Conspiracy

TWENTY-ONE

I stumbled home and fell into bed as a thin light began to spread over the horizon and a lone bird trilled its dawn song into the brittle air over the river. When I woke, the day was already advanced, the sky clear and pale. I asked for a bucket of hot water to be brought up and cleaned myself thoroughly, examining my new injuries from the night before; a purple bruise spread over my hip and there were fresh scratches on my face and hands from falling into the bush, but the damage was not as bad as I had feared. When all this was over, I thought, I would shut myself away in a library and never again complain of the lack of incident in a life of writing. Then I remembered that I might have to return to England with news of Stafford’s treachery; in my present state of exhaustion I could not work out whether the idea excited or depressed me.

My immediate preoccupation was finding something to eat; I could not remember the last time I had had a proper meal. I dressed in clean clothes, ran a comb through my hair – a quick task now there was less of it – and climbed on my stool to retrieve the bag of items I now thought of as evidence that might link the murders. I slipped the silver penknife inside my doublet, swung my cloak around my shoulders and took myself to the Swan and Cross for a bowl of stew.

‘Seen the latest pamphlets?’ Gaston asked, as he slopped it down in front of me. I shook my head, as my mouth was crammed with bread.

‘That girl that was killed up at the Tuileries the other night,’ he continued, with the air of a professional opinion-former, resting one hand on the table. ‘The pamphleteers are saying Catherine did for her by witchcraft.’

‘Ah. And do they say why she wanted to do that?’

He sniffed. ‘Witches don’t need a reason, do they?’

‘So she just killed one of her ladies for her own amusement?’

‘Well.’ He leaned in and lowered his voice. ‘You know what they say about that Italian sorcerer – no offence – she favours. He has built a chapel to the Devil under the palace where he keeps the severed head of a Jewish child to prophesy for him. And he makes wax dolls of all the royal enemies and sticks them with needles when she commands him. They say he can call up spirits who aid him to walk forth out of his body so he can commit murder invisibly.’

‘Trust me,’ I said, tearing another hunk of bread, ‘I know Ruggieri – he is much less interesting than that.’

‘Anyway, the point is, they’re saying he murdered that girl by mistake. Catherine meant for him to kill someone else.’

‘Perhaps his spirit had trouble recognising people after he left his eyes behind. Who do they think he meant to kill, then?’

‘Don’t know. They say maybe her daughter, Margot.’

‘Margot is not in Paris.’

‘I’m just telling you what I read.’ He held up his hands as a disclaimer. ‘I thought you’d want to keep up with the tide of public feeling.’

‘Thanks, Gaston. I can’t help thinking these pamphleteers run ahead of the facts.’

He gave me a pitying look. ‘It’s a story about a beautiful rich whore killed by black magic. Do you think anyone gives two farts for the facts?’

After I had eaten, I crossed the river and made my way up the old rue du Temple towards the north of the Marais district, where the silver and goldsmiths had their workshops. As I walked, my thoughts returned to Sophia. There had been a moment, the previous night, when I imagined I saw a spark of what had once been between us, but now, in daylight, I realised I was fooling myself. Perhaps there had never been anything beyond a superficial attraction. With a twinge of anxiety, I recalled what she had said about keeping her eyes open for Paget by way of payment. I wondered now if she meant within the Fitzherbert household, or in more general terms. Would she run straight to Paget and tell him about seeing me sneaking around the Hotel de Montpensier, jumping off balconies? Sophia was an opportunist, and I could not blame her for that; she had had no choice. Brought up in an Oxford college, educated equally with her brother, she had come of age with ambitions and expectations that far exceeded what society would grant to a young woman of her status. She had rebelled against the constraints placed on her, and she had suffered for it. I had been useful to her for a time, but that time had passed. There was nothing I could offer her in my present circumstances. And yet, for a fleeting moment as she looked into my eyes, I could almost have persuaded myself that I could win her back.

Dismissing these thoughts, I made for a narrow shop with no sign over the door. Inside it was clean and well kept, though dim, since the small windows allowed in little light. A skinny apprentice leaned against the ware-bench polishing a monstrance. He glanced up as I entered, his eyes suspicious.

‘Is your master in the back?’

