Текст книги "The butcher of Avignon"

Автор книги: Cassandra Clark

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In all the fabulous wealth stored in the vault this was the one thing Maurice had been hanging onto.

And yet his killer had left it behind.

Could it mean he did not understand its significance? Or had he been disturbed by a sound from above – guards walking in the chamber above the vault and audible to anyone hiding underneath? Might it have been necessary to make a quick escape, leaving behind the one thing he had been seeking? And again, did it presuppose prior knowledge of Maurice’s quest?

There was nothing for it. She would have to return to the first guard she had spoken to and go over old ground. He had seemed keen to help and would no doubt be pleased to tell her anything if it kept the finger of suspicion from pointing in his direction. Repetition might show the discrepancies in an invented story.

**

The guard-room. Rain.

‘Me again.’

The guard glanced from left to right, saw his colleagues were busy, then stepped outside into the yard. He pulled up his hood. ‘I don’t like you coming here, domina. No offence. It looks as if – well, it looks bad.’

‘What if I’m asking about the time the gates are shut for the night?’

‘Very well.’

‘Simple question, who was in the pope’s private chapel the night Maurice was murdered?’

‘Apart from his Holiness, you mean?’

She nodded. ‘We’ll take his presence for granted.’

‘There was his priest, an old fellow of eighty. His personal servant, a child of seven. The sacristan and his assistant. And a handful of cardinals.’

‘Names?’

He frowned. ‘Let’s think. There was Grizac, Montjoie, Fondi and Bellefort.’

**

It was known everywhere that some new cardinals were to be elected. Hubert had avoided any mention of it. He was aware of her loyalty to King Richard. His supporters would have been invited to put in a word for him. He would leave them to it. That’s how it was done.

The couriers’ office was nearby and she called in, as she did every day, hoping for news from the prioress.

Again there was nothing. It was to be expected that mail would take longer to travel from Yorkshire than from London. The fate of Alexander Neville was constantly in her thoughts. She curbed her anxiety and prayed that he had been reprieved or at least escaped to safety until the king’s council had been brought to its senses.

She was worried about the king too, recalling the beautiful ten year old dressed in pure white silk and wearing the crown of state on his golden curls as he left Westminster Abbey after his coronation. He had ridden through cheering crowds on a little white pony caparisoned in red and gold and the citizens of London had sighed with love for him. Now he was a tall, fair, nineteen year old and fighting for his throne.

**

The attack by the unseen assailants outside the inn on the previous night had left Hildegard with one or two bruises that she only found as she sponged herself down in the communal wash house later that morning. Purple finger marks showed clearly on her hips and breasts. She hoped the man she hit had a black eye. Then the sound of that voice outside the inn came back to her. She was sure she had heard it before. But where? Whoever he was he had spoken in French, but badly, like somebody who had learned from an ill-educated tutor.

The guild of pages were sombre when she met them in the yard. They were trailing in to the mid-morning service, Fitzjohn striding ahead, expecting them to run to keep up. She supposed he was still in a rage over the escape of the two miners and what it meant for his own future prospects. The return of the dagger to the pope would hardly be of interest to him. Edmund caught her eye and stopped for a brief instant.

‘Have you heard any more?’

‘Only a little about Taillefer’s night time activities.’

Edmund blushed. He knew what she meant.

‘May we meet?’ she asked.

‘Same place?’

When she nodded he hurried off in Fitzjohn’s wake.

**

The boys were half hidden among the straw under the buttress when she ducked her head under the stone arch later on. Simon, posted on guard duty, followed her inside as the others began to emerge from the straw. They reminded her of wild cats, concealing themselves until it was safe to come out.

Edmund was first. ‘Any nearer the truth, domina?’

She told them briefly what she had found out as they brushed straw from off their court clothes.

When she finished, Bertram was tight with fury. ‘It must have been one of the cardinals. He’s going to get away with it!’

