‘On that note,’ he said, pulling his robe around him, ‘I am going to visit my wife. There is one who has been nothing but obedient and kind to me.’ A brief look of remorse passed over his face. ‘I may not have been much of a husband to her, but by God, I will protect her from my mother’s schemes while I still breathe. That much at least I can do.’ He stepped down from the edge of the dais and paused, his eyes on the floor. ‘Do you think, Bruno, if I had been more attentive to my wife, those three people would not now be dead?’
‘You cannot blame yourself, sire,’ I said, though it seemed unusually perceptive of him to say so. ‘It does no good to speculate.’
‘No. Look ahead, my mother always says. Still,’ he said, brightening, ‘there is always Ruggieri’s prophecy. Perhaps, when my strength is recovered and the Queen is well again, it may yet come true.’ He looked at me as if seeking confirmation.
‘First time for everything,’ I said.
He smiled briefly, though it didn’t touch his eyes, and his expression darkened. ‘I cannot help but wish it had been allowed to live, Bruno. The child. I know they say it was probably not mine, but it might have been, you see. That’s the point. There was a chance.’
I cleared my throat. ‘I suppose when it comes to the heir to the throne, a chance is not good enough. Besides, could you have lived with that – always wondering? Thinking every time you looked at it, that it might be Guise’s?’
‘Perhaps I am ignorant, but I always imagined a man would somehow just know. You would feel some… instinct. Don’t you think?’
I closed my eyes briefly and tried to picture a two-year-old girl called Béatrice, running through a garden in Ligny. Would I just know, if I saw her? I could not imagine her as any more than a blur of colour; I hardly knew what two-year-olds did. ‘I have no idea, Your Majesty.’
‘No. No, I don’t suppose you do,’ he said, walking away, his mind already elsewhere.
TWENTY-EIGHT
‘He died in his sleep, about two o’clock this morning.’ Jacopo poured another glass of wine and pushed a bowl of hot chestnuts towards me. ‘I was with him. It was a blessed release. I know that is usually said to make everyone feel better, but in this case it was the truth.’
I pressed a fist against my mouth. Two days since my ill-judged confrontation at the palace and I had heard nothing from the King, until a messenger had arrived from Jacopo on the morning of the 12th, asking me to call on him. I had meant to go sooner and see the Count – I was feeling guilty that I had not thought of him with the events of the past few days – but I had not expected to arrive too late.
‘I should have acted as soon as I knew about him. I should not have left him there. Perhaps he would have had a better chance.’ Tears burned at the back of my eyes, unbidden, though they were as much for myself as for him.
‘Always so hard on yourself, Bruno,’ Jacopo said gently. ‘He was near to the end. A few days more would not have saved him. You gave him a great gift at the end of his life.’
‘He never did get to feel the sun on his face.’ I looked away, swiping my eyes with the back of my hand.
‘Because of you, he died in a warm bed, with as little pain as possible and a friend to hold his hand, instead of in that pit among the rats. It was nothing short of a miracle. He said as much. He said God would reward you.’
‘I think God will probably take it as a downpayment against my considerable deficit.’
Jacopo laughed. ‘Well, let’s consider a more quantifiable reward.’ He stood and rummaged in a dim corner of his study, returning with a small wooden chest that rang with the pleasing metallic slide of coins as he moved. ‘The King sent this for you. In recompense for your troubles.’ He shook the box for effect and placed it in my lap. ‘There should be enough there to cover your debts and keep you comfortable for a while.’
I set it on his desk. ‘Take from it what you need to pay the physician and funeral expenses for the Count.’
‘Don’t be absurd, Bruno. I am more than happy to cover the doctor’s bill. As for the burial – Catherine has that in hand. She wants him interred quietly. His family think he died years ago – there seems little sense in disabusing them.’
I took a chestnut and began to peel it. ‘She doesn’t want to have to explain how he came to be in a royal prison at Guise’s expense for thirteen years without anyone noticing.’
‘In truth, it would raise awkward questions.’ He sat down at his desk and unlocked a drawer. ‘The King gave me something else for you. Here.’ He passed over a slim rectangular object wrapped in crimson velvet.
My pulse leapt in my throat. I unfolded the cloth to reveal the dull and shabby leather bindings of the lost book of Hermes Trismegistus. I smoothed a hand over the cover as lovingly as if it were the head of a baby and looked up at Jacopo, a question in my eyes.
‘He bought it back from Catherine. I don’t know how he persuaded her – that is between them. But it is his gift to you. Because he cannot give you what he knows you really want.’
‘No royal appointment, then.’ I tried not to betray my disappointment.
‘He says it would be politic for you to stay away from the court for a while. But he has secured you a teaching position at the Collège de Cambrai, if you want it. Lecturing
