Outside I could see nothing except the ink-blue of the sky above me and the snow on the sloping roof of the building all around. There was no way of knowing if anyone would see me emerge, but I had no choice left; at least this way I would die trying to save myself. But I realised I could not fit through the gap still wearing Gabriel’s fur cloak; reluctantly I unfastened it and let it fall to the floor. I manoeuvred my legs so that my feet were braced against the beam and pushed hard against it, forcing one arm and shoulder through the hole as the wet reeds broke away. I had almost squeezed my torso through when I heard another shuddering groan from the gaoler below me, followed by the sound of cursing and the scrape of a bolt being driven back. I had only a few moments; I clawed frantically at the thatch around my chest, then pushed with the flat of my hand on the roof either side, using all my strength to lever myself through. I drew my legs up just as I heard the door open below me. It would take the guard a minute or two to realise in the darkness that one of his prisoners was missing – or so I hoped. I eased along the snow-laden roof towards the back of the building and saw that ten or twelve feet beyond it lay the boundary wall of the grounds. I dug my heels in, sliding to a precarious halt at the edge of the roof just as staccato shouts rang through the air below. I calculated; I would have to launch myself from the edge of the roof on to the wall and without the advantage of a running start I was not sure I could jump the distance – to say nothing of the difficulty of landing on a narrow wall that was visible only thanks to the pale line of snow along its crenellations. The shouting below grew louder; glancing down, I saw that one of the guards had appeared around the edge of the building and was calling to the other. Any minute now he would look up and see me. I took a deep breath, tensed every muscle into a crouch and sprang forward into the air, as a wild cry went up behind me. The snow on the wall glittered with extraordinary clarity as I hurtled towards it, legs flailing; in an instant, my fingers made contact with the stone and scrabbled for purchase, almost slipping as I clawed on to soft snow, but I clung on by my fingertips, bracing with my feet against the wall until I could pull myself up to the top and drop down on the other side.
Voices rang out through the hard-edged air; a dog barked, joined by another. I scrambled to my feet and ran blindly through the white street, not knowing which direction I was taking, my only thought to get as far away as possible before Guise sent his soldiers after me. I wove through unfamiliar roads lit with an eerie blue glow from the snow, hampered by the powdery drifts underfoot, hearing at my back faint cries and the frenzied yapping of the dogs. Fear lent me speed and numbed me to the pain in my leg and the cuts on my hands; I felt the cold burning in my lungs with every ragged breath, until I skidded around a corner and saw the black expanse of the Seine ahead. I slowed my pace, snatching breaths, trying to make a decision. I could not go home; Guise would know where to find me. Nor could I go back to Jacopo’s – his thugs had followed me there already. There was only one place in Paris where I would be safe from the Duke of Guise, even if it did not guarantee safety from any other enemies. As I caught a chorus of dogs in the distance, I broke into a run again, heading along the Right Bank in the direction of the Tuileries palace.
TWENTY-SIX
I tapped discreetly at the small back gate but it had no effect. I tried hammering harder. At length this brought a tired face, raw with cold, to the grille in the door.
‘Are you Rémy?’
‘Who’s asking?’
‘I need to see Gabrielle de la Tour.’ I glanced over my shoulder but it seemed I had shaken off my pursuers for now. Even so, bruised and bleeding, I could not have looked more like a fugitive; the manner of my arrival clearly did not inspire confidence. The gatekeeper observed me as you might an escaped lunatic.
‘It’s the middle of the night,’ he pointed out.
‘She told me to come to you.’ I was shivering violently now that my burst of energy had subsided.
‘Mate,’ the man said wearily, ‘everyone’s tucked up in bed. Do me a favour and piss off, will you? Try again in the morning. Don’t make me send anyone out to get rid of you.’
‘Look.’ I scrabbled in my purse for my last remaining coins. ‘Could you at least get a message to her? Tell her I am here – if she won’t see me, I have lost nothing and you have gained.’
He eyed the money suspiciously, then shut the grille in my face. I stamped my feet, my gaze flitting anxiously back along the road, until a moment later the door swung open a few inches and I found myself staring at the point of a broadsword. This Rémy was a short man in a fur hat and gloves, his figure made almost spherical by the several coats he appeared to be wearing, but the man-at-arms who stood behind him was as solid and muscled as a warhorse. I was nodded inside to stand by a brazier burning behind the gate. The soldier lowered his sword and checked me over for weapons while Rémy inspected the silver
