It was not the patricians who were to triumph, it was the Overstolz family. Conrad’s end would be the end of the Weises, the end of the decades of conflict between the two houses.
Power at any price.
The alliance had not collapsed. It had never existed. What they had followed was the glitter of a golden calf; what had briefly united them was gold, the gold they had put together to hire a murderer, who was now teaching them a fearful lesson.
Too late to save anyone. Conrad would die, and Jacob the Fox, and Jaspar Rodenkirchen, and all those around them. Things would change, for the better for some, for the worse for others. Johann got up, went over to Blithildis, and put his arms around her. He held the frail body in his gentle embrace for a long time, surprised at how fragile and small it was, almost like a child’s.
He gave her a kiss on the forehead and straightened up. “I love you, Mother. You should try to get a little sleep.”
She shook her head vigorously. “I won’t sleep. I will wait until they come and tell me it is done. I will be happy.”
“Yes, Mother,” said Johann, with a heavy heart. “You will be. Certainly you will.” He closed the door softly behind him and went back to his study.
KEYGASSE
They should have taken a lantern, Jacob thought. In the shed you couldn’t see the hand in front of your face. After a certain amount of stumbling around Jaspar discovered a fair-size pile of sacks, presumably for barley, and they sat down on them. They were damp and cold, but that didn’t bother either of them particularly.
“Why didn’t we think of it sooner?” said Jaspar, his irritation audible.
Now, in the impenetrable darkness, it struck Jacob that Jaspar’s voice didn’t go with his physical appearance at all. It was powerful and mellifluous, the kind of voice you would have associated with a tall, broad-shouldered man. A man of Urquhart’s stature. Then it occurred to him that Jaspar matched Urquhart in stature, only it was a stature not visible to the eye.
“Perhaps we would have thought of it sooner if they hadn’t kept trying to kill us,” he replied.
“I’m starting to get fed up with this alliance,” Jaspar grumbled. “I wouldn’t be surprised if Urquhart didn’t slit Rolof open for a reason. No one would think I went around shooting crossbows, but I could have stuck a knife in my servant. How convenient to have me thrown into the Tower.” He gave a contemptuous snort. “And how inept to make a mess of it. Theoderich is a numskull. Should have waited till he’d gotten his hands on me before telling the world about my supposed crimes.”
“That’s what I still don’t understand,” said Jacob. “Why get you taken to court? Surely that would ensure everything came out.”
“You think so?” Jaspar gave a humorless laugh. “There would have been no appearance in court. If Theoderich’s plan had succeeded, I’d be in the Tower now. Where I might well break my neck before another magistrate saw me. All sorts of things can happen going up the stairs. An unfortunate accident. Or I try to escape and one of the guards draws his knife. A natural reflex. And they do say the odd prisoner dies while being questioned under torture, if the executioner goes a bit too far. But before that I might have got fed up with the red-hot pincers and betrayed you and Goddert and Richmodis. I might even tell them that Bodo Schuif knows. I might betray everyone.”
Jaspar fell silent. For a while he might not have been there at all.
“So what now?” Jacob asked.
“Good question.”
“Still attack, attack?”
“What else?” It sounded as if Jaspar were getting more and more angry. “I’m trying to work out how Urquhart will have planned it all.”
“He’ll hardly go for a walk around the archbishop’s palace.”
“I don’t know. I’m coming to think that son of a whore’s capable of anything. The thing is, it’s almost impossible to get close to Conrad. He’s one person who’s learned from the past. The murder of Engelbert was only forty years ago. I can’t remember ever having seen Conrad in public except surrounded by men in armor.”
Jacob thought. “I can’t remember ever having seen him.”
“Of course. You’ve only been here a few months.”
“Still. When does he show himself?”
“He doesn’t.”
“And when’s the next time he won’t show himself?”
It was meant as a joke, and not a particularly good one at that, but Jacob literally heard Jaspar’s jaw drop. “You dunderhead, Rodenkirchen!” he exclaimed. “The Crusade! He’s going to say mass and then preach the Crusade against the Tartars from the pulpit, as the pope ordered.”
Jacob sat up. “When?”
“Tomorrow. No, in a few hours. No wonder Theoderich rushed everything like that. They’re worried we might spoil things at the last minute. Their nerves must be in tatters.”
Jacob swallowed. “To be honest, mine, too,” he said wearily. To crown it all he was to have the honor of saving the archbishop’s life. Why not the emperor’s? “You should have told Bodo everything,” he said. “Perhaps we could have gotten help.”
“Should, should! Perhaps you should have told us about the plot against the archbishop a bit sooner, since I’ve obviously got a turnip on my shoulders. But even then it wouldn’t have been a good idea. Theoderich would have gotten us one way or the other.”
“Not if we’d run away afterward.”
“What’d be the use of that? He’d just seize Richmodis and Goddert. What’s this? An attempt on Conrad’s life? And what does my fair lady know about it, or that old tub of lard with the twisted hands? To the Tower with them. For questioning. No, Fox-cub, as long as they are just the victims of some mysterious attack, Theoderich will have no excuse for taking them in. And we shouldn’t complain. We’re not in the Tower yet.”
Jacob sighed. “No, we’re in an ice-cold shed without the slightest idea where Urquhart will be in a few hours’ time.”
“Then we’ll just have to find out.”
“Sure. Any idea how?”
“No. You?”
Jacob lay back on the sacks with his hands behind his head. “I think Urquhart will lie in wait outside the church.”
“Not necessarily. Conrad’s going to say mass in the central chapel of the new cathedral. He’ll deliver his sermon there, too. There are thousands more convenient places he could have chosen, but that’s the chapel he wants to be buried in, so…And it’ll be the first time mass will be said in the new cathedral. A huge event, therefore. Beforehand there’ll be a procession from Priest Gate, along Spormacherstra?e, Wappenstickerstra?e, et cetera to St. Stephen’s, then left down Platea Gallica and past St. Mary’s-in-the-Capitol, across Haymarket, left again through Mars Gate and back to the cathedral. It’ll take about an hour.”
“You think Urquhart’ll be waiting somewhere along the route?”
“I think it’s possible.”
“If Conrad’s as cautious as you say, Urquhart won’t be able to get very close.”
Silence once more.
“What if he doesn’t have to?” said Jaspar slowly.
“How do you mean?”
“Well, I would assume Urquhart is an excellent shot, even from a distance. The crossbow is a very accurate weapon, deadly accurate. At least that’s what Hieronymus said, and he ought to know. Perhaps distance is Urquhart’s big advantage. Something no one’s thought of. Just imagine: the archbishop falls to the ground during the procession. Result, chaos. It’ll be some time before anyone realizes what has happened, never mind where the bolt came from, even less that the assassin is a good way off—or, rather, was. Urquhart will be on his way before the archbishop hits the ground.”
Jacob tried to visualize where Urquhart could get sufficient distance. The narrow streets lined with people, the houses immediately behind them—if anywhere, it had to be Haymarket. But there’d still be too many people
