As many as there are stars in the sky, she thought. What a wondrous valley this is—divine and devilish at once.
“Where are we going?” she asked John, but he merely smiled enigmatically.
“It’s a surprise. You will like it.”
They were headed straight toward the castle on the opposite hill. When they reached the lower walls, John turned and walked along the wall until they came to an ivy-covered older part. John pushed the ivy aside, and Greta saw there was a gap behind it, just wide enough for a person to slip through.
With a grin, John held up a half-chewed bone he’d been hiding in his pocket. “If the old ram isn’t much good for anything else, at least it’ll keep the dog occupied for a little while.”
He tossed the bone into the air, and Little Satan caught it nimbly. He immediately settled down to chew on it. Meanwhile, John slipped through the gap, and a moment later Greta heard his voice from the other side.
“Your turn.”
Greta felt like she was ten years old again. A faded memory came to her mind. She had lived with Valentin in Nuremberg at the Order of the Teutonic Knights, and sometimes a boy her age, the son of a girdle maker, visited her by climbing over the wall of the commandery. Together they had roamed the lanes of Nuremberg by night—the dirty yards, the bridges, the deserted cemeteries. At John’s side she felt like a little girl again.
And just like back then, you’re doing foolish things.
She followed John though the gap and found him waiting on the other side. They were standing among boxwood bushes looking like fantastic beasts in the light of the moon. Further on, Greta could see rosebushes bearing the first buds. The air smelled of flowers and spring. A chilly breeze swept through the bushes, but Greta wasn’t cold.
“The royal garden,” explained John in a whisper. “I found the hole in the wall not long ago.”
“And how many girls have you brought here since?” jeered Greta, trying, unsuccessfully, to sound confident. She allowed John to lead her past the rosebushes and freshly raked flower beds to a brick wall as high as her hips. On the other side, the land dropped steeply, and the Loire gleamed below them like a ribbon of black silk. Above the garden, the stars and the moon seemed to compete with the sparkling lights of the castle. John looked at her.
“Did I promise too much?”
He grasped her hands and pulled her close. Greta hesitated. How dare he? Did he believe she’d let him take her like some sort of hussy? But then she just let go. So many awful things had happened in the last few weeks, so much death and suffering, but this park here seemed to be a different world—a better, safer world, where she was protected by John Reed, this red-haired braggart of a Scotsman with his crooked nose and flashing eyes. He gave her the feeling that there was a normal life beyond all the horrible things that had been going on. She smelled his sweat and it reminded her of a young fox. Then her lips found his.
“I . . . I’m not one of those, you know . . . ,” said Greta between kisses.
John chuckled softly. “Neither am I. That’s one thing we have in common.”
His tongue was wet and demanding, toying with her, and she let herself fall. It was as if John was taking away all her fears from the last few days and weeks. In his arms she could forget everything—Tonio del Moravia, her father, the horrible things she’d seen, and her fear of the future.
If she really had to, there would be plenty of time tomorrow to regret her weakness.
8
THEY HAD ONLY ABOUT TWENTY MILES TO GO UNTIL Amboise, but Johann felt like it was an eternity. Every single mile stretched as if they were fighting their way through muddy swamps. Fog covered the river, bathing the landscape in a milky white that seemed to swallow everything.
Shortly after their departure from Blois, Johann had walked to the boat’s prow and gazed ahead, as if he could somehow speed up their journey. Once he thought he saw an old raven with ruffled feathers in a willow tree, but he could have been mistaken. Back then, many years ago, Tonio had him followed by his crows and the raven, and it wasn’t impossible that he was doing so again.
Hundreds of doubts and worries raced through Johann’s mind. What if Leonardo wasn’t currently at Amboise? What if he didn’t want to receive Johann? And even if he managed to get through to the old genius, who was to say that Leonardo knew anything about this accursed disease—if he was still sick at all? Maybe da Vinci’s illness had passed by now like an upset stomach, and the whole journey was for nothing.
And Johann’s strength waned with every day, with every hour.
How much time do I have left? Who is going to look after Greta when I’m no longer around? Karl? I’ll have to talk to him.
Johann hated depending on others. He had always been free and made his own decisions. But now he needed help. His paralysis had become worse overnight. His left arm was nothing but a dead piece of meat, and he felt as though his facial expressions sometimes froze for brief moments. He hoped Greta hadn’t yet noticed how poorly he was doing. It wouldn’t do any good if she worried even more. Although she appeared to be preoccupied
