Queen's Ransom (17 page)

“And since then?” inquired Ryder.

“Since then, we’ve been traveling through France but on a wandering path and not just because of the war. We wanted to confuse our trail. But we didn’t confuse it quite enough because a couple of Lions caught up with us last night. I recognized the older one. His name is Silvius Portinari. He’s a well-known Venetian merchant, dealing mainly in Persian carpets, and I’m frankly surprised to find him pursuing me in person. I think the other was the third man who got away from us in Rome—he’s Turkish by the look of him.”

“Well, they’re dead. They can’t harm anyone now,” said Brockley.

Jenkinson glanced at him. “The fellow in Marseilles spoke of others following and my captive on the Caspian Sea told me—albeit reluctantly—something of how the Lions work. The wealthy merchants who are the Levantine Lions all have a few willing cutthroats in their employ, to send out after nuisances like me. I would guess that Portinari came along to point me out to them because he knows me by sight, just as I knew him. He wouldn’t have intended to help personally with murdering me. He probably came last night because I and my men had wiped out all but one of his killers and he didn’t think one was enough on his own and didn’t want to wait for reinforcements either, in case I gave him the slip. But I think the reinforcements are on their way.

“I am known as a formidable man.” Jenkinson said this without conceit, as though remarking that he was known to like quinces or to perform competently on the spinet. It was to him a fact, no more. “A second wave is very likely following, to make sure of me, in case I dealt with the first wave—as I did. I daresay they needed time to assemble the extra men. With luck,” he added, with that so-engaging grin, “I have drawn the pursuit away from the merchant train I sent through Russia. It may not have occurred to them that there is a second copy of the treaty, and they would want my blood, anyway. I’m the offender who arranged the treaty in the first place. But I am determined to survive and hand my copy of that treaty to Her Majesty in person.”

I believed him.

Charpentier scratched his head and still seemed only half convinced. But when he had the Dodds and Searle fetched upstairs, their outrage at the suggestion that they might have fired the inn was almost enough on its own to persuade him that they spoke the truth and that Jenkinson’s explanation was the right one. Dick Dodd had a cut on his left forearm with a length of torn shirt wrapped around it. Jenkinson produced salves and bandages from his luggage and I dressed the wound. While I worked, Dick Dodd expressed his opinion of the arson accusation in language so forceful that I was obliged to tell Charpentier that I couldn’t translate it literally. “But he doesn’t usually swear like that,” I said.

In addition, Jenkinson was apparently carrying a fair amount of money and was willing to pay the innkeeper substantial compensation then and there, including a sum for the burial of the two bodies that still adorned the cobbles in the stableyard.

Money, it is said, can talk. It certainly talked to Charpentier, who looked at the gold coins Jenkinson was offering, and yielded after only the briefest attempt at haggling. Jenkinson good-humoredly increased his bribe by a modest amount and Charpentier agreed to accept that the fire had probably been raised by Jenkinson’s enemies and not by my men or by Huguenots, and to let us all go. Though I think most of St. Marc’s believed it was Huguenots and probably they still do.

I saw, afterward, what had happened to the Lutheran families who lived nearby. It was when we had at last finished at the inn, and were all going back to the abbey: myself, Ryder, Brockley, the Dodds, Searle, the abbey retainers, and also Jenkinson and his men. Charpentier was closing his inn for the time being and all the other guests had gone already.

As we walked back across the square, we passed the houses where the Huguenots had lived. They were adjacent to each other. Their doors were half off their hinges, their windows smashed, and they were being looted. A pair of laughing youths were carrying a carved cupboard out of one and some women—respectable-seeming women—were bringing out rugs and cooking pots from the others.

Much to my annoyance, the two scruffy retainers from the abbey dashed into one of the houses. We walked on but presently they caught us up, grinning, and informed us that they’d found a sliding panel upstairs, which everyone else had missed, and look what they’d got—a rope of pearls in a little velvet bag, and a pearl and garnet pendant in a pretty sandalwood box. It looked as though they had some experience of looting. They were obviously better at it than the townsfolk were.

I ordered them to put the things back but they ignored me, and when Ryder and Jenkinson added their voices to mine, one of them, a particularly unpleasant type with a three-day stubble, merely retorted: “Why? Them as owned them don’t need them now.”