There was a murmur of protest but it was half-hearted and Peterkin asked, ‘Do you think Maurice’s murderer is the same man who stole the dagger?’

‘He must be,’ Bertram gritted.

‘He might escape us but he’ll never escape the wrath of God,’ Peterkin asserted.

‘Listen,’ said Hildegard. ‘This is how it seems to have been. Maurice was ordered to fetch the dagger secretly from the treasury by someone but was stopped before he could hand it over. It quite likely contained poison despite what the pope’s clerk tried to insinuate. It was similar to ones I saw in Florence when I was there a couple of years ago. Whoever instructed Maurice must have wanted it for that reason.’

Peterkin asked tentatively, ‘Could it have been Cardinal Grizac?’

‘If so it was a monstrous thing for a lord to ask of a retainer,’ said Bertram. ‘But why would the cardinal want to obtain poison in such a roundabout way?’

‘Does the cardinal have an enemy in the palace?’ Peterkin was looking thoughtful. ‘He’s the most pleasant of men. Devout and one of the few not given to lewdness. I can’t see him wanting to poison anyone. And how could it turn out that Maurice was killed on such a mission? Someone must have known he was going to break in.’

‘Who is the cardinal on close terms with here?’ Edmund looked at Hildegard. ‘Could he have let slip a word to someone about his desire to obtain it?’

Hildegard thought immediately of Athanasius. He and Grizac had a strange relationship. It was based on power with Athanasius’s quick, cynical wit often making the more tender-hearted Grizac wince. She couldn’t see him confessing anything to Athanasius.

‘What about Taillefer?’ she asked. ‘Where do you think he fits in?’

‘Obviously he was stabbed for stealing the dagger from the stranger in le Coq d’or.’

The boys fell silent at Edmund’s words until Peterkin made the observation that if Taillefer was stabbed when he was on the bridge, the sentry must have seen him run past, followed by the man who stabbed him. ‘But you say he did not mention seeing them?’

Hildegard shook her head. ‘In fact he said he saw no-one. The inn keeper also says he saw no blood on the stranger’s hands – although of course he could have easily washed it off in the river.’

‘You mean Taillefer could have been stabbed by someone else – someone already up there?’

‘It would have to be somebody in authority,’ broke in Peterkin, ‘those sentries are particular about who they allow to cross at night, for fear of French militia mounting an attack, or smugglers cheating on taxes.’

‘Someone in authority? Like the cardinals?’ broke in Edmund.

‘The cardinals?’ exclaimed Peterkin in a horrified voice.

A brief silence followed.

‘Maybe we have to ask ourselves who would have as strong a motive to kill Taillefer as the victim of the theft,’ Bertram pointed out.

‘But let’s suppose that if the dagger was stolen the first time round on Cardinal Grizac’s orders – for whatever reason – it was he who was the true victim of the theft. He would want it back as much as the stranger at le Coq d’or,’ Hildegard pointed out. ‘We know he passed over the bridge that night because the sentries at both ends said so – even though the timing doesn’t work out properly,’ she amended weakly.

‘Grizac? Surely impossible? I feel guilty even for thinking it,’ Peterkin admitted.

They were silent for a few moments, struck by the enormity of the idea, until Bertram tried another tack. ‘Do we know if Taillefer got on the wrong side of anybody recently?’

Hildegard remembered Elfric throwing down the gauntlet to Taillefer in the tilt yard the other day. ‘Elfric?’ She turned.

‘Not me. He was my sword partner.’ He seemed disinclined to say more.

‘There was that fellow in the Great Courtyard the other day. The one we thought was trying to frighten him,’ Bertram reminded.

‘We still have no idea why he issued such a threat,’ Edmund added.

‘We must find out more from this cursed sentry.’ It was Bertram again. ‘We’ve got to know exactly who went onto the bridge that night. Don’t you agree, domina?’

‘I do.’

