Conspiracy

TWENTY-THREE

She led me up a staircase and through a series of lavishly furnished rooms until we came to a door at the end. The girl knocked and was summoned by a female voice; I found myself ushered into a circular chamber in one of the towers. Queen Louise stood by the fire, her eyes fixed on the flames. I dropped immediately to my knees.

‘Your Majesty.’

‘You can get up,’ she said, in her soft voice, with its oddly flat intonation. ‘Thank you, Charlotte. You may leave us.’

I stood as the girl closed the door behind her, to find myself alone with Henri’s wife. I had barely spoken to her, even in the days when I was a regular visitor to the court; she had tended to keep to herself, and showed a marked suspicion of anyone the King favoured. Not without reason, I thought. She had been pretty in her youth, though never with the striking beauty that turned heads; she still had her looks, but the years of increasingly extreme treatments for her childlessness had faded her. She appeared drained; at thirty, the lines around her eyes gave her a look of permanent anxiety, though I noted that she had more colour in her cheeks than when I had last seen her on the night of the ball. She crossed the room, skirts susurrating behind her. Her gown was exquisite; shimmering green silk embroidered with silver thread and sewn all over with seed pearls, but she seemed ill at ease inside it, as if she had been made to dress up as a queen for a costume ball. I noticed, as she approached me, that her fingers were constantly in motion; plucking at the cloth of her cuffs, the rosary at her belt or the dry patches of skin on the backs of her hands.

‘Did you see my husband?’ she asked, without preliminary.

‘I did, Your Majesty.’

‘How is he?’

‘The physician is treating him now. He is weak but not in danger. I believe if his spirits recover, his body will follow.’

She nodded, wrapping her arms around her narrow ribs as she crossed to the window. ‘I heard she had sent for you. He would not see me. Nor any of his advisors. He would not even see Catherine.’

‘Perhaps he wanted some peace.’

She whisked around, her eyes darting over my face, trying to assess me.

‘Are you close to my husband?’

I hesitated. ‘I was his tutor for a time, in the art of memory.’

‘I remember. He used to shut himself away for hours with you in the library. Ruggieri said you were teaching him black magic.’

‘I hope Your Majesty knows that is not true.’

‘Oh, I am inclined to believe you. Every word that man speaks is a malicious lie.’ She said this with unexpected vehemence. ‘But Henri confides in you, I think?’

‘On occasion, he has done me that honour.’ I could not gauge the direction of her questions. ‘But we are not – intimate, Your Majesty.’

‘I did not mean that. Though I would not much care if you were. I am not afraid of his mignons. Does that surprise you?’ Before I could answer, she continued, ‘Henri’s sins are his own business. You know he designed my wedding dress and insisted on arranging my hair himself for the ceremony? Hours, he spent. Twenty minutes before I walked to the altar he was still fiddling, sewing precious stones on to my bodice while I was wearing it. Do you think I did not understand him then?’ She cracked a dry smile. ‘It was a work of art, though – see for yourself.’ She gestured to the wall behind me.

I turned to see an imposing portrait of Queen Louise posed in one of the great rooms of state in her wedding finery, ten years younger with a sparkle of hope in her eyes, though still outshone by the brilliance of her gown, so crowded with gems that it looked rigid as armour. But the detail that caught my eye was the pendant she wore around her neck in the portrait: a gold medallion engraved with the symbol of a dolphin.

‘You look radiant, Your Majesty,’ I said, with a small bow. ‘That is an unusual necklace, in the picture.’

A shadow crossed her face. ‘Catherine had it made by Italian goldsmiths for Henri to present to me on our wedding day. As a symbol of my duty to give him a Dauphin. Not especially subtle.’

I looked back at the painting. Of course – Dauphin meant ‘dolphin’ in French, but it was also the title of the heir to the throne. So the medallion was to celebrate the future Dauphin, the prince who never came. Had Léonie stolen it, then?

‘Do you still wear it?’ I asked.

‘That would hardly be appropriate,’ she said bitterly. ‘Catherine made me give it back to the King for safekeeping. She said he would return it and I could wear it again when I had fulfilled its promise. So you see why the men are no threat to me. It is the women I fear.’

‘What do you mean?’

She laid a hand flat across her abdomen. ‘What do you suppose? Ten years of marriage and no Dauphin. I have done everything humanly possible, but it seems all the saints are deaf to me.’ Her face pinched, as if with a sharp pain. ‘And what of Catherine – are you close to her?’

I hesitated. ‘I think Catherine would gladly see me dead, Your Majesty. Except for the rare occasions when she finds I can be useful to her.’

‘Hm. That makes two of us, then.’ She turned her attention to a loose thread in her sleeve. ‘Since the King’s brother the Duke of Anjou died last summer I feel I have been teetering on the edge of a precipice, waiting for her to push me. I am no longer useful, you see.’

I looked at her, beginning to understand. ‘You think the King wants a new wife?’

‘For himself, I don’t think Henri would cast me off. He feels too guilty. But she controls everything. She will not see the House of Valois lose the throne without a fight. I knew it had begun when Ruggieri pronounced his new prophecy. So I wondered if Henri had said anything to you?’

‘His Majesty did not mention any prophecy,’ I said. She watched me with a clear, level stare.

‘Nothing you say will go beyond this room. I will give you my word, if you will do the same.’ She pointed at the wall, tracing a circle around her with her finger. ‘Day after day I am trapped here, knowing there are plots being woven all around me, and no one will tell me anything. Do you know how that feels?’

