I knocked firmly. ‘Your Majesty. It’s Bruno.’
Silence.
‘I have some news that will interest you, Your Majesty,’ I called, in what I hoped was a buoyant tone. ‘Touching the matter we discussed before.’ I did not miss the way Ruggieri’s sharp eyes brightened with interest.
Still no answer, but a faint shuffling from inside. Encouraged, I tried again.
‘I have made progress. In the business of the priest. But I need your advice.’
The movement stopped and the room fell silent again.
‘Keep trying,’ Balthasar hissed. He pressed his fist to his lips; it seemed he was praying under his breath.
‘Your Majesty, I think I have answers, but they are only for your ears. Please let me speak to you.’
The shuffling began again, to no obvious purpose. At least he was still alive in there, I thought. Just as it seemed we would have to admit defeat and risk forcing the door, I heard the rattle of a key in a lock. I held my hand up to prevent anyone else coming closer.
‘Bruno alone,’ said the King’s voice from within, hoarse but menacing.
‘On my oath, Your Majesty.’
The door opened a fraction of an inch. Balthasar sent me a questioning look, gesturing to the guards; I shook my head and slipped through the gap. The door was slammed and locked almost before I had whisked the hem of my cloak inside.
I could have been forgiven for thinking myself back inside the oubliette at the Conciergerie. The small room was almost completely dark and at once both cold and stuffy, rank with the smell of unwashed bodies and human waste and overlaid with a more sinister odour, the faint scent of decay. The windows had been covered with thick black cloth, the only light burned from two fat tallow candles on the altar, where I saw the source of that strange, sepulchral smell: a row of human skulls, some with the earth of the grave still clinging to them, had been lined up in the place of a chalice or crucifix. The King backed away to lean against the altar, watching me like a beast cornered in its lair. He was naked from the waist up, shivering, his chest and shoulders scored with red lashes. His cheeks looked sunken and his eyes unnaturally bright, but though he appeared worn down by his extravagant display of emotion, I was relieved to see that he did not seem to be on the brink of death. I approached him cautiously, trying to calculate which words might best draw him out.
‘Your Majesty.’ I took off the cloak I was wearing, knelt beside him and draped it around his shoulders. He did not protest. The smell rising from his body was feral. ‘I understand how hard it is to lose someone you care about, but—’
‘You understand nothing.’ His voice emerged hollow and flat. He wrapped his arms around his knees. ‘I deserve to be punished. I beg God’s forgiveness but all I see is endless night. He has turned His face from me.’
‘You cannot blame yourself,’ I said gently.
‘But I killed her,’ he said frankly, looking at the floor. A long silence unfurled. I balled my fists tightly, concentrating on the knuckles of my thumbs while I tried to steady my thoughts. I had not expected this confession. It had been my immediate fear on the night of the ball, but in the heat of the discoveries about Léonie and Guise I had all but forgotten the idea. No wonder Catherine was so determined the girl’s murder should not be investigated. I wondered if she had guessed from the beginning.
‘Why?’ I asked.
‘You should not have said what you said, Bruno. About Circe intending me harm. You knew nothing about it.’
I shifted position; my knees were beginning to ache. I knew I needed to navigate this carefully; Henri was quite capable of trying to shift the blame by claiming I had encouraged him to murder.
‘I was thinking only of Your Majesty’s safety. I believed she was part of a plot against you. The priest Lefèvre believed it too, and wanted to warn you.’
‘But you did not know the whole truth,’ he said again, more forcefully this time. ‘She would never have harmed me, I would swear to it. Now she is dead.’ He hugged himself, rocking back and forth. ‘And it is all my doing. And Ruggieri’s.’
‘Ruggieri?’ I sat back against the altar, trying to comprehend. The old sorcerer was robust for a man of seventy, but I could hardly believe that he had the strength to subdue a young woman for long enough to strangle her with a scarf. ‘Was it he who—’
‘It does no good to talk of this now.’ Henri rubbed both hands over his face. ‘God will punish me. He has told me.’ He tapped his temple and dropped to a whisper. ‘I have heard His voice in here, saying He will tear my kingdom from me and scatter it among my enemies.’
I looked at him. If he were not the King, someone would have given him a good slap by now. I had to fight back an urge to shake him myself. He had just admitted to killing a young woman, and now he was sitting here in his own filth like a sulking child, pouring forth biblical laments as if he had not brought it all about himself.
‘He won’t have to if you persist in this course, Your Majesty,’ I said, losing patience. ‘If you don’t come out, dress yourself and rule like a sovereign, you will throw your kingdom to Guise and the League with your own hands, and there will be civil war. Another massacre, perhaps. Is that what you want?’
Henri blinked at me. He seemed taken aback by my tone. ‘But how can I be absolved for what I have done?’
‘You could atone by discharging the duty God has placed on your shoulders as King of France. Do your people not deserve that? And trust in God’s mercy.’ Strange, I reflected, how easily