‘We need to know who was involved in the argument the ferryman heard. It must have been Taillefer and his murderer. The sentry must be lying about the cardinals being the only ones to go across. There must have been someone else.’

‘I’ll talk to the sentry,’ Edmund interrupted. ‘I told Taillefer about the dagger in the first place. It’s my fault he went looking for it and got himself into trouble.’

‘Don’t blame yourself, Edmund. He was as eager to find Maurice’s killer as we all are and thought, as we did, that the dagger might be a clue to the mystery.’

Edmund gave her a grateful glance but was not entirely reassured. ‘I’ll go and speak to him, nevertheless.’

‘We only asked Taillefer to escort the miners to the ferry,’ Bertram pointed out. He placed his hand on Edmund’s arm. ‘We wanted nothing more from him. He’s the one who got himself into this mess by choosing to visit his girl at the inn -’ he broke off with a swift glance at Hildegard.

‘I know about her,’ she said.

‘Well, just don’t go blaming yourself, Edmund,’ he mumbled.

‘So what now?’ Edmund asked in a tone that showed he was still shouldering the blame.

‘I’ll talk to the priest of the bridge again,’ Hildegard told them. ‘I feel he knows more than he’s willing to admit.’ She moved towards the arch into the passage.

‘We could go and lark around near the ferryman’s cottage and maybe get him to tell us if he saw anything else. His cottage is so close to the bridge I can’t believe he didn’t have a good look when he heard voices. Despite the storm he must have seen something.’

‘He’s a liar. I wouldn’t trust him, Edmund.’ Peterkin gave a toss of his head.

‘Let’s hope he remains careful with the truth in regard to the payment he received from Taillefer,’ Hildegard admonished. ‘A more honest man would have refused to take the miners across.’

‘It’s called being pragmatic.’ Peterkin gave a cynical shrug of his shoulders.

‘The last thing we want is for him to start blabbing and setting Fitzjohn on their trail,’ observed Edmund testily.

‘Gentlemen,’ Hildegard looked round the circle of earnest faces. ‘I shall be honoured if you will give me your solemn promise that you will on no account put yourselves in danger. If there is anything that strikes you as at all suspicious I want you to come to me to discuss it before taking hasty action. Do I have your word?’

‘You have, domina,’ they chorused.

The boys replied with such alacrity her fears were unassuaged.

**

The sentry’s face reminded Hildegard of a slab of beef, red, raw, unexpressive. Now he stared at her as if she hadn’t spoken.

‘It’s a simple question, Emil,’ she insisted. ‘Did the fellow from the inn follow the thief onto the bridge? Remember, he had just discovered that his dagger was stolen, a weapon he hoped to sell for a large sum. He was angry. He gave chase. Did he, or did he not, chase the thief onto the bridge?’

‘I told you no.’

‘Not in so many words, you didn’t.’

‘Well, I am doing now. Nobody came onto the bridge except for the ones I told you about.’ Again he counted them off on his fingers. ‘Cardinals Bellefort, Fondi, Grizac, Montjoie, the foreign abbot. They all went over in a bunch.’

‘And an esquire could have crossed with them, passing himself off as one of their personal servants in the dark?’

‘Could have.’

‘My thanks.’

‘Don’t mention it.’

**

The priest was polishing the altar brass when she entered.

‘Forgive my intrusion.’

He put down the paten and replaced the cloth under the altar. ‘Salve, domina. I guessed you’d be back.’

‘The murdered youth stole a dagger from a guest at le Coq d’or. It seems his victim pursued him as far as the bridge. The sentry denies that he allowed him access.’

‘Therefore your suspicions have alighted on the unlikely suspects of four cardinals and an abbot.’

‘The sentry tells me they all crossed over in a group. Is that so?’

The priest turned away and went to the window and gazed downstream with a faraway expression. Eventually he murmured, ‘You know it is not.’

‘Can you tell me more?’

‘They came onto the bridge in a group straight after lauds. That so far is true. But they did not cross in a group.’

