Chapter 20

The Following Day,

a Great Catastrophe

 

 

 

Journal Entry

 

“Gaudin had already left for Les Tournelles, when I spotted Dormoy outside the old church at least an hour and a half after the ringing of Lauds. It was hours later than we had promised to meet, but neither of us was particularly concerned with punctuality, still flush with satisfaction from our victory over de Frontenac the night before.

“Testagrossa was not with us, preferring instead to spend the day with Caterina and her mother, who was warming to the idea of her new prospective son-in-law. Still, I had been able to relate the account of our revenge, and Bernardo seemed happy enough with the outcome, preoccupied as he was with his up-coming nuptials. For our part, Dormoy and I felt that the world had now been set right, and that we would enjoy this day, in honour of our friend whose life was about to change forever.

“Dormoy was excited because his master, Doctor Michel, had announced that he would attend the tournament, not publicly recognised by the notables on the dais, of course, but in the popular throng, surrounded by his disciples and admirers. Gaudin was already busy serving the Captain, Gabriel de Montgomery, confident that his hero would showcase his prowess at arms and his natural qualities as a leader of men.

“I loved the pageantry and colourful heraldry of the event, like a huge theatrical tableau being acted in the open air for the edification of the well born spectators and the amusement of the throng. There would be jugglers, peddlers and cut purses in the crowd, as well as copious quantities of food and drink, and I could just enjoy myself, without having to bother about anyone else’s problems.

“‘All of France will be on holiday,’ Gaudin had promised us the night before, as always, deeming himself the well informed man of the world. ‘Now that the King has made peace with all of his enemies and is ready to seal it with his daughter’s virginity, gifted to Philip of Spain, we can celebrate the coming of an age of peace.’

“‘I’m not sure which occasions the most celebration, in people’s minds: the outbreak of hostilities or the moment they cease,’ I speculated, as we were heading for the bridges that would cross to the Isle de la Cité and the Right Bank. ‘The same people who cry bloody havoc and glorious deeds, when men go off to battle, weep for the mutilated remnant that return (or don’t return), pray for the outbreak of peace and thank God when it finally comes. What is it that they truly want?’

“‘They want their men to kill, but not be killed,’ concluded Dormoy, in philosophical agreement. ‘They can’t accept that the one necessarily comes with the other.’

“The two of us made our way across the first of two bridges, depositing us on the Isle de la Cité, where we passed the scene of de Frontenac’s fall, all the time congratulating each other for the good stout fellows we evidently were.

“In a light and festive mood, we crossed the second bridge onto the right bank and found that the whole city was turned out in one giant street fair. There mustn’t have been any tin smiths or cobblers or carpenter’s shops in operation that day, because the streets were filled with young apprentices and older journeymen who had evidently discarded their aprons and were out for a day of merriment and play. Musicians and jugglers set up impromptu stations, around which children and child-like apprentices gathered to be amused and awed by what they knew they would see.

“Notwithstanding the fact that the early morning hours had long passed, the crowds were still moving purposefully in the direction of the jousting field at Les Tournelles, where the full colour and pageantry of today’s tournament had, for some time, been unfolding. All day, the event had been serving out heroes and villains, cheers and boos, glorious victory and bone crushing defeat, all free to the seething masses, hungry for the narcotic thrill of the circus.

“On this day, the King loved his people and the people loved their King and revered him as the father and protector of this great and disorderly family. He would watch with them and survey the festivities, with his Queen at his side and his mistress near at hand. They would see and cheer their champions, such as Gabriel de Montgomery, and they would remember stories that they would tell their children and grandchildren about the day when France celebrated the conclusion of peace with the Hapsburg Emperor and the marriage of the King’s daughter with the Hapsburg King of Spain.

“By the time Dormoy and I arrived, the place was already a turbulent sea of humanity with a force and a will of its own. At the far end of the jousting field, at Les Tournelles, the public viewing area had been greatly enlarged to accommodate the day’s augmented crowd. Even so, there was much pushing and shoving for placement, and people formed groups, the better to assert their collective right to proper placement.

“Gaudin had introduced us to the leader of such a group at one of the many minor events that were organized here for the knights in training, and we managed to find him in a place the group had wedged for itself, near to the barrier that separated the crowd from the pitch. My new acquaintances said that Gaudin had already made a tardy appearance at the stables in the ranks of the shovel brigade.

