The Lady Agnes Mystery, Volume 1

by Andrea Japp

  Reading them left him beyond all rage, filled with dread.

  Louvre Palace, Paris, July 1304

  Guillaume de Nogaret had been awake all night since learning of Benoît XI’s demise. He had spent hours weighing up the pros and cons, tossing and turning in his bed as he imagined the worst possible consequences for the kingdom of France. He was choked with rage at the idea that somebody could have stooped so low as to poison the Pope. Not that he had held the Holy Father in particularly high esteem. However, as a lover of the law, Nogaret required that all matters be settled by it. And the law served equally to depose a pope, making it unnecessary to kill him.

  This murder was a personal and political calamity. Everybody knew that Benoît XI had decided to excommunicate him in order to punish Philip the Fair for his attempt to force out Boniface VIII. Had this excommunication come to pass, it would have deeply injured Nogaret, who was an extremely religious man, and cast a long shadow over his future political career. In other words he had better reasons than anyone for instigating this poisoning. As the hours slipped by before dawn, his concern for the future of the kingdom eclipsed any fears he might have about his own.

  Nogaret and Plaisians were not yet prepared. They had begun spinning their web, advancing their pawns across the papal chessboard. They had counted on a few years of relative respite during Benoît’s pontificate, which they hoped would be brief. Not as brief as this, however.

  It was barely four o’clock in the morning when, sleep resolutely refusing to come, he decided to rise from his bed and pray before getting down to some work.

  Francesco de Leone, known as Capella for reasons of his espionage mission, was already busy checking registers when Nogaret opened the door to his office. The Counsellor hesitated between feeling irritation at not being able to enjoy a few hours of solitude, and contentment at having engaged such a diligent secretary. The latter prevailed – perhaps because he felt the need to engage in pleasant conversation.

  ‘You are an early riser, Francesco.’

  ‘No, it is the work, my Lord, it seems to pile up overnight as if by magic.’

  The reply elicited a weak smile from Nogaret, who nodded:

  ‘It often seems so.’

  ‘My Lord …’ Francesco paused with consummate skill. ‘What are we to think of the appalling demise of our Pope?’

  ‘Who do you mean by “we”? “We” the State, or “we” you and I?’

  ‘Are not “you” and “the State” one and the same?’

  The flattery was too subtle for Nogaret to perceive. On the contrary, the remark pleased him to the point of lifting his troubled mood a little. He responded with an already lighter sigh:

  ‘Not now, not any more. You see, Francesco, I do not know what to think. Naturally, the threat of being excommunicated worried me, even though I understood that it was Benoît’s way of affirming his authority over that of the kingdom of France.’ Suddenly it seemed essential to Guillaume de Nogaret to be clear on one point – perhaps because he realised that the man he had just taken into his employ possessed a keen intellect and deserved to be treated as his equal. ‘You should know that I swear before God I played no part in the attempt on Boniface’s life at Anagni. I went there to give him a summons to appear before the next ecumenical council. I was in the wrong place at the wrong time. We had a strong chance of removing that unworthy Pope by means of a religious tribunal. Any intervention by force was therefore superfluous.’

  Leone studied him in silence for a moment then declared in a slow and sincere voice:

  ‘I believe you, my Lord.’

  He was certain that this powerful man was speaking the truth, he who recognised a lie as plainly as the nose on his own face.

  Nogaret was filled with a disproportionate sense of relief, and it surprised him. After all, Francesco Capella was a mere secretary and the nephew of one of the most predatory usurers of the Place de Paris; what did it matter to him what the man thought? He went on:

  ‘In answer to your question … This premature death could turn out to be an untimely setback. We are unprepared to take action behind the scenes, unless we can delay the election of a new pope.’

  ‘How would you achieve that?’

  ‘By relying on man’s basest instincts, which the vast majority of our cardinals have not been spared. Namely cupidity, envy, jealousy and a thirst for power.’

  Francesco estimated he had discovered enough for one day, and was afraid of rousing Nogaret’s suspicions with more questions. He changed the subject:

  ‘I have been checking the register of court accounts while I waited for you, and …’

  Leone made a play of pausing awkwardly.

  ‘And what? Come on, speak up, Francesco.’

  ‘Well … Monsieur de Marigny’s accounts are … how should I put it? Well … Large sums of money have been credited to him without any mention of what they have been used for.’