He indicated a bench against the wall. ‘It’s a long story. Sit.’ He lowered himself beside her.

‘You will not know of me,’ he began. ‘I am before your time, domina. These latter years are a gift I had not expected.’ He paused and a look of reminiscence came over his face.

‘Once upon a time I was a famous counter tenor – but not, I hasten to add, with the physical interference that creates such voices in Byzantium. Mine was a natural gift from God.’ He exchanged a smile with her.

‘I knew it was a fleeting grace, that soon my voice would be lost forever.’ He sighed deeply.

‘Despite the glory that was promised and would have reflected onto my fellows, I drew nothing but jeers of jealousy from the other choral scholars, the nature of which you can imagine from rough peasant boys as many of them were. I was a young lad of some spirit and soon lost patience.’ He chuckled. ‘What happened was frightening at the time but the years heal all memories, do they not?’

‘I’m still pondering the truth of that,’ she replied, thinking of Rivera whose memory was a source of continual grief.

‘I said to my tormentors, “If that’s what you think of my masculinity, bring me your sisters if you dare, then discover whether I’m a eunuch or not!” This defiance didn’t go down well. One night three bully boys cornered me and you may guess what outrage they forced on me. I was then, as now, passionate about the rule of law and felt no compunction in going to the head and demanding justice. The result was the three were punished and thrown out of the song school. For many years I had no idea what had happened to them. Meanwhile, my career, starting with promise, exceeded my wildest desires. I became chief soloist in the papal choir. I was feted far and wide. My life was a glittering success. Even when my voice faded, I achieved honour as master of the pope’s music.’ He gave a deep sigh.

‘Such is human nature, however, I was haunted by the fact that I had caused the destruction of three lives, whether justly or not. I resolved to seek out those three and make reparation. In some way too I wanted their forgiveness. Does that sound strange to you?’

‘I understand. But tell me, this must surely have been many years later. Were they easy to find?’

‘Indeed they were not but eventually I discovered that one of them had become a goldsmith, had a wife and six children and was living in a distant town in Burgundy. The second was a monk in a silent order in the mountains. I visited both men and both were forgiven and forgave me in turn. The third turned out rather differently.’ He frowned.

‘The truth is he’d chosen the life of a thief and a vagabond, in and out of gaol, vengeful and violent, with the accusation of several murders never proven against him. When he recognised me and found me in his power again he wanted nothing more than to destroy me. He rounded up a gang of ruffians who lay in wait near my lodgings. Remember, I was far from home. He’d led a peripatetic life. But he wanted to teach me a lesson as he put it although what that lesson was I’ve still no idea. In the scuffle that followed it so happened that I grabbed a sword from one of them and ran him through. According to the rule of law I had myself invoked in the past I was now required to give myself up and receive my punishment for murder. The alternative was to forget my principles and make good my escape.’

He turned to her with a look of wonderment on his face. ‘Isn’t it astonishing that I remember the moment of decision? What was I to do? I glanced down the empty street after my attackers fled. The dead man lay at my feet. My hands were covered in blood. But even so, who would know it was I who had despatched him? I could escape and continue on my glittering path. Then I came to my senses. The rule of law must be upheld.’

‘That was brave. What did you do?’

‘At that time the pope was Urban in Rome. I prostrated myself before him in the great auditorium in the Vatican. A murderer. Guilty. The words from my own mouth confirmed it. He had no choice but to condemn me. But before sentence could be passed something unexpected happened. A young law clerk stepped forward. He set out my case so convincingly I was acquitted. It was what he described as a half-crime. I was ordered to do penance as a monk in a remote community dedicated to St Rufus.’ He paused and his eyes again held a faraway look. ‘You may be thinking why is this old man telling me such a story? Has he nothing better to do than reminisce about the past?’

Hildegard inclined her head.

‘It is because that young lawman is now pre-eminent in the papacy of Clement here in Avignon. Obligations do not die over time. They continue to exist in the great chain of justice that links us all. I owe my life to him. Does that explain anything to you?’

