The City of Tears

by Kate Mosse

  Marta shuffled to the end of the settle, paddled her hands around in the dark until she found the table with the tray Louis had brought. She picked up the jug with both hands and poured. The sweet ale was warm now with a film on the surface and tasted sour, but it slaked her thirst. Marta drank it all, then she curled her legs up under her again, put her head on her arms, and waited. Louis would return as soon as he could. She trusted him.

  A pleasant drowsiness came over her. Quickly, she drifted back into a heavy and dreamless stupor.

  ‘Maman,’ she murmured, as sleep dragged her back under.

  ORLÉANAIS

  At sunrise, Louis was woken and ordered to fetch the box they had brought with them from Paris.

  Xavier watched him like a hawk, as he marched him through the house, which made Louis wonder even more about what he was holding in his arms.

  ‘In here,’ the steward grunted, shoving Louis into a well-appointed chamber at the rear of the building.

  ‘Where shall I—?’

  ‘Where do you think, idiot? There, on the table. Careful! Keep it level.’

  In the gloom of the narrow room, lit only by the early morning, Louis staggered past the cold hearth towards the long refectory table in the middle of the room, and slid the box onto it.

  ‘Now get out.’

  ‘Where should I go?’

  ‘The stables, the kennels, the privy, I don’t care. Just do not be here when his Eminence arrives. He wishes privacy.’

  Suddenly desperate to know what was in the casket, Louis looked around the room until he saw what he needed. Edging sideways, he kicked a piece of wood that had fallen from the grate as hard as he could. As he’d hoped, Xavier spun round in the direction of the noise, fearing a mouse or something worse. In that fleeting second, Louis quickly opened the box, looked inside, and closed it again.

  He smiled. Now, the visits to the Sainte-Chapelle made sense. The question was why?

  ‘Still here, vermin?’ Xavier growled, his eyes darting around for a pair of red eyes.

  ‘I’m leaving. Shall I bring you something to drink or to eat?’

  Xavier jabbed him in the chest with his finger. ‘You might have deceived his Eminence with your willingness to please, but not me, boy. Get out of my sight or I’ll take a strap to you. I won’t tell you again.’

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  RUE DES BARRES

  As dawn came creeping over the window sill, Minou heard a sound in the hall below. Instantly, she was on her feet.

  ‘Marta?’

  Her shoulders and neck were stiff with a night spent dozing in the chair. She had persuaded Salvadora to retire to her bed at about three o’clock in the morning, then returned to the chamber. She must have fallen asleep.

  Minou heard a creak on the stairs, then Piet appeared in the doorway, his clothes creased and dirty with the streets of Paris. A moment of hope was followed instantly by a sickening disappointment when she saw he was alone.

  ‘You didn’t find her,’ she said in a voice heavy with despair.

  ‘No.’

  Minou handed him her white kerchief to wipe his face. ‘Here.’

  ‘You?’

  ‘No,’ she replied, and watched the last hope drain from his face.

  ‘I searched everywhere, Minou. Every single place we have visited in the past three weeks and then every single place Marta has ever mentioned – the Sainte-Chapelle, Notre- Dame, Saint-Jacques-de-la-Boucherie, the Pont du Change – but nothing.’ His shoulders were slumped with defeat. ‘No one could remember seeing a little girl in a blue dress, not a soul.’

  Minou sank back into the chair, clutching the armrest as if to anchor herself.

  ‘Where have you been, Piet? I have been so worried.’

  ‘I did briefly return at five o’clock, but when the servant told me you had returned alone, I went straight out again to keep on looking.’

  Minou shook her head. ‘After all we have said about trusting one another, you didn’t think to tell me?’

  ‘I didn’t want to disappoint you,’ he replied quietly. ‘I’m sorry.’

  Piet put his hand on her shoulder, an apology or an act of reassurance, Minou wasn’t sure. She covered it with hers. She was too weary to quarrel.

  ‘Where did you spend the night?’

  ‘In the rue de Béthisy.’

