Conspiracy

TWENTY-SEVEN

Though the sky was still barely light outside, we found Catherine formally dressed and seated expectantly on her high-backed chair with the crocodiles overhead. In the cold dawn, the stacks of artefacts and bric-a-brac surrounding her appeared worn and flat, like painted stage properties from another age. She gave a little cry of surprise as the King entered, supporting himself on my arm, and half-rose, a hand outstretched, her face creased in motherly anxiety.

‘You should not be out of bed, my son,’ she said, addressing him in Italian, as if maternal feelings expressed themselves instinctively in her own tongue.

‘Sit down, Mother. Don’t alarm yourself. I am much improved. Your doctor has purged me thoroughly.’ Henri spoke in French, for the benefit of the rest of the company. Ruggieri sat beside the Queen Mother in an uncomfortable chair; his puffy features and drooping head suggested he had been hurried from his bed prematurely. Gabrielle perched on the edge of the dais at Catherine’s feet, now dressed, her hair in artful disarray; she flashed me a look of pure fury as I entered. I found I could not meet her eye.

‘I understand you wanted to see Doctor Bruno?’ Henri smiled pleasantly at his mother. ‘I thought I would take the air and accompany him.’

Catherine glared at me, as if this were my doing. ‘It was on a private matter.’

‘It strikes me that there is too much private business going on in this palace lately. You know I don’t like you having secrets from me, Mother.’ Henri was still smiling, but there was steel in it. His fingers gripped my shoulder. ‘Whatever you have to say, you may say it in the presence of your king.’

Catherine’s face tightened almost imperceptibly at the subtle pulling of rank. ‘You and I have spoken before about the company you keep,’ she said, her voice taut. ‘This man is a perfect example. He has been taking liberties. Twice in the last week he has found his way into my house under false pretences and absconded against my express orders. He has finagled his way into your wife’s apartments. And now he has assaulted one of my women. The Duchess of Montpensier has written to me saying he broke into her house and took private letters before jumping out of a window and escaping on her brother’s stolen horse. I say enough. A Neapolitan brawler, a thief and a known heretic, Henri. This is the man you choose as your confidant and your so-called tutor. What do you think people will say about you?’

‘Blood of Christ, Mother! Bruno was out of Paris for three years – did people stop saying unpleasant things about me then? I cannot control what people say, not without closing every printing press in France, and that would not stop the ballads and skits in the tavern yards.’ Henri let go of me and took a step towards her. Spittle flecked the corners of his mouth; his eyes bulged. ‘I will not live my life in thrall to those fucking pamphleteers. Bitter little clerics truffling around in shit, with no-’ he broke off, felled by an almighty coughing fit.

‘Look to the King,’ Catherine cried, rising effortfully from her chair. Balthasar and I dashed forward and caught Henri by the elbows, guiding him to an upholstered settle at the side of the room. Gabrielle rushed to bring him a glass of watered wine. When he had recovered, he raised his head and looked at me with admiration.

‘Did you really steal Guise’s horse?’

‘I gave it back.’

He smiled, though it faded almost immediately. ‘What were you doing with my wife?’

I glanced at Catherine. ‘I was going to explain that, Your Majesty.’

‘Listening to all manner of fanciful tales from a woman whose mind is clearly disturbed,’ Catherine said, pinning me with her blackest stare. ‘Barrenness can do that to the female brain, you know. Unbalance the humours. Tip women into madness, sometimes.’

‘Well, you would know,’ Henri said, heaving himself up again and crossing the room to stand before her. ‘You were ten years married to my father before you first conceived, were you not, madam? While he was getting bastards all over France with his mistresses.’

Catherine gaped; her hand flew to her throat as if her son had struck her. I heard her attendants draw breath in shock.

‘So do not be so quick to judge my wife,’ he continued, in a voice like stone. ‘Now sit down. Bruno has a story to tell, and I want you to hear it.’

‘Really?’ She looked back to me, a faint wrinkle of distaste forming across the bridge of her nose. ‘I cannot help feeling the world would be a better place if Doctor Bruno learned to keep his thoughts to himself.’

‘Not this time.’ Henri held a hand out to me as if presenting me on a stage. ‘Bruno has come to tell us who killed Léonie de Châtillon.’

