the nostradamus prophecy theresa breslin

‘Sire, you should pay heed to Nostradamus,’ Catherine de’ Medici hissed at the young King. Some gasped, others sniggered behind their hands. ‘Hark to the beating of wings! Even as I speak, the Angel of Death hovers above our heads!’Ī murmur ran through the assembly. ‘I feel its presence near me!’ He looked up in terror at the ceiling rafters. ‘Death is in this very place! Here! Tonight!’ he cried out. The soothsayer raised both hands above his head. I hold my court in the royal residences there without fear.’ But her son, the young King Charles, only laughed. The King’s life is forfeit! Murder most foul!’įrom her seat on the raised dais, Catherine de’ Medici, Queen Regent of France, leaned forward listening intently. Their bodies pile in the streets, their corpses choke the river. Look!’ The old man’s eyes started from his head.

Put to the sword, battered and clubbed to death. ‘Yet, more! And more still! Three! Four! Five hundred! Five times five!’ He moaned and pulled his hair. White flecks of spume gathered at the corners of his mouth.

Stabbing his finger at the paper, his voice rose in a wail. Safe from the sword, saved only by the word.’ He held it aloft and declaimed in a loud voice,ĭeeds done by stealth will come to light and all but one consumed The soothsayer reached into the folds of his cloak and drew out a crumpled parchment. In the great hall of Cherboucy Palace nobles and courtiers pressed forward to hear. ‘Listen to me, I beg you! Blood runs red in the streets of Paris!’ The old man with the long white beard trembled as he spoke.

The nostradamus prophecy theresa breslin