‘I know what it is to feel friendless,’ I said. She regarded me for a moment and nodded; her eyes suggested she was struggling with her desire to confide in someone. ‘What did this new prophecy say?’ I prompted, gently.

‘That the King would have a son within the year.’

‘But that speaks in your favour, does it not? If one believes Ruggieri truly has a divine gift,’ I added, in a tone that made my own view clear.

‘He did not say it would be with me,’ she said. ‘He predicted a son born to a fertile union – those were his exact words. It was carefully ambiguous. But I know, because Balthasar told me in confidence, that around the same time Catherine held a private audience with the Papal nuncio. I am sure it was to discuss the possibility of annulling my marriage.’

‘You think she would do that?’ I was surprised not by the suggestion of Catherine’s stratagems but by how astute the Queen was in guessing at them.

‘No, I don’t,’ she said, shortly. ‘I think such a process would be drawn-out, diplomatically fraught and expensive. Catherine would not want that. And why should she go to all that trouble when there are easier ways to remove me?’ She toyed with her cuff again. ‘Then she sent that Circe woman to join my household. To spy on me, I supposed at first. She would not have been the first. I thought then it had begun. And I have been so ill these past weeks, I feared she was already practising against me. I had good reason to believe it, too.’

She pressed her lips together and turned back to the window. I watched her, the pent-up agitation making her thin frame quiver with nervous energy. It was impossible to know how far her fears were exaggerated by loneliness and her sense of isolation at court, but with Catherine de Medici, everything she was saying sounded entirely plausible.

‘But – if you will forgive me, Your Majesty, you are looking better. I pray that your health is returning.’

She glanced at me over her shoulder. ‘I thank you. Yes, I feel a little more like myself these past couple of days.’ She gave a short laugh. ‘Coincidence, isn’t it – that woman dies and immediately I begin to recover. Perhaps the priest was right after all.’

‘What?’ I fought to keep my voice level. ‘Which priest?’

‘I don’t know. I received a letter, almost a month ago now. Anonymous, of course. But the author said he had good intelligence that Circe meant me harm. He spoke of the confessional, so I assumed it came from a priest. And the de Châtillon girl was silly and superstitious enough that she would seek absolution for murder even before she committed it.’ Her fingers moved to pick at the beads on her belt. ‘No doubt you think I am full of absurd fancies. But if you lived as I do, knowing Catherine, you would be afraid for your life too. Don’t be deceived by these clothes-’ she held out the fabric of her skirt – ‘I am a prisoner awaiting execution like any in the Bastille. So I am pleading with you to tell me if Henri has said anything to you that would confirm my suspicions. Because I would go quietly – you can tell him that. To a convent, if he wished it. There is no need to kill me.’ I could hear the desperation in her voice, even as she tried to keep her face stoical.

‘Dio mio,’ I said forcefully. I had misunderstood everything from the beginning. ‘Your Majesty.’

‘Yes?’ She looked at me expectantly.

‘No, I meant-’ I could only stare at her, wondering how I could have made such an obvious mistake. All along, I had assumed that Paul Lefèvre’s letter had been intended for the King; it had never occurred to me that the same form of address, Votre Majesté, might refer to the Queen, or that she might be in danger. Like everyone else, I had barely given her a thought.

‘Do you still have the letter?’ I asked.

She shook her head. ‘I burned it.’

‘Did you tell anyone?’

‘No. Who could I tell, in this place? I did not think anyone would take it seriously. They would tell me it was the ravings of a madman and I should ignore it. They would say that especially if there were any truth in it.’

‘Who brought you the letter?’

‘I don’t remember. It just arrived with all the others. I suppose any of the servants.’

‘Could anyone have read it before it reached you?’

A small crease appeared in her brow. ‘It was sealed, I do remember that, because I recall looking to see if there was an insignia. But the wax was unmarked.’

‘Did you ever confront Circe? Léonie, I mean?’

‘Yes. I began refusing any food or drink she brought me. When she asked why, I made a joke of it. I said, “You would never do anything to hurt me, Léonie, would you?” She burst into tears.’ Her lip curled with contempt. ‘Fell on her knees, swore to me her love and duty were all mine as long as she lived and she would give her life for mine. I have never seen such a performance. She didn’t realise I knew she was fucking my husband, of course.’

I gaped at her.

‘Don’t look so shocked, Doctor Bruno – I am not a child, though everyone treats me as if I were.’ She hitched up her skirts and crossed back to the window. This time I came to stand beside her. We looked down over the courtyard. A few flakes of snow had begun to drift into the light of the torches. ‘She was bursting into tears a lot these past few weeks,’ Louise mused, touching her fingertips to the glass. ‘At everything and nothing. I suppose one becomes emotional in her condition.’

‘Condition?’ I said faintly.

‘She was pregnant. I am sure of it, though I lack experience.’

‘I am certain of it too.’

She turned to me, amazed. ‘Did Henri tell you?’

‘No. I don’t think he knows. I observed it for myself. That Circe costume did not leave much to the imagination.’