Gabrielle gasped; I glanced over to see her pressing her hand to her mouth, wide eyes fixed on me.

‘How clever of him,’ Catherine said, with a dry laugh. ‘When we already know. Two physicians have pronounced that she took her own life, God have mercy on her soul.’

‘Madam,’ Henri said, sounding tired, ‘you pay your physicians to tell you what you wish to hear. Let us listen to Bruno’s version.’

She snorted. ‘Is he a doctor of medicine?’

‘No, but he is a man of many subtle talents, one of which is probing into suspicious deaths, which is why I sent for him last month.’ He gestured to me again. ‘Speak, Bruno. Your audience is rapt.’

Catherine banged her stick on the stage. ‘Clear the room. All of you – into the gallery. His Majesty the King may give credence to this Neapolitan fox but I will not have the rest of my household infected by his wild suppositions. Go on, out.’ She thumped the stick again and her attendants hurried to obey. Gabrielle paused by the door and gave me a long look that seemed intended to communicate something, but I turned away.

When only the three of us were left in the room, Catherine motioned for Henri to sit beside her. ‘I don’t want you fainting again. Very well, then, Doctor Bruno – you have the floor. Tell us what you imagine happened that night.’

I cleared my throat and began.

‘You asked me to look into the death of the priest Paul Lefèvre, Your Majesty,’ I said, drawing myself up to face the King and trying to imagine I was presenting my case in a public debate at a university, as I had so often, in so many cities. But my palms felt sticky, my mouth gritty and strange. I folded my hands behind my back so Catherine would not see them trembling. ‘You believed he had been murdered by the Catholic League, to incite a riot against you. But I had seen him on his death bed, after he was attacked outside the abbey of Saint-Victor. He managed to speak one word to me before he died. That word was “Circe”.’

‘From which you developed your far-fetched theory that Léonie de Châtillon was conspiring against my son,’ Catherine cut in, her expression sceptical.

‘Yes, eventually. Though I was mistaken.’

‘I am glad you concede it.’

‘But only in one particular,’ I continued, and saw her mouth tense. ‘Léonie did make her confession to Père Lefèvre. She told him she was part of a conspiracy that would involve murder. He tried to warn the party whose life was in danger. My mistake was in assuming that the person he addressed as “Your Majesty” in his anonymous letter was King Henri.’

The King started forward in his chair. ‘Then whom? My mother?’ He darted a fearful glance sideways at her.

‘No, sire. Your wife, Queen Louise. And Lefèvre did send a copy of that letter, which she received. But I believe someone else at the palace saw it too. And that someone told the author of this plot against the Queen. That was why Paul Lefèvre had to die.’

Catherine clasped her hands together. ‘This smacks of a League conspiracy. The girl had some residual attachment to Guise, even after all these years. I should not have trusted her.’

‘It does seem the obvious answer, Your Majesty,’ I said, inclining my head towards her in a show of deference. ‘For a long while I assumed it must be an elaborate plan by the Duke of Guise. Especially when I found convincing evidence that Lefèvre was killed by Joseph de Chartres – the almoner of Saint-Victor and a League collaborator. But that was because I was working on the assumption that His Majesty the King was the target. Once I learned from Queen Louise that Paul Lefèvre’s letter had been written to her all along, I had to revise my assumptions.’

‘So – it was not Guise?’ Henri sounded disappointed. ‘But de Chartres was related to the Duchess of Montpensier. Who would he kill for, if not the League?’

‘I realised that the answer lay not in his League connections but in another attachment. De Chartres was rumoured to have a mistress. I found a letter from his lover in his cell at Saint-Victor. My friend the librarian there found another in the same hand among his other papers – a letter telling him that Lefèvre was going to denounce him as a spy and must be silenced.’

‘So …’ Henri frowned. ‘What does that have to do with Circe?’

‘Nothing. That is precisely the point. There is no mention of this conspiracy involving Circe, which makes me think that Joseph de Chartres did not know of it. His lover used him. Joseph thought he was getting rid of Lefèvre for a different reason – to protect himself against exposure as a spy.’

‘A spy for whom?’ Henri asked. ‘I am completely confused.’