“Dormoy quickly spied a group of darkly clad youths who appeared rather out of place, not only because of their dress, but because their faces showed not a trace of the carefree, festive appearance of the rest of the spectators. In fact, their attention appeared to turn, not toward the pitch or the pennants or the pavilions before them, but to have gravitated inward toward the centre of their group, where there stood the stooped, red and white bearded figure of Doctor Michel de Nostra Dame.

“He appeared to be speaking rapidly and excitedly in a low voice that only a few could hear. Dormoy left Howard’s side without a word and joined the tightening circle around the little man who had begun talking louder now about two lions and a golden cage and a great, great sorrow. No one around Doctor Michel seemed to have had any idea of what these words might mean, but they were convinced that its secret meaning was both profoundly significant and intended for their knowledge, alone.

“People were moving through the crowds with facts and rumours about the lists, information about who would be pitted against whom in today’s contests. It had already been circulated, for example, that the young chevalier, Hugh de Frontenac, had forfeited and had been crossed from the lists. Now, the crowd was buzzing with the latest rumour, for the King, who had entered the lists himself and had already bested two of his most seasoned soldiers, was about to fight none other than his captain and champion, Gabriel de Montgomery!

“This would be the contest of the year, for King Henry was reputed to be a great athlete, and was, in his own day, considered something of a champion with the lance. Then the comparisons and the wagering began in earnest. True, the King is a burley competitor, and to face one’s sovereign in combat must be more than a bit intimidating. Nevertheless, King Henry must have been over forty-five years of age, while Montgomery was at his peak and conditioned, as well. When you add to this the fact that the King must be tiring from his previous jousts and that Montgomery was a perfectionist, when it comes to form and technique, it must be admitted that anything might happen in such a match. It was further rumoured that the Queen had tried to dissuade King Henry from his intention, but that he had already promised the Lady Diane to wear her favour and was loath to lose face by withdrawing in the wake of public excitement and expectation. The inevitable fight promised, therefore, to be the climactic event of the day.

“Suddenly, the crowd turned as with one pair of eyes, towards the large pavilion, closest to the reviewing stand, upon which was displayed the golden fleurs de lys on a field of blue. From behind the flap, a knight emerged, clad in shining plate armour and carrying a helmet plated in gold around which was attached a corrugated circlet, like a crown. He raised a gauntleted hand to the crowd from which there erupted a roaring cheer with audible cries of ‘C’est le Roi! C’est le Roi! Vive le Roi! Vive le Roi!’ (‘It’s the King! It’s the King! Long live the King! Long live the King!’)

“The excitement roiled back and forth as the King nodded and waved to the loudest voices in the crowd, while a squire brought forth a large, white destrier, armoured like his master and decked in royal blue with gold lilies of the valley. A stepping block was placed on the horse’s left flank by a pair of pages. When a squire had firmly gripped the bridle, the two pages helped the monarch, in his heavy armour, to mount the beast. The squire then passed him his lance, which he dipped to the Queen and to the Lady Diane, to the riotous acclaim of the crowd.

“When it seemed that the crowd could take no more excitement, another figure emerged from the stables, already astride his war horse, fully armed and with spear in hand, to meet the royal contestant. He carried a shield upon which was blazoned the Scottish lion, rampant, on a field of gold. The knight was Gabriel de Montgomery, captain of the King’s guard and the champion of the lists. The noise of the crowd was deafening as Montgomery tipped his lance to his sovereign lord. He prompted his horse into a bow, which the King acknowledged with a nod and the crowd accepted with a roar of approval.

“Both riders were guided by their respective squires at a leisurely pace around the reviewing stands before taking up their stations at opposite ends of the pitch. While his squire still held the bridle firmly, the King lifted his helmet to the flourish of trumpets and slipped it over his head, careful that the crown was sitting straight on top. The King squinted into the sun, realising at once that the gold plate of the helmet reflected its brilliance, to the excited adulation of the crowds.

“He also realised that the sun’s position gave Montgomery an advantage, one that King Henry must endeavour to neutralise, to insure that he does not avert his eyes at the wrong moment. He lowered the visor, to see if this would help, and adjusted his vision to ignore the rows of protective grate that fell across his visage like the bars of a cage or a prison cell. He turned his head to find the most comfortable position and thought about manoeuvring the charge to favour that side view of his opponent.

“Both riders stooped to seize the reins and manoeuvred their mounts to the desired starting position. Upon a signal from the Master of Ceremonies, they couched their lances and waited for the flag to drop. The crowd fell into a hushed silence, except for a cry from the midst of a dark robbed patch of spectators.

