Conspiracy

FOURTEEN

I was led through the Grande Salle and along a series of corridors, some of which seemed familiar in the way of landscapes in dreams. At the top of a handsome marble staircase we traversed a receiving room papered in violent green; the dwarf pressed onwards into a long, oak-panelled gallery set with window seats at intervals and lined with glass-fronted cabinets of curiosities: Venetian crystal, fine as spun sugar; shelves of polished rocks and minerals; porcelain from Delft, glazed in cornflower-blue; small stuffed rodents posed in tableaux and wearing tiny, hand-sewn clothes; china dolls in elaborate costumes, and one case devoted to the display of reliquaries and minute silver-cased prayer books. In the centre of the gallery stood a large Florentine mosaic table bearing an armillary sphere in brass and silver. Every inch of space on the walls above the cabinets was occupied by portraits of Valois ancestors, creating the air of a family shrine; the King’s father, Henri II, cast a baleful gaze over the room from his canvas in prime position over the fireplace.

The gallery ended in painted double doors; at the dwarf’s knock they were opened to reveal one of the strangest chambers I had ever seen. A reception room of generous proportions, though the sheer quantity of furnishings and clutter which filled it contrived to make the space feel crowded. Tall windows on three sides pointed up to high ceilings, where seven stuffed crocodiles hung in formation by silver chains. A fire roared and crackled in the hearth. On the far wall, opposite the doors, hung a vast portrait of Catherine de Medici as a young queen, her face even then severe and unsmiling. Beneath it, on a raised platform covered by a woven Turkish carpet, the original sat bolt upright in a high-backed chair wearing an identical expression; some of the nymphs from the masque had arranged themselves at her feet, still in their flimsy costumes. Gabrielle was not among them. I was relieved to see there was no sign of Ruggieri either.

The dwarf bowed and swept an arm towards me; I heard the doors shut behind us and the guards step away to either side, leaving me standing before Catherine, my gaze fixed firmly on my boots. When I dared to raise my head I encountered her black eyes boring into me, fierce as a raptor. She was not a physically imposing woman – she was almost as broad as she was tall – but the force of her presence could unnerve a strong man. I understood why Henri had said Guise quaked before her like a child caught stealing sweetmeats.

‘Here is a face I hoped never to see again,’ she announced, in French, for the benefit of her entourage. She had a voice made for speaking over men in halls and council chambers, and age had not weakened it. ‘Our little Neapolitan heretic,’ she continued, leaning forward and clutching the carved arms of her chair. ‘I suppose my son smuggled you in with the players, or some such ploy?’

I hesitated. She let out a sigh. ‘Don’t bother to answer. That way you can say your loyalty to him remains uncompromised. He always was inexplicably fond of you.’ She tilted her head to one side as if trying to comprehend this aberration.

‘Not in any improper way, madam,’ I said, lowering my eyes again to the floor.

‘No, I never thought you posed that danger. You are not his type. Too Italian.’ She gave a short, barking laugh. ‘But your ideas.’ She tapped her temple hard with an arthritic finger. ‘You lead him into sins not of the flesh but of the intellect.’

‘With respect, Your Majesty-’ I looked up and met her stare once more; in the corner of my vision I caught the women exchanging glances – ‘from where I am standing I can see volumes on your shelves that are named on the Index of Forbidden Books. Your library is renowned for its collection of works on the occult sciences. Whatever was said of me, I taught His Majesty the King nothing he could not already have discovered among your own manuscripts-’

‘Then he wasted his money employing you, did he not?’

A titter of laughter rippled through the group of women. Sweat prickled under my collar and armpits. The fire was stoked high and the room had begun to seem stifling.

Her gaze travelled pointedly down to my mud-spattered boots.

‘I see you have been enjoying my gardens.’

‘Yes.’ Then, because she was still looking at me expectantly – ‘I needed to take the air.’