‘Bear with me – it will become clearer. We must suppose that he was afraid his comrades in the League suspected him of fraternising with their enemy. The curate at Saint-Séverin overheard Lefèvre calling him Judas.’ I left a pause for him to work it out.

‘There seems to be an awful lot of supposition here,’ Catherine remarked, shifting her weight in the chair.

‘I prefer to call it logical deduction,’ I said.

‘You mean, this mistress was someone from my household?’ Henri stared at me as if the idea was preposterous.

‘It was someone with royal allegiances, certainly. And I also believe the lover killed de Chartres not long after. Presumably he couldn’t be trusted to keep quiet either.’

‘But-’ Henri shook his head as he struggled to make the necessary connections – ‘if she came from inside the royal households, then the original conspiracy, the one involving Circe-’

‘Also came from within the palace.’ I took a few paces in front of them, as if speaking to a public gallery. ‘Circe – Léonie – had confessed to a plot to harm Queen Louise. That made no sense if Guise was behind it – it would be no advantage to him to attack the Queen. Quite the reverse – it’s in his interest that you continue in a childless marriage, sire. If your wife were to die, you would be free to find a new one who might give you a son, and his hopes of the throne would crumble. In fact, the only people who would obviously benefit from the death of Queen Louise would be the House of Valois.’

Catherine brought her stick down sharply again as if she were the presiding judge. ‘I think we have heard enough of this nonsense. Banish this man, Henri. You have shown him too much familiarity – now he thinks he can speak to sovereigns as if he were their equal.’

‘For courage and intelligence he is the superior of every prince I have known,’ Henri snapped back, half-rising. He sounded unusually regal. ‘And may I remind you, madam, that there is only one sovereign in this room, and he commands Bruno to continue.’

I had never seen Catherine shrink before. She pressed her lips together and folded her hands over the top of her cane, her eyes fixed intently on me as if daring me to finish my accusation.

‘So you think Léonie was trying to kill my wife?’ Henri formed the words slowly and carefully, as if their meaning was only now beginning to penetrate. Before I could answer, he turned to face his mother, understanding spreading over his face. ‘You knew. Dear God – this was your solution?’

‘The man is raving, Henri. He is saying the first thing that comes into his head because he is desperate for your patronage again.’

‘With respect, madam, if I wanted to win royal favour this is not the story I would be inventing,’ I said quietly.

‘You spoke to me of a possible annulment, I remember that,’ Henri said, still addressing his mother with the same incredulous gaze. ‘I told you I would not countenance it. God knows Louise has endured enough – she does not deserve to be thrown aside so lightly. Then Ruggieri made his prophecy, which I took as a sign that everything would be resolved …’ He let the sentence trail into silence as he looked back at me. ‘Go on, Bruno. What further secrets has my mother been keeping from me?’

My eyes flicked to Catherine; I saw her give a minute shake of her head, her lips pressed so tight they had turned white. If I spoke now, I would make a lasting enemy of the most powerful woman in France, and despite the King’s present performance, I was not convinced he had the will to defy her for long. I paused, breathed hard and plunged in anyway.

‘One significant one, Your Majesty. Léonie de Châtillon was in the early weeks of pregnancy when she died.’

‘What?’ Henri leapt to his feet, throwing his chair over behind him. His nostrils flared as his gaze swung wildly from me to Catherine. ‘She was carrying my child? And you killed her, knowing that?’

‘Of course I didn’t kill her.’ Catherine smoothed her skirts. ‘Do you imagine, at my age, I go stalking through woods in the dark, garrotting young women?’

‘Why would you say she was garrotted?’ I asked, immediately. ‘I thought you believed she killed herself with cuts to the wrists?’

‘I do.’ She regarded me calmly; her expression told me I would have to do better than that if I wanted to catch her out. ‘But I know that is your theory. You said so when her body was first brought in. I presumed you had added it to the many other foolish ideas you have been putting in my son’s head. Besides, Henri,’ – she shifted to face the King – ‘it almost certainly wasn’t yours. The girl was still Guise’s whore.’

‘But you didn’t know that at first, did you?’ I planted myself before her chair. ‘When she first told you she was with child, you had to act quickly. You consulted Jacopo about the prospect of legitimising the child by marriage. And you sent Léonie to serve Queen Louise. To poison her, little by little, so no one would suspect foul play. But Léonie threw your plan into disarray when she confessed it to Paul Lefèvre, who alerted the Queen. Then, when you learned the child might not even be the King’s, you realised you had risked everything for a deception.’