The boy jutted his chin out as if to argue, then thought better of it and disappeared through a door into the workshop. A moment later an older man in a leather apron appeared, wiping his hands on a cloth.

‘Help you?’

‘You are the master silversmith?’

‘I am.’

I removed my gloves and took the penknife from inside my doublet.

‘What can you tell me about this?’ I handed it to him.

He turned it over, running a finger along the carvings on the handle.

‘Selling it, are you?’

‘Possibly. I want to know more about it. Do you recognise this maker’s mark?’

‘Fetch my lenses,’ he barked at the boy. He peered more closely at the blade, affecting detachment, but I had seen the gleam in his eye when I had mentioned selling it; clearly it had some value. The boy returned with a thick disc of glass, cut and polished to magnify objects, like one lens of a pair of spectacles. The silversmith fitted it to his right eye and examined the knife.

‘Florentine,’ he said, with satisfaction.

‘You are certain?’

‘No doubt. This symbol of the tower has been used by the guild of Florentine silversmiths since the last century. Fine piece of work, this. Fifty years old, I’d say, maybe more. Worth something though.’

‘Could it have been bought in Paris?’

‘I’ve not seen anything like this for sale here in all the time I’ve been working, and that’s over forty years myself. No, I reckon this came out of Italy a while ago.’ He removed the lens and squinted at my expression. ‘Is it stolen, then?’

‘No. It’s been in my family for a long time.’

He shrugged, unperturbed.

‘Not my business how you came by it. But I’ll give you a good price, as long as the owner won’t come looking for it.’

‘I am the owner,’ I said, holding my hand out for the penknife. ‘And I thank you for your time – you’ve been a great help. If I decide to sell, I will certainly come to you.’

‘Don’t you want to know how much I’m willing to offer?’

‘Next time,’ I said, tucking it away again and rushing out of the shop before he could ask any more questions.

I hurried back towards the river, mulling over this new possibility. There were Italian merchants and traders in Paris, of course, as well as diplomats and couriers from Rome, but the majority of Florentines were to be found at court, orbiting around Catherine. Just as I had thought everything pointed indisputably to the Duke of Guise, the penknife seemed to tell a different story. I was so confused by this conflicting information that I stopped still in the middle of the Pont Saint-Michel to puzzle it out, drawing curses from those trying to pass through the narrow street around me. The letter Cotin had found among Joseph de Chartres’s private papers made it clear that he had feared being exposed as a spy; he had feared it so much, in fact, that he had been willing to kill Paul Lefèvre to prevent such a denunciation. So the letter implied, anyway. The question was: who was Joseph spying for, and on whom? I pressed the heel of my hand to my forehead and tried to think clearly, as the crowds jostled past. Had I been looking in the wrong direction all this time? If Joseph’s lover was not the Duchess of Montpensier, could she be someone within the court – someone with access to an antique Florentine penknife?

An elbow in the back from an impatient passer-by jolted me out of my reverie and I walked the rest of the way home thinking that perhaps Jacopo was right and I should make the decision to walk away. Too many powerful interests were pitted against one another for this to be resolved with anything as simple as identifying a murderer. It was folly to imagine the King would dare bring Guise to justice, even if I turned up with irrefutable proof against him. Henri was too afraid of the Duke’s popularity and, as Gaston pointed out, people don’t much care about the facts if the truth is less exciting. If they want to riot against the King because Guise tells them Henri killed a priest, they won’t put down their weapons and go quietly home because someone like me turns up with the real perpetrator. They’re rioting against the shortage of bread, the poor harvest, the endless wars, the instability, the failure of their leaders to tell them once and for all who God favours and who He will burn. None of them really cared who killed Lefèvre.

By the time I reached the Place Maubert I had almost convinced myself to heed Jacopo’s advice, but I could not shake off the thought that, if someone within the court was involved in Guise’s plot, the King was still in real danger. As I turned into rue du Cimetière and approached the front door, Madame de la Fosse shot out and launched into an attack as if she had been watching for me from the window.

‘This is a respectable house.’ She folded her arms across her chest, her eyes blazing accusation.

‘Has someone suggested otherwise?’ I asked, with wide-eyed innocence, though my stomach lurched; she would not forgive me if armed men had turned up to arrest me in full view of the neighbours.

