Conspiracy

by Stephanie Merritt

  Voices rang out through the hard-edged air; a dog barked, joined by another. I scrambled to my feet and ran blindly through the white street, not knowing which direction I was taking, my only thought to get as far away as possible before Guise sent his soldiers after me. I wove through unfamiliar roads lit with an eerie blue glow from the snow, hampered by the powdery drifts underfoot, hearing at my back faint cries and the frenzied yapping of the dogs. Fear lent me speed and numbed me to the pain in my leg and the cuts on my hands; I felt the cold burning in my lungs with every ragged breath, until I skidded around a corner and saw the black expanse of the Seine ahead. I slowed my pace, snatching breaths, trying to make a decision. I could not go home; Guise would know where to find me. Nor could I go back to Jacopo’s – his thugs had followed me there already. There was only one place in Paris where I would be safe from the Duke of Guise, even if it did not guarantee safety from any other enemies. As I caught a chorus of dogs in the distance, I broke into a run again, heading along the Right Bank in the direction of the Tuileries palace.

  TWENTY-SIX

  I tapped discreetly at the small back gate but it had no effect. I tried hammering harder. At length this brought a tired face, raw with cold, to the grille in the door.

  ‘Are you Rémy?’

  ‘Who’s asking?’

  ‘I need to see Gabrielle de la Tour.’ I glanced over my shoulder but it seemed I had shaken off my pursuers for now. Even so, bruised and bleeding, I could not have looked more like a fugitive; the manner of my arrival clearly did not inspire confidence. The gatekeeper observed me as you might an escaped lunatic.

  ‘It’s the middle of the night,’ he pointed out.

  ‘She told me to come to you.’ I was shivering violently now that my burst of energy had subsided.

  ‘Mate,’ the man said wearily, ‘everyone’s tucked up in bed. Do me a favour and piss off, will you? Try again in the morning. Don’t make me send anyone out to get rid of you.’

  ‘Look.’ I scrabbled in my purse for my last remaining coins. ‘Could you at least get a message to her? Tell her I am here – if she won’t see me, I have lost nothing and you have gained.’

  He eyed the money suspiciously, then shut the grille in my face. I stamped my feet, my gaze flitting anxiously back along the road, until a moment later the door swung open a few inches and I found myself staring at the point of a broadsword. This Rémy was a short man in a fur hat and gloves, his figure made almost spherical by the several coats he appeared to be wearing, but the man-at-arms who stood behind him was as solid and muscled as a warhorse. I was nodded inside to stand by a brazier burning behind the gate. The soldier lowered his sword and checked me over for weapons while Rémy inspected the silver écu in my palm before tucking it into the depths of his coats.

  ‘Wait here with me,’ he said. He pointed to the guard. ‘You. Go and tell her ladyship she’s got a visitor. What’s your name?’ He turned back.

  I hesitated, but there seemed no use in subterfuge. ‘Bruno. She’s expecting me.’

  Laughter gurgled deep in Rémy’s layers. ‘If you say so.’ He jerked his head towards the palace and the other man stamped away into the dark. I huddled closer to the brazier, holding out my hands towards the flames, flinching as the feeling slowly returned and I became aware that my palms were cross-hatched with a hundred tiny cuts from the thatched roof and my wrists scored with gashes from the meat hook.

  ‘Cold tonight,’ I remarked, after a few minutes, tucking my hands into my armpits. The snow around us seemed to glitter with its own light. My teeth were clattering so severely that I feared I would bite my tongue.

  ‘Mate.’ Rémy leaned against the wall and gave me a look of infinite patience. ‘I haven’t seen you. Understand? We don’t need to be friends.’

  ‘Right.’ I drew my chin into my chest and inched as near as I could to the flame without setting myself alight. After a while he sighed, levered himself off the wall and disappeared into the small wooden hut that served as his sentry box, emerging with a rough woollen blanket.

  ‘Put that round you,’ he said, ‘or you’ll freeze your bollocks off and you’ll be no use to her then.’

  I thanked him and wrapped the blanket around my shoulders. It smelled of dog. Twenty minutes or more passed before the guard returned and handed me a folded sheet of paper without speaking. I opened it to find a hastily scribbled note.