‘I expected you to invoke the secrecy of the confessional in order to tell me nothing.’

‘That also, dear domina, that also.’

**

So what was he telling her? That the young law man who had saved his life all those years ago was one of the cardinals who had crossed the bridge that night? That he had a debt to repay. And the cardinal, whoever he was, had now himself made a confession of murder? And, even if not already bound by the secrecy of the confessional, the priest respected the bond of obligation in order to protect his saviour.

It should be easy to discover the identity of this supporter of Pope Clement, the murderer of Taillefer and Maurice. There were only four possible suspects. And he would be the one who had returned late to Villeneuve.

**

‘Hubert? A word in private?’

‘My joy and my pleasure, dear heart.’

‘No nonsense, please.’

A smile lifted the corners of his mouth. ‘You are a light in this world of darkness. How else should I address you?’

‘This is serious.’

‘The loggia again. So busy as to allow us to confer unnoticed, vast enough for a hundred intimate exchanges to pass between us.’

‘There’ll be none of those.’

**

‘I have heard,’ she began, ‘that on the night Taillefer was killed only certain people crossed over the bridge. All named.’

‘And I was one among them.’

‘That’s true, but for heaven’s sake, surely I can discount you in all this?’

‘You can discount Fondi also, I would imagine.’

‘It’s him I wanted to ask you about as you seem to be on friendly terms with him. Do you know him well?’

‘I know Carlotta very well.’

‘Carlotta?’

‘His concubine. I’ve only met Fondi once or twice in my travels and I respect the man but I got to know Carlotta in Urbino years ago when she was an artists’ model. You’ll see her face smiling down from a dozen altar pieces playing the madonna with a variety of delightful children on her lap posing as the Christ child.’

‘Fondi allowed her to work as a model?’ Hildegard was aghast. The man was no more than a pander.

‘This was her work before she met him. I was the one who brought them together.’

‘I see.’

‘I doubt whether you do.’

Feeling that she was somehow cast in a less than attractive role she replied sharply, ‘I’m not the least interested in her and her relationship with – ’

‘With me?’ he asked. ‘Of course not. Why should you be? Now, my dear white heart, what was it you wanted to ask me?’

‘Do be serious. This is important. I suppose you can vouch for the fact that Fondi and his – and Signora Carlotta – went over to Villeneuve with everyone else?’

‘Of course. I was invited to stay at his house. He’s had a rather beautiful villa built in the Italian style in splendid gardens. The perfect setting for his pearl, as he says. That’s Carlotta, of course. They are each fortunate to have found their soul mate.’

Hildegard sighed impatiently. ‘And to have no guilt about breaking vows of celibacy either. So, to continue, Hubert, can you vouch for him? He did not stop off at the chapel of St Nicolas for example?’

‘I told you before when you were cross-questioning me, we thought of it but decided to press on to our beds.’

‘Did you notice anyone not follow you over?’

‘Again, as I told you, it was a terrible night, wind, rain, and once away from the chapel light, pitch dark, with the river raging close below. At one point we thought the arches were going to give way and pitch us into the torrent.’

‘Luckily they did not,’ she replied somewhat tartly. ‘Thank you, that’s all I wanted to know.’

‘Do you consider me a reliable witness, Hildegard?’

She felt a stab of guilt. ‘In some things, Hubert.’

‘But not in others?’ He hesitated then turned with a curt ‘Vale!’ and walked off.

Why was he so infuriating? She muttered a few calming words to herself that she was glad no one could overhear and went in search of the next witness.

**

Bellefort. She had seen him around the palace. He was one of those with a following. Now when she was conducted into his opulent privy chamber in the guest wing, in a part reserved for visiting monarchs, she noticed at once the confusion of young men attending him, one peeling grapes for him from a silver dish, another to massage his feet in their silk stockings, another to sing a ballade in a nasal accent like a troubadour with much superfluous tossing of his hair.