She made a face. ‘The costume was Catherine’s idea. My original design was much more subtle. You see?’ She indicated the table to her right. I moved closer and saw that it was spread with sheets of paper covered in brightly coloured sketches of women showing the various costumes from the Masque of Circe. The drawings were beautifully executed, with an artist’s eye for the human form; the women had been rendered as if in the midst of the dance, so that the drape and movement of the fabric appeared charged with energy. Each one had been carefully painted, the colours suggesting the play of light and shadow as the dancers whirled. I recalled that Queen Louise had been involved in the ballets de cours in the past, but I had not realised the extent of her creative talents. Beside each dancer was a brief note on her place in the masque and how she would move.

‘This was how I pictured Circe,’ she said, pointing to a sketch that was clearly a likeness of Léonie, in a more modest Grecian gown of deep azure.

‘These drawings are exquisite, Your Majesty,’ I said. She flushed with pleasure and I was moved again with pity for her. ‘Did you contribute to the choreography too?’

‘Not really. A few suggestions. Balthasar added the notes but the costumes are all mine. It was Catherine who wanted Circe to look more titillating. I could not understand it – I would have thought in the circumstances she would have preferred to conceal the girl’s condition until the timing was more favourable.’

‘Favourable – how?’ I thought of how swiftly Catherine had dismissed my suggestion that Léonie was pregnant.

‘Catherine was deceived if she thought it was Henri’s,’ the Queen whispered, half to herself, watching her wavering reflection in the window. ‘Ten years of being probed and scraped by doctors and not one can find anything wrong with me. But it is always said to be the woman’s fault if she cannot conceive a child. To suggest it is the man’s failure casts doubt on his virility. And it is easier to replace a wife than a king, is it not?’

‘You mean you don’t think Henri can father a child?’ I asked.

‘To say so would be treason,’ she replied carefully. ‘I am saying I did not believe Léonie de Châtillon’s child was Henri’s. So I had her followed. I wanted to see if she met other men. I could not see the King so grossly deceived. I still care for my husband, you see. And I was terrified.’

‘Of what?’

‘That if Catherine believed Léonie was carrying the King’s child, it would hasten her plans for me. I had to do something.’ She spoke so softly I could barely hear her. She remained by the window, her gaze unfocused, toying with the lace of her collar.

I crossed the room and studied the wedding portrait hanging on the wall opposite the fireplace. In the lower right-hand corner two coats of arms had been painted to symbolise the joining of the two houses. One was the Valois arms, the other a gold shield with a crimson band showing three white eaglets displayed. I closed my eyes briefly and felt a cold sensation spread from the nape of my neck along the length of my spine. I realised now where I had seen the emblem sewn on the scarf I had found in the copse where Léonie was killed. This was the arms of the House of Lorraine; the Queen had been Louise of Lorraine before she married.

I turned slowly to find that she too had moved from the window and was looking at me across the room. I tried to keep my face steady but my mind was racing. She had seemed so ill the night of the ball, barely able to hold her head up during the masque. Could she have been feigning?

‘I want you to do something for me,’ she said. ‘I will pay you.’

‘I am your servant, Your Majesty.’ I dipped my head, watching her; the nervous movements of her hands, the way she bit the corner of her lip. She did not look like a killer, but then a desperate woman might defy anyone’s expectations. Even so, if I had been forced to guess, I would have supposed a more detached method, such as poison, to have been her preferred choice.

‘Take a message to the King. Tell him I need to speak to him alone. Ask him to grant me a private audience.’

‘I’m not sure they will allow me to see him again, Your Majesty. His physicians are with him now, and he is very weak. Perhaps, when he is better, one of your servants might-’

‘They will not let any of my servants near him,’ she snapped, and I caught a sudden flash of steel in her eyes as she advanced a pace. Perhaps I had underestimated her. ‘That is why I sent for you. They will admit you. Tell the King he must see me as a matter of urgency. Say he owes me that, at least. But do not let her know that I sent you.’

‘I can try, but I fear-’

I was interrupted by a sharp knock at the door. Without waiting for a summons, it opened to admit Balthasar, who looked from me to the Queen with puzzled consternation, as if trying to unpick a mathematical sequence.

‘Your Majesty, forgive me-’ he made a brisk bow – ‘but this man is expected at the Tuileries by Queen Catherine. He should not be in your private apartments alone.’

‘Peace, Balthasar. I sent for him, it is not his fault. I only wanted to hear from the horse’s mouth how my lord husband does. You know I have been praying for his well-being.’

‘You could have asked me, Your Majesty,’ Balthasar said, with gentle reproach.

‘But you did not speak with him. I am the King’s wife – I have a right to hear the news of his health directly.’ She drew herself up, bravely facing Balthasar down, but his expression was one of pity.

‘Of course, Your Majesty. I hope Doctor Bruno’s report was encouraging. I am pleased to say the King is now resting in bed and his physicians are attending to him. With God’s blessing he will soon be restored to vigour. And now, pardon me but we must not keep Queen Catherine waiting any longer.’

‘No, God forbid she should be inconvenienced,’ Queen Louise said, her face tight. ‘I thank you for your time, Doctor Bruno. I know that you are a loyal servant to your sovereign.’

She shot me a meaningful look as I bowed and backed towards the door. I could not help a final glance towards the wedding portrait as I left.

‘What was that about?’ Balthasar hissed, as he hurried me down the stairs.

‘No more than she said. She wanted me to tell her about the King. She is frantic with worry over him. I believe she really loves him,’ I said, shaking my head.

‘I know. Remarkable, isn’t it? After everything he has put her through. I never cease to be amazed by the tenacity of women. I suppose she doesn’t have much choice. So what did Henri say to you in there?’

