his Father’s sword with the ruby in the pommel. Gerard pulled out his knife and without thinking plunged it into the assailant’s stomach. The man slid to the ground, letting out a piercing scream. The crowd setting fire to the houses turned and saw in the firelight Gerard standing over the screaming man

They started moving back towards him as he quickly released the two animals leapt onto his horse and, clutching the lead reign of the other animal, galloped out of the Square. The last thing he saw as he turned the corner was the Admiral waving his sword at the mob who had surrounded him.

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King Charles had heard that the Admiral had narrowly escaped death that night, and had insisted he wanted to talk to him.

Catherine called in de Guise. That man bears a charmed life; we missed him again. But now the people have taken matters into their own hands, we can make a direct attack on him, and it will be put down as just another killing carried out by the mob.

De Guise walked over to the door and quietly closed it. Your Majesty, we do not want the servants to hear this conversation.

The Queen smiled. I believe you have one of your servants working in his house? de Guise nodded. The matter is urgent. I have heard that my son is going to visit him tonight. We must stop those two from meeting. If they come to an understanding, all of this would have been in vain. Get a message to your man and tell him that he has to kill the Admiral tonight. De Guise looking at the Queen thought that if Henry had not married her, he would have, and what a power in the land the two of them would have been.

He returned her smile. Certainly Your Majesty. Catherine’s fingertips touched his cheek. She wondered again if he knew anything about her Francis` accident? She put the thought away. De Guise took pen and parchment and scribbled a short note. A servant was called and told to deliver it to Renard at the Admiral’s house. De Guise looked at her. It’s done.

The note reached Renard just as the Admiral arrived home. He managed to read it, and stuffed it into his pocket before the old man burst into the room demanding clean linen and hot water. Removing his dirty clothes, he dropped them in a pile on the floor. Where is that water?

Renard returned with a large pitcher of hot water, and poured it into a bowl on the dressing table. The Admiral pushed him to one side and started washing the soot from his face and hands, while Renard took out a clean doublet and hose from the chest of drawers and laid them out on the bed. Having finished washing he began dressing. Then, going over to the mirror on the wall he stood in front of it brushing his hair. Turning to Renard he said. I am going to the Palace to see the Queen to stop this killing. As the Admiral stopped speaking, through the open window they heard the clatter of horse’s hoofs coming towards the house. The Admiral went out onto the balcony still buttoning his doublet, and stood there looking down as Charles, with a small troop of Cavalry, entered his Courtyard. Charles looking up saw the Admiral and shouted up at him. We must talk old friend. The Admiral smiled. He had always loved this golden haired boy, and felt certain that they could, between them, put a stop to all this useless slaughter. At that moment Renard, who was standing behind him, plunged a dagger into his side. The Admiral fell from the balcony and landed on the cobblestones at the King’s feet. Charles quickly dismounted and knelt down beside his old mentor and, cradling him in his arms, he heard him whisper as life fled from him, It is not over yet.

The King stared down at the Admiral seeing the knife sticking out of his side, and a tear ran down his face. Find the person who did this, he ordered. Four of the Cavalry Soldiers ran indoors and up the stairs to the Admiral’s bedroom, where they found Renard trying to wash the blood off his hands. They grabbed hold of him and frog marched him down into the Courtyard to the King. Sire, we found him washing blood off his hands. Laying the head of the Admiral gently on the ground Charles got up. Have him searched. The soldiers quickly went through Renard’s pockets and found the note from de Guise. Charles took it and read it. Under his breath he murmured, My God can’t my Mother keep her fingers out of anything. He carefully folded the note and put it into his pocket thinking that it might prove useful sometime in the future. Turning to his sergeant, all right sergeant, string him up from that balcony. One of the men threw a rope up to his comrade who tied it to the railings. Renard tried to struggle, but one of them hit him on the side of the head with the hilt of his sword. Whilst he was semi-conscious, they hoisted him onto the back of the Admiral’s horse, but did not tie his hands behind his back. As the King rode out of the Courtyard, he gave the Admiral’s horse a slap across its hindquarters with his whip, and they left Renard slowly strangling to death as the noose tightened around his neck despite his frantic efforts to loosen it.

Chapter 3

The Rape

Evening was closing in as the Comte Gerard de Gault rode out of Paris. It seemed as if the whole population of the city had gone into a frenzy, killing all the Huguenots they could lay their hands on. The rumour was being passed from mouth-to-mouth that the Queen had been responsible for the fire at St Bartholomew’s; they were carrying on what she had started.

Keeping to the back streets, Gerard proceeded towards the West Gate in the city wall, while all the while hearing the screams of his brethren being burnt alive. He felt he needed some sort of disguise that would let him pass amongst the populace. It came to him that, if he dressed as a priest, no one would ever dare to question him. He passed a few churches but all were locked. Eventually he found one that was open and empty and, making his way to the vestry at the back, he found an open cupboard where the choirboys had hung their surplices, and a Priest had left his spare cassock, which luckily fitted. In his new guise he remounted and continued on his way to the West Gate, which was at the end of a tunnel that burrowed its way through the ramparts of the city wall. Pulling his horses up at the entrance, he looked down the passageway lit at intervals by smoking flares thrust into holders along the wall, each casting a flickering light, which glinted off the breastplate of a soldier standing by the closed gate at the exit. Taking a deep breath, he touched the