‘You concede we are adversaries, then.’
‘Times change, Bruno, and a wise man bends with them. I spend a good deal of time at the English embassy now. Stafford has finally accepted that I am well placed to be useful to England.’
I thought again of Walsingham’s letter. ‘And what do you gain from it?’
He heaved a long sigh and his shoulders slumped as he peered into his drink, as if it might hold the answer. ‘Eventually, I hope, a pardon, if I can prove my worth to Her Majesty. I am sick of exile. Aren’t you?’ He raised his head and fixed me with a frank look. ‘You must be nearing forty. We are of an age. The time of life when a man wants a home, a hearth, a sense of his place in the world, not this rootlessness. Wouldn’t you choose to go back, if they would pardon you?’
I glanced away to the early dusk, the grey November street. A sudden image of sunlight on lemon trees flashed through my memory. ‘You are guilty of treason.’
‘You are guilty of heresy. And yet here we both are, begging to be taken back, any way we can. You hope to petition the Papal nuncio, I understand.’
I tried not to show any reaction. ‘Did Paul tell you that?’
‘Doesn’t matter how I know. Just reminding you again that your secrets don’t stay hidden for long. Well, we shall see. Walsingham has pardoned worse offenders than I, if they make sufficient amends. And I’m sure His Holiness has pardoned greater heretics than you.’ He paused, stroking a drop of wine from his moustache with a swipe of his forefinger. ‘Can’t think of any at present, but one must always live in hope.’ Another calculated hesitation. ‘And have I not proved that I can also be useful to you, Bruno, these past days?’
‘What is it you want from me, Paget?’ I folded my hands around the tankard and concentrated on the rough wood of the table, its whorls and gouges.
‘It seems to me,’ he said, pouring more wine for me, though I had not yet touched what I had, ‘that we are both looking for the same thing. We want to know who killed Paul Lefèvre, and why. I’m assuming Henri has set you to find out.’
‘What is your interest?’ I took a slow sip, keeping my eyes on his face.
‘Paul was a significant conduit between the Catholic League and the English émigrés. He was entrusted with a great deal of confidential information from both sides. Naturally, a number of people have a stake in discovering who ordered his death.’
‘Try asking Joseph de Chartres. Or your friend the Duke of Guise.’
‘Guise was keen that I ask you.’ He flashed a wolfish smile.
I took another small draught of the wine to cover my reaction. ‘So you still work for him?’
‘I would not be much use to England if I did not maintain the appearance of intimacy with Guise and his faction,’ he said, not meeting my eye. ‘You see, at first it was supposed by the League that the King was behind Lefèvre’s death, because of his preaching. It seemed the most obvious explanation.’
‘Not to the King.’
‘He would hardly admit to it. But since it became known that the priest asked for you on his deathbed, the Duke has naturally become curious to know what he so urgently needed to impart to your ears.’
‘If Guise has cause to fear what Paul might have said, that surely suggests he had an interest in keeping him silent.’
‘You might be forgiven for thinking so. But as far as I can see, the Duke is deeply alarmed by this murder. More so since he learned that your enquiries had led you to Frère Joseph de Chartres.’
‘I imagine he would be, given that Joseph writes pamphlets for the League.’
‘It’s more embarrassing than that. De Chartres is a cousin of the Duke of Montpensier, who is the stepson of Guise’s sister.’ He arched an eyebrow to convey the difficulty.
‘Then the connection seems obvious.’
‘But Guise is adamant that he has had no direct contact with Joseph over League business, much less given him orders to kill anyone. I have known the Duke for some years now, and I would swear he is telling the truth. He is therefore keen to know who else Joseph might be involved with.’
‘Then he should probably address that question to Joseph himself.’
‘Joseph has disappeared, as you know.’
‘Perhaps Guise should ask around among his relatives.’
‘I imagine he is making enquiries. But he fears that any day the King will press some wretch into declaring publicly that he, Guise, was behind it.’
I gave a dry laugh. ‘Has he not planned to do the same to the King?’
‘I dare say. But he would prefer to find out the truth. From what I can see, he is worried.’
‘So he thinks it would be quicker to threaten me.’
‘Has anyone threatened you?’ He held up his hands to prove his innocence. ‘I admit, that would likely have been his preferred method, if I had left you in the Conciergerie last night. I felt that was not the most effective way to proceed with a man like you. I would guess you are stubborn enough to make it a point of honour to resist hard questioning.’
I looked away. Wouldn’t we all like to believe we have the strength to maintain our firmness of purpose in the face of rigorous interrogation? Though I had been