“‘The young lion will slay the elder, with a wooden shaft through a golden cage.’ The sound originated from a muffled, hysterical, high pitched voice, in the midst of the crowd. It faded into silence as the flag dropped and the war horses were kicked into thunderous motion.

“The combatants, who had studied how to look for any momentary vulnerability in the opponent’s technique, braced for contact and took aim squarely at the other’s shield. A strong enough hit, born along the full length of a lance, might be enough to unhorse a man, but both of these men were skilled at parrying such blows, with the slightest of turns, of man or horse, at the appropriate moment.

“Seconds before the thud of collision, however, Montgomery noticed that the king had leaned forward ever so slightly in his saddle, so as to shield his eyes from the sun while keeping his line of sight aimed directly at his adversary. Instinctively, the Captain of the Guard elevated the point of his lance by the smallest fraction of an angle and turned his war horse into the path of his royal opponent.

“Montgomery’s lance struck first, but not at the centre of the king’s shield. Instead, it glanced across the top and kept moving until it contacted his helmet, splintering on the grating of his visor.

“The sound was like the snapping of a bent sapling in a gale. The King twisted in his saddle, under the force of the blow, his head and neck seeming to contort in the opposite direction from his massive torso. His own lance fell loose from his gauntleted hand, and he released his hold on the reins, the better to reach for his head in screeching agony. Then, in an instant, he slumped and fell to the ground like a heavy sack of grain, motionless and bleeding profusely through the gap in his helmet, from which splintered shafts of wood still protruded.

“I was conscious of an almost total cessation of sound. No one seemed even to be breathing, as figures moved with mime like steps from the reviewing stand to where their sovereign lord and master lay still and bleeding on the ground. A squire seized the reins of the King’s charger to keep the panicking animal away from his master. Montgomery dismounted and fairly tore his helmet and armour from his body as he threw himself to his knees before the King’s motionless form. Then the King was seen to stir and the Captain began to weep, like a child.

“At that point, the pantomime was over and someone was heard to cry: “Physician…Bring a physician! Clear the way for the King!” Someone came with a litter, but the King waved him away. Outstretched arms lifted him to his feet while others held his head and supported him with their shoulders under his arm pits.

“Half on his own power, the King hobbled from the field amidst cries and prayers. The golden crowned helmet was tossed to the ground, as they approached the steps of the residence at Les Tournelles, and I caught a glimpse of the King’s face, a puffy mask of blood and splinters.

“Then, chaos erupted. No one knew what to do next. The Duke of Guise’s mounted soldiers poured out from the recesses of the grounds and began shepherding the crowd with their lances. Someone said that the King was surely going to die; others murmured that he was dead already. The milling lost souls began to resemble a depiction of the end of the world, and someone said they had seen Montgomery running like Judas Iscariot from the Garden of Gethsemane. Someone else said that they had seen Doctor Michel and his dark clad disciples moving away on the outside of the crowd like a dark jelly fish, as far from the soldiers of Guise as they could get.

“‘Disperse…Disperse,’ was the terse command that sent them running and pushing into surrounding streets and alleys. I had long since lost sight of Dormoy, as he was swept by the swift human current in which I, myself, was trapped, down past the Celestines and closer and closer to the river. Everyone seemed to want to get out of Paris, as if the earth were about to open up and swallow the city, but I was sure that safety lay on the other side of the Seine. I moved with the crowds as it rolled and coursed through the city like flood water, moving ever down, down toward the river.

“The amorphous mob pushed past the bridge that led back to the Isle de la Cité. Like a body of water out of control, we rushed away, following the serpentine river to the south and west, away from Les Tournelles. We were stepping over people who had fallen or had been pushed down in our path: the elderly, young children separated from their mothers and screaming hysterically for someone who was no longer there. I wanted to stop to at least pick up the children and bring them to safety on the side, but the crowd kept driving me inexorably forward through strange and twisted streets I had never visited before. This wasn’t the way home; it was just the way out.

“A bridge…we saw a bridge and knew with the uncanny instinct of a hunted animal that it was the way to safety on the other side. Would it hold the weight of all of these people trying to cross? Would I be shoved into the river, so that other people might pass me?

“I wasn’t given any choice. I was part of the animal, and the animal was crossing that bridge. Safety…safety was in sight, but not yet under foot, and I moved, my feet sometimes lifted off the ground, until I was deposited, like a sack of flour, on the other side.

“Then, and only then, did the crowd begin to disperse, and I suddenly noticed that it was beginning to get dark. I darted into a narrow network of alleys that led more or less eastward, back toward the University and the rue St Victor.