‘Where is your evidence for any of this?’ Catherine still appeared admirably unruffled; it was I who was sweating. ‘Henri, are you going to let this man interrogate me as if he were my judge and I a common criminal?’

‘Yes,’ the King said bluntly. ‘And I would like to hear you answer his charges, madam.’

‘I have asked him what proof he has beyond wild fancy.’ She sat back and looked at me, eyebrows arched expectantly.

‘The Queen’s recent illness began when Léonie came to serve in her household, two months ago.’

Catherine waved her hand. ‘That woman has always suffered from ill health, long before Léonie went near her.’

‘Not with the symptoms of poisoning. Then there is the scarf I found in the clearing where Léonie was murdered. It was embroidered with Queen Louise’s crest. I believe Léonie’s killer dropped it there after strangling her with it.’

‘Do you hear that, Henri? Louise’s crest. He will be accusing your wife of her murder next.’

‘No, but it was someone who has at some point had access to the Queen’s apartments and could have taken it from her.’

‘More speculation.’

‘Then there was this.’ I reached inside my doublet and showed her the silver penknife in my palm. I was gratified to see a flash of something – anger? fear? – twist her features. ‘You recognise this, Your Majesty, I’m sure. Antique Florentine craftsmanship, rare in Paris. You brought them with you when you first came to France as a young bride, I understand? And you have given them as gifts to those who have done you special service. I know Jacopo has one.’

‘What of it?’ Her eyes narrowed. ‘Where did you get this?’

‘I found it by the naked corpse of Joseph de Chartres. He too was garrotted. His killer – who was also his lover – used the knife to twist the tourniquet, but fled in too much of a hurry to take it.’

I could see the muscles working along Catherine’s jaw as she considered her response. Henri’s gaze rested on me with a kind of wonder.

‘So – this lover killed both de Chartres and Léonie, at my mother’s command?’

‘I believe so, Your Majesty.’

‘I train my girls in many arts, Doctor Bruno, but garrotting is not among them,’ Catherine said, patting her hairnet into place. ‘Do not listen to any more of this, Henri. My physicians assure me the girl was not even pregnant.’

‘Then why did you give her the Queen’s wedding medallion with the dolphin?’ I shot back.

‘I did no such thing. Perhaps she stole it from Queen Louise.’

‘The Queen had already returned it to you, at your request. And you had Ruggieri draw up an astrological chart for the new Dauphin – I saw it in the library.’

‘You must have imagined that.’ She turned briskly to the King. ‘You look tired, Henri. Let me send for some food. This is too much for you while you are still unwell.’ She reached out a hand towards his face; Henri slapped it away.

‘You are saying, Bruno, that this lover is one of my mother’s women?’ he asked.

‘That seemed the obvious conclusion, Your Majesty. But I could not be certain until I found a match for the handwriting in the two letters I have from Joseph’s lover.’

‘And now you have?’

‘Beyond doubt.’

‘Tell me one thing. Is this lover among my mother’s attendants today? Out there in the gallery?’

I nodded. The King rose, his face dark. ‘Then bring them all in. See if she can keep her countenance with every gaze on her.’

‘Do not do this, Henri, I beg you. Do not repeat these foolhardy accusations to people who have only ever loved and served you and acted for the good of your throne.’ Catherine struggled out of her chair. She looked older suddenly, the emotion in her voice no longer within her control.

But Henri was already striding to the door; he flung it open and barked a command. They trooped in behind him, white-faced and anxious: Balthasar, Ruggieri, Gabrielle. I wondered how much they had heard. I caught Gabrielle’s eye and held her gaze for a moment, trying to convey a wordless apology, but her face was rigid.

I reached into the inside pocket of my doublet again and drew out the love letter I had found in Joseph’s cell.