  Minou felt a glimmer of hope. ‘Did you see Aimeric? I tried earlier, but I couldn’t get anywhere close. All the streets around about were blocked.’

  Piet poured himself some wine and sat down. ‘There was an attempt on de Coligny’s life yesterday when he was coming back from the Louvre Palace.’

  Minou sat up. ‘What! Does he live?’

  ‘His injuries are serious, but he’s expected to survive. The assassin took aim from a property said to be owned by the Duke of Guise – which may or may not be significant. Anyone might have got access. There is a heavy guard around de Coligny’s lodgings now. Even the King himself came to pledge his support and to vow he would spare nothing to hunt down the assassin.’

  ‘How did you get past the guards?’

  Piet rubbed his fingers together. ‘A coin in the right pocket.’

  ‘But did you talk to Aimeric?’

  ‘No. I waited all night, in case he came out of the lodgings, but nothing. In the end, I persuaded a soldier – one of Navarre’s men – to deliver a message to him about Marta.’

  Minou sighed. ‘So we have no way of knowing if he received it, and is looking for her or not?’

  Piet shook his head. ‘As soon as it is day, and the watch has changed, I’ll go back to the rue de Béthisy and try again to make contact with Aimeric.’ He let his hands drop. ‘I’m sorry, Minou. I did what I could.’

  But not enough, she couldn’t help herself thinking. It wasn’t enough. Their daughter was still missing.

  ‘Something else happened while you were gone,’ she said. ‘Cornelia van Raay is here.’

  Piet put his goblet down on the table, slopping wine over the rim. ‘When did she arrive?’

  ‘Late in the afternoon. She saw Marta leave the house, somewhere between nine o’clock and ten yesterday morning. There is some comfort in the fact that we know she went of her own accord.’ She caught her breath. ‘She was not taken.’

  From the expression on Piet’s face, Minou realised he had also feared the same.

  ‘That is something, at least.’

  ‘Cornelia said she looked happy and excited.’

  ‘What else did Mademoiselle van Raay say?’

  ‘Very little. She had indeed called before and she is in Paris on her father’s orders to seek you out. But before we could talk further, she was struck down with another bout of the food poisoning that had confined her to her quarters for the previous three days. I put her to bed upstairs.’

  ‘Thank you, Minou.’

  ‘You can talk to her yourself as soon as she wakes. Before we go back out into Paris to keep looking for Marta.’ Minou looked over to the window. The rising sun was giving shape back to the skyline of Paris. ‘We will find her,’ she said. ‘And as soon as we do, I want to leave for Puivert. I can’t bear to remain here a moment longer than we have to.’

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  EVREUX ESTATE

  ORLÉANAIS

  The old Roman road ran west out of Chartres, cutting a swathe through the flat countryside.

  Louis sat very still. The sun was rising behind them as the team and coach slowed. The chain clattered and the wheels creaked as they turned. Then, with a crack of the whip, they were off again – the drop of hooves on the dry ground, the rattle of bridle and bit, hot white breath in the warm morning air. The carriage started to rock from side to side as they picked up pace on a long straight approach which led into the heart of a vast country estate.

  Louis stared at Xavier, his head nodding on his chest, then across to his father. His eyes were closed and he held his biretta upon his lap, but he doubted his father was asleep.
Since leaving Paris, Louis had not seen him let down his guard even once, not even in the privacy of his own coach.

  ‘What is it?’

  His father’s voice, loud in the quiet, confined space, made him jump.

  ‘Nothing,’ he said quickly. He hadn’t realised he’d been staring.

  His father glanced at him, then folded his bare hands over his hat and returned to his thoughts.

  ‘Very well, then.’

  Louis lifted the curtain with one finger and looked out of the carriage window. Woodland formed a green belt around the perimeter, but they had cleared the trees already and were cantering through open fields. A man with an ox cart stopped and raised his hat as they passed. A little further, Louis spied a scrawny boy driving a gaggle of geese with a stick. For a moment, he felt the familiar sudden lurch in his stomach – as if falling from a high tower and watching the ground rushing up to meet him – when he thought of the life he might have had if he’d been left in the orphanage at the mercy of the monks. Or he could have ended up like that boy, herding animals in a dirty farmyard in the damp of an early morning, living a life of drudgery and tedium. He was determined never to take his good fortune for granted.

