“Welcome to Chinon Castle, my dear doctor,” said the king. His French was soft and melodious, like that of a bard. “I hope your journey here wasn’t too uncomfortable.”
“The suspension of the carriage didn’t seem to be the latest model,” croaked Johann. He looked to his left and right on the stone ledge and saw Greta and Karl perched there as well. There was no sign of John Reed. Johann felt profound relief washing over him but tried not to show it. Greta and Karl also appeared to have recognized the man in front of them and stared at him with a mixture of surprise, fear, and respect. It wasn’t every day that they had an audience with one of the most powerful rulers in the world.
“At least I traveled in good company,” said Johann now. “I despise going anywhere without my daughter and my assistant.”
Francis smiled. “I’m glad you haven’t lost your sense of humor, Doctor. Your French is excellent, by the way.”
“I learned your language by reading the books of your wonderful poets,” said Johann. “Jean Molinet, François Villon . . .”
“Je suis Françoys, dont il me poise,” recited Francis I with a nod. “Villon is one of my favorite poets, too. Né de Paris emprès Pontoise, et de la corde d’une toise,” he went on in a soft rhythm. “Villon was put in jail repeatedly and only narrowly escaped death a few times. Apparently, he was quite the swindler and charlatan, but also a genius. Does that sound familiar to you, Doctor?”
Instead of replying, Johann tried to make out more of their surroundings. There were three narrow arrow slits but no windows and no furnishings. The three of them were tied up on a stone bench that jutted out from the wall. The king in front of them was illuminated by torches in rusty brackets. Astonishingly, there were no guards in the room. Francis interpreted Johann’s look correctly.
“This conversation isn’t for everyone’s ears—there are too many eavesdroppers already.” He wrinkled his royal forehead. “That was also why I had to bring you here in such an uncomfortable manner. Please accept my apologies.”
“Where is John?” asked Greta now. “What have you done to him?” Leaves and twigs were tangled in her hair, and her dirty face made her look like a charcoal burner, but she seemed unhurt and hadn’t lost her pride.
“Who?” Francis looked at the young woman with irritation, unaccustomed to being addressed this disrespectfully. “If you are speaking of the large dog, we have taken him into custody. He resides in the royal kennels. Truly an exceptionally—”
“Not the dog, the third man in our group,” said Greta, her eyes flashing at the king. “Where is he? Where is John?”
“Oh, you mean Jean!” The king laughed as if Greta had told a funny joke. “I have been told that the handsome lad has his eye on you—and vice versa, as I see now.” He gave a wave. “Don’t worry, he is fine. You shall see him again soon. But first I want to speak with the doctor. I want to talk about a friend we have in common.” He turned back to Johann. “I believe you know who I mean.”
“Leonardo da Vinci,” said Johann quietly.
Francis’s expression darkened. “He died in my arms three days ago. Leonardo was like a father to me, and more. Someone like him will never come again.”
“I will miss him, too,” replied Johann, slumping. The news of Leonardo’s death pained him, even if he’d known that this moment would come. Now one of the greatest men of mankind had become history.
And one or two secrets have gone with him, I’d say, thought Johann.
“You might be pleased to hear that Leonardo mentioned your name toward the end. And that of your fetching assistant, too.” He winked at Karl. “It appears he liked him a great deal, and now I can see why. Do you know what he said just before he died?”
The king leaned closer to Johann. “He said that Doctor Faustus knows the secret. Strange, isn’t it? Those were his final words. Doctor Faustus knows the secret.” From one moment to the next, Francis seemed anything but sleepy, eyeing Johann closely. “I wonder what kind of secret that is, Doctor. Can you tell me? My scholars sifted through Leonardo’s writings, page by page, but they found nothing.”
Johann froze.
“What kind of secret?” repeated Francis.
“Toward the end people often speak in riddles,” replied Johann awkwardly.
“And yet they always tell the truth.” Francis’s face was very close to his now, and Johann could smell the strong perfume of which one vial probably cost more than a good horse. “What secret do you share with Leonardo, Doctor Faustus? I am not daft. My men have been watching you ever since Lahnstein and his bloodhound started nipping at your heels.”
“You . . . you know about the papal representative?” Johann’s thoughts raced. Did the king also know about their search for Gilles de Rais? What sort of game was being played here?
“Of course.” Francis straightened up with a smile. “Rome and France might be allies in the fight against the powerful Habsburg empire right now, but that can change very quickly. In Italy, everyone plays by their own rules. And just like the pope has his spies, I have mine. That is how I know that fat Leo has been interested in you for a long time. He wanted to have you taken to Rome, am I not right? You managed to slip through his fingers at Bamberg. I wondered for a long time why you fled to France thereafter. Why not England, Spain, the Netherlands?”
The king squared his shoulders.
“But when you went to Amboise, it became clear. What reason might the famous Doctor Faustus have to visit the equally famous inventor Leonardo da Vinci? I believe it was to learn the secret that the pope assumed you already knew. But you