‘Is that what we call it now?’ She cocked an eyebrow and the women giggled again like schoolgirls. ‘Were you in company?’

‘Only the company of my own thoughts.’ But she had caught my hesitation, I was sure of it.

‘Something of a wasted opportunity, then, with all this for the taking.’ She gestured carelessly at the girls and sniffed. ‘Dreaming up more heresies, I suppose?’

‘Madam, my memory system-’ I began, but she held up a hand.

‘I am not interested in your memory system. Walk with me in the gallery. And take that ridiculous thing off your head.’

I did as I was told and removed the mask. Two nymphs leapt up and helped Catherine rise effortfully from her chair, holding her arms as she stepped down from the platform. As soon as she was standing she shook them off and snapped her fingers until another attendant handed her a silver-topped walking stick. The armed men and a couple of girls made as if to escort us, but she turned and froze them with that piercing black stare.

‘You-’ she pointed at the guards – ‘wait by the doors. The rest of you, stay here. I wish to speak to Doctor Bruno in private.’

She set her face, but she walked stiffly and I could see the lines of pain at the corners of her mouth with every step. I glanced up as we neared the doors; overhead, one of the crocodiles cast a sad eye over the room, his jagged little teeth protruding either side of his jaw like the blade of a handsaw. I shuddered; teeth like those, and he still ended up as Catherine’s trophy.

‘They weep, you know,’ she remarked, following my gaze. ‘Have you heard that about crocodiles? Imagine such a thing – a killer who weeps for his victims.’

‘I have seen it happen,’ I said, thinking back to my time in England. ‘Though not, I confess, in crocodiles.’

She shot me a sharp look. ‘I suppose a soldier may do his duty in war and still feel sorrow at the shedding of innocent blood.’ We walked on a few paces in silence, accompanied by the clicking of her cane and the rustle of her skirts. I wondered if she was thinking of the massacre of Saint Bartholomew’s. ‘Though, of course, there are no true innocents in war,’ she added firmly, pre-empting any argument. ‘Even a babe-in-arms belongs to one side or the other, and will grow up a danger to his enemies.’

I decided it was wiser not to contradict her. The doors closed behind us and we were left alone in the gallery, save for the two armed guards who pressed themselves against the wall and tried to look invisible.

‘And now we may speak in our own tongue,’ Catherine said, falling back into her Florentine Italian with a nod towards the guards. ‘More convivial and more discreet, no? Hold this.’ She handed me the cane.

From a jewelled purse hanging at her waist she withdrew a small silver box and took from it a pinch of brown powder, which she spread on the back of her hand and sniffed vigorously up each nostril. When she had wiped her nose delicately on a lace handkerchief, she replaced the box, held out her hand for her stick and addressed my curious expression.

‘Tobacco. Most beneficial for the health. Have you tried it?’

‘Not like that. I thought one smoked the leaves?’

‘I dislike that method. Makes me cough. Powdered like this, it is efficacious against headaches. In Paris, the people call it l’herbe de la reine, on my account. You might benefit from it. You do not look well, Doctor Bruno. Perhaps it is the strain of meddling in affairs that are not your concern.’

I looked away to catch sight of my hollow face reflected in the glass of one of her cabinets, superimposed on the mad-eyed stare of a china doll inside.

‘Tell me what you know about Circe,’ she said, the conversational tone just as suddenly vanished.

‘I never saw her before tonight.’

‘That was not my question. Tell me what you told the King earlier.’

I paused, weighing my words before I answered. She banged her stick on the floor in her impatience; one of the guards snapped his head up and started forward, but she held up a peremptory hand and pointed him back to his post.

‘Henri came to me before the masque like a frightened hind, shaking all over and gibbering that Circe planned him harm tonight,’ she hissed, pinning me with the force of her glare. ‘Demanding we cancel the entertainments, evacuate the palace and lock the poor girl away while he shut himself in his chamber with his armed men. He was already issuing orders to that effect, though he barely took heed of what he was saying. Do you know how much money I paid out for tonight’s ball?’