  The driveway was relatively flat and the swaying of the carriage was soothing. Though he didn’t intend to, Louis found his own eyes closing too. In his liminal state, neither wholly awake nor yet asleep, the pretty face of the little girl in the blue dress stole into his mind. He sat up, startled.

  ‘Boy, speak if you have something to say.’

  Louis glanced at Xavier, then to his father.

  ‘I was just wondering where we are, my lord?’

  A rare smile broke across his father’s solemn face. ‘Home, Louis. This is to be our home now.’

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  RUE DES BARRES

  PARIS

  ‘Good morning, Mademoiselle van Raay.’

  Their visitor hesitated on the threshold of the living chamber. Cornelia looked pale, and her eyes were bleary under her heavy brows, but Minou was relieved she seemed improved.

  ‘Madame Reydon. You have already been more than kind. Again, please accept my apologies for my indisposition yesterday. I had thought myself recovered.’

  ‘It was no trouble. Please, do join us.’

  Cornelia took a step into the room. ‘I don’t want to intrude.’

  ‘You are not. We’ve been waiting for you to wake.’ Minou gestured across the chamber. ‘This is my husband, Piet Reydon.’

  Cornelia held out her hand. ‘Enchantée. It is Piet not Pieter?’

  ‘The pleasure is mine, Mademoiselle van Raay.’ He smiled. ‘And only my mother and Mariken ever called me Pieter.’

  ‘It might not be my place to ask, but is there word of your little girl?’

  Minou felt another wave of anguish. ‘Not yet. We are about to renew our search, but my husband would—’

  ‘– would be grateful to hear what you have to say before I leave.’

  Minou watched Cornelia take stock, then choose the hardest and most upright chair. She was a plain young woman, with honest and broad features, but she showed a clear sense of her own worth. Minou liked her for it.

  ‘You know already, I think, that my father sent me to find you, Monsieur Reydon.’

  Piet nodded.

  ‘You know too, then, that Mariken Hassels asked him for help in the spring, having received a letter that greatly troubled her.’

  ‘Do you – or did she – know the author of the letter?’ he said, glancing at Minou.

  ‘I regret not. Only that he was a cardinal in France. Mariken told my father she had written to you. Did she not say?’

  ‘No. She gave no name.’

  Cornelia frowned. ‘My father did what Mariken asked of him, then sent me to report his findings to her: namely, that you had survived your infancy, that you lived now in Languedoc with your family, that you were a Huguenot and known to be a supporter of the rebels in Amsterdam.’ For a moment, amusement lit her eyes, transforming her features. ‘That was uncomfortable for him.’

  ‘You are Catholic?’

  ‘My father is a good and pious Christian, Madame Reydon. He is also a businessman and war is bad for trade.’ Her lightness faded. ‘I went on the ninth of June to Begijnhof. This is where things become muddled. The Mistress of the community told me – unwillingly, I might say – that Mariken had, without permission or any prior indication of her intentions, left the community. The Beguines are not nuns. They are, in theory, free to come and go, but not without permission from the Mistress.’

  ‘Are you saying Mariken has disappeared?’ Piet said.

  ‘It seems so.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘The Mistress would not, or could not, tell me.’

  ‘And there’s been no word from Mariken since June?’

  ‘No, madame. There have been many assaults on convents and monasteries in Amsterdam, as the Calvinists gain the upper hand in the countryside. My father thought it possible Mariken might have sought sanctuary elsewhere, though he has not been able to find her.’

  Piet shook his head. ‘Surely she would have told your father if she was going to another order?’

  ‘I believe she would, yes.’

  ‘Where do you think she is?’

  ‘I think she has either gone into hiding to avoid the attentions of this cardinal or—’

  ‘Something has happened to her.’

