monarch

"The doctor will be here soon, my lord."

Robert looked at the man who spoke. He was wearing the uniform of a French court guard with a golden iris badge embroidered on his chest.However, he was not a soldier, Robert could tell from the first time he saw him, those swollen eyes were always looking around, and there was always a hint of cold stickiness in his voice, which made Robert Think of the touch on the surface of the snake.It took no discerning eye to see that this man was a spy, and it was evident that the King of France had such figures as Sir Walsingham.

This gentleman has been with them since they landed in Bordeaux, nominally to protect them and serve them.As for his actual identity, both parties were tacitly aware. After all, if the same thing happened in Britain, King Edward would also instruct Sir Walsingham to make the same arrangement.

"Thank you." Robert nodded towards the man. He leaned his back on an armchair also decorated with irises, and lazily looked at himself in the opposite mirror. The surface of the mirror was not polished enough It is smooth, and what he is looking at each other is just a group of white fuzzy shadows. Whenever he moves a little, the white shadow in the mirror will change its shape, just like the clouds in the sky are constantly showing various shapes in the sky. Same.

The cry of the child came from next door again. Compared with a few days ago, the cry was not much louder, but it was very penetrating.Prince Sebastian was as weak as a kitten on the ship. When Robert and his party arrived in Bordeaux, the local mayor found a dozen nurses for him, and he drank the milk of only one of the Gascony women. After going down, you won't be able to spit it all out.On their way to Paris, although they were wrapped in thick fur and never left the warm carriage, the child had a fever again in Orleans, and now they arrived in Paris, but the condition did not seem to improve. .

"Don't worry, my lord, the doctor will be here soon." The man repeated.

Robert looked again at his thin face, with his funny moustache, and above it a big French nose that didn't quite fit the rest of the features.

He suppressed his urge to laugh, nodded expressionlessly, and looked out the window. The black shadows of the two towers of Notre Dame were wrapped in the honey-colored sunset, and the night was about to cover Paris.The street outside the window is gradually becoming quieter. Although it is only a few blocks away from the Louvre, it still takes a certain amount of courage and skill to appear on the street at night.

"Doctor Lavarière is one of the most famous pediatricians in Paris. You can trust his medical skills." The spy seemed to have completely ignored Robert's perfunctory, "He has a family in the Saint-Honoré district. Clinic, for us French, it is similar to a doctor in your country who opened a clinic in Harley Street... When the plague broke out in Venice a few years ago, he was in Venice, walking around the streets to catch the disease and God blessed him not to catch the plague. He is the best doctor! Many noble ladies let him watch their children."

"I am very grateful for your country's kindness." Robert said.

"It's nothing...you and Prince Sebastian are the guests of the King and Queen of France. Your health is the most important thing to us." Mr. Spy bent slightly, looking like an attentive Owner.

"So King Henry II also wants Prince Sebastian to grow up safely?" Robert asked casually, "I thought he would prefer that there be no direct heir to the British throne, so that his son The daughter-in-law would be the legal first heir... an empire from Scotland to the Mediterranean, ruled by his grandson, sounds quite attractive."

The spy smiled awkwardly, "You're really funny."

"Just take me for a joke," said Robert softly.

If I were Mary Stuart, I don't want this child to grow up safe, he thought.Without this child, and Edward having no heirs, Henry VIII's line would be cut off, and the throne would pass to the heirs of Henry VIII's two sisters, Margaret and Mary Tudor.Mary Stuart's inheritance came from her grandmother Margaret Tudor, while the Gray girls' inheritance came from their maternal grandmother Mary Tudor, because Margaret Tudor was Mary Tudor's older sister, Mary Stuart, was in line of succession ahead of the Gray girls.

Once Prince Sebastian dies, regardless of Queen Mary of Spain, the French Crown Princess Mary Stuart is the legal heir to the British throne. Although the legal order of succession is no longer a golden rule in Britain, there are still some Few people value the so-called legitimacy.Today they are in Paris, just a few blocks from the former Queen of Scots.Mary Stuart would be a saint if she didn't do something about it.