We emerged into the courtyard. The snow was falling heavily now and a wind had picked up, causing it to swirl and eddy. I shivered.

‘He believes God has forsaken him. The usual. Most of it didn’t make sense.’

Balthasar nodded, sympathetic. ‘But you mentioned that you had news for him. That was what prompted him to open the door to you. Something about a priest?’

‘Oh, that.’ I hesitated, knowing every word would be repeated to Catherine. ‘There was a League priest killed a fortnight ago, the curé of Saint-Séverin – you remember? Henri was afraid Guise was going to find a way to blame him and incite the people to riot. He asked me to see if I could discover anything.’

‘I remember – there were reports of unrest. Catherine was worried. I didn’t know he had you looking into that. But you found something?’

‘No. I only said that to make him open the door.’

‘Ah. I suppose there is no doubt Guise ordered it, though you will have a job finding proof of that.’ He quickened his pace, muttering curses at the snow. We made our way across the open space between the two palaces, bordered on each side by buildings housing the vast complex of royal administration. ‘So Henri still has you working for him in secret?’

‘He thought so. But Catherine knew all about it.’

He laughed. ‘Of course she did.’

‘Queen Louise showed me her designs for the Masque of Circe,’ I said, to change the subject. ‘She has quite a gift for drawing.’

‘Extraordinary, isn’t it? She conceived of all those designs from her own imagination. And she can draw anything from the life too, with no training,’ he added. ‘It’s the one time I see her truly animated, when we are planning the grand ballets. I sometimes think she would be happier making costumes for a company of travelling players than being Queen of France, poor creature. It’s a pity her health is so fragile.’

‘Is she as bad as she looks?’ I thought of what Louise had told me. She had suspected Léonie of plotting to kill her and deceive the King; she said she had had to do something.

‘Oh yes. She missed most of the ball the other night. She was so ill she had to retire to her chamber directly after the masque. May I confide something in you, Bruno?’ He stopped abruptly with a hand on my arm as we approached the vast façade of the Tuileries.

‘Of course.’ I clenched my teeth to keep them from chattering. He fixed me with his solemn dark eyes, though he seemed jittery.

‘I am afraid for Catherine’s health too. She is as stubborn in her way as Henri – she barely sleeps now, and she will not delegate to anyone. She feels she must oversee every bit of state business while the King is indisposed, or the kingdom will fall apart.’

‘She is probably not far wrong.’

‘True, but she stays up all night writing letters, she sits in war councils all day, she plans to travel south to meet Navarre before Christmas, if you please – she will not listen to reason, and she is in such pain, all the time, but she refuses to rest. And I am obliged to be at the Louvre so much now that I can’t watch over her as I would like.’ He appeared to be on the verge of tears. ‘I really fear she will drive herself into her grave, and then we will all be at the mercy of Guise.’

‘But the Queen Mother is tough. She has endured worse times than this.’

‘Not as tough as people think,’ he said, his voice heavy with implication. ‘And Léonie’s suicide has affected her deeply. She has taken it very hard.’

‘She seemed more inconvenienced than distressed when I saw her,’ I said, thinking of Catherine’s callous remarks about the girl.

‘That is because you do not know her. She keeps her feelings hidden. So you must be careful what you say to her.’

Snowflakes had begun to settle on his hair and shoulders. I wondered why he was telling me this; perhaps he just needed to unburden himself.

‘I do not think she will take notice of me, if she will not listen to her advisors,’ I said, blowing on my fingers and hoping he would take the hint.

‘I didn’t mean that. I only meant – try not to upset her. Every time she has spoken to you recently she has come away angry and agitated.’

‘I have that effect on people. I can’t help it.’ I smiled, but he did not return it.

‘Try,’ he said, with a stern look. ‘Tell her what she wants to hear.’

‘Doesn’t she have enough people to do that already?’

‘Madonna porca.’ He lifted his gaze skywards and back to me, his eyes harder this time. ‘You take such pride in your defiance, don’t you? You think you have special licence to speak the truth to power, and that great princes respect you more for it?’

‘I never met a wise ruler who respected empty flattery,’ I said, needled.

‘I am just asking you to put aside your pride for once,’ he hissed, bringing his face close to mine. ‘Have some human decency – she is not an opponent you need to best in the debating chamber. She is an old lady who is exhausted and in pain. Say her son is feeling better. Do not put any more ideas into her head that will give her further grief and sleepless nights. She is the only thing holding France together at the moment, and she cannot continue as she is without destroying herself and the kingdom. Let me put it bluntly – if anything happens to her, we will all be lucky to escape with our lives.’

I could no longer feel my hands or feet, so I assented dumbly and allowed myself to be led inside.

There was a great flurry of activity around Catherine’s apartments; women bustled past with armfuls of furs as a sedan chair was carried in by six large men. Balthasar left me in an antechamber while he went to announce my presence and eventually returned, looking even more preoccupied.

‘It seems you have had a reprieve,’ he said, his eyes distracted by the movements of servants around us. ‘Your detour to Queen Louise means you have arrived too late – Catherine is already preparing to spend the evening at the Louvre by the King’s side. You should return home.’

‘That will be a relief to everyone,’ I said. ‘I was afraid I might say a wrong word and find myself single-handedly responsible for the downfall of France.’

He didn’t smile. ‘I’m glad you find it all such a joke. She asked me to thank you for restoring the King to her, and to tell you that she has not forgotten her promise. She will send for you tomorrow to discuss terms.’