It was true. The rightful owners would never need their belongings again. Their bodies hung in a row from their own upper windows, the ropes knotted around the mullions. I had hurried past, trying not to look but I had already seen more than I wanted to see.

There were children among them.

I could only thank heaven that Meg was safe in England.

Stained Glass

At the abbey, we found Dale in a state of great anxiety, although Walter Dodd had run on ahead to announce our safe return. She was waiting on the porch and rushed at me and Brockley, ricocheting between us as though she hardly knew which one she had worried about most.

“Oh, ma’am, thank God you’re all right. Roger, what happened? Oh, my God, you’re all over soot! We saw the flames going up, right from the windows here, and then Master Ryder came out and shouted up to us that he was going to find out what was going on . . . and then he went and didn’t come back either . . .”

“Madame Blanchard! We are all most relieved and we will give thanks for your safety.” The abbess appeared, black-gowned and calm. She was a tall woman, probably in her forties, with one of those brown southern European faces that look as though they have been carved from teak. She had a beautiful smile when she did smile, but it wasn’t often.

Helene reverenced her, but I found her unnerving. It was Ryder, not I, who said to her candidly: “A Huguenot family has been massacred and the two abbey retainers who were with me looted their house. I doubt if they’re the type you require to serve an abbey.”

The two concerned had already taken themselves off to their quarters. The abbess did not, however, pretend she didn’t know who was meant. She inclined her head politely toward Ryder. “I know their shortcomings. I do not approve the Lutheran faith but I do not condone either murder or looting. In these difficult days, I employ what men I can find but I agree that the two of whom you speak are deadwood and I shall soon, I trust, cut them away. I have three others but last night I kept them back to defend the abbey and my nuns, if the fire should mean a Huguenot attack.” She glanced around, hearing footsteps. “Here is Helene.”

Helene hurried to meet me, with Jeanne behind her.

“I am so glad that you are safe, madame.” She bobbed me a conventional curtsy.

“We will send word to Douceaix,” the abbess said. “Rumors fly fast these days and we must make sure that your relatives know, as soon as possible, that you have come to no harm. A messenger will leave at once.”

“Thank you,” I said. “Helene, I will come to you and tell you all about it very soon. For the moment, if you will excuse me, I wish to go to my chamber and tidy myself.”

“Of course. Come, child.” The abbess led Helene and Jeanne away. I made haste to my room with Dale, telling Brockley to wash and change quickly and then join us.

While we waited for him, I, too, seized the chance to wash and Dale helped me into the one spare gown I had brought with me to St. Marc. “Did you see your husband, ma’am?” she asked as she got it out of the press where she had hung it.

“Yes, and spent the night with him—until the fire started! But he’s gone again now.” I told her the whole story, briefly, while she buttoned me into my sleeves and did my hair, making horrified exclamations at intervals during my story. Presently, Brockley arrived, pale from his night’s exertions, but clean and tidy once again. We sat down together. The guest quarters of the abbey were plain, in the sense that they had no wall hangings or carpets, but they were quite adequately furnished. My room had a tester bed for me, a truckle bed for Dale, a settle-cum-chest, and a window seat. I was sitting on my bed. Dale had the chest and Brockley perched sideways on the window seat.

They gazed at me and I said furiously: “I am so angry that I could burst. I’ve been used in the most shameful way! And now I don’t know what to do!”

“Madam, what are you talking about?” Brockley asked.

“I mean that Cecil planted three men on me with orders to see if Matthew contacted me and arrest him if he did—in his own country. Master Blanchard’s men also seem to be involved. Searle is one of them, and he was with the Dodds when they followed me to the inn last night. I daresay that Master Blanchard is perfectly well aware of the whole scheme and probably cooperated with it.”

They burst into exclamations of consternation and outrage on my behalf, which were comforting to hear.

“I suspect,” I said, “that Master Blanchard even pretended to be ill so as to keep me not too far away from the Loire for a while! So do I now go on and help him bring Helene back to England, or do I simply refuse to go a step farther with him?”

“But, ma’am,” said Dale anxiously, “what about Paris and the queen’s letter?”

“I can go to Paris without either Master Blanchard or Helene,” I said. “Brockley has already said so much.”

