‘But I loved her, Bruno,’ he whimpered, his fingers scrabbling at my sleeve. ‘And I have brought about her death as surely as if I had opened her veins myself.’
‘What do you mean?’ I grew still, holding my breath.
He frowned at me, puzzled. ‘That it was I who killed her, in the end, as surely as if I had held the knife in my own hand. I drove her to it. I was too quick to credit your theories – I accused her of treason. I spoke cruelly to her – told her I knew everything she was planning. She broke down, swore she was loyal, begged my forgiveness.’ He shivered violently. ‘The look she gave me when she danced for me, Bruno – it cut me to my heart. I meant to find her and take back my heated words but I was too late. She took her life, convinced I thought she had conspired against me, and I can’t forgive myself.’
‘Wait.’ I knelt up again so I could make him look me in the face. ‘Is that what you believe?’
‘How could it be otherwise? Why are you staring at me like that?’
‘Because…’ I hesitated, allowing my breath out slowly. Relief sluiced through me. ‘Your Majesty, Léonie did not kill herself. Whatever the physicians told you.’
His eyes widened and his mouth fell slack. ‘What are you saying?’
‘She was not killed with a knife, nor by her own hand. She was strangled, with a scarf. Someone murdered her,’ I said, to clarify, since he was still gaping at me as if I were speaking another language.
‘Who? Why?’
‘I don’t have those answers yet. But I believe it was as I told you – because of her part in a conspiracy against you.’
Henri doubled over, pressing his thumbs into his closed eyes; he stayed like this for a few minutes. I crouched beside him, one hand resting on his arm.
‘Why did you mention Ruggieri?’ I asked.
He raised his head and looked blearily at me. ‘Because it was he who said – oh, no matter now. I can hardly credit it. I will find whoever did this and have him tortured.’ He sounded more robust already. With a concerted effort he shook off my hand and reached for the edge of the altar, pulling himself unsteadily to his feet. ‘So she did mean to kill me after all,’ he murmured.
‘I fear so, Your Majesty.’
‘And they all lied to me. My mother swore stone-faced she had died by her own hand.’ His expression hardened. ‘You were the only one who told me the truth, Bruno.’ He leaned heavily on my shoulder and heaved a sigh that juddered through his bones.
‘I think your mother was trying to protect you,’ I said. ‘She wanted to spare you a scandal.’
‘I’ll give her a fucking scandal.’ He lurched towards the door.
‘Your Majesty,’ I caught him by the arm. ‘You are weak – for the sake of your health you should not exert yourself until you have taken some food.’ While Catherine would no doubt be pleased to see her son emerge, I suspected she would not consider my intervention successful if he exploded out of the oratory spitting accusations in her face, and I could say goodbye to my chance of studying the Hermes book.
He shoved me away with unexpected force. ‘Exert myself? I tell you this, Bruno – I am sick of being manipulated by women. Damn them all. Never again.’ He took another staggering pace towards the door, uttered a small, sharp cry, teetered for a moment and crumpled to the floor like a marionette dropped from a height. My heart caught in my throat; if Henri had died here alone in my company, there was no way out for me but the scaffold. I shook myself, checked his breath and pulse, muttered a prayer of thanks and unlocked the door.
‘He fainted, I think from lack of food,’ I said to the anxious faces gathered outside. ‘He should see the physician now.’ I noticed that Ruggieri had disappeared.
Balthasar nodded, flinching slightly at the smell creeping out from the open doorway. ‘You go in, do not waste time,’ he urged the doctor. ‘I will send for water and lights.’ He looked at me uncertainly. ‘What did you say to him?’
‘He unburdened himself of his distress at the death of the girl. In his weak state he was overcome by emotion and passed out.’
He eyed me warily. ‘I hope you have not made him worse.’
‘I did what I was asked to do. The door is now open and the King is alive.’
‘Well, this guard had better take you back to the Tuileries so you can report to Catherine. She will want to know everything the King said. Will he rally, do you think?’
‘I am sure of it. It is not the first time, after all.’
‘No.’ He sighed. ‘It is Catherine who suffers most through all this. I know we should not question the Almighty’s ways, but one can’t help wishing over and over that He had seen fit to send her better sons. She has worn herself out in the service of France – she deserves an easier life in her old age, poor lady.’
I could not help thinking that Balthasar’s image of Catherine was heavily romanticised, but it was not the time to contradict him.
‘I’m sure the Almighty has His purposes,’ I said blandly.
‘I don’t know if that is a comforting thought or not.’
‘Depends whose side He is on.’
He pursed his lips. ‘Yes. If only He had thought to make that clearer. Sometimes I wonder if He doesn’t just look down on our petty strife and laugh.’ His face turned sombre again. ‘It is probably blasphemy even to think that.’
‘Don’t worry – I don’t think it counts if you blaspheme to a heretic.’
He gave me a tired half-smile. ‘Go on, you had better not keep her waiting.’
One of the soldiers gestured towards the corridor;
