Page 138 of A Column of Fire
Gaston Le Pin and his two henchmen returned at midnight empty-handed. Pierre got Le Pin in a corner of the hall and said: ‘Resume the search in the morning. There’ll be no battle tomorrow: the duke will not recover overnight. That means you’ll have plenty of soldiers to help you. Start early and spread your net wide. We must find the little man with the tuft.’
Le Pin nodded agreement.
Pierre stayed at the duke’s bedside all night.
When dawn broke, he met Le Pin in the hall again. ‘If you catch the villain, I will be in charge of the interrogation,’ he said. ‘The duchess has decreed it.’ This was not true, but Le Pin believed it. ‘Lock him up somewhere nearby then come to me.’
‘Very well.’
Pierre saw him off with Rasteau and Brocard. They would recruit all the helpers they needed along the way.
Pierre went to bed soon afterwards. He would need to be quick-witted and sure-footed over the next few days.
Le Pin woke him at midday. ‘I’ve got him,’ he said with satisfaction.
Pierre got up immediately. ‘Who is he?’
‘Says his name is Jean de Poltrot, sieur de Méré.’
‘I trust you didn’t bring him here to the château.’
‘No – young Henri might try to kill him. He’s in chains at the priest’s house.’
Pierre dressed quickly and followed Le Pin to the nearby village. As soon as he was alone with Poltrot, he said: ‘It was Gaspard de Coligny, wasn’t it, who ordered you to kill Duke Scarface?’
‘Yes,’ said Poltrot.
It soon became evident that Poltrot would say anything. He was a type Pierre had come across before, a fantasist.
Poltrot probably had worked as some kind of spy for the Protestants, but it was anyone’s guess who had told him to kill Scarface. It might have been Coligny, as Poltrot sometimes said; it might have been another Protestant leader; or Poltrot might have had the idea himself.
That afternoon and over the next few days he talked volubly. Most likely half of what he said was invented to please his interrogator, and the other half to make himself look better. The story he told one day was contradicted by what he said the next. He was completely unreliable.
Which was not a problem.
Pierre wrote out Poltrot’s confession, saying that Gaspard de Coligny had paid him to assassinate the duke of Guise, and Poltrot signed it.
The following day, Scarface developed a high fever, and the doctors told him to prepare to meet his maker. His brother, Cardinal Louis, gave him the last rites, then he said goodbye to Anna and young Henri.
When the duchess and the next duke came out of the sick room in tears, Pierre said: ‘Coligny killed Duke Scarface,’ and he showed them the confession.
The result exceeded his hopes.
The duchess became vituperative, sputtering: ‘Coligny must die! He must die!’
Pierre told her that Queen Caterina was already making overtures of peace to the Protestants, and Coligny would probably escape punishment as part of any treaty.
At that Henri became nearly hysterical, crying in his boyish treble: ‘I will kill him! I will kill him myself!’
‘I believe you will, one day, Prince Henri,’ Pierre said to him. ‘And when you do, I will be by your side.’
Duke Scarface died the next day.
Cardinal Louis was responsible for the funeral arrangements, but was rarely sober long enough to get much done, and Pierre took charge without difficulty. With Anna’s support he devised a magnificent send-off. The duke’s body would be conveyed first to Paris, where his heart would be interred in the cathedral of Notre Dame. Then the coffin would travel in state across the country to Champagne, where the body would be buried at Joinville. Such grand obsequies were normally only for kings. No doubt Queen Caterina would have preferred less ostentation, but Pierre did not consult her. For her part, Caterina always avoided a quarrel when she could, and she probably figured that Scarface could do no more harm now, even if he did have a royal funeral.
However, Pierre’s scheme to make Coligny a hate figure did not go so smoothly. Once again Caterina showed that she could be as cunning as Pierre. She sent a copy of Poltrot’s confession to Coligny, who had retreated to the Protestant hinterland of Normandy, and asked him to respond to it. She was already planning his rehabilitation.
But the Guises would never forget.