  ‘There are three Marignys: the King’s Head Chamberlain, Enguerran, who is well placed in court and close to the Queen, Joan of Navarre; his brother Jean, Bishop of Beauvais, and Philippe, the King’s clerk and Bishop of Cambrai. To which do you refer?’

  ‘To the latter in particular. As for Charles de Valois,* he is a bottomless pit!’

  Nogaret, frowning at this remark, explained:

  ‘The King’s only brother is beyond reproach. Our sovereign is at times blinded by the affection he feels for him. That is the way it is and we have no choice but to accept it. His Royal Highness Charles is very generous with other people’s money. We must tolerate it while deftly alerting our sovereign.’

  Leone was surprised that Nogaret did not demand details of expenditure carried out in Philippe de Marigny’s name. He continued bluntly:

  ‘Monsieur de Marigny, Philippe, spent ten thousand pounds of Treasury money in less than six months. That is no small sum! His letters of withdrawal were drafted by Monsieur Enguerran and countersigned by the King and there is nowhere any mention of how the money was to be used.’

  ‘If the King countersigned them, then it is no concern of ours,’ retorted the Counsellor drily.

  Leone blinked deferentially by way of assent and returned to his work.

  What had this money the King approved been destined for? The withdrawals had begun six months ago – some time before Benoît XI’s death. Moreover, Nogaret had been obliged to call upon Giotto Capella to raise the necessary funds in order to manipulate the next papal election. The money granted to Philippe de Marigny must have been meant for some other mission, secret enough to warrant it being unaccounted for in the Treasury register. Guillaume de Nogaret’s brusque response was proof that he knew about it.

  Nearly an hour passed. Leone did not glance up from his work. The task the King’s Counsellor had given him, though tedious, was undemanding and his mind was occupied elsewhere. Soon, he sensed, soon he would have completed his mission in this place. But Arnaud de Viancourt, the prior of the commandery at Cyprus, need not know straight away. Under the guise of continuing his investigation Francesco could stay in France in order to reach the end of his own quest. And then what? Then the world would no longer be what it was now. There would be an end to hypocrisy, scheming and guile. The idols would fall … He must first reach the commandery at Arville, the property of the Knights Templar. They would be reluctant to offer their help to a Knight Hospitaller, at least the sort of help Leone badly needed.

  Guillaume de Nogaret cleared his throat. The Knight looked up from the rows of figures he had been examining since his arrival.

  ‘Let us rest for a moment, Francesco. Your uncle told the truth, you speak French admirably well.’

  ‘There is no merit in it, my Lord. My mother was French.’ Leone quickly changed the subject. ‘Your task would indeed appear to be vexing you.’

  ‘My head is spinning from these marriage contracts. Every contingency must be covered, even – above all – the unforeseeable.’

  ‘What marriage is th
is, if I may be so bold as to ask?’

  ‘It is no great mystery. His Royal Highness Philippe, Comte de Poitou and our King’s second son, is to wed Madame Jeanne de Bourgogne, daughter of Othon IV, Comte de Bourgogne, and of Comtesse Mahaut d’Artois. The county of Artois is a permanently troublesome area. And that of Burgundy – well! In brief, allowance must be made for every eventuality: deaths, births, marriages, annulments, sterility … I tell you, my head is spinning.’

  Sensing that Monsieur de Nogaret regretted his earlier ill temper, the Knight gave him a look of commiseration and waited for what would come next. It did not take long.

  ‘It is so gloomy within these cheerless walls of the Louvre citadel. Do you not yearn for the Rome light and the splendour of the papal palace?’

  ‘The early-morning light in Rome … is an utter marvel.’ Leone’s enchanted smile faded. ‘Naturally, I long for it … But I do not miss the years I spent in Boniface’s service.’

  The Counsellor tried to feign indifference and began smoothing down his quill pen. The man was a useless liar and dissembler, thought Leone, and berated himself; he must be careful not to take a liking to Nogaret. Nogaret was the enemy and he should not forget it. Nogaret tried, rather unsuccessfully, to pretend no more than polite interest.

  ‘Is that so? And yet, though it was an honorary function, it was not without material benefits.’

  ‘Indeed.’

  Leone was brilliant at feigning discretion, drawing the Counsellor out even further.