“Mistress Helene is quite innocent in all this.” Brockley, after his first outburst, had begun to think. His gold-freckled brow was creased with thought. “Even Master Blanchard probably had little choice. I have no wish to defend him, but that’s very likely true.”

I sighed. “Yes, it is. I know myself that it is very difficult to say a blunt no to Cecil. And why should he, anyway? Gerald’s father has never liked me. The scheme failed, at least. Matthew escaped—again! I suppose it would be best to go on and finish my errands.”

“Madam—I don’t mean to be inquisitive—but when you parted from Master de la Roche, did you make any arrangements to meet again?” Brockley inquired.

“Not exactly.” I had already told Dale on what terms Matthew and I had parted. I repeated them to Brockley. He nodded.

“He was talking good sense, madam. With France in such a turmoil, this isn’t the moment for you to join him, even if that’s what you want to do. I’d say it was in your interest to get that letter safely delivered to the queen mother. You told us it was an offer from Queen Elizabeth to help in mediation, between her Catholic government and the Huguenots. What’s their leader’s name? The prince of Condé? Well, a peaceful France would let you make your mind up freely, and meanwhile, you will, I suppose, have to go on living at the court of Queen Elizabeth. Best to please her, wouldn’t you say?”

I found myself reluctantly smiling. “You’ve a good brain under that high forehead of yours, Brockley. You’re right, of course. Until there is peace in this country again, my whole life is like a pot left simmering on the edge of the fire, until someone has time to attend to it. And yes, in the meantime I suppose I must go back to England.”

“And we oughtn’t to fall out with Master Blanchard.” Dale, too, had been thinking. “We’re all traveling together in this dangerous country. Travelers in perilous places ought to stick together. If you ask me, he’s more frightened of France even than we are!”

“Yes, I daresay. I’m more angry with Cecil than with Master Blanchard,” I said. “Sir William Cecil saw a chance and seized it, I fancy! He’s a servant of the queen first of all and laying hands on my husband could benefit England, in their eyes. But to use me as bait!”

I choked on the words, thinking of my last glimpse of Matthew, as he took the bay gelding’s bridle from the groom. Where was my husband now?

“Very well,” I said at last. “We will go on as before. And the sooner the better, I feel. We’ll start for Douceaix later today. I must take some rest first, but we will leave after dinner. Brockley, you had better let Ryder know.”

“I’ll tell Master Jenkinson, too, madam. He was talking, on the way here, of riding with us to Douceaix and even on to Paris, given that you and Master Blanchard agree. It would be a good disguise, he says, to blend into someone else’s escort as just one more retainer.”

“I can hardly imagine Mr. Jenkinson as just one more retainer. He’d stand out of any crowd,” I said. “And what if these Levantine rivals of his are still on his scent? Haven’t I got trouble enough? I’m getting very tired indeed of mysteries and alarms.” I paused to think. “But if he wants to come with us to Douceaix, I can hardly refuse him. He has done well by us and I owe him something. I must find Helene. She’ll want to know what happened last night and I must tell her to make ready to leave. She should have had time enough by now to say good-bye to all the nuns and confessors in the province. Go and see Ryder, and then get a little sleep, Brockley. Dale, attend me.”

Brockley withdrew. Dale and I went in search of Helene.

She was not in her room, but a lay sister who was sweeping the stairs near her door said that she thought Helene had gone into the church. “Perhaps to give thanks for your safety, madame.”

I had doubts about that, but with Dale, I went out of the guest house and across the courtyard to the church. It was a big place, ornamental on the outside, with gargoyles and elaborate carvings on the stone walls. Inside, it was cool and dim, fragrant with incense, and the shadows were touched here and there by the gentle flames of votive candles, and by shafts of light through stained glass.

The day had turned sunny and on the eastern side of the church, a window depicting the Last Supper blazed with azure and ruby and deep amber and cast jewel-colored patches onto the stone of pillars and floor, and on the golden candlesticks of the altar candles. One glowing ray lit up a niche in which stood a golden statue of the Virgin and Child. But above all, there was quietness here. I could see no sign of Helene, but the atmosphere of prayer and worship was like a calming hand on me. Even Dale, whose prejudices were stronger than mine, responded to it. Benches were set in rows on either side of a central aisle and I sat down. Quietly, Dale sat down beside me.