  This man will take you to my maidservant. Do as she asks. I will be with you in an hour. G.

  I stared at the paper for a few moments as a cold shiver prickled up my spine. Rémy nodded and I followed the guard past white trees and around the side of the nearest wing to a door where a young woman wrapped in the plain serge gown of a servant waited for us with a lantern. She led me inside the palace, up a flight of back stairs and along unlit corridors until we reached a door which she unlocked with a key from her belt and stood back, ushering me inside. I found myself in a modest bedchamber, dominated by a large carved bed hung with embroidered curtains. Under the narrow window stood a table covered with cosmetics, brushes, hairpins, vials of scent. An ivory undershift edged with lace had been draped casually over a chair. In the grate a small fire smouldered and the air smelled of perfume and spiced wine mixed with woodsmoke. The girl bowed out wordlessly, leaving me alone. As the door clicked shut I jerked around, suddenly afraid that she might lock me in, but I heard only the sound of her footsteps padding away down the passage. I dragged the chair over to the fire and threw on another log from a basket in the hearth, then took out Gabrielle’s note and re-read it. I supposed the delay meant she was with another man, but I could not shake off a growing sense of unease.

  I must have drifted into sleep; I jerked awake at the sound of the door and turned to see Gabrielle lock it softly behind her and press a finger to her lips. Her hair hung loosely down her back and she wore a thick embroidered robe tied at the waist with a silk girdle.

  ‘I’m glad you changed your mind, Bruno,’ she murmured, gliding across to stand behind me, her fingers slowly kneading my shoulders. ‘Did you decide I was a better option than work or sleep?’

  I smiled. ‘Something like that.’ I could hardly tell her I had changed my mind because she was a better option than having my hands cut off by the Duke of Guise.

  ‘Let me get you a drink,’ she said, leaning over me and stroking her fingers down my chest.

  ‘No,’ I said, too emphatically. Her other hand stopped working the base of my neck. ‘I mean to say, I have no need of anything.’

  ‘I hope you don’t think I would try to poison you, Bruno.’ She moved around to stand in front of me, her eyes glittering.

  ‘I would not put anything past you, Gabrielle.’ I was still smiling, but she knew I was not joking.

  ‘Well, then,’ she said, in a lighter tone, ‘let’s not waste any more time.’ She loosened the silk tie of her robe and let it fall to the ground. I let my gaze travel up the line of her naked body until my eyes met hers, frank and defiant.

  ‘You’ll catch cold,’ I said feebly.

  ‘Then you had better warm me up.’ She took my hand and led me to the bed, blowing out the candles on the way. I tore off my doublet and felt expert fingers unfastening the laces of my shirt. The sheets were icy against my skin, but her body seemed to radiate heat as she wrapped herself around me in the dark.

  ‘So,’ she whispered, her tongue flicking at my earlobe, ‘is it true that you are trying to find out who killed Léonie?’

  ‘What?’ I rolled over to face her. ‘Where did you get that idea?’

  ‘Catherine mentioned it. Henri told her he wanted you to find the truth, apparently.’

  She kept her voice casual, teasing, but I tensed and I knew she felt it. I wondered if it was true that Henri had told his mother about finding Léonie’s killer, or if Catherine had learned of it from Balthasar listening outside the oratory door. Either way, it was not good news for me; if Catherine feared I was drawing close to her plot against
the Queen, she might take it upon herself to silence me before I could tell Henri. Perhaps, even now, I had unwittingly walked into her scheme.

  ‘Does anyone else know I am here?’ I asked.

  She slid her hand over my chest and rested it on my stomach, tracing small circles with her fingers. ‘Don’t be absurd. Catherine would be furious if she knew. We are only supposed to grant our favours where she directs, and at present my attentions are engaged elsewhere.’

  ‘Not with your husband, I presume.’