  ‘Now it is I who fear being too bold, Francesco. However, I am greatly satisfied with your work and I believe this to be the start of a long and fruitful association. It is therefore my … fatherly concern that makes me suspect there was some other reason for your departure than this … lady.’

  Leone stared at him wide-eyed, as though stunned by the man’s perceptiveness.

  ‘Indeed …’ he repeated.

  ‘I would not wish to …’

  ‘My Lord … if a king considers your honour and devotion worthy of his friendship, it would be madness for a humble clerk such as I not to put my trust in you. It is simply that … it is such a difficult thing to confide. For we are speaking in confidence, are we not?’

  ‘You have my word,’ Nogaret assured him with complete sincerity.

  If what the secretary revealed proved important, he could always divulge his confidences without naming his source – thus keeping his promise.

  ‘Well, you see, my Seigneur de Nogaret, there were so many falsehoods, conspiracies, undesirable connections under Boniface’s reign. The papacy was not enough for him, he wanted to be emperor.’

  Nogaret was convinced of the truth of this, largely because the loathing he felt for the deceased Pope blinded him at times. All the same, hearing it from the mouth of a chamberlain, and moreover an Italian, who had served Boniface for years, was a great comfort to him.

  ‘Did it offend you?’

  ‘It did … though I fear my reasons will displease you.’

  ‘If it is the case, then I shall tell you and we will avoid any future exchanges of ideas. Pray continue.’

  ‘The kingdom of souls, the defence of our faith and the purity of our devotion to God – all these things, in my view, come under the domain of the Holy Father’s authority and wisdom. On the other hand, the construction, administration and protection of the State are the responsibility of the king or emperor. Boniface refused to accept this.’

  Nogaret was growing increasingly pleased at having taken on Giotto Capella’s nephew. He agreed:

  ‘We share your feelings. But you spoke, too, of undesirable connections and conspiracies …’

  ‘Oh yes …’

  Nogaret champed at the bit, waiting for the other man to continue, not rushing him for fear he might close up. Francesco de Leone, meanwhile, was desperately trying to think up some convincing lie. For a lie to be convincing it must be simple, rooted in reality and, above all, pleasing to the listener.

  ‘The Bishop of Pamiers, Bernard Saisset* … exiled by King Philip after he plotted against him …’

  ‘Yes? What about him?’

  ‘Saisset lacked finesse. He was reckless and easily manipulated.’

  Nogaret froze with astonishment:

  ‘Do you mean to say that Boniface was behind Saisset’s mutiny against the King, and not the other way round, as we have always supposed?’

  ‘Just so. I was present at one of the Pope’s meetings with the Bishop. Saisset was a puppet. All that was necessary in order for him to charge was a red rag.’

  ‘Gentle Jesus,’ murmured Nogaret.

  A few moments of silence elapsed before the Counsellor continued:

  ‘And … these rumours that reached my ears …’

  Francesco waited. He knew what Nogaret was referring to, but the question was a delicate one, and the man opposite him weighed each word before uttering it, for the accusation was serious:

  ‘These … how should I say … shocking rumours about Boniface, or one of his acolytes, resorting to witchcraft in order to reinforce his power?’

  This slanderous rumour had indeed circulated. Leone had never given it any credence. He had encountered many fake witches and bogus magicians, in many different countries and cultures, and none had succeeded in demonstrating powers that stood up under the scrutiny of logic and science. On the other hand, he knew the origin of this evil rumour that had cast a further slur on the previous Pope’s character. He wondered briefly whether the best approach would not be to agree wholeheartedly with the Counsellor. The man’s intelligence in theoretical matters was keen, but he was naive where the occult universe was concerned. Leone’s instinct, as well as the necessity of convincing Nogaret of his absolute sincerity in order to gain his friendship, dissuaded him:

  ‘Frankly, I never witnessed such things nor had any reason to suspect them. May I let you into a secret?’

  ‘Naturally, it will be safe with me.’

  ‘I replaced in His Holy Father’s service a certain Gachelin Humeau. He was … how may I describe him in the simplest terms? Let us say that he had a very peculiar notion of the meaning of duty, honour and gratitude. Humeau was a parasite, a sneak thief, a spy who enjoyed unearthing people’s secrets and selling them to the highest bidder. He was caught red-handed stealing manuscripts from the Pope’s private library. His fall from grace was swift and justly deserved. Gachelin Humeau disappeared, but not before avenging himself in the way he knew best by slandering Boniface and his cardinals.’