‘I had been looking for a woman whose hand matched this,’ I said, addressing the King. ‘But it was only very recently that I realised where I had seen this writing before. I said it seemed an obvious conclusion that Joseph’s lover was a woman from the court. It would be logical – to seduce and win the confidence of a man with senior League connections. That is what your women do, is it not, Your Majesty?’ I added, turning to Catherine. She neither acknowledged nor denied it. ‘However,’ I continued, with heavy emphasis, and I felt my listeners strain forward, ‘once again, as with Lefèvre’s letter and the phrase “Your Majesty”, I realised that pursuing the obvious solution had made me blind.’

‘What do you mean?’ Henri said.

‘It was only late last night that I realised where I had seen this handwriting. You will recognise it, I think, Your Majesty.’ I approached Catherine and held out the letter to her, but she pointedly turned her head away. ‘It was in Queen Louise’s apartments,’ I continued, undeterred. ‘She showed me the drawings she had made for the costumes in the masque, and beneath them were notes on the choreography. Unmistakably in this same hand. It’s not just your women who use the arts of love to spy for you, is it, Your Majesty?’ I left a pause, while Catherine’s face clouded with fury. ‘Joseph de Chartres was clever – he was a frequent guest of the Duchess of Montpensier, he allowed rumours to flourish regarding their relationship, to disguise where his real interest lay.’ I turned to Balthasar, holding out the penknife. ‘Here – you left this behind in the priest’s rooms with Joseph’s body. Perhaps you should have sent your little go-between to look for it,’ I added. ‘The dwarf. The one you sent to search Lefèvre’s lodging before, to see if he had left behind any other writings about the Circe plot.’

Balthasar stared at me, his mouth hanging open. The colour drained from his face. He turned fearful eyes on Catherine, waiting to be told what to do or say.

Henri stepped down from the dais, covering the distance between us in two long strides, and snatched the letter from my hand. His eyes skimmed the page; when he looked up at Balthasar they glittered with a cold light.

‘You killed my child,’ he said, with deliberate calm.

‘Your Majesty-’ Balthasar was shaking his head, holding his hands up, palms outwards, like a shield. Before he could complete his defence, Henri pulled his arm back and swung his fist until it connected with Balthasar’s jaw with a sickening crunch. For a man in his state of health it was a surprisingly vigorous blow. The dance master was knocked to the floor, where he attempted to scramble backwards away from the King.

‘It was not likely to have been yours, Your Majesty,’ he pleaded, the words distorted in his bruised mouth. ‘She was still seeing Guise. I was the one who found out – your wife had me follow her.’

‘But it might have been. No one has ever proved that I cannot father a child, damn it. But no – I can see it would have been a lot of trouble to murder my wife, rush through another marriage and legitimise a bastard if you could not even be sure it was a Valois. Much simpler just to kill it off along with the woman who carried it.’ He raised his leg as if to kick Balthasar in the ribs; with the quick reflex of an athlete he curled into a ball, arms over his face, begging for mercy.

‘Leave him alone, Henri.’ Catherine rapped out her command as if speaking to a dog. ‘This is not justice. Conduct yourself like a monarch.’

‘Like you, Mother?’ The King spun around to face her, eyes blazing. ‘Is it more fitting to poison people? Strangle them from behind when they are not looking? Is that how a monarch should behave?’

Catherine clicked her tongue. ‘Be grateful you do not hold your kingdom in Italy, boy. You would see all that and more before breakfast, you would learn not to shrink from the smell of blood. Remember you are a Medici as well as a Valois.’

‘You have never let me forget it, Mother.’ Henri pointed to Balthasar, still balled up silent on the floor. ‘Was that where he learned his assassin’s tricks, at the Medici court?’

‘Like all of us who make our home in a foreign land, Balthasar has learned the skills necessary to survive and be useful.’ Catherine’s tone was calmer now.

Balthasar peeled his arms away from his face and pushed himself up on his elbows to look the King directly in the eye.

‘In Florence, Your Majesty, they kill men like us,’ he said, his voice low and unsteady. ‘The street gangs or the Church, it’s all the same. We are easy targets. I was beaten so badly by youths one night that I could no longer dance. But at least I escaped with my life – my friend did not. After that – yes, I learned how to fight.’

Henri held his gaze, his fingers flexing as the conflict of emotions played out across his face. He turned back to his mother.

‘What justice shall he have, then, your hired killer?’ But he sounded more petulant than angry. Already, to my dismay, I could feel the balance of power shifting.