  She laughed. ‘Of course not. What purpose would that serve? One of Navarre’s confidants, if you must know. But these great men don’t like to feel they are sharing their mistresses with all-comers. Hence the need for discretion.’ She allowed her hand to drift lower until her fingers folded decisively around my slumbering cock. ‘So do you know yet who killed her?’ Her voice was thick and smooth as honey. I closed my eyes.

  ‘No,’ I said, though this was a lie. Now I believed I did know. ‘Do you?’

  Her hair brushed my chest. ‘I told you,’ she said, her words muffled as she disappeared under the covers, ‘all the girls are afraid. We don’t know who to fear. We want to find this man as urgently as the King does.’

  I lay still as she wriggled down and worked on me with her mouth, but my thoughts whirled, my senses straining for any tell-tale sound outside the bed curtains. Despite her best efforts, my body remained tense and unresponsive. Eventually she emerged, brushing her hair out of her face. I could just see the glint of her eyes in the dark.

  ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘Sorry. It’s not you. I have a lot on my mind.’

  ‘Your mind is never easy. Something troubling you?’ She ran a finger along my upper lip. ‘You know, you can always tell me. Perhaps I can help.’

  ‘It’s nothing.’ I offered a wan smile. ‘Nothing a good sleep won’t cure, at least.’

  She sank back on to the pillow beside me. I could tell she was piqued.

  ‘That was a lot of effort to smuggle you in, if all you want to do is sleep.’

  ‘Sorry to disappoint you,’ I said coldly.

  ‘Oh, Bruno.’ She let out an extravagant sigh and flung her leg over my thigh. ‘I shouldn’t have started talking about murder. I don’t suppose that helped. But I’m glad you’re here. Get some rest. There’s always the morning.’ She kissed me lightly on the brow and burrowed her face into my neck.

  ‘Good night,’ I whispered, but I lay awake staring at the canopy overhead long after her breathing had settled into the gentle rhythm of sleep.

  I woke into a chilly dawn, the room strangely lit by a gleam of snow outside filtering through a gap in the drapes. Gabrielle still slept, her limbs thrown out carelessly, one arm across my hips. I eased myself out from under it – she stirred, made a small animal noise in her sleep, settled back again – and slipped out through the bed curtains, scrabbling to find my clothes in the half-light. I dressed hastily, pulling on my boots, still damp from last night’s snow. I had to find my way out of the Tuileries and across to the Louvre before the households awoke. Now that I was sure I knew who had killed Joseph de Chartres and Léonie de Châtillon, I needed to take that information to the King before Catherine guessed that I had it; thereafter it would be in his hands. I also needed to beg for royal protection; Henri was the only person now who could stand between me and Guise. I had little doubt that the Duke would have someone waiting for me the moment I tried to return home.

  I crept to the door and found, to my dismay, that it was locked; I remembered Gabrielle locking it behind her last night but I had been half-asleep and had not noticed what she did with the key. The robe she had discarded with such a flourish lay in a heap by the fireplace; I rummaged through its folds but found nothing. I cast around the room, trying to guess where else she might have hidden a key. The fact that she had not left it in the door only quickened my anxiety; had she wanted to make sure I could not leave? I heard the rustling of sheets as she turned over and an idea struck me; poking my head back inside the bed curtains, I slid my hand under the pillow beneath her head until my fingers touched metal. I tried to work in further so I could ease the key out, but at that moment she rolled back towards me, the weight of her head trapping my hand. I gripped the base of the key between the tips of my first and second fingers and, holding my breath, pulled it out in one swift movement; I saw her eyelids flicker as I did so, and just as I withdrew, I heard her sleepily mumble my name in a question.

  I reached the door, unlocked it, was almost through when her tousled head appeared through the curtains, her expression somewhere between angry and puzzled.

  ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘Quick errand,’ I said, the door already open. ‘I’ll be back.’

  ‘No – you can’t.’ She spoke sharply; almost immediately she seemed to realise her error, and a slow smile curved across her face. ‘I mean, you can’t leave me unsatisfied, Bruno. Come back under the covers. I’ll make it worth your while, I promise.’

  But I had seen the flash of panic on her face that only confirmed my suspicions. She had already jumped out of bed with surprising speed. I glanced down at the key in my hand and in an instant made my decision.

