I lowered my eyes. He knew very well that every word was hitting its mark, true as an arrow. He made an impatient noise.
‘It’s very simple. If you do what I ask, I will not have you arrested for Joseph’s murder. If that is not a sufficient incentive, I offer you this – the Papal nuncio Ragazzoni is a frequent guest to this house. Find this killer for me and I will arrange an audience. I have no need to be so generous, you know.’
I kept my teeth clenched. I did not trust myself to speak.
‘Look at yourself, Bruno,’ Guise said, his voice soft and lulling again. ‘What is your future? The English didn’t want you. Perhaps they could tell you are not really a Protestant, any more than you are a Catholic. Indeed, what are you?’
‘I am a philosopher, my lord,’ I said quietly, when it became clear that the question was not rhetorical. ‘I believe God has given us reason and understanding to query what we know and consider new ideas based on new discoveries, so that each generation can build on the knowledge of the past,’ I added, since he seemed to expect more.
‘Mm. I should rethink that answer before you meet the Papal nuncio.’ He steepled his hands together and touched the tips of his forefingers to his lips. ‘Prove yourself useful to me, Bruno, convince me you have repented of your heresies, and you may yet have a future in France. And the English girl will come to no harm.’
I snapped my head up and stared at him. ‘What English girl?’
He seemed pleased with the reaction.
‘Come now, Bruno. A beautiful girl appears in Paris, fresh off the boat, knocking at the gates of the Louvre brandishing your name like a royal seal – do you not think I would come to hear of it sooner or later?’
‘So she is still here?’
His mouth curved into a smile, making the scar twist. ‘Let us say I would know where to find her. You will report anything you uncover to Paget – I don’t want you seen here again. If I hear that you have taken any information to Henri before me, the girl will lose her pretty nose. And her hands. She would have to go and beg with the lepers.’
‘What makes you think I would care about saving her skin?’ I asked.
‘The look on your face when I mentioned her,’ he said. He lifted the glass left for him by the dwarf and raised it first towards me and then to Paget. ‘The two of you will work together. With your combined connections, something must come to light. And you will say nothing of Joseph de Chartres’s death yet. I must decide how to arrange that before it is known.’
‘He cannot be found in the priest’s rooms, my lord,’ Paget said briskly. ‘It will make the connection between them explicit. And since that connection is the League, it would be preferable if his body turned up elsewhere.’
Guise looked pensive. ‘Must he be found at all?’
‘If he simply disappears, it will be assumed that he has run away because he is guilty of murder.’
‘Which he is,’ I pointed out.
Paget darted a look at me from the corner of his eye, irritated. ‘And if his guilt is assumed in absentia, it will point to my Lord of Guise as the author. So he must be found, but nowhere that will imply any connection with the death of Paul Lefèvre.’
Guise waved this aside. ‘Leave that to me. Let us drink to unlikely alliances.’ He nodded to the glass in my hand. ‘And to a unified, Catholic France, free from heresy.’
‘A unified Catholic France,’ I mumbled, lifting the glass and forcing myself to swallow a drop. All I could taste was my own blood.
‘Have you ever tried it, Bruno?’ Paget asked, over his shoulder, as we rode back across the river to the Left Bank. He had offered to take me home on his horse, prompted more by a desire to ensure I did not detour via the Louvre than from any concern for my well-being, I guessed.
‘Tried what?’
‘Being throttled.’
‘No. Not for pleasure, anyway.’
‘Ah.’ He jabbed the horse gently with his heels and it picked up its pace as we approached the Pont de Notre-Dame. ‘Your English girl not up for that sort of thing?’
‘She’s not my English girl.’
‘Hm. Still. Pretty creature, though.’
I knew he felt me tense against him in the saddle and grip the fabric of his cloak tighter. He meant to provoke me and I was determined not to give him the satisfaction. We rode on without speaking, as I willed myself with every jolt not to ask any questions. Lamps had been lit in the windows of the houses along the bridge and smoke gusted from chimneys. The air smelled of damp and soot; the cold worked its way inside my clothes. My fingers were frozen and my lip throbbed dully. The only sounds were the gulls, the brisk ring of the horse’s hooves and an occasional shout from a boatman below on the dark water. I longed more than ever for the warmth of Jacopo’s parlour, his quiet attention and wise counsel, but I thought it likely that Paget would still have someone tailing me. I would have to wait.
‘Do you believe him?’ I asked, in an effort to steer him away from the subject of Sophia.
‘Guise?’ His voice echoed off the walls of the houses on either side. ‘About the murders, yes. I wasn’t sure about Lefèvre at first, but I would swear he had nothing to
