came rattling over it and drove of towards the Queen Mother’s palace with one passenger inside, the Abbot of Amboise.
Or was that one the Doctor? Steven broke into a run, dragging Anne along with him. ‘Doctor!’ he shouted several times but the street noises were too loud for the Doctor to hear and the carriage drew away.
‘One of those two men is my friend, the Doctor,’ Steven stopped and gasped in exasperation.
‘But which one?’ Anne asked.
He shook his head. ‘If I knew that our troubles would be over – well, almost over,’ he corrected himself thinking about the TARDIS locked in the Bastille unless, of course, that Abbot was the Doctor, in which case he should have listened to Anne, but if it weren’t the Doctor then – he gave up in confusion and took Anne to the auberge where they mingled with the crowd outside and waited to see what would happen next.
The two Abbots of Amboise arrived at their destinations almost simultaneously, the first at the Bastille and the second at the Queen Mother’s palace where the Doctor was shown into an ante-chamber prior to being announced.
‘My Sovereign Lady,’ the Doctor murmured as he bowed over Catherine’s hand.
‘What would my Lord Abbot with us?’ asked the dumpy, plain, middle-aged woman in widow’s weeds who ruled all of France over her son’s feeble protests.
‘I am concerned, your Majesty, about Admiral de Coligny’s proposed alliance with the Protestant Dutch against Catholic Spain in the Low Countries,’ the Doctor said, ‘and I repeat, Catholic must not fight Catholic.’
‘Nor shall they, my Lord Abbot, there will be no alliance and no war,’ Catherine replied. ‘We shall never permit it and with good reason. Marshall Tavannes is right, France cannot afford a war and moreover, as Henri of Navarre learned to his cost, we are no match for the Spanish force of arms.’
‘But the Admiral has the King’s ear, your Majesty, and argues persuasively,’ the Doctor continued.
‘And I am the Queen Mother, Regent of France,’ she answered.
‘With due respect, your Majesty, you were the Regent of France. Since King Charles’s marriage you no longer are,’
the Doctor riposted.
Catherine dismissed the remark with a wave of her hand. ‘Our son does as he is told, my Lord Abbot.’ Then she leant forward on her throne, and lowered her voice.
‘And do not be concerned about the Admiral’s influence over the King. It will be short-lived. Monsieur Bondot will see to that.’
The Doctor knew he must draw her out, to sat exactly what was to happen to de Coligny. ‘Bondot?’ he asked in all innocence.
‘Our life has been spent in an attempt to reconcile Catholic and Huguenot, to see them live together side by side, free to worship as they will,’ she explained. ‘You may insist the Huguenots are heretics, my Lord Abbot, but it is a word we have tried to avoid – until now when our beloved France is placed in peril by these reckless men.’
‘And what has Bondot to do with it?’ the Doctor persisted.
The Queen Mother smiled at him. ‘Ask that of my younger son, the Duke of Anjou, or Henri of Guise or the Marshall Tavannes but not of us, my Lord Abbot, not of us.’
As he clambered into his carriage to return to the Cathedral and the crypt, the Doctor was dismayed that he had failed to prise the word ‘assassinate’ from Catherine’s lips but he felt he had sufficient clues to put Lerans and Muss on the right track.
‘First, show me the wretch,’ the Abbot of Amboise demanded, averting his eyes from the TARDIS in the middle of the courtyard. He was taken to a dank, dark dungeon where the unfortunate locksmith was chained to one wall.
‘In the name of Our Lord, I command thee, malignant Prince of Darkness, to be gone,’ the Abbot intoned while the locksmith moaned.
The Abbot turned to Duval. ‘Lucifer entered this miserable soul through his arm,’ he said and Duval nodded, his hands joined in silent prayer. ‘The
Or was that one the Doctor? Steven broke into a run, dragging Anne along with him. ‘Doctor!’ he shouted several times but the street noises were too loud for the Doctor to hear and the carriage drew away.
‘One of those two men is my friend, the Doctor,’ Steven stopped and gasped in exasperation.
‘But which one?’ Anne asked.
He shook his head. ‘If I knew that our troubles would be over – well, almost over,’ he corrected himself thinking about the TARDIS locked in the Bastille unless, of course, that Abbot was the Doctor, in which case he should have listened to Anne, but if it weren’t the Doctor then – he gave up in confusion and took Anne to the auberge where they mingled with the crowd outside and waited to see what would happen next.
The two Abbots of Amboise arrived at their destinations almost simultaneously, the first at the Bastille and the second at the Queen Mother’s palace where the Doctor was shown into an ante-chamber prior to being announced.
‘My Sovereign Lady,’ the Doctor murmured as he bowed over Catherine’s hand.
‘What would my Lord Abbot with us?’ asked the dumpy, plain, middle-aged woman in widow’s weeds who ruled all of France over her son’s feeble protests.
‘I am concerned, your Majesty, about Admiral de Coligny’s proposed alliance with the Protestant Dutch against Catholic Spain in the Low Countries,’ the Doctor said, ‘and I repeat, Catholic must not fight Catholic.’
‘Nor shall they, my Lord Abbot, there will be no alliance and no war,’ Catherine replied. ‘We shall never permit it and with good reason. Marshall Tavannes is right, France cannot afford a war and moreover, as Henri of Navarre learned to his cost, we are no match for the Spanish force of arms.’
‘But the Admiral has the King’s ear, your Majesty, and argues persuasively,’ the Doctor continued.
‘And I am the Queen Mother, Regent of France,’ she answered.
‘With due respect, your Majesty, you were the Regent of France. Since King Charles’s marriage you no longer are,’
the Doctor riposted.
Catherine dismissed the remark with a wave of her hand. ‘Our son does as he is told, my Lord Abbot.’ Then she leant forward on her throne, and lowered her voice.
‘And do not be concerned about the Admiral’s influence over the King. It will be short-lived. Monsieur Bondot will see to that.’
The Doctor knew he must draw her out, to sat exactly what was to happen to de Coligny. ‘Bondot?’ he asked in all innocence.
‘Our life has been spent in an attempt to reconcile Catholic and Huguenot, to see them live together side by side, free to worship as they will,’ she explained. ‘You may insist the Huguenots are heretics, my Lord Abbot, but it is a word we have tried to avoid – until now when our beloved France is placed in peril by these reckless men.’
‘And what has Bondot to do with it?’ the Doctor persisted.
The Queen Mother smiled at him. ‘Ask that of my younger son, the Duke of Anjou, or Henri of Guise or the Marshall Tavannes but not of us, my Lord Abbot, not of us.’
As he clambered into his carriage to return to the Cathedral and the crypt, the Doctor was dismayed that he had failed to prise the word ‘assassinate’ from Catherine’s lips but he felt he had sufficient clues to put Lerans and Muss on the right track.
‘First, show me the wretch,’ the Abbot of Amboise demanded, averting his eyes from the TARDIS in the middle of the courtyard. He was taken to a dank, dark dungeon where the unfortunate locksmith was chained to one wall.
‘In the name of Our Lord, I command thee, malignant Prince of Darkness, to be gone,’ the Abbot intoned while the locksmith moaned.
The Abbot turned to Duval. ‘Lucifer entered this miserable soul through his arm,’ he said and Duval nodded, his hands joined in silent prayer. ‘The
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