‘Dear domina, welcome!’ Bellefort greeted her with a languidly raised hand from his couch of silk in an accent so affected she had difficulty in understanding him. ‘The pleasure is all mine, pray be seated.’

An acolyte rushed forward with a velvet covered stool. To her chagrin she was forced to sit at the prelate’s feet among a bevy of his followers.

‘I have an interest in the murder of the English youth found in the treasury,’ she began, straight to the point.

‘Ah, such a loss. A young singer of incomparable delight,’ he drawled. ‘Grizac must be heartbroken at his loss. And how may I help?’

‘It seems his death set in train a series of events which are too boring to relate, your eminence, but they lead onto the death of Taillefer, the esquire of the duc de Berry.’

‘Le duc, my greatest friend, a distinguished collector, a scholar, a man of taste in this barbarous wasteland. His legend will live on forever. And?’

‘Taillefer – ’

‘Is that the esquire’s name?’ He pretended to puzzle over it.

‘It is,’ Hildegard’s voice sharpened. ‘The evidence suggests that he was murdered by someone crossing the bridge that night.’

‘Some barbarous cut-throat, a man with no soul, a being willing to barter a finely worked dagger, a glory of the artisan’s skill, for mere gold, and in an inn of all places, or so I’m told.’

‘Or maybe it was someone else entirely.’

‘Really?’ He expressed a show of interest. ‘Who, pray?’

‘His identity is at present unknown but be assured, it will be revealed very soon.’

‘Oh, I love revelations! And this will no doubt be due to your dogged tenacity, domina?’ His insult was veiled but Hildegard would have ignored it anyway. No time for pettiness now.

‘If I may persist in my doggedness, your eminence, did you happen to pause to offer a prayer to St Nicolas on the way across the bridge?’

‘Pshaw! What do you think, boys? Would I ever stop at the river chapel? A hole for travellers, mendicants and pilgrims to sweat out their prayers?’ There was instant laughter, rather high, somewhat tinkling.

‘Domina, may I remind you that in any case it was a night of atrocious weather? Anyone but a madman would want to cross to their own property as soon as possible. I am not made for harsh conditions, my dear.’

‘That is all I wished to know, your eminence. You saw no-one.’

‘I saw no-one. What’s more my litter was nearly pitched into the river and I had to keep the blind down as the sight of nature’s violence was too distressing. Now, I beg of you, stay a moment. Let us offer you something to brighten the austerity of your days.’

**

Patronised twice over, the first, obscurely, by Hubert, and now by Bellefort, Hildegard wondered why she had pitched herself into this web.

London beckoned.

Momentous events were taking place at Westminster and she was trapped in the inconsequential affairs of a distant backwater where corruption was the norm. Please, God and all the saints, let me go home. No-one would thank her for her efforts. For her dogged persistence. Go. Go back, an inner voice urged.

**

Then something she could not have foreseen happened. As she was leaving the Tinel after breaking her fast on the next morning, after a restless night with thoughts churning fruitlessly round in her dreams, a friar detached himself from the crowd and fell into step beside her.

‘Domina, pray forgive me. I have something to say to you.’

Thinking it was connected to her inquiries she halted to hear what he had to tell her.

‘It is this. It has not escaped my notice that you are an intimate of Abbot de Courcy. I beseech you, find some way of persuading him to vacate the palace for a day or two.’

She stared at him.

‘I can see this is a shock to your understanding. Plots are afoot. He is in danger. Persuade him to leave.’

‘I don’t understand.’

‘Of course not. How could you. I beg you to put your trust in me. Make sure he is absent from the palace for a few days until the danger is past.’

‘But what sort of danger?’

‘Danger to his life, domina.’

With that the friar melted into the crowd. She tried to follow but he disappeared round a corner and when she managed to pick her way after him the cloister was empty.

