She put her hand on her hip, cocked her head to one side. ‘And what would I do in Prague? How would I earn a living?’
‘The Emperor Rudolf is a generous patron of philosophers and alchemists,’ I said, warming to the idea as it took shape. ‘John Dee says there is money to be gained from the kind of books I write, and prestige. I could find a place at his court, I am sure of it.’
Again, her face closed up. ‘I asked you what I would do. I have told you, Bruno – I will not be dependent on a man ever again.’ Seeing my expression, she peeled herself away from the wall and crossed the room to me, taking both my hands in hers. ‘It is one of the things I have always liked about you,’ she said, her smile edged with regret. ‘You dream something and you see no reason why it should not happen the way you dream it. But life has dealt me too many blows for me to share that view.’
‘Jesus, Sophia. You’re only twenty-one. Do you think I haven’t seen my dreams broken into pieces, over and over? But you have to believe in the possibility of a different life, otherwise you just…’ I shook my head, let the sentence drift.
‘What?’
‘Give up and get a job teaching in Paris, until you grow old and die of boredom.’
She looked offended at first, but gradually her face softened and I saw the twitch of a smile.
‘Given the state of things in Paris, growing old and dying of boredom might be considered a luxury.’
‘True.’ I thought briefly of Paul, lying on the table in the abbey infirmary, and Léonie’s limp body carried into the gallery by soldiers. I squeezed her hands. ‘We could make this work, I believe it. Don’t be afraid of being dependent. We would be equals. We wouldn’t even have to get married, if you’re set against the idea.’ My words tumbled out in a rush, but I could not read her expression.
‘Ah, Bruno,’ she said, after a pause. She bent her head forward until it was resting on my shoulder. I slipped my arms around her waist and held her, hardly daring to breathe, tense with the almost-certain knowledge of what she was going to say next. She drew her head back so that she could look me in the eye. ‘If I was going to run away to Prague with anyone, it would be you. And I don’t suppose I will ever find another man who would treat me as an equal. But…’ she paused and dropped her gaze to my chest, her fingers plucking distractedly at the buttons of my doublet. ‘It’s not about Prague, or marriage, or even you, in the end. There is a greater claim on me. You understand that. I am saving every penny I earn here. If I go on working, in a year or so I will have enough to return to England.’
‘To find your son?’ I said, my throat tight.
She nodded. ‘He will be two years old now. I need to see him, Bruno. I’m his mother. I can’t bear to think he doesn’t know me. It’s like an ache, here, that never eases.’ She balled her fist and struck the base of her ribcage. I could hear the desperation in her voice.
‘But…’ I left my objection unfinished. The son she had borne from her forbidden love affair in Oxford had been given away to a respectable family at birth; she had no way of knowing how to find him, or whether he had even survived infancy – so many children did not – but she did not need me to tell her that.
‘It’s the one thing I cling to,’ she whispered, as if reading my thoughts.
I nodded and took a deep breath, arranged my face. This is bravery, Jacopo, I thought, as I made my voice light-hearted. ‘Think, though. Another year of Montpensier’s poetry.’
She laughed again, but it did not disguise the sadness. ‘No. I only did that for you.’
Then she leaned in and kissed me, her mouth warm and yielding as I remembered it, but it was a valedictory embrace, I could not deceive myself.
‘I should go,’ I said, when she eventually broke away. ‘I hope you find what you are looking for, Sophia.’
‘And you, Bruno. I hope you find your way home.’
‘If I do, I will come back for you. And your boy. You would love the Bay of Naples.’ I could not speak through the tightness in my throat.
‘Do that, then.’ I saw the glisten of tears in her eyes. ‘Come back for us, one day.’
Sometimes, I thought, the stubborn clinging to an improbable hope is just enough to keep your head above the tide of despair. I held her a while longer, reluctant to let go.
TWENTY-NINE
I returned from the Swan just as the bells were striking midnight, stumbling into the darkness of the hallway with Simon, one lantern between us. I was a little drunk, he was reassuringly solid and sober, taking the candle from the lantern as I leaned against the bannister, lighting his own and then handing it to me while he settled himself in his makeshift bed. Berden had been brief and efficient in exchanging the letters, but I had stayed on at the tavern after he left, buying drinks for Gaston and the students from the money Henri had given me, trying to hold that hollow sense of loss at bay with noise and empty camaraderie, until eventually Gaston had bellowed that it was time to lock up and Simon had taken me gently but firmly by the arm and steered me home.
I wished him goodnight and climbed the stairs to my rooms, where I fumbled with the lock and stumbled inside, kicking the door shut