‘I’m not having fornication in here.’ She drew herself up, bristling with indignation.

‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ I said, trying to edge past her. ‘I wish you better luck in future.’

‘It’s not a joke.’ She blocked my way. ‘Some doxy appears on my doorstep, insists on seeing you, refuses to leave. Says if I don’t let her in she’ll wait outside until you come back. What would people say to that? Well, I couldn’t have her hanging about where everyone could see her.’

‘So, where is she now?’ My heart was hurtling, tripping over itself in a mixture of relief that I was not being arrested and a fierce thrill that Sophia had come to find me so soon. I had been right about that frisson last night, I thought.

‘Well, I had to let her in, didn’t I? I told her she could wait on the landing outside your door. But I’m not happy.’

‘Madame, you are magnificent.’ I planted a kiss on her cheek before she could protest and bounded up the stairs two at a time, my spirits revived by optimism. I rounded the turn of the stairwell and had to fight not to let my disappointment show on my face when I saw Gabrielle de la Tour leaning against the frame of my door.

‘Oh. This is an unexpected pleasure,’ I said, hoping to sound sincere.

She offered a charming smile, which looked equally unconvincing, and kissed me awkwardly on both cheeks.

‘Catherine wants to see you.’

‘Is that an invitation or a summons?’

She arched an eyebrow to indicate that this was a foolish question.

‘I was expecting her to send armed guards for me.’

‘Oh, she will do that if you don’t come willingly.’ She nodded at the closed door. ‘Can we go inside for a minute?’

I hesitated. I knew I had hidden away anything incriminating – I always did before leaving the house, as a precaution – but I did not trust her and the idea of allowing her inside my private rooms made me feel oddly vulnerable. Perhaps that was also because I did not wholly trust myself to resist her.

But I unlocked the door and let her step inside, closing it behind us. She dropped on to my bed and sat with her head in her hands. I hovered by the door, disconcerted; I had half expected her to pounce on me as soon as we were alone. I had not anticipated this complete deflation.

‘Why does she want to see me?’ I asked, more sharply than I had intended. ‘Did you tell her I had asked questions about Circe?’

‘What?’ She peeled her hands away from her face and stared up at me. She looked pinched and worn, her eyes bruised with sleeplessness; she appeared to be fighting to keep her mouth from trembling. ‘I told her nothing, Bruno.’

‘You told her I was at the ball. She sent soldiers to find me shortly after I spoke to you.’

‘That was not my doing, I swear.’ Her eyes widened in distress. I watched her with caution; I could not discount the possibility that this was all an act.

‘Oh God. We are all so afraid,’ she whispered, bunching her hand into a fist and pressing it against her mouth.

‘Of what?’

‘What happened to Léonie. In case it should happen to any more of us.’

‘Why would you fear that? What do you think happened to her?’ I crossed the room to sit beside her, softening my voice. If she were telling the truth, it may be that she knew something, though I was still wary of being manipulated.

‘I don’t know. But none of us – in the Flying Squadron, I mean – believe that she took her own life.’

‘That is still Catherine’s view?’

She nodded, pressing her lips together as if she were fighting back tears. ‘So she says. I think she’s trying to avoid any gossip. But we talk among ourselves – we all fear that someone killed Léonie as a way of getting to Catherine. As a warning, you see. We fear that he may pick off more of us if she fails to heed it. We’re so scared, Bruno.’ Her voice quavered and she reached out a hand for me, turning to bury her face in my shoulder. Tentatively, I put my free arm around her.

‘Who do you suspect would do something like that?’ I asked, into her hair.

She drew her head back and looked at me with blank, miserable eyes. ‘Any of her enemies might.’

‘But – forgive me – aren’t you all sleeping with her enemies?’

‘That’s what makes it so frightening,’ she said. ‘We don’t know who to fear.’

‘Who was Léonie sleeping with?’ I asked. Her gaze sharpened.

‘You don’t know?’

‘I’m asking you.’

Her shoulders slumped. ‘I suppose it hardly matters now. It was an open secret, anyway. The King had taken her for a mistress. I expect he fancied the novelty, with the Duke d’Epernon away at war,’ she added, in a waspish tone that belied her mask of trembling anxiety.

