Page 102 of A Column of Fire
‘Alain will have an arranged political marriage, like all Guise men except those of us who are called to the priesthood. But I’d like to take care of the maid. I feel sure you’ll understand that, having been born in similar circumstances.’
Pierre felt sick. He had thought the triumph he and Charles had enjoyed might elevate his status closer to that of a member of the family. Instead, he was being reminded of how far below them he really was. ‘You want me to marry a maid?’
Charles laughed. ‘Don’t speak as if it’s a death sentence!’
‘More like life imprisonment.’ What was he going to do about this? Charles did not like to be thwarted. If Pierre refused this demand it could blight his flowering career.
‘We’ll give you a pension,’ Charles said. ‘Fifty livres a month—’
‘I don’t care about money.’
Charles raised his eyebrows at the insolence of an interruption. ‘Indeed? What do you care about?’
Pierre realized there was one reward that might make the sacrifice worthwhile. ‘I want the right to call myself Pierre Aumande de Guise.’
‘Marry her, and we’ll see.’
‘No.’ Pierre knew he was risking everything now. ‘My name on the marriage certificate must be Pierre Aumande de Guise. Otherwise I will not sign it.’ He had never been this audacious with Charles. He held his breath, waiting for the reaction, dreading an explosion.
Charles said: ‘You’re a determined little bastard, aren’t you?’
‘I wouldn’t be so useful to you otherwise.’
‘That’s true.’ Charles was silent and thoughtful for a minute. Then he said: ‘All right, I’ll agree.’
Pierre felt weak with relief.
Charles said: ‘From now on you are Pierre Aumande de Guise.’
‘Thank you.’
‘The girl is in the next room along the corridor. Go and see her. Get acquainted.’
Pierre got up and went to the door.
‘Be nice to her,’ Charles added. ‘Give her a kiss.’
Pierre left the room without replying. Outside the door he stood still for a moment, feeling shaky, trying to take it all in. He did not know whether to be elated or dismayed. He had escaped from one unwanted marriage only to fall into another. But he was a Guise!
He pulled himself together. He had better take a look at his wife-to-be. She was low-class, obviously. But she might be pretty, given that she had enticed Alain de Guise. On the other hand, it did not take much to win the sexual interest of a boy of fourteen: willingness was the most important attraction.
He walked along the passage to the next door and went in without knocking.
A girl sat on the sofa with her head in her hands, weeping. She wore the plain dress of a servant. She was quite plump, Pierre saw, perhaps on account of the pregnancy.
When he closed the door behind him she looked up.
He knew her. It was plain Odette, the maid of Véronique. She would forever remind him of the girl he had not been allowed to marry.
Odette recognized him and smiled bravely through her tears, showing her crooked teeth. ‘Are you my saviour?’ she said.
‘God help me,’ said Pierre.
*
AFTERGILESPALOTwas burned to death, Sylvie’s mother went into a depression.
For Sylvie this was the most shocking of the traumas she suffered, more seismic than Pierre’s betrayal, even sadder than her father’s execution. In Sylvie’s mind, her mother was a rock that could never crumble, the foundation of her life. Isabelle had put salve on her childish injuries, fed her when she was hungry, and calmed her father’s volcanic temper. But now Isabelle was helpless. She sat in a chair all day. If Sylvie lit a fire, Isabelle would look at it; if Sylvie prepared food, Isabelle would eat it mechanically; if Sylvie did not help her get dressed, Isabelle would spend all day in her underclothes.
