August 24, 1572

The heat of August went down with the sun, and darkness settled over the streets of Paris, France. It was the eve of St. Bartholomew’s feast, and a royal wedding was in progress, too. All seemed pleasant and safe. All seemed as usual. A maid lit a candle and helped her mistress to bed. A mother prayed for her baby and gently rocked him to sleep. A merchant put his accounts away and bid his wife and children to rest well. But not all in the city was as usual. In a hotel room lay an Admiral...