‘But did she have someone else? You can hardly suppose the King would kill her to spite his mother?’

She frowned. ‘No – I didn’t mean …’ She stopped, rubbed her eyes, tried again. ‘We hadn’t seen much of her lately – Catherine sent her to serve in Queen Louise’s household about a month ago, so I only saw her again when we were rehearsing the Masque of Circe for the ball. Léonie wasn’t one to talk much about her business. We have all had to learn the art of discretion, but most of us have one or two close confidantes among the group – you’d go mad if you didn’t, the things we have to endure.’ She grimaced, then her mouth contorted with embarrassment. ‘Not you, obviously. But some of the others.’

‘I hope I wasn’t too much of a trial for you. But you were talking about Léonie?’

She flashed me a soft smile, tracing her finger in a light circle over the inside of my wrist. ‘She didn’t seem to talk to anyone. She was always quite aloof. She had perfected discretion – I suppose that’s why Catherine favoured her.’

‘Did you think she was pregnant?’

‘What?’ She dropped my hand and sprang away from me, her face frozen in amazement. ‘No – are you sure? The King’s, you mean?’

‘I only wondered if it was a possibility.’

‘It’s always a possibility with us,’ she said frankly. ‘I had not noticed anything with Léonie, and we all have sharp eyes for the signs by now. But then, we were not living with her day to day, as I told you. Poor girl, if she was. Seems worse somehow, doesn’t it? Taking two lives, I mean.’ She cupped her hand over her mouth.

‘What about Guise? Was Léonie his mistress too?’

‘Oh, we have all had a go at Guise one time or another. Catherine keeps trying. She persists in the belief that there is one divinely gifted woman who will find his weak spot, while he uses each of us as he pleases – which is no pleasure for the girl, believe me – and laughs at his own cleverness. She sent Léonie to him years ago, when she first came to court, virgo intacta.’ She enunciated the Latin as if it were self-evidently a bad joke.

‘Was she in love with him, do you think?’

‘She never spoke of it, if she was. But it is a hazard of our situation – more so for the young ones who come straight into Catherine’s service, their first time away from home. They form attachments, especially when they’re deflowered.’ She let out a cold laugh. ‘It’s a habit one is quickly cured of.’

‘The rest of you are pure cynics, then,’ I said.

‘Names on a list, Bruno. That’s all you are, after a while.’ She gave me a sidelong look with a knowing smile. Either she had forgotten her earlier distress or she was putting a brave face on it. Her hand rested lightly on my thigh. She continued to hold my gaze, her blue eyes expectant.

I stood decisively to pre-empt any sudden move. Though I had been tempted to revisit my liaison with her at the ball, driven by loneliness and the need for a familiar embrace, here in the fading light of the afternoon I realised what a mistake it would be – especially now that I had seen Sophia again. Not that she was any more to be trusted than Gabrielle, but at least my feelings for her went beyond a quick tumble.

‘I had better not keep Catherine waiting,’ I said. Gabrielle rose slowly and came to stand in front of me, snaking her arms around my waist.

‘Can’t we stay here a little longer?’ she murmured, sliding her hands skilfully under my doublet. ‘I don’t suppose she’ll mind.’

I felt her lips move lightly across my jaw, her breath hot on my ear. Her tongue darted out and caught my earlobe; her small teeth nipped it gently. I held my breath for a moment, battling the sudden awakening of my senses, the usual rush of blood, thinking how easy it would be to give in.

‘I think she would mind very much,’ I said, prising her arms off me with some effort.

She sucked in her cheeks. ‘Ah, the legendary self-control. Which I happen to know is, like all legends, greatly exaggerated. Or perhaps I don’t attract you any more? Now that I have had a child.’ She looked at me from under her lashes to see what effect this had.

‘Of course I am attracted to you. There was never any doubt about that.’

‘You’re right, it seems clear enough.’ She wrested one hand free and placed it purposefully over my crotch. I closed my eyes for a moment, breathed hard, moved her arm with some force.

‘My mind is on other things.’

‘That’s not how it looks,’ she said, in her silkiest voice.

‘Perhaps I don’t want to be left wondering if I have scattered any more children around France. Do you even know who your daughter’s father is?’

I had not meant to sound so harsh. I heard her draw a sharp breath through her teeth just before she slapped me in the face.