  ‘Sorry,’ I whispered, as I slipped out of the door and turned the key in the lock behind me.

  ‘Bruno!’ She pounded on the door from the other side. ‘For God’s sake!’

  But I was already halfway down the corridor. It was not ideal; she would probably wake the household before long, but if I had time to make my way between the palaces without interruption that would be enough.

  I emerged into the cold light, into air that smelled of frost and smoke. Even at this hour, the courtyard was already bustling; men struggled to pull barrows stacked with firewood through the rutted snow; others rolled barrels towards the kitchens while women hauled buckets and sacks across their shoulders, bent under the weight. I kept my head down, chin tucked into the collar of my doublet, trying not to draw unwanted attention.

  I crossed the rear courtyard of the Tuileries without incident and passed through the gate in the boundary wall that separated it from the Louvre. Here my task became more difficult; there would be several ranks of guards between me and the King’s private chambers and I could expect to be swiftly detained as soon as I tried to get past them. As I edged around the chapel of Saint-Nicolas, I noticed that the door was ajar. I peered inside; there seemed to be no one about except an elderly priest lighting the candles by the altar at the far end for the early Mass. As long as he did not turn around and see me, my luck might hold. There was a closed door to my left; I tried the handle and to my immense relief it opened into a small sacristy, barely bigger than a closet, where vestments hung in rows on the wall. I snatched up a cassock, stole and biretta as quickly as I could, bundling them under my arm; as I was about to leave, I grabbed a prayer book from a table and dashed from the chapel just as I heard the old priest call out to ask who was there.

  In the shadow of the porch I pulled on the cleric’s garb, arranged the stole around my neck, and set off towards the King’s apartments, praying I would not run into anyone who might recognise me.

  But no one seemed to look beyond my clothes; at the sight of the priest’s garments doors opened and I was waved through by guards until I found myself outside the King’s private chamber, where a number of well-dressed young men lounged in an anteroom. None of them paid me any attention beyond an initial glance of boredom. By the fire, I noticed the physician who had been waiting outside the oratory the day before; I turned my face away, pulled the hat down and approached the soldiers guarding the door.

  ‘His Majesty sent for me,’ I said, with as much authority as I could muster. They looked at one another as if seeking confirmation. One tapped on the door. After a moment it was opened to reveal – to my dismay – Balthasar de Beaujoyeux, impeccably groomed, despite the early hour.

  ‘Bruno? Good Lord. How did you get in here?’ His eyes narrowed as he
took in my appearance. ‘The costume ball is over, you know.’

  ‘I need to see the King,’ I said, lowering my eyes and forcing myself to sound humble. ‘Please, Balthasar. It’s urgent.’

  ‘He’s not receiving visitors.’ Balthasar glanced at the guards. ‘What do you want?’

  ‘It’s a private matter.’

  ‘Catherine has instructed that he is not be disturbed, especially with news that might upset him. You had better come and tell her your urgent business. She can decide if he is strong enough.’

  ‘I can’t do that.’

  ‘I think you will.’ He nodded to the guards. One stepped forward and took hold of my arm.

  ‘Your Majesty,’ I cried out, struggling as the soldier tightened his grip.

  ‘Who’s there?’ came Henri’s voice, from inside the chamber.

  ‘It’s Bruno,’ I shouted, trying to wrench my arm away.

  ‘Well, for God’s sake come in, then,’ the King called back, peevishly. The guard looked at Balthasar, who sighed and motioned for him to release me.

  Henri was sitting up in bed, a book in his lap and a robe draped around his shoulders. He still looked pale and his eyes were ringed with purple shadow, though he seemed more alert than the previous day. I bowed; he beckoned me to approach his bedside, frowning.

  ‘Why are you dressed as a priest?’

  ‘It’s a long story.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Your Majesty,’ Balthasar cut in. ‘I told him you were resting. I have no idea how he managed to get into your private apartments.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’ Henri shot him an irritable glance. ‘It’s only Bruno. Yesterday you couldn’t push him into my presence fast enough. What are you doing here at this hour, Bruno?’

  ‘I have more pressing news, sire.’