I nodded, realising that at this stage, a little humility would serve me better. ‘Tell her I am grateful. I will try not to put ideas in her head.’

He gave me a wry look in parting, as his boot heels clicked away over the marble floor. I wondered what ideas he meant; I had not missed the fact that he had referred pointedly to Léonie’s suicide. But Catherine knew full well that the girl’s death was murder without my insisting on it. Perhaps that was one of the causes of her sleepless nights. Balthasar was not wrong to fear the consequences of Catherine’s demise, though; without her, Henri would be easily toppled and there would be no one left to protect those of us who had depended on his favour as the country fell into civil war.

I allowed myself to be escorted to the gatehouse arch by two armed guards, but as I was ushered through, I heard a woman’s voice calling my name from across the courtyard. I turned to see a swaddled figure hurrying towards me and recognised Gabrielle somewhere inside the fur hood.

‘I saw you leaving Catherine’s apartments from the window,’ she said, breathless, eyes bright and her cheeks flushed with the cold. ‘How is the King?’

‘He’ll live. Can I ask you something?’ My teeth rattled. She nodded, though her eyes had grown cautious. ‘How well do you know Queen Louise?’

She looked surprised. ‘Not so well. I served in her household for a time – Catherine makes us all take a turn.’

‘To spy on her?’

‘What do you think?’

‘Why? What does Catherine suppose she might do?’

She shot me a pointed glance. ‘Don’t be obtuse, Bruno.’ When I continued to look blank, she sighed and drew me over to a far corner of the archway where the guards on the gate could not hear. ‘A woman who cannot conceive a child with her husband might be tempted to try a little subterfuge. When that woman is the Queen of France and any child of hers the heir, it is essential that there be no hint of any such tricks. Do you see?’

I recalled the gossiping woman at the ball who had said she would bed the nearest courtier if she were the Queen.

‘So Catherine sends members of her Flying Squadron to police the Queen’s fidelity?’

‘Ironic, isn’t it?’ Gabrielle gave me a tired grin.

‘Is that why Léonie de Châtillon was sent to the Queen’s household?’

She glanced away. ‘I presume so.’

‘But wasn’t the Queen jealous? If it was known that Léonie was Henri’s mistress, I mean? Surely that would be adding insult to injury.’

She shrugged. ‘I don’t suppose Catherine would care about that. Louise must have learned to live with it by now. She would tear herself apart if not. Why are you so interested in the Queen suddenly?’

‘She called me in to see her just now.’

‘Really?’ Her eyes glittered in the torchlight. ‘What did she say?’

‘She asked after the King.’

‘Nothing else? She seems to have excited your curiosity.’

‘She strikes me as a very unhappy woman.’ I paused to breathe on my fingers and rub my hands. ‘And with good reason.’

Gabrielle held my arm and leaned closer, so that I could feel the heat of her breath on my ear. ‘I will tell you this in confidence, and you must promise not to repeat it. I have often wondered if Catherine keeps her drugged.’

‘How?’

‘She has Ruggieri concoct philtres that are supposed to encourage conception and Louise is made to drink them with the promise that the King will come to her that night. My guess is they are no more than sleeping draughts. She always seems a little – how can I put it? – slow. Dazed. Her eyes don’t focus. I noted it when I served her and I have heard the same from other girls. Didn’t you notice? I think they keep her subdued so she won’t protest or assert herself.’ She grimaced. ‘I would not be her, poor bitch, for all the jewels in the Louvre and the Tuileries combined.’

I nodded, thinking again of the women at the ball and the one who had said she would drink poison if she were the Queen. How simple it would be to slip something deadly into one of those philtres. But it seemed to me that Queen Louise had grown wise to the tricks used against her.

Gabrielle slipped her arms around my waist and pressed herself against my side.

‘Such a cold night, Bruno. No one should sleep alone on a night like this. Let me come home with you and keep you warm.’

I smiled, and prised her away. ‘I have a lot of work to do.’

Reluctantly, she released me and bent her head towards mine again, her hand pressed to my chest, lips against my ear. ‘I recall you always used to say that, until the night you didn’t.’ She smiled. ‘Well, if you change your mind, there’s a little gate in the back wall that leads into the gardens. The man who guards it at night is called Rémy. He’s very obliging. He would bring you to me, if you made it worth his while.’

I shook my head. ‘Thank you, but when I get into bed tonight, I intend to sleep like a dead man.’ As soon as the words were out of my mouth, suspended in the frozen air, I wished them unsaid.

‘You might get your wish,’ she said, mock-stern, plucking at the buttons of my doublet. ‘You don’t even have a coat. You’ll freeze to death.’

‘I gave it to the King. He had more need of it at the time.’

‘Well, you won’t see that again. Here, take my cloak. I have another. You can return it when Catherine sends for you again. Which I’m sure she will, now that you have succeeded in drawing Henri out of his despair.’ She shrugged off her fur-lined cape and swung it over my shoulders. ‘There. Now it will be as if I am wrapped around you all night. Perhaps soon I won’t have to imagine that.’ She wriggled closer and kissed me on the mouth. I closed my eyes and briefly considered taking her up on her offer, before reminding myself sternly that she was almost certainly reporting on me to Catherine. Besides, there was a small chance Sophia might come looking for me. I allowed myself to wonder for a moment how she would react to finding Gabrielle in my room, before answering my own question: she would simply turn around and walk away. She was not the sort of woman whose interest would be piqued by competition. I eased Gabrielle off me, thanked her for the cloak and stepped out into the falling snow. I did not look back, but I knew she was watching my steps as I walked down the street towards the river.