‘Don’t you dare presume to judge me, Bruno. You don’t know what it is to live as we do.’ She glared at me, nostrils flared, eyes hard as diamond. ‘We know you think us no different from common whores when you’ve had what you wanted. But we are the ones who are laughing at you. Do you understand that?’

‘I only wanted you to tell me the truth,’ I said quietly, rubbing my cheek.

‘I have told you all I wish to say on that subject.’ Her tone was pure ice now. ‘Let us go to the Tuileries, then. Catherine will be waiting, as you say.’ She swerved past me to the door.

‘At least tell me her name. Your daughter’s.’

She hesitated, her hand on the latch.

‘What harm can it do?’ I persisted. ‘Catherine may be about to have me arrested.’

Gabrielle turned back, surprised. ‘Why would she do that?’

‘Does she need a reason?’ I thought of Gaston’s pamphlet.

‘That’s not why she wants you.’ She looked at me as if I were being deliberately obtuse. ‘It’s the King.’

‘What about him?’

‘He’s locked himself in his private oratory and taken no food or drink for the past two days. He refuses to speak to anyone – none of his courtiers or his bodyservants. He won’t even admit Catherine. She thinks you’re the only person who might be able to get through to him. You’re a last resort.’

‘I don’t doubt it,’ I said grimly. As I unlatched the door, I heard the patter of quick footsteps descending from the lower landing. Madame de la Fosse could move swiftly when she chose. She should have picked up plenty of material to keep her friends busy for the next fortnight if she overheard even half of that, I thought.

We stepped outside into a raw December dusk, though it was not much past three in the afternoon. I glanced up at the sky; it would snow before nightfall. Gabrielle stopped and laid a hand on my arm.

‘Béatrice,’ she said, not looking at me. ‘Her name is Béatrice.’

Catherine received me once again in her extraordinary cabinet de travail, sitting imperiously in her chair on the raised dais, the crocodiles looking down on us with their lidless, distant stares. Ruggieri stooped beside her, his eyes equally reptilian. The Queen Mother appeared pale but composed, her face etched with tiredness under her black hood. I did not miss the questioning glance she darted at Gabrielle as we entered. I knelt and bowed my head, hearing the door close as I waited for permission to rise. Three of Catherine’s young women sat listlessly playing cards on velvet cushions at her feet. She dismissed them with a word. I could feel the force of their curious stares as their satin slippers trooped past my line of sight.

‘Get up, then,’ Catherine commanded, in a voice that implied I was the one wasting her time with my obsequies. I noticed when I stood that Gabrielle had also discreetly disappeared.

‘Your Majesty.’

‘You disobeyed my orders two nights ago. I told you to wait until I sent for you.’

‘I could not see that my presence was particularly useful, in the circumstances.’

‘You fetched my guard a nasty injury, and then you ran away. Slipped out like a rat down a hole. This old fool is partly to blame for not keeping his eyes open.’ She nodded towards Ruggieri, who cringed and twisted his beard. ‘But those look to me like the actions of a guilty man.’

‘Guilty of what, Your Majesty?’

‘You tell me. A young woman died in my gardens. You were seen in the woods where her body was discovered. You knew she was found there. Then you escape before you can be questioned.’

‘But-’ I tried to stay calm, offer a logical defence – ‘I was here with you when she was found. She was still warm. And you decided she had taken her own life.’

‘Whereas you seemed most determined that she did not.’

‘I would hardly draw attention to that if I had killed her.’

‘Perhaps you were trying to be clever. You have a reputation for that, after all.’

We looked at one another. Before I could speak, she held up a hand to pre-empt me.

‘That was not why I brought you here. I mention it only to let you see that there would be grounds to have you arrested, if at some future time I should change my opinion about the manner of the girl’s death. I dislike having my orders disobeyed. Let it not happen in future. Have I made myself clear?’

I inclined my head. ‘Your Majesty.’

‘Good. Walk with me.’ She lifted an arm, Ruggieri lurched forward to help her laboriously to her feet. When she had stepped down from the dais, she extended her arm to me and told him to wait. We proceeded as before, at the same painful pace. ‘The King is indulging one of his black moods,’ she said, when we reached the gallery, in a tone devoid of sympathy. ‘He refuses all food and drink and will not speak to anyone. I fear he means to destroy himself. He is certainly wilful enough to try it.’

