‘I do not think I will see the spring, boy.’ His hand clawed for mine. ‘I dreamed they gave me something to take away the pain. And that I was lying in a feather bed. I think I am still dreaming it.’ His voice was faint and full of wonder.
‘No, it is real.’ I held his hand. ‘You are safe now.’
‘Such kindness,’ he murmured. ‘I never thought to hear a kind word again.’
Tears pricked at my eyes; I could not let go of his hand to brush them away.
‘Why did you save me?’ he asked, running his tongue around his cracked lips.
‘You have been the victim of a terrible injustice,’ I said, fighting to keep my voice steady. ‘And—’ I hesitated – ‘he was going to kill you. The Duke of Guise.’
‘Ah.’ He nodded. ‘Le Balafré. He killed them all, you know.’
‘What?’ I tried not to jolt him as I tensed. I did not see how this could be true – Joseph had killed Lefèvre, for a start – but I wondered what more the Count knew. ‘How do you know?’
‘I was there,’ he croaked, trying to sit up. ‘I saw it all, before he put my eyes out. Dragged them from the house, slaughtered them like beasts on the steps. My cousin, his wife, the little girls in their new gowns…’ He tailed off into another bout of coughing. ‘It was her doing,’ he said, with sudden vehemence. I recalled he had said those words before, the night I was imprisoned with him. I closed my eyes and forced myself to be patient. He was not talking about the murders after all; he was tumbling back into the past, to the night of the massacre.
‘Did Guise kill anyone else?’ I asked, as gently as I could.
‘Thousands, I heard. All the Huguenots… they came for the wedding of the Princess Margot to the King of Navarre. My cousin…’
‘I mean – more recently? Did Guise ever visit you in prison?’
‘Oh yes, he came. He could not resist. What has happened to my wife?’
‘Your wife?’ I was caught out by the question. ‘Why do you ask?’
‘If Guise no longer needed me alive, he must have married her or killed her. One or the other. He only kept my life to bargain with.’
‘I don’t understand,’ I said.
‘Water,’ he rasped, his hand fluttering.
I passed him a cup and tipped it carefully to his parched lips. Most of it was spluttered over the bedclothes, but at length he lay back against the pillow.
‘It was my pride,’ he said sadly, raising his head a fraction, just when I thought he had fallen asleep again. ‘I thought I could have whatever I wanted. I chose her. I was forty-five, she was a child of fifteen. I was a powerful man. And the Medici woman needed my alliance. I demanded Léonie. Catherine granted her. It never occurred to either of us that she might have desires of her own.’
He fell back, as if the length of this speech had exhausted him. I did not want to press him too hard, but I felt he was on the verge of revealing something.
‘She did not wish to marry you?’ I prompted.
‘She had no choice. But she was in love already and would never love me, she made that clear. I punished her for it.’ A spasm jerked his face; I could not tell if it was pain or remorse.
‘She loved Guise?’
‘So she said. It was she who brought him to my house with his soldiers that night. She wanted me dead. She thought then he would be rid of his wife and marry her.’ He gave a sigh that shook his frame with alarming force. ‘Well, she learned that night not to trust Le Balafré. He did not give her what she wanted. She was not free, and she knew it. My life kept her bound to him.’
‘So—’ I hesitated, trying to work it out – ‘by keeping you alive, he made sure she could not marry again?’
‘I was the card in his sleeve,’ he whispered. ‘If she wished to marry, he threatened to bring me out to destroy the match. All this time, she was in thrall to him.’
‘Did he ever hint that he had pressured her into anything? A plot to kill the King, for instance?’
‘The King?’ A vein trembled at his temple; his face twisted with the effort of remembering. ‘Charles?’
‘Henri. His brother. Henri of Valois is king now.’ This was hopeless. Jacopo was right, I thought; the Count’s memories were so scattered that, though I believed there was truth in them, it would be impossible to sift through in search of anything solid.
‘Henri…’ His voice drifted away. ‘He never mentioned Henri. But he did say—’ He tried to raise his head again to cough; I slipped my arm beneath his shoulders and lifted him, trying to curb my impatience. ‘More water.’
‘What did Guise say?’ I asked, when the water had been dealt with.
‘He said she was going to put a Guise bastard on the throne. He laughed like a madman about it.’
‘Circe was? I mean, Léonie?’
‘That’s what he said. I did not understand his meaning.’
No, but I was beginning to see a glimmer of light.
‘When did he say this? Was it recently?’
The Count made a papery noise that might have been laughter. ‘I could not tell you, son. Time had no shape in that darkness. It might have been yesterday, might have been years ago.’
I patted his hand and settled him back among the pillows. There was no use pushing him any harder tonight; I did not want to risk his fragile state any further. He lay very still again, his chest barely rising and falling, though with no eyes it was impossible to tell if he was asleep. I tucked the blanket closer around him