TWENTY-FOUR

I lowered my head and pressed forward into the falling snow as I made my way along the Right Bank. Above me the sky sagged with layers of grey cloud like wet wool; the snow had begun to settle already, smoothing over the ruts in the frozen mud underfoot. I was glad of Gabrielle’s cloak, though it was a strange sensation to pull the fur hood close around my face and catch the scent of her perfume, oddly familiar. Once or twice instinct caused my skin to prickle and I ducked into the shelter of buildings, convinced that someone was following me, but the snow had muffled all sounds and reduced my vision to a few yards in either direction. If anyone was tailing me, they must have watched me come from the palace. I quickened my steps. The Duke of Guise would be looking for me, of that I was certain; he would surely have learned by now that I had robbed him twice over, of his horse and the Comte de Saint-Fermin, not to mention the business of breaking open his sister’s private escritoire, and he might well feel it was time for a reckoning. I did not want to find myself intercepted by him before I had had the chance to speak to Jacopo.

I turned into the rue des Tournelles, keeping close to the shadows where I could, and saw that there were now two armed guards outside Jacopo’s gate. I stated my business and one of them held me at bay while the other knocked at the door and exchanged a few words with the steward, who beckoned me in with a marked lack of enthusiasm.

‘Brought any more dying men for my master to tend at his own expense?’ he asked, peering past me into the night.

‘Not today.’ I ignored his tone and shook the snow off my boots. ‘How is the patient?’

‘Sleeping, mainly. He took a little broth this afternoon. One of the maids is sitting with him.’ His manner softened a fraction. ‘It would make a stone weep, to see a man reduced to that state. Signor Corbinelli is not yet back from the palace. With this weather it may be that he decides to stay. Do you want to wait?’

‘For a while. If I may.’

He showed me into Jacopo’s study and offered to bring me some warm bread and fresh candles. The fire had burned low but I threw on another log and huddled on a chair by the hearth. When the food had been brought and the steward had closed the door behind him, I took off Gabrielle’s cloak and paced the room, trying to gather my thoughts. As I passed Jacopo’s desk, my eyes fell on the heavy volume he had left open there. This was the book he had been in such a hurry to clear away when I arrived the night before. Curious, I pulled it towards me and found that it was a copy of the Summa Theologica by Thomas Aquinas, with sheets of paper poking from it at intervals. I turned to the pages Jacopo had marked with his notes and felt my throat dry as I began to see the import of what I read.

He had been underlining passages in the Supplementum Tertiae Partis where Aquinas addresses questions concerning matrimony and the legitimacy of children. I picked up one of the sheets of notes in Jacopo’s handwriting.

Aquinas clearly states that a child conceived and/or born out of legal marriage can be legitimised in one of six ways, the first two according to the canons if the man marries the mother of the child, and by special dispensation and indulgence of the Lord Pope, providing the child was not conceived in adultery, he had written. Below he had noted: He may also be legitimised if the father designate him legitimate in a public document signed by three witnesses, if there be no legitimate son.

There were further notes and jottings, half-formed sentences peppered with question marks, but the gist seemed clear enough.

I sat down at the desk, hands pressed to my temples, my thoughts racing. More than once I considered leaving and taking my chances in the streets, but I realised I had nowhere else to go. There was no one in Paris save Jacopo that I could talk to about any of this, except perhaps the King and he was in no state to discuss anything. Perhaps I could rely on the old scholar to deal frankly with me, though I was less certain of that than I had been when I arrived.

An hour passed before I heard the front door and the muffled exchange of voices in the hall. I arranged myself calmly behind the desk so that I had a clear view of Jacopo as he entered the study, brushing snow from his coat and rubbing his hands.

‘Bruno! How good to see you – what about this weather! Are you warm enough? I shall send for more logs – the snow looks as if it means to stay.’ He stopped when he saw my face. ‘What is it? Has something happened?’

I tapped the book with a forefinger. ‘You have been studying Aquinas.’

He looked down at the papers and back to meet my eye. ‘There is always fresh wisdom to be found in the writings of the good Doctor,’ he said carefully.

‘Why – are you expecting a child out of wedlock? My congratulations.’ My voice was flinty.

His brow creased; he tilted his head and looked at me a little sadly.

‘Bruno, you are always welcome as a guest in my house, you know that. But as a courtesy – my private papers …’ He gestured to the desk. ‘I would not go through your notebooks in your absence.’

‘You could, if you wished. You would not find any evidence that I had connived at murder.’ I half rose from the chair as I spoke; I saw a flash of anger in his face.

‘Think what you are saying, Bruno, before your words do too much damage. Do you not know me better than that?’

‘Tell me I am wrong, then. This is about Léonie de Châtillon, isn’t it?’ I jabbed at the book again. ‘You knew what Catherine was planning all along.’

He drew breath to speak, just as there was a knock at the door and the steward entered with a tray bearing a jug of hot wine and two glasses. He squinted from one to the other of us with mild interest, noting the tension in the room, before backing away quietly and closing the door. Jacopo lifted his head, listening for the man’s retreating footsteps before he spoke.