‘Your servant, rather,’ Catherine said firmly. ‘Every decision I take is for the sake of your throne and your name, my son. If Doctor Bruno cared for you and for France as he claims to do, he would have understood this, and learned, as I suggested, to keep his opinions to himself.’ She turned those black eyes on me for the briefest instant, with all the promise of Medici vengeance. ‘Send the others out, Henri. You and I and Balthasar will discuss justice alone.’

The King havered, suspended between choices. Then he seemed to deflate, the raw fury ebbing away as suddenly as it had flared up. He sat heavily on the edge of the dais and hunched over, wracked by another bout of coughing. Catherine stood, wincing as she leaned her weight on her stick, and laid a hand on his shoulder. After a moment, Henri inclined towards her and rested his head against her hip. I knew then that I had lost, and she had won. It had all been for nothing. There would be no justice for the dead; the King would accept her justifications and my reward would be Catherine’s lasting enmity.

‘You may leave my son to my care now, Doctor Bruno,’ she said, her voice gentler. ‘You have done what he asked of you, with a tenacity none of us predicted. Now it is for the King to decide what he wishes to do with your hypotheses. You will wait in the gallery.’

I bowed in silence and turned to leave.

‘And please do not leave the premises without permission this time,’ she added, lightly. ‘I am feeling less indulgent towards you today.’

As I passed Balthasar’s prone form, he lifted his hands away from his face, blood still trickling down his chin. It disturbed me to see that the look he gave me was one less of hatred than contempt, mingled with pity. I would come out of this worse off than him, it seemed to imply.

Gabrielle slid in beside me on a window seat overlooking the courtyard below.

‘For a moment there, I was afraid you suspected me,’ she murmured.

I shook my head. ‘Not of the murders. But I still accuse you of trying to detain me on Catherine’s behalf last night. Sorry about locking you in.’

‘It’s not the worst that’s happened to me in her service.’ She breathed on the window and rubbed a small circle of frost away from the pane with her sleeve. ‘I’ve decided I want to go home for Christmas,’ she said quietly.

‘Home?’

‘To Ligny. To my husband and daughter. Away from this place.’

‘Will Catherine allow that?’

‘I don’t suppose she can do much to stop me, if my husband demands it. I am his to command, after all. I have written to him already.’

‘She might make it hard for you to come back.’

‘I don’t know that I want to.’ She sighed and rearranged her legs beneath her. ‘I have been thinking about it a lot since Léonie died. That could have been any of us. What I learned in there’ – she jerked her thumb towards the closed doors of Catherine’s room – ‘didn’t surprise me at all.’ She tilted her head to look at me sidelong. ‘I have always known Catherine was ruthless. She once offered to have her own daughter killed, as a bargain with Navarre, to release him from the marriage. If she was prepared to do that, how much more disposable are the rest of us? Our bodies are no more than a form of currency to be bartered, and one that is easily debased.’ She sighed and rubbed the glass again. ‘I shall be thirty soon. I want to see my daughter before she forgets me. Be a mother to her. Teach her not to live as I have lived, while there’s still time.’

I heard the tremor in her voice. I laid a hand on her arm and she folded her fingers over it.

‘Do that,’ I said softly. ‘Teach her to live well. Teach her to love, and be courageous, and she will grow into a fine woman. Like her mother.’

‘Thank you, Bruno.’ She squeezed my hand and turned her face away so that I would not see her blink away tears. We sat in silence as the minutes passed, the only sound the furious rise and fall of argument from the other side of the doors.

‘What will you do now?’ she asked, after a long time.

‘That depends on what they decide in there,’ I said, trying to sound unconcerned. ‘I could be banished, executed or ennobled. It’s anyone’s guess.’

‘Absurd, isn’t it? You have done nothing except uncover a great wrong, and you are the one in fear of punishment.’

‘That is Medici justice for you.’

An hour passed, marked by the chiming of the clocks, and still the sound of voices raised in accusation echoed from Catherine’s chamber. My stomach growled with hunger, though I could do nothing but wait; guards stood at each end of the gallery, and Ruggieri had stationed himself in the window seat opposite, where he perched like an ancient raven, watching us, black eyes brooding. Eventually the doors opened and the Queen Mother emerged, her face strained, followed by Balthasar, clutching his swollen lip. He walked past without looking at me.