“Alone, parched, hungry, tired and more frightened than I had felt since the day my father was arrested, I stumbled across the threshold to the welcome sight of Mme. Beber. Although I ate ravenously, I didn’t taste a morsel, nor did I say anything that might disturb the hushed mood of the sullen, folk also huddled over their evening stew.

“After dinner, I went wordlessly to my room, but I could not sleep. I sat on my bed, while the shadows of evening lengthened and darkness slowly gripped the outer air itself. Lying still on my bed, I tried to comprehend the enormity of what had just happened. I had seen this giant of a man struck down, his visage covered with blood, his crowned helmet fallen to the ground like a severed and discarded head, destined to be crow’s food on the end of a bloody pike! My imagination swam and swirled in the currents of my thoughts, although I tried to force myself to think no more of it. ‘He’s the King. He’ll recover, laugh it off and give Gabriel de Montgomery a brotherly clap on the shoulder, or maybe he won’t. God knows what will happen next!’

“The black of night was already beginning to glow a lighter grey before Gaudin finally stumbled into the room, looking as if he had run all the way home, without stopping. He spoke between gasps, as if he simply had to tell someone and I was his audience, for the moment.

“‘He’s hurt bad, very bad. The doctors are already butchering him, then bleeding him and applying ointments to his head. One of the maid servants came to the stables to see her lover, but they only talked and talked about what was going on upstairs.

“‘There were two big splinters, the size of boning knives. One was lodged in his temple and the other looked as if it had pierced the socket of his left eye. He was conscious and he cried, when they pulled the splinters out; the King cried. The Queen has refused to leave his bedside. She was rampaging for Montgomery’s head, but the King would have none of it. They were all there, Guise, the Cardinal of Lorraine, Montmorency, Coligny. All of them were like vultures waiting to feed and to tear at each other when it was over!’

“‘Sit down,’ I said, genuinely worried that my friend might go mad with grief and anxiety. ‘Try to get some rest.’

“‘The Captain spent the night in prayer, or meditating on the gallows, even though the King himself forgave him. I don’t know what he’ll do, if the King should die!’

“I was suddenly overtaken by an uncanny and powerful feeling, and I remembered with horror when I had last felt like this. I was certain, unshakeably certain that the King would die, just as I had known that my father would die when the soldiers took him away in the middle of the night, in answer to the summons of another King. Was it treasonable to contemplate the death of the King? Had it been parricide to contemplate the death of my father, that night, eleven years ago? Could thinking about it somehow make me responsible?

“‘No,’ I thought. ‘I mustn’t dwell on this, or it will make me mad!’ I looked for something, anything else to think about. Suddenly remembering another friend, I turned to Gaudin. ‘Have you heard from Dormoy?’

“‘Not a word. They say that Doctor Nostra Dame has left the city, to avoid Guise’s net, and that his most devoted disciples went with him. I’ll wager that Dormoy is among them,’ he added with only the slightest hint of concern in his voice.

“I shook my head and wondered aloud if we four friends would ever be together again. From my window, I could see some children in rue St Victor, below, playing in the early morning sunlight. They had formed a circle, by holding hands, and were moving faster and faster in that circle, while singing a little rhyme that they had either heard in the street or had made up themselves, to mark the occasion. I listened carefully to their singing:

 

“'Le Roi de France a pris une chance, Ou est-t-il, maintenant?'

(The King of France took a chance. Where is he now?)

 

“They fell to the ground in unison and laughed at their own cleverness. I realised that they must hear very little of anything else at home, now, and that to be able to laugh about it is a blessing only for the very young. I would not be the one to take away their mirth.

“I turned toward my friend, who had fallen totally silent (which was unusual for Gaudin). ‘Will you be at the Abbey on Saturday for the wedding?’

“‘Without fail! To see Father Testagrossa become Testagrossa the father is a sight I wouldn’t miss for the world,’ Gaudin retorted, with some of his old bravado. ‘I hear we’re all going over to the Ecurie with the blissful couple afterwards for a farewell feast, before they leave for Italy.’

“‘Yes,’ I said, smiling for the first time since Gaudin had walked into the room. ‘I think I’ll bring along Julie, if I can get her past Mme Blanchard.’

“‘Will you take her to the church?’ Gaudin was evidently relishing the idea of the sight of her in the midst of the holy monks.

“‘Why not? She works in front of a church every evening, and it’s fine work that she does, too. I can attest to that!’

“So the mood lightened for a time, although the criers continued to bellow bulletins about the King’s condition five times a day, and the churches were packed with parishioners praying for his speedy recovery.”