‘Catherine asked me to find any legal and theological precedents for legitimising a child conceived outside marriage,’ he said in a low voice. He poured two drinks and stood by the fire, hands wrapped around his glass, watching the flames. ‘This was around a month ago. She did not explain her reasons. I presumed it was connected to her ongoing schemes for Henri, but I did not question her.’

‘You have underlined this sentence about adultery,’ I said, pointing to the sheet of notes. I sat back in the chair. ‘Don’t tell me you didn’t know she was asking about his mistress. The dolphin medallion – you realised then, didn’t you?’

He sighed, passing a hand over his bald patch. ‘I understood better, yes. I took it to Catherine and said it was on the ground where the girl’s body was found. She confessed then that Léonie had believed herself to be carrying Henri’s child. Catherine gave her the medallion as a promise that her child would one day be Dauphin, if she did as she was told.’

‘Did you ask Catherine what she planned to do about Queen Louise?’

‘She said she had intended to have the King’s marriage annulled in time to legitimise the child by a new marriage before it was born. But it was all moot by then. The girl was dead.’

‘Catherine wasn’t looking for an annulment. Not when there was a quicker way to be rid of the Queen. You must have guessed at that.’

‘Your imagination is running wild now, Bruno.’ There was a warning note in his voice.

‘On the contrary – I have never understood the matter so clearly. Everything is connected. When Catherine found out that Léonie was pregnant after she had become Henri’s mistress, she had to accelerate her plans. There was no time for legal procedures. Did you not see how ill Queen Louise was on the night of the ball? One of them was poisoning her, little by little – Léonie, perhaps, or Ruggieri. Louise was convinced of it. But Léonie was eaten up by guilt over this plan she had become entangled in – she confessed to Père Lefèvre, who was moved by his conscience to warn the Queen in an anonymous letter. But I think someone at the palace read that letter. Paul had to be silenced and so did Léonie.’ I pushed the chair back and joined him by the fire. ‘No wonder you kept telling me to leave it alone.’ I could not hide the resentment in my voice.

‘I had no idea the priest was anything to do with this business, Bruno, you must believe me. I only thought it wiser for you not to be involved, especially if Guise was behind it. But when Léonie died and you seemed determined to prove that all the deaths were connected, I knew you were going to march straight into trouble.’

‘Because you knew the killer was inside the palace, you mean?’

He hesitated, weighing his words, not meeting my eye.

‘I know nothing about the other two, the priest and the friar. I give you my word. When Léonie was found and you showed me that medallion, I confess I had misgivings. It seemed easier to believe she had taken her own life.’ His voice had grown quiet. He drained his glass and turned away.

‘You had misgivings,’ I repeated flatly. ‘But there was a further twist to the story, you see – Léonie’s child was very likely not even Henri’s. She was still sleeping with the Duke of Guise.’

He raised his head and stared at me. ‘Gesù Cristo. Do you think Catherine found out?’

‘Someone found out,’ I said. ‘Queen Louise took the priest’s warning seriously. She also guessed that Léonie was pregnant. She had one of her servants follow her to see if she met other men. I think she knew about Léonie and Guise.’

‘And you think she told Catherine?’ He frowned. ‘But that would have meant admitting she believed Catherine was plotting against her.’

‘I think she found her own solution.’

Jacopo rubbed a hand slowly over his beard and stared at me. ‘What are you saying, Bruno?’

‘I found a scarf with Queen Louise’s device embroidered on it in the woods where Léonie was killed,’ I said. ‘I believe it was the one used to strangle her.’

‘You think Queen Louise murdered Léonie? Have you gone quite mad?’

‘It fits. Louise knew her life was in danger from this woman who planned to take her place, marry the King and give him a supposed Dauphin that was most likely a Guise bastard.’

‘That’s impossible,’ Jacopo said.

‘But she had every reason to want the girl dead,’ I persisted. ‘She may not have been as ill as she looked that night.’

He shook his head. ‘I’m afraid she was worse than she looked. She sat bravely through the masque, but she was overcome by a terrible fit of vomiting immediately after and had to be carried to a guest room. I accompanied her, along with two of her ladies. She was given a draught to settle her stomach and help her sleep and the women remained there with her, along with a nursemaid, for the rest of the night. She certainly wasn’t dashing through the grounds strangling anyone, that much is beyond question. Though I do not deny her symptoms could be consistent with poisoning,’ he added, as if this might make me feel better.

I fell heavily into a chair, pressing my fingers to my eyes. ‘You’re right. It was an absurd idea. I couldn’t make it fit with my theory that the same person killed both Léonie and Joseph de Chartres. But, Jacopo, I am still convinced the killer is inside the palace.’

He laid a hand on my shoulder. ‘Then do you not think it is time for you to follow my advice and walk away? If Catherine is the author of it, what can you do?’

‘I could tell the King,’ I said, defiant. ‘He is the highest authority in France, not her, and he wants the killer found.’

Jacopo laughed softly. ‘Think what you are saying. You saw for yourself the state he worked himself into over the girl’s death. As far as I know, he had no idea about the child. How do you think he will react when he learns your theory that she was pregnant with a child that may or may not have been his, and that his mother intended first to kill his lawful wife and then ordered the death of his mistress? Do you think that will spur him to a speedy recovery, the quicker to take up the reins of government again? Or do you want to make him worse, hm?’ He searched my eyes, his mouth compressed into a grave line, until I was forced to look away.

‘I think he would want to be told if his mother was practising against him.’