‘The King will see you now,’ she said, pausing to lean on her stick. Her tone was imperious as ever, but she looked exhausted. For once, her strength of purpose was not enough to hide the fact that she was old and tired, and had not had a moment’s peace of mind in twenty-five years. I thought of my conversation with Balthasar, when he had urged me to respect her age and frailty. Impossible to know now whether he had been moved by concern for her or for himself. Perhaps they are the same thing, when you serve the Medici.

‘You will follow Henri’s instructions to the letter,’ Catherine said. ‘And keep away from the Tuileries from now on. I sincerely hope not to cross paths with you again, Doctor Bruno. My advice is to stop meddling in the affairs of princes if you intend to keep your head attached to your neck for the long-term. As I said, you are a dangerous man. But the greatest danger you pose is to yourself, I fear.’

‘It is a lesson I will take to heart, Your Majesty.’ I scrambled to my feet and offered a hasty bow. I wanted to remind her about the book but I felt that might be stretching her patience too far, in the circumstances.

‘See that you do. Come, Balthasar. And you, Ruggieri.’ She flicked her gnarled fingers in his direction and the old sorcerer heaved himself up, looking at me with undisguised glee.

‘Now we shall see my latest prediction come true,’ he cackled, showing his broken teeth. ‘When I said you should not be in Paris much longer.’

‘Will you take a wager on it?’ I drew myself up, defiant; whatever my fate was to be, I would not go down to the sound of this pseudo-magician’s mockery.

He assumed an air of gravitas. ‘One does not make wagers with the gift of prophecy.’

‘Then what on earth is the point of having it?’ I said, as I walked away.

Henri sat in his mother’s chair, slumped like a straw effigy that had lost its stuffing. His skin looked grey, his eyes dim and unfocused.

‘It’s been a lot to take in,’ he said, with uncharacteristic understatement.

‘I know, sire. I’m sorry. Perhaps your lady mother is right – I should have kept my knowledge to myself.’

‘God, no. Don’t be absurd. She must realise she can’t just go about disposing of people with impunity because they’re in the way. This isn’t Florence.’ He pulled his gaze back to me with an effort. ‘It’s chilling, Bruno – to realise someone has manipulated every aspect of your life without your knowing. With nothing but my best interests at heart, so she says.’ He shook his head in sad amazement. ‘This can never be made public, of course – you understand that? None of it.’

I opened my mouth to reply, but he pressed on:

‘Because of Joseph de Chartres. If Guise or his sister ever learn that he was murdered by someone in my household, they would drive a mob on to the streets calling for justice. They would not rest until we were dragged from the palaces and torn to pieces. So these deaths must be whitewashed. Paul Lefèvre was attacked by thieves. De Chartres was killed in a gaming-house brawl. Léonie tragically took her own life. These will be the official verdicts, set down in the records.’

‘Guise will not accept that.’

‘I think he will, in the end. My mother intends to negotiate with him. She proposes to offer the League a number of concessions that will encourage him to forget about the priest and the friar. I have agreed and given her authority to do so.’

‘What about Balthasar?’

‘Banished from my household and my wife’s. I have been firm about that. He was spying on me anyway. There was always something shifty about him.’ Henri stretched out his legs and contemplated the buckles of his shoes.

‘I mean to say – will he not be punished for the two murders?’

He let out a long sigh and shifted in his seat to look at me from beneath lowered brows. ‘If you mean in the sense of tried and executed, then no. That would be impossible, for the reasons I have already explained. And because I have made a treaty with my mother. His freedom for yours.’

‘Mine?’ I blinked at him. ‘I haven’t murdered anyone.’

‘You should know Catherine well enough to realise that is neither here nor there. You have seriously inconvenienced her. People who do that tend not to last long, as we have seen.’ He sat forward and beckoned me to the chair beside him. ‘I have told her that if any harm should come to you, I will strike her immediately from my royal council. That would be worse than banishment to Catherine, to be denied her say in the running of the kingdom. She knows I am deadly serious.’