‘I-’

‘Of course you don’t. More than the treasury can afford to throw away, is the answer. Nor did I wish the cream of Parisian nobility and the ambassadors of half Europe to be turned out of my gates before the festivities had even begun, whispering to one another that the King of France is afraid of a dancing girl. We would be a laughing stock.’ She paused for me to appreciate the gravity of the situation. ‘So,’ she continued, resuming her slow pace towards the doors at the far end while I walked alongside. ‘A little judicious soothing of my distraught son, and he confesses it was you who planted this idea in his overheated brain. Complete with some fanciful tale about a murdered priest.’

‘Your Majesty, I-’

‘What kind of a fool are you?’ She rounded on me, the silver head of her stick thrust towards my face. ‘Do you not know Henri better by now? He has a weak constitution – all my sons were cursed with it. Any threat of discord makes him ill.’

‘He is ruling the wrong kingdom, then.’

I should have held my peace; I feared she might strike me for that, but after a moment she merely inclined her head with regret.

‘True. He would have been a happier man if Fate had spared him the throne, I grant you. But our duty is God’s will, and we must fulfil it as best we can. I could get no further sense from Henri, though thankfully I talked him out of scattering our guests to the four winds. Now you will tell me everything you know about this Circe business. But I warn you-’ she raised the cane again – ‘I am more than ready to believe there are plots against my son’s life and his throne, but not from within my own household. That is plainly absurd. So explain yourself.’

Feeling that my options were limited, I related as we walked a carefully edited version of the story, including the letter I had found in Paul’s fireplace and the connection with Joseph de Chartres, but leaving out my first-hand experience of Joseph’s murder. Catherine’s face remained impassive throughout. When I had finished she halted and leaned on her stick, looking at me for a long time without speaking.

‘Why has it taken you so long to tell the King about this so-called threat from Circe?’

‘Your Majesty, I did not wish to alarm him without good cause. He had asked me to find out who killed the priest and there was no evidence that letter was ever sent. At the time I had no idea who or what Circe might be.’

‘Hm.’ She considered. ‘Léonie de Châtillon has been in my household since she was fifteen years old. Thirteen years altogether, and in that time she has been nothing but loyal. I find it hard to credit that she could have been turned by our enemies.’

She was either too trusting or too arrogant, I thought, if she imagined the intelligence acquired by her bevy of lovely informers flowed only one way.

‘Was she ever intimate with the Duke of Guise, or his sister?’

Her expression clouded and the flesh around her lips turned white as she clenched her jaw. ‘Guise … Devil take him. Yes, there was a time I sent her to Guise, and she proved herself useful. Le Balafré is not apt to give much away to my women – he is too canny. That’s why I only deploy the most skilled with him. As with you.’

I bowed my head in acknowledgement, even as I guessed it was Gabrielle who had betrayed my presence here to her mistress. Catherine dabbed her nose with her handkerchief.

‘But that was years ago. She has not been near Guise for over a decade. It could not be that.’

‘Could they have renewed their liaison without your knowledge?’

‘Impossible.’ She spat the word. ‘My women do not have liaisons behind my back. They have too much to lose. Léonie de Châtillon most of all. She plays for higher stakes.’ Her gaze swerved away from mine as she said this, but I caught her knowing tone. I was tempted to ask if she meant the King, and wondered again if Léonie was the mistress Henri had mentioned with his nonchalant swagger. The way they had looked at one another during the masque spoke of something between them. But that did not preclude Léonie also being Guise’s lover, whatever Catherine wanted to believe; in fact, what better way to get close to the King than to subvert the woman who shares his bed? A suspicion began to form in a dark corner of my mind.

‘Well, if you are certain of her loyalty …’

She smiled, showing her teeth. I thought of the crocodile.