"When can we set off for Calais?" Robert asked the spy, not expecting to hear any valuable answers from the gentleman, but to send a message through him to those who sent him here. A signal that their patience is running out.

"I believe that a decision will be made soon in the Louvre." The spy seemed to have been asked this question countless times, and he was already familiar with it, "The ambassador of your country just entered the palace today, I miss you and Prince Sebastian will be leaving soon."

"Prince Sebastian and me?" Robert asked back, "Doesn't it include King Joao Manuel? He is the father of this child."

The expression on the secret agent's face froze, and he blinked his eyes with some embarrassment, "This kind of thing is not something that a small person like me can talk about...everything depends on what the palace wants."

The knock on the door saved Mr. Agent from this embarrassing situation, and he shouted "Come in" loudly towards the door, with obvious relief in his tone.

A servant pushed the door open from the outside, "The doctor is here, gentlemen."

"Then please, my lord?" The spy stood up and made a gesture of invitation.

The two came to the wide marble corridor one after the other.This mansion belonged to the Marshal of Montmorency, whose French army was beaten by the Duke of Alva in the battle of Saint-Quentin not long ago, and the marshal lost the favor of the palace.Loaning the mansion to the royal family to entertain Robert and his party was part of his attempt to regain favor.

A hunchbacked man in a black cloak appeared at the stairs, carrying a heavy medicine box in his hand. When he bowed to Robert, the strong smell of spices on his body almost made Robert sneeze.

"Are you a doctor?" asked Robert in French.

"Yes, yes, my lord." The doctor's facial features wrinkled into a ball, trying to express a flattering expression.

"French?"

"Parisian, my lord."

There was something about the doctor that made Robert uncomfortable, maybe it was the overly sycophantic expression, or maybe it was the pair of false gray eyes. Compared with the Dr. Paganini he often saw in Britain, this man looked better. Looks really not trustworthy.

"Have you already received the consultation fee?" The spy interjected, "Then you know the rules. After leaving this mansion, you are not allowed to discuss the patient's affairs with anyone, understand?"

The doctor nodded quickly, and Robert noticed a slight trembling in his thigh.

"Then please, doctor." Robert nodded slightly, and the three walked into Prince Sebastian's room together along the arched corridor.

Prince Sebastian's crib was located in the center of the room, and the black-haired Gascony nurse was feeding him, with frothy milk flowing from the corner of the child's mouth.

Seeing someone coming in, the nurse quickly put the child back on the crib and tidied up her clothes.

"Still refusing to drink?" Robert walked to the crib, looking at the child's wrinkled little face, like a shriveled orange, he thought.

"Your Highness is still spitting up milk." The wet nurse curtseyed, "and still has a fever."

The child's face was flushed with fever, and Robert clenched his fists with some unease. The child was born from the mother's womb in only eight months. It is not easy for a child with congenital deficiencies to grow up... and this Hateful high fever, but don't cause any permanent damage.

"Can I ask Dr. Lavarière to take a look?" the secret agent reminded at the right time.

Robert agreed. "Please, Doctor."

Dr. Lavarière walked to the crib, squatted down, and began to examine the child on the bed. He picked the child up, listened to his heartbeat, and put him back on the bed.

Robert stared vigilantly at the back of Dr. Lavarière. Although he wrapped himself in a thick black cloak like a bat, Robert could still tell that his muscles were tense.

"You look nervous," Robert asked. "Do you look like this when you visit the homes of your other clients?"

"No, no." Dr. Lavarière wiped the sweat from his forehead, "It's just the first time I see a doctor for such a distinguished client."

The doctor finished his examination, stood up, and opened his medicine chest.

"Prince Sebastian is infected with wind chill. He is inherently weak, and he has to travel for such a long time in winter. It is inevitable to get wind chill." Doctor Lavarière laughed a few times, "If I were You, I will take the prince to live in the warm south for a while, and then set off for Britain in the spring."

"Unfortunately, that's unlikely and we're running on tight schedules," Robert said.