  Cornelia nodded. ‘When I had my audience with the Mistress of Begijnhof, I am certain someone was listening to our conversation.’

  ‘Who?’ Piet said quickly.

  Cornelia raised her hands. ‘I don’t know.’

  Piet frowned. ‘In her letter to me, Mariken divulged that the cardinal was requesting information about my childhood. Did she confide anything more to your father?’

  ‘She told him only that there were documents – pertaining to your parentage – that your mother had entrusted to her. Mariken gave them to a friend for safekeeping, intending to retrieve them and hand them to you when the time was right.’ Cornelia shrugged. ‘Again, whether she did so, or if the papers are lost now, that also I do not know. I’m sorry.’

  Piet sat back. ‘So that’s it. We’re at a dead end. Mariken is missing, so there is no way of learning where the documents are or why they matter. After all this time, we can go no further.’

  ‘I would not believe that, Monsieur Reydon. My father continues his inquiries in Amsterdam. But I would say this. He is a pragmatic man, not prone to strong emotions. He believes that whatever is at stake, whatever the information about your parentage might or might not be, it matters to someone a great deal. You have a dangerous enemy. My father bid me warn you that you should take great care.’

  ‘You think Mariken is dead,’ Minou said, more a statement than a question.

  ‘Sadly, I do. Killed either by, or on the orders of, the author of the letter. The cardinal.’

  Their conversation was suddenly disrupted by the sound of footsteps on the stairs. Everyone spun round as the servant entered the chamber.

  ‘Is there news?’

  ‘I’m sorry, my lady, no. Monsieur Reydon asked me to let him know when we were ready. There are some twenty men gathered below.’

  Minou looked at Piet. ‘What men are these?’

  ‘It is possible Aimeric received my message,’ he said, ‘but even if he did, I thought it wouldn’t do any harm to gather our servants, and any who might be spared from neighbouring houses, to help us look for Marta.’

  And though yet again Piet had failed to tell her what he was doing, tears pricked at Minou’s eyes at the thought that she had doubted his resolve.

  Piet lightly touched her hand. ‘Will you come with us?’

  Minou hesitated, then shook her head. ‘I want to be here when you return. But might I impose upon you to stay with me, Cornelia? I would be grateful for the company.’

  ‘It would be an honour, Madame Reydon.’

/>   Minou turned back to her husband. ‘Bring her home, Piet. Bring Marta home to me.’

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  Though it was only ten o’clock, the August sun was already fierce as Piet and the volunteers mustered in the rue des Barres.

  ‘Thank you all – and your masters for releasing you – for your assistance in this matter. You have been told our seven-year-old daughter is missing.’ Piet suddenly stopped, fear catching in his throat. ‘I am confident that, together, we can find her. You all either know Marta by sight, or have been given a description. When last seen, she was wearing a blue dress and a white cap with her initials embroidered in red upon it.’

  Piet looked around the group. Several heads nodded.

  ‘I do not underestimate the difficulty of our task. Each of you has a quartier to search. Ask whatever questions you see fit, go to the places that only you, as Parisians, might know. When you have done what you can, return here and report to my wife. Each man will be given a sol for his trouble and a gage of ale. Bonne chance, and may God go with you.’

  * * *

  The sun rose higher in the endless blue sky. The hours passed. The afternoon began to paint long shadows on the buildings. One by one, each of the men returned footsore and disappointed to the rue des Barres, where Minou, Cornelia and Salvadora were waiting.

  Only Piet kept going, trying to escape his treacherous thoughts. Tracing and retracing his steps of the previous day, asking the same shopkeepers and tavern owners the same question, yet hoping for a different answer. He was exhausted. His entire body ached, but he could not bring himself to give up.

  * * *

  When night fell, Piet returned to the rue de Béthisy. Twice before during the day he had been turned away at the end of the street. Piet knew it was foolhardy and dangerous even to try to gain admittance to de Coligny’s lodgings, but he had to speak to Aimeric. Whatever happened, he had to be able to tell Minou he had done everything he could. He could not face her otherwise.

  He was in luck. The guard took his bribe.