As I stood considering whether I should pursue the girl, wait for Gabrielle or return to the palace and report to Henri what Circe had said, the torch in my hand guttered and died. There seemed little hope of finding her in the dark; in the thin wash of moonlight silvering the clearing I stumbled back to a track at the edge of the treeline, hoping it was the path towards the palace. After a few yards I rounded a corner and saw the flame of a torch approaching; there was no time to hide myself, and I could only wait as the person carrying the light drew nearer. He was almost level with me when I realised it was the man with the Greek mask and tricorn hat. He slowed his pace, eyes fixed on me; my hand stole instinctively inside my cloak in search of my knife, and I almost drew as I saw him raise his right arm, but I froze in the act when I understood his gesture. Without speaking, he tapped his mask and pointed to my head; I realised in that moment that I had forgotten to pull down my own mask. He continued past me towards the trees, as nonchalant as if he were out for a summer afternoon stroll. I watched him, paralysed by indecision. I had encountered him too many times already this evening for it to seem an accident; if he had suspected who I was, I had just given him confirmation through my own carelessness.
The flame of his torch had almost vanished into the night; I could hear him whistling a refrain from one of the chansons the musicians had been playing earlier. This show of insouciance needled me and I felt myself in the grip of a sudden reckless fury. He had seen my face; why should I not see his? I hastened after him; in a few paces I was close enough to strike. I thought I had moved silently, but just as I drew my knife, he whipped around and, using his torch as a club, swung it and struck my outstretched arm before I had a chance to react. I cried out and dropped the knife as soon as the flame made contact with my skin; holding the torch before him, like a shepherd keeping a wolf at bay, he drove me back until he could put his boot over my fallen weapon. We stood, facing one another, breathing hard, he still keeping the torch pointed at me as he crouched and picked up my knife from the ground.
‘Who are you?’ I said. My voice sounded unnatural, ringing out through the clear air.
He made no answer, only began to back away, the torch and the dagger held out towards me in case I should make a sudden movement. I pressed my left hand hard over the burn that throbbed along the ridge of my right thumb as if that might tamp down the pain, watching for an opportunity to lunge at him, when a woman’s sharp cry somewhere off in the trees caused us both to jump and turn in the direction of the sound. It came again, muffled this time, a strangled moan, though whether of pleasure or pain was impossible to say.
The masked man took advantage of the distraction to drop his torch and break away into the trees at a run. I grabbed the light, but already the crunch of his footsteps had almost vanished into the wood; I would be at a double disadvantage in pursuit, since he was now armed and I would be lit up like a bonfire if I tried to go after him. I cursed my stupidity aloud; I would not have been so slow if I had stayed away from the drinks as I had intended. Now I had lost Circe, who had as good as confessed to some plot when she mistook me for her fellow-conspirator, and I had also lost my knife to the mysterious man in the Greek mask, who had certainly been spying on me with the King earlier and was apparently intimate with the woman I assumed to be the Duchess of Montpensier. He had seen me, but he must have been satisfied that I had not identified him, or
