His shoulders relaxed. ‘You would do well to say so to the Queen Mother. Bad enough that this dreadful business has occurred during an event that was supposed to increase goodwill towards the royal family. She does not need you spreading malicious lies as well.’
‘Not lies. Merely speculation.’
‘Based on the scantest evidence and likely wrong, by your own admission. Like all your other theories, in your books which no one reads.’
I reminded myself silently not to rise to it. Fortunately I was distracted by the arrival of a boy in livery bearing a tray loaded with two plates of roast pheasant and large silver goblets of spiced wine. Ruggieri swept the remainder of his books from the table, not without a good deal of muttering, and the boy set the tray down with a bow, closing the door behind him.
Ruggieri and I looked at one another.
‘After you,’ I offered, indicating the plates.
‘But you are our guest,’ he returned, mirroring my gesture.
I smiled. ‘I find I am not hungry after all.’ It was a lie; my stomach growled, empty and sour from my earlier drinks, and the hot scent of roasted meat was making my gut cramp with hunger, but I would be a fool to ignore the advice I had given the King earlier, especially in these circumstances.
The old man gave one of his dry, rattling laughs. ‘Are you suspicious of our hospitality? Do you suppose she means to poison you?’
I said nothing. It was rumoured that Catherine had plotted to poison her own daughter not so long ago; she was more than capable of dispatching me without a second thought.
‘It is like a fairground riddle, is it not?’ Ruggieri continued, enjoying himself. ‘If I choose first, you will assume the other glass is poisoned. If I allow you to choose first, you will assume both are. If we were to drink at the same time, however—’
‘I don’t have time for your games,’ I said, irritated.
‘Pardon me, but you have all the time in the world. You are to remain Her Majesty’s guest here until further notice.’
I turned away and slumped back against the chair. ‘Drink or don’t drink, Ruggieri, it’s of no interest to me.’ I pressed my sleeve against my face to try and block out the scent of the meat.
‘Let this reassure you, then.’ He pulled up his chair again, picked up one glass and drank from it, followed by the other. He did the same with a piece of meat from both plates, smiling with what I assumed was meant to be encouragement, though it still looked menacing. Warily, after a few moments, I reached across and took one of the plates from his hand. The meat was tender and savoury, and I devoured it in a hurry.
‘There was a book,’ I said, licking the last of the juices from my fingers. His head snapped up, immediately alert. ‘About a year ago, Queen Catherine bought it from an English girl. I see you know the one I mean.’
He sat back, nodding. ‘Yes, I thought you might come sniffing after that sooner or later. The girl was keen to insist on her acquaintance with you. She seemed to believe that would lend the book veracity.’
‘And on the strength of that, Catherine bought it. Fifty écus, I heard.’
‘She asked me to examine it first, naturally,’ he said, ruffled. ‘I thought it might prove a worthwhile addition to her collection. I wanted to pay less but the girl bargained hard. You clearly schooled her well. I do wonder, though, that you should have allowed such a book out of your hands.’
I chose to ignore the implicit question. ‘You know what it is then.’
He folded his hands together on the table. His fingers were long and spindly with swollen joints, the tips stained purple from one of his concoctions, I presumed, though for a moment I had an image of him in his private room, picking through entrails to divine the future like an ancient Roman.
‘I can see what it purports to be. The lost book of the Egyptian sage Hermes Trismegistus. Last rumoured to have been stolen from a bookseller in Venice, though that was two decades ago. You will know, of course,’ he said, tapping a discoloured fingernail on the table as if instructing a child, ‘that that book was salvaged from the ruins of Byzantium and brought to Italy at the command of Cosimo de Medici. So, if it is the same one, it rightly belongs in the hands of his great-great-great-granddaughter. Though it is considered a dangerous book, and forbidden by the Church.’
‘Have you read it?’
He leaned forward, screwing up his face further to scrutinise me with his rheumy eyes, trying to divine whether I meant to catch him out.
‘Have you?’
I merely smiled in a manner I hoped he would find enigmatic. The truth was that the book had only been in my possession for less than a day before it was stolen from me (even now the memory of Sophia’s betrayal could make me grind my teeth involuntarily), but I already knew that the heart of it was written in a complex code as yet unbroken by scholars. Let Ruggieri believe I had cracked the encryption. Catherine would want to know the book’s content, after paying so much; it might enhance my value if she thought I was the only one who could read it. Besides, I felt confident that, given the time to make a proper study, I would succeed in deciphering the cramped handwriting that filled the ancient pages.
‘I would not profane its secrets by discussing them with a man such as you,’ he said loftily, after a hesitation long enough to reassure me that he had not managed to penetrate the book’s mysteries.
‘A man such as me?’ I laughed. ‘Oh, come, Ruggieri – if you did not have Catherine’s protection they would