‘For love of Léonie?’

She stopped and turned her most withering expression on me. ‘Love. God in Heaven. Henri falls in love twice a week. It is not love you are about to witness, nor grief – it is the tantrum of a spoiled boy who did not get his own way. We have seen all this before, you know.’ She resumed her halting progress along the gallery. ‘He was obsessed with another woman, before he married Louise. He became determined to make her his wife, against all my counsel, never mind that she was entirely inappropriate, not to mention married to someone else. He intended to have her existing marriage annulled but she inconveniently died of a fever before he could arrange it.’ She gave a dry laugh. ‘He responded with the same conspicuous display of mourning. Ordered silver death’s heads embroidered all over his black suits. Refused to eat, scourged himself. The physicians had to hold him down and force food into him in the end.’

‘Have you tried that this time?’

‘Not yet. I hope it will not be necessary. It irks me to acknowledge this, as you may imagine, but he has always respected you. I am hoping you will talk some sense into him where we have failed. In the present climate, we simply cannot afford for the last Valois king to starve himself to death over a courtesan.’

‘If she was a courtesan, you made her one,’ I said. There was a long silence while her black raptor’s eyes bored into me. Men had been executed for less insolence, I reflected.

‘That little theory you voiced the other night,’ she said eventually, glancing back to the far doors where Ruggieri and the guards stood waiting, out of earshot. ‘I trust you have kept your word not to repeat it to anyone?’

‘That Léonie was with child?’ I thought of my conversation earlier with Gabrielle, the stunned astonishment with which she had greeted the idea. ‘No. Not a soul.’

‘Good. Keep it that way. Above all, do not breathe a word about it to Henri.’ Her nails dug into my arm. ‘If he ever gets wind of that notion, I will know where it came from and I swear before God, I will have you locked up on the instant.’

‘Was it his, then?’ I stared at her, as the ramifications began to multiply and expand in my head. All of Europe had drawn the conclusion that Henri was not capable of fathering a child. But what if he had managed it, just not with his wife? Even a bastard Valois was better than nothing; Catherine had enough lawyers and theologians in her pay to make the case for legitimising a son born outside marriage. Then I recalled the Comte de Saint-Fermin’s words to me the night before: how Guise had boasted that Léonie was going to put his bastard on the throne. The idea was extraordinary – had she been pregnant with Guise’s child and tried to pass it off as Henri’s?

‘Close your mouth,’ Catherine said tersely. ‘You were mistaken. Two physicians examined the girl and concluded there was no sign of pregnancy. I would not expect you to have any experience in judging such matters, but you should be very careful about voicing your opinions before they are substantiated. Now you must go to the King before any more time is wasted.’

I nodded and made a small bow. I was certain she was lying. She grasped my arm harder and pulled me close, her voice an urgent whisper.

‘One more thing, before you leave. My book. The one I bought from the English girl. Can you read it?’

‘I have not had the chance to try. Part of it is written in code.’

‘Why? What does it contain?’

I hesitated. ‘It is supposed to be the lost book of the Egyptian sage Hermes Trismegistus. There are scholars who believe it holds the secret of how to recover man’s lost divinity. How to become like God.’

She released her grip, her expression thoughtful. ‘An extremely dangerous heresy, then.’

‘There are men who would kill for the chance to read that book. Others for the chance to destroy it.’ Some have tried already, I thought, recalling my time in England.

‘I do not hold with books being destroyed, whatever lurks within them.’ She set her chin in a posture of defiance. ‘Ruggieri is trying to decipher it, with no success so far.’

‘He will not do it,’ I said, unable to hide my scorn. ‘The cipher is beyond his capabilities.’

‘You think you could do a better job?’

‘I am sure of it,’ I said. There seemed no point in false modesty.

‘Hm.’ She nodded. ‘Very well. Bring my son back from this pig-headed self-destruction and I will employ you to translate the book. On the condition that you do not mention a word of it to anyone.’

‘I am practised in discretion,’ I said, bowing.

Catherine fetched up a sliver of a smile. ‘Not as much as you think, Bruno.’