‘You’re out late tonight, Bruno,’ said a smooth, English voice behind me. ‘Celebrating something?’
I started, dropping the light, and let out a cry as I whipped around to see Charles Paget sitting calmly in a chair, his feet resting on my desk, a sheaf of papers in his lap. I stamped on the candle and drew the dagger from my belt, my hand shaking with shock.
‘Oh, put that away, Bruno. If I’d come to kill you I’d have been waiting behind the door with a knife, wouldn’t I?’
The realisation of how easily this could have happened sent goosebumps prickling up my spine. I tried to keep my composure, wishing I had drunk less.
‘How did you get in?’
‘I waited until dear Madame had popped round to her neighbours while you and your dancing bear were out drinking. You’re not the only one who knows how to break a lock, you know.’
I watched him flick the corners of the papers in his lap. I hoped it was something he had found on the desk. It took all my self-control not to glance up at the ceiling to see if my hiding place had been violated.
‘What do you want, then?’ I lowered the dagger, but did not sheath it.
‘I have brought you some news I thought you might appreciate.’ He swung his legs to the floor and tossed the papers back on to the desk as if they were of little interest. ‘I dined at the Hotel de Guise last night.’
‘How is the Duke?’
‘Surprisingly mollified. He’s had a productive parlay with Catherine. Apparently the King has promised to field three armies against the Protestants in the south by the summer, though God knows where he thinks he will find the money. More Italian loans, I suppose. But by curious coincidence, Guise seems to have forgotten all about the murder of Joseph de Chartres.’ He gave a dry laugh. ‘So the world turns. Anyway, one of the other guests was Girolamo Ragazzoni, the Bishop of Bergamo. You might know of him.’
‘The Papal nuncio?’ I stared at him.
‘That’s right. Your name came up in conversation.’
‘I can imagine.’
‘Ah, but can you? I told him you and I were old friends. He asked me to pass this on.’ Reaching inside his doublet, he drew out a letter on thick cream paper, with a heavy wax seal. He held it out to me, then snapped it away at the last minute as I stretched out my fingers. ‘Sir Edward Stafford really is terribly anxious about what you might have said in that letter to Walsingham.’
‘Does he have reason to be anxious? Besides, the letter was not sent.’
Paget laughed. ‘There’s not a man in Paris who doesn’t have reason to be anxious about what others say of him, you should know that. Especially when it’s being said to someone like Walsingham. That copy wasn’t sent, but you’re a resourceful man, Bruno. I dare say you’ll find another way, if your news is urgent.’
I gave him a thin smile. If he had been hiding in my room all evening, he could not have seen me meeting Berden, but you could never take anything for granted with Paget. I had to hope he would not manage to decipher the letter before Gilbert Gifford left for England; if the boy really was carrying letters to Mary Stuart, it was imperative that they should be intercepted.
‘Are you going to give me that letter? Or was there something else? Because I’d like to go to bed now.’
‘Don’t let me keep you.’ He pushed the chair back and stood. ‘Nothing else for now.’ But I did not miss the way his eyes flitted around the room; I was certain he must have been searching for papers, though he had left no sign of his efforts. He held out the letter and nodded for me to open it.
I turned it over. The seal on the thick wax showed the two crossed keys and crown of the Papal insignia. I felt a cold punch of dread to the stomach; even now, the symbols of the Church’s authority could leave me mute with fear.
Doctor Giordano Bruno, it began, in the neat hand of an Italian clerk.
Before his untimely death, Père Paul Lefèvre wrote to me on your behalf to convey your penitence with regard to the events that led to your excommunication, namely your abandoning holy orders without permission and your many heretical writings, together with your wish to be reconciled in humility and obedience to Holy Mother Church. I have, accordingly, written to Rome to acquaint His Holiness with your desire and I ask you to call on me so that we may speak further on this matter.
I have also informed the Catholic League in Paris that, while your excommunication is under review, your safety is Rome’s concern and until His Holiness has considered your situation, you must be regarded as a penitent and not an enemy.
It was signed Girolamo Ragazzoni, with a flourish. I allowed my breath to escape slowly. For all his self-righteousness, Paul had kept his word. I did not like the part about humility and obedience, but it had at least bought me a temporary reprieve from Guise, or so I hoped.
‘I wouldn’t expect too much, if I were you,’ Paget said, with a wolfish smile. ‘Ragazzoni’s already been recalled to Rome.’
‘What? Why?’
‘He was appointed by the last Pope. Now the new Pontiff is having a clean sweep, replacing all his legates in Europe. He’s a much less forgiving man, Pope Sixtus, in matters of religious orthodoxy. I doubt Ragazzoni will have much clout with him.’
‘Then I will have to pray hard.’
‘Yes. That would be wise.’ He made no move to leave, his eyes shining dangerously. I was still holding the dagger. One lunge, I thought; he appeared to be unarmed. One stroke and I could incapacitate most of the plots against England and Queen Elizabeth; without Paget they would