‘I have been playing this game since you were a barefoot child in Nola, Doctor Bruno. This is what Guise wants, of course – to sow mistrust among the King’s supporters. Be assured – my women have better discipline than most armies I have seen. Those I cannot trust absolutely do not last long in my service. If there were a traitor among them I would know it before they had even formed the thought. Never imply to me that I cannot govern my own household.’

‘I did not mean-’

‘Nothing happens in this palace or the Louvre that does not reach my ears. I knew when Henri brought you here for your little midnight summit. What I cannot fathom-’ here she made a moue of irritation – ‘is why he came to you with the matter of the priest’s murder, rather than seeking my help, as he should have done.’

‘I have some experience in that area.’

‘Oh, I know it. I know what you were up to in England. Tell me – do you still correspond with your friends there?’

Her tone was light, but there was no mistaking the threat beneath it. I tried to keep my face as neutral as hers.

‘My friend Sir Philip Sidney now commands a garrison at Flushing. I write to him from time to time.’

She snorted. ‘Do not talk to me of the war in the Low Countries. My youngest son’s involvement there was nearly the death of me, God rest him.’ She paused to cross herself before fixing me with an appraising look, her head tilted. ‘And what do you make of Stafford, Elizabeth’s ambassador here? You are in touch with him, I believe.’

There seemed little point denying it, though I wondered how she could have come by that information. ‘I find him to be a gentleman.’

‘Hm. Still fond of the card-table, is he?’

‘If so, he has not invited me to join him.’

‘You should. You would come out of it a richer man. I hear his judgement is somewhat flawed when it comes to a hand of cards. Perhaps not only cards.’ She leaned towards me, one bent forefinger raised in admonition. ‘I give you this advice, Bruno, since you are a man whose life depends on judging whom to trust: never put your faith in a man who cannot temper his appetite for gaming.’

‘A man who cannot temper his appetite for anything is not apt to be trusted,’ I said.

‘True. Obsession is a malady that consumes all reason. I know that too well.’ Her eyes flitted to the portrait of her husband over the fireplace and I sensed she spoke from the heart. ‘Well – Elizabeth of England is deceived in her ambassador. There is my counsel – heed it if you will, though I suppose you will not, since Stafford must be lining your pockets.’

‘I don’t know what you mean.’

She gave a mirthless laugh. ‘Elizabeth favoured you, it seems. She gave you licence to publish your heretical books. Four of them in three years. You must have done something to please her.’

‘You have seen my books?’

‘Of course. Those you sent to the King via Jacopo. I told you, there are no secrets from me.’

‘And did you read them?’ I realised I could not quite disguise my eagerness. I should have realised Henri would not keep anything from his mother.

‘I read enough.’

A long silence unfolded. One of the guards coughed. From beyond the double doors I heard the women laughing.

‘You wish to know what I thought, I suppose,’ Catherine said, when the silence had grown unbearable. She shifted her weight from one hip to the other. ‘I will tell you. I think you are a very dangerous man, Doctor Bruno. All the more so because your arguments appeal so persuasively to reason. And reason is frequently the enemy of obedient faith.’ She pinned me again with that frank stare, a half-smile on her lips. ‘If our first mother Eve had obeyed the Lord’s command in the garden without question instead of allowing the serpent to reason his way around it, how different the story of mankind might have been. We would be spared all this.’ She gestured toward the window as if to encompass the general predicament of France.

I was denied the chance to contest this, because at the same moment the doors at the other end of the gallery crashed open and Balthasar de Beaujoyeux appeared as if he had been harried out of Hell, wringing his hands, his face white and his eyes wild, his hose and his velvet dancing slippers all spattered with mud and leaves. He flung himself to his knees before Catherine, shaking his head and snatching gasping breaths.

‘What is it, man?’ she said, her tone growing more imperious, as if to counter Balthasar’s evident distress.

‘Majesty, she is dead.’ He looked up at her, imploring. ‘Circe is dead!’