‘Do you really?’ He let his arm fall to his side and crossed the room to pour another drink. ‘You know Henri by now, Bruno. He is a weak man, governed by lust and fear in equal measure. He could not survive without Catherine, and he knows it. He may rail against her, but in the end he will accept her rule, whatever it involves. If you try to set him against her you will only succeed in losing everyone’s favour, and you cannot afford that. Ask yourself – can you?’

‘But he set me to find a murderer,’ I insisted, hearing myself sound like a petulant child.

‘And you almost did. You uncovered a conspiracy that, unfortunately, you can do nothing about. Now let it go. Your friends have suffered enough for your meddling already.’

‘What do you mean? Are you in trouble?’ His tone sent a prickle of anxiety up my spine; I thought of Cotin, sentenced to solitary confinement because of me.

‘I’m talking about the Gelosi,’ he said, grimly, sitting down at his desk and closing the Aquinas book with a decisive thud. ‘I have only just heard that they are being held at the Hotel de Montpensier because apparently one of their number is accused of theft and spying. They managed to slip a message out with a servant. They are supposed to leave for Lyon tomorrow, but the Duchess refuses to release them until this man returns and hands himself in with the stolen goods.’ He gave me a meaningful look from beneath lowered brows.

‘Merda.’ I pinched the bridge of my nose between my thumb and forefinger. ‘I didn’t think she would imprison them. I should go there now.’

Jacopo shook his head. ‘That would be extremely unwise. I am about to write to Catherine asking her to intervene with the Duke of Montpensier, but there is not much I can do without her approval. It will require a show of force, I suspect. Our friends will be all right – I don’t suppose the Duchess would dare to harm them. But this would not have occurred if you had listened to me sooner, Bruno.’ He spoke gently but firmly, a father to a wayward boy. I nodded. A wave of tiredness crashed over me and I buried my face in my hands again.

‘Why don’t you stay here tonight?’ Jacopo said, picking up his quill. ‘You don’t want to go out in that again. Get some rest and you can find your way home in the morning.’

I stood, watching him sharpen his nib for a moment before my eyes focused clearly on what he was doing.

‘May I see your penknife?’ I asked.

He glanced up, surprised, but held it out to me. I reached inside my doublet and took out the one I had been carrying around since my visit to the silversmith’s that morning. They were almost identical.

‘Where did you get this?’ I asked.

‘A gift from Catherine, years ago now. They were made by a master silversmith under her patronage back in Florence, I believe. The work is quite distinctive. She has given them to some in her service as a mark of favour. They are worth a bit by now. Where did you find that one?’

‘By Joseph de Chartres’s body.’

He eyed the knives as I handed his back. ‘I mean it, Bruno. Let it go. For everyone’s sake. And any time you wish to apologise for accusing me of conniving at murder, I will be glad to accept it,’ he added, with an edge to his voice, returning his attention to the paper before him.

I lowered my eyes. ‘Forgive me, Jacopo. I spoke in haste.’

He nodded, mollified, and the conversation appeared to be at an end. But you are conniving at murder, I thought, tucking the penknife away in my pocket. And so am I, if I agree to leave this business unfinished.

I took a bed in one of the guest rooms as Jacopo had suggested, but I could not sleep. Thoughts of Queen Louise, Paul, Léonie and the Gelosi tumbled through my mind as I lay there in my clothes, staring at the ceiling while my candle burned lower and listening to the sounds of the household preparing to turn in for the night, until silence settled over the house. From a nearby street I heard church bells tolling twelve. I rose as quietly as possible, pulled Gabrielle’s cloak around my shoulders and tiptoed to the door. When I was certain no one was stirring, I crept downstairs and found my boots in the hallway. I could not let Francesco and Isabella and their friends remain incarcerated and lose their livelihood because of my recklessness when it was me that Guise wanted. Privately I thought Jacopo over-optimistic in his assertion that the Duchess of Montpensier would not harm them; the rule of law had deteriorated so far in Paris that the Guises seemed to believe they were no longer subject to it. I doubted Catherine would make the players a priority while she was preoccupied with the King’s health, but Jacopo was right that it would be folly to hand myself over to Guise or his sister alone. That left me with only one possible avenue. I would have to ask Paget for help.

The prospect of it stuck in my throat. I had no idea if he would consider it in his interest to do me another favour and I was all the more reluctant to ask now that I knew the truth about his relationship with Stafford, but it seemed he was close to the Duchess of Montpensier and he was my best hope of reasoning with her. I took a lantern, unbolted the front door and slipped out silently. Outside, the snowfall had slowed, a few stray flakes still drifting from the densely packed sky, though the ground was now a uniform white, rippled with violet shadows where the drifts rose and fell. The men-at-arms still waited by the gate, rigid and glassy-eyed with cold; they looked surprised to see me, but their orders were to stop unwanted visitors from getting in, so they let me pass without comment.

I could hardly feel my feet by the time I had reached the end of rue des Tournelles. The streets appeared ghostly and deserted; not even a seagull cried over the river, and I walked on virgin snow, as yet unmarked by footsteps. As I turned right on to the rue Saint-Antoine I believed myself alone in this strange, blue-white world. Perhaps this belief made me less vigilant; perhaps the snow muffled the sounds around me. I had barely walked twenty yards when out of nowhere a blade appeared at my neck and a voice hissed in my ear,

‘Nice and still, now. Try not to make a noise.’