TWENTY
Jacopo’s steward appeared and between us we carried the Count upstairs to one of the guest rooms. He looked so broken when we laid him on the bed that even the physician turned pale; it would not have surprised me to learn that the journey had killed him. But the physician confirmed he was still breathing, and called briskly for hot water and clean linen to be brought before urging me and Jacopo from the room and promising to fetch us when he had examined the patient.
Jacopo asked the steward to bring us a jug of hot wine in his study. He gestured me to a chair near the hearth, while he hurried across to his desk and tidied away the book and papers lying there. Then he pulled up a chair opposite, threw another log on to the fire and poked it until the sparks jumped up like a furnace. When it was blazing higher, he leaned forward, elbows on his knees, chin propped on his fists, and stared into the flames, his expression unreadable.
‘Thank you,’ I said, when I could no longer stand the silence. ‘I put you in a difficult position, I know.’
He did not shift his posture, merely turned his head to look at me.
‘I can barely frame my thoughts into words, Bruno. How could he have been down there for thirteen years without anyone knowing? Even the poorest wretch in the kingdom would not let his dog live like that.’ He shook his head, gazing at the fire again.
‘I suppose no one inspects the prisons,’ I said. ‘It was Guise’s doing – all of it. He blinded the Count on Saint Bartholomew’s night and threw him in that dungeon. He’s been paying them to keep him there ever since.’
‘But why? What use is the Count to him in that state?’
‘I don’t know. But it has something to do with Circe. Léonie de Châtillon. She was married to him.’
‘So she was.’ Jacopo stared at me, his face creased with concern. ‘Why do you say that?’
I related the conversation I had heard from the Duchess of Montpensier’s balcony.
‘Guise distinctly said that now the girl was dead, she would not cause them any trouble. His sister then said the Count should die too. Guise was going to kill him in the morning.’
‘So they had no further use for him without Léonie. But why, I wonder?’
‘I am hoping the Count will be able to tell us.’
‘I wouldn’t depend upon it, Bruno.’ He leaned forward and poked the fire again. ‘Moving him like that almost finished him off, the physician said. He may not last the night. Even if he rallies, do you not think his mind will be as broken as his body, after thirteen years in that pit?’
‘I think his wits are sharper than you might imagine,’ I said. ‘We can only hope.’
‘What in God’s name were you doing on the Duchess’s balcony, anyway?’
‘I was in her room looking for a letter.’
‘What letter?’
‘Any one. I needed to see her handwriting.’
I explained about the letters to Joseph de Chartres from his mystery lover. Jacopo listened, his frown growing more entrenched.
‘But now you think the Duchess is not the mistress after all?’ he asked, when I had finished.
‘Not as far as I can see. But Guise is behind all this somehow, Jacopo, I know it – all three deaths. I just cannot find one piece of evidence that will tie him to it conclusively. Still, perhaps we can take comfort in having saved one life tonight. Or at least making his death more dignified.’
‘Poor, poor man. I cannot bear to think of what he has suffered. He was accounted very handsome once, you know. And a fine soldier.’ He clenched and unclenched his fists. ‘I sometimes think the Duke of Guise is the Devil incarnate.’
‘It was Guise I saw in the Greek mask on his way to the clearing, around the time Léonie was killed. I got into a scuffle with him – he took my knife from me. Two days later, he gave it to the Duke of Montpensier.’ I took a sip of wine and wrapped my hands around the glass to warm them. ‘I am certain Guise must have been the one Léonie was expecting to meet, when she blurted out to me that she could not go through with it. He planned to use her to attack the King. It is the only explanation that fits.’
Jacopo let out a sigh. ‘It is one explanation,