  The story was partly true, though the actual events had taken place not four but five years before.

  Gachelin Humeau had decided to supplement the remuneration he received in his position as chamberlain by purloining, sometimes to order, diverse objects of value – above all, rare manuscripts of whose existence nobody but the Pope and his cardinals knew. A discreet inventory of the library’s contents revealed that fifteen books were missing, five of which, it turned out, were unique copies. The works whose loss was immeasurable included a parchment written in Archimedes’* hand, which Humeau claimed contained astonishing advances in mathematics, a terrifying work on necromancy, the mere mention of which caused Humeau to cross himself, and a treatise on astronomy with the rather undistinguished title Vallombroso’s Theory. The thief maintained that the contents of this last book, if they became known, would shake the entire universe to its foundations. Gachelin Humeau escaped arrest – fearing, and rightly so, that the Inquisition would force him to confess where he had hidden his priceless and redoubtable booty. He had then traded them in the utmost secrecy for a not inconsiderable sum that allowed him to envisage a future free from care. One of his customers had been none other than the Knight Francesco de Leone himself, who had ordered two works, for which he paid a small fortune. And it was thus he discovered where to resume his quest. The manuscripts, with their alarming and wonderful revelations, were now in a safe place. Before vanishing forever, Humeau had wished to spread his veno
m, further tarnishing the Pope’s reputation.

  *

  Nogaret took in the words of his secretary before declaring:

  ‘I am grateful for your honesty, Francesco. It is entirely appropriate and, rest assured, I appreciate it.’

  Nogaret, because he believed his secretary had taken him into his confidence, felt relieved to be able to do the same. The position of King’s Counsellor was a lonely, hazardous one. It warmed his heart to have found in this young man seated before him an unexpected friend.

  Francesco de Leone immersed himself once more in the tedious inventories. Nogaret would be attending the King’s Council that afternoon. This would provide him with a few hours in which to discover some clue as to the identity of the French cardinals whom the Counsellor was trying to persuade or buy.

  For the past few days Leone had been acutely aware that time was running short. Evil, dark forces were at work, toiling relentlessly. He had never doubted their tenacity or savagery but now their imminence was growing apparent. The Darkness was approaching to engulf the emerging Light. The Darkness would resort to any weapon or artifice, however base, in order to perpetuate the shadows it fed upon.

  He needed to reach the Templar commandery at Arville as soon as possible. He was not so foolish as to believe that he would discover the key to the Light within its walls, but he knew that concealed within those foundations and flagstones was the instrument necessary to forge it.

  Inquisition headquarters, Alençon, Perche, July 1304

  Ensconced in the little office the Inquisition had provided him with, Nicolas Florin was radiant. Recalling his anxiety at leaving Carcassonne, he felt annoyed at his ‘girlish fright’, as he called it. He realised now that even the young Dominican Bartolomeo, whom he thought he might be a little sorry to leave behind, bored him to death with all his timidity. How predictable the little friar was! Nicolas had wanted to see whether he could seduce him. It had proved so easy that he had instantly wearied of his victory. Seduction was a weapon and, as with any weapon, it was advisable to test its reliability and effectiveness on a variety of targets. In spite of his habit, Bartolomeo was easy to penetrate, he put up little resistance. A none too intelligent, awkward virgin summed him up to perfection. Undeserving prey for Nicolas. It is true that, in Carcassonne, Nicolas had not been spoiled for choice. He had been surrounded by sententious old fogies, monks embalmed in their dignity and their ridiculous doctrinaire squabbling. What did he care whether Francesco Bernadone – who after a life of poverty and devotion to Christ would take the name of Francis of Assisi – had emptied his father’s warehouses in order to pay for the restoration of San Damiano? His father had ended by disinheriting him – a fact Nicolas considered wholly appropriate. As for the endless controversy over whether Saint Martin of Tours had offered all or only half his coat to a beggar whom he identified as the Saviour – he was sick to death of hearing about it. Of course this pedantic quibbling had but one aim: to separate the advocates of the poverty of Christ and his disciples, and consequently of the Church, from their virulent opponents who were legion. Nicolas could not have cared less. If he had been born to riches, he would have laboured to protect his wealth and would never have been tempted by religion. He was poor but his Inquisitor’s robes and position would help him to make this poverty provisional.