‘It could happen tonight, so be prepared.’
It did not occur to Le Charron to doubt Pierre. He accepted what he was told as fact. ‘I will be ready,’ he vowed.
Pierre took the book with the black cover from his saddlebag. He ripped out the leaves bearing the names of noble assassins and victims. The rest of the pages were devoted to ordinary Paris Huguenots. He handed the book to Le Charron. ‘Here is a list of every known Protestant in Paris, with addresses,’ he said.
Le Charron was amazed. ‘I had no idea that such a document existed!’
‘I have been preparing it for many years,’ Pierre said, not without a touch of pride. ‘Tonight it meets its destiny.’
Le Charron took the book reverently. ‘Thank you.’
Pierre said solemnly: ‘If you hear the bells, it is your duty to kill everyone named in that book.’
Le Charron swallowed. Until now he had not appreciated that he might be involved in a massacre. But Pierre had led him to this point so carefully, by such gradual and reasonable stages, that he nodded agreement. He even added a suggestion of his own. ‘In case it comes to fighting, I will order the militia to identify themselves, perhaps with a white armband, so that they know each other.’
‘Very good idea,’ said Pierre. ‘I’ll tell his majesty that you came up with that.’
Le Charron was thrilled. ‘That would be a great honour.’
‘You’d better get going. You have a lot to do.’
‘Yes.’ Charron mounted his horse, still clutching the black book. Before leaving he suffered a troubled moment. ‘Let us hope that none of these precautions proves necessary.’
‘Amen,’ said Pierre insincerely.
Le Charron trotted away.
Biron mounted his horse.
Pierre paused a minute, looking back at the Italian-style palace he had just left. He could hardly believe he had fooled its royal occupants. But when rulers were this close to panic, they were desperate for action, and eager to agree to any plan that was halfway promising.
Anyway, it was not over yet. All his efforts in the past few days had failed, and there was still time for tonight’s even more complicated scheme to go awry.
He lifted himself into the saddle. ‘Rue de Béthisy,’ he said to Biron. ‘Let’s go.’
Coligny’s lodging was close. The king’s guards were outside the gate. Some were standing in line with arquebuses and lances; others, presumably resting, sat on the ground nearby, their weapons to hand. They made a formidable barrier.
Pierre reined in and said to a guard: ‘A message from his majesty the king for the lord of Cosseins.’
‘I will give him the message,’ said the guard.
‘No, you won’t. Go and fetch him.’
‘He’s sleeping.’
‘Do you want me to go back to the Louvre and say that your master would not get out of his bed to receive a message from the king?’
‘No, sir, of course not, pardon me.’ The man went off and returned a minute later with Cosseins, who had evidently been sleeping in his clothes.
‘There has been a change of plan,’ Pierre said to Cosseins. ‘The Huguenots have conspired to seize the king’s person and take control of the Government. The plot has been foiled by loyal men, but the king wants Coligny arrested.’
Cosseins was not as naïve as Le Charron. He looked sceptical, perhaps thinking that the duke of Guise’s advisor was an unlikely choice as the king’s messenger. ‘Is there some confirmation of this?’ he said worriedly.
‘You don’t have to arrest him yourself. The king will send someone.’
Cosseins shrugged. That did not require him to commit himself to anything. ‘Very well,’ he said.
‘Just be ready,’ said Pierre, and he rode off.