"Of course, of course, I completely understand." The doctor nodded hurriedly, as if shaking his own brain out of his skull, "I prepared a potion for His Highness, as long as you drink it and rest for a few days, he will will recover."

He took out a small crystal bottle from the bottom of the medicine box. The bottle was sealed with a golden cap, and the liquid inside was as red as blood.

He walked to the cabinet on the other side of the room, picked up the water bottle on the table, poured a glass of water, and then poured the red liquid in the small bottle into the glass. The water in the glass barely changed color.

"With your permission, my lord, I'll feed His Highness the medicine." Holding the water glass, he walked towards the crib again.

"As you saw just now, Your Highness can't drink it." Robert walked a few steps forward calmly, blocking the doctor, "Why don't you let the nurse drink it, Your Highness can still drink a few sips of her milk."

"No, no, my lord." The doctor didn't seem to expect Robert to say that, and for a moment he even looked a little flustered, although he immediately covered it up, but was still noticed by Robert.

"In that case, the effect of the medicine... will not be enough." The trembling in his thigh had spread to his whole body, and the water in the glass was bouncing up and down accordingly.

"Do you always have your potions ready to carry with you before you come to see a patient?" Robert asked again.

"Only bring some commonly used ones, my lord." The doctor's face looked like a broken flower, "For example... used to treat wind and cold."

"I heard that you have been to Venice?" Robert changed the subject.

"Yes, my lord," said the doctor, "during the last great plague."

"I heard that during the plague, doctors would wear beak masks to prevent infection." Robert took a step forward, and the doctor stepped back involuntarily, "Have you worn it too?"

"Yes, my lord," said the doctor firmly.

"This is interesting." Robert's deep voice echoed in the quiet room, "The beak mask is indeed a very interesting invention, but for doctors, it has an annoying disadvantage, that is, after wearing it for a long time, it will fade away." There's a scar on the side of the nose."

He stared condescendingly at the unmarked skin around the doctor's nose, "You wore this mask in Venice for several months, but it didn't leave a trace on your face."

Robert took the cup from the doctor's hand and slowly but firmly snatched it away.

"As a little extra protection," he said, "would you mind taking a sip of the potion in the cup before feeding it to His Highness? After all, this potion is only for typhoid fever and will not harm your body. "

When the cup was raised to the doctor's mouth, the doctor jumped back involuntarily, as if the cup contained hot lava.

"Aren't you willing to drink?" Robert chuckled, "Now you look a little suspicious."

The doctor's gray eyeballs were spinning rapidly in their sockets. Suddenly, he took out a dagger from his arms and rushed towards the crib.

Robert, who had been prepared for a long time, swung his hand and poured all the liquid in the cup towards the doctor's face. The doctor subconsciously slowed down and blocked it with his hand. At the moment he paused, Robert's fist had landed on the doctor's face. his face.

The doctor fell to the ground, and the knife came out of his hand. He supported the floor with his hands and tried to stand up, but a sword stuck into his back and stabbed him right through.

He fell to the ground with his eyes wide open, black blood spreading under his body.

Robert looked at the spy who put his sword into its sheath, "You don't have to kill him."

"I just wanted to help you," said the spy. "What if he still has a musket or something?"

Robert squinted his eyes and looked at the other party, "Don't you want to hear him talk about who sent him? Now that he is dead... dead people can't talk, it's very convenient, isn't it?"

"If you're implying..."

"I didn't hint at anything." Robert stretched out a hand, interrupting the other person's words, "Please take this man's body out."

The secret agent was a little annoyed, but he nodded and agreed, "I will call someone, let's go out first, my lord."

"You go, I'll stay here tonight." Robert pulled an armchair to the side of the crib, "Who knows if there will be another uninvited visitor at night?"

The spy seemed to want to say something, but facing Robert's cold gaze, he involuntarily closed his mouth.

"Very well, my lord," he heard himself say, "I'll call for someone."

Robert didn't answer, but raised his eyelids slightly to show that he knew.