You are deadly serious now, I thought, taking my seat. But she also knows well that you are a man of mercurial temper, and the righteous anger you feel today will soon be forgotten. You will not defy her to defend me for ever. Instead, I said:

‘That is a relief. Now I need only worry about the Duke of Guise trying to kill me.’

‘I’ve asked her to speak to Guise about you.’ He pushed a lock of hair out of his eyes. ‘Tell him you are under royal protection. Don’t worry – you will be part of her negotiations.’

I did not find this greatly reassuring; Catherine was entirely capable of striking a private bargain with Guise to get rid of me in some way which would not implicate her, regardless of Henri’s instructions. She might consider that an ideal solution. Even if, by some miracle, Guise agreed to leave me alone, that still did not solve the problem of Paget and Stafford and the fact that they suspected me of uncovering their dealings.

‘Thank you, Your Majesty,’ I said, without much conviction.

‘I will lend you one of my bodyguards for the time being,’ he added, as if he guessed at the tenor of my thoughts. ‘And, Bruno-’ he leaned across and rested a hand on my wrist. ‘I know what you have risked for my sake, to do this thing I asked of you. Neither of us could have foreseen where it would lead. Some men would have chosen to make their own lives easier by keeping the information to themselves.’

‘I have never perfected the art of making my life easier.’

He looked at me with a sad smile. ‘That is because you are cursed with integrity. But I know you also did it in the hope of reward. You are neither a fool nor a saint.’

‘Your Majesty, I-’

‘No need to deny it. You want patronage. Of course you do. And I will keep my word. When I am well, I will think on what I may do for you. For now-’

‘That book,’ I blurted, before he could change the subject. ‘The one she bought from the English girl. She said she wanted me to decipher it, but that was before. But I would still do it, without payment, if you could tell her-’

He nodded. ‘I will see what I can do.’

‘One more thing-’

A crease appeared between his brows; he did not like bargaining. I pressed on, quickly.

‘The Gelosi. The Duchess of Montpensier is holding them in her house, as punishment for my breaking in – though I did not steal anything from her, as she believes. They are supposed to travel to Lyon today, but I fear she will not release them without a royal command.’

‘Christ’s wounds, that woman.’ He grasped the carved armrests and heaved himself to his feet. ‘She is another who has ambitions to rule France. Her brother should rein her in. Believe me, I know about wilful sisters,’ he added darkly. ‘I will send soldiers for the players right away – she needs to learn that she cannot make her own laws in my kingdom. God save us from women with dreams of power, eh, Bruno?’

I bowed my head in assent so he could not see me smiling.

‘On that note,’ he said, pulling his robe around him, ‘I am going to visit my wife. There is one who has been nothing but obedient and kind to me.’ A brief look of remorse passed over his face. ‘I may not have been much of a husband to her, but by God, I will protect her from my mother’s schemes while I still breathe. That much at least I can do.’ He stepped down from the edge of the dais and paused, his eyes on the floor. ‘Do you think, Bruno, if I had been more attentive to my wife, those three people would not now be dead?’

‘You cannot blame yourself, sire,’ I said, though it seemed unusually perceptive of him to say so. ‘It does no good to speculate.’

‘No. Look ahead, my mother always says. Still,’ he said, brightening, ‘there is always Ruggieri’s prophecy. Perhaps, when my strength is recovered and the Queen is well again, it may yet come true.’ He looked at me as if seeking confirmation.

‘First time for everything,’ I said.

He smiled briefly, though it didn’t touch his eyes, and his expression darkened. ‘I cannot help but wish it had been allowed to live, Bruno. The child. I know they say it was probably not mine, but it might have been, you see. That’s the point. There was a chance.’

I cleared my throat. ‘I suppose when it comes to the heir to the throne, a chance is not good enough. Besides, could you have lived with that – always wondering? Thinking every time you looked at it, that it might be Guise’s?’

‘Perhaps I am ignorant, but I always imagined a man would somehow just know. You would feel some … instinct. Don’t you think?’

I closed my eyes briefly and tried to picture a two-year-old girl called Béatrice, running through a garden in Ligny. Would I just know, if I saw her? I could not imagine her as any more than a blur of colour; I hardly knew what two-year-olds did. ‘I have no idea, Your Majesty.’

‘No. No, I don’t suppose you do,’ he said, walking away, his mind already elsewhere.