**

‘And you expect me to take fright at this and run away?’

‘Of course not. I’m only telling you because I feel I should pass it on and let you make up your own mind. I knew you’d make light of it. But at least you’re warned.’

Hubert slipped his arm in hers. ‘I think I should take this seriously, Hildegard. Let’s go away for a few days. Just you and me. We can take the hawks and have a fine time, hunting and exploring the countryside.’

‘Hubert.’

‘Come on, it may save my life. You heard what the friar said.’

‘This is ridiculous! You’ve just said you wouldn’t run.’

‘I’ve changed my mind. You know it makes sense.’

**

No more than two hours later they were galloping on hired horses through woodland on the west side of the palace beyond the walls of Avignon. It was a fine day. Exceptionally so. The rains had stopped. The pines gave off a rich and heady scent while on the far side of the woods countless hills unfolded in shades of grey and palest green to the horizon.

Hubert had his favourite hawk with him, one he had brought from Meaux, and when they reached the top of a hill he let her loose with a loud cry of encouragement.

Hildegard watched as again and again the bird gyred into the cloudless sky, hovered at its zenith then stooped to its prey.

By late afternoon they were both breathless with the exertion of galloping their horses through the woods, with the exhilaration of the hunt, with the freedom outside the grim fortress of the pope’s palace and, it must be said, with the joy of being together.

‘We shall do as the friar suggested,’ Hubert told her. ‘We shall stay away until tomorrow. What do you say, my heart?’

Somehow Hildegard was persuaded. The friar was probably mad but she would not take any risk with Hubert’s life.

**

They found a remote hillside inn some miles from Avignon. Soon, replete with good country fare and a potent local wine the awkward moment of retiring to their sleeping quarters loomed. Before that, however, the conversation veered towards the purpose of the friar’s warning.

‘I’m glad to see you’ve taken it seriously,’ Hildegard teased.

‘I’m taking it more seriously than you realise. Someone wants me out of the way,’ Hubert frowned. ‘I can’t think why.’

‘Because of your imminent election as cardinal?’

‘You’ve heard about that.’

‘As has everyone in Avignon.’

‘It’s not as you might imagine.’

‘You have no idea what I imagine.’

They both lapsed into silence for a while until Hubert said, ‘Maybe this is a test as to my fitness for such a position?’

‘Whether you succumb to a test of your celibacy?’

‘More likely the opposite. They’ll want to know whether I really am one of them, as steeped in carnality, greed and corruption as they are. I’ve already shown I can’t be bribed. But to fail that test is not important. It can be used to work in their favour too. But this – you – is a test of the former, maybe? Am I going to stick to the precepts or bend happily to the prevailing mores?’

‘This is most flattering,’ her tone was acid. ‘What is your answer?’

‘I’ll let you guide me. What would you like it to be?’

She saw his hand move towards his sword almost before she heard the cracking of the door as it was booted in. Hubert was on his feet in an instant as two men came hurtling into the chamber. They were armed, she noted in dumbfounded amazement, short swords drawn, visors down. She remembered screaming.

Then one man was howling on the floor, blood pumping from a vein in his neck, and the other one was on his knees as his sword flew across the chamber, and Hubert’s blade was scraping his throat.

Hubert let out a snarl and pricked the point of his sword deeper, drawing blood.

‘I am a vassal of Pope Clement sent to test you, lord. Save me!’ the man stuttered.

Scowling, Hubert bent to pick up the fallen weapon, hefting it in his left hand with the point of his own sword still firm against his attacker’s throat.

‘I’ll keep this as proof.’

‘Don’t kill me. I’m only doing my duty.’

‘What the hell is Clement up to?’

‘He needs men of action, my lord. You have passed his test. If I live I’ll vouch for you.’

‘Would you have killed me?’ Hubert asked in an interested tone.

‘The plan was to disarm you and take you back to Avignon as our captive, to your humiliation and to end your aspiration to be elected cardinal.’